Crash: Ruthless Bastards (RBMC Book 9)

by Chelsea Handcock

  He did acknowledge to himself, at least, maybe it hadn’t been the wisest of things to lend his pet out. He should have kept her fully to himself to complete his plans, but then, again it was what it was. He would deal with the consequences quickly and efficiently. If his pet gave him a child, she would live to provide him with another, plain and simple. If it was a mongrel brat of someone else’s making, he would dispatch both the child and his pet immediately, effectively, and permanently.

  After all, his pet had served her purpose. Michael had stepped more fully into his role with every punishment he placed on her, but truthfully, he was growing bored with the girl. The spark of defiance she once held was dimmed to the point, regardless of what he did to her, what he threatened, she no longer reacted in the way he liked—with fear. Now it was just resigned compliance he saw in those pretty blue eyes. Miguel had really hoped this pet would last longer. However, her sister did have possibilities. She was young and vibrant, from what Miguel had noticed; she also had a rebellious streak he would love to tame.

  Adjusting his now hardened cock in his pants, he allowed his hand to linger, the thought of the young girl fresh in his mind. When the knock came at his door, he almost cursed out loud, but instead made his way behind the desk he had set up and sat down, hiding his arousal from whoever dared disturb his time.

  “Enter!” Miguel growled. When the man came into the room, it took him a few seconds to recognize him. This man was new to his organization. He had been vetted, but Miguel was never one to trust blindly and wouldn’t in this circumstance either. Miguel scrutinized the man; he was tall and broad but not overly muscled as some of the men that he employed. His suit was immaculate but of low quality, his blond hair neatly combed and his face freshly shaven. He didn’t look like the threat Miguel knew him to be. This man could blend into any area Miguel needed him to, from the gutter to a gala. That was one thing he did like about him. The other was, he was a computer genius of some sort, able to collect and decipher information faster than any of the other people Miguel had employed to do such tasks. He also appreciated the other man's almost military countenance. The man stood at attention, face forward, eyes averted, just the way that Miguel liked it. He didn’t think for a second this man feared him, but he was convinced the man respected him and his position. Something his own children did not do.

  “Zander, why have you disturbed me?” Miguel questioned.

  “Mr. Perez, I apologize for the interruption; however, you stated you wanted to know as soon as Ms. Scott was taken to the hospital.”

  It took him a second to realize Zander was talking about his pet; he never used her first name, let alone her last. When it clicked, he nodded in acknowledgment.

  “And the status of the situation?”

  “The information I have received is she labored for a long while before alerting any of the staff to her situation. They wouldn’t have been alerted then, except for the amount of blood she was discharging from her body.”

  Miguel marveled at the detached way Zander explained the facts without an ounce of emotion. Maybe in the future, he would have one of his sons work more closely with the man. They could use a little toughening up where women were concerned. Miguel, of course, didn’t comment on that, just listened as Zander continued. He wasn’t worried in the least if his pet happened to die during childbirth; it was one less hassle for him to take care of later. However, he still wanted the child. Well… if it contained his blood. Or, he thought, his or his son's blood.

  “When arriving at the hospital, she was taken to labor and delivery; however, shortly after that, she was moved to an operating room. From the doctor’s notes I have been able to read, they believe she has placenta previa.”

  “Is that a life-threatening condition for the child?” Miguel questioned. He didn’t bother asking about his pet, He knew, right then, little Bailey would soon be getting acquainted with his cage. His time with her older sister was at an end.

  “Yes, Sir, it’s life-threatening to both the woman and the child. I’ll provide you with an update as soon as it comes available. Should I concentrate on a particular aspect of the outcome, or do you want to know it all?”

  Miguel knew he was asking if he wanted information regarding his previous pet, but he paid it no mind. “Just the child. If the woman makes it through unscathed, make arrangements for that to change.”

  “Understood, Sir. Is there anything else you would like me to look into while I’m waiting?”

  Miguel thought for a second; he still didn’t trust the man entirely, but he was proving himself.

  “My latest acquisition, when will she be joining us here?” This time the man’s countenance changed a bit, becoming more wary, even taken a small step back. Miguel knew that something had gone wrong.

  “I have been apprised of the situation. Your sons, Michael and Jory, were sent to pick up the woman. They detained her, but there have been complications. I am unsure of whether they are still in possession.”

  Miguel stood from his desk.

  “What do you mean complications and that you are unsure if she is still in their possession?” Miguel slammed his fist down on his desk, glaring at the other man. “What the fuck happened!” he growled through gritted teeth. “I set it up perfectly. She was undefended and alone. How in the fuck could even my imbecile children mess that up?”

  “Sir, as I have stated, I’m not aware of all the facts yet, but from what information I do have, there is an outside source who has an interest in the female as well. All indications are, they have intervened. Once I have more concrete information, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Miguel came out behind his desk and went to the wet bar in the corner, pouring himself a drink. Could nothing go right? He’d had Mr. Parrish in his grip but not the kid, his only leverage to get the man to cooperate, and that operation went to hell after months and months of planning. His pet was going to die today or tomorrow after years of training, and his children had fucked-up what should have been an easy pickup—once again. It was always something. Every one of his plans seemed to be blowing up right in front of his face. That brought another thing to mind.

