Force: Blacktop Sinners MC (17 page)

Chapter Twenty Nine

“Why’d you do that?” Tess asked when Derek shoved the switchblade under the floor mat in the back left seat.

“Because we’ve been sloppy with it. Okay,
I
have. I don’t trust it to be on me. You know how that is.”

She sighed and nodded even as they started back out onto 421 and out to Boone. “I think that having it in both my locker and Jason’s room weren’t bad ideas. We only have to make it about fifty more miles. That can’t be but so hard.”

“You’re that person?” he said, drawing his hand to his chest in mock horror.

“What person now?” she asked, genuinely curious.

She felt good. Tess still wasn’t sure about the nature of their relationship. Hell, did bikers even have girlfriends? Was that the term? But after confessing her fears to him and taking comfort from giving him ecstasy, she felt warm and complete, more fulfilled than she had in years of E.R. work with no respite and no real relaxation.

Beaming back at him, she reached over and squeezed his hand, feeling flush just from his touch. God, she was like a teen again, that dramatic, but it felt so right.

“Come on, Grinder, tell me.”

“Oh, you know how it is. In every action movie, they go into the meet up place and someone goes ‘it’s quiet, too quiet’ and then there’s a full frontal assault that springs out.”

“We’re on a mountain highway in a lazy North Carolina summer. We’re not fighting Nazis a la Indiana Jones or trying to beat back Darth Vader.”

“I see you’re up on your Lucas,” he snarked. “My point is, you never breathe a sigh of relief until days after deeds are done. Hell, if you’re smart, you don’t even then because you’re onto the next crisis and stomping it out.”

She nodded and reflected on that. “The emergency department is like that too. You have to keep moving on with triage, never show emotion, and always be in control.”

“Because people are depending on you with their lives.”

Tess took a steadying breath. “Exactly.”

Maybe we’re not that different after all.

“That said,” she continued. “I just feel like everything is going to work out at least as far as getting this to Spike. It’s close to nine, and we just have to subsist through the next forty-five minutes. After all the chaos and fear of the next few days, I want to be relieved.” She squeezed his hand again for emphasis. “
You
make me feel relieved.”

“And you’re sugar coating, blondie.”

“No, I’m really not,” she said, her tone earnest and sincere.

“Then I’m flattered and---” Derek started, cursing in tandem with her when they spied a collection of flashing red lights up ahead. “What the living fuck?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Roadblock looks like,” Tess said as she spied those long wooden running planks up ahead now, turned almost black in the flickering, blood red lights. “Maybe the cops are aware of something. Hell, maybe there’s been an accident.”

Derek sat ramrod straight and placed a hand over hers. “Don’t stop.”

“It’s the law.
I
have to. I know you’d run for the hills, but this is something we do. Besides, if we don’t, it’ll raise suspicion, and then they’ll chase us and search the car. This isn’t in Johnson’s jurisdiction, is it?”

“Shit, you’re right,” he said, shaking his head but reaching into his pocket. She assumed he kept his own blade or a small caliber gun there in case.

Tess slowed the car and smiled up at the men waiting there, trying her best to impress them and leave them feeling that everything was normal, even in the dark of night. No, scratch that, especially in the dark of night. The men there were in the shadows a bit, and it surprised her that the car blocking the road wasn’t a standard police cruiser but a battered Crown Victoria with no plates. It had a solitary red light on top of it.

Frowning, she rolled down her window and leaned out. “Uh, officer? Is there something I can do for you? Do you need my ID?” The men stayed shadowed and, confused, she rolled her window all the way and leaned out, even unhooking her seatbelt to do so. She didn’t want to open the door wide, was too nervous about that. “Hello?”

Suddenly strong arms were around her, yanking her out of the car. She screamed and, for a moment, Derek had her ankles in his hand, but the man who had her pulled Tess successfully from her lover’s grasp. Finally the other men strode out from the car, from the shadows out of the reach of the red light special.

She gasped at the tall, squirrely man with curly hair, dark as midnight, and the pock mocks on his cheeks. His teeth were yellowed and rotten and his gums bleeding and, whoever he was, he’d clearly been sampling his own stash. The leather jacket he wore and feral grey eyes completed his look.

A few of his men rushed out to grab Derek. Her lover was out of the car already and got off a few shots with the Colt, one even seemed to shatter the shorter biker’s knee and he fell to the ground and screamed. The other rushed him like a linebacker and knocked Derek to the ground.

She screamed and twisted in her captor’s grasp. “What is going on?”

