Lobo walked out of the restaurant with Jake, another senior Blades member. They were both drunk, and so stuffed from dinner that they could barely walk. Jake was a huge firearms fan, so they’d followed a fun day using his AR-style rifles out at the shooting range with monstrous steaks, baked potatoes, and multiple pitchers of beer.
“Damn, that was a good fucking meal.” Jake rubbed his stomach, and lurched a little as he stepped off the sidewalk onto the dusty gravel parking lot.
“Damn straight,” Lobo laughed. “Fucking steak was awesome!”
“Clubhouse?”
“Yeah. I’m in the mood to fuck a few biker groupies, and maybe some of our delivery girls, too.”
“Great idea, boss.”
They straddled their Harley’s, and fired them up. As they tugged on their helmets, a van pulled up behind them, and the door slammed open. Their loud Harley engines easily covered the sound of shots being fired from inside the van. The two bikers never knew what hit them.
It was over in less than a minute. The van pulled away. The two bikers lay dead on the ground, completely riddled with holes. Jake’s Harley had fallen over on top of him, and Lobo was sprawled out on the ground beside his motorcycle. His arms were limply stretched by his head; they’d yanked off his infamous vest as he’d fallen.
Blood spread silently across the gravel beneath them, and soaked quickly into the parched ground.
Four Prospects were cleaning up the food truck parked behind a restaurant owned by the Blades. Meth stunk, and they were charged with keeping the vehicle spotless. Their latest batch had already been delivered, so once they’d finished this last job, they were done for the day. They all planned on hitting the clubhouse for some serious drinking.
Three of the men were inside the truck; the fourth was washing down the outside. None of them were paying any special attention to their surroundings.
“You done already?” one of them asked when the passenger side door suddenly opened, and the fourth man backed slowly inside. Then he noticed how his buddy’s hands were spread wide, and terror was shimmering in his eyes. “What the hell?”
Before any of them could react, the back door opened, and a plastic milk carton landed at their feet. It was filled with brown liquid, and had a timer duct-taped to its side.
The van rocked as both doors were slammed shut. The Prospects looked down at the homemade bomb, then scrambled for the doors. Before they’d taken a single step, the van erupted in an immense fireball.
The two satisfied migrant workers watched to make sure no one escaped. They’d done well, they concluded after a moment; there were no screams, no shouts, and no one burst from the burning truck.
Nodding, they climbed back into their own van, and sedately drove away.
“One more time, Daddy, please,” Alyssa begged her father.
“Okay, baby. This is the last time, though, okay?”
“Yay!”
Mike winked at his wife before he carried Alyssa over to the carousel. She’d insisted on taking Alyssa to the little town fair, and this was her favorite ride. It had been a great day, and he’d loved spending time with his daughter.
He paid for another ride, and happily watched as she climbed onto the bright pink pony and held tightly to the shiny brass pole.
She’s so beautiful.
The carousel started again. He saw, rather than heard, Alyssa’s cry of excitement. It was such a perfect moment, one to remember and treasure forever!
His attention was so focused on his daughter that he didn’t notice the man who stopped beside him.
Everything was perfect…until the first round entered his ribcage, and two more punctured his chest.
Mike took an unsteady step backwards. “Wha…?”
The shots had been muffled by the bright carnival sounds, and the thick denim jacket his assailant had draped over the gun. No one had heard a thing.
The man turned and casually walked away while Mike crumpled to the ground. As his vision dimmed, he saw Alyssa pass by one last time, smiling happily and clinging to her pink pony.
Alyssa. My baby. She’s so beautiful.
It was his last thought before his body went limp.
Carlos crossed several more names off the dry-erase board. Their attack on the Lone Star Blades was proceeding perfectly. Texts were arriving regularly now, and he felt a visceral sense of satisfaction as he crossed each name off the list.
“Four more dead.” Smiling, he turned to face Raven and Rowdy. They’d been stripped naked, gagged, and then tied securely to chairs facing the big board. Occasionally a muffled curse would escape Rowdy, but Raven’s eyes were wide with terror. Tears had left black trails down her exotic face.
“Four more Blades are dead,” he repeated, enjoying the pleasure of saying it aloud. Smirking, he bent over and met Rowdy’s blazing eyes. “Blades die easily, it seems.”
The biker’s renewed curses only amused him. “Anger,” he said softly. “Good. You will need it. You will need all your strength before we are finally finished with you.” The grin that curved his lips was pure evil, and Rowdy froze.
