Reprise (23 page)

It took her a moment to realize that he likely didn’t mean them any harm. “What?” was her brilliant response.

“You shot, or your friend there?”

She looked back to V, who was staring at this new man with eyes just as wide.

“N-n-no,” she stammered, teeth chattering from the cold and terror of the moment. “We’re okay. Well, he’s beat up. But no one’s shot.”

A large hand took her upper arm and she let herself be helped out. “Let’s get you out of here before we draw attention, okay? Head over to Beast’s pickup truck. It’s warmer than the van.”

Another man in a leather jacket and jeans approached them. This one wore a knitted cap and gloves, and he took her from the first man and led her to the large black F-150 in front of the van, which was full of holes, as it turned out. He had to tug her along as she stared.

“Let’s get you in cab, babe. You must be cold.”

He tucked her into the back of the extended cab and shut the door gently. She sighed, the warmth of the interior seeping into her skin. When the door on the other side opened V was climbing in on his own, the tape gone from his wrists and mouth. He looked horrible, and his lip was split in two places.

“V!” she cried, moving close to him. “Oh my God. That must hurt so much!”

The long-haired man was reaching behind the seat and he pulled out a blanket which he handed to Vernon wordlessly, then shut the door again. V wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, with help from Mal, his teeth clacking madly. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and absolutely nothing on his feet. Jesus, he must have had to walk through that glass, too.

“Who are these guys?” she whispered, rubbing his arms to help him warm up. “Are they going to help us?”

“They already did,” he said through his shivers. “These are the guys I used to buy my weed from.”

“Who were the other guys?”

Now he looked guilty again. “They deal meth.”

She sighed. “Oh, V—”

“I know, I know! I did wrong.” Now he was sobbing. “I couldn’t stop. I tried. And then they told me I owed all this other money and I swear I don’t, they’re lying! This is just some ransom shit. I’m sorry, Mal. I’m sorry I got you into this.”

She shook her head and let him collapse to her side, face to her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not hurt, see? It’s gonna be okay.”

The long-haired man eventually climbed in behind the wheel and put the truck in drive. It had been running, that’s why they were so toasty inside.

After a few quiet moments she felt she had to speak. “Thank you so much for helping us,” she said, wincing at how lame it sounded. “Can...can you tell me where you’re taking me?”

His eyes met hers in the rear view mirror. “Somewhere safer than your apartments, I promise.”

Her unease returned.

“Don’t worry, red. We’ll take care of both of you. We even have someone who can make sure your friend hasn’t suffered any real damage.”

She tried to let that settle her nerves, but of course that didn’t happen. No one said anything else until the truck took a turn into Cleary’s industrial region, slowing in front of a building that bore a crest she recognized.

A crest with a big rat in the middle.

“Oh no,” she whispered, remembering seeing these men outside Harlon’s truck the night they’d...well.

The driver looked up to the rear view mirror, and she met his gaze. He smiled. “No need for you to worry, red.”

She
was
worried. She was in sweatpants, boots, a T-shirt and her jacket. She’d been ready to go to bed, and now she was holding her bleeding friend and about to be, apparently, dragged into a biker hangout.

The truck stopped, nose to the building, and their chauffeur opened his door and climbed down. Then he yanked open the back door and took V’s arm. “All right. Let’s go see Patch.”

“Patch?” V sounded weak but he stood under his own steam, waiting for the biker to again reach around the back of the seat. He pulled out another piece of leather and pulled it on over his leather coat. Before he swung it around she saw the rat patch on the back, and he caught her eye then turned to grab V’s arm and lead him to the door.

Mallory scrambled behind them, closing the truck door as the biker answered. “He’s a friend of mine. He’s also a paramedic.”

The inside of the clubhouse was pretty much exactly like any seedy bar she’d ever been to. Smoke hung in the air like trailing cobwebs, and there was raucous laughter from a gathering of men in a seating area in a far dark corner. She could see women, too, but she was mostly concerned with keeping an eye on V.

They were led past a bar and into a side room. The light came on and they were suddenly in a quieter room that held a mishmash of furniture, all looking like it came from a restaurant. Not a fancy one, but the table tops and chairs all matched. They were mostly stacked along a blank wall but a few were moved out with seating around them.

It was onto one of these chairs V was pushed down, and looked up at the man with them with obvious nerves. “Are you going to kill us?”

The biker laughed, a deep rumble, and shook his head. “Nah. I don’t like these guys that came for you. They’re assholes, they make trouble for people that don’t deserve it. My question, Vernon, is why you’re even taking that meth shit.”

