CHOPPER: Southside Skulls Motorcycle Club (Southside Skulls MC Romance Book 11)

by Jessie Cooke

  “It’s a little crude because of the materials, but that’s him.”

  Dax looked at the picture and then passed it around. None of the guys seemed to recognize him, but Chelsea was learning quickly that they were all really good at keeping impassive faces. When the picture got back to Dax he took out his phone and took a photo of the picture and as he was texting, Chelsea leaned close to Chopper and said, “Who is he sending it to?”

  “Our guys out ahead of us,” he said. “It’s unlikely he’s still here so if he didn’t go back, he’s moving forward. He’ll text it to the guys back at the ranch too.”

  “If they find him, what will they do with him?” she asked.

  “That’ll depend on him,” Chopper said. Before Chelsea could ask for clarification of that, the little dark man was back. He didn’t look as amused as he had earlier when he told Dax:

  “Jesus says you’re all welcome in our house of worship.”

  Dax’s face didn’t change again, but Cody snorted and rolled his eyes. The little man, still holding his gun, looked up at the sergeant of arms and they glared at each other as Dax and the rest of them got up from the table. Again, Dax led the pack, and they all filed into a smaller room where a heavy-set Mexican man sat at the head of the table. He was clean-cut with short black hair, nicely styled, and no visible tattoos on his neck or the parts of his arms and hands that were showing. The man next to him was younger, also clean-cut, but with a tattoo of a black demon, or maybe it was the Grim Reaper, on his neck, and black and green tattoos all over his arms that looked either years old, or like they’d been done in prison.

  The table was round and there was an outline of the demon they wore as a logo on their kuttes, painted in the center of it. The man at the head of the table, who Chelsea assumed was “Jesus,” sat with his hands folded and to Dax he said, “Welcome to our house of worship. Please, all of you, have a seat.”

  Dax gave a slight nod to the others, and they all sat down this time, even Cody. There were two other guys in the room. One stood in one corner and the other directly parallel to him. They both stared straight ahead, as stone-faced as soldiers, and their guns were visibly tucked into the front of their jeans just underneath their kuttes. Cody’s eyes were on them as Dax said:

  “I’m sorry to just pop in on you like this, Jesus. It’s been a long time.”

  Jesus narrowed his eyes slightly but otherwise there was no change in his expression when he said, “Not long enough. The last time we saw each other, you were still a pup and your father had me beat down. I have to ask myself how a man could be so arrogant as to expect a welcome into my home after all of that.”

  “It’s a legitimate question,” Dax said. “I’m not my father.”

  Jesus waited a few beats and when Dax didn’t say anything else he chuckled and said, “That’s it?”

  Dax shrugged and said, “Should be all you need to know. I’m not Doc, therefore you and I don’t really have anything between us.”

  The big Hispanic man shook his head but smiled slightly like he wasn’t sure whether he should be pissed or impressed. Finally, he said, “What is it that you want from me, Dax Marshall?”

  Dax took out the picture that Chelsea had drawn and handed it across the table. Jesus took it and Dax said, “You know this guy?”

  Jesus stared at it for several seconds and then said, “And if I do?”

  “He stole one of our custom choppers.”

  “You chased him all the way to New York?”

  “No. He stole it here, last night. But before that, he was seen stalking a member of my club.” Chelsea tried to keep her face impassive. Dax was obviously trying to keep her out of it. “I want the chopper back and I want to know what it is he wants from my club.”

  Jesus handed the picture to the man next to him. His brown eyes were more expressive, and he looked to Chelsea like he knew who the man was. He handed it back to his president and gave a slight nod. Jesus then said, “His name is Manuel Guzman. He’s a half-breed. He’s also an assassin.”

  “An assassin? Who does he work for?”

  “Whoever has the most money,” Jesus said.

  “He’s not very good at his job. He’s been following them for two days and the only attempt he made fell way short.”

  “Oh, he’s good. He’s the best, actually. People who hire Manuel don’t want your typical hit. They want the hit to look like the person died in a terrible accident, or of natural causes. It might take him a month to find just the right time and place, but he will, and once he’s finished no one will ever be able to pin the death on him, or whoever hired him.”

  Dax kept his eyes on Jesus, but Chelsea felt a few of the other guys’ eyes on her. They were wondering who she was all of a sudden. Who she had pissed off that was rich or powerful enough to put a hit on her. She looked at Chopper. He was looking at her as well. His opinion was the only one that mattered to her. She leaned in so her mouth was right over his ear and she whispered, “I really have no idea.”

  He reached down under the table and squeezed her thigh. His eyes were back on his president, but the almost imperceptible nod he gave was for her, and just knowing that he still trusted her meant more than it probably should.

  11

  The prospect driving the van kept his eyes on the road. Chopper didn’t know him well. His name was Tony and they called him Tigger, but that was really all he knew about the kid. He did appreciate that he wasn’t chatty, and he didn’t seem to be paying attention to the conversation that Chopper was having with Chelsea in the far back seat.

