Betraying Beauty (Sons of Lucifer MC): Vegas Titans Series (7 page)

Dominic’s face blanches. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he growls.
“How the fuck is that possible? How’d he find out about the safe house? That’s
a completely civilian operation.”

“I don’t know,” Grindhouse gasps. “No fucking clue. But
Prez, we gotta get back. Right now.”

“Yeah no shit.” Dominic turns and squints toward the porch,
where Stout is watching us with crossed arms. “Stout,” Dominic shouts, his
voice cutting above the crowd, “Thanks for your hospitality.”

Stout nods. “Don’t mention it.”

Dominic turns and sweeps his gaze over the crowd. “Brothers,
you heard what Grindhouse just told me and this proves my point. Leviathan just
burned down our safe house, something we’ve been funding secretly on the side
but has nothing to do with MC profits. They’re striking at our heart, again,
and no territory is safe. First Heath and now this—it’s only a matter of time
before it happens to you all. I’ve got to cut the summit short and go protect
my fucking home. I hope this will only strengthen the words we’ve spoken
tonight into a resolve to stick together and kill these motherfuckers dead. The
Depraved Club cannot be ignored. Our way of life must survive. Sons of Lucifer,
saddle up!”

The laughter and lightness of the race are gone. Sober faced
men raise their fists in the air, or toast with their mugs of moonshine. But
the whole group is silent as Dominic and the familiar faces of the men that
came with us from Las Vegas walk to their bikes.

Though part of me wants to melt and disappear into the crowd
and hide from everyone, the larger part of me walks toward Dominic.

He doesn’t even need to grab my wrist this time. For some
reason, I hop on the back of his bike of my own free will.

Chapter Seven

Harper

By the time we get back to the city, deep, weary exhaustion is
sinking into my bones and the yellow winter sun is beginning to rise. It’s cold
now, but soon it will be hot. The desert is harsh, all times of the year. Still,
I feel myself clinging closer to Dominic for warmth.

I’ve been awake for god knows how long, riding a Harley back
and forth on highways all night clinging on for dear life to a frightening, angry-as-hell
Dominic Thorne.

One minute, I’m thinking of the odd moment after the midnight
motorcycle race where his lips touched mine and awakened all the feelings and
important words I left unsaid ten years ago. That moment didn’t feel wrong, and
neither did his kiss.

How the hell is that possible?

Because the next minute, I’m remembering that Dominic’s in
charge of the biker gang that I saw kill a bunch of people at the Depraved Club—including
Danny. Sure, the people they killed there were definitely bad people: sex
traffickers, criminals, and pedophiles. The Depraved Club they ransacked was dark
and sinister, something that should be destroyed…something evil.

But then, wasn’t Dominic’s violence just as bad? Isn’t it
wrong to kill—no matter what?

My world is totally, completely upside-down. I don’t
understand how this is has all happened: how my safe, pampered, predictable
life has suddenly derailed and left me helpless in Dominic’s hands. Big, rough
hands. Hands that I stare at over his shoulders, gripped around the bike
handles. Hands I want to feel on my skin, in my hair. Hands that make me
tremble.

My body hurts. My brain hurts. My heart hurts. But now, I’m just
too damn tired to be scared or in shock anymore.

I just really, really want to sleep.

But as Dominic pulls the motorcycle to a stop at the curb of
a business block, I realize sleep is probably a long, long way away.

The corner we’ve pulled up to obviously once housed a
building, but now it looks like an empty lot filled with debris—something like
the pictures I’ve seen of bombings in Iraq. There’s nothing here but the
blackened, smoking remains of what looks like it was a pretty big building on
the corner, and sand. Lots of sand. For a second, in my tired state, I’m
confused.

Are we back at the D.C. club?

Dominic parks the bike and stands slowly, walking towards
the wreckage like a man in a daze. His habit of holding on to me by the wrist
is back, and I trail quietly behind him like a shadow until something crunching
under my heels makes me jump and look down.

It’s shattered glass, from blown-out windows? And it’s all
over the sidewalk, spilling over into the street. That’s odd. If firefighters
had broken any windows trying to put out the flames, the glass would have
fallen in or around the walls. But it’s everywhere, as if scattered by an
explosion. And there’s no sign of any windows—or walls—left.

