Violet Darger (Book 2): Killing Season

by L. T. Vargus

  “Now, now, Roach. Don’t you go tryin’ to embarrass me in front of my lady friend.”

  “Owen, honey, you do a fine job of embarrassing yourself all on your own,” Violet said, winking at the man formerly known as Black Bandana.

  Roach’s mouth gaped, showing off a collection of molars that glittered with gold fillings. A hoarse laugh emanated from his barrel chest.

  “That’s good,” Roach said, then slapped Owen’s arm. “Finally found a girl that can keep up with your horseshit, eh?”

  Owen’s eyes glinted as he regarded her. “She’s got a PhD in horseshit.”

  Roach clapped a hand on Owen’s shoulder.

  “Hey man, I passed it up the chain, but it’s not gonna happen. I’m sorry, man.”

  “That’s too bad,” Owen said. “But I understand.”

  “Yeah, it’s nothing personal, you know. And I’m real sorry about your brother, really. I know he’s Johnny Law and all, but I never had any beef with him. And I know you’re cool. Some of these other guys, though, a pig’s a pig. Sucks, but that’s the way it goes, I guess.”

  “Thanks for trying, man,” Owen said. “Can I buy you a beer for your trouble?”

  Roach waved the offer away.

  “Naw, man. You don’t have to do that. It was your number in the parking lot,” he said with a chuckle. “We’re square.”

  After he’d gone, Violet’s mouth pinched into a sour knot.

  “It was your pot?”

  Owen shrugged.

  “That was the idea all along? To come here and get one of your old buddies high?”

  “Will you chill out? It was a solid plan.”

  “Solid?” she repeated the word with incredulity.

  “You see that patch on Hardegree’s vest, the one that says ACAB?”

  “I saw it,” she said.

  “Stands for ‘All Cops Are Bastards.’ And that includes the FBI. I knew they were gonna be hesitant to even talk to me because of who my brother is. So smoking a joint works two-fold. It proves I’m not a narc,” he gave her a pointed look, “and it loosens ‘em up a little. Sets ‘em at ease.”

  “You are unbelievable. Now I really can’t believe you and Ethan are related.”

  She took a drink, shaking her head.

  “And I assure you that is something we would both take as a compliment.”

  It sounded like a joke, but judging by the serious look on his face, it wasn’t. Violet decided to change the subject.

  “Well, seeing as your plan didn’t work, now it’s my turn.”

  Violet hopped down off the stool, and Owen seemed to choke a little on his beer.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said it’s my turn.”

  Owen snagged her by a belt loop on her jeans when she tried to step away from the bar.

  “I hope you’re not planning on just marching over there to chat with Hardegree.”

  “We can’t wait around here all night,” she said.

  As she and Owen argued, her eyes darted over to the pool tables. Stokes was watching two of his fellow club members have a turn, but at that moment, his coal black eyes flicked up and stared directly into hers. She froze, feeling like an arctic seal caught in the sights of a killer whale.

  “Are you listening?” Owen said, giving her elbow a tug.

  The movement broke the spell, her focus swiveling back on Owen.

  “Yes, I heard you,” she said, though the truth was she’d heard very little. Being trapped in Stokes’ gaze had rendered her half-stupid or something.

  She was glad when she peeked back in the direction of the pool table and Stokes was no longer watching her. In fact, he wasn’t even there anymore.

  Violet frowned, scanning the crowd for him.

  She found him at the next table over. The one with the obnoxious fratty-looking guys. Stokes was uncomfortably close to one of the bros. Like kissing close, though she doubted that was what Stokes had in mind. A lull in the music allowed Darger to hear a snippet of the exchange.

  “Look, man. I’m not looking for trouble,” the kid was saying. “We’re gonna finish our beers and go.”

  “Yeah? Let me help you with that,” Stokes said, shoving the kid’s hand so it tipped his bottle into his face. Beer sloshed down the bro’s chin and onto his J. Crew button-down.

