Charity For Nothing: The Virtues Book III (18 page)

“Yeah, sorry. I’m a girly girl. Hair and makeup take a minute.”

“I see, does that mean you’re going out?”

“Actually, if you’re free for that drink, I’d love to meet up.”

“Absolutely!”

So it was that I found myself down on the boulevard parking my Jeep down the block from one of the more tourist trap bars. An open air affair right off the beach with a spectacular view of the water and the sun hanging low in the sky, deepening on towards sunset. Greg was at the bar, and I slipped up onto the stool next to him.

“Hey stranger,” I greeted and he turned, all smiles, his mouth dropping open.
Success!

“Wow! Look at you,” he said, “I know it’s forward of me, but can I have a hug?” he asked.

“Aww, that’s sweet you would ask,” I said with a laugh and held out my arms. We hugged, a friendly greeting that was neither too quick nor did it linger.

“So what did you do today?” he asked me, by way of conversation starter.

“Oh, you know, more storm clean up.”

We chatted amicably, and he bought me a drink, I went with a tried and true, Pina Colada, and sipped it slowly. As far as drinks went it was cool, sweet, and fruity but sort of on the weak side, which I was okay with seeing as I had every intention of driving home after a bit.

The bartender came by and asked if I wanted another drink. The first one had absolutely zero effect, so I nodded, smiling.

Greg was good conversation, he said he worked for a development company and that he’d been sent out to Ft. Royal to see if it was a prime location for a resort. I’d laughed at that, and he’d smiled ruefully.

“Yeah, I’m kind of feeling like I was set up to fail out here. The townspeople aren’t exactly welcoming with open arms when I mention that.”

“Can you blame them? It feels like this place is the last bastion in Florida when it comes to corporate development.”

“You are not wrong,” he said with a sigh.

The bartender set down my drink and I took a sip, smiling.

“So, what do you plan to do now that you have your degree?”

I scoffed, “Find a job before the student loans try to eat me alive.”

Greg cringed, “Oo, that bad?”

“Ahhh, not really. I pretty much had a full ride when it came to tuition, it was the text books that kill you. Some of them were more than four hundred dollars!”

“Yikes, why didn’t you get them used?”

I looked at him like ‘are you serious?’ and told him, “That
was
used.”

“Holy shit, are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” I slipped off the stool, “Can you excuse me for a second? Ladies room is calling.”

“Absolutely, I’ll be right here.” He smiled brightly and I found the restroom to break the proverbial seal. I knew the science behind why you had to pee when you were drinking, I mean, that’s all alcohol was; a diuretic, and subsequently, that’s what a hangover was, a combination of dehydration and your body reacting to, essentially, the poison you put into it.

I freshened up my lip gloss in the bathroom mirror and went back out to the bar, retaking my seat.

“Where were we?” he asked and I smiled.

“Lamenting how stupid it is to get an education just so you can turn around and spend the rest of your life paying for it.”

“Ah right, I believe that’s the new American dream, isn’t it?”

“Something like that.”

I took another drink and Greg sipped his beer, both of us lapsing into the natural lull in conversation.

We made more small talk and I nodded at something he was saying, only the room started to spin, causing me to frown.

“You alright?” Greg asked.

“Yeah, that’s strange.” I looked over to the bartender who was in the back corner behind the bar, on the phone looking over his shoulder at me and Greg.

“What’s strange?” Greg asked and I swallowed hard.

“Guess this second drink was just a little bit stronger than the first, just got a bit dizzy there for a second.”

Greg frowned, “You want some water?” he asked.

“No,” I closed my eyes squeezing them shut and opening them again. I was seeing double. Something was really wrong. I slipped off my bar stool and nearly went down, my wedge heel turning under me, or maybe I was just that unsteady on my feet.

“What the hell?” Greg asked, and sounded genuinely concerned.

“Can we just get out of here?” I asked.

“Sure, absolutely.”

He put an arm around my waist, only it wasn’t right, it was too tight, and he began to usher me towards the door.

“Ow, Greg, ease up, you’re hurting me,” I said.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

I looked back at the bartender, head swimming with confusion. He nodded and spoke rapidly into the line and before I could call out, Greg had swept me out the door and onto the street, leaning me up against a parked car.

“Just a second,” he said and opened the passenger door on the nondescript gray sedan. The Gray of Nothing’s eyes.

“No, I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” I said but my voice came out slurred nonsense.

Oh… oh shit.