When Carlos stepped over to Raven, his smile turned gentle. “Señora Raven, you have nothing to fear from me.”
Hope flickered in her dark eyes.
“You see,” he continued, “I will not determine your future, nor will the men in my organization.”
He stood and gestured through the door. Isabel and the three other delivery girls stepped into the office. Their eyes were cold as they circled her. New fear erupted in her veins. Carlos laughed softly at her terrified expression, and waved an idle hand that encompassed the four women. “Your future will be decided by these ladies. I’m sure you have nothing to fear, however, because I’m certain you have treated them well.”
Isabel stepped forward, and slowly smiled. “Raven, it’s so good to see you,” she purred, and ran her fingers through the former-dancer’s long hair. “You will like what we have planned for you, chica.” Behind her, the other women laughed. “You see, we have some drugs that we’d like to share with you. What did you call them? ‘Little pick-me-ups’? Well, we have some little pick-me-ups for you. And we know of a place, just like the Blades’ clubhouse, where you can dance and service the men who come to see you. You will be popular, Raven, I guarantee it!”
Fresh tears ran down Raven’s cheeks as she shook her head, desperately protesting through her gag. Her expression begged for pity, for mercy. But Isabel felt none. Raven had cared for no one but herself. That attitude was common enough, but the stripper had taken it too far. She had deliberately used women, addicted them to drugs, and then stolen their lives from them.
She bent down and whispered, “You will have the future you planned for all of us!”
The phone rang, and Jingles snatched it off his desk. “Yeah.”
“It’s me,” Shane said shortly.
“What the fuck is going on?” Jingles growled. “I got a weird voicemail from Crystal, and now she’s not answering her phone.”
“It’s her fucking husband,” Shane said disgustedly. “He thinks I’m Crystal’s dealer, and wants to play superhero. I’ve set up a meeting tonight at our clubhouse, and they should be here shortly. I’m going to talk with both of them. He should be easy to talk down. I might have to scare him a little, but I’ll make this problem go away, one way or the other.”
“Good. She told me she’s going to leave the prick this weekend,” Jingles sneered, “and I’ve already got my attorneys working on a divorce. Fuck, Shane! The bitch is gorgeous, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s worth it!”
“No shit. Listen,” Shane assured him, “I’m going to talk the kid down. But if this goes sideways, we may need to take a more direct approach.”
“Prison rules?”
“Damned right,” Shane snapped. “I’m going to need your help with Crystal, though, so I need you to drive up here.”
“Fuck!” Jingles slammed a fist on his desk. “I don’t belong in the fuckin’ country, dude! I tend to stick out, know what I mean?”
“I hear you, but we don’t have any other options. You need Crystal, and we both need to take care of her husband. Right now they’re together, but if this goes south, we’ll need to separate them. I can handle Tim; I’ve already got plans in place. If the time comes, she needs to leave her pencil-pushing husband and go away with you…willingly.”
“I get it.” He nodded soberly. “You’re right, Shane. I hear you.”
“We don’t need her coming back looking for him,” Shane added harshly. “Or going to the police and asking them to search for him. She needs to forget about him completely. The only way she’ll do that is if she has something else to focus on…you.”
“Damn it, Shane, I get it!” Jingles snapped. “I’ve already got my own plans in motion. I’ll take her to Cancun. She’ll disappear in Mexico, and we won’t have to worry anymore.”
“Good idea.” Shane sounded grudgingly impressed. “No body, no crime.”
“Damn straight.”
“Stay near your phone,” he added. “I’ll be in touch, one way or the other.”
“Okay. Let’s take care of business, Shane, just like prison.”
That made the biker laugh. “Things were easier in prison, less complicated.”
“Fuckin’ right. In the joint, it’s kill or be killed. That ain’t complex.”
“All right, Jingles. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Luck, Shane.”
“Bye.”
Shane set the phone down, and shot a look at Coke. “Where the fuck is Rowdy?”
“No idea,” the big man said anxiously. “I’ve been calling and texting him all fucking day.”
“When did you see him last?”
Coke thought back, and absently scratched his beard. “It was earlier this week…maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. He’s been spending a lot of time with one of the delivery girls.” A sudden grin curved his lips. “I think he may be getting serious about her. He said she’s the best-looking piece of tail he’d ever seen, and he loved banging her Italian ass.”
“Remember her name?”
