Chapter 11
Big John
I was a fucking bastard. I’d treated Daisy just like a club whore once I’d pulled my wilted dick from her body. I’d left her there, taken care of the condom like I usually did, and decided to take a shower, hoping she’d be gone when I came out. The truth was, I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. She wasn’t a sweetbutt and she hadn’t deserved my cold indifference. She’d given me the best fuck of my life, but what terrified me was the way I’d begun to think of her during it.
Mine.
The same fucking thing I’d thought of the instant that I’d locked eyes with her that first day in her salon.
Mine.
Christ. I wanted her as mine.
I wanted to claim her.
She’d still been there when I’d come out of the bathroom, sound asleep and naked as the day she’d been born. Beautiful. Curvy. Still wet between the legs, the tiny strip of black hair covering her mound glistening and matted with her own cream. I’d wanted to fuck her without a condom, feel the pleasant slide of skin on skin. It was yet another red flag that I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t need a woman, a girlfriend, or an old lady. Not a permanent one. Thinking about filling Daisy’s pussy up with my seed was a warning sign that I needed to be careful.
I’d covered her up with the sheet and left the room, locking the door behind me. She could get out, I just didn’t want anyone walking in on her. Once she was safe, I had shit to do. I’d grabbed Jumper and Clay and had taken off for Pleasure Me, a strip club that didn’t give a fuck who you were, money was money and they didn’t turn anyone away. It was common knowledge that they were neutral ground for bikers. Anyone could go there, but it didn’t mean that they could be trusted, or that it was safe there.
The three of us were sitting at a table against the wall with our backs to it. It was dark, and smelled like stale beer, cigarettes, and sex. The lights were directed toward the stage, on the girl who was naked and pumping her cunt against the pole. She had a nice rack, but I knew fake when I saw it. Her ribcage stuck out revealing that she was too fucking skinny, probably a druggie. She was wearing a wig, too, because I could see black hair sticking out from around the platinum twirling around her shoulders.
Daisy’s luscious tits had been real, her little nipples rosy and sweet as fucking candy. Thinking about them turned me hard as stone. If I hadn’t had club shit to do I would still have been there, no doubt fucking her brains out. She had a sweet, tight as fuck pussy that hugged my dick and knew how to milk it dry. Several times while I’d been pounding her I’d hit right up against her inner walls. It wasn’t often that I could bottom out inside a woman, and my balls had been happy slapping against her curvy ass.
I picked up my drink and threw it back, slamming the glass down on the table loud enough to get the waitress’s attention. She skipped her way to the table, a huge smile on her face. She would have been pretty without all the makeup.
“Can I get you something, honey?”
Her eagerness and the interest in her eyes revealed that I could request anything and she’d be glad to give it to me. “A refill,” I grunted. She started to turn away. “Fuck, make it the whole damned bottle.”
“You got it,” she smiled over her shoulder, swinging her hips as she walked away.
“Nice ass,” Clay remarked, watching her.
“You have a nice ass waiting for you back at the clubhouse,” I reminded him.
He shrugged. “Does that mean I can’t admire someone else’s?” he snorted. “Makes me appreciate what I have.”
There was some truth to that.
“What about you?”
I looked at Jumper. “What about me?”
“Seems you’re not as stressed out as you were before. Something happen between you and that cute Daisy from the salon?”
“None of your fucking business, brother.”
He and Clay both laughed. The waitress came back with the bottle of whiskey and set it down on the table. The view that I got as she bent forward might have peaked my interest another time. Her blouse fell away from her tits, revealing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. I looked. I’m a man, after all, but the sight was mediocre compared to the full perfection of Daisy’s full tits. Shit, I wanted those creamy mounds in my mouth right then, wanted to roll those tasty nipples around with my tongue, and hear her little whimpers as I sucked at them hard.
“Would you like anything else?” the waitress asked with an invitation in her eyes.
“Maybe some other time.” Clay gave me and Jumper a look before continuing. “You never know if love will last or not.”
