He had a gun tucked in his waistband at the small of his back. Another was down in his boot along with a knife. A third gun was inside his jacket, easy access, just a cross-body pull and he was in business. The truth was, he rarely used a gun or a knife when he killed. He preferred silence, but weapons came in handy occasionally and he was proficient in the use of all of them.
He knew he was looking for the bartender. Anya. He fucking loved that name. It suited her face. Her voice. It was possible her piece of junk car had broken down and she had hitched a ride with someone. He didn't see her anywhere and it pissed him off that he'd even looked. Worse, the pressure in his chest grew.
Tonight's bartender, Preacher, looked harassed. He glanced up from the sea of customers and shot Reaper a welcoming grin, his eyes scanning for wounds, dwelling for a moment on the blood on Reaper's shirt and then jumping back to his face. Reaper gave him a nod, indicating he was fine, and Preacher nodded back. He jerked his chin toward the hall behind the bar. There was a doorway to the left of the bar, but Reaper stalked across the room and flipped up the jointed wooden slab that allowed him to walk through the opening to get behind the bar. He moved down the long hallway straight to the office.
The door to the back office was closed, signifying a meeting of some kind. If the door was closed, any waitress or non-club member stayed out. Unzipping his jacket, Reaper went right on in, hoping Savage didn't put a bullet in him as he waltzed through the door. Savage was unpredictable at times. His brother gave a quick scan of his body, much the way Preacher had. Czar stood up to face him, doing the same. He frowned when he saw the blood. Shit, he'd forgotten his shirt was a mess. It wasn't all his, either. Savage's gaze jumped back to his face.
"I'm fine," he said, to stop the questions.
Code had been poring over books with Czar, which was laughable. Czar hated number crunching and only pretended to listen to Code half the time. With Czar and Code at the table were two other club members, Absinthe and Ice, Storm's twin brother. All had their eyes on him and the blood on his shirt. Something was up to have so many gathered this late at night.
"What happened?" Czar snapped before anyone else could say anything.
Reaper tossed the leather carrier bag onto the table. "Assholes called us in a little late. Who the fuck goes off to hide, leaving their wife and kid to face certain death because they don't want to pay a gambling debt? He's supposed to be the big-assed president of a club and he's hiding in a dark hole surrounded by his brothers, leaving his woman and child exposed." He poured a wealth of disgust into his voice, because, really? Who did that? Who could live with themselves? How could his brothers look up to him? "I wanted to cut his throat." He glared at Czar. "Don't send me on a mission like that one again. Next time, I won't have such restraint."
Czar studied his face. Reaper kept his expression blank. Czar shook his head. "First, tell me how you got blood all over your shirt. Is that yours? Or someone else's? Please tell me it isn't the client's."
Reaper shrugged because, hell yeah, some of it was that douchebag client's. He'd gotten exactly what he deserved. The club was called Mayhem. Laughable. Truly laughable. In Reaper's opinion the bullshit president had deserved to die so, yeah, he'd shown restraint. "Maybe I didn't make myself clear. The weasel ran up a gambling debt and then, rather than pay it, when the goons showed up to collect, had his boys get him to safety. He went across two states and only then remembered he had a wife and daughter."
"And he contacted us to get them to safety," Czar reminded, his tone mild.
"After he made sure his ass was in the clear. Two days later, Czar. Two fuckin' days. He didn't even warn her. By the time we got there, so had the idiots sent to collect. Bodies or money." He touched his side. The burn of that blade going in was still fresh. "They decided to have a little fun with the two of them before they cut them up. Girl is fourteen."
"You stepped between the girl and the knife," Czar said.
Reaper didn't answer. What was there to say? Was he really going to let a pathetic excuse of a human being kill a fourteen-year-old girl and her mother? Not happening.
"How many stitches?" Code asked.
"What the hell difference does it make?"
"Someone's in a bad mood," Code observed. "Five? More?"
"Six. I don't need the doc. I took care of it myself."
