Blevins and Juan are standing with Rack by the door to the back room. I walk over and give the nod to the first two men. They get lost quickly. Their shift ended at six and they have vehicles waiting outside. The two men who relieve them will come to the warehouse district when this shit is finished.
“What condition is he in?” I ask Rack.
“The worst is a broken wrist. I’m sure the cuffs attaching him to the chains are painful. He knew how to roll the bike, so no head trauma. The last time I checked, he was awake and pissed off.”
I open the door and stand looking at my victim for a full minute. Countless dangerous men have hung from these rafters. Sometimes they are too big of a pussy and we provide a chair. Dandridge was that way. Dandridge was a weasel who needed to die. He’s also the idiot who Madison caught with his dick in a prostitute’s mouth the first time I met her. With men like Dandridge, the fear more than the pain gets to them and they pass out before the fun even begins. This guy’s shirt is off and his tats are prominent. His corded muscles are bulging from the strain to his shoulders. He doesn’t carry the bulk I do, but you can see his strength in the definition of his body. He’s lean and mean. From the T-shirt tan, I would guess he works with his hands—construction most likely. He’s also as tall as I am.
My gaze meets his. His eyes boil with rage, which will do him little good once I start. I see no fear and I’m under no misconception that he’ll be easy to break. Good. I need to exorcize a few demons myself. This jackass poses a danger to Celina, and he’s part of the shit MC who would harm a small child.
I close the door behind me, carry my work bag across the room, and rest it on the floor by the sink. I shuck my suit, place it meticulously on a hanger, and zip it into a plastic bag that I hang from a hook on the wall. I remove a new pair of neatly folded jeans from my bag. When I’m done with this scum, I’ll restock my bag with several new pairs of jeans and additional gloves. This is a bloody business and it’s how I roll.
Going through the preparation ritual sets off the images. They begin rolling through my mind like a choreographed symphony. They always begin with smiling or laughing faces of the people I’ve loved and lost. The good memories first. They change slowly as does my craving for the methodical violence that’s about to go down. Vengeance is always mine and the show must always go on.
I pull on the gloves, smooth them over my flesh, and flex my fingers. I also pull out the smaller medical bag and rest it on the counter. A little girl’s life is on the line and I don’t have time to play. The scum’s wallet and a pocketknife are resting in a shoebox on the utility counter. I quickly flip through the worn bi-fold leather. It holds a debit card, two twenty dollar bills, and his license. Dax Jonathan Montgomery—thirty years old. Beneath the license is a creased picture of a beautiful young woman. The look of utter happiness on her face captivates me for a second. I shake it off and toss everything back into the shoebox. His possessions will meet the incinerator when I’m done.
I turn and stride to the silent man. Usually they’re huffing and puffing by now—struggling in the cuffs and trying to give some relief to their shoulders. His body is extended, so he’s resting on the balls of his feet. He’s hiked up by a pulley system for maximum discomfort to him and ease of use for us.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask casually.
He has silently watched every move I’ve made and it’s time he knows we will be using words. He spits to the side of me, which surprises me. That doesn’t happen often. I’ve been spit on more times than I can count. He thrusts his chin out. “I had no idea when I was following your cage, but your men informed me.” He’s pissed off but does a good job of keeping his tone even.
I’m shirtless and roll my shoulders to stretch the muscles I’ll be using shortly. “What exactly do you know?” It’s strange because I enjoy this part as much as the violence. My voice is calm and I’m always curious how the men who are about to die, will react to me.
The burn in his eyes intensifies, but he still sounds neutral. “I know I won’t be leaving this room alive.”
No hesitation. No fear. I do see pissed off resignation. I can’t help wondering if being killed by a Mexican piece of shit doesn’t sit well with his skinhead mentality. One can only hope he won’t reach the gates of Valhalla with his other blond-haired, blue-eyed shit-bag brothers.
I manage to hold back a grin when I speak my bullshit. “I’m known to be merciful. You can answer my questions honestly and take all the fun out of my evening or…” I leave the sentence hanging.
