by J. L. Leslie
And just as fast as he came in, he leaves.
Chapter Eleven
Lucien
One of our supply warehouses is located a half-hour outside of the suburbs where Harper lives. It’s empty and has been since Ford fucked us over. Hopefully, once I get those trucks to Mr. Wakeford, we’ll start making deliveries for him and our good name will be restored. Maybe then we’ll have use for the building again.
“This better be good,” I tell Wiggie when I walk into the warehouse. “I was fucking busy.”
He motions for me to follow him. Reid is working over a man they have hanging from a chain. His wrists are bound with duct tape. His mouth is gagged with a bloody towel.
“We found this Sicario snooping around our warehouse. Said he was sent to find out what the Revenant was holding,” Wiggie explains.
“He was alone?” I ask him.
“There was another one, but he got away. We found this one still inside.”
It pisses me off that they let one of them escape. We’re trying to show L.A. who is in charge, and we can’t do that if we are letting people in and out of our empty fucking warehouse.
Reid stops hitting the man as I approach them. I can see the fear in the man’s eyes when he realizes who I am. I won’t lie, it makes me feel good to know he fears me. He should. My face will be the last one he sees.
“I hear your friend escaped,” I tell him. “You won’t get that luxury.”
He starts to scream against his gag, kicking and writhing as best as he can while dangling in the air. I take the switchblade from my back pocket and open the knife. I start at the hem of his shirt and slice upwards, cutting the fabric from his bloodied body. I leave his cut in place, giving him the honor of dying with his club name on his body.
“I know you Sicarios believe in honor,” I say, and he’s still screaming. “Well, us Sinners do as well. You know that I can’t allow you to walk out of here after you disrespected our property. It wouldn’t be honorable.”
I start carving into his skin, and he howls, his yells muffled. I know I’m slicing deep because his blood pours over my blade and down the denim of his jeans. I talk to him as I mutilate his flesh.
“So, I will do the honorable thing by my members. As their president, I have to show them that I will not allow our club, our property, to be disrespected. You understand that, right, Sicario?” I ask him, but he doesn’t answer me. “Your death will send a message to your club. Don’t fuck with the Revenant. Don’t fuck with the Sinners.”
I step back and take a look at my handiwork. Our club name is carved into his abdomen. Blood streams down his abdomen and onto his thighs. He’s barely breathing, but I remedy that with a quick slice across his throat. No need in prolonging his death any longer.
I wipe my blade clean on my pants’ leg then put it back into my pocket. Reid and Wiggie are both standing beside me.
“Nice work,” Wiggie says.
“I could’ve made it prettier,” Reid comments with a half-grin.
“Get him down, and then I want his body strung up in their territory. What’s that place they like to eat? Mario’s or something like that. That pizza joint. I’m pretty sure they claimed that spot. Put him there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you’re finished, meet me downtown. We have a couple of trucks to get out of impound.”
Both of them nod and start lowering the body down. Reid is still commenting on how his artwork would’ve been better looking.
I know that what I did and what I’ve ordered them to do is ruthless and inhumane. I do know that. But the sinner inside me tells me it’s what I have to do. I can’t show any weakness, or I’ll be eaten alive. I refuse to allow that to happen. I have a reputation to live up to.
Harper
I check on Layla once more before I get ready to leave for work. Mackenzie is settled on my sofa with my remote control in her hand and a bowl of popcorn in her lap.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell her, and she shovels a handful of popcorn into her mouth.
“Tell Lucien I said hello,” she says between chews. “I’m pretty sure I heard him pull up outside. Just remember the plan. Fuck him and then kill him.”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head as I walk outside. Sure enough, there he is. How awful is it that my mouth is watering? Why is it sometimes so easy for me to forget who he is? What he’s done?
He holds the helmet out for me, and I take it. I start to get on his bike, and he clears his throat. I stop and look at him.
“Are you fucking forgetting something, Harper?” he asks, grabbing my hand and pulling me over to him with a grin on his handsome face.
His lips connect with mine, searing me with a scorching kiss before releasing me and motioning for me to get on the bike. I’m breathless as I climb on, and a little stunned that this is becoming a routine so quickly.
I tell myself that I’m not confusing things between us. I have a plan, and if he trusts me, even cares for me, then it’ll be easier for me to carry out that plan. I can spend time with him, get him to fall for me, and then I’ll fucking destroy him. I won’t catch feelings for Lucien McNamara. I won’t fall for the man who killed Gavin, no matter how much he denies it. I just won’t.
When we stop at the diner, I get off his bike. Again, he tells me he’ll be back when my shift ends. Again, I wonder if he’s telling me the truth and I tell myself not to expect him to be here later.
I say hello to Donnie and tie on my apron when I get inside. I see that Molly is not here yet and I swear, I wish that Donnie would go ahead and fire her, but I’m pretty sure she’s fucking him. I have no doubt in my mind that he would fire me before he would fire her.
I bust my ass working all of my tables and the tables that would be hers when she strolls in over an hour later. She actually apologizes for being late and sounds sincere.