Mallory swallowed. V knew these guys well enough they knew his name?

“Things have been...tense lately. I just wanted...”

“You come to us for that shit. We have never sold you bad shit. We have more than pot, you know we’ll take care of you.”

V looked over to Mal, then back at him. “The pot has something in it. My friend took some, gave some to Mal. We didn’t know what it would do.”

The biker took a deep breath, then turned back to Mal. “I’m sorry about that. But V was warned what was in it.”

“What’s in it?” she breathed.

“A little something extra that makes it more addictive.  Problem is it doesn’t stick to the shit evenly. Some of it carries more than the last bud. It’s added after.”

“So your pot is addictive?”

The biker nodded. “Not our call. I’m kind of at the mercy of my supplier, and that’s all I’m going to tell you.” He strode to the door, opened it, and turned back to them. “Wait in here. I’ll send in Patches.”

The door was loud as he slammed it behind him, and she jumped. Then she wheeled towards Vernon, who already had his hands up. “I know,” he cut in immediately. “I know, I’ve fucked up.”

“Shit, V. You’re buying pot from bikers? Pot is
legal
in Colorado, remember?”

He scoffed and she wanted to shake him. “The legal stuff is shit.”

“Well, it probably lacks whatever that addictive shit is that made me go absolutely nuts!”

“I’m sorry, Mal. In my defense, I told Hal that it might make you...you know. Extra frisky.”

She stilled “You told him that?”

He wouldn’t look her in the eye, but she didn’t think it was because he was lying.

“And what did he tell
you
about that night?”

Still he avoided her gaze.

“Great. Fucking fantastic. Nice to know you guys talk about me like any other piece of backstage ass you come across.”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“That’s how it
feels,
okay? At this point I don’t care anymore. I’m...I’m done with this shit. I’m done with the shit you guys cause me. I’m just...done.”

Finally the little prick looked up. “What? Mal, don’t say that—”

“It’s time I fucking grew up anyway.” She ignored the wrenching pain in her chest that was synonymous with heartbreak. “It’s not a career. It’s a fucking joke. All my life I’ve been doing this and my life savings won’t even buy me a coffin to be buried in.”

“Mal—”

She put a hand up to stop him, and he did. Then she crossed to one of the other tables and sat down, back to him. Her eyes were wet and her nose was stinging. She didn’t want to burst into fucking tears in a place this strange, surrounded by scary-looking bikers, without so much as a bra on to protect herself with. Everything felt too damn vulnerable tonight.

Chapter Eighteen

Tiny fastened the fly of his jeans and sat on the edge of the rumpled bed to reach for his socks. Even that bit of movement winded him, and when he straightened he took a moment to catch his breath.

“Limited lung capacity.”

He looked up, his body quickening at the sight of Doc Webber in just a pair of panties standing in the en suite washroom, even if he felt close to suffocating. She was narrow and thin all over, ribs standing out under her fair skin. Tits were small and barely notable. Her skin was absolute, alabaster perfection. While she was thin, she was also small-boned so she still appeared feminine. Dainty, even. But he knew she was strong. He’d seen her reset bones with her hands, and she’d handled him just fine not ten minutes ago, so there was nothing meek or mild about her.

He leaned over to pull one sock on. “That’s what we call it?”

“Tumors are squeezing the pockets in your lungs that actually process oxygen, letting it get where it has to be. Like into your blood. So your organs can work and all. It’s kind of a neat system.”

He smiled at the snark, setting the second sock to rights. “You
must
be a doctor. You’re so smart.”

She walked up to him, grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. His cock surged again, even if it was a little weary. Doctor Webber was a bit of a control freak with a morbid fascination for dying things, or so she’d demonstrated so far. They hadn’t discussed it, but his gut instinct was usually pretty good on stuff like this.

“Try chemo,” she said calmly, standing between his legs. He ran his hands up the back of her lithe thighs then back down again, stopping on the backs of her knees.

“No.”

Her blue eyes ran over his face. She was searching for some kind of mortal fear, he supposed. She wouldn’t find it. “You’re really not scared to die?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Why?”

“It can happen at any time. Why be scared? Being safe just means you never leave the house. And then what’s the point of living to a hundred?”

“No regrets on life?”

“Never said that.” Hands on her hips, he pushed her off so he could stand. She held onto his hair until the last possible moment.

“Can I see you again?”

He grinned again, noting how her skin broke out in gooseflesh as he ran one hand down the back of her arm. “Do I have a choice? You’re basically blackmailing me.”

