Devil's Marker (Sons of Sanctuary MC, Austin, Texas Book 4)

by Victoria Danann

  “Humph,” she said, turning back to Win’s pancakes. “If you idiots knew anything about women, you wouldn’t be sittin’ around a kitchen table with a bunch of guys and a hired girl servin’ you food.”

  Car Lot looked up at her. “So I guess your situation makes clear what you know about men, then.”

  She gaped at Car Lot, tears springing to her eyes, and rushed from the room, leaving food cooking on a Vulcan ten burner gas range.

  Win quietly got up, walked to the stove, picked up the spatula, turned the pancakes and bacon that were destined for his consumption, then cracked three eggs open into an omelet pan.

  “Say,” Car Lot said, “You look mighty handy there. And you’re every bit as good looking as May.”

  Arnold heard the tail end of that exchange. He gave Red a cool and measured look that stopped his laughter. To Car Lot, he said, “Maybe we should put you in charge of personnel since you seem to be so particular. You want to find a replacement for May?”

  Car Lot looked up at Arnold. “No. But we need somebody who’s not so damn sensitive.”

  “Not so damn sensitive?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “So you want somebody who’ll plan the meals, get up early and cook breakfast, do the cleanup, do laundry, keep the kitchen and bar inventory stocked, direct the cleaning crew, cook dinner, then mind bar until ten? Pretty much seven days a week. And you want that somebody to be good-looking and have a great personality, too.”

  “Bud was all that.”

  “Well, she was one in a million for all I know. And I guarantee you this; if somebody like Bud waltzed in here and took this damn job, some biker would ride in saying, ‘Call me Prince Charmin’, sugar. I’m takin’ you away from this.’ Think back about what happened to the last three women.” Car Lot had to admit that was true. He shoved his plate away like it was offensive. “You need to stop punishin’ May for not bein’ Bud.” Arnold waited for Car Lot to say something. “Do we have an understandin’?”

  Car Lot nodded. “Yeah. I guess.”

  “No, you don’t guess. You’re sure or I’m not leavin’.”

  “Christ, Arnold. I get it. I’ll be a good boy.”

  Win slid his plate of perfectly cooked breakfast onto the table, took a seat and reached for the syrup.

  Arnold nodded at Car Lot then looked at Win. “Brant wants to see you in his office when you’re done.” Win looked quizzical. “No. He’s not usually here on a Sunday morning. Came in special just to see you.”

  Win didn’t know why, but he got a flutter in his stomach. He nodded at Arnold, but started rethinking everything he’d done since he’d arrived at the SSMC. He’d just been feeling good about the way things were turning out.

  That brunette didn’t belong to anybody. He’d checked that out just to be sure. Unless Scrape had been punking him.

  With that news breakfast fell way short of expectation. His appetite was compromised by the uncertainty of not knowing what Brant might make a special trip on a Sunday morning to talk to him about. He more or less wolfed down the food without tasting it. Set the dishes in the sink and headed back to Brant’s clubhouse office. The door was standing open.

  He knocked lightly as a formality. “You wanted to see me.”

  Brant looked up over his glasses. “Come on in here and shut the door behind you.” Win did exactly that. “Have a seat.”

  There was no mistaking the fact that Brant did not look or sound happy. Win sat slowly and waited. “Just gonna get right to it. Here’s the thing. The club owes a marker to a longtime acquaintance of mine who just happens to be in law enforcement. Texas Ranger to be exact.” Win couldn’t imagine where things were headed, but the conversation certainly wasn’t starting out in any way he could have anticipated. “He’s givin’ the club a chance to clear our debt in exchange for a service. Happens to be a service that you could provide should you be of such mind.

  “Upside is that it would fast track you right into full patch. Downside is that it would put you right back in the middle of the kind of risk you wanted to leave behind.”

  Win was too surprised to respond immediately. When he got his thoughts together, he said, “What are we talking about?”

  “Before I lay out the details, I want you to know up front that this is your decision. No one will fault you or hold it against you in any way if you decline.”

  “Okay.” Win sounded cautious and Brant didn't blame him.

