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

by Victoria Danann

  “Okay by me,” Cowpie said. “A man who’d lay down a challenge with a face as messed up as yours… Respect.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Just sayin’ that a crunch to the nose might hurt more than usual.”

  There were a few snickers around the table.

  Win looked at his sandwich, took a bite, and nodded. “Been through worse.”

  “Why’d you leave the Huns?” Zipper asked.

  Win appeared to be giving his words careful consideration before he spoke. That was something bikers could appreciate, especially in a new recruit they didn’t know.

  “Was all good for a long time. No regrets. Let’s just say I missed Texas.”

  Boss raised his chin, displaying a look that said appreciative appraisal. “Diplomatic. I like that.”

  “Happy belated birthday,” Win said. “You were busy last night.”

  Boss chuckled. “You done with that?” he said as he was rising. “We got some briefing to accomplish.”

  Win stuffed the last bite of BLT in his mouth and grabbed his juice before falling in behind the other men on their way to the belly of the beast.

  The conference room, called ‘church’ by some clubs, featured an oval table that would easily seat eighteen. Eight on each side and one at each end. It was finished in the same mahogany as Boss’s office desk, but had an intricately designed interpretive painting of the club logo that covered most of the surface. A large American flag was displayed on the wall behind Boss’s seat at the far end and a Texas flag, same size, on the opposite wall. The two side walls were lined with cuts and photographs, presumably of ex members.

  Win guessed they were not ex members because they’d left the club voluntarily, as he’d done with the Huns. They were probably dead. Perhaps some were even dead from old age. The Marauders had been founded in the early eighties. So the club was old enough to have members who’d died of natural causes.

  The room was practically full when the breakfast contingent arrived on the scene. They all gave Win a good looking-over as they made their way to their seats.

  Win waited to be told where to sit.

  When the door closed, two guys took up a standing post by the door while seventeen sat down. There was one chair left and it was at the opposite end of the table from the prez.

  “Yeah. That’s you,” Boss said pointing to the chair. When he saw Win’s hesitation, he added, “Yeah. We know. Everything about this is unusual. We’re patchin’ you in, but we’re still gonna keep an eye on you for a couple of days because we don’t know you. If we’re gonna experience a disturbance of the peace together, we’re gonna need to feel like we know ya.”

  That sort of scrutiny wasn’t Win’s first choice. He’d have much preferred to blend in and draw as little attention as possible. The end-of-the-table chair looked more like a ‘hot seat’ than anything else. But understanding that he was in one of those situations where the only way out is through, he sat down at the end next to Cue and leaned into the back of the chair like he was relaxing in Margaritaville.

  Bo named off the guys he hadn’t already met at breakfast. Win had a sharp mind, but didn’t expect he’d remember all the names. Cowpie was fairly unforgettable. So was Paul. But the others kind of ran together.

  “We had a meetin’ about you yesterday,” Boss began. “Huns speak well of you. So on that note, we’re dispensin’ with the usual formalities.”

  “That bein’ prospectin’,” said Zipper.

  “Believe me, we’d like to have the luxury of havin’ you lick boots for a year or so, but you might say we’re livin’ in interestin’ times.”

  After a brief and awkward silence during which everyone turned to look at Win for his reaction, he finally cleared his throat and said, “How so?”

  “We’ve held this territory without much difficulty for a long time. Put down challenges from Mexicans without sustaining too much damage.” By that Win understood Boss to mean bikers of Mexican descent. “Couple of times we’ve had to discourage start-ups by provin’ that we’re not softer than we look.”

  Win nodded slowly, letting his eyes wander over the congregation that seemed determined to stare at him unabashedly. He supposed it was natural to be exceedingly curious, having a stranger in a setting normally reserved for those who had demonstrated extreme commitment over time.

  Win said, “Okay,” because they seemed to be waiting for a response and he had nothing insightful to offer. His philosophy at that point was the less said the better.