“I have my own question before I decide,” he shoots back.
This elicits a laugh along with the grin I was holding back. “A first, but ask your question.”
“The woman. Is she safe?”
The picture of my sister smiling has just flashed through my head, and his question throws me off course. “Why do you care?” I say without any hint of emotion.
He thinks about his next words and I wait him out. I snap my brain from the images long enough to notice his swollen wrist. It must hurt like a bitch. My sister’s smile is gone in the next slide and her expression is filled with accusation.
“I have information about something she wants. I was planning to make contact when you showed up. If she’s out of the picture, it no longer matters.”
Moon’s mother’s scream drives the first punch. The air expels from his lungs in one explosive grunt. His feet give out and he sags in the chains. The seconds tick by as he eventually finds air to breathe. Slowly, he raises his head and gets his feet beneath him. The glare in his eyes is feral. He doesn’t say a word.
“Anything else you want to contribute before I get started?”
Silence.
Let the memories of all the death in my life commence. The floodgates open. This is how it works. I’m not happy when the images slow instead of intensifying. For some reason, his responses up until now have taken me partly out of my killing zone, and the right hemisphere of my brain is asking questions. The image of Moon’s father shimmers and then completely fades. What the hell? In frustration, I give him another chance before the next strike. “You change your mind about answering my questions?”
More silence.
The next jab takes him in the jaw and snaps his neck to the side. Blood sprays from a gash on his lip. I land another fist to his gut. Still no pictures and it’s making me angry. I do something I’ve never done before and raise my voice and almost shout my next words, “Celina is my woman and if another word comes out of your fucking mouth about her before I’m finished, I’ll sew your fucking lips together.” I plant my fist in his ribs. He coughs and chokes. I pull my arm back with the intention of breaking his face.
I. Need. Those. Fucking. Images.
His grunt, “The baby,” pulls me out of my fury and the fact that I was on a course to beat him to death before I received answers. It’s the word he uses that stops me. Baby—not kid or brat.
Baby.
I stand there for a moment catching my breath and trying to pull myself together. How can I explain to anyone that the images of death keep me focused enough to kill slowly? I finally walk over to the wall and lower the winch. His legs give out completely and he falls to the floor and curls in on himself. I grab the chair from the corner of the room and walk it over to him. Straddling it, I give him my undivided attention. “Start talking.”
He takes a moment before rolling to his back and gazing up at the rafters. “Fox has her in a house not too far outside of Peach City. Two guards around the clock. I followed your woman the first day she came to the clubhouse so I would know how to find her. I’ve been on guard duty with the baby during the past few days and now have two days off. When I left today, I went to talk to the woman. I saw her leave the motel with you and followed. I know she’s trying to come up with the money, but Fox will take the money, kill her, and sell the child.”
I reach my toe out and nudge his leg a bit harder than I intended. “Why should I belie
ve some white supremacist bastard like you?”
He laughs—a deep rumbling sound that obviously hurts his freshly damaged ribs because he hugs himself. “You know what it’s like inside. What choice did I have? I served seven and survived because of my affiliation.”
“Where?”
“Florence, and the last two years in Apache.”
“For what?”
“Murder.”
I have no idea why I feel I should trust this fuckhead. It’s there, though. “How do we get the child out?”
His head turns and he spits blood before locking his eyes on mine. “You don’t.”
I’m about to secure him to the rafter again. “So why the fuck do I need you alive?”
His gaze remains steady. “Because I can get her out alive.”
I’m possibly the biggest fool in Phoenix, but I believe him. “Talk to me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Celina
I CHOOSE THE GUEST room to sleep in because I don’t feel comfortable crawling between Alex’s sheets in his bedroom. I lie awake for a long time and think about Alex and Kiley—Alex the killer and Kiley the young, innocent child. I barely know either of them and they’ve both changed my life. How do I reconcile what’s happening?
