HARD RIDE (The Slayers MC Book 2) Page 2

  “She got a job.” I finish telling Uno the letdown and disappointment that’s caused my sleepless night, that’s behind the horrible temper I can’t tame today. “That was her surprise.”

  It takes a second or two for him to rebound. Took me a helluva lot longer than that last night. “I thought… she had a job…? Here?”

  I snort. “Yeah, so did I.”

  He thinks. “I don’t get it.”

  Sitting back, I prop up my ankles on the desktop and weave my hands behind my head to hold the weight of it. “Well join the fucking club. I don’t get it either. Apparently, she thought she’d get an office job so that I didn’t have to give her charity anymore. So that I wouldn’t have to give her a phony job anymore.”

  Uno takes it all in. “Shit. With Baby going out on maternity leave soon, and Angel now gone, who the fuck is gonna man the bar? You know the brothers are gonna bitch if you throw them back there again.”

  I almost laugh at that. Almost. I’m still in a rotten fucking mood. Before I had hired Molly as a bartender after first meeting her, we had been so light staffed that I had no choice but to make the prospects, and even some of the brothers tend bar on the busy nights. All they did was bitch and moan the whole fucking time, too. God forbid any of those motherfuckers actually do any work around here that isn’t illegal.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I boast. “It ain’t gonna happen. She’s not taking some job unless it’s right here, where I can see her, where I know what’s going on.”

  He looks relieved. “Glad to hear it. She kind of warms the place up a bit. She’s gotten real good at things here, too. Say, how’d she take it when you told her she couldn’t take that other job?”

  “I haven’t exactly told her yet.” I confess.

  Uno nearly spits out the beer in his mouth, laughing. “Make sure I’m around when you tell her!” He can barely catch his breath. “I gotta see how well that goes over. Hate to break it to you, but my money’s on Angel.”

  ~*~

  I’m careful to turn sharply, taking a new route in case I’m being followed. I’ve been doing this every day for nearly a week, leaving town through a different direction, sometimes going around in circles until I’m positive that I’m not being tailed.

  I don’t know for sure that Jimenez, the leader of the Conquistadors drug cartel has placed people in town, but I’m guessing he has. I know that if I were in his shoes, I would have.

  So far, my plan is working beautifully. Having his daughter as hostage has lent to a very agreeable working relationship between our two groups. He stays out of the Slayers’ territory, and we leave his beautiful baby girl in one piece. Almost immediately the police and DEA investigation of our club was called off, citing some bullshit like unjustifiable cause or some legal mumbo jumbo like that.

  It was nothing more than a cover. The Conquistadors had the Feds in their pockets, bribing their way into the investigation. All they had to do was make a phone call, I’m sure, and the whole thing was called off.

  I didn’t think it would be as easy with the local PD though, as we’ve fought long and hard to get some of those boys on our payroll. I was shocked to shit when they called off their own investigation the very same day as the Feds. Apparently I had underestimated Jimenez’s reach.

  He’s got the Riverdale Police Department in his pocket just as much as the Feds, and he’s somehow snuck under my own nose to do it.

  Criminal investigations were the only way they had tried to fuck up my club before we came to our little truce. They had managed to get Uno’s Ol’ lady’s business license revoked for the daycare she’d built from nothing. A couple of days after forcing Jimenez’s hand that shit was straightened out, too.

  Trixie got a registered letter less than a week after my sit down with the representative for the Cartel, Jimenez’s right hand man and lawyer, Simon Aguilar. According to Uno, the letter had stated that the Department of Family Services had made an error and accidentally inactivated the daycare’s license. It was restored without any issues and, to this day, the daycare is up and running.

  The Cartel had also hit us where we were the weakest, with our brother behind bars, away from our protection. Stitch was attacked, stabbed with some kind of prison made shank by some low-level gang members looking to get on the Cartel’s good side. Instead, what they got was a one-way trip to the hospital from wounds suffered at the hands of men that attempted to carry out the hit I put on them.

