I’m making a leap of faith here, telling Junior that we’re in as long as he can show us the same courtesy of honesty in return.
He snorts and shakes his head. “We’re moving wine. Totally legit but it’s high end stuff and they don’t like to advertise it. Big made the contact at an ink show last year. It pays decent.”
“Why the big charade?” I ask curiously.
He leans back, stretching his legs out. “Just wanted to see if you were truly here to back me up or whether Judge sent you to spy on me. We’re small and trying to recover from the fallout from last year.”
“We were following a drug trail,” I say deciding to lay it out there. “I saw Moose here meeting with Trainor. Trainor’s wife got wiped and the local police were trying to pin that on me. Judge and I don’t give a shit if you’re moving drugs but Chief Schmidt is trying to put me back in prison and I’m not going.”
Junior looks at me as if weighing how much he can share. The rest of the crew is silent behind me. Abel is right about one thing. A bad leader doesn’t engender this kind of loyalty. They all wait for his signal and his command. He rubs the back of his neck again, a clear sign he’s agitated. Finally, he starts talking. “The Misery MC was sick. My old man at the end was in deep with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen. He ran protection for them as they moved drugs, guns, and girls up from Texas, feeding into the Fargo market and then into the Dakotas. Those oil towns are thick with dick and thin with pussy. No one really cared where the pussy came from.”
My lip curls.
“I didn’t know until about two years ago that this was going on. Dad had been diagnosed with cancer about five years ago. He decided at that point that he was going to go out living high. He started snorting coke, banging the girls. And then…” Shame washes over him.
Big picks up the story when Junior trails off. “Then we caught him raping a girl. Junior tried to protect her. His dad took a knife to Junior. It was self-defense.” Big crosses his arms in defense of his president.
Junior picks up the story. “With my dad out, the older members who’d hung around still wanted the lifestyle but we weren’t down for that. So we got rid of them. All of them but Moose here. He said he wasn’t involved and we didn’t have any evidence he was. But the problem is that without the Eighty-Eight Henchmen’s money, we had shit all for the club. Most of us are working several jobs. This protection run is the highest paying gig we’ve had for a while. It needs to be pulled off perfectly.”
“So let’s go and get your girl,” I pause and stare directly at Junior. “And she is your girl, isn’t she?”
He swallows and says quietly, “Yeah, she’s mine.”
No shit, I think, because you don’t place your entire club in jeopardy for a girl you don’t care about.
“Two more guns against the Eighty-Eight? It’ll be a massacre,” Moose scoffs.
“We go in anyway,” I reply calmly, pushing aside thoughts of Chelsea lying in bed waiting for me.
“This isn’t your battle,” Junior says.
Abel pulls out his gun and lays it on the table. “We’re your enforcers. Sure as shit this is our fight. Besides, what kind of fucking men are we if we let the Eighty-Eight hold a sick girl hostage?”
“He’s right.” Big pushes away from the wall he’d been holding up to stand behind Junior’s chair. “Mia is Moose’s sister. She’s one of us so we go in and take her back.”
Junior shakes his head. “You fuckers are crazy but okay.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s do this.”
The rest of the guys scatter to grab chairs so we can sit down and plan our attack. I call Judge and tell him the deal. He agrees to send me reinforcements and a pound of meth. I don’t ask where he’s going to get it.
The planning session goes well into the night and it’s almost dawn before Abel and I head back home. The screams of Mandy ring in my head as I drive. I promised Chelsea that we’d never be parted again.
If the exchange tomorrow night ends badly, I may be breaking my promise and that’s the one thing that makes me wonder if I made the right call.
24
CHELSEA
It’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 a
s 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.