by Jayna Vixen
Dax hesitated just long enough to cause the other man to look worried. Then, he slid back into the high backed, leather chair. “You’ll take no more heat than you’re already taking. Just sign off on the false documents and leave the rest to us. You’ll get a cut every month.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for trying, right?” Vidal offered, lamely.
Dax didn’t respond but what he wanted to say was yes. Vidal’s behavior highlighted his greed and also his lack of finesse when it came to negotiating. He lacked experience and honor—two things that Dax Jamison respected. But, it wasn’t just that. Something else about the man bothered Dax. The longer he was in Vidal’s presence, the more he wanted to put his fist through the man’s face.
Vidal snapped his fingers. “Time to celebrate our new…partnership, then.”
A young girl who looked to be of islander descent appeared with another bottle of chilled champagne and four delicate flutes. Vidal’s eyes lit up as she bent to pour his drink. His arrogant tone returned as he took a sip and regarded Dax, a calculating expression on his face.
“Of course, I’ll want to sample the merchandise.”
Dax scowled inwardly but maintained his calm, level gaze. They always wanted to shoot a few of the guns. He looked the man over and found him seriously lacking. This guy looked like he’d have a hard time handling a fuckin’ water pistol.
He nodded at Vidal. “Of course.”
“Very well. You can coordinate that through my head of security.” Vidal gestured to the olive-skinned man who stood at attention by the door of their private room.
In turn, Dax nodded at Wince. “My associate will handle the gun show.”
Wince nearly choked on his champagne but he managed to recover before Vidal glanced his way. The sleazy shipping magnate signaled to the young girl who had returned to clear their dishes. She approached hesitantly, a flush appearing on her cheeks. Vidal twirled his finger, indicating that the girl turn around. He ran his hands over the unfortunate girl’s ass, squeezing as though he were testing a fruit for ripeness. She lowered her gaze, but not before Dax caught the look of shame in her eyes. He tensed, his fists clenching involuntarily under the table.
“Well, Mr. Jamison, it looks like this will be a profitable partnership. Is there anything else you require? Anything at all?” Vidal gestured to the girl, who surveyed the men at the table with obvious fear.
Dax stood up to his full, menacing height. “Yeah. A proper welcome might be nice.”
Vidal pushed the young girl at him, and she squeaked with alarm as she fell against Dax’s chest. He could feel her shaking.
“Shut the fuck up!” Vidal barked, in a sudden display of rage. “Your daddy owes me money. You’ll work it off any way I say!”
The girl gulped and nodded, tears threatening to spill.
“Remember what I said about the fucking crying?”
Vidal seemed ready to yank the girl right out of Dax’s reach. She nodded again, nearly vibrating with terror.
“Hey, man. I don’t like bruised meat,” Dax said carefully, trying to disguise the rage that boiled just beneath the surface of his consciousness. It was such an obvious attempt to regain some face, on Vidal’s part—at the expense of a young girl.
The red haze tickled at his periphery. It wouldn’t be good if he had one of his anger episodes right now, but all Dax wanted to do was smash his new connection face first into the table. With supreme effort, he shoved the red from his vision and grabbed the girl by the arm.
“Don’t worry, baby. My buddies and I will show you a good time.”
The look on her face reminded him of the time he had come across a mouse being stalked by a cat in one of his many foster homes. The poor creature had been terrified but at the end, resigned to its fate. The parallel made him sick. Dax didn’t beat on women and he sure as hell didn’t force them. None of his crew would do anything like that. Sure, there was usually some pretty gnarly behavior in the clubhouse, especially on the weekends, but the groupies were wet and willing—not petrified. Dax glanced at Wince, who had a grim smile on his face. Yeah, Wince knew the game.
“I get dibs on her mouth.”
“Sure thing, buddy.” Good for him. Wince actually sounded pretty gangster.
