Niner: Motorcycle Club Romance (Savage Saints MC Book 11) Page 11

  He seemed to delight in the word “unsavory” as if his tongue derived pleasure every time he spoke it. It made me look in Sam’s direction. He hadn’t pushed the button to call for help yet, but…

  “What I need from you, Carrie, is to make sure that you spend your time around people who will inspire you and encourage you to run the business in as best a way as possible for the bottom line,” he said. “I have seen the people that you associate with. I have seen who, shall we say, you ride with.”

  Fuck! Why does he have to remind me of that?

  “They are people who are just not conducive to you running an effective business, Carrie. They will drag you down. You will lose the ability to think around these people. They will get you into bad habits, and we don’t want that for you, now do we?”

  I had struggled to speak back but introducing Lane to this was inexcusable. Whether or not he knew Lane as an MC club member or just a man was irrelevant to me.

  “I am an independent and grown-up woman, Damon, and I will hang out with whoever I damn well please,” I said. “If that is the condition of your investment, then there will be no deal. You can forget it.”

  Damon recoiled for a second, and as he did, the look on his face was one that terrified me. I wasn’t looking at a man so much as I was looking at a demon. The scowl on his face and the glare of anger was something straight out of hell.

  And unlike most people who tried to quickly recalibrate such looks and make it seem like they weren’t so bad, Damon instead accentuated the look.

  “You’re making a grave mistake,” he growled. “I would encourage you to change your mind, Carrie. This will be the only time I make a second offer.”

  “And this will not be the only time I say no. No.”

  I looked at Sam, who nodded back to me. He was ready. I looked back at Damon.

  “Very well then,” he said, suddenly going back to the creepy but not quite as evil look as he had had before. “If you chose to flounder, then flounder. I have no interest in food, I’m afraid. You have done a remarkable job of destroying my appetite before it even picked up.”

  I shrugged. I was done speaking to Damon. If he had something productive to say, then I would hear him out.

  Otherwise, I would wait until he left.

  “You enjoy your day,” he said, his tone suggesting he very much did not want me to enjoy my day.

  It wasn’t until Damon disappeared from view that both Sam and I audibly gasped in relief.

  “What a creepy dude,” Sam said. “I thought he was going to try something.”

  “I did too,” I said.

  Unfortunately, he had done something. He had made it such that I was now a little fearful for the future of the restaurant, and I didn’t mean because money was tight.

  Rather, I meant that a guy like him, rejected like so, was bound to come back into my life with a wrath and fury that would spell trouble not just for my store, but for me. Someone like him, who didn’t mind creeping on me while I was Lane and who didn’t seem to mind showing his ugliest side before me, was someone that was a real threat.

  I needed to text Lane about this, but I also knew the second that I did, we’d have to talk about another reality that was seemingly unchangeable because of my refusal of Damon’s offer.

  I wasn’t going to be in New York City much longer. And because of that, we’d be ending the brief romance that we had.

  Just thinking about that was enough to cause significant pain.

  “If he comes back, yell for me,” I said. “I need to go take care of a few things in the back.”

  Mostly, I just meant my mind. Things were pretty down right now.

  Chapter 13: Niner

  I sat on my bike late Monday night—or rather, at this point, Tuesday morning. Brooklyn, as much as it could, had gone to sleep. The few people roaming the streets were likely doing so for illegal reasons, and every single business in sight had closed for the night.

  That was just as well. If we came across the Bloodhounds, things were going to get bad and ugly really fast. The fewer things we had to worry about, the better—and by things, I meant civilians. If it sounded like war, that’s because I saw it as such.

  Damon and the Bloodhounds had to be killed at all costs, no matter what it took.

  And fortunately, the Savage Saints had more than stepped up their work to get the bastard.

  Reconnaissance done by Fitz and Uncle had listed a warehouse just on the outskirts of Brooklyn, right by the edge of Queens, that Damon had been seen near. We had sent a couple of members out on a drive-by—a casual drive that happened to intersect with the warehouse—and they had at least confirmed the sight of multiple motorcycles. It was too early to say if this evening raid would give us Damon, but there were a few things I knew about the monster.

  He liked to launch his attacks late in the evening. So it was likely that he would be up at this hour. He liked to jump from spot to spot each night, so while we didn’t have a guarantee of him being there, we had to take the risk now. And he surrounded himself with thugs, even back before he had become part of the Bloodhounds.

  All of the evidence supported the claim.

  Two other Savage Saints and Biggie pulled up next to me on their bikes. We were like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, if this were the end of Damon’s life. With any luck, it would be.

  “Kill anyone that points a gun at you,” I said. “Otherwise, knock them out. I want to have a word with Damon before we put an end to his life, and I want our entry to be a surprise as much as possible. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” the other three said.

  It was all I needed to hear. I fit my helmet on tightly, revved the engine, and sped into the night toward our target. I cleared my mind by tuning in to the high-pitched whirring of my bike and keeping my head on a swivel. It was hard to let it go to some other places—such as last night—when I had to stay on high alert for my own sake and the sake of my men.