Coke snorted. “No. Hell, I still think we should give ’em nametags, because I can’t tell one from the other. I still don’t know how Rowdy knew his chick’s Italian…she looked Mexican to me.”
Shane’s head snapped up. “Say that again?”
“I said, she looked Mexican to me.”
Shane looked out the window, clearly turning something over in his head. Then he swore, and whipped back around. “How many of our delivery girls are brunettes?”
“Shit, Shane, I don’t know!”
“If you had to guess. How many?”
Coke looked confused. “Um, most of them, I guess. Come to think of it, the only white girls we got are Crystal and that other blonde babe with the really big tits. I mean for-sure white chicks,” he added with a helpless shrug. “Hell, it’s hard to tell nowadays.”
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, brother.”
“I want you to call everyone involved in our operation,” he said intently. “You know what I’m talking about, right?”
“Yeah.” Coke nodded. “What do you want me to tell them?”
“I want you to tell them to gather together. I don’t care where they go, but they need to stay together. Then I want them to move to the clubhouse. When they get here, they’re not to leave unless I personally approve it. Then I want you to alert the entire club, and tell them the same thing. I’ll call Lobo.”
Coke nodded again. “Got it.”
Shane pulled out his cell phone, then looked over at his friend. “Coke?”
“Yeah?”
“I also want all club members armed to the teeth,” he said quietly. Their eyes met. “Start with the guys in our operation, but I want the entire club carrying significant firepower immediately. Once you’re done with the club, alert all the old ladies, and make sure they take precautions, too. If someone can’t make it here, I want each group or club member to check in with the clubhouse every two hours until I say it’s time to stop.
“If you need money, take it from the safe,” he added, and scribbled the combination on a napkin. “We keep $200k in there for exactly this kind of situation. If you need more, call me.”
“Damn.” Coke soberly shook his head. “What do you think’s going on with Rowdy?”
He prayed he was wrong, but his gut didn’t think so. “I think Rowdy’s been snatched by the Mexicans. They’ve had a beef with him ever since he beat the shit out of some of their crew. Lobo and I didn’t say anything, but one of those guys was connected all the way to the top, and he got hurt real bad.”
He finished his beer, and slammed the empty mug on the table. “One of the weak points of our operation has always been the delivery girls. I didn’t put it together until now, but if you wanted to infiltrate our organization, using delivery girls is an excellent way to do it. You just said most of them look Mexican, right? How much you wanna bet you can’t reach some of our Prospects?”
“What the fuck?” Coke looked baffled. “I don’t get it, Shane.”
“Think, man! The Mexicans are making a move on us! It smells right. They never wanted to give up their territory, even for the percentage we paid them, and I think they’re looking to take it back. I’m sure they’re also looking for some payback on Rowdy.”
He dialed Raven’s number first, then muttered as he waited for the phone to be answered, “If I’m right, it means that the women we’ve recruited as delivery girls work for the Mexicans. It’s fucking smart, actually.” A reluctant smile curved his lips. “It means they’re probably snatching our guys up right now, and preparing to hit the club hard.”
“Fuck me.”
“Call everyone,” Shane instructed. “Right fucking now.”
The phone finally connected, but he only got Raven’s voicemail. “Raven,” he said quickly, “9-1-1, baby. I need you to get to someplace safe, someplace public, immediately. I’d prefer you go to one of the biker bars we’ve discussed, or Joe’s club. But either way, call me. I love you, baby,” he added softly. “Take care of yourself.”
He dialed Lobo’s phone next. Voicemail.
“Boss, I’m putting the club on alert. Coke is calling all club members, including the old ladies, and making sure they’re all armed,” he said. “I think the Mexicans are making a move against us. I’ll explain more when you call me. Watch your ass!”
He grabbed another beer, and tried to come to grips with the situation. The delivery girls had always been a risk, but he’d never considered this possibility. Rival gangs and organizations tended to be a lot more direct.
He’d talked to Rowdy, Coke, and all the Prospects about checking out the girls, but he knew the lure of easy pussy was strong. He’d put Raven in charge of managing deliveries, but remembered how the two men had overruled her a few times. It hadn’t seemed like a big issue then…but if he was right, it was going to be a huge blow to the club.
“Shane,” the big man called from across the room, “I only reached two of our guys. I had to leave voicemails for the other six.”
He was about to reply when Cliff walked in. “What’s up, guys?” he asked, when they both turned worried frowns in his direction.