  “Marauders up in Waco. I think they’re a sister club to your old bunch.” Win nodded. “Well, somethin’s brewin’. Rival club tryin’ to move in. Stars and Bars.”

  “Jesus.” Win slid down on his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Rangers would be mighty grateful if you decided to throw in with Marauders for a bit.”

  “And spy.”

  Brant nodded. “Wait for a certain event and give a warning signal. You’d have the same kind of immunity cops have. Meanin’, no matter what you do, you’re not guilty and not subject to squat.”

  Win dragged a hand through his hair and leaned his elbows on his knees. As if he couldn't get comfortable, he abruptly sat up straight. With his right thigh bouncing up and down of its own accord he said, “How long are we talkin’?”

  “I told him one month. No more. Also told him that, if you start feelin’ antsy for any reason, you’re out before and the debt’s paid. He agreed.”

  After scraping a hand over his mouth, Win reviewed the terms. “Full patch and privilege.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I could be marked by the Marauders. Clubs have a way of figurin’ things out.”

  “That’s why it’s gotta be up to you. Full patch comes with full backin’. Of course.” Win looked out the window, seemingly working through all the pros and cons. “You left your old club in good standing. Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So they’d speak for you if asked.”

  “I suppose. The leadership had become kind of… unpredictable.”

  “That happens. If you were asked, just explain it like that.”

  “You sound like you think I’m sayin’ yes.”

  “Got a feelin’ you’re leanin’ that way. Am I wrong?”

  Win shook his head. “No. You’re not wrong. Kinda wish you were. I was just gettin’ the accounts set up and…”

  “When you get back you’ll have that plus a lot more. You do this for us, you got our trust with our backs and our money.” Brant took a sip of coffee and then said, “But not our women.”

  Realizing that his anxiety and indecision was creating tension in the room, Win consciously decided to lighten the mood. He grinned. “Your wife is…”

  Brant said, “Stop right there, Prospect. You got no call to say a word about the mother of my sons. No matter how beautiful and smart and shiny and rich she is.” Brant grinned, but in a way that was more menacing than teasing.

  “Shiny?”

  “Done talkin’ about Garland. Go with my drift. This other thing. You need some time to think on it?”

  Win shook his head. “Thinkin’s not gonna change a thing. So no point. I guess I’m in. But for the record, I’d like to have it known that I’m not into reckless or suicidal. Got your word that my loyalty won’t be questioned? I mean if I survive?”

  “I got a strong feelin’ you’re gonna be back as a full patch member. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t have even brought this up. But I’ve been doin’ this long enough to say that when my gut speaks, I listen up.”

  Win gave a nod that was both slight and unconvincing, more an acknowledgement than an agreement. “And I have your word that my loyalty won’t be questioned again. Ever.”

  Brant stilled and looked the younger man squarely in the face so that he could absorb the seriousness and sincerity of the answer. “Yes. You do. I’m gonna call the Ranger right now, with you sittin’ there. So stay put.” Brant punctuated that order by pointing to the chair underneath Win’s firmly mu
scled behind.

  “Call me back,” Brant said into the phone. “While we’re waitin’, why don’t you tell me if there’s somethin’ I need to look after regardin’ the accounts you’ve been messin’ with.”

  Win took exception to the phrase ‘messin’ with’, but chose not to challenge the club president about his word choice. He opened his mouth to reply, but Brant’s phone rang. Brant looked at the face of the phone and accepted the call.

  “He’ll do it. But if anythin’ goes wrong, you’re gonna answer to me personally.” Win could hear the muted sound of a vocal response, but couldn’t make out the words. “Stipulation. He’ll have full immunity. No. Matter. What. And he will not testify to anything later. He’ll give you a one-on-one confidential debriefing. In secret. Just the two of you. This is a deal breaker. Take it or leave it.” Brant paused to let the other man respond. “Just to reiterate. We’re talkin’ about a month maximum. And, if anything, I mean anything, goes south before that, I don’t care if it’s an hour after arrival, he’s outta there.”

