Death Lords Motorcycle Club: Chelsea and Wrecker (The Motorcycle Clubs Series) (24 page)

I
t’s
shitty being the one who waits. And since its past midnight, I don’t have anything to keep myself occupied. If it was earlier, maybe I could concentrate on making dinner. Of if I had classes, I could be studying. But all I can do is pace and worry. When I hear the muted throttle of the engine down the road and see the headlights flash through the front window, I have the door open and I’m out before the truck can pull to a stop. Grant jumps down and Abel parks his bike behind him.

“What happened?”

“Let’s get inside first.”

Grant gathers me into his arms, pressing his face into my neck before releasing me. Abel says goodnight and I have to bite my tongue until we get to the bedroom. As Grant undresses, he explains what he’s learned—about the rapes, the trafficking, Junior killing his old man, and how the bodies are burned at a refinery where Big works.

“Moose is part of the old crowd. Junior won’t take him out because Moose’s sister is sick. And because Moose hasn’t done anything bad enough to warrant killing him. He’s dealing meth on the side, but he wasn’t involved with raping those girls—as far Junior knows—so he’s reluctant to get rid of him.”

Meaning Junior’s not so depraved that human life no longer means something to him which is a good sign.

Wrecker continues. “Junior’s club doesn’t have the money. The only source of income at the time was their partnership with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen and since that’s been cut off, the club members are scrambling to make a living and keep the club operational.”

“What did Junior have you move then?”

“Mostly guns. Some hot items they’d picked up and couldn’t broker on the market at the time.”

“What’s the matter, babe?” I stroke his back as he sits on the bed, shirt off, jeans unzipped looking pensive. And Grant doesn’t do pensive. He’s a body of action—always on the move.

Even at rest he looks athletic and ready to sprint to his feet. Maybe it was his years in prison that trained him that rest is for the weak. Maybe he’s trying to make up for those three lost years.

I scrape my nails down the broad expanse of skin, watching the trail of white turn back into his natural gold color. He doesn’t answer me right away, content to have me pet him.

“Moose’s sister was taken by the Eight-Eight. Pretty sure she’s going to die if we don’t get her out. The piece of paper in the envelope was an address where an exchange would take place. A pound of meth worth fifty grand for Moose’s sister.”

“But they already took the drugs today!” I say indignantly.

“Exactly.” His shoulders slump and then he bursts into action, flipping me over and covering me. A big hand reaches around and pulls me hard against him. The thick erection nestles between my legs. “It means that they are fucking with Moose. They want him to keep supplying the drugs but with the lab blown up, he doesn’t have any source.”

Grant buries his head in my neck and it finally hits me what he’s upset about.

“You’re going to fight the Henchmen tomorrow night, aren’t you?” My words are barely a whisper as if they were louder they would be given more power.

“That’s right.”

“Oh Grant.” I clutch him closer. Is Mandy right? That the club only deals in violence? Only ends in blood? He shudders in my embrace. He has only just gotten out—not even a full year of freedom. And we’re so young. God, our lives have just started and we’ve already been separated for far too long. Now he’s heading into real danger against a club that is known for kidnapping, killing, rape, and torture.

I want to lock him in the basement and tie him to a chair so that he can’t get out and leave me.

But that’s the surest way to lose him.

Grant was born a Death Lord. His father is the president. His grandfather founded the club. The club is as much a part of his life as anything, even me. I know he loves me and I believe he loves me more than the club, but in some ways he and the club are inseparable. It is part of him just as he is part of me.

I turn and press a kiss against his head—one that lets him know that I love him, that I accept him.

“You have to save her,” I say.

“I know,” he answers. His voice is a little broken. “I’m coming back to you.”

“Of course you are.”

He places a hot, open-mouthed kiss against my neck. His teeth bite down on the strap of my tank top and ease it off my shoulder. Between my legs, he starts to move, to rub his hard length along my cotton-covered sex.

Wordlessly he removes all of my clothes and then his. He settles between my legs again and pushes the broad head of his erection against my entrance.

“I love you baby,” he declares and then takes my mouth at the same time as his hot, hard, silken length rams into me.

He swallows my cry and gives me back new breath. His tongue makes love to me, exploring me as he pumps his hips in long, slow, deep motions. This is an act of love, not of fucking.

We kiss endlessly as if we can’t bear to have any part of our bodies separated from each other. His big body moves over mine, covering me, protecting me, loving me.

His hand bracelets my wrists high above my head. I’m stretched out and exposed for his touch. Arching my back, I rub my erect nipples against his hard chest. The sensation of his hair roughened limbs against my soft skin sends a thrill throughout my being.

Each thrust of his hips against mine pushes me toward my release. The contact of our body generates so much heat that my skin burns. His cock presses so deeply inside me, I swear I can feel him in my throat. But he’s still so gentle and tender.