Love? Fuck. He and Jasmine hadn’t been together long enough to even like each other yet.
“Is Talbot here tonight?” I asked, pulling her eyes back to me.
“In his office in the back. Would you like me to get him for you?”
“Yeah. Send him out. Tell him Big John wants to chat.”
“Sure thing, honey.”
After she walked away, my gaze drifted back to the stage. A different girl was dancing now, one with a little more meat on her bones. She was wearing a harem girl’s outfit, as revealing as it was concealing, giving glimpses of her skin as she moved.
“Now that’s worth watching,” Clay smirked, nodding toward the stage. “I’d like to see Jasmine in something like that.”
The door opened and a couple of truckers stumbled inside. They looked rough, and halfway to already being drunk. I shook my head with disgust, thinking about them out on the road, driving while intoxicated. I had little patience for that kind of fucking stupidity. A lot of bikers drove under the influence, too, but my brothers knew how I felt about it, knew how it had changed my life. They knew that they’d have to answer to me if I found out they did that shit. I may have been a killer, but my fists and gun were usually aimed at scum who deserved to die. Driving while drunk took out innocent lives, and hit a personal note for me.
One drunk driver in particular was the reason that I no longer had a family. I was sure that somewhere out there some distant relatives of mine were still around but the ones who had really mattered--my folks and younger brother--were gone because some asshole had thought that he could drive after downing a bottle of Jack. After I’d found out who he was, and had learned that he’d been convicted of DUI a few years earlier and had been let off with a slap on the wrist, I’d taken him out. I’d only been sixteen at the time.
The sight of Talbot making his way to the table, a sleazy grin on his ugly mug, pulled my thoughts away from the truckers. What little hair he had left on his head looked like it was stuck against his scalp, and he was dressed in his usual suit that looked like a throwback from the fifties. Thought it made him look distinguished, he stood out like a sore fucking thumb in his rundown, shady establishment.
“I know why you’re here,” was the first thing out of his mustached mouth when he reached our table.
I glared with dislike into his beady little eyes. “That’s what I like and dislike about you, Talbot. You have no loyalty.”
He shrugged. “Pays not to take sides,” he defended.
“You’ve always been all about the money, asshole,” Clay sniggered. “Least you’re fucking consistent.”
Jumper snorted, but said nothing.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” I growled impatiently. I didn’t want to waste any more time than I had to talking to this sleaze ball. “Why are we here?” I wasn’t about to put words into his fucking mouth.
He chuckled. “Three words: Shooter, Demo, Whistler.”
I crossed my arms and glared at him, when what I really wanted to do was reach up, grab him around the throat, and squeeze the information out of him. When he realized that I wasn’t going to play his game, he lost his smile and began to look at the three of us nervously. He should have known better than to fuck with us.
He cleared his throat. “Well, they were here, last night. Had a few beers and took a couple of the girls with them when they left.” So, they were close. I remained silent, my gut telling me that there was more. Talbot liked to drag shit out for effect. “Said they were looking for an old friend they had some unfinished business with.”
“He name that friend?” Jumper inquired gruffly.
Whenever Talbot shifted his eyes, I knew he was about to tell a lie. I’d known him long enough to pick up on some of his telling quirks. And he was afraid. Swallowing hard meant that he was petrified, which he just did.
“Do we need to take this back to your office?”
His eyes got big at my question, and he stuttered, “No! No, that’s not necessary.” I grinned. “Shooter named you.” His gaze rested on me. “Said you two went way back but lost touch when he went to prison. Said he owed you something.”
Yeah. A bullet between the eyes, if he seriously thought that I’d ratted him and the club out. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know where, I swear, Big John.”
He was holding out for money. “You said they took a couple of girls with them, regulars?” Clay wanted to know. Talbot nodded. Clay leaned forward. “So, who are the girls?”
“They haven’t shown up for work yet.”
Clay made an impatient sound. “Then where do they live?”
