Merrick: Harlequins MC (32 page)

Looking at Damon, though, at his ripped physique and rugged good looks – it stirred the embers of desire inside of her. His blunt proposition was incredibly sexist and demeaning, sure, but it was honest, pragmatic, and, in a way, incredibly sexy.

Her body, though vibrating with trepidation, seemed to be acting of its own volition and crossed the room toward where Damon sat on the edge of the bed.

CHAPTER
ONE

Damon looked at Cassie lying beneath the covers of the bed. Her long, coppery red hair was splayed out on the pillow and her long, smooth, gorgeous legs peeked out from beneath the tangle of sheets and blankets. He finished buckling his belt and smiled. He'd been right about her – she was an absolute demon in the sack. It was always the quiet, shy ones who were the most fun.

Leaving her breathing softly, Damon backed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him. After the workout he'd given her last night, he would have been surprised if she were awake before noon. He was pretty sure she'd never had sex that good or that intense in her life. Certainly not with her piece of shit husband. Damon had savored every bit of that pent up, repressed sexual energy. And there had been a lot of it. 

Damon didn't have a very high opinion of humanity, in general. He didn't like people. But he reserved his outright hatred and loathing for men who raised their hands to women. He thought abusers like Cassie's husband were the lowest of the low. They were disgusting pieces of shit who should be put down like rabid dogs – probably even before the rabid dogs. Abusers were disgusting, lowlife cowards. Damon should know. He'd had plenty of experience with them in his life.

He came downstairs into the club's kitchen and found Carl sitting at the table, reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee.

“Mornin',” Damon said as he poured a mug for himself.

Carl simply nodded and continued reading his paper. Damon and Carl had been friends for more years than he could count. He was tall, lean, and well-muscled. Over the years, Damon had watched Carl's hair go from light brown to gray, but the style never changed – always pulled back into a ponytail that reached the middle of his back. Carl's face was grizzled with stubble and he had a thick walrus mustache that hung below his chin.

Sixty years old and still able to kick some ass, though he'd be been around, had seen a lot of things – bad things – and, as a result, was mellower, more thoughtful and less reactionary than most of the club's other members. It was one of the things Damon admired about him. Rather than go in with guns blazing, Carl always sought a less violent, more even handed approach. He wasn't afraid of violence and would throw down without hesitation if the situation called for it, but Carl didn't like violence for the sake of violence.

Some of the club's other members didn't like his approach and wanted the Black Dragons to establish a relationship as a club you simply did not fuck with, but it was Carl's steady, calm leadership that had led the BDs to be held in some esteem by the other local clubs. It had avoided a lot of bloodshed over the years. Not that some of those cretins would ever see it. All some of them wanted was to go in and stomp some heads.

Carl's steadiness through the storms was one of the things Damon most admired about him. Over their years together, they'd grown closer than brothers. He was Carl's right hand man and most trusted ally. And as Carl's right hand, the club's Sergeant at Arms – and a damn imposing figure himself – he'd been able to head off a couple of coups over the years.

Damon sighed as he sat down at the table and took a sip of his coffee.

“Heard you brought a new piece in with you last night,” Carl said without looking up from his paper.

Damon shrugged. “Yeah, she needed a place to crash.”

“From what I heard, there was a lot more than just her crashin' going on up there.”

“Price of admission.”

Carl finally put down his paper and gave Damon an incredulous look. “She willing to pay that price?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You really need to ask me that?”

“No,” Carl replied. “But I'm askin' anyway.”

Damon took a sip of his coffee. “She was willing. You know I wouldn't take something like that if she's wasn't.”

Carl nodded. “Good. So nothin' to what some of the guys are sayin' about you kidnappin' her either?”

Damon shook his head. “These little bitches gossip more than a group of little old women.”

“That they do,” Carl grinned. “That they do.”

“No, I did not kidnap her. She was jammed up,” Damon said. “Found her in a stairwell outside the truck stop last night. She was a mess. Needed to get out of there and hide out somewhere. She has an abusive ex chasing her.”

