Dangerous Affiliations (Knights of War MC Book 1)

by Alyssa Breck

  She didn’t want to wake them up, but she had to pee. Maybe she could climb over Hunter without waking him up. She tried, and he grabbed her hip.

  “Where are you going, baby?”

  Holly stared down at him while inconveniently straddling him. “Bathroom.”

  “Oh, okay.” He let her go.

  She was just going to pee and wash her face but decided to just take a shower.

  When she emerged from the bathroom Hem was propped up against the pillows, and Hunter was smoking a cigarette.

  Pointing at her duffel bag, she said, “I just need to grab some clothes.”

  Hunter got up and grabbed her bag for her.

  Someone banged on the doors in the hallway. “Church in five!”

  Hem and Hunter both climbed out of bed. Hem picked up a pair of jeans and tossed them to Hunter. “These are yours. Do you see mine?”

  “Holly, grab those jeans by the door.”

  She looked down and picked them up.

  The muscles in Hem’s stomach contracted as he walked toward her to get his pants. “Thanks, honey.” He had one leg in them when the door flew open.

  Holly screamed. Kol stood in the doorway. He looked at Hem then Hunter and finally at Holly. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

  Standing there in just a shirt and panties, Holly shook her head. “It’s not what it looks like.” Her face burned. Like fire. Hot.

  Kol raised an eyebrow. “Far be it for me to judge.”

  Hem and Hunter were laughing as they buckled their belts.

  “Fuck off,” Hem said.

  Holly pulled on a pair of sweatpants and rubbed her head. “I need some coffee.”

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  Holly

  The restaurant was down the street from the newspaper office. Holly wanted to make it as easy as possible to meet with her dad, get the check, drop it off to Grant and get back to the clubhouse. The sun was shining, but it wasn’t too hot, so she asked for a seat outside.

  She was halfway through her iced tea when she saw him walk through the glass door. Chris Farris shaded his eyes and scanned the patio. When he saw her, he didn’t wave or smile, just walked toward her. He wore the same belt he’d beat her with.

  Holly’s mouth went dry, and she took another drink of the tea. At least she wasn’t there alone. Hunter and Hem were sitting in a van in the parking lot for the newspaper. She need only text them if anything went south. Once she left, they’d tail her dad. This would likely be the last time she saw him alive, but she pushed that out of her mind for fear he’d see something in her face that would give it away.

  Chris sat down and crossed one leg over the other. “Good to see you,” he said, setting his sunglasses on the table.

  “How was your flight?” The wooden chair scraped against the concrete as she shifted to sit up straight. Anyone watching them would never believe they were father and daughter, more like business associates, not even friends.

  “It was fine.” He exhaled and reached into the inner pocket of his sports coat.

  Holly stiffened and watched his hand as he pulled out his checkbook.

  “How’s Mom?”

  “She had some women’s club event, but she sends her love.” A pair of gold Cross pens were nestled in his shirt pocket, and he retrieved one. He twisted the end and opened the checkbook. “How much is this camp? Same as last year?”

  “There are more kids they’d like to send this year, so it’s fifteen thousand.” She watched him write out the name of the camp and the dollar amount. Every letter was perfectly straight and the same height. Even his signature was perfect.

  “I don’t know why people have children if they can’t afford to care for them.” Chris tore the check from the book and pushed it across the glass-topped table.

  A young woman wearing black jeans and a white T-shirt appeared at the table. When she’d taken Holly’s drink order, she’d said her name was Sierra. “Can I get you some more iced tea?”

  “Yes, please.” Holly handed her glass to the girl.

  She pulled a pencil from behind her ear. A few strands of black hair fell loose and framed her jaw. Her skin was pale as porcelain. She looked like a doll.

  “Can I get you something to drink, sir?”

  Chris looked at the waitress like she was an insect. “Coffee, please.”

  She scribbled something on her notepad. “Are y’all ready to order?”