  The warehouse in question appeared on our right after about ten minutes of driving along empty New York streets. Even by New York standards, which were unusually grimy and old-school, this particular building looked the part. Rust was visible even from the streets, and a few of the windows were knocked out. If Damon was looking to hide from the police and us, he sure had come close to picking hell on Earth.

  I waved the others in, and we parked our bikes as far away as possible. Inevitably, our bikes would have made some noise, but the less obvious that we were coming up to attack, the better. All of us slung our rifles over the edge as we approached the building, which at this point only had one bike in front of it.

  This didn’t make me feel great. Damon would not have slept or gone anywhere alone, at least not at night. And even if he had, he would have had plenty of hidden security. It was more likely someone was staying behind as a decoy, but even decoys could prove useful.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  I wished I had some of the technology of the Vegas Saints, but we were too far along in the process to be playing wish-fulfillment right now. I pried open a door with my rifle, stepped in, and scanned the room.

  It was…almost empty. There was nothing of storage inside. There were no cars, no trucks, nothing.

  But the keyword was almost, because there, standing in the middle of the warehouse, was a single Bloodhound. He was very much alive. But he had his back turned to us and was humming to himself. He looked like he was either waiting for someone or had to guard something and was bored out of his mind.

  I held up the hand for the other three Saints to stop. If he was the only person here, it didn’t make sense for us to knock him out. He was more valuable conscious and talking than dead and silent. I raised my gun.

  “Hands up! Hands up!”

  I stormed to him, ready to shoot if necessary. The Bloodhound did immediately as commanded. I turned the corner and looked him in the eye.

  “You with the Bloodhounds?”

  “Who?” he
said, but it sounded too rehearsed.

  “You play dumb with me, I get dumb with my trigger,” I said. “Do you understand? Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  The man gulped. Sweat poured down his face.

  “Yes,” he said. “They took me in. They didn’t give me a choice. They said—”

  “Shut it,” I said, pressing my gun into his sternum. “You talk to us, you live. You play games, we kill you. Got it?”

  The man nodded as the other three Saints surrounded him.

  “Keep an eye out for any ambushes,” I said to the other three Saints before turning my attention back to the man in question. Even with the cover of darkness, with only the moonlight providing a picture of the man’s face, the abject terror was obvious. “Who are you? What’s your name?”

  “Charles. Charles David.”

  “Charles. You said they forced you to join? What the hell do you mean? Explain.”

  Charles nodded quickly, the sign of a man more than willing to talk. I hoped that the rest of the Bloodhounds were like this; it suggested that Damon had conscripted these men, coercing them with threats. That might have raised numbers quickly, but it also meant people would betray the cause at the first sign of danger. Score one for the organic approach of the Saints.

  “Damon, he knew my criminal background. I don’t know how, but he knew that I’d done a lot of shit. He tried to lure me in with promises of prosperity, women, all the drugs I could have want. ‘Riches and bitches’ he said.”

  I was tempted to smack Charles for being so stupid. Only my sense of duty kept my rifle and hands down.

  “I said I wasn’t looking for that, I was looking to change my life around for the better. Damon kept trying to charm me, but when I said no for the third time, it, it was like he became a monster. He said that he would find my family and torture and kill all of them. I, I can’t let anything happen to them. I had to. I’m sorry.”

  “Save it for God,” I said. “Why are you here right now?”

  The man gulped as if revealing the secret would get him in even more trouble.

  “Talk,” I said, my eyes going wide. “Or you’re going to wish Damon was in front of you.”

  “Niner!” Biggie yelled.

  I took a couple of deep breaths. I knew what Biggie was doing—he wanted to make sure I didn’t repeat the mistakes that had cost me the job at the NYPD. The politics weren’t as present, but most of the other conditions sure were.

  “Damon wants one of us at all the locations he goes to,” he said. “Well, two.”

  I looked over at Biggie.

  “We scouted the area. No one’s here. Just some chains on the ground.”

  “They will be,” Charles said. “He just went to talk to Damon.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know, I swear! I swear, I don’t know. I, I—”

  “Stop repeating yourself and get a grip!”

  Same applies to you, Niner. Don’t lose your shit here.

  “I really don’t know. He got a phone call that he stepped outside to take and then said he would return.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Then tell me this. You’re a new MC. Why the hell are you targeting the Savage Saints? What the hell have we done to you?”

  “You think I know?” Charles said, almost defiantly. “You think I have any fucking idea?”

  “Yes.”

  Charles bit his lip. He knew I’d called the small, fear-driven bluff he’d produced.

  “I don’t know details. But what I know is that I see Damon with a man who sometimes hands him a suitcase. I assume that suitcase has a shitload of money in it.”

  “And this man?”

  “He’s, he’s super skinny, black hair, looks like he’s in his late twenties maybe. Rail thin. White-collar.”