Carl nodded as if he understood why Damon had done what he did. And knowing Damon as well and for as long as he had, he probably did. “How long's she stayin'?”

Damon shrugged. “Maybe a week, I guess. Maybe less.”

“What about the ex?”

“What about him?”

“He gonna come sniffin' around here?”

Damon shook his head. “Doubt it. He doesn't know where she is. Doesn't know she left with me.”

Carl looked at him evenly. “Hope not. Last thing we need right now is more eyes and heat on us.”

“What's going on?”

“Gotta make a run to Margaretville,” he said. “Gotta keep the shipment here for a few days.”

“We gotta keep it at the club?”

Carl nodded. “That's what I said. Problem?”

“Not a problem,” Damon replied. “We just don't usually have to do that and expose ourselves to that kind of risk.”

“It is what it is,” Carl said and shrugged. “Ain't got a choice this time. Distributor can't take it all just yet. Too much heat on them right now. They're looking for a secondary location to store it.”

“It is what it is,” Damon repeated.

“I'm going to want you to head up to Margaretville with Breaker and Willie,” Carl said. “Make sure the transfer goes smooth and that there are no surprises. And I'm gonna want you to go strapped.”

Damon cocked his head. “You expecting trouble?”

“Hope not,” Carl replied. “But we haven't done business with these guys for very long yet. Still not completely comfortable with 'em. Just want to make sure my bases are covered. Just watch your ass while you're there.”

“Understood,” Damon said. “I'll be there.”

Damon didn't necessarily like carrying a gun. But he liked the idea of getting caught with his pants down and not having a gun when he needed it even less. They hadn't been doing business with the Mexicans for very long, but Damon had never gotten a shady vibe off of them. It was a lucrative deal for everybody involved so he didn't think Diego and Sergio were going to do anything to screw up the cash cow their weed was. And given the quantity they were buying, there was a lot of money on the line for everybody. They weren't stupid. But if Carl wanted him to go strapped, he was going to go strapped.

“Anything going on I should know about?” Carl asked.

Damon shrugged. “Taggert's planning on pushing for us to start running the harder stuff at the next meeting.”

“Taggert is all about Taggert. He's more devoted to what benefits him and his bank account than to the club. That's a problem,” Carl said. “Sure, running heroin is a lot more profitable than weed. But at what cost to the club? What sort of trouble is he going to bring down on all of our heads?”

“Exactly,” Damon said. “We've got the votes to block it. For now. But I'm afraid that, at some point, he's going to win enough support. We're going to have to do something about him sooner rather than later.”

Carl ran his hand along his chin, the stubble making a sound like sandpaper. “Now's not the time to worry about Taggert. Keep giving him rope and he'll eventually hang himself.”

“Before he gets enough support to remove you from office? He's already tried more than a few times,” Damon argued. “You willing to roll the dice on that?”

Carl gave him an enigmatic smile. “I'm not afraid of a punk ass little bitch like Taggert,” he said. “Let him come at me and give me his best shot. Odds are, he'll be the one who ends up on his ass. Again.”

“Carl, man, look, I don't think you – ”

He held up a hand to forestall any more debate. “We'll move on him eventually. But now isn't the time.”

Damon nodded, deferring to the club president on the matter. Carl looked at him evenly, his eyes piercing him and holding him fast.

“You sure this piece you got upstairs and her ex aren't going to be a problem?”

“Nothing I won't be able to handle,” Damon replied.

“But if the time comes,” Carl said, “can I count on you to do right by the club first and foremost?”

“You have my word.”

Carl nodded. “Good.”

CHAPTER TWO

Damon was standing out on the back deck of the clubhouse drinking a beer and thinking about everything going on. Behind the clubhouse and shop was a thick grove of trees and just beyond that was the Hudson River. Damon always liked it out back. It smelled fresh. Clean. The stillness and beauty of it always helped him clear his mind.

What was he doing with Cassie? Sure, he was having some fun with her right now, but what was he going to do with her? She couldn't stay there at the clubhouse. He wasn't going to let her move into his apartment. Was he just going to kick her out on to the road when he was done with her? He really didn't know.

