Shooting Dirty (25 page)

“I need protection from the cartels.”

Bill grunted a denial. “No. I won’t take a cut of your profits, and you can deal with the competitors yourself. I don’t want to be involved. I’m just offering a truce. We can coexist without collaborating.”

“I don’t need a truce, old man,” Jester said. “I’ll sell my product in your town whether you like it or not.”

Bill didn’t say anything. White Lightning wielded a lot of power, but they were a Riverside club. Indio belonged to Bill, and Jester knew it. Having Bill’s permission to operate made a world of difference.

Black wings flapped at the edges of Ace’s vision, like a murder of crows, ready to peck his eyes out. He rolled onto his side, feeling nauseous. The negotiations continued. Ace wasn’t sure if they’d reached a deal or not. Everything was soft-focus, slow motion. He heard the voices from a distance, dreamlike. Someone nudged him with a hard boot.

“Is he still alive?”

No answer.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Put him out of his misery and let’s go.”

This was it. The end.

While Ace waited for the bullet, he thought of Skye. He’d loved her the first moment he set eyes on her. The feeling had bloomed, fully formed, inside his chest. It would always be there, strong and true, no matter what.

His love for Janelle was different. Not as pure. It was harder, messier, more complicated. Their love was grounded in physical sensation, in base desires and sexual attraction. He’d chosen her, marked her, claimed her as his own. But it went deeper than sex and pleasure. He was drawn to her inner strength and her resilience. He liked the whole package, and he loved the way they fit together.

Without Skye, he might not have been capable of romantic love. Becoming a father had softened him, just a little. It had made a tender place inside him, and allowed for another seed to take root. This seed had grown, against all odds, like a desert flower in stony sand.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret touching Janelle. He’d loved her more, in their short time together, than any other man had. He was sure of it.

This thought calmed him. He felt at peace with himself. He was prepared to die.

He wrenched open his good eye and looked over his shoulder, ready to stare death in the face. Jester was standing behind him, pointing the pistol at the back of his head. He fired once and fell forward, collapsing on top of Ace. The impact was jarring.

With fresh pain came a window of lucidity. Ace felt the wet warmth spreading across his back and realized what happened.

Jester hadn’t shot him.

Bill had shot Jester.

Bill had shot Jester to
save Ace
.

Or maybe he’d done it for selfish reasons, but the end result was the same. Jester was bleeding to death, gasping like a fish out of water. Then he went still and that was it. Bill nudged the body aside and freed Ace’s wrists with a pocketknife.

“I should shoot you too, you dumb fuck,” Bill said. “Can you walk?”

Ace wasn’t sure he could stay conscious, let alone get up and walk. “Snipers,” he said, gesturing toward the hills.

Bill helped him to his feet. “My men took care of them.” When Ace swayed, his gut churning with nausea, Bill held him upright. “I have to get out of here before the cops come. Wipe your Colt and leave it with Jester.”

“Janelle,” he said, with difficulty. His mouth didn’t want to work.

“I don’t know where she is. Wipe the fucking Colt, you hear?”

“Yeah.”

Bill released Ace and waited for a few seconds. “You look like hell.”

Ace used his shirt to blot his face, which felt like raw hamburger. Then he stumbled toward the path and found his Colt. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the surface of the weapon. Bill was already on his way back to Salvation Mountain. Ace placed his gun on the ground, near Jester’s hand.

Rest in peace
,
buddy.

His Colt had been his best friend, his most prized possession. Hanging it up meant retiring from the business for good.

But would Bill let him go, after this favor?

He couldn’t worry about that now. His thoughts were muddled, his ribs aching. He had to find Janelle. He stumbled up the path Jamie had taken, hoping he could stay conscious long enough to see her again.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tiffany stood at the edge of the canal, her blood pumping with adrenaline.

Should she jump? Run away? Stand her ground?

Pigpen looked terrible. He had dark bruises under both eyes. His nose was swollen and misshapen beneath a beige-colored bandage, his left hand wrapped in gray duct tape. Ace had really worked him over.

Tiffany had helped.

“I was hoping we’d meet again,” Pigpen said, lurching forward. He threw his left arm around her shoulders, using his injured hand to hold her in place. Then he stuck the barrel of the gun against her cheek and bared his discolored teeth. “You tied me up and drugged me, you dirty little whore. Now you’re gonna pay.”

Tiffany glanced down at the murky runoff in the canal. Maybe if they got a little closer, she could push him over.

