His man makes his way back over to me, carrying with him a small brick of white powder ready to be cut and distributed. The drug has the street value of gold that I need in my club’s possession like yesterday. He hands the cocaine over to Sandoval, who extends the brick to me, smiling cryptically. I can read him. He is testing me. All future transactions will rely on how I react to the drugs.
Taking the package, I pull out my pocket knife. Having been stripped of our guns and knives entering the building, I am lucky to have kept this. If these men only knew what I could do with this two inch blade if pushed to my limits. Fuckers. Hell, I don’t need a small knife to kill the man if I wanted to; I could do that with my bare hands.
Slicing the package open, I dip the tip of my knife in. I scoop up only the slightest amount then lift it to my nose and inhale. The burn in my nasal passages is hard to stand, my eyes immediately glaze over in unshed tears.
“Sandoval, you have good reason to be cocky,” I state, letting him know I am impressed with his product.
He laughs at me. The man stands before me and laughs as if he has not one care in the world. If I get my way, he is going to have a shitload of stuff to worry about, including keeping his own useless hide alive.
“I like you very much, Ice. It’s refreshing to find a biker that won’t use more of my product than he sells. From your reaction, I can tell that you are not a user. This tells me the Regulators will go far in this business. Nothing irritates me more than someone being held back by chemical dependencies. I have found men tend to become weak to their addictions, whether that be the pussy in their bed, the drugs in their bodies, or the money in their wallets. You do not strike me as a man with weaknesses; I foresee a long and profitable future for us both.”
With the confirmation of his approval, his men shift and begin unloading black crate, after black crate from a nearby SUV. Placing the boxes in front of us, each one is opened for our inspection before being closed and passed off to Hammer. Then he and three other patched Regulators load the crates into our waiting van.
Bending down to my feet, I pick up the duffle bag of cash. I open it and remove five stacks of bills, tossing them over to Coal to put back in the van.
“Since you adjusted the amount of our product, I’ve adjusted the amount of your pay.” Passing the bag to him, I continue, “Understand, Sandoval, I’m not a man of patience. I’m not a man of mercy. And I sure as shit am not a man who plays games. This is the only leniency I’ll allow you since we are still getting to know one another. I understand a man of your position has to protect himself, just like a man of my authority does. Luckily, for us both, I do not sell products I don’t already have in my possession. That way, I won’t have a disappointed buyer. We both know what that could do.”
“You are a worthy business associate. I’m sure we will have a mutually beneficial future together,” Sandoval replies as he backs away, not removing his eyes from me until reaching his vehicle.
I realize now that I have underestimated him. He is a cocky fucker, yet smart. Never trust your men to truly have your back when your murder could give them an empire that would make them richer than their wildest dreams.
After he is pulling away in his vehicle we make our way to the bikes and waiting van. Getting on my Harley, I nod to Hammer who will take the van and handle the drugs we have purchased. The knot in my stomach eases knowing we have made another step deeper into the world of Lazaro Sandoval and the Cuban Mafia.
It is also one step closer to ending a man who needs to be taken out for good.
It is going to take a lot of diligence from both me and my men to get the information we need to take Sandoval out without backlash on the Regulators. There is a delicate balance between what we let the world see and what everyone has no clue we have going on in the background. We can’t afford to be exposed in any way. It would put us all in danger from more underground players than we could point an M-16 at. With each passing day that I have to deal with Sandoval, I see the man is too deadly to let live.
At least I am getting paid good money to kill him.
Morgan
No. no. no.
Coming down the sidewalk, after picking up my morning latte, my heel gets stuck in the crack of two concrete rectangles. When I attempt to pull it out, the heel comes unglued from the shoe. Now, every step I take, it flaps and makes walking awkward. I was on schedule, but the barista was slow and apparently new; as a result, my regular skinny caramel treat took longer than usual. Add my newest mishap, and I am officially ten minutes late for work.
I am never late.