  The music swelled, drowning out their voices, but Darger could read the kid’s lips easily enough.

  “What the fuck, dude!”

  J. Crew’s hand balled into a fist. Stokes didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. He held as still as if he were made of stone. And just as the kid stepped within range, Stokes sprang to life, swinging a right hook into the kid’s jaw. J. Crew stumbled backward but recovered quickly. Within seconds, he and his idiot friends were engaged in a full-scale brawl with the Nameless Brotherhood.

  “Oh shit,” Darger said, standing so fast her chair tipped over.

  Without her consciously telling it to, her hand reached for the ankle holster.

  “Violet, don’t.”

  Owen made a grab at her sleeve, but it was too late. She was already charging into the fray with her weapon drawn.

  Chapter 34

  There were shouts and the almost musical sound of glass shattering, and suddenly the whole place was in upheaval. People rushed for the exits, and the swarm of people between Darger and the pool tables meant she lost sight of the melee.

  She dodged around the fleeing masses, trying to get a glimpse of Hardegree or Stokes. A waitress with a full tray of empty pint glasses crashed into Darger, terror etched on her face as she went down.

  Darger kept her footing and shuffled away from the face-planting woman, watching a table flip onto its side right next to her, silverware and dishes clattering to the floor.

  Finally, Darger reached the edge of the scuffle. One of the kids was on the floor, already out cold. Stokes had another up against the wall, forearm at his neck.

  “FBI!”

  No one reacted. Over the clamor of the fight and the rush of blood in their own ears, they probably couldn’t hear her. She tried again anyway.

  “FB-”

  There was a crack as something collided with her forehead. An explosion of pink and white stars blotted out her vision for a moment. She stumbled backward, blinked, and turned her head in time to see one of the bikers holding a pool cue over his shoulder like a baseball bat.

  He swung at her again. This time she ducked. She sprang forward in a crouch, coming up right in front of him and smashing the butt of her gun into his nose. He made a sound like a harpooned walrus as blood gushed from his nostrils. She shoved him away from her.

  Darger barely had time to take another breath before someone grabbed her from behind, wrapping a thick arm under her chin in a chokehold. The hand holding the gun was pinned against her body. Useless.

  She struggled, stomping down on his instep with the heel of her boot. If he felt it at all, his body language didn’t show it. She changed tactics and tried to butt the back of her skull into his face, but he was too tall. Her head collided with a chest padded by years of greasy food and beer.

  There was an odd sense of vertigo as he lifted her off the ground and body-slammed her into the pool table. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs for a beat, but soon she was trying to squirm free again.

  He pinned her to the green felt top, hands moving up to encircle her throat. They were face to face, and his mouth spread in a devilish grin. He was six-and-a-half feet tall, easy. Arms like tree trunks extended out from under his Nameless Brotherhood vest.

  Gun. Where was her gun? She must have lost it when he’d dumped her on the table.

  She kicked out, aiming for his groin, but he dodged to one side.

  He removed one of the hands gripping her and pulled it back in a fist. He struck her once in the side of the head.

  Stars again.

  Violet stopped clawing at the meaty fingers around her neck and flailed out in search of something to fight b
ack with.

  Her fingertips brushed something round. The pool balls. They rolled away from her dancing fingers, but eventually she got one in her clutches. Just before the man’s fist collided with her skull a second time, Violet smashed the ball into the wrist still holding her down. She felt the metacarpals in the back of his hand crumple. The man released her, howling.

  “Bitch!”

  Air scraped over her larynx as she inhaled the sweet, sweet oxygen. But before she could scramble down off the pool table he was on her again, back to using both hands to choke her. She tried to hit him with the ball again, but he batted her hand away. She lost her grip. Dropped it.

  Her strength started to fade. She gathered herself for one last attack. Right when her vision began to blur, she bucked and kicked, more flexible than he was expecting. She knocked him off balance, his grip loosening slightly as he stumbled back in a stutter step.