“What happened here?” I breathe, staring at the violent scar
of the building.

“Colt,” Dominic rumbles. The name is like a curse on his
lips. “That’s what happened. Fucking Colt from the fucking Depraved Club,
trying to annihilate me, the Sons, and everything we hold dear.”

I remember the name Colt for some reason. He was who the
bikers were looking for when they raided the Depraved Club yesterday, when Danny
got killed and my life was destroyed.

“Payback for what you did to his club?” I ask, my brain
reaching for understanding like a receding ocean tide.

“No, this had to be pre-planned. We both seem to have come
to the conclusion that this town isn’t big enough for the both of us at the
same time. He wants us crippled and dead just as much as we want him out of
town.”

Dominic crouches down, gingerly picking up what’s left of a
melted and warped purple vinyl pub sign. On it are the words, “The Thunders,”
and a picture of what looks like a Native American warrior with wings, holding
bolts of lightning.

Dominic sighs and rubs his face. “They were always my
favorites growing up,” he grunts. “The thunder people. Seemed like the right
name for my own business, when I finally got it off the ground. It was a
miracle, just like something out of the myths my mother used to tell me.” He
stands erect, staring balefully at the demolished corner. “Almost too good to
be true. Obviously too good to last.”

Surprised by this personal tone, I clear my throat. “Your
business?” I ask. “You own a bar?”

He nods, his face as heavy as a storm. “Not just a bar. The
whole building.”

And he’s moving again, dragging me along behind. Caution
tape is strung around the perimeter of the burned-out corner, but Dominic
ignores it and tugs me over what would have been the front door until we’re
wading through piles of debris.

“Whoa,” I say, tottering on my 4-inch heels in the uneven,
dangerous new terrain. “Slow down, having trouble walking in this mess.”

Dominic stares grumpily at me, down at my shoes, and back to
my face with a wry grin. “How do you survive in this world? Seriously. High
heels, expensive jewelry. You’re totally helpless.”

At his words, my hand flies protectively to the silver chain
of the necklace I always wear, making sure it’s safely hidden under my
neckline. It is.

“Excuse me if I didn’t know to dress for mass homicide,
biker gangs, and arson,” I snap, suddenly feeling judged. “I was under the
impression when I got ready for work
yesterday
morning that it was just
going to be a normal, ho-hum day in the life of a woman who lives within the
bounds of lawful society and never spends more than five minutes at a time
outside. Or do bikers never bother with air conditioned cars?”

His grin fades instantly, replaced by sarcastic seriousness.
“Can’t say that we do much. Do heiresses? Or do you pretty much stick with
golden carriages and winged ponies?”

“For your information, I even sometimes take the bus to
work,” I announce.

He grins lopsidedly. “Guess you like to see how the other
half lives, make sure the proletariat is still there, slogging away to support
the fat cats? Seems to be a habit of yours. Well, here’s a front-row view of
the bottom, sweetheart: a workingman who’s just lost everything.” He sweeps his
hand to indicate the burned-out scar we’re standing in. “Now if you don’t mind,
I’d like to get back to examining my decimated property.”

Mouth open to retort, I’m brought up short when he suddenly
pulls my arm over his head and swings me up on top of his shoulders like a sack
of potatoes.

“Hey!” I protest. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“Obviously not,” he mutters.

Embarrassed and overpowered, I’ve no option but to kick
futilely as Dominic marches us deeper into what’s left of the charred building.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “There’s nothing left.” I swing
helplessly in the air as Dominic mutters and kicks over pieces of wood and
metal as if he’s searching for something. “Cocksucking motherfucker, I’ll kill
him. I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”

“Him who? Colt? Why is he trying to get rid of you? What
started it?” I ask.
            But he isn’t really listening to me. Instead his body goes quickly
tense and still at the sound of a sudden crash somewhere to the left.

“Shh,” he whispers, lowering me carefully to the ground. I
crouch in a messy heap next to what looks like a burned, overturned booth.

“What is it?”

“Don’t move. Wait here.”

Dominic pulls his gun out of its holster and unlocks the
safety. My heart instantly thunders with dread. More guns? Oh no.