The meth head leaned in and stroked a sickly, skeletal finger down her cheek. Tess shuddered as he spoke. “I’m Trent, president of the Death’s Head crew, and you’ve been fucking up my plan B. So this is plan C.”

“What is?” she demanded shrieking even as she kicked and struggled in the arms that held her.

For a second, the man restraining her stumbled and his arms loosened when she knocked into his patella. Tess would have wriggled free then, but Trent pulled out a blade and held it to her throat. Meanwhile, the one remaining biker was looming over Derek, and she screamed again when he cocked the Colt and fired.

Or would have.

Thank God and everyone else that the bullets had all been spent.

The thug, with a damn pot belly over his belt buckle, wound back his leg and kicked Derek hard in the ribs. Tess shivered when he spit out blood.

Jesus Christ, what are we going to do?

Trent smiled. “Now that I have your attention. You’re coming with me. I’m leaving Bruno here to search for the blade on Derek here. If he doesn’t find it, then he’ll kill him. If the Sinners or one of your friends already has it, then you’ll be a trade for what I need.”

“No, I’m not helping you.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t even have a choice,” he said, slapping her other cheek and her vision swam as stars exploded behind her eyes. “I thought you needed to match.” Then he looked through her or, more accurately, over her shoulder and at the monstrous man or Sasquatch, whichever, holding her tight. “Digger, let’s shove this bitch in the car. And Bruno?”

“Yes, boss?” he asked as he landed another huge blow to Derek’s ribs. Tess hoped it was her imagination that she heard something crunch, but she was terrified that it wasn’t. “Can I flay him too?”

“You search everything and make it count, but then feel free to be as creative as you want. Send the Sinners a message with their own damn fucking head enforcer. Some enforcer he turned out to be, some killer instincts,” Trent continued. Glaring back at Derek and making deliberate eye contact with him, Trent just shook his head. “I’d heard so much about you, and after you and Spike survived the warehouse set-up, I thought you had to be a living legend. You’re a disappointment and now I’m gonna kill her.”

“No!” Tess screamed, flailing and clawing for all she was worth, desperate to escape. But she’d only gotten in a lucky knee cap shot once, a one in a million chance. Even though Digger was limping, it wasn’t slowing him down nearly enough. Arching her head back, she shouted. “Let me go. You jerks, let me go!”

Derek tried to move to her, and she heard the worst, most distressing gurgling noise before he could croak out. “Tess, I’ll find you.”

That was the last thing she knew because, then, Trent slugged her, and everything went black.

Chapter Thirty

He was about to be killed by a man with a damn pot belly.

That was the first thing that flashed through Derek Allanson’s mind. The second was that Tess was gone. Fucking Trent Lachlan, president of the Death’s Head Crew had been tipped off somehow on his flight with Tess to Asheville to get the knife. Only the inner circle of the Blacktop Sinners even knew that was what he’d done. It was beyond obvious that the meth head dealer they’d roughed up was right. There was a severe leak, and one of their own---one of the best of their men---had been compromised and was playing both sides, turning the Sinners into Lachlan’s personal play toys.

Derek was sick and damn tired of it. His breath came in large gasps. His side hurt from where this fucker had kicked him. Nothing had crunched, thank God, but it was sore as hell. Gut pain he could deal with. Broken ribs right now were not a luxury he could afford. Derek shook his head as Pot Belly circled him. The other guy rushed forward, his own blade exposed and ready to pierce him. Derek counted off the minutes in his head until the last possible moment. Feigning exhaustion wasn’t hard, but forcing himself to wait, to let his opponent make his own mistakes was pure agony. All he wanted to do was rush off and save Tess, but Pot Belly had to die for that to happen first.

The lunge narrowed in on him, and Derek rolled wide to his left and was up on his feet with a groan as Pot Belly fell to the floor. Rushing forward, ignoring the burning pain in his side, he wrapped one arm around the other guy’s shoulders. The other man was fatter than he was, had a solid enough build, but few men were as tall as Derek’s 6’6” frame. This guy certainly wasn’t. He was 5’9 if he were a damn inch. Derek could work with that, use his size to his advantage.

With his other hand, he slugged the guy in the temple. Pot Belly fell to his knees and cursed. “Fucking Sinner. I’m going to kill you, Grinder!”

