True Grit (The Nighthawks MC Book 7)

by Bella Knight

  She put the bowls of ice cream on the tray tables. "I smell mint," he said.

  "You hate mint," she said.

  "You stink up the place with your mint." He forgot his pique as he dug into the peanut butter chunk ice cream. "Mmm."

  She ate her mint chocolate ice cream in peace, until he remembered to watch the television. Then, he began shouting at the screen.

  "Pipe down," she said. "Or I'll put you back in the hospital."

  "What the fuck?" he said, screaming at the screen. "The ref should have called that." Wraith sighed and ate her ice cream; she tried to ignore the rants.

  Sex with a wounded man was hard. It was impossible with a swearing man who sweated his pain and discomfort into the sheets. She wiped him all over with a cool cloth, checked his wound, and slid into bed with him, resting her hand on his unwounded side.

  "I'm sorry, baby," he said. "You are the best fucking woman, and I..."

  "I told you it was too soon after getting shot in the fucking chest. Do you ever fucking listen?" She kissed his shoulder to take the sting out of her words.

  "It's just that," he said, stroking her hair, and running his fingers down her braids. "It's just that... that Tiger bastard..."

  "I've told you about six times," she said. "I'm running fake deliveries, doing fake heists, and I've seen him, from across the room. Slapped one of his silly bitches sideways when she tried to get in my way, and threatened to cut one up who got too close. But never said a word to me, or I to him. I made it clear I don't share, and I'm better than all of his little whores. He's deciding if he wants to go to the trouble to pretend I'm the only one, right before he slits my throat."

  "Or has it done," said Saber.

  "Gotta know, puts a lot more charges on his head. Right now, he can hide behind 'I didn't know.' Gotta eradicate that possibility."

  "You're the one he can't have," Saber said.

  "And you can. And the minute his hands are around my throat, his balls get removed," she said. "Got an itty-bitty knife I keep hidden in my hair now."

  "Wind in a garrote," he said.

  "Would look bad on my resume," said Wraith. "Can't go strangling all the suspects to death. Shooting them, fine. A knife, whatever. But a garrote looks too..."

  "Up close and personal," said Saber. "I get it. You been training with Skuld?"

  She held out her right wrist, showing a purpling bruise on one arm. "My hip is worse," she said. "Bad throw. I didn't twist correctly. Got jammed up."

  "How many attackers?" he asked.

  "Three," she asked.

  "You're slipping," he said. "I know you can take four. Easily."

  She gently punched his shoulder. "Been kind of missing sleep. The case, the hospital, planning every move I make with El Tigre, and recording every little step. Can't let anything go that we can prosecute for. He and his entire team are going down."

  "Sleep, baby," he said. "You do everything so well. You got McCann to do real time. You shook him down in a fucking psychiatric hospital. You'll do great."

  "Fuck," said Wraith. "Too wound up and exhausted at the same time to sleep."

  He sang a Thai lullaby. She closed her eyes and felt his fingers against her cheek. She slept the sleep of the dead. Happy to be with her man.

  Finally, the big day arrived. Several agencies were involved. Wraith knew this because of the female bartender. A Latina with a full head of hair and a scar across her face. She had said, "On your shield" in Norse when she delivered a drink to Wraith. She found out the woman was Agent Casey Valencia, ATF from Los Angeles.

  One of the women kept getting in her face, and Wraith slapped her twice. As she did it, the woman cursed in gutter Spanish, then one in Norse under her breath. This woman (in a silver bikini with the hootchie-mama makeup) was Special Agent Diana Alvarez, dirty FBI from Chicago. Her sisters were near, and Wraith needed to wrap things up.

  Fernando, El Tigre's second, let her approach. They were at the indoor pool, which looked exactly like the outdoor one. The ceiling was high and painted blue. Girls floated in the pool on rubber rafts, and drank drinks at the swim-up bar. El Tigre was, for once, without seven women at his side. Usually it was three on one side, four on another. She sat, and poured a mojito for herself from El Tigre's pitcher into an empty glass that was upside-down on the silver tray. "I heard you had cojones," said El Tigre.