He whispers how much he loves me, how he’ll never leave me, how I belong to him forever and ever and ever.

It’s the words that push me over the edge as much as anything. My sex clamps down hard on his shaft, spasming as I come. The tight grip of my walls sucks his own orgasm from him. He moans my name in my ear. A chant of desire, love and passion as he fills me with his hot seed and I’m delirious with joy.

“God, Grant, yes,” I cry.

His hand releases my wrists so that he can grasp my hips, holding me down against the mattress so that he can wring every last bit of pleasure from both our bodies. My eyes water from the power of my orgasm. I shake and shudder for endless minutes while he holds me in his arms. His hands caress every inch of my skin, pulling me back to earth.

“It’s going to be all right, you know.” He whispers against my cheek. His cock is still inside me, still hard and hot and pulsing.

“I don’t care if it is,” I say honestly. “I’d rather have these few moments with you than none at all. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow night. I don’t know what will happen next week. I only know that I want to spend all my tomorrows with you.”

His lips curve against my skin. “Same.”

And so that’s it. Yes, the life I live with Grant has violence and danger but it is full of love and I’ll never regret being his old lady, not even one second of a day.

E
asy arrives
with the drugs and extra guns the next evening.

“Judge says howdy,” Easy tells me as he tosses me the plastic bag. “What’s the plan?”

He takes a chair and spins it around, straddling it. Abel and I lay it out for him as Chelsea spoons up some beef stew she cooked in the crock pot all day. The duplex smells awesome.

“Moose thinks that there’ll be about four to eight Henchmen. Junior and Moose are going to the exchange. The outliers we’ll take out one by one. The goal is to position it so that it looks like it’s a drug deal gone wrong.”

“How are you going to make that happen?”

I open the basement door and gesture for him to follow us. In the concrete basement, we have two men bound and gagged. I pull off the hood of the first one.

“We’re not just offering meth; we’re offering the cook too. Trainor meet Easy. Easy, David Trainor. He is an accountant by day and a cooker of meth by night.”

“Nice to meet you.” Easy reaches out and cuffs Trainor lightly on the crown of his head.

Trainor jerks back so hard he nearly tips his chair over. He makes some muffled threats or pleas but we ignore him.

“Who’s your other guest?” Easy tips his head toward the second hooded figure.

“Officer Paulsen. He’s going to the exchange too.”

“Nice,” Easy says agreeably. “What do you want me to do?”

I gesture for Abel to take over while I draw the hood back over Trainor’s head.

Abel explains. “You and I are in charge of securing the perimeter. We don’t want any Henchmen in the woods taking potshots at our guys during the exchange.”

“We using knives then? Because any gun is going to make noise.”

“That’s my preference. I’ve got a Cold Steel Warcraft Tanto.” Abel pulls up his jeans and slips a knife out of his boot. It’s matte black. “US steel with a carbon coating.”

Easy takes it and turns it over in his hand. “Nice. It’s got a good feel to it. I prefer the ESEE knives myself.”

The two start discussing different steel and shaft lengths so I go upstairs to see Chelsea.

“You okay, baby?” I ask. She’s been quiet all day.

“I want to go with you,” she blurts out.

“No.” There’s no way.

“I’ll stay in the truck.”

“No.”

“I can’t stay home tonight. It’s one thing if I was back in Fortune and I could sit in the clubhouse or hang out with Pippa and Annie but I’ve got no one here. Plus you’ll all be at the site and I’ll be home alone. I don’t feel safe here.” Those last words kill me and she sees she’s made a direct hit. Before I can open my mouth, she presses on. “Mia will need a woman to help her, particularly if she’s not been taken care of. She won’t want to be surrounded by a bunch of men.”

“It’s too dangerous,” I argue although I don’t know that to be completely true. It could be dangerous but it could also be bad for her to be alone. I hate leaving her alone. She’s right in that there isn’t anyone in the cities I can trust her with. All the members of the Misery MC are going to the exchange. I wish Judge would’ve sent someone else along with Easy but maybe this is all he can spare at the moment.

The truth is we don’t know what the Eighty-Eight Henchmen know. Are they watching us? If they are, tonight would be the perfect time to snatch Chelsea. Chief Schmidt could take her too. I don’t doubt he knows our address given that he’d have access to my parole records.

In the end she wins out. I don’t feel comfortable leaving her home and when I suggest bringing her along, no one objects—not even Easy. If Easy thinks she’s safer with us, then I can’t leave her home.

T
he west side
of Wirth Lake borders a gravel road with run down houses and a dense thicket of brush and trees. A body could get lost in here and not be found for years. Chelsea stops the truck about a quarter mile down that road. When she cuts the lights of the truck, it’s hard to see my hand in front of my face—it’s that dark.