Coke waved him over. “Seen Rowdy?”
“Not for a few days,” Cliff admitted. “I think he fell in love with that super-hot Mexican chick.”
“Mexican?” Shane’s eyes narrowed. “Not Italian?”
He started to laugh, then saw their expressions, and immediately stopped. “I don’t know her last name, but that chick is Mexican,” he insisted. “I grew up around here, and I think I can spot the difference, especially when the chick in question speaks fluent Spanish. I overheard her once speaking rapid-fire Spanish into her phone. I don’t know a lot of Italian chicks who can do that.”
The two men exchanged a meaningful glance. Then Shane nodded at the younger man. “Help Coke; he’ll tell you what to do,” he instructed, and watched them walk away. Then another thought occurred to him. “Coke, I want you to call our closest allies, too, and let them know what’s up. Ask for help…whoever they can send!”
He walked away so the two men could work, and stared out the window. Aside from informing the entire club, and taking standard precautions, there wasn’t much else he could do right now. He had to wait…but he was good at waiting. Prison had drilled patience into him, so he stood quietly, examining his options.
There weren’t many moves he could make until he knew their situation better. Their allies would help, but they’d also watch to see how the Blades reacted before they took action.
The priority now was defense and consolidation. Once they were all together, armed and organized, they could hit back. Until then, the name of the game was defense.
He checked his phone again. Still no returned phone calls. Briefly he toyed with the idea of calling Raven again, but decided against it. She knew the score, and she was naturally alert. It was unlikely she’d get caught unaware by anyone, least of all the Mexicans.
He finished his beer, and was about to grab another one, when the front door opened.
Fuck me, he thought disgustedly. I don’t need this shit right now.
In the panic, he’d completely forgotten that Tim and Crystal were coming in.
Crystal offered him a bright smile; Tim glowered at him. He motioned for them to take a seat far from Cliff and Coke, then leaned between the two men to murmur, “Keep working, guys. I’ll handle the civilians.”
Cliff’s head snapped up. “Crystal okay?”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Prospect, and help Coke!”
Cliff shrank back, and continued texting club members. Shane eyed him for a moment, then grabbed three beers on his way over to Tim and Crystal’s table. “Here you go,” he said politely.
Crystal started to get up and hug him, but he impatiently waved her away. Tim continued to glare at him, but finally took the beer and sipped it.
“So what’s this about me being a drug dealer?” he asked lightly, settling into the third chair.
“Tim’s just worried about me,” Crystal quickly explained. “He’s under the impression that you’re selling me Meth.”
He nodded to show that he was taking the matter seriously, then earnestly looked at Tim. “What can I say to convince you that I don’t sell drugs, and have never sold drugs to Crystal?”
I gave them to her for free, you dumb-ass, because I wanted your slut-wife addicted to Meth. Crystal’s been a great fuckin’ mule!
Tim restlessly turned the bottle back and forth in his hands. “If not you, Shane, then who?”
He raised one shoulder in a concerned shrug. “I honestly don’t know. I’m married now, and I haven’t been involved in Crystal’s personal life for a very long time.” He managed to keep the irritation from his voice, and squarely met Tim’s hostile glare. “Look, if Crystal is using Meth, then the priority should be to get her clean, not find her source. The source doesn’t matter. If she doesn’t get it from one guy, she’ll get it from another. Meth is everywhere. Your focus should be on getting her clean.”
Crystal eagerly nodded her agreement. “He’s right. I’ll stop taking Meth. I’ll go to rehab, therapy, whatever.”
Shane tipped his bottle back and took a long drink, then smiled encouragingly at Tim. “You’re not the police, and anyone dealing with Meth isn’t going to explain things to you peacefully. Seriously, man, focus on Crystal. If she’s hooked on Meth, she needs some serious rehab, and quickly.”
The two men stared at each other. Crystal fidgeted, nervously waiting for the stalemate to end. Finally she blurted, “Honey, Shane’s ri…”
“Give it a rest, Crystal,” he snapped, and shot her a quick glare before turning back to Shane. “I think both of you are lying to me.”
“Tim…”
He cut her off with an impatient gesture. “This is a waste of time. I’m leaving now, and I want you to come with me,” he ordered, standing and holding out his hand. “We’ll have dinner like you suggested earlier, and discuss our future together. Shane is right about one thing, Crystal…you need help.”