Dax stood, feeling the girl tremble against him, and shook the soft, manicured hand Vidal offered to him. The man obviously didn’t get his hands dirty. Shit. I hope the backlash from our guns doesn’t dislocate this dipshit’s shoulder.
“There might not be much left of her when we’re done.” Dax said, apologetically. “Might want to consider her debt paid in full after we’re through.” The girl shuddered and he heard her stifle a sob, but Dax had to play this right.
Vidal nodded, a twisted smile on his thin face. “Enjoy,” he sighed, with an affirmative jerk of his head. “Just make sure you take care of any…leftovers.”
Dax nodded and offered a thin smile. Vidal talked about disposing of a young girl’s abused, battered body as though it were a commonplace occurrence. Dax had seen a lot of shit in his day, but this guy took the cake. He actually began to feel dirty in Vidal’s presence.
“I need a new toy,” Vidal remarked causally to the goon at the door. “Find me one. The younger the better.”
With that parting comment, Dax and Wince ushered the pale, frightened girl out of the place. He sent an urgent text to Hawk. The Phantoms president knew a bunch of folks out here who were friendly to the club. He needed a quiet, rural place, where no one would come snooping around after the girl. Beyond that, after what he had just observed, Dax didn’t want to be in bed with Vidal—shipping company or no. They needed a new line, and they needed it now. It would be easy to pull the guns. Vidal was a moron with a penchant for drugs and young women. He wouldn’t know the first thing about retaliation.
“Please,” the girl whispered, her voice catching on a sob.
“Hey, look at me,” Dax said gently.
When she did, his heart broke. This girl was really young. Couldn’t be older than sixteen. Someone’s kid. Someone’s daughter. “Where’s your family?”
“My—my family? They’re poor farmers. They live on the small island. They can’t give you anything for me. My mom is—sick.” She hung her head, clearly expecting the worst.
Dax sighed heavily. Man, he was getting tired of this perverted dance. This life. All of it. He strapped a helmet to the trembling girl’s head and motioned for Wince to follow him. Then, they roared out of the lot, the frightened young girl hanging on to his waist for dear life. The long, windy road led to a little cottage that sat in the middle of nowhere. It was a beautiful road, even given the dire reasons that caused him to be on it. Dax killed the engine. A kindly older woman came out to meet them.
“Where—where are you taking me?” The girl’s voice wavered between confused and frightened.
“You’ll be safe here. Lay low for a few weeks. It’s best for Vidal to think we really jacked you up. When the time is right, I’ll have someone come for you, take you home.”
Disbelief shimmered in the girl’s wide eyes as she looked from him to the woman.
“Thank you,” she choked out.
For a brief moment, Dax thought the young girl’s legs would give out but she straightened and managed to make it into the house holding onto the older woman’s arm. Her simple gratitude warmed a place inside of him that by all rights should be cold and dead by now. At least one innocent life would be spared. For now. He dialed his president. Time to change plans.
“Hawk.”
“You work it out?”
“Yeah, man. But we need a new connection. This one’s no good.”
“Can’t, Dax. This is the only one I can work on such short notice.”
“The son’s a perverted, drug-addicted loose cannon, Hawk. It won’t end well. We need a new connection.”
“Look, Dax. I’ve known you a long time and I trust you on this. But I’m telling you man, I need two shipments hooked up
through that port by next Thursday. I’m looking into our options but right now, this is the only one we’ve got. Unless you can find another company that can take the heat, we have no choice.”
Dax fought the urge to chuck his phone into a palm tree. Conflicting emotions roiled in his heart. What side was he on? He had never been the quintessential good boy, but when it came down to it, he wasn’t a true outlaw either. Sure, he broke the law when it helped the club make money. But Dax wasn’t about breaking innocent women or children. That’s where he drew the line.
Dax realized with a start that in some sense, he had always been riding the line between good and bad. These days, it was becoming a pretty thin line.
Chapter Nine
“Tail them,” Vidal commanded. While Marino just stood there, his new hires perked to attention.
