by Nicole James
“No, the part where it makes you so uncomfortable your hands shake, ol’ man.”
“Fuck you. My hands aren’t shaking.” They both knew that was a lie.
“You say so.”
“You tell anybody about this, you’re a dead man.”
Blood let out a rumble of laughter at that. “Right.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with her? She won’t let me out of her sight. I can barely get out of the room long enough to take a piss.”
“Gee, a gorgeous young girl can’t bear to be from your side. Cry me a river.”
“Bite me. This is serious.”
“Cat’s here now, so I’m sure she’ll transfer all that clinginess—that seems to give you the hives—to her.”
“You better be right. It’s pretty hard to run an MC when I’m playing babysitter.” Undertaker moved behind his desk.
“They come up with any intel off that laptop?”
“Yeah. There’s a meet planned between Black Jack and the Death Heads in two days. We plan to crash the party.”
“Where at?”
“End of Highway 23.”
“Down past Port Sulphur?”
Undertaker nodded. “Wholesale seafood place down there all the way at the end.”
“Strange place for a meet.”
“Yup. Especially when it’s scheduled for two a.m.”
“Sounds like something besides seafood coming in on those fishing boats.”
“Be my guess.”
“How we pullin’ this off?”
“We’re gonna make it look like Black Jack double crossed his new friends.”
Blood nodded. “So the other chapters of the Death Heads can’t pin it on us.”
“Exactly.”
“I like the way you think. How’re we getting in and out?”
“Easy’s got a cousin with a boat he bought out of Navy salvage. The kind his daddy used to run up and down the Mekong Delta back when he was a Navy Seal.”
Blood chuckled. “You turning this crew into a bunch of Special Op warriors?”
“Sandman’s gonna rig the SAW machine gun to it. We’re goin’ in hot.”
“Go big or go home.”
“You know it.”
Blood moved to leave, but Undertaker stopped him. “Oh, and the kid you brought in, the one who gave these girls up to the Death Heads?”
Blood turned back. “Dax the dick? I’ll take care of him.” He moved to head for the door again, trying to decide how he’d kill the little punk. He’d promised Cat he’d handle the “Dax problem” for her, and he’d meant it.
“I already did.”
Blood turned back, frowning. “What?”
“He’s the one responsible for Holly being down the hall right now in the state she’s in. So I took care of him. He wasn’t gonna draw breath one more minute. She’s just a kid. She didn’t deserve this.”
“You’re right, she didn’t.”
“You good with it?”
“Yeah, I’m good with it.” Blood grinned. “Thought that little girl wasn’t giving you time alone to piss. How’d you find time for that?”
“I took five minutes.”
Blood chuckled as he walked out. “You are so screwed.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Blood stood in the clubhouse parking lot talking with Sandman. The club had just broken up from a meeting about the impending Death Heads demise.
“You gonna have your head in the game?” Sandman asked him.
“Don’t I always?”
“That was true until a certain blonde nurse showed up.”
Blood gave him a look.
Sandman held up his hands. “I’m just callin’ ‘em like I see ‘em.”
“I’ve got some payback to dole out to these sons of bitches. You think I’m gonna fuck that up?”
“Nope. But I don’t want you takin’ any crazy chances either.”
“Me crazy? I think you have me confused with you.”
“Ha ha ha. You’re a riot.”
Blood took a hit off his smoke.
Sandman said, “Hey, remember that beach house we stayed at when we escorted Undertaker’s daughter home that first time we met her?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“How much you think those things go for?”
“Why?”
“I was thinkin’ might be fun to have one.”
“Unless you’ve got a million bucks stashed somewhere I don’t know about, I think you’re out of luck.”
“Damn. That much?”
Blood blew out a stream of smoke. “Yup.”
“Maybe we could rent one. Kick back with our toes in the sand and a Margarita in our hand.” Sandman closed his eyes and smiled, already there.
“Maybe,” Blood replied absently, his eyes moving across the lot to see Cat walk out with Marla and sit on one of the picnic tables. It had been two days since her sister was rescued, and she’d spent every minute with her, the two sharing her room.
When Blood saw what the trauma had done to Holly, he knew he didn’t want that for Cat. He didn’t want to put her in any danger, didn’t want her to ever be used in some revenge plot. Hell, he’d almost talked himself into letting her go completely. He kept putting it off, though, making a deal with himself to let it be for one more day.
Soon, before he realized how long he’d been standing there, mindlessly staring at her, Marla was done with her smoke and they were headed back inside.
Cat lifted her chin. He gave it back. It was all he could do. Frustration filled him as he had to watch her walk away, knowing it was best for her, knowing he should let her go. But everything warred inside him. It felt so wrong. He’d never been a man to deny himself anything, least of all a woman. But at the same time, he wanted her safe, he wanted to do what was right for her, what was best for her, even if she couldn’t see it. He had to take care of her, protect her. He owed her that, at least. She deserved no less. It was the best gift he could give her—she’d have his protection. Not just now, but for life. That he swore to himself.
None of that made watching her walk across that lot any easier.