“There was police everywhere! Traffic was a bitch!” she complains. “Some guy was hanging outside that pizza place that has the homemade milkshakes.”
“I’m sorry, what do you mean someone was hanging outside?” I ask her, and she walks over to the old television we have in the corner.
Molly turns it on as she talks. “He was hanging from the building. I mean, literally. It was gross! He was all cut up!”
She slaps the side of the television a couple of times and the screen clears up. A news crew is there, and several officers and emergency personnel are on the scene. I can’t hear everything the reporter is saying, but I can see the headline.
Local biker’s mutilated body found outside Mario’s Pizza.
I instantly know that the Sinners did this. It’s their style, their M.O. They’ve done this before. I’ve seen it firsthand.
I wonder if Lucien gave the order. If he was the one who orchestrated it. Hell, did he kill him? Was he the one who took this man’s last breath? Mutilated him?
I have to remember who it is that I’m dealing with. Who he is.
He’s a killer.
Chapter Twelve
Lucien
I ride through our territory, checking in with Wiggie, Soco, Reid, Hatcher, Warren, and Ian. They’re all on patrol tonight, and I want to make sure there’s no retaliation for the dead Sicario we hung at the pizza place. I have no doubt that there will be, but they probably won’t strike back just yet.
They will honor their dead by informing his family. They’ll mourn him and do what they can to prove to his family that his death won’t go unpunished. We’ll be ready for them when they attack. We just won’t know when they will do it. The Sicarios are good at being patient. They can wait months before they attack, or they can attack immediately. We honestly don’t know what they’ll do. The last time I recall attacking one of theirs, we didn’t hear anything out of them for eight months.
Wiggie and Reid delivered the trucks to Mr. Wakeford. I was happy when he called to tell me we can do business. I meet with him in an hour to discuss the terms. I’m being optimistic t
hat we can come to an agreement and start working together.
“Harco found out who the chick at the DEA office was,” Warren says, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Her name is Mackenzie Salizar. She’s worked there for five years, started right out of college. I don’t think she’s our Jiminez connection though, not like I thought. She’s only a receptionist. No one linking her to the cartel that we can find.”
“Could be fucking an agent though,” I suggest. “Then passing the intel on that way.”
“She doesn’t seem like that type, too much attitude, but we’ll keep digging.”
“I’m heading to meet with Wakeford. Get us some product going.”
He gives me a nod and starts in on his cigarette again. I’m glad that’s a habit I never picked up. Being in the Sinners, I’ve dabbled in my share of everything from cigarettes to cocaine, but I’ve never picked up a habit I couldn’t quit.
The only thing that seems to be a crutch for me is women. It started with Spencer. I saw her, and I knew there was something inside her, more than just a club whore, and I had to have her. I hate to fucking admit that I see the same thing in Harper. She’s tough as nails, yet fragile at the same time.
I want her to let her guard down. Relax around me. Let me show her I’ll protect her. Then again, it could be me that she feels she needs protecting from. I wouldn’t blame her for that, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting her. From convincing myself that I will have her.
I tell the guys to watch their backs and then head to Wakeford & Sons with thoughts of Harper still on my mind. When I walk into Mr. Wakeford’s office though, I’m all business.
“Mr. McNamara, welcome,” he greets me. “You came through on your end of the deal. So, let’s talk business.”
I don’t mention how simple it was as I sit down across from him and get right to it. “I need at least two trucks per month to begin with. I would like to increase that amount once we see how our buyers like your product. Warren tells me your product is seventy percent pure?”
“That’s correct,” he assures me. “Mr. McNamara, each of my delivery trucks holds ten bricks. That’s so that we don’t come under suspicion. Each brick fits nicely inside the carpet rolls and no one thinks to check them when we’ve come under inspection. Two trucks per month would be a total of twenty bricks. You’re looking at approximately five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of product, Mr. McNamara. I require cash in advance for my product.”
There’s no way the club has five hundred thousand fucking dollars to pay for product. He knows that, but I don’t want less than two trucks so we can make good on the deliveries to our buyers.
“I would like to get the first truck on credit and then once the product is sold, we will pay for the next truck.”
“No. I don’t do credit.”
I clench my jaw. Dickhead. I knew the answer before I asked though. I wouldn’t do credit for some asshole I didn’t know either. It’s bad business.
But, fuck me, I need this product. My club will not stay afloat without it. I’ll get the buyers if I get the product.
“Two trucks. I’ll have you the cash at the end of the month. Possibly sooner. You have my word.”
He extends his hand and I shake it. When I leave, I make a call to someone I never thought I would call. I told him when he was released that he would never hear from me.
He answers on the fourth ring and his sadistic laugh is a reminder that he told me I would eventually call.
“You got any jobs?”
Harper
I don’t know if I hate it more when we’re busy or when we’re slow as hell like we are right now. At least when we’re busy, I get tips. This shit sucks right now. There is no one in here, and Molly thinks I want to listen to her tell me about the date she had last night. I don’t.