No, being late would be falling short. I never fall short. People depend on me. I have a commitment to arrive at work at nine sharp, not ten minutes after. I get paid to be on time and in dress code, which I am sure doesn’t include broken shoes.
Monday mayhem welcomes me with open arms. After the weekend stock changes, I will need to smooth over the fears of some of my clients, as well as convince others that now is the time to transition a portion of their funds. My mind dances with numbers, stock names, and racing thoughts of multiple accounts muddle together as I enter the bank.
“Morgan,” I hear my coworker, Aimee, call out.
Looking over my shoulder to her while still walking, I miss the extremely tall, bald man wearing all black, including a black leather vest as he turns and bumps into me harshly. My latte sloshes, spilling out of my cup and over both of us. I gasp in surprise as I look up at the overly intimidating man.
“Oh my, I am so sorry,” I stammer as I stumble on my broken shoe to get distance between us.
“Pay attention. Quit tryin’ to be cute, and look where you’re goin’.”
What is it with the men I meet lately being assholes?
“Excuse me,” I reply, looking at the patches on his vest. ‘Coal’ lays over the left side of his vest, right at his heart. ‘Vice President’ lays on his right side. Across the rest, I see different patches with different cities and sayings.
Deciding I need to smooth this over for multiple reasons, I fidget nervously. I need to defuse this situation because this man scares the bejesus out of me. Yet I find him attractive, and this confuses me. The second reason I need to calm down is this is my job, and the third being I wasn’t paying attention; therefore, this is my fault.
“My apologies, mister… Sorry, I don’t know your name. I apologize for not looking where I was going, and I promise you I wasn’t trying to be cute,” I manage to get out weakly.
“Coal. Name is Coal.” His temperament softens as he lifts his hand and proceeds to lick the remnants of my morning addiction off him. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “You don’t have to try to be cute; it’s just you.”
My breath hitches as I feel him breathing down my exposed neck. God, it is hot in here. Asshole or not, this man screams sex. Suddenly, I wish I had worn my hair down today rather than in the extremely tight bun it is currently stuck in.
“Definitely cute and definitely just you. Innocence is a rare thing. Keep it safe.” The last words come out while he pulls away, meeting my gaze as his eyes darken with an emotion I can’t read.
He is gone before I can gather my composure and move on to my office. I don’t even get to clean myself up before Aimee is hot on my heels.
“Oh, my God! He actually spoke to you.”
“Huh?” I question absentmindedly, not having a clue what she is talking about.
“Trevor Blake. He comes in every third Monday of the month and doesn’t ever speak to anyone but Joshua. He won’t let anyone else help him. He’s part of the Regulators Motorcycle Club. That’s why I called your name.”
“Why would you call my name in reference to him?” I ask her, confused.
“To get his attention, hello.”
“How does calling my name get his attention exactly?” I don’t understand why women do stuff like this. Is it really that difficult to talk to a man? Granted, I have never tried, but seriously, I don’t get it
.
“You were right there beside him. Therefore, calling your name, he would follow your gaze and see me.” She reaches up and squeezes her own perky and very fake breasts. “And my rack is rockin’ today. I’m wearing my new push up bra. It would be a perfect day for him to notice me.”
I have no response for her. None. I am baffled that anyone would do this for the simple attention of a man. I also don’t get why a woman who has fake breasts so large they barely move, would wear a push up bra to accentuate what is already perky and in your face. Thankfully my phone ringing saves me from more of her nonsense. She adds a quick goodbye and leaves as I take off to enter my office.
Leaning over my desk, my already tight suit skirt pulls snugly against my curves as I stretch for my phone. “Morgan Powell,” I greet after picking up the bulky receiver and sitting my half empty latte on my desk.
“Can you pick me up after school?” my sister Madyson asks from the other end.
“What?” I shriek. “I do not have time for this, Madyson.”