He didn't bother turning around when he heard the sound of heavy boots on the wooden deck behind him. “What is it, Breaker?” he asked.

“How do you always know it's me?”

“Because you walk with all the grace of an elephant with a bum leg,” Damon said, finally turning around. “You make a distinctive sound when you walk.”

Breaker nodded and smiled. Michael Costigan, otherwise known as Breaker, was the club's police monitor. He was a geek who had slowly been bringing the Dragons into the 21
st
century by installing computers in the clubhouse – and teaching them all how to use them. Breaker had always amused Damon. He was quick witted, had a flair for storytelling, and always knew how to tell a joke.

He was only twenty-two, but was already a full patch member of the Dragons. Breaker was loyal and always put the club first – something Damon knew others couldn't say. He had long hair that was always tied back into a braid – just like Carl's. Damon had always assumed he wore his hair that way because he idolized Carl. He had eyes the shade of green of fresh leaves in springtime and a baby face. He was a good kid who looked way out of place among the rough, grizzled old bikers that filled out the ranks of the Dragons. Breaker spent most of his time at the clubhouse monitoring the police department on radio and the internet, alerting them to anything going on so they could avoid any trouble with law enforcement. He was really good at what he did and really knew his shit. Damon was thankful they had him on their team. He'd helped get them avoid more jams than he could count.

“Yeah, I guess I'm not exactly light on my feet,” Breaker admitted.

“What's up, kid?”

“Carl wanted me to come get you,” he replied. “Something you need to see.”

Damon downed the last of his beer and tossed the empty into a can beside the door as he followed Breaker back inside. He followed the kid to the back part of the clubhouse where Breaker had his office set up. Damon wasn't much for computers and technology. He had his smartphone and laptop, used them when needed, but didn't know much more than he needed to.

Breaker, on the other hand, was fully immersed in the technological world. His office looked like something you'd see in an FBI field office or something. There were monitors everywhere – some security video feeds, some computer monitors – as well as a hundred other things. Damon didn't need to know what everything did, so he never asked. Breaker, though, was completely plugged in. And, from this office, he monitored the local police bands in addition to keeping tabs on any open investigations surrounding the Dragons. It was all over Damon's head, but Breaker was wired in, knew his shit, and protected the club. To Damon, that was all that mattered.

When they walked into Breaker's office, Damon found Carl standing before the bank of monitors that provided the security feed for the grounds around the clubhouse. Breaker dropped down in the chair behind his desk as he stepped up beside Carl and looked at the monitors. It didn't take him long to see what had Carl and Breaker a little jumpy. A man with a slight paunch, thinning hair, and pasty white skin was poking around the back fence. He wore blue jeans, a white long sleeved button down shirt, and wire rim glasses.

Damon couldn't say with absolute certainty, but he had a sneaking suspicion he was looking at Andy – Cassie's husband. But how had he found his way to the clubhouse? How did he know this was where Cassie was holed up?

“Who is that?” Carl asked.

“Don't know for sure,” Damon replied slowly.

Carl turned to look at him. He obviously had an idea of his own, but was looking to Damon for confirmation. “If you had to guess?” Carl asked.

Damon wouldn't meet Carl's eyes, instead remaining focused on the monitors. “If I had to guess, I'd say it's Cassie's ex.”

“Kinda what I figured,” Carl said. “How'd he get here?”

Damon finally looked up and at Carl. “Couldn't tell you,” he said. “I have no idea. It's not like he saw me ride off with her last night.”

Carl nodded. “Breaker, do me a favor. Go and get our guest, will you? Let's ask her a few questions.”

Without a word, Breaker left the office, leaving Damon alone with Carl. There was a tension in the air and Damon could tell Carl was on edge. Having Cassie's ex poking around was about the last thing they needed. Especially with the run to Margaretville coming up.

“Before you even ask,” Damon said. “I have no idea how he got here.”

Carl nodded. “It's a problem for us.”

“I know.”

