Instead of looking worried, or even scared at Czar's words, Hammer looked as if he was relieved. He took a deep breath and told the truth. "This is going to make my club look weak, and we're not. We got in bed with a club that runs a gambling operation. We help launder the money. Recently they found out about the counterfeit operation we've been running. We keep it slow. Nothing big, feeding a few bills here and there along an eastern route we've got. They want to take it big-time."
"How'd they find out about your operation?" Czar asked, always going for the most pertinent fact immediately.
"One of our prospects decided to try his hand at gambling and got in over his head. Instead of coming to the club, he traded his debt for information." Hammer's tone was strictly neutral.
"Where is he now?" Czar's voice dropped an octave.
Just that tone put the room on edge. Reaper had seen him do it so many times, but each time it happened, he was always impressed.
"He didn't survive," Hammer said.
"Anyone else talkative in your club?" Czar asked.
"The men in this room are men I trust implicitly. The ones in my chapter, same thing. The other chapters wear our colors and I'll fight for them and with them, but I don't know them as well as I do my own brothers."
That was an honest answer. No one could know every man in every chapter of a club.
"They all in on the counterfeiting?"
He nodded. "Distribution. We have the plates. They're good plates. I've got a good man who knows what he's doing. We play it safe and don't get greedy, we can make it work, make it untraceable back to us. This other club wants to get greedy."
"How big are they?" Czar asked.
"That's the thing. They're ghosts. They call themselves Ghosts."
Reaper stirred then, something he never did. That called attention to him and the Demons enforcer nearly came out of his seat. Reaper ignored him. "A word, Czar."
That was never done either, especially by one of Czar's men. They always allowed Czar to make his play. They talked it over after.
Czar didn't give anything away as he rose and jerked his chin toward the only other door in the room. Reaper let him come across the room and then stepped so his body was between his president's and the Demons.
Czar closed the door and turned to him, his eyebrow raised, concern on his face.
"The bastards going after the Mayhem president's wife and child, the one we saved, it was the Ghosts after them. They weren't wearing colors, but they referred to themselves as 'ghosts,' as in I'd never see it coming because his friends are ghosts. Last words out of his fuckin' mouth."
"You think the Demons are setting us up?" Czar asked.
Reaper loved his brother. Czar believed in him, in his ability to protect not only him, but his family, and the others. He believed in Reaper's instincts, his gut. Right now his gut was telling him the Demons were in trouble with this new "ghost" club.
Reaper shook his head. "Got a bad feelin' in there. They don't want to be, but they're scared. Something more is going on than they're telling us."
Czar clapped him on the shoulder. "Never think for one minute that I don't need you, Reaper. It's always been you and me. We lived in hell. Now we're not, we're calling our own shots. Don't let the newness, the difference, fuck with your head."
Reaper knew he'd been taking chances with his life. Czar knew it too. Now, with his brother looking him in the eye, he nodded curtly, not wanting to talk about it. It was the damn woman. The bartender. That hair. That laughter. Her fuckin' skin. It looked so soft he'd been tempted to actually touch her. He didn't touch anyone unless he planned to kill them--then they were dead. No one touched him unless they planned to get dead--then they were. Not unless they were one of his brothers--he'd had to learn to tolerate that.
"Let me go in first, Czar," he cautioned. "Stay behind me. I'll get you to your seat and then slide back into position. Question him after I'm where I need to be."
Czar didn't argue as he often was prone to when it came to matters of his safety. He detested the others putting their lives on the line for him, but as far as Reaper was concerned, it was the one thing Czar had no say in.
Reaper led him back in and over to the table without seeming to. He was casual about approaching the table, leaning in to snag some peanuts that were sitting in a can toward the middle. If they'd been at Czar's home, his old lady, Blythe, would have put those peanuts in a bowl. He sauntered back to the wall.
Czar waited until he was nothing more than a blur, just as he'd asked him to. "This club you call the 'Ghosts,' are they an actual club? They ride? They have colors?"