“Mom and Dad have kicked me out. They took my car and everything. I need somewhere to stay and a ride. I thought I would be able to stay with Brooke, but her dad needs a damn security clearance before she can have a house guest. Please, Morgan, I don’t have anywhere to go. It will only be a few days until Mom cools off.”
Knowing how my parents are, they have probably decided, since she is eighteen, they can kick her out. They know she has no college aspirations or at least any she has shared. With her behavior it saves them money as they would want to pay for her education as they did mine. Reality is, they can’t afford it. Her unwillingness to mold into the person they want her to be only adds to the division between them. Besides, if they make her leave, they don’t have to cover up what a disobedient child they have to their friends and neighbors.
“How is any of this my problem?” I harshly question. She could try to get along with them, at least for the sake of having a roof over her head, until she finishes school; but no, not my sister. Does she think I enjoyed growing up with them, having their absurd rules and expectations shoved down my throat? I did what I had to until I could afford to live on my own.
“It’s not, but I have no one else,” she pleads, tugging at my heartstrings.
A knock at my office’s door jamb has me turning around to see my boss staring at me with an odd expression. This is going to be the never ending morning of crazy.
Making a quick decision I know I will regret, though at the moment my options are limited, I turn my attention back to my sister. “I’m sorry, I gotta go, Madyson.” Hearing her sob into the phone, I realize things may be more serious than I first assumed. Madyson is a lot of things, but a crier is not one of them, when it comes to our parents. Before I give it a second thought, I relent. “Can you get a ride to my apartment? You can stay until this blows over.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, trying to get her crying under control.
She hangs up as I do, and then I turn to face the man whose gaze is burning into my backside.
“Mr. Walton,” I greet, putting on the fake smile my mother taught me to perfection.
“I noticed you hadn’t logged into your email yet, just checking to see if you were in.”
Feeling insecure as my supervisor stands there, taking me in, I reach down to smooth out my skirt, to realize my arm is sticky from my run in with the Coal guy. My broken shoe, stained suit jacket, sticky arm, and personal phone call all add up to show him just what a truly inept employee he has.
“I’m sorry,” I say lamely.
“We have our weekly assignments meeting at ten today, instead of nine-thirty. See you there, Miss Powell.”
The rest of my day passes in a blur of one mishap after another. The printer decided to eat my sales report. While trying to unjam the caught papers, I popped the wrong little spring, rendering the whole thing useless. Lunch should have been safe, yet one distraction and ketchup dropped directly on my white shirt, dead center of my boobs, equaled me becoming a target for attention all day long. Why yes, world, please stare at my boobs. Unfortunately, I am not Aimee with her fake breasts. Having a man look at me below eye level is utterly unnerving.
After spending as much time as I can hiding my feet under my desk to avoid having to wear the broken shoe, I face the flapping heel once more to make my way to my car. All should have been well, but alas, it is not. My keyless remote fails. Fumbling with my keys, I scratch the doors of my little sedan, and my heel gives out again, causing my ankle to roll and me to fall to the pavement below. This is the endless day of crap.
I get home, walking up to my doorstep, barefoot and limping, and there sits Madyson, head on her knees, quiet. One thing my sister is not would be quiet. When I unlock my door, she doesn’t move.
“Madyson, come on.”
Following me inside, she carries her backpack and a duffle bag. I head into my kitchen to fix a frozen pizza for dinner. I don’t have much, but she shouldn’t be here long. We can make do. I look over at her and take in her swollen eyes, red cheeks, and defeated demeanor.
“You wanna talk about it?” I ask gently.
“Nothing to talk about. I took Mallory to the free clinic to get birth control. Mom found out. She freaked and said I ruined Mal. They kicked me out, took my car and cell phone, and then they gave me my birth certificate and social security card before they sent me away. I walked to school. I called you from the school office. They had a phone book for me to find your office number. I couldn’t remember your cell since it was programmed in my phone.”
