Outlaw's Wrath - An MC Brotherhood Romance Boxed Set

by Glass, Evelyn

  The answer appeared to be: nothing.

  When the two men decided to break for dinner, Rivera did his exercise thing again and then stood up. Maybe the exercises were real, or he was simply a thorough con-artist. Then Rivera rose and came over to Hank.

  “Are you learning much?” Rivera asked.

  “More than you can imagine,” Hank assured him.

  Rivera studied him and then nodded. “That could be true. You have an eagle’s way of looking at things. You see vistas. Here is my card. If you are ever in Mexico and require assistance, use it.”

  Hank checked the position of the others in the room, and then said, “Perhaps Sunday, around two, we might talk? I believe it would be mutually beneficial, and it would also allow what I rudely interrupted to move forward.”

  Rivera studied him intently. “Si, but first tell me how you could have known so precisely.”

  “You told me,” Hank replied. “First, you related what happened to your granddaughter. Orlin thought she was one of the entertainment women. She was probably so scared, she couldn’t cry out. Afterward, she was so ashamed she couldn’t speak. And then your exercises: They were the perfect camouflage for a draw. It would have worked beautifully. Of course, it was a suicide run. You didn’t expect to walk out of here, and I am not ready to die. So, I had to stop you.”

  “If you could have left the room?”

  Hank met the elder’s eyes and said, “I would have and with a prayer on my lips for you.”

  Rivera nodded his head thoughtfully, then agreed. “Sunday, then, at two. I’ll be available. I have a feeling that it won’t be a waste of my time.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Hank said. He moved away to watch dinner being brought in and observe Rivera’s guards looking nervously into the room.

  Rivera went to his man on the balcony and whispered in his ear. The man nodded and talked into his radio. Both men appeared much calmer after that.

  For the rest of the evening, Hank’s mind churned through scenarios of how best to use this windfall.

  Apparently, Rivera would rather die than to go into a head-to-head war with Orlin, which said a great deal about the man. To Rivera, this was a personal insult and would be handled personally. Thus, Rivera would not be interested in helping Hank on that scale.

  He had until Sunday, he reminded himself. He would use this windfall well. Already two ideas seemed promising, but they needed work before he could present either to Rivera.

  One point was now certain: If he was going to use Rivera as a resource, then Orlin was a dead man, preferably by Rivera’s hand. Used properly, however, Rivera could give Hank his life back in the aftermath.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Friday, for Hank, was an interesting day. It was likely the most interesting day he had experienced in over two years. Orlin and Frank sat at a large meeting table in a long room with windows and skylights. Frank had a laptop in front of him, which he was using to play Minefield, while Orlin had a pad of legal paper with several pens and pencils set out before him.

  Then began a sort of inventor’s day. People of all manners and ages came into the room. One by one, they presented a concept to Orlin, who would then either ask for further information or a demonstration, or admit that he wasn’t interested in the idea at this time. If they gave him further information, he would then either reject them or tell them to talk to Hank, who opened up Orlin’s calendar program and scheduled one-hour meetings for in-depth discussions.

  There was a fourth option, as well, and that was to buy the idea on the spot. This happened for a man who ran one of the money accounting cells. He came up with a new way to launder cash. Orlin paid him ten grand on the grounds that he remain available for consulting once Orlin was ready to put the idea into action. Hank was sent to the large safe in the room beside Orlin’s master bedroom to collect the money for the man.

  Hank learned more about the inner workings of the Ruiz cartel, and underground operations in general, during this single day than in the entire eight months prior. His brain was buzzing with ideas, concepts, and schemes he wouldn’t have — couldn’t have — conceived with ten years of focused creative thought on his own.

  Afterward, he went to the room that was provided for him in the hacienda, opened the laptop, got onto his cloud drive writer program, and began typing furiously. He was still at it near four in the morning, when he forced himself to sleep for four hours so he could be ready and alert by ten o’clock.

  Those notes contained several fortunes. With the rider’s network established, even greater revenues could be achieved.

  He woke, showered, and found that four suits with shirts, shoes, and accessories were in the closet and drawers in the room. He wondered how long they had been hanging there, since this was the first time he had actually used this room. Until this point, he had rented a nearby hotel room by the week.

  The light cotton suits were basic black with narrow black, gold, red, and blue ties to choose from. There were three sets of black shoes for variety. A gold ring mounted with a sizable diamond, which fit his right ring finger, was in the top drawer along with three watches. He didn’t know much about watches, but with the Internet, he didn’t have to. Searching the make and model number of one of the timepieces, he discovered it retailed for $5k.

  “A man could lose his hand wearing a watch like this on his arm,” he murmured. He put both the watch and the ring on, and he chose the ivory and silver tie clasp to go with the black tie.

