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BRASH
A Spartan Riders Novel
by JC Valentine
ONE
It’s never a smart idea to stick your hand down a garbage disposal unless you’re looking to trim off some dead weight. Bambi actually liked having all her fingers, but she wasn’t about to let her grandmother’s canary yellow solitaire passed down from her mother to herself just get flushed down the drain.
“Dammit!” Bambi yelled, mad at herself for stupidly forgetting to take off the ring before washing the dishes. She knew better, yet she’d done it anyway. Was this karma?
She didn’t want to think about that. Payday someday, as her father used to say. And her day would come, no doubt. But, again, it was better not to think about that. She already beat herself over the head night and day thinking about all the terrible things she’d done in her life. The most recent walking away from Taco without a word of explanation.
But sometimes life happened and things weren’t so black and white. She didn’t know how to talk to him at the time, and so she’d simply packed up and left. Some days she laid awake wondering if she’d made the right choice. With all the turmoil in the brotherhood right now, though, she always concluded she had. The Spartan Riders were embroiled in a war with the Mexican drug cartel, and Bambi, being an ex-FBI agent, wasn’t about to get tangled up in a mess like that. It was both dangerous and stupid, and she just wanted to live her life in peace. Besides, she had far more important things to consider now.
Bambi sighed, pulling her hand from the cavernous drain opening. This was never going to work. Her luck, she’d accidentally trigger something and the blade would shred her hand off. And unfortunately, she didn’t have any tools to open the pipes with. Neither did she have the money to spare to hire someone to come out and retrieve it. So she’d have to figure out some other way. Sometimes being a homeowner felt a lot like being trapped in a giant money pit.
Trying not to get too upset, Bambi backed away from the sink and decided to just not use that side of the double basin until she could come up with a solution.
Besides, she needed to get ready. Her date was supposed to show up any time and she hadn’t even picked out what to wear.
After a bit of trial and error, she settled on a pink and purple tie dye maxi dress with a faux belted waist because it was the only thing in her closet that was fun, flirty, and hid her post-partum belly. She felt good in it, which was a plus when she spent most of her days covered in spit-up and up to her elbows in dirty diapers.
Tonight was going to be a nice change of pace. Her coworker at the gas station, a middle-aged woman who’d been married and divorced three times, had turned her on to a dating site, telling her to get out there and find someone to spend her time with. She claimed, as young as Bambi was, she couldn’t just sit around and waste away because she was a mother. She all but told her it was her duty as a vibrant woman to get out there and take one for the team. Tina was, by admission, going to live vicariously through her.
Bambi liked Tina. As her manager, she’d trained Bambi how to run the station while also becoming a friend slash sudo-mom. Since she’d never had much of a relationship with her own mother, who was off jet setting to Lord only knew where, she valued their connection.
So that’s why she was getting ready for her first date in nearly a year. She had been skeptical at first, not really sure she was ready nor wanted to jump back into the dating pool because she still had Taco on her mind twenty-four-seven. But then she reminded herself that she couldn’t move forward with her life if she was constantly looking back at the past.
The problem with that was the little boy currently sleeping in his bassinette who was a spitting image of his father. She couldn’t very well escape a past that was always staring back at her.
He was the whole reason she’d left that day. It’d taken a lot of thought and even more courage, but when she’d seen the storm clouds coming in the form of war between the club and the cartel, she’d decided the best place for her child would be out of harm’s way. Then when Frank Kellerman, her former co-worker with the FBI who’d turned rouge contacted her, giving her a deeper look into just how bad things were going to get, she knew she was making the right decision.
It’d been hard leaving Curtis behind, but she had a child to think about now, and she refused to raise him in those conditions. There was no telling how violent things were going to get for the Spartans, but she’d heard through the grapevine that things were heating up. It was only a difference of a few miles, but the town was in disarray, crime rates soaring and exceeding anything they’d ever seen before.
She worried for Curtis, but she was glad to have gotten out. She just wished things could have been different.
At seven, Tina arrived with a DVD from the RedBox in one hand and a two-liter of Pepsi in the other. “I’m going to binge on Harry Stiles, sugar, and baby cuddles tonight,” she announced. After laying her goodies on the kitchen counter, she made a beeline for Beau.
“He’s sleeping,” Bambi informed her. Not that it would do any good. Tina scooped him up and had him in her arms before the words had finished leaving her mouth.
“Look at you, you handsome little devil,” Tina cooed as Beau yawned and started to squirm. After a moment of looking around with bleary eyes, he went right back to sleep. Tina beamed up at her. “He loves his Auntie Tina.”
Bambi smiled. “Of course he does. What’s not to love.”
With Beau still cradled in her arms, Tina walked over and sat down in the center of the sofa, folding her legs like a pretzel and settling in. “So when does lover boy get here?”
Bambi glanced at the clock. “Any minute.”
“And where are you going?”
“He’s taking me out for Italian.”
“Oh, fancy.” Tina waggled her artificial-red eyebrows. “And after…?”
