First Ride (The Slayers MC Book 1)

by Tara Oakes

  Pushing Candy in that direction, I whisper for her to lose the shoes, which she promptly kicks off. We scoop out handfuls of material from the rolling bin and I help get her inside quickly before covering her back up.

  God, if only the circumstances were different. I’d love to suffocate the little bitch with the G-strings in my hand right now.

  Just in case the life-size blow up doll doesn’t have the common sense to figure it out on her own, I tell her to be quiet and stay still before creeping over to her opened locker and stepping in.

  I hold the latch up carefully so it doesn’t make a sound as I pull the door closed.

  “It’s just the light by the door, asshole. Probably keep it on all night. We saw the last guy leave.” Another voice, different from the first, answers out too close for my liking. “Check the rooms anyway.”

  There are rummaging noises coming from beyond my view through the three slanted openings in the metal locker door millimeters from my face.

  I see a pair of dark shoes appear on the ground of the dressing room, moving about, doing as he’s told, checking. I hold my breath and slowly lower the handle in my fingers, locking the door in case he gets the urge to start checking those as well.

  “Clear!” The man on the other side of the locker door calls out, satisfied. Once he’s left the room, I force myself to start breathing again. “Where we gonna leave it?” That same man calls out again, only this time his voice is far enough not to cause the hairs on the back of my neck to rise.

  Feet shuffle, bodies move. “Find an office. We’ll stash some there. The rest behind the bar. Not too hidden, but not out in the open. Something that can be found without looking like it was meant to be found, ya know?”

  I bite my lip. What the hell are they talking about? At first I thought we were being robbed. Usually thieves take shit, not hide shit.

  “It’s a shame to waste so much coke. You know how much we can get for this?”

  There’s my answer, and I’m damn sure he’s not talking about cola right now.

  Drugs. They’ve got to be talking about drugs. Why would they be putting drugs in Dawson’s office?

  Other than the light left on when Candy and I entered, I notice the men – however many of them there are- don’t turn any others on. Instead, the thick beams of several flashlights bounce around like lasers in the dark of Dawson’s office. I can see just a bit of it if I angle myself right.

  “Good,” One tells another as the yellow and white streams of light disappear from my limited field of vision. “Now let’s get the fuck out of here, yeah? The skimmer can only bypass the alarm for a few more minutes.”

  The shuffling feet I heard earlier now take on a faster, more hurried pace. There’s a bevy of sliding sounds, of general noises before eventually … nothing.

  I keep still, making sure my breaths are as quiet and shallow as possible, waiting to hear something, anything. Still nothing.

  What if they’re still here? What if they’re waiting, pretending they left?

  My mind races before rationality begins to counter my thoughts.

  They have no idea Candy and I are here. They’d have no reason to wait. I notice Candy hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound still hidden beneath the pile of dirty costumes and towels from the shower. Like me, she must be thinking the same things, not knowing if it’s safe yet.

  I keep my eyes glued to the hallway, looking for shadows of any kind. I keep my ears open. Minute after minute passes with me anxiously waiting. The only thing that catches my senses is the thick scent of perfume off the items that share the small space of Candy’s locker with me.

  I hadn’t noticed it earlier, as I was concentrating on more important things, but now it almost chokes me. Holding out as long as I can, I let it nearly suffocate me.

  After what must have been twenty minutes and countless suppressed gags later, I lift the inside metal hook that holds the door closed and let it open slowly. There’s a small creak from a tight hinge and I freeze, holding my breath, half expecting someone to run in and tackle me.

  My eyes dart over to the laundry pile but it doesn’t move. I push the door open further and step carefully out, not bothering to close the locker behind me. I tip-toe to the dressing room door and peek my head around the doorjamb. Nothing.

  Summoning all my strength, I creep into the open hallway, slinking down into the darkness. Still nothing.

  My foot catches on the leg of a chair, pushing it several inches with my next step and the sound booms in my ears as if it were as loud as a bass drum. My breath catches, but nothing happens. If there were anyone else here, they definitely would have heard that sound.