The Demons president nodded. "They came to us with respect. We have no idea of their numbers. They're up by the Oregon border. We don't have much intel on them." He rubbed his jaw. "My fault. I should have looked into them more, but at the time my old lady was . . ." He shook his head. "No excuses. We did what we did. I need to be able to run my product through this territory. I need you to do it."
"You haven't said why. How did they get you to come to us? Did they specify us?"
Hammer shook his head again. "No, don't know if you're even on their radar. I think they're looking to get their hooks into the Diamondback club. A club that big must have gamblers. You and I both know if they start a war with them, the Diamondbacks will swallow us."
"Even so, why not tell them to go fuck themselves? You don't know their size. They have no reputation. Why not just kill them?" Czar's voice was mild.
"They have my wife." Hammer dropped the truth right into the middle of the room and the tension went up a thousand percent. Suddenly there was no air.
Czar looked up to meet Reaper's eyes. Who the hell made war on women and children? Who had the balls to kidnap the wife of the president of the Demons and hold her until the club did what they were told?
"How long have they had her?" Czar asked, suddenly all business. He went from mildly interested to total concentration.
Reaper loved the man, the way his brain kicked into high gear and he was aware of every detail, absorbing it, coming up with ideas and sorting through them for pros and cons until he knew exactly what to do.
"They took her two nights ago. Gave me a week to get it done. Came to you first. Her health . . ." He shook his head. "She had cancer. Just finished her last treatment. Immune system is down. She's only twenty-six. Young. Damn it, I don't know where she is, but she's a good old lady. She'll keep her shit together and she'll know I'm coming for her. I just need to buy some time to find her."
"These people don't play nice," Czar said. "This isn't the first time they've used a man's family against him. In that case, they were there to kill the wife and daughter. I don't think you have a whole hell of a lot of time."
"You willing to help?"
TWO
Czar glanced around the room. Ice was first, tapping out a soft rhythm on the table. Savage was next, tapping on the wall, short one-two beat. The others followed until it was only Reaper. Czar was patient. Reaper weighed the consequences. No matter what, he'd go after the Ghosts, find them, take back the woman, and kill them, but if they did this, partnering with the Demons, it exposed the club and Czar even more. Their reputation was growing in the outlaw world. They didn't need that.
Reaper took his time weighing the pros and cons just as he had in every other situation. Finally, with some reluctance, he tapped his agreement, a short, one-two-three tap. Czar nodded.
"Don't give a damn about your pipeline," he said, "but your wife is a different matter. No one fucks with our families. I need all the information you have on the Ghosts. Our man will start tonight finding out about them as well. If they're an official club, we'll know immediately and then we'll have all the information we need for recon. As far as stalling them, so they think you're working on it, tell them, if they ask, that you've got an appointment to see the president to pitch the idea of a partnership with the counterfeit money. He'll believe it's the president of the Diamondbacks. I'll
handle the Diamondbacks if there's a problem. They owe me a favor or two."
Considering that Reaper had taken out two of their worst enemies to buy peace between the two clubs, Reaper felt that favor or two was a little more. The reputation of Torpedo Ink had grown faster than they'd wanted it to grow, bringing a few visits from the Diamondbacks. Things had been tense, but as always, Czar had worked it out. They didn't do anything to compete with the Diamondbacks, which, unbeknownst to that club, was perfectly okay with Torpedo Ink.
Soft laughter drifted into the room through the vents. Under the door. The sound surrounded him. He looked around the room, but no one else seemed to notice. Czar asked dozens of questions. He shook hands with Hammer and, at the door, Absinthe gave back every weapon, remembering exactly who had had what.
"We'll get her back," Czar assured.
Hammer nodded, his face bleak. "These guys play for keeps."
Czar smiled. There was no humor in that smile. He looked like the predator he was, all the easy charm gone. "So do we," he said.