  “Regarding our income-generating activities, we’ve got the market covered. We stay out of prostitution because it’s just more trouble than it’s worth. People are gonna do drugs, hookers, and guns whether it’s legal or not. It’s not like these things are goin’ away if we decline to supply the need. We’re as deservin’ as the next guys. More than some. So we do what we do, but that don’t mean we got no morals.”

  When Boss stopped, everyone turned from looking his direction to looking at Win, almost like it had been choreographed and rehearsed.

  “I understand,” Win replied.

  “You understand,” Boss said, “but do you agree?”

  “Not sure what you’re askin.”

  “Drugs and guns. That’s how we make money for the club. That’s what we do. Other than investin’ in a few sideline businesses, like smoke shops, tattoo parlors, that’s all we do. Bein’ a church and school town, we got a super lucrative drug business. The little citizens-to-be need somethin’ to equalize the burdensome stress of bein’ upper middle class.” Boss’s eyes twinkled at his sarcastic comment. “How does that fit in with your personal philosophy?”

  “If you’re askin’ if I have a problem profiting from drugs, no. I don’t. Guns. Not in general. If I found out some guns I’d run ended up bein’ used to shoot up a baseball game, I wouldn’t be pleased about it. If I found out that some nefarious citizens who weren’t contributin’ in any good way were taggin’ similar folk, I’d be okay with that.”

  Boss took in a deep breath, sat back, and smiled. “Exactly. We’re not without principles. Sounds like you’re one of us. Maybe a little more refined, but nobody’s perfect. Right?”

  Win smiled. “Right.”

  “So here’s our problem. This outfit that calls themselves Stars and Bars is movin’ into town. I can’t say I really blame ‘em. They’re from Alabama and Mississippi, the two poorest states in the whole U.S. of A. The grass looks greener over here ‘cause it is greener and that can’t be denied.

  “Still, we’re not gonna just hand over what we’ve built ‘cause somebody else wants it.”

  When everybody looked toward Win, he said, “Can’t blame you there.”

  “Right.” Boss seemed satisfied with that answer. “So our problem is twofold. First, we’re not interested in giving up our drug or gun dealership. We’re not even thinkin’ we’d like to share. Second, we’re not interested in allowin’ human trafficking in our territory. Locals will tolerate a certain amount of vice. Hell. Some even think the life is kind of romantic.”

  When he chuckled at that, everybody else laughed at his joke.

  “But like I said, we got our principles and we draw the line at kidnapping and slavery.” He pointed to a guy midway down the table. “Flak, here, had a niece taken. Niece by marriage, but family’s family. She went missin’ for eight months. We pulled in every chit we ever collected, used a pile of club funds, but Mexican contacts found her in Guerrero, not far away from Acapulco. She was on a ranch that catered to sick fucks whose idea of vacation is takin’ advantage of unwilling girls. Got her back, but she’s ruined. Won’t say a word. Stares straight ahead.”

  Flak, who’d been looking down at the tabletop while Boss talked, dragged in a deep sigh that somehow conveyed the tragedy of the family.

  “We realized that, if it could happen to her, nobody’s safe. So we intend to police our little part of the world, spend a portion of our resources on keepin’ people safe from th
e worst kind of predator.”

  For some reason the image of R.C. turning back at the door to look at him, flashed across the screen of his mind. He quickly shook that away. No distractions.

  When everybody turned to Win, he said as if it was a matter of fact, “Stars & Bars don’t agree with that philosophy.”

  “Not just that they don’t agree. They are the predator. They’ve come to take advantage of one of the most precious crops grown in Texas. Beautiful women. We’re gonna have to say no to that and send ‘em back where they came from. We’re not givin’ up our money-making endeavors. We’re also not gonna let them make off with daughters, nieces, cousins, wives, or even the cashier at the H.E.B. We’re all in agreement. Not gonna happen. You want to be one of us, you need to understand that we’re willin’ to go to war over this if we need to. Everybody draws a line somewhere. This is ours.”