  Luckily enough for me and my boys, those fuckers were delivered to the same hospital Stitch had been sent to earlierin the day. We had ridden up as a club with Baby, Stitch’s Ol’ lady, to keep guard at the hotel, to make sure no one returned to finish off the job as our brother was in critical condition. Chase, my enforcer, and I, took a little detour to the room where the other inmates were being treated. Chase is good with his hands, damn good, and didn’t even need help in taking care of those two sorry motherfuckers.

  Their deaths were chalked up to the internal injuries they’d sustained in jail.

  The last area where the Cartel had tried to fuck things up was one that hit much closer to home. They tried to fuck with my family.

  It was too coincidental that Sasha’s biological father, who had been a druggie fuck-up living off the grid, had shown up at my front door, threatening to take back his kid.

  The guy was a mess, high as a kite, standing in my living room and scaring the shit out of Angel. She’d do anything for Sasha, to keep her safe. I would, too. I did.

  I knew that no matter how peacefully we were able to settle things with the Conquistadors, Sasha’s pop wasn’t going to go away quietly at all. Sure, I could pay him off, run him outta town. But he’d always come back. He’d always be the thorn in our side, and he had every legal right to take Sasha whenever he wanted.

  My own pop had never been into the pharmaceutical shit that Sasha’s was into, but he had had his own addictions, his own vices. Booze ruled that man, and my brother and I suffered because of it.

  I wasn’t about to let that happen to Sasha.

  So I did what any decent Slayer would do. I protected my family. All I had to do was make one simple call to Esè and it was arranged. Next thing I knew, the cops were called to the shithole of a motel that the creep was staying in because of a fatal drug overdose.

  That piece of shit son of a bitch will never hurt Sasha again.

  With all of those loose ends tied up, the only one left to concentrate on is the one I’m riding to now.

  Catarina Jimenez, the daughter of the leader of the Conquistadors drug cartel is my hostage, the only leverage I have to make sure everything doesn’t go to hell in a hand basket.

  We’ve been hiding her these past few weeks, ever since Chase snatched her up at that small little college she was attending. Every week or so, we move her, not wanting to stay in one place for too long. It’s safer that way, as I’m sure her pops is trying like hell to find her and take back the leverage I have over him.

  Five days ago we moved her to an isolated cabin up in the woods near Fisher’s Creek in Woodbury, about ninety minutes away from Riverdale. The place is perfect- secluded and hard to get to. There’s only one access road up to the cabin and I’ve got sensors set up at the entrance to it, alerting Chase as well as me when someone passes, giving at least a fifteen-minute warning, plenty of time to get the girl and get the fuck outta there before an ambush or a rescue attempt.

  It isn’t exactly convenient to drive up here every day, but it’s the only way to get supplies up to them. I make the most of my time riding, using it to strategize some way out of this shit that won’t end with me in a shallow grave somewhere or my club under attack. So far I haven’t been able to come up with much. I know this, once we lose the girl, we’ll lose every bit of insurance we have that it won’t be an all out war.

  One we’ll be outmanned in, outgunned in, and outspent in.

  I go over every possible angle each and every time I make this trip. Today
though… today I can’t help but fixate on something else that seems to be just as hopeless.

  I can’t help but relive the moment, to feel the disappointment ripple through me as I hear her words over and over. They weren’t what I had secretly wished to hear. They weren’t what I had wanted, and now, even though I hadn’t given it a second’s worth of thought before, it even seemed a possibility and I can’t think of anything else.

  ~*~

  I texted Chase that I’m headed up the long road to the cabin, to give him plenty of lead time before I show up even though the sensors will have alerted him to it by now.

  The last thing I need to do is catch those two in the middle of something. It’s been weeks, and I can tell there’s some crazy shit between them. It’s only a matter of time before they tear into each other in a good way, instead of all the bickering and bantering they do. It’s foreplay, but they’re both too fucking thickheaded to realize it.