  “I don’t like the idea of you being alone,” he was saying. “Can you stay with your parents, or do you have a friend you can stay with? I have to go back. If I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t leave you…” Chelsea brought her fingers up and pressed them to his lips, cutting off his rambling.

  “It’s really okay,” she said. She didn’t seem upset at all to find out an assassin was after her. Chopper should have seen that as a warning sign, the way Cody seemed to. But his trust in her was already deep and unshakable. Is that just good pussy? He didn’t think so. He’d been blessed with good instincts about people, and he knew in his heart that she was a good person and she was being as honest with him as she could be. His instincts had yet to let him down. “I can stay with my parents, but I have to ask you a favor.”

  “Sure, anything.”

  “You can’t take me there, to their ranch, and you can’t visit me there. If you come back and want to see me, we’ll have to meet somewhere else.”

  He wasn’t as insulted or surprised by that as he probably should have been. Chopper had grown up trying to date girls that had to either lie to their parents or stop seeing him once the parents found out where he came from. No matter how much good Dax did in the community, they were still bikers, still listed as a gang with the local police department, and still looked at with suspicion by their own neighbors. That wasn’t Chelsea’s fault and he could understand why she wouldn’t want to explain him to her parents yet. But three days into knowing her, he already knew that someday he would convince her that she wanted to be with him badly enough. No one’s opinion would matter.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “It’s nothing against you,” she said. “It’s about me. Since I quit drinking and using drugs, I’ve been doing nothing but working toward getting some kind of normal life back. For the first time in years, my parents are proud of me and they have begun to believe in me.”

  “You don’t have to explain. As long as you’re safe. But I’d like to see you when I get back. I know we’ve only known each other for a few days, but it’s been…well…I don’t even know how to explain it.”

  She smiled. “You don’t have to. I get it. I feel it too. But Chopper, there are some things…”

  “We’re here, boss,” the kid driving the van said, interrupting her.

  “Alright,” he told the prospect. Looking back at Chelsea he said, “I’m sorry, what were you sayin
g?”

  “Let’s talk about it inside, okay?” They had stopped here by her apartment to get her things and her car, but Chopper was going to stay with her as long as he could. He even planned on their following her until she was safely on her parents’ ranch.

  “Sure,” he said. “Tigger, I’ll be back in a few.”

  Tigger nodded, and Chopper got out and helped Chelsea out behind him. He was devastated about his bike. But he realized as he looked at her beautiful face that if not for her, he might well be broken over it. He knew she blamed herself, but he didn’t blame her. He blamed whoever the scum was behind all of this, and he felt a murderous rage when he thought about that. Chelsea dug the keys to her place out of her pocket and he followed her through the courtyard of the building. They passed a pool that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years and there were weeds growing up through the sidewalk. He didn’t like the idea of her living here and it made him want to take her away even more than he already did. She’d love it out on the road with him, he was sure, and the way she carried herself in the Demonios clubhouse was indicative to him of how well she’d handle the lifestyle.

  He was thinking about that as he followed her up the staircase. She was almost to the door when he realized there was something off about it. It didn’t look like it was flush against the doorframe. Reaching back and sliding his gun out of his waistband he grabbed her shoulder with his other hand and said, “Chelsea, wait!” She stopped, and he pushed her gently behind him as he approached the door. It was definitely hanging off its hinges. The son of a bitch had been in her apartment, or he was still there. Chopper motioned at her to stay where she was, and he pushed the door open with his foot.

  He stood there for a few seconds, scanning the room. The blinds were shut, so it was dark, and he let his eyes adjust before moving forward. He could see right away that someone had either been looking for something, or they were just angry with her and wanted to show her how much. The couch had been tipped over on its back and all the pictures knocked down or ripped off the wall. They lay in a heap in the floor and looked like they’d been stepped on. The apartment was a studio, and her little daybed was up against the wall next to the window. The covers had been pulled off it and a slit was cut down the center of the mattress. He looked over toward the kitchenette. Her tiny little bistro table was on its side and a vase that must have sat on top of it was shattered next to it. The only room he couldn’t see was the bathroom, and as he moved to the only other door he could see, he heard Chelsea gasp behind him. He turned around and saw that she’d stepped inside.

  “Don’t come in here. Don’t touch anything, okay? Stay right there.” She looked as devastated as he was about his chopper when her eyes fell on the pictures crumpled and ruined on the floor. He could see that some of them were charcoal drawings, and he wondered if she’d done all of them herself. That was the worst thing about his chopper…he’d practically built it from the ground up. She’d created those drawings. It was like a piece of yourself being ripped out or stolen. The rage inside him burned hot as he moved across the room with his gun in front of him. He stood to the side of the door and kept one eye on Chelsea as he pushed it open. It was small, and he could see right away that no one was there. The shower curtain had been ripped down and the make-up all over the floor had been stepped on. “Fucker,” he muttered as he turned back to her. She had tears in her eyes and he wanted to kill someone.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Who would want to do this to me?”

  Chopper went over to her and took her in his arms. He gave her a few seconds and then said, “I know you don’t remember who this guy is, but can you think of anything that anyone would want from you? Like something they might be looking for?”

