Force: Blacktop Sinners MC (21 page)

“I’d rather die before I let something like that happen, and you damn well know this,” Jimenez said, shaking his head. “Fine, I’ll talk to the guys on the force I think would do this.”

“Are any of them especially close to Cpt. Johnson? He’s on our payroll, but I’m not sure if our damn leak hasn’t corrupted him too onto a much looser tab.”

Jimenez swore, something fast and terse in Spanish that he’d heard before near the former Los Lobos gang. “Of course. I have four guys I know aren’t corrupt period. Give me your cell, and I’ll get a disposable and call you tonight. We’ll set up the details, and I’ll work
only
through you. Don’t tell your president much, just that it’s handled and you have a second flank. The less info out there…”

“…the better. I completely agree.”

He snorted and stood up. Derek offered his hand to shake on the deal. That old expression wasn’t completely wrong, actually. There was honor and pride among gang brothers. It was an odd sense of honor, but it was still there. Derek knew that loyalty was the most important thing in the world. Lt. Ricardo Jimenez was on the opposite end of the law from him normally, but he was promising to put his life on the line tomorrow night for Tess, for the woman that Derek loved. He could respect the other man for that, for taking the lives and safety of his friends so seriously.

Jimenez clenched his jaw and headed to the front door. “We’re not friends, ‘Grinder.’ This is over? I start gunning for you with everything I have. I work to bust your ass down to nothing because you don’t deserve anything else, any other consideration at all. Do you get that? I’m saving Tess now, but after that? Well, securing your misery in life just because my mission.”

With that, the front door slammed behind him with an ominous smack. It was better than nothing, but it left Derek with no illusions. He was a means to an end. The alliance was a way for all of them, even Lizzy in her own way, to make sure that Tess was safe. After that? The kid gloves would be off. Derek sighed and put his head in his hands. How could he seriously ever hope to have a life with Tess when her sister was already calling out his bullshit over the kitchen table, and her friends wanted to find anyway they could to land his ass in jail permanently?

At the end of the day, Tess would always be damn Florence Nightingale, all goodness and light, and he’d be a Sinner and little more than a thug and murderer.

Star-crossed didn’t even begin to cover this problem.

Chapter Thirty Six

Time passed slowly behind bars. Well, it wasn’t the bars so much as being stuck in a room with little natural light and only seeing Digger at meal times. That was all that could pass the time. As a result, as pathetic as it was, Tess tried to sleep a lot. It was beyond difficult to do that. She had nightmares when she did sleep and often woke up screaming. It alternated between memories of having lost Jason, of the interminable weeks and months after his funeral, and of watching Derek rush in to save her, of having to witness him shot dead and right through the eyes.

So she tried to rest, often couldn’t, and watched the sun rise and set, aware that now that the moon had risen, it wouldn’t be long until that dreaded midnight rendezvous. As much as she wanted to be free and safe and as little as she wanted to die or make her family suffer through her loss, she was terrified that the Sinners and Derek along with them would perish trying to save her.

It was in the middle of her worries that Digger came back, his large eyes wide and hungry. They set her on edge, and her heart started to pound ferociously. Something felt different this time, like looking into the eyes of a junkyard dog who’d been starved far too long.

“Hi, Digger,” she said, deciding that trying to calm him might be in her best interest. “How are you? Thank you so much for bringing me my food again.” Tess kept her tone low and calm, the way she sounded when she worked with scared kids who came into the E.R. If he was already riled up, she wanted to keep his agitation from accelerating.

He licked his lips, and her heart began to thud even more. “It’s always been my pleasure,
nursey
.”

She swallowed and stood up, but she also slowly backed herself into the corner closest to the window. “You can just set the tray down like always.”

He did, but he didn’t scurry out of the door like normal. Instead, he stayed where he was and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and jutted his hips toward her. “But things aren’t ‘like always.’ You’ll be gone tomorrow. Your boy don’t show, and Trent will kill you. Your boy does show and dies, then Trent is still gonna take you for his, but I want a bit of fun.”

She stilled and struggled to remember how to breathe. Tess couldn’t have heard him. What he was implying was grotesque, and it chilled her to the bone. “I don’t want to have fun. I have to wait until Derek gets here.”

“Darling, he ain’t going to save you. I mean, you think I’ll be rough?” He said, inching closer to her. “Trent won’t be kind at all. At least I’ll make you scream in the good way.” Digger emphasized his point by rushing forward and grabbing her arms.

