Chapter Twenty-Four
“Thanks, Jack,” Snake said as he pocketed the receipt from the older man. He’d become somewhat friendly with the Santa lookalike who owned the hardware store since he was in there at least three times per week.
“You over at the Culver’s place today?” Jack asked.
Snake shook his head. “Nah, finished up the repairs on Old Man Culver’s barn last week. Gonna be spending a lot of time at the Macintyres’ for a while. The place a few miles out on Route Eight.”
Jack nodded and rubbed a hand over his bushy white beard. He seemed to know everyone within a fifty-mile radius by face and name. “What are they doin’ to the place?”
“Adding an in-law suite off the back of their house.”
“Hmm.” Jack grunted. “Pretty big job. Should keep you busy until summer, huh?”
“For the most part, yeah. I still have room for some small jobs here and there, so feel free to keep peddling my name. I appreciate all the business you’ve thrown my way.” He was well and truly becoming an established citizen of St. Charles, Idaho. A fact that still caught him by surprise every so often. For the past few months, since the work on Amanda’s cabins was complete, he’d been taking on handyman jobs. Word of mouth spread like wildfire and now he was getting offers for larger scale residential construction jobs. Jack had even suggested he start an official contracting company.
Hard to do with an alias and fake identification. The IRS tended to frown on businesses started by someone without a social security number.
Jack waved him off. “Happy to do it, Nick. You do some damn fine work.”
“Thanks, man. I’m sure I’ll see you again before the week is out.” With a wave for Jack, Snake was out the door and heading for his bike. The order he’d placed would be delivered to the Macintyres’ the following morning.
A quick glance at his watch let him know he still had a few hours to kill. Amanda asked if he minded making himself scarce for the day so she’d have some time to speak with Kat. The situation with Kat had deteriorated over the past few months to the point where she was either away or locked in her room. Neither he nor Amanda had any idea where she was going anymore. The few, brief encounters he’d had with her weren’t pleasant. Kat was hard, bitchy, and damaged somehow.
He had his suspicions, but hadn’t voiced them to Amanda. Kat had come to resemble so many of the club whores he’d known throughout the years. He’d put money on the fact that she’d gotten too wrapped up in one of the clubs she visited and now couldn’t get herself out. At one point, he’d tried to offer some assistance, but her biting words and middle finger let him know she wasn’t open to his support. So, he kept his mouth shut and his nose out of her business. She was a grown ass woman and could make her own choices. Club life was intoxicating. It sucked people in and didn’t let go without a helluva fight. He could attest to that.
Amanda on the other hand, couldn’t accept the radical shift in her friend’s personality. She worried constantly, and that alone made Snake despise the woman. He hated to see Amanda stressed or upset.
Kat was due back from a trip today and Amanda had decided to confront her, intervention style. He’d been banned from the house for a few hours, until Amanda had time to speak with her friend alone. That didn’t mean he couldn’t hang down at the cabin, which was the plan. The idea of Amanda alone on the property with Kat’s volatility didn’t sit well. He’d prefer to be within shouting distance if things went to shit. He may be away from club life, but those instincts for self-preservation never fully died.
As he strode down main street toward his bike, he noticed a clean and shiny motorcycle parked against the curb. It was a Harley Davidson Street Bob. Brand new model, if he wasn’t mistaken. He whistled. Beautiful piece of machinery.
“You ride, man?” a voice asked from behind him.
“Sure do,” Snake answered as he turned. He looked up at the bike’s owner and froze. His blood chilled, he’d swear his heart stopped beating, and anything else he might have said died in his throat. Five feet away stood Mo, a patched member of the Grimm Brother’s MC.
Named for the ten-inch-long Mohawk that spanned the center of his scalp from forehead to the apex of his spine, Mo stood pale faced, mouth agape, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. And for all intents and purposes he had.
“You’re fucking shittin’ me,” Mo whispered.
So much for the self-preservation instinct Snake had been thinking about moments before. He’d gone soft, at least as far as remaining vigilant went. He’d let down his guard and now, in the blink of an eye, everything was fucked. If he managed to ride off this street alive, the entire MC would be scouring the area for him within a day.
He had to leave.
Amanda had to leave.
Now he’d have to tell her who he really was. The bubble was bound to pop at some point, but he’d been with her so long, it was almost easy to forget she didn’t know who Snake was. She only knew Nick.
“You-you’re dead,” Mo said. “I-I saw it. I was there. There’s no fuckin’ way you survived that shit.”
Snake’s jaw clenched so hard, his teeth ached. Mo had been there. Mo, who was Snake’s prospect seven years ago. Mo, who he’d trusted with his life countless times. Mo, his brother in all but blood.
Vestiges of his old life crashed down on him. Snake was slithering his way back to the forefront, leaving Nick in the dust. All it took was two seconds in the presence of one MC member. Though this wasn’t just any member, this was a brother who took part in snuffing Snake’s existence.
“Surprise,” he said, recognizing the coldness of his own voice. The flat, dead manner in which he used to speak.
Mo’s hand flew to his back then he let out a violent curse. Though he kept his face neutral, inside Snake allowed a mental smirk. Looked like he wasn’t the only one who let his guard down in St. Charles. Mo wasn’t armed.
Snake had a knife in his boot, and a gun in his saddlebag, but he’d never reach the firepower in time if he really needed it.