  Then she saw the legs of a chair raised high in the air. They hovered there, upside-down. Was she hallucinating? A mirage induced by the lack of oxygen?

  The chair came down on the man’s back and shoulder. She felt the collision jolt through his hands and into her chest, and then he went limp. He fell forward and on top of her. The big bastard must have weighed almost 300 pounds, but at least she could breathe again.

  She coughed, breath rasping back into her lungs. The biker’s weight shifted. At first, she thought he was getting back up. Then she saw that Owen had him under the arms and was rolling him off of her.

  He pulled her down from the table, then plucked her gun from where it had holstered itself in a corner pocket and handed it to her.

  “We better get out of here while we still can.”

  He looped an arm around her, keeping her steady as he guided her toward the exit.

  Darger blinked, only vaguely able to make sense of the continuing chaos raging around them. Stokes had one of the college kids backed into a corner, raining down blows upon his head. Three brutes in Nameless vests huddled over a prone form on the floor, aiming kicks at the man's head and chest.

  She didn't see Donald Hardegree anywhere. Probably his brothers insisted he escape in all the commotion. They would naturally want to protect their president from being arrested.

  She hesitated at the threshold, her conscience nagging her for leaving the scene. For not doing more to break up the fight.

  "Seriously, we need to go," Owen said, and she let him tow her through the door.

  The red and blue flashers of a police car were visible at one end of the parking lot. Owen tugged her in the opposite direction.

  “Shouldn’t we stay and give a statement?” she asked.

  “Why would we do that? The whole point of this was to keep it quiet. Ethan made it pretty clear that if you got caught up in this, your ass would be grass, missy.”

  As they reached Owen’s car, a bright beam of light flashed into Darger’s eyes.

  “Atlanta PD,” a voice said. “I’d like to see some ID.”

  The light flicked over to Owen’s face.

  “Owen? What the hell are you doing out here?”

  The cop lowered his flashlight, and Owen blinked a few times.

  “Hey, Reggie.”

  “Christ, man. I heard about Ethan. Saw it on the TV, too. Man, I’m sorry. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s gonna pull through. You know him.”

  Reggie nodded then inclined his head toward the bar. The authoritative voice of a police officer could be heard shouting orders inside.

  “So did you see what happened in there?”

  “That depends,” Owen said.

  He didn’t look at Violet, but she knew enough to keep quiet for the moment.

  Reggie rested his hands on his belt. “Depends on what?”

  “On whether or not you’ll insist on official statements.”

  “Come on, man,” Reggie pleaded.

  Owen only shrugged.

  “Fine,” Reggie said with a sigh. “Off the record.”

  Violet started to wonder if maybe Owen hadn’t been exaggerating about being one of the best private investigators in Atlanta. Everywhere they went he seemed to know someone who was willing to do him a favor.

  “Couple of college boys got in a scuffle with the Nameless Brotherhood.”

  “That’s it?” Reggie asked.

  “Far as I know.”

  “Man, how come when there’s trouble, you always seem to be lurking around?”

  Owen grinned. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Reggie studied him for a moment, and then his eyes wandered over to Violet. His mouth hardened when he saw the goose egg on her forehead.

  “And your friend here?”

  “Where are my manners?” Owen said. “Reggie, this is Violet Darger. Colleague of Ethan’s, as a matter of fact.”

  Reggie’s face changed then, sensing he was onto something bigger than a bar fight.

  “Aw, hell. Does this have something to do with the sniper?”

  Owen took a step forward and lowered his voice.

  “We don’t know. Could be. And that’s why we’d appreciate it if you could keep our names out of any official reports.”

  Reggie inhaled and seemed to think on it. Finally he nodded.

  “Alright, man. But you know how this works. If anyone in there brings up your name, there’s nothing I can do.”

  He gestured back at the bar.

  “Thanks, Reg. I owe you one.”

  “One?”

  Owen winked.

  “Put it on my tab.”

  As Violet lowered herself into the car, Reggie turned back to them.