She sat frozen, confused and conflicted. Shane looked soberly at the younger man, then subtly shook his head at her. “You’re welcome to stay with me, Crystal. I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be with Tim right now.”
Tears flooded her eyes as she looked back and forth between them. She wanted to go with Tim, but she also needed more Meth. Shane was a good connection to her favorite drug.
“No, Tim,” she finally whispered. “I’m staying here.”
Bitterly he glared down at her. “I thought he wasn’t your dealer, Crystal.”
“He’s not…”
Shane stood up, and rounded the table. “You need to leave, Tim. Now.”
He stood his ground, which surprised Shane, but it didn’t matter. If blows were exchanged, Tim would hit the floor fast, and stay there.
Tim bravely folded both arms across his chest. “Why, Shane?” he demanded. “Why Crystal?”
“You married a slut, Tim,” Shane responded coolly, “a party girl who loves to get high. You let another man fuck her regularly, even when you weren’t there to watch. You let two guys who were part of a fucking outlaw biker gang help her become a stripper. She walks all over you, and you happily let her. What did you think would happen?”
Firmly he straightened to his full imposing height. “Leave, Tim. I won’t ask again.”
Tim glanced one more time at Crystal. She was crying, and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Scowling, he stalked out of the bar, and quickly drove away. The drive back to his empty trailer seemed long and bleak.
Carlos sat in his office, smiling coldly at the dry-erase board. Only three names remained uncrossed; all the other names had a solid black line drawn through them.
Shane.
Coke.
Cliff – Prospect.
He picked up his phone, dialed a number, and crisply ordered, “Andres, it’s time. Hit the clubhouse.”
“Shane, Coke, and Cliff are all at the clubhouse,” he added, smiling evilly at Rowdy and Raven. “My men will leave it in cinders tonight. It’s amazing how easily the Lone Star Blades have fallen.”
They kept their eyes fixed on Shane’s name. He was the one person who could save everything. He knew the Blades’ allies, and could call them for help. He had access to money and other resources. He could still save them. They put all their hope in him; he was all they had left.
Carlos studied them, and sensed that they still had hope. They still thought they’d be rescued by one of the remaining members.
He resolved to be there when the last traces of hope vanished from their eyes.
Shane’s classic Camaro careened around a corner, and fishtailed wildly on the gravel road before he got it back under control. He stomped on the gas pedal. The tires spun out on the loose gravel before finding traction, and rocketing the car forward. The old muscle car’s headlights barely lit up the gravel road, but he didn’t slow down. Its carbureted engine roared loudly into the night.
I don’t have time for this shit, he thought darkly.
Make time.
Coke is doing everything that needs to be done at the clubhouse. Cliff is following Tim to make sure he’s going to his trailer.
Tim needs to be dealt with tonight. I can’t go back to prison!
He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and cursed fluently as he tore down the back road. The thought of going back to prison scared him badly. “Fucking little bastard!”
Tears ran down Crystal’s face. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” He backhanded Crystal so hard that her head snapped against the headrest. Sobbing, she curled into a fetal position. “Fuckin’ junkie,” he muttered contemptuously. “Why did you stay with Tim? Why didn’t you leave him sooner? Fuck, Crystal, this is all your fault!”
“I’m sorry, Shane,” she quickly whispered.
He spared her a swift glance. “What the fuck do you think is going to happen if Tim goes to the police? Huh? Do you know? Do you even fucking care?”
“Yes.” She kept her voice low and soothing. “We’ll talk to him again. I know Tim. He won’t really go to the police.”
“He does, and everyone’s fucked, Crystal. You hear me? Everyone, even Jingles.” Then he added cruelly, “Even you. Especially you! What do you think happens to a drug mule? You ready to go to prison?”
“It won’t come to that, Shane,” she promised. “I’ll talk to Tim, and he’ll see that everything’s okay.”
“You fucking better,” he snarled, and jabbed his thumb into his chest. “I’m not going back to prison…not for you, and not because your weak-ass husband got his panties in a bunch. I know Jingles will feel the same.”
“He’s just concerned about me, baby. That’s all,” she whispered, and tentatively reached over to stroke his hair. “He saw the bruises on my body, and he got scared and angry. That’s it, Shane. Tim’s just scared and angry. If we just explain everything, he’ll be okay.” She offered him a more confident smile. “I’ll tell him that I’m divorcing him. I won’t be his concern anymore. Once he knows that, he won’t have any reason to go to the police.”