“Boss?” Kestler asked.
“I want to know everything about Jamison. Where he’s staying, who he’s fucking, what brand of smoke he likes. That fucker has another thing coming if he thinks he can waltz in here and tell me how to run my shit!”
Vidal paced back and forth, rubbing his nose absently with his finger. Fucking Jamison! Made me look like a first class idiot! I’ll show him. And my father. I just have to think….
Inspiration struck as Vidal swallowed the bitterness that laced the back of his throat. “Their supplier. I need to know who it is. If we can make a direct connection with him, we can cut the Phantoms out. That will fuck up Jamison and his crew good, right?”
Kestler and Boyle nodded, breaking out in twin grins. Both men stood, towering over Vidal. He had chosen them for their height and girth. And for their records. These men were dangerous ex-cons. Vidal was pleased with his choices. He glanced at his remaining staff member, feeling his hackles rise.
Marino gazed steadily back at him, giving nothing away. Vidal narrowed his eyes at his father’s head of security. He inherited the man and had to see out his contract, but Marino sure as hell wasn’t his first choice. The two other ones he had picked up, yeah they were more his style. His new hires wouldn’t hesitate to break Jamison’s fucking legs.
Asshole!
“Why are you still fucking standing there?”
Marino nodded curtly and removed himself. Vidal knew what Marino was thinking. He was second-guessing him. Just because he didn’t kiss everyone’s ass like his old man had didn’t mean he couldn’t handle the business. All his life, he had never been good enough. Not for his mother, the cheating slut, and certainly not for his father.
“Go to school, make something of yourself,” his old man had constantly nagged.
Look at me now, pop! On top of the fucking world, and your fucking company too. I am sick and tired of everyone fucking questioning me. There’s no reason for me to split the take with Jamison and his crew. Fuck him. Fuck them all!
Vidal fought to still the tremble in his hands as Kestler and Boyle laid out their plan. They would follow Jamison until they got some leverage on the man. Vidal would use that leverage to gain access to Jamison’s supplier. Then, it would be bye-bye Jamison. He’d dump his bleeding body in open water, leaving him to be food for the sharks. Vidal pulled a small, white baggie from his pocket and cut some thick, white lines on the table.
Fucking assholes. Everyone underestimates me. But, I’ll show them. I’ll show them all good.
***
Wince was highly agitated. Sure, he was ready to take on more responsibility but he figured the club would give it to him gradually. Or at least give him a heads up! Now, he was handling way more than he was comfortable with at this crucial juncture. Wince was grateful for the way that Dax had handled the incident with Vidal’s girl. He didn’t need her blood on his hands. But…there was still a pressing problem with another female and it seemed to be growing worse by the hour.
He glanced sidelong at Dax as he drove, noting that his vice president looked even more distracted than he had been that morning. No, the man looked irritated. Maybe. Wince wasn’t exactly sure but he had to be feeling something intense—Dax never let anyone else drive. Wince gripped the steering wheel nervously.
“Dax.”
There was no reply. Dax stared silently out the window at the blur of palm trees, sun, and blue water. He gave no indication that he had heard Wince call his name.
“Dax!”
He finally turned, his eyes shaded by the dark sunglasses he wore. There was no expression on Dax’s face, which was also unnerving.
“What did you mean back there? I’m taking the lead on the gun show? Alone?”
“I’ll send the grunts with you. You can handle it.”
Dax turned back to the window, dismissing him. After several moments, Wince couldn’t take the silence. They had grown close for a little while, well as close as someone could get to Dax, but then the man had shut him out. It hurt, even though Wince would never admit that he wanted Dax’s friendship. But he did. Dax was like the brother he had never had. A domineering, arrogant brother, but a brother all the same. Wince shifted uncomfortably.
“Is this about her?”
That question got his attention. Dax whipped his neck around so fast Wince was sure he would be feeling it later.