My apron lies on the table by the door, with a total of ten dollars and twenty-six cents in it. We’re both in the back, filling ketchup bottles and when the door chimes, I actually perk up, hoping it’s a customer so I can wait on them. Molly beats me to it though, dropping the bottle she’s filling and rushing out.
“Bitch,” I mumble and pick up the bottle she dropped.
“That’s not very nice,” Lucien comments as he walks in, a smirk on his face.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” I tell him, managing not to laugh. I remember what I saw on the news earlier, and I don’t want him to crack jokes at me after he killed someone.
“The ditzy blonde told me I could come back. Said she would, and I quote, keep the door clear if we wanted to bump uglies.”
I put the cap on the ketchup bottle and place it on the shelf, ignoring him and the lewd comment Molly made. Figures she would say something like that.
“Okay, if you don’t want to bump uglies I can just wait out front,” he says. “Give you a ride when your shift ends, and we can bump uglies then.”
“Did you do it?” I ask him, facing him with my arms propped on my hips. I study him, trying to see if I notice any regret for his actions. When I saw him earlier, it was dark outside, and it never crossed my mind to think that he would’ve done something like that before picking me up.
“Do what, Harper?”
He’s actually going to play stupid. He’s actually going to stand there and pretend that he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Hell, he has blood on his pants!
I look down at the stain when I ask him, “Did you kill that man?”
His eyes follow mine, so he knows I see the mark on his jeans. That I know what he did.
“Harper‒”
I swing my fist at him as hard as I can, and fuck, it hurts to hit him. It’s not like hitting that fucking teenager. Pain radiates through my hand and up my arm. I wince, shaking my hand, and he grabs me by my throat. He holds me against the shelf, and for a moment, I think he’s going to hit me, but then I realize he isn’t squeezing my neck. He isn’t trying to hurt me.
His dark-as-sin eyes bore into mine, anger and frustration written all over his face. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and he snakes his tongue out to lick it clean.
“Yes,” he answers and my breath hitches.
Lucien reaches his free hand between us and roughly unbuttons my pants. His eyes remain on mine as though daring me to stop him as he unzips them and shoves them, along with my panties, down past my knees.
He gives me a harsh kiss, and I taste the coppery taste of his blood on my lips. He releases me and then turns me around, roughly pushing me against the shelf, and pulling my ass out against him.
My heart is pounding in my chest and I can barely breathe. I want to tell him to stop, and my head is screaming for me to say something, but I can’t. It’s not that I’m afraid to, because I’m not afraid of him. It’s because my body doesn’t want him to stop.
I hear him moving behind me and then feel his fingers spread my pussy apart. I start to say his name, but then his mouth is on me. He’s licking and tasting me, fucking devouring me. His hands are on my ass, his thumbs keeping me spread apart while he eats me.
I grip the shelf until I’m white-knuckling it. He slides a finger inside me, and my knees start going weak. He pushes a second finger inside, mumbling that I’m so tight, and my nipples harden into peaks against my shirt. Yeah, no bra again. I hate them.
He’s growling as he eats me, making these low sounds in the back of his throat. I know I’m moaning and I’m pretty sure I just said his name. My knees are bending, but he’s holding me up with his free hand.
I’m so close, so fucking close and this time, I know I cry out his name as I come. I sag against the shelf, and I feel a sharp smack to my ass when Lucien stands up. He spanked me!
He leans in close and kisses my cheek, the scent of me on his lips. I blush, embarrassed and he runs his nose over my cheek.
“Don’t ever fucking hit me again, Harper.”
Chapter Thirteen
Lucien
I sit alone in a booth, waiting for Harp
er to finish work. She hasn’t spoken to me since I ate her pussy in that supply room. She hasn’t even looked at me. I know I was too rough with her. That I shouldn’t have treated her like that. But, fuck, she punched me!
She has no right to question what I do for my club! No right to act as though she has any fucking say in my decisions! I shouldn’t even be telling her club business!
But there was a part of me that felt guilty for doing what I did. That look on her face. That was disappointment. I could see it, and I wanted to erase it somehow. I can’t have her being disappointed in me.
“Move your arm,” she demands, running the wet dish towel over the edge of the table.
I see she’s still pissed at me. Her lips are pursed, and her cheeks have this deep shade of red to them. Either it’s from anger or still lingering from that orgasm I gave her a little while ago.
“Say please,” I tell her, keeping my arm propped up and in her way.
She huffs, wiping around it and then she finally gives in. “Please.”
I casually move it, dropping it down to my lap. It’s pretty childish, I know, but she needs to know that she is not the fucking boss in this situation. I don’t take orders from her or anyone.
I watch her as she wipes the other tables clean while her lazy co-worker flirts with the cook and watches television. News of the Sicario I cut up is still being reported. No leads, of course, and there won’t be. They would never rat us out. It’s not their style. They’ll come after us without involving the police.
“See you later, Donnie,” Harper calls out, not saying goodbye to the waitress, and pushes out the front door with her purse slung across her chest.
I follow behind her, annoyed that she didn’t say anything to me and actually thinks she’s walking home. Sure enough, she walks right past my bike, hell-bent and determined to prove her point. I climb on, starting the engine.