A small hoot of derisive laughter went up. Reaper flipped them off.
"I gotta see this," Ice said. "If it's anything like the last one you stitched up yourself, you'll be looking like Frankenstein in no time."
"Already does," Code said. "Just a little."
Reaper glanced at Savage. He hadn't cracked a smile and there was a slight hint of worry in his eyes, but he didn't say anything.
"You taking antibiotics?" Czar asked.
"I will. I'll get them from the doc."
"Tell me what really happened, because otherwise, I'm going to think you're slowing down. You could have killed these idiots in seconds, Reaper. What the hell were you doing to take a hit that cost you six stitches?"
"We're done talkin' about this," Reaper declared.
"We're done when I say we're done." Czar's voice dropped an octave, low enough that the room went silent. Low enough to caution Reaper that his president wasn't asking.
Reaper shook his head. When Czar talked like that, he expected answers. "Didn't want the kid to see me kill him. I directed the hit where I knew it wouldn't do much damage. She had Down syndrome and she was terrified. Her father left them hanging out there like that. Pissed me off. I didn't want the kid to suffer any more than she already had."
Czar sighed. "Reaper, she's the daughter of the president of a motorcycle club. The Mayhem club may not be as big as the Diamondbacks, but they're violent. She's bound to have seen things."
"She was terrified," Reaper repeated. "It was my call. I had her close her eyes, turn her head away, and then I killed the bastard. Before she could look, I covered her eyes and took her the hell out of there."
"You don't get to take chances with your life," Czar hissed, slamming his palm on the table.
Reaper leaned toward him. Looked him in the eye. "I've been takin' chances with my life since I was five years old. I been killin' that long. I know how to take a blade when I need to."
"The point is, you didn't need to," Czar snapped.
"My call. I'm there, I have to make the decision. You'll be happy to know, I didn't kill her father when we delivered them safe to him, although it took restraint. He was willing to pay us the fee we asked for, but not pay his gambling debt? He put his wife and daughter in jeopardy, Czar. What kind of man does that?"
"The club paid for the fee to have us retrieve them and bring them safely to him. The gambling debt is personal."
"You know, if they catch up with him, he'll give us up in a heartbeat. He was already plannin' to do that. I killed the two hit men. Whoever sent them out will want revenge."
"All of you wore a mask and gloves," Czar said. "He never saw your faces."
"No, but Mr. Mayhem President put a tracker in with the money," Reaper said. "He was plannin' on selling us out to get out from under his debt. He'll give up the link online, that's all he's got." He smirked. "Killed the club member followin' us and put the tracker in his fuckin' mouth."
"Code said you texted him to shut down our online operation and he did. We'll set up again later."
"Just so you know, full disclosure and all, I beat the livin' hell out of that pissant president, Czar. Don't know if he lived or not, but if he did, he's not going to be the same man. He was going to give us up, and that tracker was the last straw. Already wanted to shove a knife down his throat."
Czar shook his head and pushed the bag of money across the table to Code. "Add that to everything else. We're in good shape. We've got most of the businesses up and running. Still working on some of the houses. Reaper, are you going to actually move into yours?"
Reaper shrugged. He had no idea what the hell h
e'd do with a house. Czar had insisted all of them have an actual home. His was on the edge of the cliffs with a stairway leading down to the cove and two roads winding around Caspar so he had access to old logging roads. He liked to know he could escape anything easily.
"Soon." He just required a bed. He had one at the compound. He didn't need a house to go to every night. Empty. Echoing every time he walked through it because he'd put the minimum amount of furniture in it. A bed. That was pretty much it. Maybe, if he was lucky, the entire structure would fall into the ocean and he'd be done with it.
He changed the subject. "Got a few badasses sitting at a table. Waiting, Czar. They request a meeting with you?"
Czar nodded slowly. "Waited until you got here. Code found out a few things about them. They're from up north. Demons, smaller club, but already have a reputation. They want to talk about extending their reach, using us to do it."