“He’s bringing me home,” Bambi said firmly. She wasn’t interested in staying out late, nor would she give the impression she was easy. She was a mom now, and as such, she was determined to present herself in a mature and respectable fashion. Plus, she just wanted to be home with Beau, not out with a strange man she’d never met before outside of a few text exchanges.
“Borrrringggg,” Tina sing-songed.
“I just don’t want to give the wrong impression,” Bambi defended. “Besides, he could be a murderer.”
Tina scoffed. “I highly doubt it. He seems perfectly normal, from what you’ve described.”
On paper, yes. A grocery store manager, Steve was middle-class with a college degree and a three-bedroom house in a cul de sac who drove a Kia. But looks could be deceiving—a fact she knew all too well from her years spent working for the government.
“Didn’t you see that article about the mom who met that guy on Tinder and he killed her? He seemed ‘perfectly normal’, too.”
“You worry too much.”
“Maybe you don’t worry enough.”
Tina stuck out her tongue at Bambi, making her laugh. Just then, the doorbell buzzed, and Bambi turned to answer the door, but not before sticking her tongue out right back.
Steve stood on the other side of the door wearing a clean, pressed, powder-blue button-down with khaki slacks and scuffed tennis shoes. His golden brown hair was freshly cut, parted to on the left, and combed to the side. He was clean-shaven and his smile screamed “Nice Guy.” In other words, he was pure vanilla and as boring as watching paint dry. Bambi wouldn’t be at all surprised if he confessed to being a virgin.
But she wasn’t going to judge. Well, not any more than she already had. He was interes
ted in her and he hadn’t run for the hills when she told him she had a kid. It was an option worth exploring at least.
Steve’s toffee colored eyes roamed over her, dancing with appreciation. “Wow, you look great. Really great,” he told her. He extended his hand and she took it, giving him a friendly handshake. “It’s really nice to finally meet you. You’re even more beautiful in person. Just…wow.”
Okay, now Bambi was blushing. She hadn’t received a good and genuine compliment in a long time. “Thank you. You look nice, too.” He beamed at that. Stepping away, she told him, “Um, let me grab my purse and then we can head out.”
Retrieving it from the coffee table, she took a moment to lean down and give Beau a kiss on his tiny, bald head, leaving a glossy pink lip print behind. To Tina she said, “I left emergency numbers on the fridge, and there’s extra breastmilk in there. He likes it cold, so no need to warm it up or do anything fancy. You have my number, so if you have any questions or anything, call me.”
“Okie dokie,” Tina said as if everything was just that easy, when in reality, Bambi was silently freaking out inside, wondering if this wasn’t the single most terrible idea she’d ever had. Beau was only three months old. Maybe it was too soon to be venturing out on dates and leaving him home with a sitter. Tina was great, but she wasn’t his mother.
What if he woke up while she was gone and was inconsolable without her? The thought of him crying for her made her heart sick. She was toying with the idea of calling it all off and asking Steve to leave when Tina cleared her throat and gave her wide eyes.
“See you later,” she said with a bossy lilt to her voice. “You two kids have fun.”
Getting the hint loud and clear, Bambi stood straight and forced herself to grow some lady balls. Tina could handle this, and so could she. It was just a couple hours. Everything would be fine.
With a pinched smile, Bambi said, “We’ll be back later. Enjoy your movie.”
“Oh no worries there. Enjoy your dinner.” Tilting her head, Tina caught Steve’s eyes. “Take care of my girl, and make sure you show her a good time. Don’t get too handsy, and make sure to have her home by eleven.” Then she winked.
When Bambi rejoined him at the door, Steve was grinning. To Tina he said, “Not a problem. I assure you, she’s in good hands.” Then he turned his attention to Bambi, meeting her eyes. “Ready to go?” he asked, and she nodded. Then he placed a gentle hand on her lower back as he guided her past him.
She didn’t get that tingly sensation she always had with Curtis, but Bambi decided to ignore it. This was a dinner date, not an interview for a life partner. She was determined not to complicate it.
“So, how old is your son?” Steve asked as he led her outside to his shiny white, four-door sedan. He pressed the key fob in his hand and the lights flashed bright.
“Three months.”
“Oh, new mom,” he said with some surprise. She’d withheld some details as they’d exchanged information, unsure how much she wanted him to know about her and her life. Now that they were meeting in person, going on a date, she knew she had to open up and reveal more.
“Yes,” she said with a nervous laugh. Inside, she wondered when and what she would say that would be a deal breaker.
After opening her door, rounding the car, and climbing in himself, Steve asked the next logical question as he started the engine and pulled onto the street. “Is the father still in the picture?”
Bambi inhaled a deep breath. “No, he’s not.” And he wouldn’t be. It broke her heart, because every child should know who their father was, but safety was a top concern. Curtis would want to be a part of Beau’s life, and that would mean putting him in danger. She simply couldn’t risk it.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” The crazy thing was, he actually appeared to mean it. Maybe he was the nice guy he presented himself to be. “You must be a strong woman to raise a child alone.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Bambi told him honestly. “I’m just doing what needs to be done, what any mother would do.”
Waiting until the car came to a full stop at a red light, Steve looked over at her. “I was raised by a single mom. What you’re doing is nothing short of amazing.”