Shane stared out the windshield, keeping a sharp lookout for deer. Then he glanced quickly at her again. Fucking Meth-addicted stripper, he sneered to himself. “You calm him the fuck down, you hear me? We won’t get another chance.”
“It’s going to be okay, Shane,” she repeated, and smiled hopefully at him. “You’ll see.”
Ignoring her, he pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed-dial number. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said quietly. “It’s going sideways.”
Harsh profanity echoed from the phone, and he held it away from his ear until Jingles finally settled down. “Prison rules, right?” he asked tersely, and listened again. “Yeah. My trailer. Know the address?”
Another brief pause, and then he nodded. “Good. See you there. Text me when you get close.”
Sighing, he tucked the phone back into his vest, and concentrated on the road again. His hands weren’t clutching the wheel in a death-grip anymore, but his blood was still boiling. He couldn’t believe wimpy Tim had actually dared to confront him…and publicly, too, in the Blades’ own clubhouse.
Skinny little fucker has no clue what he did tonight.
He’d seen how Crystal’s refusal to leave had hurt Tim beyond belief. But she needed another hit of Meth, and she was hoping Shane would give it to her. It was no wonder she’d agreed to stay with him.
He’d needed Tim to leave the clubhouse under his own power and unharmed; the clubhouse videotaped all traffic, and showing the tape to some officious cop after Tim disappeared would keep the club from being implicated.
They’d both agreed that he’d go home; he had nowhere else to go. But just in case, Cliff would alert Shane if he detoured anywhere. They couldn’t afford to lose track of him now.
If only he’d just dropped his fucking crusade, and gone back to being a good little ignorant wimp! Crystal was leaving his ass anyway, so why was he being so stubborn?
She thought they were only going to talk to him again, and that was fine. Let her keep believing the fantasy a little while longer. But he’d become a threat that had to be dealt with.
No fucking way am I going back to prison, Shane thought for the millionth time. No fucking college boy or his junkie wife is going to send me back! Not in this lifetime! No way!
Crystal was the wild card tonight. Meth made its victims unpredictable. Right now she was calm, agreeable, and desperate for another fix. But would she stay that way? She still cared for Tim…maybe she even still loved the little fucker, he thought derisively, despite having decided to divorce him.
The little shit should have left her a long time ago. Fuck!
He’d reassured her, as they drove, that he was just going to talk to Tim and maybe scare him a little. She’d bought his story, of course, because she’d always trusted him…and she’d take any solution that kept her supplied with Meth.
She won’t be a problem after tonight. I’ll deal with Tim, and Jingles will handle her.
He expected to arrive home a good fifteen minutes before Tim. It was more than enough time for what he had planned.
The Camaro fishtailed wildly around another corner, but never slowed.
Before they reached the trailer park, Shane slid into a nearby gas station, and found a parking spot well away from the building. The overhead light was broken, so the Camaro was hard to spot. As an extra precaution, he shut off the headlights, then briefly composed his thoughts, and turned to face Crystal.
“Okay, I need you to listen to me,” he said softly, and forced an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry I hit you, but my temper got the best of me.”
She managed a shaky smile, but her eyes started to fill with tears again.
Jesus Christ, enough with the waterworks! he thought disgustedly.
No hint of his true emotions echoed through his low, soothing voice when he continued, “We’re going to wait inside your trailer for Tim to get back. Then we’re going to convince him that going to the cops is a bad idea for everyone. Understand?”
Her eyes were dull with addiction-hunger, but she nodded. “Yes, Shane.”
Restlessly she shifted in her seat, and scratched her bare skin. Anxiety and nausea were starting to build in equal amounts.
“Good,” he said gently. “I need you to help me with Tim. Can you do that?”
She’d have sold her soul for another fix. “Yes, Shane. Absolutely.”
“You need to convince Tim that we can work this all out. The cops don’t need to be involved,” he repeated patiently. “Then we can all go back to being friends.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He kept his voice calm and friendly. “When we’re all done, Jingles will come get you. He’ll take care of you. Okay?”
That made her eyes light up. “You promise?” Hope and hunger radiated through her pathetic expression, and emphasized just how badly she was hooked.
“Of course I promise,” he winked, then leaned over and hugged her. “Jingles told me how important you are to him.”
She smiled brightly at him, and ran a shaky hand through her hair.
Good, he thought coldly. She’ll do anything I tell her to right now.