  In the bathroom, he discovered a complete grooming kit. After shaving and brushing his hair into a ponytail, he went to the dining area to see if he might steal a few pieces of sausage from Wanda the cook.

  Once in an open office room with Orlin, Orlin asked Hank, “You’ve had time to process. So tell me, what are your impressions of Cuarto Rivera?”

  “He desires only one thing from you.”

  Orlin lifted his eyes from his reading. “What’s that?”

  “Your death,” Hank told him.

  Orlin leaned back and studied Hank, and then said, “If any other man in my organization would have said that this morning, I would not have believed them, and would hear no more. But you.… As always, you sound so certain. Do you know why he wants this?”

  “You had sex with his eldest granddaughter last year, mistaking her for one of the entertainment girls. She was too frightened to say anything then or scream, and too ashamed to say anything after until she confessed the ordeal to her mother, maybe a week later,” Hank said.

  All of the wind went out of Orlin. His hands dropped to his sides, and he looked at Hank, absolutely stunned. “I recall Rivera questioning me about her, even bringing up the color of her dress that day. Oh sweet Mary.”

  Hank waited while Orlin processed the scope of this mistake.

  “And I,” Orlin began again, “couldn’t even recall her while I was talking to him. I damned myself twice in that meeting. And you are very right. I myself would want nothing less. I wonder why we are not at war right now.”

  “Rivera is old school. It is his personal shame for not protecting his granddaughter while they were here. He will handle this personally, not with a war,” Hank told him.

  “Si, bueno, you are absolutely correct. How do I fix this, Hank? I mean, I like and respect Rivera. Yes, he’s old, and a dinosaur when it comes to business, but I would never, ever willingly offend him in this manner.”

  Hank was silent for a long time. He had thought out the answer to this question two days ago. Orlin’s wife had died from cancer two years ago. He had one son from that marriage.

  “I’m not completely up on the inner working of society in Mexican culture, so all I can think of is to beg the girl’s forgiveness, and offer to marry her.”

  “Would a girl wish to marry her rapist?” Orlin asked.

  “If she forgives you, but declines the offer, Rivera may accept the magnitude of your willingness to amend the situation. After all, he is old school,” Hank pointed out.


  Orlin leaned forward. “Hank, I have to say this now. When I introduced you to Rivera as my executive assistant, I was merely attempting to explain your presence, but now, that is exactly the position I need you in. None of my men or women would have picked up on this, and Rivera would have had his revenge without me ever knowing why. If there is one thing that old man knows how to do, it is how to kill another man.”

  I’m counting on that, Hank thought to himself.

  “I noticed that you spent the night here. Any reason why?”

  “After yesterday, I had so many ideas in my head, I wanted to get them down before I lost them. It was 4am before I realized it,” Hank said with a grin.

  “Ideas? Such as?”

  Hank explained two variations on the laundering scheme Orlin had purchased the day before.

  “You are full of surprises, Hank. I owe you twenty grand. Be sure to pay yourself after you leave. And I think that should be now. You have dropped a bomb on me, and I will do nothing else until I fix this problem with…”

  “Sibel,” Hank offered.

  “Blessed Virgin, I’m going to rot in hell for this on,e Hank. Even after all of this, I still can’t recall her name. I can’t even recall her face. She could walk into this room right now, and I would not know her.”

  “I suggest that you get some very recent photos and even video of her soon, then. That would destroy your chances before they began,” Hank told him.

  “You are very right there. Now go. I don’t wish to see you until Tuesday, late Tuesday. After lunch. I will be dedicating myself to this major fuck-up until then, and since you are not up on Mexican social workings, I can use other minds who are.”

  Hank nodded his head and left the office. He collected his twenty grand from the safe, put that into a bag, and left the hacienda with the laptop and his money. He took off the tie, put that into his pocket, and got on his bike.

  Tuesday. That was good. Very good.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cyn decided that what James Rath meant when he said that he wasn’t very good at knife fighting was that he wasn’t fucking phenomenal at it like he was at everything else. His skill was only in the upper echelons of great, but couldn’t seem to get past that plateau.

  Ah, poor thing. Breaks my heart.

  He was in black workout pants, and that was it. They both had their hair pulled back. She was in tight workout pants and a tight, firm, workout top, which was more like a bra, really. They were both panting now, and sweating. James was smiling less, which made Cyn smile more.

  “James, you need to quit thinking of the knife as something in your hand. It’s distracting you rather than adding to your armory.”

  “It is in my hand, though,” he complained.

  “Drop it,” she told him.

  “What?”

  “Drop it, close your fist and attack me,” Cyn told him.