"Probably drugs." Ice spoke. "We don't do that shit anymore. We're rehabilitated."
The others laughed. "Yeah. We don't spread drugs around, but we kill people when it's needed," Absinthe said.
"A few hard-asses out there as well, think they're real tough from the way they're actin'," Reaper continued. "Look like trouble and they're drinking heavy. Talkin' loud. Didn't even notice when I walked through the door, but the others did. The Demons. We aren't a well-known club. Barely established. We aren't even the big club in this area. Why come to us?"
Czar shrugged. "Don't know until they talk to us."
"Did they indicate they found us online through the website Code has?"
Czar shook his head. "Don't think so. Think they chose us because we're here, on the coast." He studied Reaper's face. "I wouldn't meet like this with someone wanting us to do a hit." He made it an assurance.
Reaper moved away from the door toward the back of the room where the overhead light didn't quite reach. He was tired. Exhausted. Even if he went to bed, he knew he wouldn't sleep, or if he did, he'd have a nightmare. He had them often now, something he was careful not to share with the others--not even Savage.
"You up for this?" Czar asked. "We could tell them to come back."
"Told you, Czar, someone else should handle inquiries, make certain they're legit. We all have a lot of enemies, but you most of all. Don't like you out in front like this," Reaper said. He put his back to the wall, making certain he had a clear shot to the door. Savage was on the other side of the room. They'd have the five Demons boxed in.
"If you could, you'd build a wall around me," Czar pointed out.
"You've got Blythe and the kids," Reaper said. "Aside from the fact that you're the brains for all of us, you've got them."
Czar's face softened. "I've got all of you. I don't worry because I have my brothers." Still looking at Reaper, he continued. "Ice, go get them and bring them back. They come through the door one by one. You stay behind them. Box them in. Absinthe, you search them. Tell them they want to give up their weapons."
Reaper was happy Czar wasn't taking any chances. Absinthe could influence with his voice. He was smooth and charming and the moment he put the suggestion in the minds of the Demons, they'd hand over their weapons without hesitation. If there was going to be a firefight, it wasn't going to happen on Torpedo Ink's chosen home turf.
"Stay to the left of the room at all times," Reaper said, all business. "Savage and I will have them in a crossfire. None of you want to get caught in that. We'll mark the ones between us we'll take. The rest of you look comfortable and friendly." He was good at planning death. He'd done it hundreds of times. Czar was equally as skilled, probably his teacher, since Czar was older. He'd been the one to get them all out of that hellhole alive.
Czar nodded his head and Ice was gone, leaving the door open. Reaper leaned against the wall, relaxed. This was his world, one he knew intimately, and a woman like Anya Rafferty with her long dark hair and her bleeding heart didn't belong anywhere near it. He sighed, realizing she'd crept right back into his thoughts.
He should have followed her all the way into the campgrounds. They were a good distance from the entry, if he remembered correctly. His club had had a shootout there. A massacre. It was a place outlaws could hide, and that meant Anya wasn't as safe as he'd like her to be. He shut down that line of thinking. He wouldn't want any woman camping alone out there.
He straightened suddenly. What if she wasn't camping alone? There could be a man out there. She could be supporting some shiftless loser who didn't want to work or take care of his woman. He should have gone all the way in. Damn it. Now his head wanted to explode and wasn't in the game where it should be, just as he knew would happen. The woman was wreaking havoc, and it was a damned good thing Czar had sent her on her way. Still, he had to check on her, just to be certain she was safe--just the way he would with any woman.
His bullshit meter was screaming at him but he ignored it as the first man stepped through the door. This would be their top enforcer. Sergeant at arms. The badass of the five. He studied the man's face as Absinthe took his weapons. Yeah, he was the real deal. What was he doing in a small-time club? There had to be more to the Demons than they had ferreted out. The enforcer passed over his weapons without a murmur, his eyes sweeping the room, taking in the setup, realizing he couldn't see either Reaper or Savage clearly.