“No, you’re not,” he said, using all his might to smash the other man’s face into the pavement. The first hit was a satisfying smack of bone against black top. Then there was a second and a third. He was lost in a frenzy, a whirling dervish of anger and pain. His lover was gone. The woman he cherished like no other could be being hurt by Lachlan right now, tortured or used like one of the hookers that the Death’s Head Crew peddled. No. Not today. He slammed three more times, and Pot Belly was no longer moving. Judging by the way the pavement was stained red with blood and flesh, the way a few stray teeth were feet from both of them, Derek was more than certain that he’d never move again.

Good.

This was just the start.

He was done being led around blindly by the DHC. They were going to pay. He was going to hunt Trent down himself and kill him, make him sorry for ever dragging Tess this deeply into danger, for making her a goddamn pawn. And then? Then he was going to find the traitor in the midst of the Black Top Sinners and make them pay.

Slowly.

Rushing into her Beetle, Derek forced the seat back as far as it would go. He still felt folded up like an accordion when he crammed himself in. Gunning the engine, he peeled off for Boone. At least they hadn’t found the blade. That was the one relief in an utter shit storm. He had his leverage, his proof to Spike that he was as loyal as he’d ever been. It was a start.

***

He lurched into the roadhouse. It was a quiet morning, and no one was even at the bar yet, not even the regulars or the few old ladies who tended to gather together and gossip early in the mornings. Just Trixie was there, her peroxided hair gleaming in the sun. She was cleaning out the glasses with a rag and dropped the mug she was on when he stumbled in.

In one hand was Spike’s blade, and the other grabbing onto the nearest support beam. The adrenaline rush was over, and his side was a raging inferno of pain. Breathing was harder than he’d like, and Derek was praying as hard as he could that he really didn’t have shattered ribs.

“I got it,” he gasped out. Trixie hopped over the bar, full, fake breasts juggling as she did it. She was there then, her body up under his side. He hissed. “God, my ribs ache. I just…I have the blade, but Tess is in trouble. They were ready for me.” He coughed, and blood burbled from his lips.

Shit
.

“Spike! Smitty! I need some help!” She said, struggling to keep him supported. “Damn, Grinder. I’m glad you eat your Wheaties, but you’re a heavy fucker.”

He nodded and sank to his knees no matter how hard Trixie was trying to help him. Then, there were four or five other men out there, their booted feet clomping loudly on the linoleum. Derek coughed up blood again and handed Spike the blade. “Your Excalibur, sir.”

Spike’s blue eyes grew stormy. “Thank God, but man, you’re wrecked. Jesus, hang in there until we can drag you to the back room. Smitty!”

Beside him Smitty nodded, his small beady eyes focused. “I’m calling in Dr. Townsend right now.”

Derek chuckled as Bones and Bullet, both more than happy to accept the blade as proof of his club loyalty after so many days of hell, picked him up by the shoulders and dragged him to the back office. It wasn’t sterile, but it was far cleaner than the shithole front of the bar. He grunted as he was dropped easily onto the couch. Bullet hesitated before patting his shoulder.

“Man, I’m sorry. I just…I was scared you were a traitor.”

He nodded and eyed his friend’s greasy mullet. “Just wash your damn hair today. It’s starting to grow new life forms in it, Bullet.”

He smirked and ran his hair through that landfill on his head. “That’s the point.”

“It’s a miracle you ever get laid,” he said, coughing again.

Bones didn’t say anything; the large black guy was ex-military and had never been one for words. However, he gave a brisk nod that Derek took as a sign that everything was cool with them as well. He accepted that. If the situations were reversed, Derek knew he wouldn’t have taken everything as far, never had been his style, and roughing up civilians when you didn’t have to was never smart. It was always more cop payoffs for later, more chances to bring media heat. Still, the water was under the bridge now. He was fully a Sinner again, and he needed all his allies by him.

It would be key for making Trent Lachlan and the DHC pay.

Trixie was next in the apology parade. At least he loved the way she said sorry best. She handed him a cool rag for the cuts to his face to help rinse off the blood already dripping into his eyes. The other thing she gave him was a huge fresh bottle of Jack.

She grinned at him, her brown eyes made even darker by the powder blue eyeshadow she favored. “You looked like you could need this, sugar.”

He grinned and took a swig of the amber liquid. It burned down his throat and the numbness it left in his belly, spreading out through to his bruised (he hoped) ribs, was pure heaven. “I think I’ve never needed it more. How long till Townsend can get here?”

She shrugged. “Some of our boys got into a fight over hooker territory with the last of Los Lobos last night. He was already off by Jackson’s hole with some of the probies, stitching up cuts. It shouldn’t take long to go the next few miles.”

