Unedited Excerpt

Copyright ©2018 Trixie Publishing, Inc.

PROLOGUE

Minus

Don’t pass out.

The pain in my head was blinding, I couldn’t focus on anything in the room, and began to drift into darkness.

Don’t pass out.

I forced my eyes open just as I felt another blow from the phonebook. My vision blurred and a wave of nausea hit me. I tried to stay as lucid as possible, focusing on anything around me that may help me escape. I had to stay sharp if I was going to find a way out of this. My host had been letting his fingers do the walking upside my head for some time now, and I wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer.

Don’t fucking pass out.

“Come on hero, don’t make me beat you to death. This could all end right now if you just tell me what I need to know.” His words swam in my head, barely cutting through the ringing in my ears.

It took every ounce of strength I had to form the necessary response, “All you need to know...is that...you hit...like a bitch.” I spit blood and bits of my fractured molar onto his boots.

Another blow, this time to the back of my head, and it felt like he’s taken a running start this time. My chin connected with sternum and every muscle in my neck burned from the whiplash. 

“He said you’d be tough, and he was right,” my torturer said. “He also said you’d by mouthy.”

I’m sure... he did.

“I’d agree with him there.” He continued, wiping sweat from his brow. “But he also said, you were smart, and that I’m just not buyin’ that. You see, if you were smart, you’d tell me where the girl and the book are.”

“It seems you... have me at a disadvantage, sir,” I said, my words slurred. “You seem to know so much about me, but I know... so little about you.” I paused and then smiled wide. “Other than the obvious fact that you’re a dickless rodent that can only get off when you’re torturing people and fantasizing about having sex with your sister.”

He must really have a sister because I felt the full impact of the phonebook, from AAA Carpet Cleaners to the Zywicki family. The chair I was tied to toppled over, and the zip ties that bound me cut deep into my wrists with searing pain. The side of my already pummeled head hit the floor, and within seconds I was out like a light.

When I came to, I was once again sitting upright, but was no longer tied to the chair. In fact, I wasn’t in a chair at all. I was in the passenger seat of a car that was hauling ass through the Portland night.

“Hang on! Stay with me!”

As soon as I heard her voice, I smiled. It probably looked more like a deranged grin given the current state of my face, but I couldn’t help it.

Once again, she’d found me, and once again she’d saved my life.

CHAPTER ONE

Minus

One month earlier...

“This is bad news.”

“Well, hello to you, too,” I said as I shoved my duffel bag into the back of Clutch’s ’71 Barracuda. He’d restored it by hand to its original condition. It was his pride and joy, and everyone in town knew it.

“Watch the interior, you fuckin’ hick, and if you’ve got any of that shit tucked in your lip, you’d better spit it out before you get in,” he said.

“Fuck you,” I replied as I slid into my seat.

“Hey, man, how am I supposed to know what kind of shit you’re into these days? Just look at you! You’re wearing fucking cowboy boots. For all I know, you’re carrying a six shooter under your jacket,” he said, pulling away from the curb and into the flow of airport traffic.

“From what I’ve heard, all of Portland is in beards and cowboy boots these days,” I replied.

“Yeah, a lot has changed since you’ve been gone. Then again,” he paused, “a lot of shit is exactly the same,” he said, throwing me sideways glance.

I said nothing, but we both knew very well what he meant. When I left town six years ago it wasn’t under the best circumstances, to say the least.

“Don’t get me wrong, brother, it’s great to see you back home—”

“This isn’t home,” I interrupted.

“Which leads me back to my original point,” he replied. “It can only be bad news that the not-so-prodigal son is back in town.”

“Please, brother this warm welcome is all just a little too much. You’re gonna embarrass me.”

“Don’t get cute with me, motherfucker, you know exactly what I’m saying,” he replied.

“Oh believe me, I know all too well. In Savannah I’m a Yankee and here I’m a redneck. I’m a man without a country, but here I am, nonetheless.”

“Yeah, but why are you here?” Clutch asked.

“Because Cutter asked me to be here.”

“See! Bad fuckin’ news!” Clutch exclaimed.