  He cocked his head to the side like a confused puppy, but then opened his hand and let the knife fall, closed his fist, and came in at her like the wind of a blizzard. She was able to block two of his attacks and give him a good slash across his chest before his third attack, with his left hand this time, sent her to the mat.

  “Yes!” she screamed in victory, and bounced up off the mat.

  “Yes what? I hit you! I did not stab you!”

  “So fucking what? Was I any less defeated? I wasn’t just down, I was sprawled. I couldn’t have defended the coup de grâce.”

  He was confused, and he looked nearly lost.

  “Remember the first thing you said when you taught me to shoot? Fuck aiming. Forget the gun even has sights. You need to forget that you even have a knife.”

  “Then what is the point of having the fucking knife?” he asked.

  She reached down and lifted his hand. She traced the slash mark across his wrist that was still red and angry from her second successful block. “Because you’re dead, too,” she told him. “The knife adds to your weapons; it shouldn’t hinder them.”

  He looked at the angry red line, and then at his chest where her slash was skill glowing savagely.

  “Naw,” she said with a smile. “That one would have just made you more sexy in a bad boy way. A few stitches and you would have been fine. Same with your other arm. Just a cut, but this one, this one I’m proud of.”

  He smiled. “Yes, this one would certainly have been a bit of a hassle.”

  They got waters and sat down together, leaning their backs against the wall.

  “I think I get it. Can we do knife the next time as well?” James asked her.

  “Yeah, definitely. As much as you want. I’ve never had this good of a work out with it before. After this session, I feel like an eye has opened inside of me, and I can see what all of these pieces and stances and moves are all about, and how they work as a whole, in concert.”

  James looked over at her. “That’s called mastery. I remember the first time that happened to me. It was such a rush. And, by the way, I have never died so many fucking times on a mat before in one session.” Then he laughed, and it was a good, solid, joyous laugh.

  James was right: It was a rush. Mastery or not, she felt fantastic, and a world of possibilities was opened up for her to explore.

  Sally and Daphne came into the garage from the attached kitchen door. “Are you two done killing — wow! James! I have never seen you so wiped out before.”

  “She’s an animal! She just kept killing me and killing me. It was wonderful,” he laughed.

  Sally smiled, but she couldn’t find the humor her husband felt at being killed over and over, or understand how good it felt to him.

  Daphne was galvanized by his tanned, perfectly formed, nearly naked, sweaty body. The poor thing looked like a doe in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

  “You two want a snack or something?” Sally asked.

  “No, thank you,” Cyn told her. “I think we are done for now. I know I’ve never been this wiped out before. I want a long bath and a short nap.”

  They tentatively scheduled to meet next Friday at the same time.

  “Come a little earlier,” Sally offered. “That way you can relax a little after lunch before beating up my husband again.”

  As soon as they were back, Cyn got out of her clothes and into the bath. She purred in the hot water.

  Daphne knocked lightly on the door. “You done yet? Can I come in?”

  “Done what?”

  “Rubbing one out,” she giggled.

  Cyn laughed. “Come in here, brat.”

  Daphne came in and sat down on the back edge of the tub. “So you really had a good time, I guess.”

  “Yes, a very good time. I was seriously nervous, though. After watching those vids of him on YouTube, shit.”

  Daphne put her hands on Cyn’s shoulders and began to massage the tired and tense muscles. And damn that felt good. Cyn sighed and positioned herself to give Daphne better access to her shoulders and back.

  Daphne’s hands worked her deeply and soothed out aches Cyn had already accepted as ones that were going to be painfully sore in the morning. When she worked her fingers into Cyn’s neck muscles, Cyn moaned with pleasure.

  After perhaps fifteen minutes of this, Cyn was in deep, relaxed pleasure.

  “Cyn?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you into girls at all?”

  Cyn sighed sadly. “I really wish I was now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can hear in your voice that you are, and I know it’s been awhile for you. I could tell a couple weeks after we met that you weren’t really getting any with Derrick, and if you were, it was of the quickie variety.”

  “It’s been nearly two years,” Daphne agreed. “He came out of prison and we fucked like rabbits, of course. He couldn’t get enough of me. It was like we were kids again. I even had to begin using lube because he would take me four or five times a day. But then he started using meth, and that made his dick soft. He could still get
off if I sucked him long enough, and that was alright for a while, because rubbing myself while sucking on him, even soft, was still a good encounter for me. But then he really started using a lot of meth; shooting it, smoking it. He just lost interest in sex. It just wasn’t something that was an urge for him.”

  “Yeah, I figured it was something like that, and I know that solo rubbing isn’t really all that fulfilling. At least for me it’s not. It helps, but it never fulfills. So, yes, now that I know you are into women, I do — really — wish I was, because I know you’re hurting. But I’m not, sorry.”