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If those shitbags—
Kristy lifted a hand. “I can see you gearing up to play the hero. Don’t bother. I can handle myself, and so can the girls I bring with me. I made sure of that after last year.” She lifted one bare shoulder then let it drop. “Besides, I don’t say no to much anyway.”
Another one of those choked sounds came from Tex, who’d been quietly watching their byplay. Finally, he made himself useful. “Any idea how their business is going?”
Kristy studied him as though trying to decide if she trusted him. She’d been dancing at Handler’s parties since long before Thunder’s prospecting days began. She’d give Tex her trust by association.
Her eyes narrowed, and she hunched forward. “None of this shit came from me, you two understand? I’m dancing there the next three Saturdays, and I’ll be fucked if I lose that cash.”
Both he and Tex nodded. “Of course,” he said.
“They’re scrambling. Or at least they have been the past few weeks. Something happened a month or so ago with a delivery of whatever the fuck they move, and it cost them big time. I don’t know any details, I swear. And ever since the diner blew up, I’m pretty sure there are Feds parking outside their clubhouse. Between the shipment fuck up and the investigation, they’re partying all the time but doing very little business-wise.”
By the shrewd light in her eyes, she knew exactly what the CDMC transported. But she was too intelligent to voice it.
“What does big time mean?”
“A lotta money,” she said with a shrug. “What else. It’s all about the green shit, isn’t it?”
For her, yes. For him? For so many years, also yes. He’d grown up with men and women willing to do anything and anyone for their next meal. It was only now that he had the Handlers in his life that he’d begun to realize there was more to life than selling one’s body for a quick buck.
Kristy leaned in. “A couple of those guys get pretty fucking loose-lipped when they’re trashed. Word is that Crank, their enforcer, is on a rampage. It’s impossible to find a new way to transport his…product with all the interest from the cops. Two of their customers found alternate suppliers after the incident with the delivery trucks. Crank is an asshole on a good day, but he’s been downright psychotic lately. You’re lucky the cops are watching them so closely, and you better hope it stays that way for a good long while.”
“Yeah? They talk about us?”
“Uh, yeah.” Kristy laughed, leaning back in her seat. She toyed with the long necklace resting between her tits. Of course, Tex kept his focus glued to the very spot. “They talk about fucking you guys up all the time. All. The. Time. But I think it’s mostly blowing off steam. They need an outlet for their anger, and it’s you.”
“You don’t think they’re planning something for when the Feds leave?”
She shrugged as though the thought didn’t bother her in the least. Really, it probably didn’t. Kristy was loyal as long as the money kept rolling in. She wasn’t one for emotional entanglements. Hard to be in their line of business and have much faith in so-called love or even friendship.
“They’re too fucking busy freaking out about their own shit.”
“Good.” He glanced Tex’s way. “That’s good.” As much as Thunder and the rest of his club wanted the CDMC to pay, arrests would be so fucking unsatisfying. Good old MC justice would be a much better outcome, and that couldn’t happen with federal agents crawling all over town.
She nodded. “I know they never found who blew up Toni’s Diner,” she said, and Thunder forced his face to remain neutral. “Guessing that’s why the local PD and the Feds have been sniffing around so much. They assume it was the CDMC.”
Just the mention of the man who killed Viper had guilt twisting Thunder’s guts. His club knew exactly who’d blown up the diner and why. Hell, he’d been the one to chase the bomb-throwing motherfucker down and deliver his ass to Copper. But ever since that day, he’d been questioning his actions and wondering what he could have done differently to chase down the bomber but also keep Viper from dying.
He couldn’t announce that the club had taken care of the fucker themselves, could he? Not to Kristy, who might turn around and vomit the information to the CDMC should they peel their wallets open for her.
“Well,” she said as she examined her long, neon purple nails. “Whatever the fuck is going on, I’m pretty sure their hands are tied until the Feds get bored. Who knows how long that will be? Those fuckers have some stamina for this shit.”
No fucking kidding.
Thunder leaned back, scratching his chin. Fuck, he’d forgotten to shave that morning, and his face itched like a motherfucker.