  She snorted. “Look around you,” she said. “This shit is all I own. I didn’t have anything valuable here and the only thing in my life worth more than a hundred dollars is my car, and my parents bought that.”

  “Fuck!” He let her go and said, “Where is your car?”

  “In its spot downstairs, I think. I hope.” Chopper grabbed her hand and practically pulled her along behind him as he flew down the stairs. When they got to the bottom he let her lead to the parking area. She stopped in front of a little red Honda that looked untouched and said, “It’s here, it’s fine.” She reached for the handle and he said:

  “No!” She looked startled, but she didn’t pull it open.

  “What?”

  “Just step away. Stand over there by the building for a second.”

  “Why?”

  “Chelsea, please, just do it.” She looked confused, but she did as he asked. Saying as much of a prayer as he could manage with his lack of religious experience, he closed his eyes and reached for the handle. The door was unlocked, and he gritted his teeth as he pulled it open waiting for the explosion that thankfully didn’t come. He let out the breath he was holding and climbed inside. The interior was small and clean, and it didn’t look touched. He got out and said, “You have the keys?” to Chelsea. She tossed him the keys and he walked around to the trunk. She started to come toward him, and he held his palm up in her direction. She made a face at him but stayed put.

  Once again, he braced himself for possible death or dismemberment as he slid the key in the trunk and popped it open. There was nothing inside except for a spare tire and some empty grocery bags. He left the trunk open and walked back over to open the door and reach in to pop the hood. Safely in one piece still, he went around front, lifted the hood, and looked inside. He’d only seen a bomb once. It had been rigged in a car of one of their allies and he’d gone with Gunner to disarm it. He looked at Chelsea’s engine now and didn’t see anything like that. It did make sense if her death was supposed to look like an accident…shit! Dropping down to the pavement he wiggled his big body under the small space beneath the car until he could see the brake lines. Those were intact, but the smell of gas was overwhelming. He moved around to where the gas tank was and a small puddle underneath it. There was a barely visible pinhole in the tank that the gasoline was slowly dripping out of. It probably wouldn’t do much more than make her have to fill up more often, unless she met up somewhere with a spark, but maybe that’s why the guy was so pissed. He’d set this all up, and probably had the spark waiting as well, but Chelsea had only come home long enough to grab a little bag and then she’d taken off with Chopper. And the motherfucker had followed them.

  He pulled himself out from underneath the car and Chelsea was standing next to his legs. He shook his head at her and she held out an arm to help him up. “I told you to stay back.”

  “I don’t follow directions well,” she said. “You smell like gas. What did you find under there?”

  “There’s a hole in your gas tank.”

  “Damn it! Who is this man?” Chopper wished he knew.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’re going to drive you to your parents’ place and I’m going to have a couple of the club’s enforcers keep an eye on all of you.”

  “But…”

  “I’m sorry, Chelsea. I don’t care if your parents like me or not. This is about your life.” She didn’t say anything else, but he could tell she wasn’t happy. Once they were back in the van, she gave the prospect the address. Tigger put it in his GPS and they were on their way. Chelsea sat quietly for a long time, but then she said:

  “Chopper.”

  “Yeah?”

  “My ex let other men fuck me for money.” She said it flatly with no emotion and no expression. Chopper suddenly wished he had been more prepared for that because he was sure his expression said it all.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I was a pill-head. I was an alcoholic. He used sex to control me. I was in so deep and he was my supplier. He threatened to cut me off if I didn’t do what he told me to. He fed me pills before they got there and most of what I did…most of what they did to me, I don’t remember.” She looked sick now and Chopper felt sick. The idea of othe
r men touching her that way…forcing themselves on her…it made him sick and enraged.

  “You think all of this has something to do with that?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just grasping. But that was something you needed to know about me anyways…if you still want to…I mean, if you still…”

  “If I still want you? Jesus, Chelsea, of course I do, but now there’s someone else I want to kill, maybe even more than one. Where is this ex of yours now?”

  “He’s in prison.”

  Well, at least that probably saved Chopper from prison. If he’d been able to get his hands on the guy…

  “What’s he doing time for?”

  “The fates were looking out for me the day I decided to get sober. He dropped me off at an abortion clinic.” Tears started rolling down her face and Chopper had to clench his fists by his sides. He couldn’t remember ever wanting to kill anyone so badly, not even the guy that was stalking her. He dropped her off? What the fuck kind of monster is this guy? He struggled hard to keep that all inside as she went on.

  “There was a really kind doctor working that day and while he was talking to me about what my options were and answering my questions about getting clean, Wayne was getting pulled over for a minor traffic violation. Instead of stopping and being cooperative, he panicked and tried to run. That gave the cop probable cause to search the car. They found a 9mm, packages of ecstasy and opiates with a street value of a few grand, and over five thousand dollars in cash. He was charged with possession and intent and that got him two years. But what really screwed him was the gun. It was used in a robbery that injured a homeowner a few years before. Wayne denied any involvement in the robbery, but he had the gun and the homeowner identified him. He got ten years for that. I don’t know if he was there or not, but I believe he’s right where he needs to be.”