Talbot hesitated, glancing around as if looking for help or a way out. I followed the direction of his search, grinning when his bouncers remained standing at the exits with their arms crossed, their interest clearly on the strippers.
“Cut the shit, Talbot.” I tossed a couple of hundreds at him. “You know us. We’re not going to hurt them,” I said. “Unless they give us reason to.”
He took a breath. “Mindy and Jezzie share a small house. I’ll need to check their file in my office for the address.”
“You do that,” I demanded. “And make sure that’s all you do when you’re in there.”
With a nervous smile, he took off.
“Think he’ll tip them off that we’re coming?”
“We’ll know soon enough,” I replied to Jumper’s question. “The thing with Talbot is, he’s a two-faced fuck. Likes to think he’s friends with everyone, but no one trusts or respects him. He’ll take your money, but he’ll screw you over if someone else pays more.”
The address Talbot gave us was for a house on Baker Pond. Most likely it had been a camp cottage at one time that had been converted for living year-round. The good news was that it would probably be isolated enough so that any neighbors close by wouldn’t see what was going on. The bad news was that the sound of our bikes would alert Shooter and his men long before we arrived. That meant that we’d be forced to abandon our bikes and make our way to the house on foot.
I was surprised to find that the road leading to the pond had been plowed, realizing why as we passed several new homes. Since it was an old camp road, the property owners had probably paid for it themselves. It was easy to tell which houses had occupants because their driveways had also been shoveled. The small house we were looking for came into view, tucked close to the bank of the pond, surrounded by snow-capped trees. We kept low, halting a safe distance away once a car and a bike came into view.
Jumper stated the obvious. “Two are missing.”
“Maybe they’re parked around the back.”
I snorted at Clay’s suggestion. “There is no back, asshole.” I squinted at the sides of the house, looking to see if two other bikes were stashed there in the bushes. If they were, they were hidden well.
“So, what’s the plan?”
I thought for a minute. “I go in alone.” They didn’t look surprised. They shouldn’t have. I was known for doing shit my own way, and on my own. If I needed backup I knew that I could count on them, but for now I wanted to face Shooter alone. If Shooter was in there. I glanced again at the bike. Yeah, that was his old Harley Fat Boy, solid black, even the tire rims. But what made it stand out from all others was the custom painted TM and Glock on the tank. His favorite weapon of choice.
“Don’t come in unless you hear bullets flying.”
I didn’t wait for their responses. Using the surrounding shrubs for cover, I crouched my way as close as I could get before sprinting the last few feet to the house. I came up against the side where there was a window. I couldn’t hear anything coming from inside, and slowly straightened so that I could take a look inside. Fuck! The curtain was closed. I then worked my way toward the front door, taking the steps cautiously, but the dry, rotten wood made it impossible to keep quiet. I froze at the first fucking squeak, and waited. Still, I heard nothing that indicated that anyone was inside.
When I reached the door, I pulled my weapon, took a step back, and kicked the door open. It flew back against the wall with a bang as I raised my gun and stepped inside, coming face to face with a Glock. Shit! I came to an abrupt halt, meeting the deadly calm in Shooter’s knowing eyes. He was standing there, half undressed, while a naked woman who was clutching a pillow was cowering on an old plaid sofa behind him.
“I’ve been expecting you,” Shooter grumbled, his expression not giving anything away. He’d changed, and it didn’t look like his years behind bars had been good to him. He’d gotten a little thinner, a little grayer, but he hadn’t lost his edge.
I knew that he was as dangerous now as the day he’d gone into prison.
“So it appears.” I kept my gun aimed at the spot between his eyes. If he fired, we’d both go down. “Heard you were looking for me.”
“Knew that pussy Talbot would talk.”
The fact that Talbot had obviously warned Shooter we were on our way revealed that Shooter had paid him more money. “Seems you got what you wanted.” Shooter nodded. The woman on the couch whimpered, but neither of us acknowledged her. Depending on how this played out, she was a liability we couldn’t afford.