No streetlights and no traffic means that it’s pitch black. The Eighty-Eight Henchmen knew exactly what they were doing by picking this place. The cover of night works in our favor as well. Easy, Abel and I pull the two hostages out of the bed of the truck.

We pull their hoods off and remove the ankle restraints but the duct tape on their mouth and the zip ties around their wrists remain. I knock twice on the tailgate which is Chelsea’s sign to take off. She’s going to swing around to the park side of Wirth Lake where she’ll wait until she gets a text from us.

It’s more densely populated over there and there should be some law enforcement there which Chelsea can keep track of for us.

We work a path through the brush until we reach the edge of the lake. According to the coordinates on the paper, the exchange site is down about four hundred feet. When Junior and Moose show up, Abel and Easy disappear to check the perimeter.

“Is everyone in place?” I ask in a low tone.

Junior nods. “Yeah, we’re ready.”

I hand him the rope for Paulson and Trainor and then melt into the woods to watch the show.

We hear the Henchmen arrive before we see them. They sound like a herd of elephants crashing through the shoreline. Branches crack and dead leaves are crunched under their feet.

When they reach the clearing I count four people. Two have guns out already, the steel glints in the faint moonlight. One of the individuals is about half the size as the others. That must be the girl.

“You bring the goods?” The figure holding the girl’s arm calls out.

“I want to see my sister first,” Moose says stepping out into the clearing near the water. His arms are raised over his head.

The figure pushes the girl forward. She stumbles and nearly falls but rights herself at the last minute. Moose jumps forward and gathers her in his arms. The three remaining men laugh.

Mia clutches Moose and sobs into his jacket.

“Where’s my stuff?” The main figure asks. He’s dressed in a dark puffy coat that makes a swishing sound when he moves.

“Right here.” With his free arm, he holds up the large plastic bag of drugs. One of the reaches for it, but he swings it away pushing Mia behind him. “No. I want your promise you’re going to leave my family alone. ”

“You’re not in a position to bargain,” the Henchman says. “The only reason we’re giving you your sister back is because we can take her again.”

“I want to make a trade. A permanent one.” He gestures to Junior who moves out to join him, dragging Trainor with him. Junior shoves Trainor forward and Trainor, unlike Moose’s sister, can’t catch his balance and he falls to his knees. “This is the cook. The guy who made all your drugs. You killed his wife; he blew up his lab in response. You take him in exchange for leaving my family alone.”

Junior reaches back and grabs the rope of Paulson. “And we’ll throw this guy in for good measure.”

The Henchman is silent for a few beats and then says, “We’ll take the cook but not the pig. He needs to go back to his daddy.”

The other two bikers laugh as if this is hilarious. Paulson makes some muffled retort and that makes the bikers laugh even harder.

“I think you’ll take them both.” Junior pushes Paulson to his knees and then moves to the side.

Just as we planned.

Two shots whistle through the air, the muffled boom of the gunpowder echoing down the lake. Henchmen one and two drop to their knees. The leader pulls out his gun and shoots at his nearest targets—Paulson and Trainor. Then a bullet catches the Henchmen leader in the shoulder and another in the chest. He spins like a top and collapses. The whole thing takes under a minute. I text Chelsea.

Mission complete. Will need a pick up in five.

On it.

Junior and Moose pick themselves up from the ground where they dropped before the first shots were fired. Mia is still down and Junior rushes over to her.

“Are you hit?” he rolls her over.

It’s too dark for me to see anything. I race toward them, flicking my safety on and shoving my gun into the arm holster that Easy fitted me with earlier.

“What happened?” The whole point in getting Trainor and Paulson on their knees was so I’d have a clear shot at the Henchmen.

Mia moans, rolling her head from side to side. Junior is frantically patting her down. Moose is on his knees, beside them.

“Are you okay?” he keeps repeating. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck I can’t see shit here,” Junior curses.

“We need to get moving. The gunshots are bound to generate attention.” Hurriedly I carry out the rest of the plan. I cut the zip ties from Paulson and Trainor and then place my gun in Paulson’s hands. Moose and Junior are too preoccupied with Mia to help but Big appears, finally, and help me rip off the duct tape. He drops his own hot gun into Trainor’s hand.

Our hope is that the police will take a cursory look at this and decide that it was a drug deal gone wrong. Someone double crossed someone else and they all died in a fiery shootout.

It might not explain the slit throats of the Henchmen crew in the woods, but police are inventive. They’ll come up with some lie to explain the dozen or so homicides without too much paperwork.

“Let’s go, brother,” Big says in a gentle but firm voice.

Junior swallows and nods. He picks Mia up in his arms, refusing to let Moose touch her. Big and I drag branches over our footsteps as we follow the three into the brush and away from the shore.