“It’s time, Crystal. If you help me, I’ll get you some Meth.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Quietly he left the gas station lot, and drove the final stretch to their trailer park. Cautiously he parked at an empty trailer some distance from his own, so his car would be hidden. Then he walked Crystal back to her trailer. The other units were dark; no one was peering out their windows.
When Crystal stepped inside and reached for the light switch, he stopped her. “Leave them off.”
“Okay, Shane.” She sat obediently on the sofa, and looked up at him through the near-darkness. “Jingles is coming to get me?”
“Absolutely.” He turned away, and stared out the window. “I already called him, and he’s on his way now.”
“Thank you so much, Shane.”
“Why don’t you pack a small bag?” he suggested over his shoulder. “And maybe change into something special for Jingles?”
She giggled happily. “Good idea.”
Shane sighed, and shook his head. Damn, she’s dumb, he thought disgustedly. Well, she doesn’t need brains to lie on her back and spread her legs.
He stayed in the window, watching for Tim’s headlights, while Crystal cheerfully packed a bag, and aimlessly talked to herself. When his phone silently buzzed, he checked the display, and nodded.
Jingles is close.
Prison rules.
Jingles sat in the back of his Range Rover, and stared out the window as his bodyguard drove them toward Shane’s trailer.
The situation can still be salvaged.
Shane was in position, and he’d handle Crystal’s husband. Jingles would entice her into leaving with him, and they’d head right to the airport. Two first-class tickets to Mexico were waiting for them, and in a few hours, he’d be south of the border. When the sun rose tomorrow, Crystal would be in a different country…and Tim’s body would never be found.
He’d stay in touch with his attorneys, but he didn’t see any problems with their plan. Divorce papers had already been drawn up. If there was an investigation, Law Enforcement would see them. He could always claim they’d left because she was afraid of her husband.
Fuckin’ bitch is worth too much to stop now.
Impatiently he shifted in his seat. He was anxious to get this over with, then spend some time with her in Cancun.
It’ll take a week or two to get everything set up, and then the buyer can take possession of her. A million, he thought happily. I won’t take less than a cool million, and the Arabs might go as high as 1.5 million. I’ll enjoy using her for the last few days before she leaves with her new owners.
“How much longer?” he asked quietly.
His bodyguard glanced in the rearview mirror before replying, “Fifteen minutes.”
“Good.” He stretched again, and yawned. “I want you to stop about a mile from the trailer park. I’ll let Shane know we’re in position; then we’ll wait to hear from him before we roll in.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Tim drove home in silence. He’d known his marriage was over; he’d known she’d been cheating on him for months, and was hopelessly addicted to Meth. But now it was sinking in, and threatening to drown him in a river of tears.
He didn’t have a clue how to convince her to come home so she could talk with Darla.
Shit! I promised Darla I’d call her!
By now she’d be waiting by the phone. She was the only person, Tim thought dismally, who could get Crystal into rehab. Her influence was the only thing stronger than Crystal’s addiction or her attraction to Shane.
He was my friend.
Fishing, car shows, barbeques, beers, and good times. It seemed impossible that the hostile man he’d confronted tonight was the same Shane who’d once been his close friend. He’d changed so much after rejoining his motorcycle club!
Fucking bastard had kept seeing his wife behind Tim’s back, and she’d never said a word. Some friend!
Angrily he wiped his eyes, and tried to put it behind him. Their marriage was over. It didn’t matter who was at fault. He needed to face that, and move on.
I’ll call Darla and let her know what happened, and then drink myself silly. Tomorrow I’ll focus on the future…but not tonight. Tonight I’m getting my drunk on.
What the hell, it was as good a plan as any.
She’ll probably call the police herself, he thought suddenly, and smiled despite his churning emotional turmoil. She won’t tolerate Crystal doing drugs.
He pulled into the trailer park, and coasted his car into the driveway. The day had started out really great with his graduation ceremony, seeing Jeff again, and LeAnn. LeAnn was always wonderful. But dinner with them was out of the question. He’d be hanging out with Jack Daniels tonight, even though he didn’t like whiskey. Beer just wasn’t going to cut it this time.
Wearily he unlocked the trailer, and stepped inside his darkened living room. Automatically he dropped his keys on the nearest table, took a deep breath, and turned toward the kitchen.
Jesus, what a day.
The slight movement behind him startled him, and he started to turn. Then his head exploded with pain. He felt himself falling.
Everything faded to black.