“Into fucking? You poor thing. I am an evil woman, aren’t I?”

“I don’t want you falling in love with me, Doc.”

She laughed, and her small chest bounced. That was fun to watch. “Like the Sheriff and Fritter? Don’t worry about it. We saw how that went for them.”

Tiny frowned at her back as she walked to where she’d flung the clothes she’d answered the door in. She pulled on the oversized nightshirt before turning back to him.

“What’s wrong with what happened to Fritter and Sharon?”

She laughed again, but this time it annoyed him. “Are you kidding? She lost her job. The whole town is still calling her a biker whore behind her back. I’ve seen her. She’s half the woman she used to be.”

Tiny crossed his arms. “What are you saying? She was only her job, nothing else?”

“She’s a smart, capable woman who liked a good fucking from what I saw. But for Fritter she gives up everything and she’s okay with that?”

“She also lost a baby. Maybe she deserves a little time to adjust to a lot of fucking changes that happened all at once.”

Tracey looked as surprised as he was. His vehemence was unexpected.

“You should be careful how you talk about people I care about,” he warned, stalking towards her. She backed up, her ass hitting the edge of her dresser, and he took her by the throat when he was close enough. “Sheriff Downey always had nice things to say about
you
, you know.”

She squirmed in his hold, but he knew if he shoved his hand between her legs she’d be growing wet again.

“Men take,” she finally said. “Women give and men take. That’s the way it is.”

“Horse shit.”

She gave a dry laugh, flexing her hips against him. He did what he’d been thinking of and slid his free hand into her panties. She whined, gasped, and widened her stance to give him room.

“You like this?” he growled, fingers working into her.

She whimpered.

“You want to keep it, you keep your opinions to yourself.”

Nothing but a cry again, her hips moving against his hand, getting herself off on him. “You see that? You’re taking what you want right now, Doc. Just like a man.”

She likely wasn’t even listening. Her moans and grunts were loud in the room, but he was still able to hear his burner go off.

“No,” she muttered when he pulled his hand free and turned to the table where he’d dumped it. “Oh, you asshole.”

He flipped it open. “Yeah?”

“Tiny? You close to the clubhouse?”

“I can be there in about five. What’s up, Spaz?”

“Can’t say. Just get here soon. Jayce needs a word.”

He hung up, grabbed his T-shirt off the floor and pulled it on roughly.

“You’re walking out?” she snapped, still a bit flushed and breathless.

He grinned, then sunk to his knees on the floor in front of her, pulling her underwear down her legs. She helped him out by partially sitting on the dresser, giving a sweet gasp when he pulled her legs over his shoulders. “We’re three minutes away, not five. I got time.”

-oOo-

“What’s happened?” Tiny bellowed, striding into the quiet clubhouse. Not even music. What the hell was going on?

“Tiny, back here.”

He followed Jayce’s voice into the conference room. Jayce, Tank and Spaz were all waiting.

“What’s going on?”

“We got a phone call from the Dirty Rats in Montrose.”

He frowned at Jayce. “They called? What for?”

“They have Mal.”

Just her name would have been enough to deal a blow, but now the pieces were falling together. They knew her, they’d said they did. And the club had been putting off replying to their bid to put a Red Rebels patch on their walls.

Shit.

“What do they want?”

Jayce and Tank exchanged a look. “They don’t want anything,” Jayce finally said. “They’re keeping her and one of her bandmates safe. It turns out they were jacked by some meth dealers earlier tonight.”

A couple harsh blinks, then he was in control of himself again. “What?”

“They had her friend take them to someone who could pay off an imaginary debt, he led them to Mal.”

Tiny’s hands were aching, and he realized they were clenched.

Tank cleared his throat. “That fucking idiot nearly got her killed, but the Rats had been following him up until that point and they stepped in.”

“Why were the Rats following these guys?”

The other men shifted.

“What is it?” he roared.

Jayce put a hand up. “It’s Mazaris. They’re dealing meth in Montrose and Cleary. The Rats want them out.”

“The...the Mazaris had her?”

“She’s fine, Tiny,” Jayce assured him, approaching and clasping a hand on his shoulder. “But the Rats think the Mazaris have quite a few dealers and other hoods involved, and now she and her friend have been linked to the death of three of them.”

“Oh Jesus.”

“We should likely get her out of there.” Now Jayce looked over his shoulder back at Tank and Spaz. When he looked back his face was calm, voice gentle. “The question is, do you want her protected?”

“I...I don’t...fuck.”