  Holly’s appetite had fled the moment her father sat down but she would keep up appearances. “I’ll have the grilled chicken sandwich, hold the mayo.”

  “Do you want fries or cole slaw with that?”

  “Fries are fine.”

  Chris looked over the menu. “I’ll have the French onion soup and a side of potato skins.”

  “Got it.” Sierra slid the pencil behind her ear again and held her hand out to collect the menus before she walked away.

  “Where are your manners, Holly?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Take off your sunglasses. You should always make eye contact while speaking with someone.”

  Holly slid the glasses off and put them next to her phone. Her father stared at her eye, and she could swear he almost looked proud of what he’d done.

  They sat in awkward silence until Sierra carried out a tray of food. She set a plate in front of Holly. The chicken sat on an open face toasted ciabatta roll. The scent of the lemon pepper seasoning wafted toward her. Under different circumstances, her mouth would have been watering but not today. A stone bowl with cheese melted over the top was placed in front of Chris along with a rectangle plate carrying three potato skins stuffed with bacon and cheese and topped with sour cream and chives.

  “Thank you,” Holly said and unfolded the paper napkin to place on her knee.

  “Can I get y’all anything else?” Sierra asked with a smile. Her front teeth stuck out slightly to touch her bottom lip.

  “No,” Chris snapped. “We’re fine.”

  Holly smiled apologetically. Her father was a rude asshole most of the time. Especially to people he viewed as being lower than him in social class.

  The only reason he was generous at all was to look good to the people in his own social class. He enjoyed the accolades that came with donating money to groups he loathed and looked down on.

  Holly took a bite of a French fry, and Chris pushed the cheese down into the soup bowl with a spoon.

  “Have you decided what to do next?”

  “About what?”

  “School. There’s a great doctorate program at NYU.”

  “New York? I can’t go to New York. I’m up for a promotion at the paper.”

  “I know an alumnus who’s on the admissions board. It’s a difficult school to get into. You could easily slide into an anchor position in New York. They love the bimbo blondes up there.”

  “Dad …”

  A potato wedge hung between his thumb and finger. “What?”

  “I don’t want to be on television. I want to write.”

  He put the food down. “Well, it’s obvious you’re not going to marry well, so you need to make sure you can take care of yourself and that biker.”

  She stared at her plate. Tears brimmed her eyes. “You don’t know anything about him.”

  “I know enough. Grown man playing cops and robbers. You could do so much better.”

  She leveled her gaze on him then. “Like you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.” He picked up the mug of coffee.

  “Someone who’d keep me in line?”

  Chris leaned across the table. Not a hair on his head was out of place. “All women need to be kept in line. On second thought, he’s probably perfect for you. He looks like he’d keep you in check.”

  Holly licked her lips. “He’s not an animal like you.”

  Chris laughed and stood, dropping his napkin on top of the uneaten potato skins. “Give my regards to Grant.” Thumbing through his wallet,
he dropped two twenty-dollar bills on the table. He came around to her side and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You’re an ungrateful little cunt.”

  She cringed and wiped her face with the napkin. After he walked out, she texted Hunter to let him know her father was on the move. A few minutes later she paid the bill, leaving Sierra a fifteen-dollar tip. The sidewalks weren’t busy. It was too late in the day for the lunch crowds. Holly stood at the corner, watching the black box that hung on the traffic signal. The red hand turned into a white stick figure of a person walking. She stepped into the crosswalk with the check clutched in her hand. Grant wanted her to write an article about her father to go along with that check. She was mentally writing his obituary instead.

  Chapter TWENTY-FOUR

  Hunter

  Hunter sat behind the wheel of the van. He’d followed Holly’s dad from the newspaper office to a bank building and then to a townhouse in an upscale part of Dallas. Chris had been inside for the last two hours.

  Hem looked at his watch. “That dude is fucking someone in there. Did you see that tart that answered the door?”