“So how’s my old VP doing?” He shook his head and smacked a light palm against his forehead. “Shit, my bad. I mean how’s the new president? Casper enjoying his moment in the spotlight? Hope he’s not getting too comfortable. You never know when something might happen to knock his ass down.” He spoke with the confidence of a man with a plan. Mo didn’t need to know Snake had all but given up on any thoughts of revenge.
Now, he may not have a choice. Spending his life on the run was one thing, but it was unacceptable for Amanda. And he was selfish enough to not want to give her up. So action would have to be taken. Casper would have to be ended.
Something flashed in Mo’s eyes. Something that looked very similar to regret. And Snake loved it. With a chuckle, he asked, “Ah, not working out so well, is it?”
Mo didn’t respond, just looked at Snake with a mix of hatred and uncertainty. At this time of day, Main Street wasn’t busy and they were the only two outside.
Snake shrugged and kept his posture relaxed. An idea was brewing, but it depended on catching Mo off guard. “Can’t say I’m surprised. He always was a greedy little shit, not cut out to lead. Bet he’s fucked shit up, huh?”
Mo must not have appreciated Snake’s accurate assessment of the state of the club because he lost the look of a shocked man and took on the look of a furious one.
“Fuck you,” he spat out. “You don’t know shit about what’s going on in the club now. Ain’t your concern.”
“You see, Mo, that’s where we disagree. That’s my fuckin’ club.”
Mo’s throat rose and fell as he swallowed. He’d shown his hand by revealing the fact he was unarmed, but Snake had yet to show his cards. Mo had no idea if Snake was armed, and it gave him an edge. Most likely, that uncertainty was the only thing keeping the younger man from attacking.
Mo shook his head. “You’re fuckin’ done, Snake. What? You think you’re gonna come back and take over?” He snorted out a laugh. “Casper’s got it now and he deserves it. Not one brother would let you get within a mile of him.”
An MC member was nothing if not loyal, hence Mo’s staunch defense of a president who was probably destroying the club one poor decision at a time. Of course, loyalty was a subjective thing. Shooting a president and dumping him down a ravine didn’t quite rank as loyal, but Snake had no doubt Casper, Mo and whoever else was involved had plenty of rationalizations for their actions.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Snake asked.
Mo’s eyes narrowed. “Club business ain’t your concern no more.” He crossed his arms.
Then suddenly it dawned on him. Casper was always pressing him to make connections up north. He thought they were wasting an opportunity by not running drugs from Canada as well as Mexico. He’d wanted to make connections with an MC near Boise. Snake had been against it. It was way too much distance to travel to make those kinds of drug runs safe. Now that he was out of the picture, Casper must have decided to go through with it. What other reason would Mo have for his presence in Idaho?
“You alone?”
Silence was the only answer he received. He hadn’t expected a response, but he’d have been a fool not to at least try to get some information. Plus, anything that bought him a few extra seconds to devise a way out that didn’t include Mo following him back to Amanda’s was vital.
“Look, Snake, this can only end one way. Now that we know you’re alive, it’s only a matter of time before the club finds you and finishes the job this time. Why don’t you just come back to Arizona with me and I’ll do what I can to get Casper to end it quick and painless.”
Snake laughed. A full body belly laugh. Looked like there were things Mo had to say despite knowing how it would be received as well. If the asshole thought he had a chance in hell of getting Snake back to Arizona, he was delusional as well as a fuckin’ traitor. “Not gonna happen, Mo. Why don’t you just scurry on back to Arizona. You can give Casper a message for me.”
As he spoke, Snake bent down toward his boot. Mo’s eyes widened as he followed the movements. “Tell him, from now on, he better sleep with one eye open.” He grabbed the handle of the knife and straightened.
Mo cursed and dove behind a nearby trash can, mistaking the knife for a gun just as Snake hoped he would. Instead of attacking Mo, he jammed the knife into the front tire of Mo’s bike. With a hard yank, he withdrew it from the rubber and treated the back tire to the same stabbing.
“Fuck!” Mo yelled as he sprung from behind his refuse barricade. He charged forward, more concerned with the state of his bike than Snake’s getaway. “Mother fucker!” he called out as Snake rushed toward his own bike. He hopped on, hit the throttle and shot down the street at a speed that would have had him in jail had there been any cops around.
Blood pounded in his ears while he ran through his options. How the hell was he going to convince Amanda to leave with him?
He took a long and convoluted route home, spending almost an hour driving through the mountains, doubling back, and making as many unnecessary loops and turns as he could. Mo’s bike would be out of commission until he replaced the tires, but he’d have no problem hotwiring and stealing some poor bastard’s car to give chase.
It took the full hour for Snake to feel confident in the fact that no one had followed him. At that point, he turned in the direction of Amanda’s house. When he arrived, he pulled the bike into the garage and made sure to close and lock the door. Should anyone drive by, they’d have no reason to suspect this was his home.
Home.
Jesus, it really was his home. Actually, Amanda was his home. As much as he enjoyed the mountain and lake view, the isolated location of the house, and the cabins he’d put his blood and sweat into, he’d abandon it in a heartbeat to keep Amanda safe. It didn’t matter one bit to him where they ended up, as long as she was with him.
He was in love with the woman. Or as much in love as someone like him could be. It was an unfamiliar emotion. Maybe he should have told her. Maybe it would help if he said it today.
Now he just had to hope she felt the same.