  “And what of my daughter and Mr. Castrova?"

  “To my knowledge, their meeting went as planned. Mr. Castrova has tested your daughter and found she is acceptable. Although the staff had to bring in a doctor to look over her after their encounter, I have been assured she will recover nicely and be able to attend to Mr. Castrova next week.”

  That information at least made Miguel happy. His daughter had been a thorn in his side for a long time. Now, she was finding out the price for her actions. Her pain and discomfort were fitting for her betrayal and disloyalty. Miguel also knew if Damian was coming back for another visit that soon, he would be receiving a phone call about a more permanent placement. Which meant his cartel would become even stronger.

  Castrova’s organization wasn’t nearly as large as Miguel’s, but what it lacked in size, their strength and cruelty brought an added benefit to Miguel’s. People feared them. Damian joining with Maria would give Miguel a new facet to his organization to exploit, and he liked that thought immensely. He knew his children were weak, and having Damian in the fold would counteract that. If anything, Miguel had always been a pragmatic businessman.

  “What of the biker trash, do we have any new information?”

  “No, Sir, the RBMC is quiet at the moment, recovering from the attacks on their club. However, the Blacktop Renegades have decided to put down roots. We are currently watching them to see if that situation is true to fact or a ruse to garner your attention.”

  “And what do you think, Zander? Do you think they want my attention?”

  “I think it’s both. Caine Masters is a smart man, a tactician of sorts, but like most people, he is bound by emotion, his actions driven by them. It is my belief he weighed all the options and has decided to draw your attention away from his brother and sister to protect them.”

&n
bsp; “Interesting,” Miguel murmured rubbing his chin, but admitted, “You could be right, or he could be just creating an illusion.”

  “True, but I doubt it. His club's Nomad status would make it difficult to pin them down although not impossible. Setting up shop, per se, in Hazard, Kentucky puts them out in the open. From my studies, Caine Masters is more, shall we say, in your face, attacking from the front. Whereas, Tucker Masterson likes attacking from behind. Since you asked, I believe he is giving you a personal invitation, Sir.”

  Miguel didn’t appreciate the man’s humor; he might understand it, but it bothered him. Zander wasn’t a trusted associate, he wasn’t family, and he wasn’t a friend. He was a paid employee and needed to learn his place quickly and quietly. Taking the crystal tumbler he had in his hand, Miguel threw it with as much force as he could muster, hitting the man with a thud dead center in the middle of his chest. The glass broke, the amber liquid coating the man, giving Miguel a modicum of satisfaction. Miguel paced closer, getting within inches of the man.

  “now your place, Zander. No one mocks me, this is your first and only warning. The next time, it will not be my glass, but a bullet to your chest. Do I make myself clear?”

  Zander took a step back, his head bowed slightly in deference. Mildly content, believing his point was well made, Miguel went back to his desk and sat down, clicking his computer on and looking through some notes, making Zander stand at attention covered in his bourbon. If the man so much as moved or said a word, Miguel would have him eliminated, regardless of how good the man was at getting information. This had become about respect, and Miguel demanded respect… from everyone.

  Miguel didn’t pay attention to the time. He reviewed his notes, thinking about what his next move should be, when a plan started to form in his mind. Miguel wanted to give the Renegades a welcome home present. A bloody and beaten one where there would be no possible way to mistake his intentions and promise. If Zander was correct and Caine Masters appreciated a frontal attack, he would give him one. Bringing his hand up, he smoothed it down his mouth as he started to think about precisely what he wanted to gift the Renegades with. The answer came to him quickly, but he also knew the man standing in front of him was not the one that he could rely on to pull it off. Zander was an information specialist, and although he had the bulk to be somewhat intimidating, Miguel doubted he had the stomach for what he had planned.

  Without looking up from his computer, he said, “You may leave.” Miguel didn’t lift his head until he heard the door close. Picking up his phone, he dialed a number he hadn’t used in years. The huge smile on his face straining the muscles he hardly ever used, his only thought was, this is going to be fun.

  Chapter Three

  Braya Collins stood in the room she just walked into, completely stunned. She was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open, and her cheeks felt warm, so she knew her face was beaming bright red. She didn’t know if she should move, possibly run, definitely cringe, but damn, this was not what Braya had expected when she drove up to the enormous plantation-style house. It had looked stately, refined. Even though she had seen the motorcycles parked out front, she had dismissed them, caught up in the illusion the house had created. She had even spoken to the burly Santa Claus-looking one at the gate; she should have known better. When she saw the actual house, she made an assumption. Hell, even as she climbed the massive staircase to the covered porch, complete with rocking chairs, she was thinking butlers and mint juleps—not that Braya was familiar with either but she read, and this place just screamed stately southern home. She had knocked on the door, but no one answered. Not thinking much of that because the Santa Claus guy had said to just go in—which she did. Braya was kind of put out; the old man could have given her some warning. Santa Claus-looking guys were supposed to be nice, right? But the shit Braya saw now wasn’t at all like anything she had read or could even dream up on her own.

