Blood and Honor (9 page)

It was easy to charm the older guys. All it took was a smile and a flash of her impressive cleavage to gain their favor. It was the younger ones…the ones who would be stepping up soon, earning their cuts…those were the ones she needed in her corner. That was why she had set her sights squarely on Slade. Hot, blond fucking Slade. He was a reasonable facsimile of Daxter Jamison. Sure, Slade wasn’t as built as Dax, but he gave off the same arrogant attitude.

The guy really was an asshole, though. Refusing to help her out with her shoulder? What a dick. Alanna hated ingratiating herself to guys like him. Then, she learned that Slade was closer to earning his cut than he knew. In fact, they were going to vote his ass in tonight. It was amazing what you could overhear while pretending to sleep off a contrived sexual haze in Hawk’s bunk.

Slade’s new status was going to make him even more integral to her goal. Alanna knew just by looking at the guy that he was just the kind of domineering hard ass to move up in the ranks quickly—especially once Hawk was out of the picture. Dax was gone, but only for now. Wince…he was too much of a nerd to take over the big stuff. Wince was smart, but there was just no way he was going to step up when shit went downhill.

Dax would come to take over the club went Hawk went away. No question about it. He would have to honor his rightful place at the Phantoms’ table. It was what Dax had been groomed for all this time. It was his destiny. Alanna knew that he wouldn’t leave his club—his
family
—to suffer in Hawk’s absence. He might be an outlaw, but Dax had values in addition to his ridiculous good looks.

It was why she loved him so much.

When Dax came back, with his little baby mama in tow, he would inherit Alanna too. He’d have to take care of her—and she would take care of him—the way a real old lady was supposed to.

Chapter Eighteen

“Are you fucking serious, Wince?” Dax roared at the phone, even though Wince’s text certainly couldn’t respond.

“Dax!” Rhee hissed, gesturing to Sirena, who observed his angry outburst with an amused look in her blue eyes.

His jaw clenched and he felt himself swelling up with anger the way he always did when he felt an injustice was unfolding.

Don’t want to go back there.
Things were just getting good here.

“What is it, baby?”

Baby.

One simple word was all it took to settle him. Some of the anger trickled away as he turned to look at her.

“Let’s talk about it later, darlin.”

A cherubic little voice piped up, “You fuckin’ seewious, Daddy?”

Dax cringed, hearing the f-bomb fall from the lips of an angel.

“Those are adult words, Sirena,” Rhee admonished, but he could hear the laughter in her voice.

“I’m a big girl!” Sirena proclaimed, placing her hands on her hips and standing her ground.

“That you are, princess.” Dax agreed, swinging her into his arms. He slung her onto his back and grinned. “Let’s get your mom.”

Sirena squealed in excitement as Rhee pretended to run away in terror. Some things could wait until tomorrow morning, and Hawk was one of them.

Chapter Nineteen

“Get in the car.”

Mickey didn’t want to make a scene, not at school.
She looked over her shoulder, conscious of the way the popular kids stared at her.
They teased her about the long sleeves she always wore now, and the baggy sweats she was never without, even in gym class.
Paul tapped the horn, making her jump.

What did he want?

Paul raked her with his eyes as she opened the car door and sat down gingerly.

“Wh-where are we going?”
she ventured.

“Got something special set up tonight, sweet thing.
You’re coming with me.
Good luck charm.”
He winked and ice ran down her spine.

Why?
He’d never brought her to any of his card games before.
And why was her stepfather wearing his ratty, old suit?

“Put your hair up—you know, in those little ponytails?”
He motioned near his ears and she automatically began to braid her hair into pigtails.
It wouldn’t do any good to disobey him now—not when she had no idea where they were headed.

“It’s Thursday.
Mom’s going to be home…”

“She’s working overtime,” Paul spat.
“Don’t talk back to me, Mouse.
It makes me angry.”