“How is that bad news?”

“Since when is it not bad news when the Prez sends for you?”

I laughed. “Sends for you? What are we, wise guys? He called me on my cell phone and asked me to get on the next plane to Portland, so here I am. To be honest, I thought you’d know what’s going on, being the new Sargent—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ start with me, Minus.”

“Sargent Clutch. Ooooh, that does have a nice ring to it.”

“I’ll kick you right to the fucking curb and you can walk the rest of the way,” he deadpanned.

“Hey man, in all seriousness, congratulations. It’s a big deal, you making Sargent at Arms, and I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, man. We all miss Rusty, but after he died the club needed someone to step up, and I guess Cutter thought it should be me.”

“I’m sure he was right,” I said.

“Bullshit. You know goddamned well if you were still in town, it’d be you wearing the Sargent patch.”

“Well, then it’s a good for you I’m not still in town.”

Clutch and I grew up together in Portland, back when I still went by my given name, he was known as Nicky, and together we were known as trouble. We were both orphans who had been taken in, and educated by the Catholic church. A handful of us kids were fortunate to receive scholarships to private schools in the Portland area, and Nicky and I attended St. Mary’s Academy together; that is, until he was kicked out during our sophomore year. I loved school, especially anything to do with reading. I inhaled novels, biographies, textbooks, anything I could get my hands on. I found it easy to make friends and blended in with the crowd wherever we went. Nikolai , not so much.

Coming up in Portland in the “naughties,” Nicky had two things going against him. First of all, he was Greek. These days Portland is more of a melting pot; with a sort-of ‘college town’ vibe where just about anybody can do their thing, but this was not the case back in the day. Portland was still pretty dominated by a culture of white boy, blue collar types. Nicky was dark skinned, but not black, tough, but not into sports, anti-social, but not a loner.

To put it mildly, he didn’t fit in anywhere, and him being Greek somehow seemed to be the central cause of this. Secondly, Nicky would fight anybody, and mean anybody; Teachers, students, cops, hell, I saw him take a swing at a priest once. Unfortunately for Nicky, that priest was a former golden gloves boxing champ. He’d also apparently not read the “turn the other cheek” part of the Bible in seminary and hit Nicky with a stiff jab, causing blood to pour from his nose.

This kind of thing was simply commonplace where we came up. I on the other hand, got along with just about everybody in the neighborhood, and always looked out for Nicky. I made sure he came with me to parties and football games. The kinds of places where young people meet other young people. I thought it would be good for him, but without fail, some jackass would mouth off to him, or he’d hit on someone’s girl, and then it was on. Bloody lips, loose teeth and black eyes seemed to follow him wherever he went, so eventually the school kicked him out, the church had enough, and he was out on the street. I was his only friend and I knew that if he was out on his own, he’d get himself arrested, beat up or killed within weeks, so I left school, and he and I moved to downtown Portland together.

Being broke, we bought bikes to get around town, which lead to fixing bikes, which eventually led us to the Burning Saints Motorcycle Club, and our current lives as Minus and Clutch.

“Hey man...ah, we’ve got a quick stop to make before we go to the clubhouse,” Clutch said. I could tell by the shift in his tone that I wasn’t going to like where we were headed, and I was right.

* * *

Cricket

“Don’t Even think about it, asshole!” I yelled out to the motorist attempting to merge into our lane. My Uber driver flinched and reflexively cupped his right ear. “Don’t take you hand off the wheel, you’re gonna let him in! Don’t let him in!”

I was a fraction of a second away from grabbing the steering wheel, and literally attempting to back-seat drive, when my long-suffering coachman shot me a look, and said sternly, “Lady, if you’re going to do that again, I’m going to have to let you out at the nearest safe stopping place.”

“I’m sorry,” I grumbled. “I really am, I’m just very—”

“Late,” he finished my sentence. “Yes, I know. You’ve explained this many times since I picked you up.”