  “Oh, and ma’am?”

  “Yes?”

  He pointed at his own forehead.

  “Probably should get some ice on that.”

  Chapter 35

  “Don’t think it’ll need stitches,” he pronounced.

  Along with the bruising and swelling, the pool cue had left a small gash over Violet’s eyebrow. Owen cleaned it up and applied a butterfly bandage.

  “Well that was a bust,” Violet said.

  Her voice came out a little hoarse. She suspected her vocal cords were bruised.

  Owen pulled a package of frozen corn from the freezer and pressed it to her face. She winced at the cold sting of it.

  “The night is young, Miss — Agent Darger.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I mean, who knows what might shake loose when you turn the Nameless Brotherhood upside-down?”

  Her brow furrowed as a suspicious thought entered her mind.

  “The fight… did you know that was going to happen?”

  He looked genuinely surprised.

  “Are you kidding? If I’d known it was going to turn into an old-fashioned free-for-all, I would have brought my brass knuckles.”

  Violet lowered the bag of thawing corn.

  “You don’t actually have brass knuckles, do you?” she asked, then squeezed her eyes shut. “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

  Peeling her eyelids apart, she glanced at the clock. The digital display on Owen’s microwave revealed the time: 11:23 PM.

  “I’d better go. My shift starts in half an hour,” Violet said, standing and passing the bag of corn back to Owen.

  “I’ll walk you to your car,” Owen said.

  “I’m parked like ten feet from the door.”

  “And there are dangerous folk about.”

  Moths and other six-legged creatures fluttered at the windows of Owen’s porch, a hushed patter of wings against screen. She followed Owen down the steps to the driveway. The hulking silhouette of the bathtub Mary cast a long shadow over the lawn.

  Violet moved around to the driver’s side of her car. Her thumb found the unlock button by feel.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what,” Owen said. “You really know how to take a pool stick to the face.”

  “I’m gonna bring that up the next time my partner criticizes me for my thick skull.” />
  Owen reached for her face, fingers brushing lightly against the bump on her forehead.

  “You’re bleeding again.”

  Her own hand instinctively went for the abrasion over her eyebrow. It stung when she touched it.

  She realized how close he was then. Close enough that she felt the warmth coming off of his body.

  “I sure would like to kiss you, Miss Darger.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Owen. If you’re going to kiss me, at least call me Violet.”

  He smiled. “There’s that mouth again.”

  When he leaned in, she met him halfway. Their lips touched.

  His tongue teased her mouth open, and she welcomed it, savoring the taste of him. The beer he’d had earlier left an almost citrusy tang.

  Owen pressed against her, his hips pinning her against the car. His fingertips tickled over her scalp as he ran his hands through her hair and down to her neck. A warm tingle spread down through her.

  Violet inhaled, taking in a breath filled with the scent of him. Not cologne or anything artificial. Just his innate smell.

  What had he called it?

  His natural musk.

  No. That wasn’t right…

  Ethan had been the one who’d said that.

  At the thought of Ethan, her mind flashed on the image of him lying in the dust on that hill. The pink, frothy blood oozing from the wound. The wet sucking sound of the hole in his lung.

  Violet pulled away with a gasp, and Owen’s eyebrows pulled together in concern.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She felt light-headed and panicky. She tried to take a step backward, but the car was behind her. She bumped against it and wobbled off balance. Owen reached out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder.

  “I saw… I thought you were…”

  He stared at her, eyes wide. It took her a moment to find the words.

  “I think what happened with your brother isn’t quite out of my head yet.”

  Owen lowered his gaze, shoulders drooping as he exhaled loudly. Was he angry? Disappointed?

  After a moment, he nodded.

  “Yeah. I guess it’s probably not out of mine either.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” She ran her hands over her arms, trying to scare off the goose bumps prickling over her skin. “The shooting was my fault. The real truth is, your brother wouldn’t have been on that hillside if it weren’t for me. I was the one that dragged him up there.”