  The foyer was pretty extensive, enough room for possibly twenty people to stand in. A massive staircase had greeted her as she stepped through the door; she had even admired the woodwork, thinking it was that beautiful. Braya had still been under the illusion of the house. Big mistake because what she saw now didn’t fit in the least. There were two rooms divided by that beautiful staircase, both filled with people. The difference between them and what the house represented was shocking. The side to her right could best be described as a bar or bar area. People milled around a colossal mahogany bar, complete with mirrors behind it and shelves of liquor. Several tables sat out in front of the bar where people were talking and enjoying a drink. Kind of like she would see at any neighborhood pub she had ever been in. The floor was scuffed and a little dirty but still not a big deal. It was the other side that had her complete and utter attention. It had some furniture too. Although if forced, she wouldn’t have been able to describe a single thing about any of it because on that side people were getting down and dirty—as in blatantly having sex, in all its forms, right there for anyone to see. In the two minutes standing there, she had seen more boobs and dicks flapping than she had seen “live” and in person in all her life.

  Her head had to have been ping-ponging between the rooms trying to figure it out, but her brain just absolutely froze. Braya had never considered herself a prude. She was pretty open to most things, but this? This was weird. There was even a woman sitting right at the bar with her baby and a few other pregnant chicks scattered around the bar side of the room. Sex club/biker bar/slash babies and pregnant women?? Braya could feel her head cock to the side and her forehead scrunch. Babies shouldn’t be in bars to begin with, but biker bar/slash sex clubs, definitely not. She must have tightened her fist because the feel of the paper in her hand crumpling snapped her out of the show going on around her. She had promised to deliver this damn letter, and that’s precisely what she was going to do—not look around, not talk to people, and definitely, not make eye contact. That way, she wouldn’t encourage anyone on the sex club side of the room to invite her to join in or possibly not give her a choice. She wasn’t stupid, she watched the Discovery channel. Biker gangs were notorious for taking what they wanted, permission not required. Worse case scenarios started running through her head like a film strip, each scene worse than the other. So caught up in it, she didn’t notice someone else, a big someone, come through the door, shouldering his large body by her, knocking her to the side. That was okay but when he kept on walking and didn’t even say a simple excuse me, that pissed her off. Glaring at his mammoth retreating back, Braya concluded the words stitched on the back of his jacket fit him perfectly... well, at least one of the words. She wasn’t so sure about the ruthless part, but she was sure as hell convinced of the bastard part. Especially, when he walked up to one of the men at the bar and just cold-cocked him without even saying a word. Hell, maybe ruthless did fit. This was not Braya’s kind of place. She needed to get her shit done there and get the hell out. Looking at the paper in her hand again, she decided to ask the bartender where she could find the person she was supposed to meet.

  Taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders, Braya let the breath out and started walking toward the bar. Hopefully, looking determined and like she was meant to be there, not nervous and scared to fucking death. Hadn’t she heard on the animal channel or something, never let the predators sense your fear or something along those lines? These people might not be animals, but shit, she spent way too much time watching television and not enough time in the real world.

  Just as she was about to walk past the rude asshole, his obvious target for the moment pushed him back, and he slammed right into her. Braya barely kept herself from falling on her ass and only because she latched onto the asshole like an octopus and held on for dear life. Now, in an ordinary place with normal people she would expect an “I’m sorry are you okay?” or at the very least, a simple sorry, excuse me, or even a grunt. What she got wasn’t anything like that at all. The asshole helped her straighten out and detangle hers
elf from him.

  “Babe, listen, I’m busy right now, but if you're that hard up for dick, go wait over there. If I feel the urge, I’ll come and find you.” The jerk said it complete with head tilt to the ‘sex club’ side of the room and a not very impressed look as he scanned her body with his eyes.

  Braya bit her lip to keep from bitching him out and telling him exactly what he could do with his so-called offer, but when he raised his eyebrow and gave her a dismissive look, complete with lip curl, she almost stopped holding herself back. Just then, a large man entered the room, same leather vest, but this one said President and under that ‘Tuck.’ Braya looked at the asshole still standing in front of her, mimicking his look, and said, “No thanks.” But a small part of her brain thought, his attitude might suck, but the man was fine, in a bad boy sort of way. What the fuck? Barely resisting, shaking herself out of that random thought, Braya stepped beyond him and right in the President's path, holding out her hand

  “Tucker Masterson, my name is Braya Collins. I believe you’re expecting me, ” she said, without missing a beat.

  The president shook her hand but didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her oddly, which kind of freaked Braya out more. It wasn’t that he was creeping her out, per se, but he was giving off a weird vibe. He released her hand so quickly, it was like she was back in middle school and someone was yelling Braya has cooties. Damn, she needed to get out of this twilight zone.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” The president asked. Hell, she didn’t know if she should keep calling him that in her head, or if she should call him Tucker or Mr. Masterson, she was so out of her depth. The man seemed like he deserved the title with the way every single person in the room stopped what they were doing and the room completely quieted... well, except the asshole. No, he was still half turned, looking at her but also glaring at the man on the floor.