  "I can expand your network, go deeper into this territory. The legal marijuana shit is cutting into sales." She took a sip, gestured with the flat of her hand. "But, you see, I bring you more and more money, guns, and sell your shit for you on the street."

  She deposited two baggies of China white on the table that sported her seal, a little bunny with cute ears and an evil smile printed in pink. Then a black one, in black and blue on the other side.

  "I sell to girls and boys differently. Glam it up for the girls, fast and hard for the boys. Addicts like feeling special."

  El Tigre grinned. "First time for everything, chica. Tell me all about your business, and I can think about how to help you."

  She told him then, dribs and drabs, bits and pieces, using names and places and territories where she'd seeded the baggies. Leticia in Las Vegas, and half of the crew running the drug trade on one side of Las Vegas. He was only too happy to use the bunny baggies and the male/female idea for the drug sales. In truth, it lent credibility to Wraith, and made Leticia happy at the same time.

  "Well," he said, after she'd started slurring her words a very tiny bit, waving her hands a little more slowly. He waited a while.

  She'd doctored her drink with a specially designed "date rape" drug counter-agent. Wraith was actually wide awake, and absolutely certain he'd drugged the drink.

  "Do you want to be my queen? I will give you everything here," he said, waving his arm. "All the drug trade in Las Vegas, a huge city, chica."

  "I already have a lot. Alphabet City will take a little more work, but I got pills they like there."

  "I bet you do," he said. "And they seem to like China white just fine."

  "But," she said, "you gotta keep them alive, you see? Don't hit them with the white at first. Keep them relaxed, happy. Work them into it when you've got them really ready. Then, the white for as long as the ride lasts."

  He tapped her forehead. "You've been thinking," he said. "I knew I was right to make you my queen." He kissed her then, tasting of white rum and mint. "Come, chica, let me make love to you in our bed."

  She smiled up at him, the edge out of her voice. "Sure, Papi. Let's have some fun."

  He led her up the spiral staircase to the hallway overlooking the pool. He opened a door, and they entered into a lavish suite. She smiled at the gold-veined marble, the huge four-poster bed with white curtains on each post, the long makeup counter with the mirror. She strode toward it and opened a drawer. Makeup spilled out. She bent over, picked it up, put it back. She smiled lovingly at the debris from dead women, and closed the drawer. The one beside it held bracelets, from gold bangles to more white-gold types. She noticed a sparkling, sapphire, tennis bracelet. She recognized the tennis bracelet; a gift from a cartel don to his beloved daughter. Both were now dead. She had her proof. She selected a gold bangle, and put it on.

  "Nice," he said, coming up behind her. He kissed her neck.

  "Too fast, Papi," Wraith said. "We can take our time. I'm your queen, remember?" She picked up a perfume bottle from a glass shelf; it was five hundred an ounce. She put a tiny amount on one wrist and held it up for him to sniff. She put the atomizer back as he kissed his way up her arm.

  It was when she had her back turned to the mirror, slowly swinging around to the bed, when he began to choke her out. "I like it rough," he said, whispering in her ear.

  Rather than the giggle, groan, or gasp as he expected, she kneed him in the balls, then punched him twice in the gut; hard, as she stomped on each foot. She was still wearing her boots with the low heels. They looked sexy, but they packed a punch. Wraith kneed him in the fac
e, heard the satisfying sound of his nose break. She punched him in the throat so he couldn't give her away by calling for help.

  She reached into a hidden pocket in her skintight blue dress, and brought out her cuffs. She kneed him in the stomach, then got him in a wrist lock and slid them on. She screamed; a high-pitched one, that made it sound as if his groans, gasps, and grunts were sexual. She screamed again as she got the other wrist and pulled the cuffs tight. She then sent a very specific coded text; the go signal. She rolled El Tigre up in a carpet, and secured him with duct tape she found in the nightstand on his side of the bed. It was the one with the golden cell phone. Wraith took her gun out of her right boot, and her knife out of her left. The shooting started, and she went to take out as many as she could.