  “Yeah. Probably a call girl. Nobody would fuck that piece of shit for fun. He has to be paying her.”

  Chris’s rental car was parked about a block away. It was almost too perfect. Finally, he ambled out of the townhouse and trotted down the stairs. There was no better time to surprise someone than when they were most vulnerable, and men were most vulnerable after they came.

  Hunter cranked the ignition and watched the girl’s door. The lights went out inside. He cruised up slowly when Chris was almost to the end of the block. The keys were clutched in his fist. Hem climbed into the back and waited by the back doors. Hunter nodded.

  Hem jumped out and grabbed Chris in a headlock. The pussy didn’t even struggle but held up the keys to the car. “Take the car. My wallet is in my back pocket.”

  Hem snatched the keys out of Chris’s hand and dragged him to the back door of the van. With a single punch, Chris was unconscious. Hem shoved him inside and shut the door. He knocked on the back of the van twice, and Hunter pulled away slowly.

  He watched in the rearview mirror as Hem climbed into the Lincoln. Holly’s dad had a thing for Lincolns. Once Hem was in line behind him, Hunter picked up speed and followed a route he knew well. It wasn’t the first time he’d carried out a hit. The warehouse on the outskirts of Dallas was pretty much abandoned.

  It was pitch dark aside from the moonlight. Hunter and Hem had both cut the lights on the van and Chris’s car as they pulled down the service road. A rusted out chain laid across the ground. At one time it was there to keep cars from pulling in, but the posts had long since fallen over. The white outbuilding had a padlock on the door. Hunter used a pair of wire cutters to open it.

  Hem pulled his gloves off and dragged Chris across the graveled driveway. He shoved the man toward Hunter.

  Hunter smiled. “Remember me, motherfucker?”

  Chris’s blue eyes bulged. Blood trickled from his nose where Hem had hit him. Nothing would make a guy see stars like a perfect punch to the nose. The inside of the warehouse smelled like mildew. Old cardboard boxes were stacked on pallets. They’d been there for years. Hunter had no idea what was inside them, and he didn’t care; it didn’t matter.

  He pushed Chris into the middle of the open room. Hem patted him down over his Polo shirt and Chinos. “He’s clear.”

  A Camaro sat on jacks toward the back wall. The wheels, seats and steering wheel were gone. Maybe someone else was using the building as a chop shop.

  Chris looked back and forth between Hem and Hunter. “What do you want? I already offered my wallet. You guys want money? I can get you money.”

  “This isn’t about money, asshole.” Hunter took his gloves off.

  “Then what?”

  Hunter cracked his knuckles. “I think you need a lesson in fighting fair.”

  “What? I don’t want to fight.”

  “No? It sure seemed that way when you beat the shit out of your daughter a few weeks ago.”

  Chris stood there with the stupidest incredulous look on his smug face. “This is about that?”

  Hunter nodded toward Hem. “He’s going to go toe to toe with you. See how you do in a fair fight with someone your own size.”

  Hem pulled his hair up into a bun and circled it with an elastic band. He took off his cut and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

  Chris lifted his chin. “I’m not fighting him.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Hunter crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t fight back, you’re going to get your ass whipped.”

  Hem tilted his head to the right, and his neck popped. “You like hitting women? Hit me, motherfucker.”

  Holly’s dad stood motionless then reached into his back pocket. He tossed his wallet on the ground. “How much will it take to make you go away?”

  Hunter laughed. “You think you can buy your way out of anything, don’t you? Not this time, sport. You’re about to find out what it feels like to get your ass beat.”

  Hem walked toward Chris purposefully and landed a punch to the side of his head with a sickening smack. Chris stumbled and fell on his ass.

  “Get up!” Hem grabbed the front of Chris’s shirt and yanked him back to his feet then hit him again. The skin above Chris’s eye opened up and blood trickled down his face and dripped off the edge of his jaw.