  I feel my tense shoulders fall, finally believing that the threat has passed. I turn my back to the blackened room and move quickly back to Candy.

  “It’s safe. They’re gone.” My words aren’t even fully out before the pile of clothing and linens begins to move and her big head of red hair pops up.

  She doesn’t waste time to reach and reclaim her tacky stripper shoes from under the nearby bench. “I’m getting the fuck outta here and you’d better do the same thing.”

  She’s not my first choice of company but when she’s gone, pushing her way through the door and running barefooted into the back parking lot, I feel truly alone and vulnerable, wishing for her sorry ass to come back.

  Tires screech and an engine vrooms as she peels away. I run to the back door she callously left open and take the handle, not knowing quite what to do. Part of me wants to follow her, to drive off and never look back. Another part of me knows that if I do, I’ll be leaving behind the strategically hidden items the men left.

  Why would they leave them, hide drugs here?

  A small voice in my head that sounds oddly similar to Lana’s keeps yelling at me to not bother with asking why, to just leave. I know that’s what I should do.

  I pull the door closed and use the limited hall light to guide my way into Dawson’s office. Everything looks exactly how I’d left it. I close my eyes and think back to what the intruders said. The desk drawer.

  I pull on every handle searching carefully for anything that doesn’t belong. Once I get to the largest of the drawers, the one on the bottom, a stack of porn magazines greets me.

  Disgusting pig, I think to myself and grab the pile of them, dropping them in the wastebasket nearby. Without the cover of X-rated material to conceal it, a lone paper package sits at the base of the boxed chamber.

  It weighs a decent amount as I lift it and carry it underarm. Next stop, the bar. Using my cell phone flashlight app, I forage through the shelves, the cabinets and the mini-fridges until I find an identical package and pile it next to the first.

  I don’t know how many they had, so I spend another half-hour or so combing every little inch until I’m satisfied there’s nothing else. Carefully balancing the illegal parcels under each arm, I leave the dark club.

  The wind is whipping and slapping tree branches as I walk to the Jeep, bracing myself with my back turned toward the powerful gusts until I’m inside the truck.

  I don’t know what to do with the paper wrapped parcels so I stick them on the passenger side floor before driving off, nervously looking in my rearview mirror where imaginary cars follow me as paranoia sets in.

  I pass the twenty-four hour doughnut shop and stare at the two patrol cars parked in the lot before it dawns on me. I’ve got a shit load of cocaine in the car. I could go to jail for a fucking long time because of this.

  That’s when it hits me. That’s why the men broke in and hid the drugs. We’re not talking about some small amount to get you busted for possession. Those packages have enough in them to get you for dealing.

  I hold my breath until I fully pass the doughnut shop, leaving it and the cops behind.

  Where the fuck am I gonna go? I can’t bring this shit back to Dawson’s house. I can’t leave it in the car. I rack my brain trying to think where best to hide this garbage in a way that isn�
�t likely to get me arrested in the process.

  Is this what my life has become? Working in a strip joint, hiding from dangerous men breaking in, dodging cops, and in possession of a fucking shit ton of illegal drugs?

  Stupid, stupid, Molly! I reprimand myself. How could I be so stupid to let myself get into a position like this? Because some hot ass guy gives me a second look?

  Without realizing it, I drive into my old neighborhood. I remember the old, run down house around the corner from my old apartment. The one Dawson seemed to know for a fact was a drug house, a drug den.

  I don’t stop the engine, not planning to be long. Grabbing the packages, I run up to the door and leave them on the ground near some bushes, expecting a swarm of cops to jump out at any minute.

  Once back in the Jeep, I peel away, my heart thudding so loud in my ears that I think I’ll go deaf.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DAWSON

  I didn’t recognize the number flashing across my phone, but given the circumstances with everything going on with Stitch, I didn’t hesitate to answer. At four in the fucking morning I knew whoever was calling my phone either had a really good fucking reason, or was drunk off their ass.