  As Win sat and listened to the one-sided conversation his respect for Brant blossomed. The prez negotiated like a lawyer and seemed to really give a damn about Win’s future.

  Brant hung up and looked at Win. “Gotta protect our golden goose.” Brant opened a drawer and pulled out a new burner phone.

  CHAPTER Four

  Win spotted the white bobtail truck pulled off on the side of a farm to market west of town that was little used during the day and never saw traffic in the dead of night. The driver lowered the ramp and helped secure the bike inside the truck.

  “Am I droppin’ you someplace?” Win asked.

  The man shook his head. “Somebody’ll be by before long.”

  “Okay then.”

  “There’s a big thermos of coffee inside. Sandwiches, too.”

  “Huh. Wasn’t expecting that. Nice though. I can sure use the coffee.”

  “Yep. You got a hike ahead.”

  Win nodded. “Better get to it.” He climbed behind the wheel, turned the ignition and the truck roared to life along with bluegrass music blaring from speakers that sounded like they must have been manufactured in the fifties.

  He reached for the volume, gave it a sharp turn, and sighed. There’d be no satellite radio with up-to-the-minute market reports. There were places between Austin and El Paso where he’d be lucky to even pick up the usual musical menu. Old style country. New style country. Tejano. Revival style Bible thumping, fire and brimstone preaching. Or rockabilly.

  He could have plugged into a device of his own, but didn’t like the idea of not being aware of sounds. Like, oh, sirens for instance.

  When he’d left California, he saw himself spending his days in a high tech command center office, in front of four screens, monitoring activity in the marketplace. He’d expected nights on his bike with a stomach full of Tex Mex and soft warm Texas wind rushing past when he wasn’t nestled between the legs of a UT coed out for a bad boy thrill. To his way of thinking, those things meant good life.

  When imagining his future, the last picture that would’ve come to mind would have been wrestling a damn bobtail truck around country roads in the middle of the night, headed west… the same way he’d come.

  He’d taken a nap in preparation for a long night’s haul. If he kept driving, he’d be there by early afternoon. He’d catch I-10 at Kerrville and take it all the way past the University of Texas El Paso campus on the western side before leaving the truck and doubling back to Agua Dulce, home of the El Paso chapter of the Marauders.

  He was determined to not be lulled into a trance state by the monotony of a four, sometimes six, lane divided interstate highway. The bounce and squeak of a near-empty truck would help with that. So would the carefully cadenced radio voice selling salvation while promising eternal suffering for sinners refusing to heed the call.

  Twenty minutes off the interstate, Win spotted the Desert Wind Ranch sign and turned onto the road. It seemed the SSMC, under the name of Brandish Inc., was a substantial investor in the burgeoning wind and solar enterprise. The first building appeared to be housing for the business. There were several vehicles parked there, but no one about. At some distance to the rear were buildings that appeared to be a residence, barn, and worker or guest houses.

  He opened the truck door, but before he could climb down, a man came out of the small building donning a cowboy hat.

  “You Win?”

  Win had to smile at the question. He wanted to say something like, “Always”, but said, “Yes,” instead.

  “I’m Zach. Been lookin’ for you.” He pointed toward the barn. “Pull this piece of shit into the barn over there. Somebody’ll close the doors so it can’t be seen. Come on over to the house and get somethin’ to eat. I’ll meet you there.”

  Win nodded and restarted the truck.

  A smiling Hispanic guy with a proudly beat up hat appeared when Win reached the barn, and showed him where to park. As Zach had said, the guy closed the doors as soon as Win cut the engine.

  It took less than five minutes to walk to the main house. It was exactly what had originally been meant by ‘ranch style’. One story with six thousand or so square feet sitting low and wide. The exterior was tan stucco that matched the environment.

  Win had never cared for desert landscapes, but he could see that it was a well-kept place with an impressive stand of windmills in the distance where the land rose and an even more impressive field of solar panels near the compound.

  He raised his hand to knock on the outer screen door, but the inner door opened before he made contact. A middle-aged Hispanic woman grinned as she stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

  He heard Zach’s voice from somewhere in the rear of the house.