  As expected, all heads turned to hear Win’s answer. Without hesitation, he said, “I’m in.” He didn’t have to act. He genuinely agreed with their point of view. So it was easy to say yes and be believed.

  “Cue Ball,” Boss said to the man next to Win. “Hand the man his cut.”

  Cue pulled a black leather vest out from under the table and handed it to Win. When he slid it on, Boss said, “Adjourned. Move the meeting to the bar. Beers all ‘round.”

  As the Marauders filed by, each welcomed Win. If he wasn’t there as a mole, he’d be starting to settle in. Boss was last.

  “Anything you need, recruit?”

  “I got one change of clothes. Guess I need to do some shoppin’ if I’m stayin’,” Win replied.

  “You’re stayin’. Come have a brew before you go.”

  Win looked at his watch. “Kinda early.”

  “Are you a biker or a church lady? It’s never too early for a celebratory beer.”

  Win grinned amiably and walked back to the bar with his new fake prez.

  One of the guys handed him a long neck with cold sweat running down the sides. Somebody had iced beers early, maybe in anticipation of a hair-of-the-dog celebration. Probably Bo or Catcher.

  He was taking a long draw from the bottle in his hand when he caught a flash of bright sunlight in his peripheral vision.

  R.C. It was R.C. coming through the door in a cream-colored sleeveless silk shirt and pale pink linen shorts that stopped just above the knee. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was so perfectly perfect from head to toe it made him itch to muss her up good. He’d let her hair down and not be satisfied until it was in sexy tangles. He’d pull at her clothes until they were wrinkled and askance. He’d press her into…

  Win startled when he heard Boss start yelling from right beside him. Win’s head jerked in the direction of the prez, but Boss wasn’t talking to him.

  “R.C. What the fuck? You haven’t been here two days in a row since you were six,” Boss said.

  Cue leaned into Win. “Just wait it out. This is nothin’ unusual. The two of them like to fight. With each other, I mean.”

  She went from cool as ice to fuming in less than three seconds. “Yesterday I forgot to grab the cigars that idiot gave you.”

  “What idiot?”

  “Whichever one of these numbskulls gave you cigars. That idiot.”

  Cue shook his head. “Feel sorry for the man she settles on.”

  Win smiled.

  “Ya know someday somebody’s gonna teach you a lesson. You can’t talk to grown men like that.”

  She stepped forward and put her hands on her hips. “Show me some grown men and I’ll take that under consideration.”

  Win barked out a laugh at that, which caused everybody in the room, including Boss and R.C., to turn and stare at him.

  “Do not encourage her,” Boss said in a tone more serious than he’d heard used before.

  “Yes, sir,” Win said automatically.

  Boss looked back at R.C. and narrowed his eyes. “You do not have permission to touch my cigars, missy. But since you’re here, you can make yourself useful.” Her face fell into a gape. “New member here,” he indicated Win with his thumb, “from SoCal. Came with what he could carry, which means he needs to go shoppin’ for clothes and stuff. Take him to get what he needs in your car.”

  “What?!?” She added indignation to incredulity.

  “You heard me.”

  “No,” she said flatly, shaking her head. She looked at Win, then back to her father.

  “No?” Boss asked quietly.

  “Got stuff to do.”

  “Yeah. You do. I just gave it to you.”

  “I mean…”

  “I know what you mean. Take a look at the man. It’s the least you could do.”

  She huffed out a breath, looked at Win and said, “Get in the car.”

  She started toward the door. When she got there, she turned and saw that Win hadn’t moved. “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I did,” he said, turning back to his beer.

  “What’s the problem?” she said to his back.

  “Only one person in this room I take orders from. And it’s not you.”

  Boss turned his back to his daughter and grinned broadly at the onlookers.

  “I can’t make him come, Pop,” she complained, still standing by the door. Snickers traveled all around the members at the double entendre. “Oh for Christ’s sake,” she said, “grow the fuck up.”