  Kyle…

  I think we had all suspected that Kyle was behind this. Many of us, in fact, probably just assumed it as fact, though we had largely done so without evidence. But hearing it so viciously and brutally confirmed…

  “Where is this man?” I roared. “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know, I—”

  My frustration got the better of me. I butted Charles in the head with my rifle, knocking him out.

  “Niner!” Biggie yelled, running over to me and pushing me away from doing anything worse to Charles. “The hell, man? That’s our only source of information, and you just knocked him out!”

  “He’s a Bloodhound, and he works for Damon; he deserved it.”

  “Niner!” Biggie said, but his voice had calmed down significantly. “This isn’t like you. I know that Damon is triggering you hard. I need you to calm down for me, though. OK? You’re most effective for us when you have a level head.”

  Goddamnit, I fucking hated when Biggie was right. I hated that he was the only person in the club who understood me. Even after I’d shared the story of my past with everyone, only Biggie had been around longer than the duration of the Savage Saints’ existence.

  “Fine,” I grumbled. “Kill him and let’s get out of here.”

  “Woah! We are not killing him. You want the cops on our asses? You’ll play right into my brother’s hands. You think he doesn’t hope that we get arrested for suspicion of murder? They’ll trace it back to you somehow. Even if there isn’t hard evidence, Kyle will work his channels to make sure you’re the prime suspect.”

  Again, I fucking hate you, Biggie. Especially since you’re right.

  But we couldn’t just leave Charles to rot. As soon as he woke up, he’d go running to Damon and tell him that we’d come for him. In the absolute best case, Charles would just desert everyone and everything, but I’d learned long ago in the NYPD not to rely on the best case happening—there was a reason it was the “best” case of many, not the “only” case.

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s tie him up and plant him with something. He’s got a gun. Let’s tie him up here and get him in the hands of the police and off our backs for a moment.”

  Biggie seemed to accept that as a response enough. Emotions were running high for me, and it was difficult for me to process. But if I couldn’t kill him, I still wanted him removed from the scene.

  “If there’s nothing else here, let’s get back to the clubhouse. We can discuss everything with Marcel.”

  I started to leave.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” I said. “Destroy his bike.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes, one destroyed bike, and one criminal called in on later, we had returned to the repair shop without the prize that we wanted, but something that I supposed somewhat counted as progress. It absolutely wasn’t what I wanted, but I had to remind myself this took time. Time that will allow Damon to rape and murder more women if we don’t hurry the hell up.

  “So it’s official, then,” Marcel said. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I think we all suspected that Kyle might start fighting dirty. I am surprised he’s using an MC against us.”

  “You know who kills the greatest number of gang members?” I said. “Other gangs. It’s not cops. It’s certainly not vigilantes or heroic citizens. Gangs kill gangs. And, similarly here, Kyle rightly believes the easiest way to kill an MC is to create another MC. He might have created a monster that he can’t control, but that’s something we won’t be around to experience if we don’t kill them first.”

  This was so frustrating to me. It pissed me off that Damon’s return had created a sort of role reversal, where I had become the emotional and violent one and the rest of the club had become the calmer, more collected ones. The only one who seemed to keep his personality was Uncle, and with his age and utility to the club, he wasn’t someone that was going to go into the fight with guns roaring as much as his mouth.

  “What do you propose that we do then that we aren’t already, Niner?” Uncle said.

  “We can’t bring this to him or to his superiors? Use our knowledge to pressure him?”

  “That’s fighting on his terms, and while
I’m good at it, Kyle has the upper hand,” Uncle warned. “Kyle’s played in politics for some time now. He knows how to cover his trails. We can eventually win if we get him to slip up.”

  So we’re already trying to pressure him.

  “Are we not getting him to fight on our terms?” Biggie asked. “We forced him to create the Bloodhounds. If that’s not getting him more involved on the violent level, I don’t know what is.”

  “By proxy, but that’s not good enough,” Marcel pointed out. “He’s not on the streets fighting us. He’s not shooting guns. He’s paying a criminal to do it for him. It’s fucked up, but it’s sadly brilliant for keeping his hands clean.”

  He’s right. So with all that we had accomplished tonight…we were basically right back where we started; we just had a little bit more information and confirmation than before. I suppose the Stones would be satisfied to know that their suspicions were right, but we weren’t the police; we were an MC. We couldn’t use the law or influence to get Kyle out. We could only use violent means or shady tactics to win the fight.

  And while Uncle seemed to have ways of making it work that I didn’t know, it clearly wasn’t enough at this point. And in any case, my concern in the short term and on a personal level wasn’t Kyle.

  “We can’t worry about Kyle right now,” I said. “I know that killing Damon isn’t getting to the root of the problem, but if Damon is a thorn sprouting from the root, he’s going to be the sharpest and most lethal thorn that there is. We need to kill him as soon as possible. Kyle has just caused us trouble. Damon has raped and killed more people than I care to count, and it was bad enough at one.”

  “Agreed,” everyone said at once.

  The conviction was there. But it was frustrating to know the actions of the evening so far had not worked.