  Wraith took out Fernando just outside the room, giving him a loving head tap with the base of her knife. She put on cuffs, then shot three in quick succession as they tried to rush the stairs to her boss, screaming "DEA!" as she did. She shot both the women who were trying to throw the drugs in the pool; they were his enforcers and had killed for him in the past. Los Angeles got the several at the bar, and Chicago took out two poolside, and one trying to shoot Wraith. Wraith got to him, but not before he shot low.

  Wraith ran down half the stairs and vaulted down the last half. She landed softly, her boots protecting her ankles. They had hidden cushioning for just such an eventuality. She ran to Chicago, and found her clutching her guts, trying to keep the blood inside. Los Angeles vaulted the bar, hit an asshole with a barstool, and ran over, leaping past screaming, crying, and stumbling women. Los Angeles threw Wraith a chair cushion, and Wraith smashed it into Chicago's stomach.

  "With your shield, or on it," said Chicago.

  "Don't leave us, sister," said Wraith, punching in the Officer Needs Assistance three-digit code into her text box. She sent it.

  She put the phone back into its hidden pocket, as ATF in black got through the perimeter to the pool. Both women identified themselves, screaming for an ambulance.

  Chicago smiled up at them. "Hermanas," she said, and her eyes stared off into nothingness. The DEA and FBI were all over the room, spreading out, as Wraith put her fingers on her sister's neck, and found her dead. She blew into her mouth as Los Angeles did chest compressions, but the EMTs rushed into the room, then called it.

  The entire room full of law enforcement officers and the two EMTs were at first startled, then terrified, by the ululating cries the two Valkyries who shouted out at hearing about her death.

  Wraith touched her sister's face, and said, "On your shield."

  She stood, and Los Angeles went over to Wraith, and grabbed her by the back of her neck. They touched foreheads, straightened, and turned to deal with business.

  "El Tigre is up there, wrapped in a carpet," said Wraith. "Lots of evidence that he tends to kill his girlfriends." She grabbed an evidence bag from a passing DEA agent, and put the gold cuff in it. "This will belong to one of the dead girls," she said.

  "What the fuck was that all about?" asked an FBI agent.

  Los Angeles walked up to him, and patted his face. "Sisterhood," she said, "you wouldn't understand."

  Downhill

  Chayton brought David a cup of coffee. Inola was walking their newest pony, after having trained and sold three. He was a sweet little gray with white socks, eager to please. Chayton felt his stomach clench in anger when he looked at the pony's ribs.

  “He should be fat and healthy with a shaggy winter coat, not gaunt and lean.”

  "Thank you," said David. "I will sing for this pony, I think," he said.

  "Your medicine is not just for people," said Chayton.

  David laughed. "No, of course not. The Great Spirit made all, and we must guard and love all."

  "It also helps if you bring little Dancer a carrot, or sugar cubes."

  David laughed again. "Always with the practical, Chayton. It's one of the things I like most about you."

  "I wish to marry Nantan legally, and adopt the boys," he said.

  "You do not wish to live among the Apache?" he said. "Or near your brother?"

  Chayton thought for a while. "This is my home," he said simply.

  David nodded. "Then do not wait." He sighed, sipped his coffee.

  Both men stood in the biting wind, watching Inola work with the horse, walking him very slowly, stopping to scratch his nose or feed him.

  "I waited. I was so stupid that a child could outthink me."

  "Why?" asked Chayton.

  "Henry's father died young, very young. Henry took over the farm and made it run beautifully. Horses that are dead now, long gone, but their stout bloodlines are all over this valley." He moved his hand to show how far. "Training, boarding. A small but profitable operation. The problem with all farms is..."

  "The chores that never stop," said Chayton.

  "I knew I would be a medicine man when I began having vivid dreams. I was only seven years old. I decided not to be like the men who became; what is the terrible term they use now?"

  "Apples," said Chayton. "Red on the outside, white on the inside."