“Be careful,” I plea, still not understanding what’s going
on.

Dominic nods curtly, then disappears to the other side of
the booth. I squeeze my eyes shut. There’s the sound of a scuffle and a cry,
then a thud like someone’s been smacked with something. I hear Dominic’s voice
groan, “Shit!” and another thud, like a big man falling. I hear the sound of
footsteps rushing in my direction.

My pulse is skyrocketing through the roof, if there was a
roof, and without thinking I jump to my feet. Unfortunately, I’ve moved out of
my hiding place just in time to crash right into a fast-moving shape that jerks
around the cover of the booth at the wrong moment.

Chapter Eight

Harper

“Ahh!”

“Fuck!”

Suddenly I’m on the ground in a tangle of limps and wild
eyes, as my assailant and I both desperately scramble to free our selves from
each other. I take an elbow in the eye and one in the ribs, but think I manage
to give as good as I get.

“Let go of me lady!” shouts my attacker, reaching their
dirty fingers for a burned-out two-by-four.

“Shit!” I croak, trying to roll away. “Help!”

Behind us, I hear a cocking gun. A man’s shadow falls over
us, obscuring the morning light.

“Nice work Harper,” says Dominic, rubbing his head with one
hand and pointing the gun with the other. “Guess you’re not totally helpless
after all. Now stand up, stranger, real slow. Hands up.”

My wrestling partner grudgingly obeys Dominic’s command, but
as they rise to stand a random nail sticking out of the debris pulls down on
their sweatshirt hood. Long black hair streaked with neon blue tumbles down,
and a fierce pixie-petite face covered with piercings is revealed. There’s no mistaking
the delicate features: it’s a teenager, a young one, and scared to death.

Dominic’s face registers even more surprise than mine, but
the look quickly transfigures to joy. “River!” He sighs. “You’re ok! Thank god.
What are you doing back here?”

“Dominic?” The teen’s voice is raspy with relief, and breaks
into a sob. “I knew you’d come!”

“Jesus, kid, you almost gave me a concussion back there.” Dominic
shoves his gun back in its holster and sweeps the teen up into his arms in a
fierce long hug. His eyes are watering. “You’re alive,” he murmurs gratefully.
“It’s okay. You’re okay. That’s quite a wallop you’re packing, you know? I can
see you’ve been paying attention in those self-defense classes.”

Whoever this kid is it’s clear she thinks the world of Dominic,
and vice versa. They seem to have forgotten that I am here, and I sense that
I’m witnessing a private moment.

Finally the teenager sniffles and pulls out of the hug,
wiping her eyes with the cuff of her sweatshirt.

“We heard them break in downstairs,” she says. “Dane was on
night patrol, so he went down to check it out. I watched through the spy-hole.
They shot him in the head: Dane, then Marie. She tried to sneak down to the
safe and I heard the gunshot.”

“They got Dane and Marie? Fuck.” Dominic’s eyes flinch,
giving me a glimpse of the same rage and defiant fury I remember seeing in them
when we were younger. But he quickly buries it and the cool, calculating leader
is back in place. “What about the others?”

River licks her lips, then hesitates, shooting a quizzical
look my way.

“Oh, that’s Harper,” Dominic grunts dismissively, as if that
explains anything. “Harper, River; River, Harper. You can talk, River. It’s fine.”

This surprises me as much as the girl, who frowns
skeptically but continues.

“Well, after Marie got shot downstairs, Sue Ellen took
charge,” River explains. “She ran the emergency evacuation protocol. Everyone
knew what to do, we’d drilled it enough times: up over the rooftops to the next
building, then out and down the block to Donovan’s basement. There were only
the eight of us upstairs. I mean, the place was practically empty waiting for
the new arrivals. It’s lucky too, because if we were full there’s no way
everyone would have gotten out before the explosion. It happened really fucking
fast.”

“Language,” Dominic growls, surprising me again.

River rolls her eyes. “We barely made it out in time. As soon
as my feet hit the ground at Donovan’s, they blew the place up. You could feel
the blast from down the street.”

As she talks, Dominic rubs her back soothingly. “And the
others?” he asks mechanically. “Are they still at Donovan’s?”

