by Penny Dee
“I should shower before my interview,” I say, pulling down my skirt.
Jack steps forward and kisses me. “No. Go to your interview with my cum all over you. The idea turns me on.”
JACK
`I spend the morning with Bam and Loki at the drying warehouse. The harvest is well underway, and more than twenty-eight thousand plants have already been picked and lie drying in the massive barn we had specially built twenty miles out of town.
We employ a lot of the farmers and their families, as well as some of the poorer families nearby to help cut and dry the plants. We pay them cash, and we pay them well, which ensures their loyalty as well as their silence.
As I’m leaving and walking to my bike, my phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I answer, “Yeah.”
There’s a pause.
“Finally, I get to speak to the man himself,” comes the unfamiliar voice on the other end.
“Who is this?” My gut tightens because I already know the answer.
“You know who this is.”
Ghost.
“You’ve got some balls ringing me,” I growl as the grip on my phone tightens.
He chuckles.
The motherfucker actually has the motherfucking nerve to chuckle.
“You know, you sound a lot more eloquent than I thought you would. Not nearly the hillbilly I was expecting.”
I don’t say anything.
Just focus on not gripping my cell too tight I break it.
“How you doin’, Jack?”
“What the fuck do you want?”
“I want you to stop killing my friends.”
“You don’t have any friends.” My teeth are so tightly clenched I think they might shatter.
“Not now that you’ve killed them all,” Ghost replies.
Ghost obviously knows about TomTom.
“Some of them are in prison,” I say.
“Where you put them with the help of Pinkwater.”
“Feel free to visit them any time you like.”
“And have you waiting for me when I leave? I don’t think so. I know you have spies everywhere in that place.”
“Afraid to face me, man to man?” I ask.
“It’s not a case of being afraid, Jack. It’s a self-preservation thing. If I want to stay on the right side of the grass, I don’t think meeting you man to man is a very good idea.”
“Why not come after me then? Kill me like I plan on killing you.”
He lets out a heavy breath. “Because I’m tired of this bullshit. And killing you would only bring six fucking chapters of the Kings of Mayhem down on my head.”
“Then what the fuck are you ringing me for?”
“I want this to be done.”
“It will never be done.”
“Oh, I think it will. See, this game of yours, it works both ways.” He pauses, and I can feel the evil seeping through the phone line. “I can cause the same havoc on you that you’ve caused me.”
“I haven’t even started with you.”
“And you won’t.” Again, he pauses and then his voice gets really close, like he’s in the next room. “See, I’ve seen the pretty little thing you’ve got hanging around with you. Know she’s been keeping your bed warm while you’ve been keeping her safe.”
I grit my teeth. His mentioning Bronte makes me want to kill him even more. It also makes me wonder how the fuck he knows about her. Either there is a rat in my inner sanctum, or the fucker has been watching us. It has to be the latter because I trust every one of my club brothers.
“How about you speak like that about her again, and I’ll take extra time killing you when I find you.”
I want to kill him just for talking about her.
“No, you won’t.” His tone is dark. “Because if you don’t stop coming for me, I’ll come for her. You got that? I’ll come for that sweet little thing that wears those cute little flowers in her hair. Your sweet little honey pot with the big eyes and that juicy body. Mmm… and those big lips. Boy, she makes me hard just talking about her. You can be sure I’ll fuck that hot little mouth of hers before I take her.”
Rage like I’ve never known washes over me, and the venom in my veins reaches boiling point. “You go near her…” I falter because the idea is torture. “You go near her, and I swear to God I will—”
“You’ll what? You haven’t been able to find me in five years, Jack. But I’ve found you. Been watching you and your little flower child.”
My blood buzzes with fury. The idea of Ghost putting his hands on Bronte fills me with fire. Hell, him being in the same vicinity is bad enough, lLet alone him touching her.
“Because I don’t hide like you do, you piece of shit. You’re like a fucking frightened little field mouse. Man up and meet me face to face.”
He tsks. “Listen to me, Jackie boy. You can’t save your brother, but this is your chance to save your girl. It’s your choice. End this now, or I will come after her, and I promise you, she won’t meet the reaper as quickly as your brother did.”
I think about Cooper’s last moments. About the weight of his body as it fell limp against me and the horrible moment we both fell to the pavement. Then I think about Bronte and how innocent she is in all of this. She doesn’t deserve to be the collateral damage of my vengeance.
I will never forgive myself if anything happens to her.
And something else becomes clear in that moment.
My life won’t be worth living without her in it.
I know that now, and because of this, I will do anything to keep her safe.
Even this.
Giving in to the very man I live to kill.
“What’s to say you don’t come after her anyway?” I growl.
“I have no interest in coming after her other than to ensure you stop your vendetta. You agree, and I’ll never step one foot in her direction. Oh, she’s a honey… there ain’t no denying that. But I’ve never been motivated by pussy, no matter how sweet. You have my word. You let off on this quest and we’re done.”
“Your word doesn’t mean shit.”