I never expected to fall asleep, but I jerk awake when the lamp beside the bed comes on. Squinting, I make out Alex resting his hip on the bed beside me. His tie is loosened and he appears exhausted. I fight myself to not reach out and smooth my hand across his face. The agony I read in his expression is a physical ache that hits me hard. He blinks and gains control. Now I want to wrap him in my arms because I know he’s masking the pain.
“Is there a reason you’re not in my room?” he asks quietly. His voice sounds strange. I’m not sure if he’s pissed off or trying not to startle me.
I roll in his direction which puts me closer. I smell him, he’s showered and his delicious scent combined with his soap fills me. “I didn’t know where you wanted me,” I whisper. He moves a section of hair off my face and trails his fingers across my cheek. His touch is electric and I shift closer.
“If you don’t want my bed, you can take Madison up on her offer for a room on the other side of the house.”
Thank God I’m lying down. My legs turn to jelly. Just the thought of being in his bed makes me hot. “Oh,” I say breathlessly.
I receive a smile for that and his hand smooths over my shoulder and along my side until it skims across my ass. It doesn’t matter that I’m covered by the sheet—I feel his touch clear to my toes. “I need you dressed. I have someone I want you to meet.”
I’m surprised and horny but manage to cover it, I think. “Okay.”
Before I can attempt to get up, he moves his hands to either side of my head and his mouth dips. I grasp his shirt in my fists and kiss him. There’s no hesitation. He devours me. There are so many things I want to say but I don’t. The kiss does the talking for me as I try to convey all my pent up feelings. At the top of those—heartfelt thanks. He’s giving me a chance to rescue my niece.
The kiss burns clear to my soul. Alex is so different from what I’m accustomed to in a man. He’s possessive and doesn’t mind showing it even in front of others. When he smiles at me, I melt. When he kisses me, my pussy floods and I want him buried deep inside. That’s what’s happening now.
Will I have this reaction in a week? I cut off the thought. I’ll get my niece and more than likely not see him again. This doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the time we have. I have a feeling that knowing him will ruin me for other men for a long time. I can live with it. It’s living without kisses like this that will be my undoing.
He pushes away and I’m breathless. He smiles again—a soft, caring smile that does nothing for the sizzling ache he’s left inside me. “Later, sweetheart. It’s going to be a long night.” I’m not sure if his words are a threat or a promise. I hope they’re both.
He stands and helps me up. I pull my ugly shirt over my head. Yea, I regret wearing it now. I dig a pair of jean shorts out of my bag and pull them on minus underwear. Alex watches me with sizzling eyes and grins when I wiggle my hips to get the tight material over them. I discard my T-shirt, pull on a bra, and cover my top half with a thin white cap-sleeve tee. I toss a pair of flip flops on the floor and slide into them.
His eyes never leave me. They burn with a sensual intensity that makes me want to climb back in bed. He takes my hand and I really hope he chooses the bed.
“Later,” he says again and I realize he reads my thoughts, or at least the sexual ones as easily as I read his.
“What time is it?”
“Ten.”
I would have guessed later. “Did you eat?”
He laughs. “No, but I will later. You worried I’ll waste away?”
I give his suit pants and white linen shirt a side sweep. He can’t completely cover the muscles beneath. “What can I say? Your body turns me on.”
This time his laugh is full out and I love the sound. He tightens his fingers around mine, brings them up to his mouth, and kisses the back of my hand. “I’ll eat enough to keep up my strength, don’t worry.” God, my hand actually tingles.
I sigh unhappily, which he ignores, as he tugs me out of the room. He leads me into the main part of the house, down a hall on the opposite side of the hall where the dining room is located, and opens a door on the left. I glimpse a door at the end of the hall and two on the right. No home should have this many rooms. I can’t even imagine what it takes to keep it clean. Arizona is a dust haven. You dust the furniture and before you finish, a fine layer collects again. This house is dust free. If Gabriella ever decides to speak to me, I’ll ask her the secret.