  David groaned. "Such a mean-spirited term. We are surrounded, and must make our way in a world that sees us as the lessor." He smiled grimly. "And such was the perception in the white world toward gay men, as well." He sipped more coffee. "Anyway, I decided to become more Paiute than any before me. I learned at the feet of the elders, all the songs and medicines. I learned to ride horses from Henry's father. A big man, a stout heart, like Henry's. I grew older, and not even the white school teachers (who would not let us speak our own language) could stop me from being Paiute. I learned the dances, built the fires and poured the water over the hot rocks at many sweats."

  “Wow,” said Chayton.

  He sighed. "I was so focused then. I took time, much time, as we lost our elders to drink, to accidents, to illnesses, to old age, just like with any elders. But, with each death, we lost our past, our stories, our language, and our culture. All that made us Paiute we lost. So, I decided to carry all they had taught me, to teach all that I could, and to as many as I could, so it would not all be lost."

  "A worthy path," said Chayton. "But, you were both busy."

  "We were both busy," repeated David. They watched Inola gently rub down the pony and lead him back inside, out of the icy wind. "We had the deep winters, little bits of time carved out here and there. Times when Numa, and that jewel Inola as she grew older, did the chores for us for weeks on end. Stolen moments." He sighed. "I was not a whole man without Henry, and I dare to think, he was not a whole man without me. We have both survived, prospered. But at what price?"

  Chayton touched the other man's arm. "You have each other now."

  Tears came to David's eyes. "I have been teaching young men, two of them, for some time. Years. I have been making them strong, ready to take on the work to continue with the medicine way. Other Paiute, Northern and Southern, have sent their boys to learn from me." He smiled. "I have taught daughters of the tribe as well. All the stories need telling, the ones of the women, most of all."

  “I think you are unbelievable,” said Chayton.

  David took a sip of coffee and let out a long sigh. "I waited far too long. When Henry was nearly killed by those terrible men, when he was lost to us." He stopped talking, his voice full of tears. "What did I wait for? Would I put the knowledge of a lifetime into the brains of young men? No, that would take yet another lifetime. And am I not ready to go to them, to listen, to help when and where I can?"

  Chayton touched his arm again. "You are here now."

  "I nearly lost the man I love to make me realize how much of a fool I have been." He put his hand over Chayton's. "Do not be this fool. Did I not see so many die in my time? Accidents, falling off horses, being stuck in the mountains in the summer or winter, illnesses that take someone away in a single moment."

  Chayton put his coffee down and put his other hand over David's. "You are here, now."


  David smiled through his tears. "I am. And I have been far happier than I have ever been." He turned, looked at Chayton. "And, I think you are that happy now. So, go, and tell him what you have told me, and tell him that I will sing, and all will be well. I will sing for a horse, and then for your love."

  "And yours," said Chayton.

  "And mine," said David, through his tears.

  Chayton walked back across the freezing yard. With the sky cloudy, the hills dry and brown, his boots kicking up dust as he walked. He waved to Inola as she brought out another horse; a chestnut mare, to walk her. He bypassed the dorm for the vertical garden. This was the normal time for a rest break and he suspected Nantan would be in there alone. He caught any alone time he could, especially in the winter when they didn't go on long hikes or rides. Working with the Wolfpack and homeschooling the boys, as well as Chayton doing his work on the premises. It gave none of them the alone time they all so desperately needed to be healthy.

  Chayton walked in as Nantan sang an Apache song to the plants as he carefully snipped off some dead leaves. "Love," he said, and embraced Nantan from behind. "I am so sorry for intruding on your alone time, but I must speak with you."

  Nantan slipped the small garden shears into a loop on his tool belt, and turned to face Chayton. "Sounds serious," he said.

  "It is," said Chayton. "I want to adopt the children. I want to be legally married to you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Here, or wherever you are."

  Nantan kissed him. "I have been considering this. We shall get the legal marriage here, and marry, with David and Henry here. Or, we can wait until we are on the ski trip."

  "What ski trip?" asked Chayton.

  "We scored an enormous discount from the Hon-Dah Casino to go there and ski, and we also got a donor willing to pay for the trip, including food and transportation."

  "Who's the donor?" asked Chayton.

  "No idea. That's after the money to raise the roof and build onto the back of the Wolfpack house," said Nantan.