“Good on that. There’s a blessing,” he said, taking two quick swigs. Now he was on his way to toasted, and his ribs didn’t hurt so goddamn much. “You seem amenable to me now, Trix.”

She sighed and pushed her long curly hair back from her face. “Grinder, I always liked you. I never saw a tougher probie in all my years hanging with the club, and you’ve been the best enforcer Spike ever had, but the thought of Spike being set up. He was fast, and he was lucky. He got Gunner dead when things went pear-shaped, you know? Things that night could have been a hell of a lot worse. Then with the knife out there, that blade so ready to incriminate him and the possibility that even damn Cpt. Brock Johnson couldn’t make it go away scared the ever loving shit out of me. I’m sorry I was so fast to turn, but Spike means everything to me. It’s not even the Sinners I’m here for, much as I like you guys. It’s
him.
”

Derek considered that. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

“You sound shocked, Grinder,” she said, chuckling. “I’ve been slinging drinks in this hell hole for about fifteen years. I don’t do it because I love the ambiance.”

“But Spike’s always been the type to…” he hesitated then. It wasn’t nice to rub Spike’s lack of commitment in Trixie’s face. Most of the club was like that. Hell, Derek was like that as well. It was definitely part of the life he lived. You had hookers and groupies and sweet butt---all of them---and they were throwing themselves at you. A lot of chicks got off on being part of the exclusivity that was being part of the Black Top Sinners and their various hangers-on.

She shrugged. “I’m not a naïve kid anymore, and I wasn’t when I started taking up as Spike’s old lady. I just know that I love him, and I can’t live without him. If I need to make compromises in order to make that happen, then I’m more than willing to do that. It’s really important to me. He is. So I sling the drinks and I deal with all you all’s rowdy asses. I know he never promised me forever or that I’m his one and only. I’m still the woman he comes home to most every night. I still rock his world, and it’s enough for me.”

“That’s good.”

She snorted. “So what’s with that blonde little thing, that girl all dressed up in Big Sis’s clothes who strolled in here a couple days ago? She gave you quite the lap dance and, not gonna lie, honey, it’s not like half the bar couldn’t hear you scream in back either.”

He snorted and ran a hand through his brown hair. It came back sticky with blood and, damn, if the DHC hadn’t done a number on him already. “She’s new.”

“She seems to be holding your interest unlike any other girl. So who is she, sugar?”

“She’s the nurse. I was trying to work her over at first to get the knife in the sly way. Then she heard me out eventually and gave me the thing voluntarily. She’s smart and cares about people, and she’s not like any woman I’ve ever met.”

“And you love her?”

“I think I do,” he said, the words small and stark, hanging out there between him and Trixie. It should be obvious to him by now that that was true. After all, he was practically ready to napalm the damn Death Head’s Crew to ash for her. That was more than just feeling obligated because she was in trouble; it was more than craving her lips or her touch. He had had that flash in her parents’ kitchen for Christ sakes of her with a few blond haired girls of their own, a real family.

Like the kind he’d never had before.

Like the kind he’d always secretly wanted with a passion.

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I just want to save her. The DHC took her, and fucking Trent cannot be left alone with her. I’m terrified he’ll rough her up and worse, no matter how good a game he talked about her as leverage with us.”

Trixie swore. “Then this is complicated. We what? Go to a rumble for sweet butt?”

“
You
do nothing. You’re not club, don’t have a cut,” he reminded, gesturing to his own leather jacket. It was new, felt wrong too since his old one had been cut to shreds by the E.R. team about a week ago. “We have to get her back, and we have to eliminate the DHC. This has been a long time coming. They clearly have corrupted our ranks, and they’ve tried to kill Spike and fucked with all of us. We’re going to make this end, and we’re going to make it end
soon
.”

“I was just saying that. Jesus, Grinder, this is getting complicated.”

“No shit,” he said, running a hand again through his crusted hair. “I know I’ll get her back, and she’ll leave me anyway. She doesn’t want to be part of this world, is a complete straight and narrow. I mean a nurse, Christ. There’s nothing we have in common.”

“She not into wet works?” Trixie asked, her tone calm even if her words were blunt.

“Not at all, and I haven’t killed nearly as many people as she thinks.” It was two now, and that would surely horrify Tess if she ever heard of it. No, she would. Derek would get her back, and he’d tell her to boot. Hiding things from her had created this mess. Either she could love him---all of him, even the criminal side---or she didn’t really. He needed to let her decide based on everything. “I just…I’m a Sinner for life, and she’s the ultimate goody-goody Florence Nightingale type.”