I walk into the room and stop at the sight of a strange man sitting at the table. His face is bruised and swollen. Blue eyes flash at me through the swelling. His head is completely shaved and his arm is resting on top of the table with an ice pack covering his wrist. I dislike the fact that this could be one of Fox’s men. I don’t remember him from the clubhouse, though.
Moon is seated two chairs down at the head of the table with Mak on his other side. Neither appears happy, but with Moon it’s hard to tell. I get the impression he seldom smiles. It makes him more intimidating. Hell, he runs a crime syndicate, which means he is as intimidating as one can possibly be. Alex leads me to the chair next to Mak so I’m across from the stranger.
I sit down and Alex takes the chair next to mine. He releases my hand and rests his on my thigh; his fingers clench slightly and I have the strangest feeling that he’s silently trying to tell me something. “Celina, this is Dax Montgomery.”
The man gives me a steady look. “Hello, ma’am. Please call me Dax.” His blue eyes appear menacing on his bruised face. I’m fairly sure he’s the guy who followed us on the bike. I’m not into the skinhead look, but I can’t deny he’s attractive. Whereas Alex and Moon look and act like gentlemen, this man is rough with hard edges. I have little doubt that he’s as deadly as the other two men in the room.
“Are you with the Desert Crows?” I ask because I need to be sure.
He gives me a slight grimace but answers, “Yes.”
I turn to Alex. “Why is he here?”
His fingers relax and his grip turns into a caress. “Let him tell you.” Alex nods and Dax starts talking.
Within a few minutes I breathe easier, feeling as if a hundred pounds have been lifted from my chest. He’s seen Kiley and she was okay as of earlier today. He tells us the story of how he joined the Crows after leaving prison. Many things run through my mind—drug addict, thief, sexual predator. The last thought makes me tighten my fingers into fists. He’s been alone with Kiley for hours if he’s to be believed. I can’t stop the range of emotions traveling through me.
“Why were you in prison?” I demand suddenly. My relief over hearing about Kiley is all but forgotten because my imagination is conjuring a new set of horrors.
A cold veil changes his features.
His jaw tightens and the lids of his eyes lower slightly. I see the fingers of his left hand clench. “I killed a man.”
The finality of the comment sends a shiver through me. “Why?”
I don’t think he’ll answer. The deep anger he obviously still feels doesn’t leave his expression and his voice lowers a fraction when he finally speaks. “A drunk driver ran a traffic light and slammed into the vehicle my wife and I were in.” His eyes are filled with pure, one hundred percent agony. “Savannah, my wife was seven months’ pregnant. She died almost instantly. The seat belt ruptured the amniotic sack and fluid filled her lungs. I don’t even remember getting out of the vehicle. Suddenly, I was several feet away from a man reeking of alcohol, stumbling around, and apologizing for hitting our car. What I do remember is driving my knife into him repeatedly before I was hit by a cop’s Taser. They gave me seven years for manslaughter.” After the first sentence, his voice was monotone. His pain is thick in the room. I have no doubt he’s lived every word he’s spoken.
“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can say because really there are no words.
“You have no reason to be sorry, ma’am. The man who did it is dead. Unfortunately, killing him didn’t bring Savannah or my son back.” He leans a little over the table toward me. I’m focused on his face and no longer take into account that his head is shaved. Past the bruises and swelling, he’s gorgeous. His baby blues only accent his Nordic good looks. He’s the polar opposite to Alex’s dark heritage. I want to like this man due to what he’s been through. Then I think of Fox and what he stands for. I don’t think I can do it.
He doesn’t take his gaze from mine. “Kiley is just a baby and I can get her out. You have no reason to trust me. Just know that I won’t stand by and allow a child to be sold to some sleaze who doesn’t deserve to live. I’m not a good man. I’ve watched and participated in some very bad things. The club whores can leave if they really want to. Most stay because they’re addicted to drugs and will do anything for it. Kiley never had a choice. Her drugged out mother and I’m sorry to say this, but your brother never gave a shit about her. She’s a strong little girl, but the sooner she’s out of there the better. Fox has plans for her and she won’t survive much longer.”
Sizzle Page 9