“Give it time, Madyson. They’ll come around,” I tell her, even though I am not fully convinced myself. At this point, I can only hope they will come around. Otherwise, what am I supposed to do with her? I barely made it out of my own teenager years with my sanity intact because of our parents. Me trying to reign in all that is my little sister might be enough to finally put me in a nuthouse.
Chapter
5
Ice
Three weeks later…
“How many are we at right now?” I question the men in front of me. Every patched member of the Regulators MC sits here, all of us going over the details of yet another missing woman.
“Twelve in our zip code. Sixty-eight in our territory,” Coal answers.
“That’s fuckin’ twelve too many at our back door!” I shout, feeling out of control.
“We can’t hire them all. We can’t hide them all,” Hammer states the obvious.
“No, we can’t, but we can shut this shit down. According to Commander Wall and his team, Medina named Lazaro Sandoval as the ring leader. Why can’t we tie him to the missing girls? Where the fuck is he keeping them?”
“All questions we are trying to get answers to,” Coal glares at me.
“Why do I have more fuckin’ questions than answers? Riddle me that, knuckleheads. We do not exist. We are not who any of these scum bags think we are. We have resources above and beyond any alphabet agency in this country can access, and you all sit in here and tell me there is yet another girl missing in our territory. All of this, and we have no new information?”
“We’re working on it as much as we can without drawing attention. Sandoval has his stuff locked tight, Ice,” Screech pipes in.
“So unlock it,” I snarl back.
“Fuck you,” Coal narrows his eyes. “It’s not that simple, and you damn well know it. Get laid, go for a run, blow something the fuck up—I don’t care what you do, but don’t sit here and make it sound so simple.”
I won’t take shit from many people, but Coal has made a valid point. We have been buying drugs consistently from Sandoval. We have built the foundation of a strong affiliation with him. However, it hasn’t been enough.
“Time to step up our ties to Sandoval. We buy guns next, work our way in. We may have to buy the pussy to find his inner workings, but in the meantime, we need to get our people in every damn club we can. The more eyes we have, the closer w
e can come to stopping the next target from becoming a victim.”
“Agreed,” Hammer begins yet is cut off by my phone ringing.
Without looking at the screen, we all know it is Brooke calling based on the set ring tone.
“In the middle of something, baby girl,” I answer in the hopes of deterring her from going on with teenage ramblings.
She is supposed to be spending the night at her friend Madyson’s house, who did check out, finally, from Screech’s report. The girl has a three point eight grade point average and takes two honors classes with Brooke. She may come off as a rebellious punk-ass teen, but she actually has two partial scholarships to college based on her grades in math alone.
Madyson Powell’s sister, Morgan, is more clean-cut than any twenty-four-year-old should be. According to the reports on her, I doubt she has ever had a single drink. I had guys watch both Powell sisters for two weeks before I agreed to let Brooke spend the night there. Things aren’t always what they seem. I know that better than anyone.
At first glance, I assumed Morgan was irresponsible with her younger sister. It turns out she was merely adjusting as her sister made the choice to live with her instead of their parents. This made me curious as to why an eighteen-year-old would make a decision like that, so I had Screech dig into their parents next. After looking over the reports, the debt and overall character information we were able to obtain, their parents wouldn’t be a place I would want to grow up in or have Brooke around. They are more focused on keeping up with the Jones’, so to speak, than being a real family.
My thoughts are shaken when Brooke whispers into the phone, “Come get us, Daddy.”
My stomach drops, my heart stops, and everything ceases to exist around me. “Where are you, and what the fuck is goin’ on?”
“It’s… it’s… it’s Madyson. We’re at a party. They slipped her something, and I can’t get her to wake up enough to get her out of the house.”
“Don’t drink anything, not even water. Don’t move. I’m gonna give the phone to Screech. He will get the address and get it to Hammer. We’re coming right now. You don’t hang up that phone; you stay on the line with Screech until you see me and I end your call.”
Ice Page 4