The minute the Demons were gone and out of the bar, Czar turned back to his brothers. "Code, get on this tonight. I know everyone's tired, but we're going to run out of time fast. Reaper, get some sleep, even if you have to drug yourself. You look like hell, and I'm going to need you on this. Possibly you and Savage."
Reaper shook his head. "One of us stays on you."
"Every member of this club was trained as an assassin, Reaper. They know how to protect me."
"What happens if these Ghosts get wind of you and your family? Blythe? The girls? They've already been through hell. Kenny? He has too. I'm not willing to take the risk. Your family is ours. Under our protection. We don't . . ."
"Fine. Just get some sleep. Get out of here."
Reaper was more than happy to get out of there. He had things to do, like go to the camp and see if Anya was still there. He told himself all that laughter was some other woman and they just sounded alike. Still, as he went down the hall, his gaze was already looking for her. He stood in the middle of the hall behind the bar.
His heart jumped. She was there. What the fuck? He'd been out getting himself nearly killed for the club. He'd asked one thing. One thing. She turned her head to look over her shoulder, flashing him a smile. His heart tripped. Went crazy. He ignored her. Wouldn't let himself notice how much fuckin' hair she had. Or that even swept back and tied in a long ponytail it nearly reached the curve of her ass.
He refused to see that her tits were perfection. Under that tight tee, the generous swells were outlined, lush, soft. That tucked-in waist only emphasized she'd been gifted with breasts and hips, a biker's dream. He wasn't about to notice the way her worn blue jeans cupped her ass so lovingly. Or the way that ass swayed when she walked. Or the fact that he had so many dirty fantasies about her ass and tits and hair. If any other man he knew had those same thoughts about her, he'd kill them.
He turned and stalked back down the hallway to jerk open the door of the meeting room. "What. The. Fuck." He spat the words at Czar. "What the fuck is she still doing here?" Reaper demanded. "I told you to get rid of that bitch. She doesn't belong, and you know it. She's probably a cop looking to take us down. That or she's a rich bitch slumming, wanting to fuck a biker. Either way, she's trouble."
He was desperate not to feel. Not to have his cock as hard as a fucking rock or his mind in chaos, or his heart stuttering like it might stop any minute. That didn't happen to him. Not. Ever. He'd lost all that when he was a teenager and he'd had more women than he could ever want. He'd continued to lose that throughout his twenties when he'd had to run errands for the man who'd kept him locked up and then sent him after targets, men and women he'd had to kill in order that his brothers and sisters survive. So much sex. None of it good. He'd trained to have control of his body. He had no heart. No soul. He didn't need a woman to find her way under his skin. He was near panic and Reaper in a panic wasn't good. People around him would die.
Czar's gaze shot past him, and the president of Torpedo Ink stood up slowly. It was a measure of the chaos the woman created that Reaper hadn't known she was right behind him. He always knew. Czar's life depended on him knowing. He swung around to face her.
Her beauty took his breath away. Not just beauty. She was a fucking sex kitten, with all that dark, wavy hair. So much of it. A man would kill to feel all that hair sliding over his body, to see it on his pillow and brushing over his cock and thighs right before she wrapped her mouth around him.
Her eyes were large and a deep, emerald green. He'd fantasized far too much about those eyes staring up at him when she came apart in his arms. Right now, they blazed at him, twin gems sparkling with pure anger. He didn't speak. He rarely spoke to those outside the club, certainly not women. Her, in particular. She was everything he wasn't. Classy. Sex kitten classy, but still, she looked like she belonged in some penthouse, not in a biker bar.
"I haven't done one single thing to you," she hissed. "Not one. I've worked hard, and I need this job." When he didn't reply, the fury in her eyes increased and she stepped close, driven by pure desperation. That was in her eyes as well. "Answer me. You sit there staring at me night after night, like I'm some hideous insect you want to step on, and now you're trying to lose me my job."
He didn't answer. Czar knew what the fuck he wanted. He'd said his piece and he'd meant it.