Then he was wrong.

She did scream, and there was nothing good about it.

***

Derek gripped his nine mil in his right hand, squeezing his fist more tightly. Sweat was already running down his head and his back in rivulets, and his fingers twitched for another cigarette. It would help steady him, but there was no chance of that now. The assembled might of the Sinners, every single one from probies to the full board, were with them. They’d pulled up a block away from the warehouse and were assembled in a parking lot, everyone as twitchy as he was and fiddling with their brass knuckles, shot guns, and knives. Every single one of them was carrying an arsenal, and the bulk of them were also bedecked in Kevlar. Maybe some of the probies had missed out, but they were going in as protected as possible.

The six off-duty S.W.A.T. members, including Jimenez, were waiting and ready already in position near the warehouse. They’d storm in a few minutes after the Sinners entered. That was what he’d agreed upon with the lieutenant. Outside of that, even Derek didn’t know all the specifics. It was best that way. Jimenez had promised to deliver and, for Tess’s sake, Derek knew that the other man would. He and Lizzy cared as much about Tess as Derek did after all.

Derek was standing there, nodding to the probies and letting Smitty call out orders to the masses. It was time any minute to storm the block and break into the warehouse. He felt a broad hand on his shoulder and turned around. At first, he expected Ron to be there. Things had been tense the last two days, and it was excruciating that Ron was on the other side of everything from him, had argued to the last breath that they couldn’t afford to do this. Still, Derek believed he’d at least try and make amends, act like the friend he was supposed to be. He must have hurt Ron even more deeply than he suspected by calling Tess his home and implying that his brother---and Ron was that in all the ways that had ever mattered---wasn’t important in quite the same way.

Of course, if his best friend and brother in arms wasn’t going to help him or support what mattered to him, then maybe they really were at an impasse that he couldn’t surmount.

Instead, he looked down into the cold, glacial eyes of Spike. This had all started with a botched treaty meeting. Then he’d run himself ragged trying to get the knife back. It wasn’t all about covering his own ass or trying futilely to get him and Tess out of danger. No. Spike was still his president, the man he’d served faithfully for a decade. They were going to end this tonight with Trent and his lowlife Death’s Head Crew, and part of that was just and earned revenge for all of them daring to cross them.

“You ready?” Spike asked, his voice like gravel.

He nodded and in his left hand, took hold of his favorite blade, a large Bowie knife that hadn’t seen action in far too long. “I’ve been ready since that damn letter came.”

“And Jimenez?”

“Everything’s in place, boss, trust me.”

He nodded and squeezed Derek’s shoulder. “Then let’s get these fuckers.”

Derek grinned, something feral and hungry springing to his lips, and when he spoke next, it was to everyone. “Sinners? Roll out!”

***

There was nothing quite as exciting as bursting through the front door. It was crazy, there were dozens of Death’s Head Crew around, armed with chains, brass knuckles, and guns, but this was the raw thrill of the hunt incarnate. They were a pack, after all, as violent and capable of carnage when this life demanded it of them. Right now, the Sinners were about to prove how earned both their reputation and their name truly was.

He rushed in with the others after Bullet and Bones had kicked down the warehouse door. Bullets whizzed by his ear, and he rolled across the floor after more than a few flew by and far too close for comfort. Hopping to his feet, he came across a few of the DHC’s favored enforcers guarding the far wall. There was a massive door on that side of the factory and it was more than obvious with the huge metal bar shoved through the handles that they had something more valuable than probably even their meth stash through those door. Hell, it had to be someone like, say, Tess.

He readied himself for the surrounding enforcers. None were as tall as he was, but that was asking a lot. Even among large guys with his broad frame and his 6’6” stature, Grinder tended to crowd over everyone else. Still, there were four men circling him with their own guns raised. He didn't know the names of every member of the DHC. However, if his memory served him correctly, the hefty man before him with the midnight dark skin and the bar through his nose was Crusher, and he got his name just the way you’d think he had---the man loved to beat anyone who crossed him until bones smashed to powder under his efforts.

“You want to try getting to your lady love there, Grinder?” He said, his voice coming out in a deep, harsh bark.