  Instead of fighting back, Chris cowered as Hem delivered another blow, splitting the man’s lip. Every hit of knuckles against flesh echoed in the near empty room. Chris turned around and ran but his fancy shoes slipped on the smooth concrete floor and he fell, smacking his elbow on the ground. He let out a groan and cradled his arm against his stomach.

  Hem walked up behind him and kicked him in the back. Hunter slowly made his way across the warehouse while unbuckling his belt.

  Chris looked up at Hem and Hunter. “Okay. Okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

  Hunter raised his belt above his head. “No, you’re not. But you will be.”

  He didn’t hit Chris as many times as Chris had hit Holly. He didn’t want to make it look too suspicious when his body was found. It was going to be a simple drug transaction gone bad. The cartel wouldn’t do a whole lot of damage, but they’d make a clear point.

  The man whimpered like a little girl as Hunter threaded his belt back through the loops of his jeans.

  “Get the fuck up,” Hem said. “If I have to get you up, I’m going to beat your ass again.”

  Blood had dripped from Chris’s face down to his pale yellow Polo shirt. He got on his hands and knees and stood. He breathed rapidly and held his hand out in front of him. “No.”

  Hem’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. Hunter grabbed Chris by the arm and led him back toward the door. Hem picked up his shirt and cut along with Chris’s wallet on the way out.

  “Where are we going?” Chris pleaded as he struggled to keep up with Hunter’s gait. “I said I was sorry. You made your point. I won’t do it again.”

  “Famous last words.” Hunter shoved him outside. “Get in your car.”

  “I-I-I don’t have the keys.”

  “They’re in the ignition,” Hem offered.

  Chris swallowed hard and looked from Hem to Hunter before wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. He pulled on the door handle and slid behind the wheel.

  Hunter pulled the Glock from the back of his waistband and got in the back seat behind Chris. “Start the car. No lights. Drive.”

  Hem followed them in the van.

  Hunter directed him back to the service road. “Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done to her?”

  “You don’t know her,” Chris whispered.

  Hunter laughed. “Yes, I do. Better than you do.”

  Chris stared at Hunter in the rearview mirror. His eyes were cold as steel even with the skin rapidly swelling around the left one. “I’ll never contact her again.
You can have the little whore. She’s a spoiled, worthless bitch.”

  “Really, motherfucker?” Hunter pointed the gun at the back of Chris’s head. With a steady squeeze, he fired one forty caliber slug behind Chris’s right ear. Blood splattered on the driver’s window. He fired two more shots into Chris Farris’s head for good measure. Done.

  Hunter’s ears rang as the car rolled to a stop off the shoulder. He collected three shell casings from the leather back seat and left a small baggy of blow. He walked back to the van.

  Hem pulled away. “You okay, man?”

  “Peachy.”

  Holly

  Holly sat on the bed in Hunter’s room. After meeting with her father, she’d dropped off a check to Grant for fifteen grand. The second glass of whiskey sat untouched on the nightstand. Hunter had been gone for hours, but she knew not to call. Cell phone towers recorded pings. Little crescent-shaped cuts lined up across her palms. She’d been clenching her fists again.

  Kol had checked on her earlier and offered her something to eat. Her stomach was in knots. Until she knew Hunter and Hem were okay, she wouldn’t be able to eat anything. Her mind wandered. Was her father dead already? How had they done it? Had Hunter killed him or had Hem? Hunter told her the less she knew the better.

  It was nearly eleven o’clock when the door opened. She expected to see Kol again, but Hunter walked in, followed by Hem. Holly looked up at them expectantly.

  Hunter bent over and kissed her forehead. “It’s over.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” At once she felt elated, then sad, then scared as her emotions went on a rollercoaster ride. The knots in her stomach were replaced with nausea. No one should feel glad to hear their father was dead. But she’d set him up, baited the hook. She wasn’t upset that he was gone. There’d never been any real affection between them. She loved him because society dictated that she should. There were people in the next room whose deaths would impact her way more than this one had.