He’d clearly lost patience with me, and I couldn’t blame him. This poor guy was just trying to do his job and I was sucking him into my vortex of chaos.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that I’m meeting with someone I haven’t seen in a really long time, and I’m not even sure why I agreed to meet with him, and I got into a big ol’ fight with my brother who’s being a big jerk, but I know he’s just trying to protect me, but I don’t want his protection, and I hate being late,” I said, sheepishly pausing to take a deep breath, now embarrassed by my outburst.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got an brother and he’s an asshole, too, what can you do?”

“My brother’s as far from an asshole as you can get,” I snapped.

“Sorry.”

I sighed. “No, it’s okay. I sound like a bitch...or a lunatic. Omigod, I sound like a lunatic bitch. I’m so sorry.”

I was even more nervous than I thought. I hated that my older brother, Hatch, could still make me feel like a little girl. I knew he was furious with me, and I suppose he had good reason, but I still didn’t like the fact that he sat me down and scolded me for making decisions that were mine to make. I’m an adult and I didn’t need his permission or blessing to visit a family member if I wanted to. It’s true that he’s had to act more like a father than a brother to me, and the fact that he’s fifteen years older makes it worse, but I really wondered if there was ever going to be a time when he’d start treating me like an adult; like his equal.

But what the hell does my uncle want?

When I was a little girl, my dad, my uncle, and their buddy Crow used to ride with the Dogs of Fire motorcycle club in San Diego. They’d been asked by the club’s president to start a new chapter in Portland and we were all going to move, but then my mother got sick and everything changed overnight. When she died, my dad went off the rails, and ended up in prison.

My uncle and Crow went to Portland as planned, but it seems they had very different ideas of what a motorcycle club should look like. Crow stayed with the Dogs of Fire, and over time, became the club’s president. My uncle, however, along with a small group of dirt bags and petty criminals, started the Saints. Since then, I’ve seen my uncle exactly twice, so why in God’s name I’ve been asked to meet with him is anyone’s guess.

“Okay, here we are,” my driver said as we reached our destination. I could swear he was trying to hide the sound of relief in his voice.

“Thank you again, and sorry for the... um... backseat driving. I promise I’ll leave you a glowing review,” I said, slinking out of car.

Moments later I found myself standing in front of Vick’s Tavern, and took a deep breath before opening the door.

* * *

Minus

“What the fuck is in this coffee, Phil?”

“I’m sorry, Clutch, I would have made a fresh pot if I knew you guys were...stopping by. Here let me make...”

Phil tried to stand, but the barrel of Clutch’s gun pointed at his head convinced him to remain seated.

“You’re good right there, Phil. I’m just going sit here and sip my delicious cup of motor oil, while my good friend Minus looks for Cutter’s money.”

I shot a cold stare back at Clutch, who was now in full on ‘Sargent at Arms Mode.’ He was clearly the perfect choice for the position.

“Really, it’s no trouble, Clutch. I’m happy to do it.” Heavy beads of sweat formed on Phil’s stubbled upper lip, which was frozen in a permanent nervous grin.

“You see, that’s always been your problem, Phil, you don’t listen very well. For instance, you didn’t listen when I told you not to bother with the coffee. We won’t be here for very long, and highly I doubt the next cup could possibly be any better than this swill.” Clutch dumped the remainder of his cup on Phil’s trash littered desk. “You also failed to hear me when I asked you where Cutter’s money is, and now my associate, Minus, is probably going to get his nice expensive cowboy boots dirty rooting around your filthy shop looking for it.

I flipped Clutch off and began casually tossing Phil’s rat hole of an office. It wasn’t as his place was some sort of secured facility. His shitty garage was on par with who he was, a low-level guy that Cutter used only when needed.

“I doubt even Phil would be stupid enough to keep that much money here,” I said.

“Are you, Phil?” Clutch asked.

“What?” Phil asked.

“Are you that stupid?”

“What?”

“You keep saying what. Are you having trouble with your hearing, Phil?  Maybe I can help you with that.”

Clutch holstered his gun and pulled out a blade. He walked behind Phil and grabbed his head, his knife to his ear. He tried to squirm, but Clutch’s hold was firm.