They watched the man poking around the back fence and Damon wasn't sure what he was doing exactly. Maybe looking for a spot to climb over? It was seven and a half feet high, made of cinder block, and reinforced with a double layer of steel rebar. It would take a tank to drive through the wall. And given the fact that the man looked like he was soft around the middle and probably not in the best of shape, Damon doubted he was going to be able to scale it.

The door to the office opened and Cassie stepped through, followed by Breaker who sat down at his computers again and tried to be unobtrusive as possible. Carl pointed to a small table sitting in the corner of the room that had several fast food bags and cans of Dr. Pepper scattered across the surface.

“Have a seat.”

Cassie sat down silently and looked at the two men with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

“Sorry about the mess,” Carl said as he picked up some of the bags and dropped them in the trashcan beside the table. “I keep telling Breaker there he needs to learn to pick up after himself.”

Damon shot a look over at their tech guru who appeared to have some extra color in his cheeks.

“Do you know why I brought you down here, Cassie?” Carl asked.

She looked at Damon briefly and then shook her head. “No, I'm sorry. I don't.”

Carl stepped aside so she would have a clear view and pointed to the security monitors. “You know that guy?”

Cassie's face turned ashen as her eyes grew wide. She looked like she was going to be sick. Her lower lip trembled and her tears shimmered with unshed tears. She looked terrified. “That's Andy,” she said softly. “My hus – my ex-husband.”

Carl nodded. “Uh huh. Kinda what I figured,” he said. “You know how he got here? How he found us?”

She shook her head vigorously. “I don't. I swear to God I don't.”

“You didn't make a phone call?” Damon asked. “Send him a text message? Anything?”

Cassie shook her head again. “I don't even have my phone. I left it at the house when I ran.”

“Then how do you think he found you?” Carl asked, an edge to his voice.

“I don't know,” she said as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I don't have the first clue.”

“I think I can help with that,” Breaker said.

All eyes turned to the kid and he gave them a lopsided smile and handed her purse to Carl. “I took the liberty of checking your purse,” he said. “I'm sorry for the invasion of your privacy, but I have to protect my club.”

Cassie scrubbed away the tears that rolled down her cheeks. “It's okay,” she said. “I have nothing to hide.”

“What did you find?” Carl asked.

“There was a small transmitter hidden in the lining of one of the pockets,” he said.

“A transmitter?” Damon asked.

Breaker nodded. “A tracking device. It allows him to know where she is at all times. He probably has an app on his smartphone linked to the device.”

Cassie shook her head and covered her face with her hands. Damon could see the color rising in her face and knew that, in addition to the terror she was feeling, she was feeling humiliated.

“I can't believe this. I'm so sorry. I didn't know,” she said quietly. “I was just looking for a safe place to hide from him until I could figure out what to do next.”

Carl nodded. “Breaker, take her back up to her room, if you would please.”

Breaker gently helped Cassie to her feet and escorted her out of the room, speaking softly to her as they left. Damon watched the man poking around outside, pictured him doing the things Cassie had told him Andy had done to her and a dark rage began to envelop him. Electric bolts of anger were shooting through his veins. He wanted to hit something – actually, he wanted to hit Andy. Pummel him. Beat him to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. He ground his teeth, clenching and unclenching hands that were dying to hurt. To destroy.

“You seem a little heated,” Carl observed.

“Yeah.”

“This isn't your fight.”

“I brought her here,” Damon said. “He followed. It is my fight.”

“You need a little perspective. And time to cool off.”

Damon shook his head. “No, I need to go deal with this. I brought this problem down on us. I need to go clean it up.”

“And by clean it up,” Carl said, “you mean making our little problem out there disappear completely.”

“Better you don't know specifics.”

Carl nodded. “I wish you hadn't brought the girl here,” he said. “But I can't and won't fault you for it. You were doing a good thing protecting her. And the guy stalking around out there is a problem. But we're not at the point where we have to do anything just yet. Don't get your hands dirty until you absolutely have to.”

“I can make this all go away, man.”

Carl shook his head. “Maybe in time. But not yet. Give him enough rope to hang himself with first.”

Carl left the room, leaving Damon alone to stare at the monitors – and at the cowardly piece of shit walking around out there – as the depth of his rage grew.