He’d been with a lot of women in his life, but he knew this one was going to haunt him till the day he died.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The MC waited, hidden around the building at the meeting place. Several unmanned fishing boats floated, moored at the docks. The moon shone down on the slow moving water of Sugar Lake Bayou.
Blood glanced at his watch. One-forty-five a.m.
The sound of tires on pavement reached him, and he peered toward the only road in or out.
A black limousine rolled slowly up and turned into the gravel lot. It parked and waited. The driver and another one of Black Jack’s men got out of the front. One lit up a cigarette, blowing the smoke toward the sky.
The MC quietly waited, their hands tightening on their weapons. When no one else got out of the vehicle, Undertaker gave a hand signal to his men.
Mooch took out the driver and the second man with two pinpoint sniper shots. They dropped like stones. Next, Ghost flattened both front tires of the vehicle.
Blood stepped into view. “Come on out, Black Jack.”
The rear door opened, and he climbed out with his hands in the air. He glanced, not at the dead men, but at the damaged tires. “Was that necessary?”
Undertaker signaled for the men to check the vehicle, and they moved forward, searching it. Shades popped the trunk and pulled out a duffel bag. Unzipping it, he looked up at Undertaker. “Full of cash.”
“Well, that’s kind of you, Black Jack,” Undertaker said as he came forward. He and Black Jack eyed each other as Blood watched the two most influential men in his life face-off.
Undertaker eyed Black Jack with a smirk. “Rules for a gunfight. Bring a gun.” He leveled one at the man. “Preferably two.” He lifted a second pistol in his other hand. “And bring all your friends who have guns.”
; The MC all stepped forward, leveling their weapons toward Black Jack.
“You!” Black Jack bit out. “If it wasn’t for you, Etienne would never have left me. He’d be running my business now.”
“Too bad. Instead, he’s running mine.” Undertaker couldn’t help rubbing it in with a grin.
Black Jack huffed out a laugh, his eyes moving to Blood’s. “You left home for this…this two-bit hoodlum? What could he give you that I couldn’t?”
“Respect!” Blood snarled. “Something you’ll never understand. Something you’ve never given me.”
“We are blood, you and I. Family. That means something.”
Blood spit at his feet. “We ain’t shit.”
Black Jack jerked his hand up, a natural inborn instinct to strike his son.
In a split second, Undertaker’s Glock was pressed to Black Jack’s forehead. “Consider your next move very carefully.”
“He’s mine,” Blood bit out.
“By all means, Son, you do the honors.” Undertaker used the term of endearment on purpose—one Blood knew would drive his father crazy. And it did its job. The man’s eyes blazed with fury as Undertaker stepped back.
Blood raised his gun, pointing it at his father’s head.
Black Jack’s eyes shifted from Undertaker to Blood. “You wouldn’t kill your own father.”
“Wouldn’t I? How is it any different from you killing my mother?”
Black Jack stared him down, showing not one iota of remorse.
“Yeah, I know what really happened. You know Big John didn’t follow all your orders. He buried her.” Blood raised his brows. “Your body won’t get the same respect. Gator bait is what you’re gonna be.”
Black Jack’s face tightened.
“Startin’ to sink in yet? It finally caught up with you—the lies, the secrets, the manipulations. Your reign as King is over. You went too far, and now you’re going down.”
Black Jack narrowed his eyes. “The night you were shot in that alley—don’t you wonder why they didn’t let you die? Take a good look at who saved you.”
“You?”
“My name. You being my son is the only thing that kept the Death Heads from finishing the job that night.”
His words mean nothing. Remember what he did. Remember what he is. You owe him no gratitude.
Undertaker spoke low in his ear as if he could read Blood’s mind, and reinforced his very thoughts. “Don’t let him get under your skin. You don’t owe this piece of garbage a thing.”
Black Jack stepped closer, and all Blood wanted was to blow a hole through his smug face. Even now, his old man thought he’d won. The vision of Blood’s mother lying in that bed flashed through his brain, and he couldn’t think straight. A blood red rage took over him. Breathe. In, out. The gun bucked in his hand, and life left his father’s eyes as he crumpled to the ground.
His hand shook as he lowered his weapon and blew out another breath.
Undertaker looked over at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Undertaker nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and looked down at Black Jack’s body. He shook his head. “Fathers and sons. What is it about fathers and sons?”
Blood shook his head, with no explanation to give on the subject.
Undertaker barked out orders to the rest of the men. “Prop them back up in the car. Gotta make this look like nothing’s wrong.”
They hustled to get the job done.
Ghost looked over at Shades, and they both moved to pat Blood on the shoulder, knowing that hadn’t been easy for him to do. He acknowledged their gesture with a nod. He was good, but it was bolstering to know he had brothers at his back—ones who would drive across two states at the drop of a hat to help him. He watched as the two bent to the body at his feet and hefted his father into the back of the limo. Then they moved on to the driver.
“This one’s a fat boy, isn’t he?” Ghost groaned under the man’s weight.
Shades chuckled. “Guess he ate his Wheaties.”
Blood stood frozen in place, aware of what was happening but somehow removed from it all. Thankfully, he had brothers to take up the slack while he dealt with what he’d just done.