  He left the entry and turned down a narrower hall that ended in an open concept kitchen den that was enormous, new, and adorned in a tasteful combination of chic southwest and antique western artifacts and collectibles suitable for an Architectural Digest photo spread.

  Zach, the picture of a weather-beaten cowboy, was busy chopping something in the kitchen. He looked to be in his early fifties, but it was hard to tell. He’d spent a lot of time out in the sun. He had deep laugh lines, a trim figure, and a voice gruff enough to be a bridge troll. It would have been off putting if not for a semi-permanent amused look in the pale blue eyes of a Scot descendant.

  “You do this yourself?” Win waved at the air as shorthand for, “Did you do the decorating?”

  Zach stopped chopping long enough to turn that amusement Win’s way. “In the sense that I collected most of that old shit. Makin’ it look good? That’s all Jen. My wife. She’s not here. Gone to book club or some such nonsense.”

  The back of the house featured large solar windows that looked out onto a pool. The sparkling reflection of sunlight on water was a curious juxtaposition given the surroundings. A smaller house in the same style backed up to one end of the pool, presumably so that guests had access.

  “You got a well?” Win asked.

  “Yep. Artesian. You could drink that water if we didn’t put so much chlorine in it.” He chuckled. “Sit down there.” He motioned to the bar stool at the end of a long island counter with a long neck beer bottle. “Beer.”

  “Sure.”

  Zach handed him a beer. “Hope you like chicken salad ‘cause that’s what’s on the menu today. Not a short order kitchen.”

  Win smiled. “Uh, yeah.”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “No offense. I just don’t get an offer of chicken salad very often.”

  Zach harrumphed. “You should. Gotta watch your girlish figure,” he said as he set a plate in front of Win. Two large scoops of chicken salad, with pecans, and quarters of roma tomatoes on a spring mix of leafy greens. It was pretty enough to be the pièce de résistance at a woman’s club luncheon.

  “Thank you,” Win said. “This is beautiful.”

  Zach sat down across from Win an
d took a pull on his beer. “Much as I’d like to spend the afternoon shootin’ the breeze, I gotta go back to work after lunch. You can stay in the guest house. It’s got a fully stocked kitchen and a big screen TV. We get investors occasionally. Gotta put on our best face.

  “Tomorrow mornin’ the truck will be gone. Your bike will be in the barn, ready to go. I suggest that you be headed east by sunrise.”

  Win nodded. “Yeah. It’s a good plan. Thanks for puttin’ me up.”

  Zach barked out a laugh. “Not much I wouldn’t do for Brant Fornight. We go back a long way.”

  “I don’t know him well. Yet. I’m new to his, um, organization.”

  Zach smiled while chewing. “Club.”

  “Yeah. Club. You ride?”

  “Not anymore. At some point the risk of road rash starts a man thinkin’, what was I thinkin’? ‘Specially if he has somethin’ to live for.”

  Win nodded thoughtfully. “So business is good.”

  “It’s better than good. It’s promisin’.”

  “Can’t argue with that. Wind and solar is the new gold. So far as a safe bet for money.”

  Zach cocked his head and looked at Win with new interest. “That’s right. Gotta admit I wouldn’t have expected one of Brant’s boys to know that.”

  Win chuckled. “Investing is a hobby.”

  “Huh. Well, we’re not publicly traded, but we’re always lookin’ for VC. How much you got?”

  Win almost choked at that question. He swallowed around laughter. “If you’ve got club money, I’m already invested ‘cause I’ll share in the dividends once I’m full patch.”

  When lunch was over, Zach opened the back door and said, “Door’s open to the guest house. Make yourself at home.”

  Win walked over to the barn and pulled overnight stuff out of the bike saddlebags, which wasn’t easy because it was dark in the barn and even darker inside the back of the truck. The barn was relatively clean since it wasn’t used for livestock or any kind of traditional agriculture. The crops Zach grew were energy supplements and replacements.

  Back in the guest house, he turned to market reports. He hadn’t been able to travel with a laptop because you never knew who else might be attracted to an MC like Marauders. Sometimes people who could hack with the best of them showed up looking for a place to belong.