  I’ve got Candy’s number stored in my contacts from back when I used to fuck her. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s rung me up late at night, but this time it wasn’t for a booty call, and it wasn’t from her own cell.

  Stitch had been moved out of the ICU and into his own room about an hour before, handcuffed to his hospital bed, helpless. Baby was finally able to go see him, able to touch him for the first time in months without the plastic safety glass of the prison visiting room between them.

  I’d had to rely on her to usher messages back and forth since there was no way a felon like myself would be able to visit an inmate, even if he was in a hospital room.

  She’s given me all the updates, that Stitch had been ambushed while in the laundry room of the prison where he worked his assigned job. Two, maybe three men all with gang tats jumped him and sliced him up with a shank. The deepest and most serious of the wounds was a stab in his side, just missing his kidney but hitting a good amount of blood vessel.

  He’d lost too much blood and required a transfusion when they finally got him into the ER. The hospital didn’t ask but every single Slayer that rode up here lined up to donate their own blood in the off chance Stitch would need more.

  With Baby coming out to the waiting room to give me the doctor’s updates, I’d send her back each time with a message for my brother.

  We were there. Every fucking single one of us. We’d camp out in the waiting room, guard every single entrance and exit to the building. No one was gettin’ to him.

  I have my men on the inside, my paid protection for Stitch while he’s locked up. The Aryans, one of our biggest allies behind bars, even though we don’t exactly share their views on the outside, were unable to keep Stitch safe today. An attack against him is seen as an attack against the Aryans themselves in a situation like this, and used as an excuse to settle scores.

  The prison broke out in retaliation and I was assured that the men responsible for the attempt on Stitch’s life had been taken care of, with two taken care of for good and the third at death’s door. That was as much information as I could get before my contacts went silent with the prison being on lockdown.

  It wasn’t long before an ambulance pulled up and another gurney carrying an orange-jumpsuited inmate was delivered to the emergency room. What were the odds? It was my fucking lucky day.

  An hour later, thanks to Chase and myself, all three of the bastards that attacked Stitch were taken care of. Made him suffer for it, too, but not before I got a look at his tats. That’s all I’ve got to go on right now, as he was stubborn as fuck and wouldn’t talk.

  I didn’t recognize the symbols off hand but made sure to take a pic with my cell so we can find out who the fuck sent them.

  With that taken care of, Stitch stabilizing, and my men on guard, I’m finally able to get the fuck outta here and get back to Angel. Candy’s call sent me in a rage, one I was able to use to my advantage while dealing with the poor fuck who tried to kill Stitch, but now that anger is eating me up inside as I ride alone back to Riverdale.

  With nothing but dark night around me I have more than enough time to ponder this shit. Someone had the fucking balls to break into my club. At the same time as every single Slayer being on the other side of the fucking state. It’s no coincidence. It can’t be.

  This shit with Stitch? It was a distraction. One to get me looking away while the fuckers crept in and did what they had planned. I wouldn’t have even known about it if Candy and Angel hadn’t been there.

  I keep checking my phone, carefully balancing my bike down the long stretches of empty highway, waiting for Angel to call, but she doesn’t.

  Where the fuck is she?

  I’ve called twice. No answer. I sent Esè to check out the club, but there were no signs of her and definitely no signs of the drugs Candy overheard the assholes talking about planting.

  He says he tore the place apart, but couldn’t find anything, or any sign of Angel.

  My phone rings. Finally.

  It’s not Angel. It’s Esè. “What, man?” I bark loudly into the phone to be heard over the engine noise.

  “Found her, D.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in hours. “Where?”

  “Your place. Jeep’s in the driveway. I’m across the street. There’s a light on upstairs but other than that nothing.” The prospect rattles off.

  “You move and I swear to God they’ll never find your fucking body, kid.” I hang up, shoving the phone deep into my pocket.