A few minutes later, a panel van crept up the road, slowly breaking Blood from his spell. The men melted back into the shadows.
Undertaker radioed Easy and Sandman who waited upstream in the boat. “Get ready. They’re coming up the road. Radio silence.”
“Roger that, boss.”
Undertaker glanced over at Blood. “You good? Ready to take care of business?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. I’ve got some payback coming for what these assholes did to me.”
Undertaker grinned. “Yeah, you do.”
The van rolled to a stop ten yards from the limousine.
Blood’s eyes cut to the bayou. It was only twenty yards from where the vehicles were parked—a clear shot for the machine gun Sandman had mounted on the boat.
Nothing moved as the van sat idling. Finally, the side cargo door slid open. Four men got out. One approached the limousine and tapped on the window.
At that point the MC opened fire. The sound of automatic weapons reverberated through the quiet night as Blood and his brothers sprayed the crowd of Death Heads, catching them completely by surprise.
They killed the driver instantly, making sure none of them had a fast getaway.
The boat came roaring up, and Sandman lit up the 240 SAW, its muzzle spitting fire and mowing down the Death Heads as they attempted to run for cover.
When the gunfire was over and there were nothing but dead bodies, the quiet was deafening. Soon the muffled barking of a dog began and the sound of sirens whining in the distance carried to them.
“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Shades told his father-in-law.
Undertaker nodded.
Mooch, who was listening in on the police bands, announced, “Got the whole alphabet comin’ boys. FBI, DEA, ATF.”
“Tsk, tsk. Sounds like somebody was under investigation,” Ghost teased.
“You know what to do,” Undertaker snapped.
The men dragged the dead bodies toward the edge of the Bayou and rolled them into the water. There were three from the limousine and six from the van, but they made quick work of it, working in pairs.
“Let’s move!” Undertaker snapped when they were all through, and Blood stood watching his father’s lifeless body submerging.
They jumped in the boat and turned it upriver to where Sugar Lake Bayou flowed into the Mississippi River. Easy’s cousin’s Navy salvage boat raced up the murky dark water carrying them all away in the dark of night like some Special Ops hit squad.
In their wake, several gators slipped under the water from off the bank on the other side of the bayou, heading for the blood soaked waters on the other side. A meal well deserved.
Blood grinned.
There may not be much left to find when the alphabet arrived.
He was good with that.
Cat was wrong about the guilt. He wouldn’t think of his father again. The man was no more to him than just another roach under his boot.
He had one stop to make, then he could put it all behind him.
Blood turned his face toward the bow of the boat, the wind washing over him. He was headed home—back to see what awaited him.
He suddenly realized that when he thought of home now, it wasn’t the clubhouse he thought of. It was Cat. When had she become home?
Chapter Thirty
Cat and Holly sat outside the clubhouse at a picnic table, drinking their early morning coffee. It had taken Cat a while to coax her sister out of her room, but it was such a nice morning, and she knew the fresh air would be good for her.
Blood had given her a lot of needed space to spend with her sister, and Cat appreciated it, but she knew he—along with all the men—had gone out last night and hadn’t come back. The only thing Cat had been able to discover was that it was c
lub business, and now she was worried. She hadn’t heard from him—not that she should expect to, but still, it was the not knowing that put her nerves on edge.
She was afraid for Blood; she could admit it. Not that he couldn’t take care of himself, because the man definitely could, but that didn’t mean things couldn’t go wrong. Sometimes things don’t go as planned. Mistakes get made, luck runs out. She just didn’t want to think what her life would be like without him in it. And maybe she didn’t know exactly what life with him would look like, but she knew if he weren’t a part of it, there would be a giant hole in her life.
The new girl—the one who had accompanied the two men with the Alabama bottom rockers on their cuts—came outside with her baby.
Cat hadn’t been introduced to her yet, but Blood had told her briefly that she was Undertaker’s daughter. She approached the picnic table with a big smile on her face, a coffee mug in one hand, and the tiny infant tucked over her opposite shoulder.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Cat greeted her with a returning smile, noting the girl’s long dark hair and sky-blue eyes.
“You ladies are up early this morning. I thought I’d be the only person awake. This little one has had me up since dawn. I’m Skylar by the way.” She set her mug down and joined them.
“I’m Cat Randall. This is my sister, Holly.” She shook Skylar’s hand. “It’s cooler this time of the morning, isn’t it?”
Skylar grinned. “Yes, it is. But you can’t fool me; you’re no more a morning person than I am. You’re worried about the boys.”
“I suppose so. Are you?”
“I try not to be. I know it bothers Shades for me to worry, but sometimes a girl can’t help it, you know?”
Cat nodded. “I heard your father is the President here.”
Skylar grinned. “He is.”
Cat’s eyes moved over her. She sure didn’t look like some hardened biker chick. No tattoos, minimal jewelry, a pair of jeans, and a white peasant top. Still, Cat had to ask. “Was it hard growing up in an MC?”
Skylar chuckled. “Unfortunately or luckily, depending on how you want to look at it, I didn’t. You see, I didn’t know Undertaker was my father until just a couple of years ago.”