Instead of the smelly old basement she expected, they ended up at a hotel.
Some kind of charity event was going on.
It was odd.
Mickey had no idea why Paul wanted to attend something like this—or why he wanted her with him.
He introduced her to lots of men who wore fancy suits and shiny watches that probably cost more than their car.
She shook the hands Paul told her to shake, and she smiled obediently, wondering what was going on.

He spent some time talking to some of the men, leaving her sitting on a bench by the elevator of the hotel.
Mickey watched the patrons going up to their rooms and wondering what kind of lives they had.
Finally, he came to get her and they were headed home.

She glanced at him, trying to gauge his mood.
Paul was rambling again, about his master plan, whatever that was.
He seemed tense and distracted, and he swerved hard.
Then, he was just angry.
With quavering fingers, Mickey’s hand went to her stepfather’s thigh.
She stroked his leg, feeling ill as he calmed and the look in his eyes became less wild.

It was so much worse when he was angry.

Chapter Twenty

Slade was tripping. Why was Hawk running him around on bogus errands? First, he was sent to make a pointless stop at the port. Things were status quo and he had just done a check the day before. Then, he found himself at
Lenny’s
picking up some package—something one of the newer grunts could do.

Maybe he wasn’t as close to the inner circle as he’d hoped.

When Slade arrived at the compound, five minutes before meeting time, the place was eerily quiet. A warning prickle went down his spine as he pushed open the clubhouse door. Something was definitely up. He scanned the room. A few Phantom stalkers lounged on the couch, but no one else seemed to be around. The door to the meeting room was closed.

Slade hesitated, unsure what he was supposed to do. Once that door closed, interrupting was a major taboo. Slade checked his watch to confirm that he was not, indeed late. He still had a couple of minutes and Hawk always got started a few minutes past the hour, anyway. As he stood there, his fist half-raised to knock on the door, it suddenly opened.

Gray stood there, a terse look on his face. “Kid. We’ve been waiting on you.”

Slade wasn’t the anxious type. But standing here, with a full table staring him down, he felt the stirrings of nervous adrenaline roiling in his stomach. He looked around at each man at the table. They all wore a similar expression—intense.

Fuck.

“Sit down, kid.” Hawk gestured to an empty chair.

Slade made his way to the place Hawk indicated. Something was wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Odd.
Why is there an empty seat at the table?

His head shot up, meeting Hawk’s eyes, which twinkled now—with mirth. Then, one by one, the seven men at the table starting busting up. Hawk reached out his hand and Slade gripped it hard. He was avalanched with fist bumps and an unexpected full-on hug from Gray.

“Welcome to the Phantoms
,
son. You ain’t got a broad, so I hope you know how to sew.”

Hawk slid a patch across the table and Slade caught it up in his palm. The club president produced a bottle of single malt scotch and took a long draught before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and passing it to Slade. He tipped a healthy amount of the amber liquid down his throat, enjoying the burn that trailed into his guts. A wide grin broke out on Slade’s face as he turned the bit of leather and string over in his hand.

Soldier.

He couldn’t recall the last time he had felt this good—this accomplished. A place at the table—already. It was unexpected. And it made his fucking day.

One step closer, dad.

Chapter Twenty-One

Wince was late. Goddamn traffic. It was slow going all the way to Darling from the airport. From the looks of it, things were only going to get worse. Developers, politicians—it seemed like there was pressure for their little town to expand. The club relied on Darling staying small. Big city meant big money—and big time police involvement.

Right now, things were running the way they had for decades. Hawk and Carter, who had a lot of influence with Darling’s police chief, had some kind of understanding. The Phantoms did their business and kept the other clubs under control. In return, the cops had their back—most of the time. The sweet little arrangement gave Hawk and his boys the backing they needed to pressure some of the other crews…to be the big fish in the small Darling cesspool.

Wince noticed three separate billboards advertising a strip mall, a golf course, and a gated community. Things were changing here, and Wince wasn’t sure there was any help for it. He was torn. But, he had his duties and he would carry them out.

For now.