River shakes her head. “Pete and Grindhouse came and drove
everyone over to the Clubhouse.”

“That’s good,” Dominic grunts, with a paternal frown. “And
why aren’t you at the Clubhouse with everyone else, like you’re supposed to
be?”

River grins. “I ducked out and came back here to see if I
could find my journal. I left it when we evacuated.”

“That wasn’t too smart,” Dominic says, roughing up River’s
hair. There’s a wry admiration and affection in his voice. “Should have laid
low and stuck with the group.”

“Yeah right,” River laughs. “Like you wouldn’t have done the
same thing. All my songs were in it, man! But I can’t find it anywhere. It must
have burned up. I’ll never think of some of those lyrics again. Shit.”

It sounds exactly like something Dominic would have said as
a teenager, and the thought brings a soft smile to my lips. I remember his black
moleskin notebook filled with song lyrics and chords. That summer at camp, he
had carried it in the utility pocket of his uniform pants everywhere.

He’d even written a song about me.

Dominic seems to be thinking the same thing, because his
eyes flicker over to mine and hold the gaze for a long moment. I blush, and Dominic
looks away. His smile quickly fades as he glances back to his wrecked property.

“Shit is right,” Dominic grunts. “Dane and Marie, gone. I
can’t believe it. They were good people. They didn’t deserve to die like this.
Heath, Dane, and Marie are all dead now, and it’s because of me.”

River’s eyes are watery but sharp. “It’s not your fault!”
She hisses vehemently, clutching Dominic’s hand. “You’re the only reason any of
us are still alive in the first place!”

The way she says it, I know she believes it. It’s yet
another piece of information I don’t know how to process: Dominic, the savior?
I mentally add that to the list of the new characteristics I’m learning about
him.

But Dominic shakes his head. His face is dark. “I’m the
reason you’re all in danger. Now you’ve got no safe house to go to, and I’ve
got no income.”

“So this really was a safe house?” I murmur. I feel like I’m
like nineteen steps behind everyone and struggling to catch up.

“No, I just fucking made that up as a joke,” Dominic snaps,
clearly fried and frustrated. “Yes this really was a god damn half-way house.
River lived there. She’ll vouch for me. Jesus Christ, is it so hard for you to
believe that I give a shit about the needs of my neighbors, my home, my people?
The club was always about the community around us, that’s why I joined in the
first place—because they were the first people I saw really give a fuck about
each other. A family. The Thunders bar was a major income stream for us, and a
good front for the recovery center upstairs. It was Heath’s and my idea. The
half-way house rehabilitated at-risk youth and rescued human trafficking
victims.”

“Oh.” It’s all I can think to say. Well, fuck. He really is
a goddamn savior.
First love, killer, savior…what else can Dominic be for
you, Harper? Friend?

Lover?

I push the thought away.

Dominic kicks at the rubble and wraps an arm protectively
around River’s shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to go through this, kid.”

“You should be glad I was here,” she says, her voice
suddenly strong. “I saw their faces. I saw them pour gasoline and plant
explosives. And most of all, I saw Colt.”

Colt. That was the name of the man Dominic was looking for
at the Depraved Club. My mind is racing, trying to fit all the puzzle pieces
together.

Dominic’s hand drops to his side and balls into a fist. “You
sure it was Colt, River?”
            River nods. “Damn sure,” she hisses. “I’d recognize that bastard a
mile away even if he was wearing Nicolas Cage’s face, like what’s that movie?
Face-off. Anyway I am one-thousand-percent sure it was him, Dominic. He was
here, giving the orders. He pulled the trigger on Dane himself. I saw it.”

“Fuck.” Dominic is pacing.

River’s eyes are burning with passion, almost pleading. “You
can use me! You can use me and what I saw. We got enough to nail the bastard
this time. Like, the real way—in a court or something!”

Dominic shakes his head and squints into the wreckage. “It’s
too dangerous,” he says. “It’s not just Colt, River. Colt is just one ugly head
of a many-headed beast.”