She shoved him. Put both hands on his chest and shoved hard. He didn't move, but his fingers closed over her wrists like vises, holding her palms against his chest. Every one of his brothers stood, knowing no one put their hands on him and lived. No one. He'd let her. He could have stopped her. He was that fast. His brothers knew that as well.
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and something inside his chest broke. He thought letting her touch him would end it, the insane obsession he had with her. There was no other word for what he was feeling, sitting in a bar for over a month, not saying a word, just looking at her. Just trying to keep his wayward cock under control. He'd failed miserably.
Letting her put her hands on him was a terrible mistake. Now he had the sensation of her palms, the heat she generated. It felt like she seared her way right through his shirt to his skin. Then through his skin to his bones. That deep. Just melted right through. He could smell her scent. It was light, grapefruit and tangerine? Whatever it was, it enveloped him and seeped right through his pores. It was an aphrodisiac and his body responded to it, making him so damn hard it went from an ache to sheer pain. She had to be a witch or a woman trained as he was trained, to ensnare the opposite sex and then deliver the kill.
He should have shoved her away. He shouldn't be holding her tight up against his body so she could feel the steel shaft in his jeans. He stared down into her eyes. Those glittering green gems. The fury slowly receded until she looked afraid. She should have been. He had no idea what he was going to do with her. He knew no one would stop him if he dragged her into the next room and shoved his cock into her. Claiming her. What the hell was wrong with him to even think that? They might stop him if he killed her. Might.
His brothers knew no one touched him. They also knew he could have stopped her long before her hands ever reached his chest. He hadn't, and they were all right there, watching him, wondering what the hell he was doing. He was wondering that himself.
"You don't put your hands on a man's bike, Anya," he said softly. "And you sure as hell never want to put them on a man like me without an invitation, you got that?"
The tip of her tongue touched her upper lip and then her teeth bit down on her lush lower one. She nodded. He had to bite back a groan of need. Looking down into her face, all soft skin, large eyes, the kind a man could stare into for the rest of his life, he knew he shouldn't have ever spoken to her. He should never have said her name, not in front of the others. They knew him too well and everything he'd done so far was completely out of character for him.
He didn't want to let her go, but holding her close was putting his brai
n into a kill-or-be-killed frenzy. It wasn't safe. She wasn't safe with him. He let her go abruptly, noting as he did that he shouldn't have held her wrists so tightly. She'd have bruises. He didn't put bruises on women. He was so fucked. He had to stay away from Anya Rafferty.
She swallowed hard and, still looking into his eyes, directed her question to his president. "Do I still have a job, Czar?"
He could tell she was holding her breath. He was. He didn't know which way he wanted the answer to go.
Czar looked to Reaper. "It's up to you, brother. You want her gone, she's gone."
Shit. Shit. Fuck. She just stood there looking at him, her eyes wet, lashes dripping. He took a breath. There was no saving her. None. "I couldn't give a shit," he lied.
"Get back to work, Anya," Czar ordered. He was looking at Reaper, not at the bartender.
Relief flooded her eyes. Her face. Her body. For a moment she hung her head, just breathing deeply, and then she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and gave Reaper a snippy look. "Thanks, Czar, and I came back here to remind you we're still short on that order. Nothing came in today. I checked everywhere. Either someone took it, or they lied and didn't send it."
"Who signed for it?"
"I think it was Preacher. He was on yesterday as well as tonight. When he checked the order, we were short. I rechecked like he asked me to, and he was right."
"We'll take care of it," Czar said and glanced over his shoulder at Ice. Ice nodded his understanding. No one stiffed them. No one. If the company wouldn't make good, they were going to be very sorry.
Anya turned and walked back down the hall toward the bar. Reaper watched her go the entire way. His gaze was glued to her ass. She had a sway that made his mouth water.
Czar nudged him. "Go home."
"You didn't fire her." He didn't stop looking at her. That long thick ponytail called to him. He'd wrap all that silk around his fist, and use it to guide her head wherever he wanted it to go. He was so damned hard he couldn't take a step.