Things were in full swing when he walked through the door. Two topless chicks bending over the pool tables and the boys all looked pretty fucked up. Wince scanned the room for Hawk, but didn’t see his president anywhere.

“Hey, man.”

Slade. Just the man he wanted to see.

“Let’s go.”

The grunt nodded. As he moved down the corridor, the flash of white and gray on Slade’s chest caught Wince’s discerning eye.

“You got patched in?”

Slade nodded. The smile on his face seemed genuine. Still…what kind of power play was he up to?

“When?”

The other man looked at his watch. “Man, only about two hours ago. I still can’t believe it. I still had a few months to go.”

“Congratulations.”

They walked in silence to Wince’s bunk. He unlocked the door and set his suitcase on the floor. Wince let out a sigh and stretched his hands over his head, momentarily forgetting about Slade. It was good to be back in a familiar space.

“Yeah, thanks. But, things ain’t no fuckin’ tea party lately.”

Slade’s voice reminded him that they weren’t here to have a fucking tea party. In fact, Slade had interrupted a tea party that was very dear to Wince.

“Start fucking talking, man. I’ve spent the good part of forty-eight hours traveling back and forth. This had better be worth it.”

“It’s worth it.” Slade’s voice was flat and ominous. He spilled without further preamble. Alanna was still playing her game of who’s the rat.

“Has she made any specific accusations?”

Wince was thrown for a loop when Slade hesitated, seeming to hold back. Then, he risked his new patch with his final comments.

“I didn’t know who else to tell, man. But Hawk…he’s been acting funny. Maybe you should check in with Gray and the other old-timer, Tank. I’m not the only one who’s concerned. And given my new status, I’d appreciate it if you…you know…were discreet.”

Well, he had to give the kid some credit, Wince thought. It was a pretty chancy move—implicating the very man who had slammed the gavel on his initiation just a few hours beforehand.

Kid’s got a code,
Wince mused.
I like that about him.

“I’ll look into it.”

Slade nodded and offered his hand. Wince shook it, pleased to find the other man’s palm strong and sure. Not sweaty. You got to know a liar by his expression, his gestures. The new patch was definitely no liar.

“Enjoy your party, kid. Get laid or something.”

Slade shrugged. Wince locked the door and made for the shower. Then, he fired up his laptop and scrambled his signal so he couldn’t be tracked online. He was restless. He felt helpless. Time to spend a few hours hacking the FBI database. If that didn’t distract him…nothing would.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“But honey, that clipping is almost three weeks old,” Ruby argued.

Mickey wasn’t sure if the older woman was protesting her potential departure because she truly believed Rhee might not be on the island any longer, or if it was because she didn’t want Mickey to leave.

“Where would she go? She’s some event planner out there, or something.”

“At the very least, you could make some calls…make sure she’s there. I just don’t see why you can’t call your own sister…”

There was no way in hell Mickey could just call Rhee, out of the blue. Rhee probably thought she was dead. For all Mickey knew, Rhee would either freak out, or call the police or something. Either way, it just wasn’t the right thing to do. No more copping out. Mickey had to get out there, and tell Rhee the truth in person.

Well, maybe not all of it. But enough—enough to make Rhee believe her.

“Fine, I could—I could Google her. The name of her business is in the article.”

Mickey’s hands were actually shaking. She had tried to escape from her personal hell, but now, it looked as though one of her demons was coming back to haunt her in person.

***

Sometimes, Mickey wondered why he hadn’t just gone ahead and done it already.
He’d made her do everything else.
It was torture, praying each time that he wouldn’t…wondering when he would.

But he seemed to be holding off on taking that final thing from her and she wasn’t sure why but she was grateful—while it lasted.

Lately, he made her use her mouth.
Which she hated.
He tasted…awful.
Like dirty socks.
And his…stuff.
Ugh.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she would be his victim before she jumped out a window.
Mickey focused on her doll, letting her throat go slack as she regressed to the time before.
Then, as he held her nose and forced her to swallow, her pig of a stepfather unwittingly sealed his own fate.