He didn’t even bother to answer. There wasn’t time for talking. Derek had gotten out all his words on the tarmac. Trent and his ilk hadn’t heard him then, not when he was begging for Tess’s life, so there was no need to get distracted by posturing now. He didn’t even flinch, just aimed his nine mil and shot through Crusher’s knee cap. He wasn’t a saint, but he didn’t have to rack up a body count either. Considering that Jimenez and his crew would be bursting in any minute, well, Derek didn’t want to give them any reason to haul his ass in. He and the good lieutenant might be allied on one mission, but the officer clearly saw himself as the big brother that Tess never had. He’d be more than happy to string Derek up for any extra charges he could.

Crusher went down hard, and Derek was rolling down again, dodging a hail of bullets aimed his way. Springing up to his feet as fast as he could, he pulled out both his favorite butterfly knife and his Bowie knife (seemed more than fitting to have in a town named for the legendary Daniel Boone, himself). The closest two of the Death’s Head Crew rushed toward him, and he bent low and swiped out with his knives. The shorter of the two men, one with a wicked pot belly, grunted, and Derek was gratified to see the spray of red from where his knife bit into the other man’s hip. His first swing with the butterfly blade had gone a bit wide. It had managed to slice into the other man’s cut, but the leather of the jacket had kept the man with the large Celtic knot tattoo from incurring any injury.

Rolling his eyes mostly to himself, Derek cursed his bad luck. He dodged to the left as Celtic knot and a final man with fairly ratty dreads rushed him. The two men collided into each other but recovered quickly. A loud pounding reverberated through Derek’s head, and he reached up to touch his ear. His left hand came back slicked with blood. From what he could tell and, well, hope, Derek thought it was a flesh round. A bullet had managed to graze his ear. Both men were advancing on him now, their guns raised. Derek threw both his blades forward as hard as he could.

They hit, and dreadlocks caught his Bowie in the right shoulder and he fell back to the ground instantly. The butterfly blade embedded deeply in Celtic knot’s gut. Hopefully not fatal---he just didn’t want to deal with Jimenez’s bluster. Celtic knot fell to the ground with a resounding thud as well. Derek rushed forward quickly and was able to grab the .22 and the nine mils off both of them. Dreadlocks started to move, but Derek used his newly obtained gun to leave him with a few extra holes through his knee caps. If paramedics got here soon enough, then he’d have nothing else to confess to Tess.

Even if these damn bastards certainly deserved it.

The bar was heavy, and he started to push it through the holes in the handle. It weighed more than he anticipated, but suddenly the bar began to move, and Derek knew that it wasn’t just his efforts that were moving it. Looking to his left, he nodded to Jimenez. The six officers who were moonlighting had already swept in. The lieutenant was standing shoulder to shoulder with Derek now, helping him push the large iron bar finally through the hollows of the door handles. It clattered to the concrete with a resounding thud, one that Derek could feel moving through his very bones.

“Thank you.”

Jimenez shook his head and adjusted the black cap on his scalp. “Just find her, man, and we’ll call it even for the night.”

The lieutenant didn’t have to tell him twice. Derek had his gun clenched his in hand and was rushing through the corridors, trying to find wherever they’d be hiding Tess. He didn’t have to look for long. He heard a loud screaming coming from an open door at the end of the hallway it was in. Steadying himself, he gazed down the darkened opening the door left behind. It clearly led down and to a cellar. From it, he could hear the blood curdling screams of a woman.

Of Tess
.

He roared and plunged down the stairs. One dingy light bulb, one that seemed to be barely be at sixty watts, swung above from a small chain above a cot and a few scattered trays. Before him, one of the damn Death’s Head Crew was grabbing at Tess. He had her pinned against a cinder block wall and was pressing into her while his right hand pawed at her shirt. That was enough. Derek was on him in a second, shoving him hard into the wall. The other man struggled against him, and in his furor, his dark hair fell into his eyes. Derek didn’t care about anything. This creep had been trying to hurt Tess, had sought to violate her as a fun side project while she was distracted.

He was never going to allow that.

The first thud of his head against the cinder block was a sweet relief. How dare he even think that he could touch her? She was
his
, and he’d promised to protect her. With the second impact of his head on cinder block, the other guy’s eyes rolled back in his head. With the third, he began to spit out blood. That was like waving a red flag out in front of a bull. He reached back to slam the guy once more against the cinder block, but stopped when a soft hand was on his shoulder.

“Derek, I’m fine. You can let it go.”