  Wouldn’t that be something? Send Jimenez’s precious little daughter back to him, all knocked up with a little Slayer inside? I laugh for the first time today, heartily and raucously until my laughs slow as a thought plays itself out.

  Wait a minute… This might actually be something. It might actually be a way out of this mess. Wouldn’t you know it? The second I purposely try not to think of an escape plan from this shit show we’ve got going on is the second I have an epiphany and figure a way to get out of it in one piece.

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHASE

  “Ouch!” I slam the door shut quickly before I’m charged at again. What the fuck? You try and do something nice for someone and—

  “Lover’s quarrel?” Dawson asks smugly from his seat at the small rickety table in what’s meant to be the kitchen of this dump.

  I inspect my finger for broken skin before running it under the cold tap of the sink. “She bit me! She fucking bit me!”

  Once the ice cold water numbs the fingertip, I look at it again. I can still see the indentation of her tooth on the side.

  “Don’t be a pussy, kid. What’s a little love bite? Angel does it to me sometimes. Feels good.” He mocks me.

  Grabbing the nearby dishtowel, I wrap my injured hand tight, thankful it’s not my trigger finger that’s wounded. “Trust me. This feels anything but good right now.” I hold my hand high in the air. “She’s a fucking animal! I can’t even bring her some food without her trying to attack me.”

  He leans forward on his elbows. “You do realize you’re an enforcer for one of the most badass MC’s, right? She’s like, what? A hundred pounds? Maybe a buck fifteen? How exactly is she attacking you?”

  He doesn’t understand this chick. He spends no more than an hour a day with her, mainly to give me a break so I can get the fuck outta here and get some fresh air before I lose my damn mind. He doesn’t see what she’s really like.

  “Bro. Trust me… she’s a feisty, dangerous little thing. Half the time she speaks in Spanish, so fast I can’t keep up. But believe me, I know enough to know she’s saying some real vile shit.” I begin to clue him in to what I go through on a daily basis. “She throws crap at me, claws at me, kicks me. And now, she’s fucking biting me!”

  I unwrap the towel to show him the still present marks of her sharp teeth. “You think I need a tetanus shot or something, D?”

  My club president pushes my hand away. “Enough with the fucking bite already. Get over it. You said she was feisty? Feisty can be a good thing…”

  There he goes again. “Why the fuck do you keep saying shit like that? Ever since you got here, you keep saying crap like that.”

  There’s an evil little glint in his eye, with a matching smirk playing out on his lips. His eyebrow raises. I know this man well, trust him with my life, and I’ve seen that look before.

  “Hell, no!” I jump up. “Don’t even think about it! I’m not getting within two feet of her. She’s fucking dangerous! She’d cut my dick off without giving it a second thought!”

  I can see I’m not getting any sympathy. “You know, they say there’s a thin line between love and hate.”

  “Well, it’s a fucking line I’m not crossing. Not with that one,” I point to the door of the bedroom where Catarina is being held. The club had made the preparations before we got here, making sure the room was safe enough to keep her in. The window is bolted shut, the lock on the door secure. They had even taken out anything that could be used as a weapon, not like it stopped her from getting creative and trying anyway.

  So far I’ve had the lamp thrown at me, a chair jammed up under the doorknob to keep me from coming in and she stuffed a towel in the drain of the sink to purposefully flood the bathroom. When I’d gone in to see what the water creeping out of her room was from, there she was standing on top of the dresser with an alarm clock radio high above her head. As soon as I’d stepped into the puddle, she threw the device down, hoping to electrocute me.

  All she managed to do was short out the circuit, but, damn, she’s smart.

  I’m constantly on guard with her, knowing her mind is working a million miles a minute trying to plan her next attack.

  Last night I’d gone in her room to bring her a sandwich and some bottled water, only to find the room empty. I searched the room, the bathroom, but still no sign of her. The whole time, she was hiding under the bed, waiting for me to get to the closet and check. Once I was inside the large closet, she came up behind me and pushed me inside, slamming the door shut and propping up the last remaining chair in front of it, before taking off running outside.