Once again, Bambi felt herself blush. She looked away as the car began to move once again. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
As Steve continued to issue questions, Bambi returned rehearsed answers, making sure to keep a safe amount of distance. Her heart was with Beau back at the house, wondering how he was doing and desperately wanting to call and check in, while her thoughts were someplace else—with Curtis, to be exact.
She wondered, as she did every night, what he was doing.
TWO
“Dude, did you rip one? Smells like somebody fuckin’ died in here!” Taco shouted as he entered the warehouse from the back and pulled his shirt up to cover his nose—not that it did a damn thing to cover the stench. Talk about one hell of a wake-up call. It wasn’t even dawn yet.
Half an hour ago, he’d gotten a text from Country to meet him and a coupla brothers down here. For what, he didn’t know, but they’d better not be pullin’ a prank. He’d left a perfectly good piece of ass behind to be here, and he wouldn’t be smiling if they pulled some nasty shit on him.
But his birthday wasn’t for another couple of weeks, so it didn’t make much sense they would unless they were jumping the gun, hoping to catch him off guard.
“Back here,” he heard Blake call out, and Taco followed his voice past some construction some rusted out farm equipment to the back where Blake, AKA “Quick” who was also the Spartan’s president, it’s VP, Garrick “Repo” Stone, Sergeant Tucker “Country” Abrams, and their muscle, Kade “Moose” Hunter, and his nephew, Tanner, were all standing around in a semi-circle with matching looks of constipation.
Taco’s gaze lingered on Tanner, as it always did when he had to share the same breathing space with the little shit. When things had gone south in the club last year and they’d suspected someone from the inside was working with the enemy, they never thought it would be someone so close to the table. But a tip had led them to suspect Tanner, which was no bueno. They were operating under the notion of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, just waiting for the little prick to slip up so they could justify ripping his balls off and shoving them down his spindly throat.
Fuck, he needed a cigarette.
“What’s up?” Taco asked as he joined everyone. “It sounded urge—Oh, shit. Is that…?”
He trailed off as they stepped back, opening a space up for him to see the bloated, decomposed body they’d all been staring at.
“Frank Kellerman…we think,” Country confirmed what Taco was thinking.
Back when he’d gone missing, they’d suspected he might be dead. Hell, Frank was a dirty FBI agent who’d been playing both sides—the Spartans and the Mexican cartel. Thinking it and seeing it were two totally different things, though. Taco wasn’t surprised, just…well, grossed out. He didn’t care about seeing a dead body, but when they were a year into decomp, they were nasty as fuck.
“Where the hell did you find him?”
“Dropped at the construction site,” Blake said with a bitter edge. “Right in the middle of the dig zone. They wanted him found.”
“Shit,” Taco hissed. That was bad. Real bad. Not just for business, but for the club and everyone involved. Fuckin’ Luciana Cruiz. That bitch was crazy. Ever since her crew had converged on Spartan territory, they’d been working hard to fuck up and undo all the good shit Blake had worked so hard for. Looked like they were stepping up their game.
“Yeah,” Country grunted as he blew out a stream of smoke and tossed the cigarette stub to the cement floor, “good thing I showed up early. Shit would have been bad if one of the crew had found him instead.”
No kidding. They’d been trying hard to keep the bulk of the mess contained and under the local officials’ noses. They
didn’t need heat like this right now…not with what they were planning.
Retaliation couldn’t be quick nor could it be sloppy. It would invite too many problems. Problems that would obliterate all they’d worked to achieve and hoped to regain in the coming months. Sooner if they could swing it.
All they needed to do was take care of their little Cruiz problem, cut it out like a tumor, and they could reclaim what was theirs with minimal damage and losses. If all went according to plan, that is.
“So what are we doing with this sack of shit?” Taco and the brothers stared at what was left of Kellerman, contemplating.
“Well,” Repo said thoughtfully, tipping Taco off that the next thing to come from his mouth was probably going to be pretty fucked up, “we have backhoes and hellcats, concrete, and zoning permits.”
“You suggesting that we should bury him on my construction site?” Blake asked.
Country chuckled. “Bro, honestly,” he said, extending a closed fist toward Repo, “I like how that twisted brain works.”
Repo bumped his fist against Country’s with all the enthusiasm of a wet mop.
Blake continued staring at the corpse, while the rest of them waited for his verdict. It came on a long-winded sigh of resignation. “Fine. Whatever. Someone haul the piece of shit over. I’ll use the backhoe to dig a deeper trench where one of the footings is going later today, then dump him in.”
“Wait, Prez,” Moose jumped in, “aren’t you afraid someone will accidentally find him while they’re working?”
Blake passed him a dark smile. “Not as deep as I’m planning to dig it. And by this time tomorrow, there’ll be a slab of concrete too. No one will ever find him.”
“Sweet deal,” Country said, lighting up another cigarette. Taco swore the man had gone from casual to two packs a day. He was a fucking chimney lately. But who was he to judge? He sucked on cancer sticks like they were lollipops too. “Let’s just pray future residents don’t start complaining about ghosts and shit.”
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