“This is a chop-shop after all; a place where very large things get cut up into very small pieces, so this should work out pretty well. I’m going to ask you one more time to point us in the direction of Cutter’s two million dollars. If you fail to hear me this time, I’m going to be forced to improve your hearing.”

I chuckled. “Wouldn’t cutting his ear off make his hearing worse?”

“I’m not a doctor, Minus. I’m pretty sure Phil here understands that I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances, don’t you, Phil?”

Phil’s bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, as he grunted out, “Sure Clutch.”

“I’m just doing the best I can to help my good buddy Phil hear my question as clearly as possible. So here it goes, one more time. Where is Cutter’s fucking money?”

“It’s not here...”

The first drops of blood appeared as the blade pressed into the soft flesh where his earlobe connected to his head.

“I’ll tell you where it is!” he screamed. “I swear to God I’ll tell you where it is.”

Clutch stopped, straightened up, and he looked at me smiling. “See, it worked! He can hear just fine now.

“I think you missed your calling, Doctor Clutch,” I said.

“You asshole, you almost cut my fucking ear off!” Phil snapped.

“Almost being the operative word, Philly Cheese Steak. Now, where is the money?” Clutch asked, once again leveling his pistol to Phil’s head.

“A dude named Viper hired my crew to steal a car. That’s it!” he squeaked. “I swear I didn’t know there was money in the trunk until the car got here, and they opened it up.”

“But once you saw the money, you didn’t think to call Cutter?”

“How was I supposed to know the money was his?”

“Don’t make me shoot you just for being stupid, Phil. You knew that two million was coming in for the Saints. Everyone in the Club’s circle knew about the payment, and that includes you. You should have called him as soon as you saw the cash.”

“You’re right, Clutch. You’re absolutely right.” Blood ran down the rolls of pink flesh that were his neck as his hands applied pressure to the wound.

I cocked my head. “Now tell me, who the fuck is Viper and where can I find him?”

“He’s the head of Los Psychos, the Mexican club. They hang out at the Nine Ball.”

“The pool hall?”

“That’s the place! I swear that’s all I know. It was just supposed to be a simple job; snatch the car, and bring it back here for pickup. I didn’t know anything about Cutter’s money being in the trunk, or that you were involved Minus.” Phil’s attention turned to me. “Last I heard you moved to Texas or something.”

“Savannah, Georgia,” I replied dryly. “Now leave me the fuck out of this.” I’d always hated Phil. He was a piece of shit and I couldn’t wait to get out of here. Besides being a car thief, Phil was also a loan shark and meth dealer. The exact sort of person I was trying to protect my club from years ago.

Phil continued, “I know Cutter and I have had our disagreements lately...and that mistakes have been made. Like I said, I didn’t know it was his money and I will personally apologize to Cutter myself.”

“Don’t worry, Phil, I’ll let him know you were sorry.”

Phil’s body, now two holes greater, lie on his office floor in a heap, a pool of blood rapidly forming underneath his lumpy frame.

Clutch, huffed in irritation.

“What the fuck, man?” I shouted

“Cutter wanted him gone,” Clutch said flatly.

“You didn’t want to clue me in? I would have brought my kit.”

“No time. I’ve got a cleaning crew on standby. Cutter wants this all taken care of right away. We still have to find this Viper prick, and I’d like to be in bed before three a.m.”

“No, you need to find Viper,” I snapped back. “I’m only here for a meeting with Cutter and that’s it. I’m here for twenty-four hours and then I’m headed back to Savannah. As a matter of fact, I’m not even here.”

“Yeah, well plans may have just changed,” he said as he dialed the number for the cleaning crew.

“Yes, I called earlier about a bad stain in my carpet,” Clutch said. “That’s correct, the one located in my hallway. I’d like to have a crew come out right away please. Thank you.”

He hung up and we and I made our way out through the back entrance, to his car which was parked in the rear lot. As we got in, Clutch said, “Ya know, you still haven’t told me exactly why you’re back in town.”

“What do you mean? I already told you, Cutter called me and asked me to meet with him, so here I am.”

“I understand that, but why?” he asked as we peeled off into the night.