“Rats like to stick together.”
There it was. His way of telling me he’d thought I’d betrayed the club, and that because of it half of them had ended up in prison. “Thought you knew me better than that.”
“Thought I did.” His expression turned harder, the lines of age and hard times stamped like the roads of an old map on his face. “You left. Shit went down. Someone ratted us out.”
“Wasn’t me,” I said without hesitation. “You know why I left the club.”
“Yeah. The timing was convenient.”
I shrugged. “Coincidence.” Enough of this shit. “So, where’s Demo and Whistler?” I saw his gaze shift at something behind me, a warning that came too late.
“Right behind you, asshole.”
I froze. Fuck! While I’d been spending time bullshitting with Shooter, his assassins had been sneaking up behind me. The woman’s constant sniffling had made it easy for them. It wasn’t often that someone got the drop on me, but I knew Demo and Whistler were fucking good at what they did. It seemed that their years in prison hadn’t affected their skills. I was pissed for being in this position. The only thing in my favor now was that Clay and Jumper may have witnessed their arrival.
I knew that I had to make a move when I heard the guns cock behind me. The woman began to wail louder, as if sensing what was about to happen. “So, this is how it’s going to go down?”
“Tying up loose ends,” Shooter said, with no regret. “Sucks we were friends, but you should understand club procedure.” His eyes shifted to my enforcer’s patch.
It was during that brief second that I decided to make my move, when his gaze was focused on my patch. I grabbed the gun he had in my face and twisted his arm down, swinging Shooter around in front of me at the same time. One of his brothers fired in response, but the bullet ripped into Shooter. He grunted, the force pushing him further back into me, and I let him fall to the floor, firing my weapon in the direction of where Demo and Whistler disappeared through the open doorway.
The woman was screaming now, but I ignored her and turned my attention to the door, just in time to dive behind an old arm chair to avoid a bullet. Demo fired off a couple of rounds, aiming blindly into the room. Shit! I looked at the woman. “Get your ass out of here!” I didn’t really give a shit about her, but I didn’t want to see her shot up either. She surprised me by jumping off the couch and running out of the room. I checked on Shooter to make sure that he was still down, because I didn’t know how bad he’d been shot.
A movement at the door drew my gaze there, and I saw Whistler show himself. I fired in his direction. He fired back. And then more gunfire followed, revealing that Clay and Jumper were moving up behind them. Demo and Whistler were literally boxed in between me and my brothers. I could only guess that one of them was exchanging gunfire with my brothers, while the other was focused on taking me out. A groan from the floor revealed that Shooter was still alive, but I ignored him, taking careful aim not to shoot my brothers when Demo showed his face.
We exchanged rapid gunfire, and then I saw Demo’s body jerk and a look of disbelief come over his face, a look of surprise and shock at being hit. He was hugging the doorjamb as if it were the only thing holding him up. He coughed, grimaced, dropped his gun, and sank to the ground, half inside the room. I instinctively knew that he was dead. I made my way to the front door to take care of Whistler. I got there in time to see Clay and Jumper rushing toward the house, and Whistler nowhere in sight.
“What the fuck?”
“Fucker took off when the other one went down,” Jumper explained, out of breath.
I watched Clay’s eyes follow the direction Whistler must have taken. Before he even disappeared out of sight, we heard the sound of a bike starting up and revving away. The sound grew increasingly distant, which told me that Whistler was getting the hell out of there as fast as he could. Clay came back, a disgusted look on his face.
“Some fucking assassin!” he swore in a gritty tone.
“They’re good at killing. Never said they were brave,” I snorted. “Least we got two of them.”
“Which one is he?” Clay kicked the boot of the man that was bleeding out on the ground.
“Demo. Whistler took off. Shooter is inside.” It was then that we heard the distinctive sound of another bike starting up. I swung around to look inside. “Fuck!” I punched the side of the building. Shooter was gone. “Goddammit! Shooter is fucking gone.”
That wasn’t good.