  I had that door busted down in less than three seconds flat and caught up to her in less than ten, grabbing her, kicking and screaming, and bringing her back to the house. Thanks to that ordeal, she no longer has a closet door, a bathroom door, or any chairs in her room.

  “Think about it, Chase. How else are we gonna get outta this shit? The second her Pops gets her back, it’s over. What other choice do we have? We can’t keep her locked up forever. I don’t think either one of you would survive it.”

  Don’t I know it. It’s only been a few weeks and I’m already battered and bruised from it. “Bro. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “Come on! Since when do I have to convince one of my guys to bag some broad? Usually I’m giving you hell for the opposite, because your dick has a way of getting you in trouble.”

  “Dude,” I defend myself, “That was one fucking time, and I told you, I didn’t know her husband was a judge.”

  He waives my explanation away. “You’re hard up. You’ve got to be, being cooped up here guarding her for so long. When was the last time you even had some? And she’s gorgeous. Even I know that. If I didn’t have Angel, hell, I’d even think about doing this myself—”

  “No!” I cut him off. The thought of Dawson going anywhere near Catarina makes my blood boil. “No one touches her. I swear Dawson—”

  It’s his turn to cut me off, “See? You want her for yourself. I can understand that. Who wouldn’t? She’s a beautiful girl, you’re a big strong guy, you’re both cooped up here, alone… stranger things have happened.”

  I can’t believe he’s even suggesting this.

  “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have a drug lord as a father-in-law, Chase. I’m sure he’d do anything his little princess wanted, even to play nice with the man she loves. Who better to make a business arrangement with then family? That’s what you’d be. Family. And we’re your family. We can all just be one big happy family. All you’ve got to do is make that spicy tamale in there fall for you. Whatever it takes to do it.”

  I gulp hard. This sounds a helluva lot easier than I know it’s gonna be.

  My eyes dart to the closed door.

  What the hell have I gotten myself into?

  ~*~

  I’ve killed men, maimed men, hurt men. I’ve charged into hopeless situations, guns blazing. Shit doesn’t scare me.

  Yet here I am, standing, shaking like a fucking leaf w
ith my hand on the doorknob. I can’t believe I’m actually going to try this. With my luck, it’ll probably get me killed. Not from the drug cartel that this woman belongs to, but from the woman herself.

  I take a deep breath, preparing myself, willing my body to stand strong, unnerved. The slightest little fidget, and she’ll see it. She’s like a tigress, a predator, able to pick up on the scent of fear. I can’t show her any, not one bit.

  My key unlocks the handle and it creaks as I cautiously open the door, on full alert in case she comes jumping out at me with those claws of hers. Who knew such pretty nails could be so damn sharp? They’re weapons, those things, as sure as the gun in my holster is.

  The heat hits me like a thick cloud as soon as I enter. Walking through it, I feel it stick to my skin, my neck, like a thick film of hot vapor. It swirls and spreads itself throughout the room, escaping the bathroom to my right.

  Smoke-like steam wafts like a thick veilled curtain, lifting just in time to see the dark tan curves of a luscious thigh peeking from the bottom of her towel. Her reflection becomes clearer to me as she faces the mirror from the other side of the wall.

  Her long dark hair is piled high atop her head, with little curled ringlets falling loose around her neck. Her caramel-colored skin is dark against the bright white of the terrycloth towel she struggles to cover her body with. I can see droplets of water beading against her skin and I fight the urge to lick them with my tongue.

  My gulp is loud, loud enough that I’m sure she must have heard it. Her eyes lift in the reflection looking to where the sound must have come from. Instinctively, I step aside, hiding my form behind the corner of the wall.

  “You know,” she purrs with the thick Tex-Mex that drawls so easily for her. “It isn’t polite to spy on people.”

  “I—I wasn’t spying. I came to ask you if you wanted to watch some TV outside in the living room. Have a little change of scenery.” I close my eyes, realizing how ridiculous, how distracted I must sound as I can’t get the sight of those drops on her body from my mind, making it difficult to speak.