“How the fuck should I know? You’re the Sarge. I figured you know more about this than I do.”

“It’s just that I’m surprised to even see you here. Everyone here thought you were swallowed up by the south, as the late great Phil so astutely pointed out.”

“Astutely?” I choked out in surprise.

“Hey, motherfucker, I read some of those books you sent me when I was in the joint. Anyways, don’t change the subject. Ain’t you supposed to be banished?”

I shrugged. “Semi-banished.”

“Whatever. Either way, I thought Cutter didn’t want to see you in Portland again,” he ground out.

“That’s true, but he asked me to be here, so here I am.”

“Oh, you’re doing him a favor,” he deadpanned. “Gee, thanks, Minus. That really clears things up.”

“I’m glad I could be of assistance to you.” I said. “Hey, slow down will ya? The last thing we need is for your dumb ass to be get pulled over fleeing a murder scene.”

Clutch barely slowed down as he continued his interrogation, “Don’t get cute with me, bro. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems a little odd that you’re so casual about meeting with a guy that you haven’t spoken directly to in six years, exiled you to Hicksville USA, and that...Oh yeah, once tried to kill you!

“Look, you know Cutter as well as I do. He never does anything without good reason. He has his reasons for asking me here, and I have my reasons for saying yes.”

“Is one of those reasons her?” he challenged.

“Fuck you, Nicky.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Actually, it’s a fuck you. I haven’t talked to her in six years, and she has no idea that I’m in town. In fact, no one knows I’m in town and that’s exactly the way I want to keep it.”

“Well, Phil sure as fuck knows,” Clutch said laughing.  “I’ve gotta feeling Viper’s gonna know pretty soon as well.”

“I told you you’re on your own. I don’t know anything about this two million dollars, or who this Viper guy is, but it definitely sounds like more of a you problem, than a me problem,” I said.

Clutch’s expression turned deadly serious. “It’s a club problem, Minus, and last I checked, you still wear a Saints’ patch.”

I nodded, but said nothing. We drove on through the ever-present Portland drizzle until we reached the clubhouse.

“Trust me, Minus, as important as you may think you are, the club’s two million in cash is more important,” Clutch said as he parked. “I’m gonna have to sniff around a little and see what we can find out about Viper and his crew. For all we know, Phil was lying through his rotten teeth, but Cutter’s gonna want me to make sure, and honestly, I could use some trustworthy backup, so are you gonna help me with this or not?”

I paused for few moments then asked, “Who’s the two million from?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Cutter’s been cagey lately; really secretive and shit. He’s been keeping everyone at arm’s length, so I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you’ve been summoned to be here, at the same time that this payment was scheduled to be delivered.”

“I told you, I have no idea why I’m here Clutch.”

“I believe you man, I just don’t believe that you haven’t thought about what you might say or do if you see... her.”

“You can say her name Clutch. You can say Cricket.”

“I can say her name, but you can’t my friend. According to Cutter you can’t see her, talk to her, say her name, or even think about her.”

“Yeah, he made that pretty clear the night he hung me over the Burnside bridge, so why the fuck do you keep bringing her up?”

We got out of the car and made our way to the entrance.

“Just making sure you’ve got your head on straight should you run into her that’s all,” Clutch said, his hand on the front door.

“Being as she and Cutter don’t talk, she and I don’t talk, and Cutter and I don’t talk, I can’t imagine why or how I could possibly run into Cricket Wallace,” I said.

Clutch opened the door and it took me a moment to believe what I was seeing.

Strawberry blonde hair, long legs that supported the sexiest body ever created, and a face that was so beautiful that it made me forget what any other woman I’d ever seen looked like.

Cricket Wallace was standing ten feet away from me, in the middle of the Saints’ clubhouse.

“Hi, Jase, it’s good to see you again.”

* * *

If you liked the sneak peek of Minus, you can order it !

Piper Davenport writes from a place of passion and intrigue, combining elements of romance and suspense with strong modern-day heroes and heroines.

She currently resides in pseudonymia under the dutiful watch of the Writers Protection Agency.

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