“I know, man. It’s your call.”

“She was supposed to be touring. She was supposed to be on the road with that band.”

“I uh, I think I know why she’s not.”

Everyone turned to Spaz, and he sat up straighter. “There’s a video on YouTube. Some college town. Their lead singer collapsed. Someone shot it on their phone. She and another band guy gave the singer CPR, brought him back.”

“How’d you find out about this?”

Spaz shrugged. “Knuckles told me the band name. Told me to keep an eye on anything that got posted online about them, especially after the Dirty Rats approached Tiny.”

Tiny frowned. “Well, that was sure smart of Knuckles.”

Jayce put a hand up, reading Tiny’s tone for what it was. “No need to get all suspicious. Knuck asked me if I thought we should, I said sure. I didn’t think anything would come up. And nothing did, other than bar Facebook pages listing their acts for the weekend.”

“A few comments about Mal’s rack, too,” Spaz piped up.

“Not helping, Spaz,” Tank warned with a swat to the back of the head.

“Full disclosure!”

Jayce brought them back on point. “So the question is, do we go get Mal and find a place to keep her safe?”

“Safe from what?”

“They took her from the Mazaris, killed three of them when they did it. We know what those guys are like, and if they ask around they might find out a link from her to you.”

“What?”

“Small town, Tiny,” Tank pointed out evenly. “Ask who she is. People saw us in Cleary. We were all at your old man’s funeral in kuttes.”

“Fuck!”

“It’s your call, man.”

“I know!” He was shouting, which was unreasonable, but
fuck
.

At least she was okay. He hoped. Mazaris hadn’t been able to do whatever the fuck they had planned. But she
was
in a Rat den, and that wasn’t better by very much.

“They’re keeping her to get on our good side,” Tiny reminded Jayce.

“I know that. They’re showing we can trust them. The question is if I call them back and say she’s under club protection. Come on, Tiny. Just say the word.”

It had been a very strange day.
Very
strange.

“Tell them yes. She’s under our protection. I’ll go and get her.”

Jayce checked his watch. “It’s ten thirty at night. You’ll get there around one am.”

“I know. I’m used to driving late.

“You want to take anyone with you? I hear Knuckles is a delightful driving companion.”

Tiny shook his head. “No. I’ll go on my own.”

“Phone charged up?”

“Yeah, I’m good to roll. Just fill up the truck and I’ll be fine.”

Jayce clapped a hand down on his shoulder. “You need anything, call us. You bringing her here?”

“Yeah. I don’t have anywhere else to bring her. But I might stop for the night somewhere.”

Jayce led him back through the clubhouse. “Make sure she’s here for Christmas decorating tomorrow. I think the girls really like her.” Tiny had to smile. Then Jayce got serious. “You get a whiff of trouble call us. We’ll get out there as soon as we can, and get hold of Guido to see if he’s any closer.”

“Thanks man.”

His President let him walk to his truck alone. He shrugged off his kutte, folded it and tucked it behind the seat, then pulled a hoodie on over his T-shirt. He didn’t have a winter jacket, so he’d have to make do like this.

It was a peculiar deja vu as he stopped to fuel up at a 24-hour service station and grabbed a large coffee for himself. He’d driven late to identify the body of his father, and now he was going back to rescue his...his ex-girlfriend? What the hell was she to him, anyway?

-oOo-

“She’s out cold,” Tiny chuckled, returning to the bedroom he now shared with Mallory in their new home. He pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it onto the floor, then undid his jeans as he approached his side of the bed. “I wish I could fall asleep that fast.”

“Me, too,” Mallory agreed, her hand running up his bare back as he sat to push his jeans down and off his legs. “How was the trip?”

Tiny shrugged, tossing his jeans onto the pile he’d started with his T-shirt. “Like any other. There was a bad accident north of Denver. It snowed last night and a van hit the ditch. Family of four dead.”

“Jesus,” she breathed, her hand moving away as he swung his legs under the blankets and pulled them up to his chest.

“Yeah. It was bad. The guy ahead of me on the road was the one who found them, called 911. He was pretty upset.” He put an arm out and without hesitating Mal snuggled to his side, resting her head on his chest.

“How many truck drivers die every year?” she asked, voice sounding small.

“Probably a lot. Are you asking how many die on the job?”

“You know I am,” she scolding, tickling his side.

“A few, honey. I don’t know the exact numbers.”

“I worry about you. Especially in winter.”

He smiled up at the ceiling, running a hand up and down her arm. “I’m not leaving you, honey.”