  Right now Esè is the only Slayer in town even though he’s just a prospect. I consider him to blame for Angel even being in the mess she found herself in. What the fuck was he thinking, taking off and leaving her there? His ass is mine when I get back there.

  I use the anger welling deep in me as fuel to fight through the exhaustion that’s hovering. I need to get home, I need to get to her.

  God help me if anything’s happened to her.

  ~*~

  I make it home in record time just as the sun is rising, with dull blues and yellows filling the sky. My Jeep is in fact right in the driveway like Esè reported. Speaking of the prick …

  “You!” I get off my bike, nearly letting it tip over as I charge him. Other than one or two steps backward, he doesn’t run; he knows he deserves what’s coming his way.

  I take a fistful of his shirt in both hands and lift. “You’re fucking lucky I don’t have time to kick your ass right now, kid. But, believe me, it’s comin’. Now get your ass down to the club and you let me know when shit goes down, you got me?”

  I’ve got him locked in place, held high under his chin. He doesn’t make it any worse on himself by trying to come up with any excuses. He simply nods his head, agreeing to the task regardless of how tired he is.

  I throw him onto the neighbor’s grass where he lands on his back with a deep grunt. He doesn’t waste any time jumping to his feet and hightailing off on his bike to do as I’ve told him and keep watch over the clubhouse.

  He’s all I got right now, with everyone else staying back with Stitch, so I’ve got no choice but to rely on his ass and cross my fingers that he doesn’t screw up again.

  To my surprise, the front door is locked. Good. She listened to me. Once the thick door is opened, I hear the subtle little electric beeps of the alarm giving me notice to disarm it or brace myself for the cops.

  Good. Not only did she lock the door, but she set the alarm, too. I’m guessing that after last night, she realizes why I tell her the things I do. It certainly isn’t just to hear my own voice.

  Sasha is still asleep even though I know from her first morning here, which seems like a year ago although it was only yesterday, that she’ll be up not long after the sun is.

  I’m dying to see Angel,
to hold her and make sure she’s okay, but for some reason I hesitate before opening the door to her. When I finally turn the handle, I find her cuddled in the big chair over by the window.

  She stares out the window, resting her head on her arm.

  “Angel,” I go to her.

  Angel turns her head, her tired, hardened eyes stopping me in my tracks. I’ve seen a lot of different things in those eyes but never what I see now.

  “Do you know what I did last night?” Her voice is cold.

  Kneeling in front of her, I caress her cheek with my hand. “I know, baby. I know. I’m so sorry.”

  Her eyes don’t change, don’t soften. “I had drugs, Dawson. Drugs! In the car with me! I could have been arrested, Dawson. I could have been sent to jail! I’m all that little girl has and I could have been sent to prison!”

  I drop my head in her lap, and kiss her stiff hand. “That’ll never happen, Angel. I swear. That’ll never happen.”

  Pulling her closer, I burrow myself deeper into her lap, wrapping my hands around her waist and holding her close.

  “I can’t do this, Dawson. I can’t. It’s too dangerous. There’s too much to lose.”

  She’s mad. She’s upset. I get it.

  “Angel--”

  She interrupts me. “I’m serious. I’m leaving. I’m taking Sasha and I’m leaving even if it means that I have to walk back to that shithole of an apartment.”

  This isn’t the time for this. She’s so pissed right now that there’s no way she’s gonna change her stance. She needs time.

  “Listen, Angel. What happened last night will never happen again, I swear. You’ll see. But, there’s shit going on right now. Shit I can’t tell you about. You’ve gotta trust me. You and Sasha need to stay here where I can protect you, where I can keep you safe. It’ll be over soon, I swear.”

  She snaps her hand away. “You take care of this shit, Dawson. Whatever it is, you finish it. Then I’m gone. I’m not cut out for this. I’m not strong enough.”

  Her words crush me. How could she think she’s not strong enough? She’s the strongest fucking woman I’ve ever met.