Both men had a way of blurring their image. It was useful when hunting others. They'd developed the skill over the years, starting when they were toddlers and Czar had them practicing. Most of it was learning to choose the right place to stand. The shadows covering them. The stillness one needed so the human eye wasn't drawn in that direction.
The Demons came in one by one, just as Czar directed. Ice tailed them, closing the door behind them. Reaper made certain to watch each of them as they came through, noting which one would be the likeliest to start trouble--that would be Tether, the youngest, the one eager to prove himself. The first one, the one they called Razor, was the one Reaper determined was the most lethal. He marked him as the one to take down first.
"I'm Hammer," one said. "President of the Demons." His patch confirmed that.
"Czar." Their president extended his hand and shook. He indicated the chairs surrounding the oval table.
Only Razor hesitated. He realized sitting put them in a vulnerable position, especially without weapons. Absinthe had conducted a search of each man even after they'd obeyed his soft, whispered command to hand over their guns and knives. He was thorough about his search, knowing Czar was in the room. They all protected their president. Czar didn't always like it, but it didn't matter. He was their number one priority at all times. In this instance, if things went to hell, it would be Code's job to take Czar down and protect him with his own body, while Reaper, Savage, Ice and Absinthe killed every one of the Demons.
Soft feminine laughter drifted down the hall and Reaper almost stiffened. Almost. He cursed under his breath but managed somehow to stay disciplined enough not to move. That sounded a lot like the bartender. He had to keep his head in the game, not worry about some woman who'd probably been sent to kill Czar. Well, okay, he didn't believe that for a moment. He'd think about her later and the fact that those three hard-asses were looking for women. Right now, the only thing in his world was replaying step-by-step in his mind how he would kill the Demons and protect his president.
Razor had to go first; Reaper would draw and shoot him in the head. Two bullets to make certain, although he didn't miss. The president second, even though Code and Absinthe would go for him as well. Savage would take the two sitting to either side of their president, the ones assigned to protect him, just as Code was assigned to Czar. The two were named Weed and Shaft. Their cuts had their road names as well as their offices. It was unusual for a president, enforcer, secretary and road captain to all come to a meet at once. Something big was up.
"How can I help you?" Czar asked.
There was a small silence while Hammer sized him up. Razor was clearly uncomfortable with the set
up, but he kept his mouth shut. His gaze moved restlessly around the room, always looking for anything that might threaten his boss.
"I'll get right to the point," Hammer said. "Heard good things about your club. You're small, but you get things done. We've got a situation. We're small too. Three chapters. Good territory. We keep it as clean as possible. Don't have trouble with the locals. Hear you're in pretty good here as well."
Czar shrugged, but didn't respond, his eyes steady on the Demons president's face.
Reaper had seen him give that look a thousand times. He'd learned it in the school where hardened criminals ruled and if you wanted to stay alive, you didn't make mistakes, like flinching at the wrong time.
"We have a route that goes from our territory to here. Stops dead and then picks up on this side of Santa Barbara."
Czar shook his head. "This is Diamondback territory. You want something to go through their territory, you contact them, pay the fee and they'll take it through."
Hammer hastily shook his head. "They swallow any pipeline, use it for their own purposes and use a club like ours as pawns. They'd want a cut of what we're doing, and that cut would be more than we could afford right now."
"You get caught, they'll declare war and wipe you out. They have more chapters than just about any other club in the world. They're loyal to their brothers, and out of respect we're careful not to do anything that would step on their toes, like creating a pipeline without giving them a cut."
Hammer and his secretary, Shaft, exchanged looks. To Reaper they seemed a little desperate.
"What exactly is the product?" Czar asked.
"Counterfeit money."
Just the fact that Hammer told them straight up was another indication that they were desperate.
Czar leaned toward him. "I don't like bullshit. I'm two seconds from putting a gun to your head and pulling the fucking trigger. What are you doing here? My old lady is waiting for me and I don't like keeping her waiting. Not. Ever. So, don't waste my time."