He moved the barrel across her parted lips, laughing when she turned her head away. His breath had a strange chemical odor that reminded her of a public toilet. “On your knees,” he said, pushing her down.

Her hurt ankle gave out and she stumbled, smothering a cry of pain. She wasn’t going to blow this sick fuck. She’d rather eat dirt than take his disgusting penis in her mouth. The thought of performing a sex act at gunpoint made her shudder with revulsion.

No way.

She might be easy, but that was her choice, and she’d never let him take it away from her. Not without a fight. So she drove her fist into his ribcage, aiming for the injured area.
Take that
,
motherfucker
.

He grunted at the assault but he didn’t let go of her. He shoved her to the ground with his injured hand, forcing her into the position he wanted. The barrel of the gun bit into her neck, cold and deadly. He was wearing sweatpants, probably because his broken fingers couldn’t handle buttons easily. She bit his dick as hard as she could through the soft fabric.

“Bitch,” he screamed, hitting her across the face with the gun.

And everything went black.

The next thing she knew, she was flat on her stomach in the dirt. Her mouth tasted like blood and grit. She coughed, spitting out a red-tinged mixture. Her lips were swollen, teeth aching. Several seconds had gone by since he hit her. Now he was on the ground with her. He yanked down her leggings and tore her panties. She cried out in a hoarse voice, clawing the sandy earth. He might not be able to use his penis, but he had the gun. She kicked away from him and crawled to the edge of the canal.

He caught her easily. With one blow, he’d rendered her weak and helpless. She couldn’t do anything to stop him. She stared down the steep concrete slope and sobbed, blood-flecked saliva dribbling from her lips.

Then she heard a heavy thunk, and Pigpen fell sideways. He toppled over the edge of the canal and rolled down the slope, landing in the dark water with a terrific splash. His body started to sink and the current took him.

Tiffany gaped at the man standing over her. It was Rex.

He had a softball-sized rock in one hand, which he tossed into the canal. The water swallowed the evidence in one gulp. Pigpen’s shoes were still visible, traveling with the current. Then they sank below the surface and every hint of him was gone.

Rex slapped his palms together to brush off dirt. “Are you okay?”

Tiffany rolled over, touching her mouth with a trembling hand. Her lip was cut and swollen, but all of her teeth were intact. “I think so.”

“Then get up and fix yourself,” Rex said, glancing around warily.

She flushed at his curt tone, as if she was at fault for her state of undress. She pulled her leggings into place and rose to her feet, with some difficulty. Rex took a handkerchief out of his pocket and gave to her. She held it against her bleeding lip.

“You owe me a favor.”

She owed him two, by her count.

“My price for helping you is your silence,” he said, his expression grim. “Don’t talk about this to anyone. Not your friends, your coworkers or even your family.”

Tiffany didn’t argue. She was too shaken to say anything.

“You have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Good. If you get one, don’t tell him, either.”

She stared down into the canal, feeling numb.

He placed his hand on her shoulder and directed her gaze toward the hillside in the distance. “See that group of boulders? Your friend is there with her kid.”

Tears flooded her eyes at the news. “She’s okay?”

He grunted an affirmative. “She’ll ask about your lip. Tell her Pigpen hit you, and then you ran away from him. That’s it.”

She nodded her acceptance.

His attention was diverted by movement at the summit of another hill. They both watched as two men in black motorcycle masks followed a pair of White Lightning members toward the dirt road. It was difficult to see that far in the fading daylight, but the masked men appeared to have their guns drawn.

“You know who they are?” Rex asked.

“No.”

“Why are you here?”

“I came with my friend, to look for her son.”

“You’re Dirty,” he said in a flat voice.

She didn’t deny it.

He fell silent as his fellow club members got on their motorcycles and took off. The masked men left in a separate vehicle. “Wait here a few minutes before you go to your friend. Not too long, though. The cops might come.”

She took the handkerchief away from her lip and held it out to him.

“Keep it,” he said.

Fresh tears filled her eyes. She retreated a step, embarrassed by her emotions. The sudden weight on her sprained ankle made her stumble.

He grasped her arm to steady her. “What’s wrong?”

“I twisted my ankle earlier.”

“Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.”

He held on to her arm, frowning with concern. He seemed reluctant to leave her, despite her enemy-camp status. She stared back at him, fighting tears again. Her gaze dropped to the lightning insignia on the front of his vest.

He released her arm and moved back, raking a hand through his dark hair.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“I was.”