“What does a man have if he doesn’t have his word?” He has me over a barrel, and he knows it. I can hear it in his voice. “So, what do you say, Jack? Do we have an agreement?”
Giving in to his demands won’t kill me, but losing Bronte will.
I’m prepared to give him my word.
For now.
“You come anywhere near Flintlock, or me and the people I love, and I will consider it you breaking your word… and you won’t like what I do to you if you do.”
“I take it we have an understanding?”
I inhale deeply and grit my teeth. “Yes.”
Ghost chuckles. “Nice doing business with you.” He hangs up, and it takes some restraint not to throw my cell clean across the room.
The fucker backed me into a corner and now a red-hot rage fires on every single one of my nerve endings. I try to calm it by reminding myself that it’s better than the alternative.
I take a moment to compose myself, then dial Bronte’s number. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, I was just about to call you,” she says.
Her voice is a soothing balm to the violent hate searing through me. Just hearing it brings me instant relief.
I try to keep my tone light. “How did the interview go?”
“I got the job,” she says.
I can hear the sunshine in her voice and can’t help but smile. Her effect on me overpowers everything else.
“When do you start?”
“Next Monday. He’s only given me two lunchtime shifts to start with. But once I win him over with my incredible bartending skills and effervescent charm, he’ll give me more, I’m sure.” There is a pause, and I know she’s has picked up on my mood. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. But I was thinking, maybe you and Riley could hang at the clubhouse today. Celebrate your new job.”
Until I wrap
my head around my discussion with Ghost, I want to keep Bronte close.
“Uh-oh, what’s happened?” she asks. I hear the concern in her voice, and I hate it.
“Nothing,” I lie. “It was just a thought.”
“Well, thank you for the suggestion, but I’ve already got everything organized. I just picked up the tequila and the margarita mix, and now I’m on my way home.” She chuckles, and I can hear the liquor bottles clinking in her arms. “Besides, I don’t think Riley wants to run into Gabe.”
I’d forgotten about the one-night stand. Gabe’s heartbroken that Riley isn’t returning his calls.
“Okay, baby.” I hear her close her car door, and the engine starts. “Have fun with Riley. What time is she due?”
“Oh shoot! She’ll be here within the hour, so I better put my pedal to the metal and get a move on. I’ll see you when you get home, okay?”
When I hang up, I feel uneasy, but I can’t put my finger on why.
It’s not Ghost.
It’s something else.
Fifteen minutes later, I walk into my office in the clubhouse. Sitting at my desk, I make a few calls and organize to meet up with an ex-marine I know who runs a security monitoring service just out of Flintlock. I’ve never bothered with home security, but now that Bronte is in my life, I’m going to make her as safe as possible. Starting with a home security system.
As I stand to leave, Paw appears in the doorway. “You need to see this.”
I pick my keys up from my desk. “It’ll have to wait until I get back.”
“This can’t wait, Jack.”
Something in the way he says it tells me I need to hear what he has to say, so I look up at the laptop he has in his hands. “You’ve got two minutes.”
BRONTE
Led Zeppelin’s “Trampled Under Foot” fills the kitchen as I grab two cocktail glasses from the cupboard and bop my way back to the counter where I’ve laid everything out for my afternoon with Riley.
Pouring more margarita mix into the blender, I replace the top and turn the mixture on to blitz. It’s a perfect summer’s afternoon, and when Riley arrives, we’re going to sit on the porch and drink margaritas and laugh until the sun goes down.
Happiness blooms in my chest. With The Poet under arrest and my best girlfriend on the way, plus a new job, things are looking pretty dang good. And to top it off, after getting nice and toasted with Riley, I’m going to fall into bed with my man and spend the rest of the night getting lost in mind-blowing sex.
Turning off the blender, I look at my watch.
Riley is due any minute.
I grab a couple of limes from the refrigerator and begin chopping.
When I hear a car pull up, I put the knife on the kitchen counter and go to the front door fully expecting to see Riley’s smiling face.
Only it’s not Riley.
It’s Officer Johnson.
And he’s standing on the wrong side of the screen door.
Fear explodes in my chest as I take a step back. “What are you doing here?”
I’m surprised I have even managed to talk because alarm has lodged itself firmly in my throat.
“I need to talk to you,” he says, looking cagey as he glances over his shoulder. He’s checking the street to see who’s out there.
For witnesses?
I try to swallow, but my throat feels like sand.
“You s-shouldn’t be here,” I stammer.
He takes a hesitant step forward, and I wonder how long it will take me to get to the knife on the kitchen counter.
If I run for it now, would he beat me?
My heart pounds violently against my ribs, so I don’t waste another second. I turn and run. Unfortunately, this ignites him into action, and I hear him right behind me as I run for the kitchen.
“Wait!” he calls out as he comes after me.
And it’s strange because in that minute where the tension is tight, and the fear is monumental, somewhere in my mind I recognize the tone of his voice as non-threatening. But despite this, I reach for the knife and swing around to point it at him.
“You don’t need to do that,” he pants.
