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“Get him out of here,” Charlie demanded, tearing his eyes from mine, as he gestured with his head toward the door. I was dragged out the side of the building and pushed into the alley, while Charlie’s goons surrounded me, waiting for me to fuck up and make a move. I stood my ground, looking at each of them knowing that I was once in their same shoes. I had been one of Charlie’s goons, too. It had not been easy and any man with a conscious was usually found dead or not found at all. The ruthless ones were the only ones who made it out alive. I was sure my voice fell on deaf ears that didn’t give a shit as to what I had to say, but they were gonna fucking hear it.
“This woman is innocent. You want to fuck with me or my brothers, that’s fine. We have all fucked up somewhere along the way, so we deserve it. But that woman has been nothing but a victim. She has been through hell and I did my fair share of dragging her there, but him,” I motioned toward the general area of Charlie, thankful that I couldn’t see his face through the brick wall that separated us, “he is going to fuck up and when he does, she is going to die. If that ever happens, you remember my face ‘cause it’s the last one you’ll ever fucking see.” I wanted to hit something. I wanted to kill all of them, and I was sure I could do it without breaking a sweat. I straddled my Harley, my hands shaking with anger and adrenaline as I squeezed the clutch and turned the throttle, leaving the pathetic motherfuckers that were lucky enough to live to see another day in a cloud of black smoke.
I was in the clubhouse in Lake Charles, sitting at the bar twirling my beer bottle between my fingers. I had taken a long ride when I had left my meeting with Charlie, letting the wind and my steel horse help clear my head. Frankie had borrowed money from Charlie, but it had absolutely nothing to do with Dallas. There was a million dollar bounty on Dallas’ head, but it was Charlie that was offering it, not Frankie. Charlie was right, there was only one man that wanted Dallas dead and it was him. The catch was that he didn’t want to kill her, he wanted to save her. He wanted to set Crazy up, then barge in at the last minute to rescue Dallas from her attacker. He wouldn’t kill me because he knew that Dallas would mourn my death, taking away precious time that could be used on him. He wanted to make me look like the bad guy. I wasn’t sure how, but I knew it was going to happen. Charlie knew I was onto him, so he would most likely either speed up his plans or change the game. But I had an ace in the hole. I didn’t want to use it, but I knew I didn’t have a choice.
Dallas
I was sitting outside Luke’s, honking the horn impatiently, while Red and Maddie dragged their asses out. When I had called to tell them I was going, they had informed me that they were going too. I had assumed they had been asked, just as I had, but, chances were, they were just going to show up unannounced, and make their presence known, whether it was welcome or not. I asked Red if she wanted me to pick her up at her house. Her response was that she was at Luke’s. Funny. Did she ever go home? As they piled into my car, carrying more shit than they could use in two weeks and stuffing it into every available space I had, I decided now was as good a time as any to ask the probing question.
“Why are you two always at Luke’s?”
“Because,” Maddie started, pausing to shove one of her many suitcases behind my seat, “Logan loves Nanny and refuses to go home most nights. And Red is always there, so I have someone to talk to.” Well, her excuse made sense. I turned to Red, finding her struggling with the buttons to adjust the seat to her liking. It took a couple of minutes before she was satisfied, then she turned to me, finally noticing that I was watching her.
“What?” she asked, her head snapping between me and Maddie, whose head was perched between the two front seats.
“The question was: Why are we always at Luke’s?” Maddie informed her, placing her chin in her hand, and looking expectantly at Red. I guess she had never thought to ask either.
“It’s boring at my house. There’s always something going on at Luke’s, and when Regg ain’t home that’s where I stay. Is that a problem?” she asked, daring either one of us to say it was.