They stayed quiet for a moment, studying each other. Tiffany couldn’t stop the tears from falling, so she didn’t try. She finally broke eye contact. “Go on,” she said, turning her face away. She studied the dark waters of the canal until she heard his retreating footsteps. He climbed into Pigpen’s truck and started the engine.

Then he was gone.

* * *

Janelle crouched between the boulders with her son, trembling from the close call.

She wanted to check on Tiffany, but she couldn’t leave Jamie alone. She couldn’t even think about what was happening to Ace. Despair settled over her like a dark cloud, heavy and familiar. She’d felt this way often. Doomed by dysfunction, born to lose. Having grown up in two abusive households, she didn’t believe in happy endings. Safety was an illusion, or a luxury she couldn’t afford.

Ace had been wrong; she wasn’t a cycle-breaker. She was a realist, just like him. Life was what you made it, but sometimes there was nothing to make. Then you had to count on luck and circumstance. She’d never had a damned bit of luck.

She still had hope for Jamie, though. He could break the cycle. He was smart, and strong, with a natural competitiveness that might give him the edge he needed to get ahead in this world. She pressed her lips against his unruly hair, praying for him. His eyes lost the far-away look and the color returned to his cheeks.

“Did my dad try to kill Uncle Owen?” he asked quietly.

She drew in a sharp breath. “Who told you that?”

“Ace. He said that Dad pointed a gun at Owen.”

Janelle hadn’t known that. Although she’d been in the shed nearby, she hadn’t witnessed the actual shooting. “You can ask Owen. He’ll tell you the truth.”

He fell silent for a moment. “I should’ve killed that guy.”

“No,” she said, her heart twisting.

“I didn’t really want to kill Ace. I wanted to kill the other guy, but I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

She hugged him close, aware that he’d be dead if he had.

“I’ll do it when I’m older.”

“No, you won’t.”

His stubborn expression indicated otherwise.

“You have a chance at a better life,” she said, her eyes flooding with tears. “You can go to college. You can get out, like Owen.”

“Don’t cry,” he said in a calm voice. “I’ll go to college.”

The sound of an approaching vehicle made her stomach drop. An expensive-looking SUV drove by. Janelle stayed very still, praying they wouldn’t be found. Two masked men emerged from the SUV and moved with stealth up the next hillside. A single gunshot blasted, vibrating through the air.

That bullet was for Ace. It had to be.

Her heart went cold at the thought.

The masked men came back with two White Lightning members, holding them at gunpoint. The club members climbed on their motorcycles and drove away. The SUV followed shortly after.

Tiffany’s car was parked at the dead end, the driver’s side door still open. A wrecked motorcycle was lying on its side. There was another vehicle to the east, way out by the canal. It was the red truck. She watched it weave through the sagebrush before disappearing.

She was about to go searching for Tiffany when another man came over the hill. Pebbles rained down the path at her feet. She shrank back behind the boulder with Jamie, her mouth dry. The figure stumbled toward the road. She caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and coarse black hair. He was dirt-streaked and bloody.

“Oh my God,” she said. It was Ace.

As soon as he reached the gravel road, he fell down and didn’t get up. Janelle rushed toward him, her pulse racing. She knelt beside his body and clutched his red-soaked shirt. He’d lost too much blood.

“He’s going to die,” Jamie said bluntly.

“I’m not going to die,” Ace mumbled.

“You’re covered in blood,” Janelle cried.

“It’s not mine. Help me up.”

She didn’t help him up, because she didn’t think he could stand. He rolled over on his own. His front looked even worse than his back. One of his eyes was swollen shut. He had rivulets of caked blood across his face and neck. He was almost unrecognizable.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

She gaped at him in shock. He’d clearly gotten the sense knocked out of him. “I’m fine. Where’s Jester?”

He closed his eye. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Ace must have killed him. Instead of relief, Janelle felt...nothing. She stared at the man on the ground in a confused sort of apathy, as if he was a stranger. As if she hadn’t told him she loved him just a few short hours ago. Maybe she’d hit an emotional wall. That wall was impenetrable, like Ace’s cold blue gaze used to be. Only she was the one who couldn’t feel anymore.

She’d found a new self-defense mechanism: her heart had drifted.

A pale green Chevy arrived with several Dirty Eleven members in tow. They loaded Ace into the truck like a sack of potatoes. One of the men asked Janelle if she needed a ride. She glanced at Tiffany’s car and saw her best friend standing there. Tiffany’s clothes were dusty and torn, but she looked okay.

Thank God.

Janelle grabbed Jamie’s hand and walked toward Tiffany, overwhelmed with relief.