The counter stands between us, but it wouldn’t take much for him to get around it.
“You stay the fuck away from me.”
“You don’t understand,” he says.
“Oh, I understand plenty,” I reply shakily. “When I spoke to your police sergeant, she explained everything to me. How you’ve been stalking women. How you’ve been stalking me.”
“You’ve got it wrong.”
“It must’ve made you feel real big to torment me and then show up at my house to take the police report.” My emotions do an about-face as anger replaces fear. “Is that what you need to do to get off? Terrify young women. Is that what turns you on?”
“No, listen, you’ve got it wrong—”
“You’re a fucking predator, and if you take one more step toward me, I won’t hesitate to use this.” I jab the knife in his direction.
The thought terrifies me, but I’m praying my survival instincts will take over and do anything they need to do to keep me alive.
Officer Johnson opens his mouth to answer when his eyes suddenly shift to a point behind me. As he goes to speak, I feel something whoosh past my ear. That’s when his eyes widen and without warning, he falls to the floor, a bright red stain spreading across his chest.
He’s been shot.
Swinging around, I take a startled step back.
Riley is standing across the room.
And she’s pointing a gun at me.
JACK
We walk over to my desk and Paw opens his laptop.
“I dug a little deeper into Bronte’s ex-boyfriend, Rhys Peyton-Rutherford.” He punches a few keys. “Went through his high school records and found this.”
He brings up a picture of Rhys he’d found in a high school yearbook. It’s of him and a girl taken at prom. The caption reads, Rhys and Riley, voted the couple most likely to marry.
I read it again.
Wait! Riley is Rhys’ ex-girlfriend?
I look at Paw, who raises an eyebrow. “A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
I don’t believe in coincidences.
“You think Riley blames Bronte for Rhys’ death?” I speak out loud as pieces come together in my brain. “You think she created The Poet to torment Bronte in revenge for stealing her boyfriend?”
“Or for his death.”
“I saw the article. His death was an accident.”
“Yeah, but we’re dealing with an unstable mind here, Jack. Riley might blame Bronte for the accident that killed him.”
I turn back to the picture on the screen while fear weaves through my spine.
Is any of this even possible?
Riley seems like a cool chick. She doesn’t give off any vibes that something is off about her.
But then, psychopaths are good at that.
I look at Paw and realize he wouldn’t have come to me without digging even further into the connection between Riley and Rhys.
“Apparently, after Rhys moved away to college Riley started dating a new guy. But after he broke up with her a few weeks into the relationship, he had to get a restraining order against her. Seems she doesn’t like being broken up with.”
“She stalked him?”
“Amongst other crazy shit.”
“Like?”
“He said she’d call him six or seven times in the middle of the night, heavy breathing for a minute and then hang up. Because he was on call at the hospital, he couldn’t turn off his phone. Then his tires were slashed. And someone posted intimate photos of him on Facebook via a fake account. He finally got a restraining order when she threw water on him when he left his home one morning. Said he thought it was acid or something because she’d threatened him that it was. Coupled with some of the crazy messages she’d sent him, the judge issued a restraining order immediately.”
&n
bsp; My mind tries to rationalize the situation.
One episode in someone’s history doesn’t define them.
But too many dots are connecting for it to not somehow be related.
“But this is what really concerns me…” Paw brings up the article about Officer Johnson’s arrest, the same one Bronte had shown me. “The article mentions a complaint by a local female who wished to remain anonymous.” Foreboding tingles in my stomach, I can see where this is going. “I asked Pinkwater to call the sheriff’s department to see if he could get an idea on the complainant.”
“Let me guess, it was Riley.”
Paw nods. “Apparently, Johnson and Riley went on a couple of dates, and the next thing he realized, he was being done for stalking charges. Said she’d set him up.”
Looking at the image of Riley on the screen, I rub my chin.
If this is true, then she’s really messed up.
But why would she set up Officer Johnson?
I can finally breathe, Jack. I don’t have to be afraid anymore.
My head jerks up.
Bronte is at my house.
And Riley is on her way.
“Fuck.”
BRONTE
Turning my back on Riley, I rush over to Officer Johnson, but he’s dead.
The bullet got him in the heart.
I swing around to Riley. “You shot him!”
I stare at the gun in her hand.
Why does she even have a gun?
More questions spin in my head.
How does she even know how to use a gun?
What the hell just happened?
“He was going to hurt you,” she says flatly.
Her voice is monotone, and I wonder if she’s gone into shock.
“No… I don’t think he was here to…” My words fade when I notice how odd she’s behaving. She’s walking toward me with the gun still raised.
“Riley? What’s happening… put the gun down.”
But she doesn’t.
She keeps walking—her eyes are glazed, her face expressionless.
“What are you—”
“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?” She walks slowly toward me, her panther-like steps reminding me of a big cat stalking its prey. It’s an odd thought because my mind is still on the fact that she has just shot Officer Johnson dead and still has the fucking gun pointed at me. “Do you know how long I’ve ached to finally see this thing play out?”