“You mean he’s working for someone?” I ask.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Dominic mutters. “You’re
damn right he’s working for someone, or rather, something. The Depraved Club is
a sort of elite criminal franchise popping up all over the place, the black
market wing of a huge fucking international corporation with more money than
god. Like a sex-trade McDonalds for millionaire perverts. The last thing I’m
gonna do is let a goddamn kid publicly stick her tongue out at an international
organized crime machine, especially when she barely escaped from that world
herself just a year ago. Do you know how easy it would be for them to make you
disappear again, River?”

River presses her mouth together shrewdly, suddenly seeming
wise beyond her years. It’s an expression that I’ve seen Dominic make before, both
when we were younger and last night at the cabin in the mountains. It’s a
determined, wry, worldly look.

“How easy would it be for them to make us all disappear, Dominic,”
River asks, “Including you? Isn’t that what this attack was all about? Because
that’s what Colt wants—to get rid of all of us, all of the Sons and their
friends, so he can go on selling sex and people and destroying lives as a
business in your borough. We can’t just roll over and die. He can’t win. We
can’t let him win.”

Dominic’s eyes flash with violent emotion. “
We
aren’t
going to do anything.
You
have to get somewhere safe, fast, and
I
will handle Colt.” Dominic whips out his iPhone and punches out a text message.
“Grindhouse is on his way,” he announces. “That’ll give us enough seats to get
everybody to the clubhouse. Once you’re safe, I can figure out what the hell to
do about this mess.”

“Come on,” River objects. “Let me help you, Dominic! Besides—the
clubhouse is, like, obviously the next place they’ll hit.”

“We’ve got more muscle and booby traps on that fucking
clubhouse than they have at the Pentagon,” Dominic grunts. “You’ll be safe
there. Now shut up.”

River rolls her eyes, a teenage cliché. “Give me a break,”
she groans. “I can help!”

“You’re going back to the clubhouse, and you’re staying
there out of Colt’s reach til this thing is over. Both of you.”

“Me?” I blink.

“But, Dominic let me just—”

“No.” Dominic growls. “No, River, and that is final.”

Their passionate bickering has gotten me thinking.

“You know, she might be on to something,” I say slowly,
laying my arm on Dominic’s bicep. The gesture seems to surprise him, and he
glances searchingly into my eyes. “If River can identify the men who did this,
she’s a material witness in what sounds like a clear a case of arson and
murder. If you bring an indictment against Colt to the grand jury and go to the
authorities—”

“No,” Dominic cuts me off. “No cops.”

I’m tempted to roll my eyes like River, but instead I take a
deep breath and point at the caution tape around the perimeter of the site. “Dominic,
there are already cops. There are going to be more cops. Your building exploded
in a busy commercial area, you think that’s just going to get swept under the
rug? There’s going to be an investigation. You might as well face that now.”

Dominic groans and kicks some debris.

“With River’s eyewitness account,” I reason, “You can build
an airtight case proving that you had nothing to do with it. And you can nail this
guy Colt, who you’ve been after. If you take this to court, I guarantee you can
collect maximum insurance money for your damaged property and put Colt behind
bars. That would solve a lot of your problems, wouldn’t it? You’d keep your
business afloat and end your little gang war in one fell swoop. With the law on
your side.”

Dominic is giving me a searching look. “What the hell are
you talking about? How airtight could the case be coming from an outlaw like
me? Besides, even if I tried to use River in court, you’re conveniently
forgetting that Colt has a material witness too, one whose testimony could bury
me in the can.”

River blanches. “Colt has a witness? Shit! Who?”

Dominic unceremoniously jerks his thumb at me. River swerves,
eyeing me like I’ve just grown another head. “You’re Colt’s witness? You’re
with
him
?”

She lunges at me, but Dominic’s arm flashes out to hold her
back. Still, my adrenaline spikes and I stumble backward, startled.

“I—well—no, I mean, yes, that is, I saw things, but,” I rub
my temples, fighting for calm and clarity. “Well, what I am saying is, no one
has to know that. I don’t have to tell anyone what I saw.”

Now it’s Dominic’s turn to look wry and worldly. “Oh! Now you’re
saying you won’t rat me out, all of a sudden? Gee thanks, that’s swell. It
feels just like Christmas. I’m thrilled. Magic and Santa Clause
are
real
after all. Maybe there really are fairies too. I’ll have to re-think my stance
on Bigfoot.”