“Is what about who?” he growled, yanking his shades off to glare at Wince. Where there had been irritation and distraction, there was now a fierce anger that rolled off the man in waves, smacking Wince right between the eyes.
Wince straightened in the driver’s seat. He wouldn’t back down. Not when he was finally getting somewhere. “About Rhiannon.”
At the mention of her name, Dax looked like he was about to explode with tension. His fists clenched in his lap as he shifted in the leather seat. Wince had never seen a man look so conflicted. He didn’t know what to say, and during times like these he usually said the wrong thing. One of Wince’s fatal flaws was that he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut in emotional situations. This time was no different.
“I loved her too,” Wince admitted.
Although Dax didn’t offer a verbal response, he startled visibly at those three little words as if they surprised him. Wince watched his superior from the periphery of his vision. Dax’s shoulders sagged and he slumped against the window as if the weight of the world had just landed on his right shoulder. He pushed his hand through his hair in a gesture that Wince had come to recognize as one of frustration. Finally, Dax let out a labored sigh as they pulled up to their hotel. Before the van came to a complete stop, he flung the door open and stalked towards the beach without a backwards glance.
Wince sat there for a second in disbelief. There was shit to do, people to direct. Deals to coordinate. What the hell was he supposed to do now? As Dax’s silhouette receded into the distance, Wince realized that the only thing to do was to take matters into his own inexperienced hands. Well, he wasn’t totally green, but he was unsure of himself. The vibrating in his pants pocket caught his attention, distracting him from his retreating vice president.
Fuck!
Wince looked down at the cell phone in his hand. It was flashing with a text from their new associates. It was do or die time and Wince recognized the nature of the situation for what it was. He wouldn’t let Dax down. No fucking way. It was obvious that seeing the stowaway had royally fucked with Dax, and Wince wasn’t about to let the club lose the deal over it. Squaring his shoulders, Wince sent a reply and then headed up to the suite.
He had some planning to do.
***
A three-hour nap did nothing to assuage Rhee’s exhaustion. Sirena roused first, rustling quietly next to her for several moments before gently touching Rhee’s face. It wasn’t the worst way to wake up. In fact, it made Rhee’s heart sing as she stared into those innocent, yet mischievous blue eyes. Sirena’s hands sifted through Rhee’s long hair, gently tugging. For a moment, Rhee lost herself in the tender moment. Then, memories of the previous night came rushing back, propelling her up with a start.
Dax. He’s here. Oh, God.
Rhee resisted the urge to run far away, to avoid the maelstrom of insanity that was surely heading her way. Dax wouldn’t just let this go. She had spent so much time refusing to entertain even the briefest of memories of Dax that she had never pondered what would happen if perchance their paths crossed again. The probability of such an occurrence had seemed so impossible. Unless you considered, well fate? Destiny? Was that what this was? What were the chances that Dax would show up here—and at just the right moment to save her from yet another fucked up situation? It was entirely improbable.
Now, all she could do was wait for him to make his next move. And she had no idea if he would even make one. Rhee felt like a tiny mouse being toyed with by a very large, and very dangerous cat. What would Dax do? Would he run? No, Rhee had already dismissed that notion. Dax wasn’t the kind of man to take off with his tail between his legs. He’d have questions. He might even be…angry.
Rhee shuddered, knowing that she had hit the nail on the head. Dax would definitely be furious. And he would want to confront her. Rhee hated confrontation. And the idea of this particular confrontation was enough to send her straight back to the world of nightmares that she had been able to avoid since Sirena’s birth.
If Dax wanted to discuss the situation, it had to be on her terms, Rhee decided. It would be safest to approach things in a public place, without Sirena present. She refused to compromise her daughter’s life in any way. Rhee had no way to get in touch with Dax, not that she wanted to right now. In a way, not being able to access the tall, blond ghost of her past relieved some of the mental burden Rhee was currently experiencing. Her head positively ached from the heavy thoughts and worry.