  Boss turned back to R.C. “If I were you, I’d invite Mr. Garrett to take a ride.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath. “Mr. Garrett. Would you care to take a ride?”

  Another round of snickers traveled through the club members. She rolled her eyes and said, “Jesus.”

  Win turned with a broad smile. “Love to, Ms. Greer.”

  When R.C.’s car disappeared from the security monitors, all the members burst into laughter.

  “Wouldn’t want to be him, Boss,” Cue said.

  Boss shook his head. “Me either. Hand me another one of those Lone Stars.”

  They rode in silence for a few blocks before she said, “What kind of stuff do you need?”

  “Levis. Shirts. Underwear. Socks. I’m a simple man.”

  “You have money or am I gonna get stuck for the bill?”

  He smiled. “Got money.”

  “You know little children are gonna run when they see you comin’.”

  He shrugged, but didn’t lose the smile. “My face bothering you?”

  “Nothin’ about you is bothering me, Mr. Garrett.”

  “You sure about that, Arcy?”

  “Have I not made myself crystal clear? I am not interested in you.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Never been more certain of anything.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.” After a couple of minutes of silence, he said, “How about your friend, Robin?”

  “What about her?”

  “Maybe she’s interested in me.” He studied R.C.’s profile carefully and saw exactly what he’d been hoping for. Her eyelashes stuttered, her mouth thinned, and her muscles tensed. R.C. didn’t want him to be interested in Robin. He decided to push it. “She’s cute. All that shiny hair. Big brown eyes.”

  “She’s not interested in you either,” she said like she wasn’t sure she believed that.

  “Hmmm.” He let that hang in the air for a few beats before saying, “Where are you takin’ me?”

  “Spice Village.”

  “That a restaurant?”

  “It’s a collection of shops.”

  “A collection of shops,” he said drily. “I get that you’d like to punk me to get back at your dad, but I’m not into metrosexual.”

  Her mouth twitched. “No shit.”

  “No shit.”

  “Never would have guessed it. I totally took you for a guy who reads GQ.”

  “You’re a funny girl. Where are we really goin’?”

  “Look. You’re not from around here. I am. That’s why I was assigned the un
speakably pleasurable task of being your chauffeur and personal shopper. So trust me. I’m gonna do the job.” Through inflection she made certain that Win knew she was being sarcastic.

  “I’ll ride along and see where this is goin’. But trust you? I don’t think so.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched like the idea of being distrusted was the best thing that had happened to her all day.

  She pulled into parking across the street from an old brick warehouse that had apparently been converted into a complex of shops. In fact, it seemed to be a shopping district. Urban reclamation.

  Inside, he looked around and said, “Is this country hell?”

  There were crafts combined with horrendous souvenir Texas memorabilia and knick-knacks as far as the eye could see. A laugh bubbled up before she realized it was coming or she never would have given him a verbal star for humor.

  “No. Well, yes, but there’s more if you know where to look.”

  “You sure? ‘Cause from here it looks like Cracker Barrel has taken over Waco during the night while citizens slept peacefully unaware.”

  He could tell that she was deliberately trying to hide a smile. “Like I said. Trust me.”

  They passed a soap shop, a Christmas craft store, a kitchen doodad store, a collectible signs store, a Tibetan scarf store, and a chocolates store before they climbed to the second level. Eventually, however, they came to a small shop with understated everything.

  Levis.

  Shirts.

  Not fancy. Not silly. Not girly. Not cute.

  Just good jeans and solid color cotton tee shirts, long and short sleeve, that looked like they’d already been worn and well-broken in.

  Mentally, he gave her props. She’d brought him straight to his dream store. Tiny selection of just what he wanted.

  After a brief conversation with the proprietor about size, he took some jeans into the curtained fitting room.

  Before he disappeared, he turned to R.C., who was texting. “Arcy, you want to come in. Check the fit?” he teased.

  Without looking up, she said, “You go on without me. I trust your judgment.”