Greg shoved me into the passenger seat of the car, and I think I must have passed out, because I can’t remember anything after that.

Chapter 24

Nothing

“I’m tired of getting fucked in ways that don’t end with me getting off,” I said miserably.

“I know, brother, and I’m sorry. I never wanted you to find out let alone like this, but you have to understand, we didn’t want you to remember her that way. Corrine made a monumental mistake, but there was no denying she loved you.”

I closed my eyes and sighed out, “I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

Twilight was invading my back yard and I’d mostly pulled my shit together from this latest soul shattering mind fuck. I was on my second beer and the light buzz wasn’t enough. That Jim Beam was looking awfully tempting but getting obliterated hadn’t been doing me any fucking favors lately and I needed to lay off the sauce.

Cutter’s phone started ringing and he pulled it out of his cut answering, “Yeah Charlie, what’s up?” His expression crushed down into a frown. “You fucking kidding me? Uh huh. Uh huh. Did you get the plate number? Yeah. No, give it to me. Uh huh, yeah text it through,” he pulled the phone away from his face and then put it back saying, “Yeah, I got it man, good lookin’ out.” He hung up the phone with a gusty sigh and immediately tapped out a message.

“Come on man, life ain’t done fucking you yet, me either for that matter. You good to ride?”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Charlie down at Tiki Steve’s just watched someone roofie and take Charity.”

“You fucking kidding me?”

A mixture of adrenaline and fear chased the low grade buzz from the beer and the weed right out of my system.

“As your girl would say, as a heart attack.”

I got up bent double and screamed “Fuck!” as loud and long as I could to just
get it out.
“Let’s go, where we headed?” I asked.

“The Plank, let’s move, I gotta call Hope. Son of a fucking bitch,” he said and I didn’t fucking envy him
that
call.

We rode, and we met Hope, her Ducati screaming down the boulevard, winding down as she pulled up and fell in with us the rest of the way to The Plank. Her deep, dark eyes were snapping fire and mayhem and I had no doubt that some motherfucker was going to die. I was surprised to realize that it was going to be a race as to which one of us got there first.

We piled into The Plank, Trike opening the door for us and locking it behind us. The place had been cleared of anything not in Club colors except for Faith; she strode right up to me and slapped me soundly, the clap of her palm against my flesh echoing off The Plank’s open rafters.

“Woah! Marlin, buddy, control your property!” Beast called out, but Faith was inconsolable, her face streaming with tears as she screamed at me.

“This is all
your fault
!” she shrieked and resignation settled like a lead weight on my chest. She made to come at me again but Marlin got behind her, catching her wrists in his mitts and pulling her back, cradling her against his chest, holding her by the wrists.

Hope pushed past me and they took her back to the throne room. Cutter gave me a meaningful look, but the accusation stood, stinging in a fiery line from forehead to chin on the left side of my face.

“She’s not wrong, and I’m gonna fix it. Radar, what have you got?” I asked.

No one said a word about my overstepping the Captain by asking. Radar gave a curt nod, “Glad to have you back, Galahad,” he said and turned to his bank of laptops on the corner of the bar.

“Radar,” Cutter intoned.

“Right, Charlie got the plates on his surveillance camera. The car belongs to a rental company out of Miami-Dade International Airport. Looks like it was rented by a Grigori Rossoff, natural born American citizen to first gen Russian immigrants.”

“Fuck, how did we miss him?” Lightning asked.

“Don’t know, doesn’t matter, what else?” I asked.

“Grigori used a corporate credit card for an Iron Horse Holdings LLC. It’s a shell corporation owned by a Sergei Rimini, who
also
owns four
other
shell corps one of which’s corporate card was used to rent a hotel room at the Sunglade Motel off of the 595.”

“Good work, man!” Lightning clapped Radar on the back.

“Hunting people; it’s what I do.” Radar gave us the plate number, just in case we got lucky and Cutter gave us our marching orders.

“Marlin, you stay with Faith, she needs you. Hope, Nothing, Radar, and Lightning; let’s roll. Trike, get the first aid kit and medical bay set up in here, just in case.”

“Aye, Captain!” Trike got is ass out from behind the bar and to work.

We piled back out the front door and mounted our bikes, starting them up and falling in behind the Captain. We rode hard, but obeyed the speed limit when we needed to. I was so tempted to split lanes and cane it the whole way, but resisted.

I irrationally kept looking for the fucking plate number. It was stupid, they had a head start. Not much of one, but a head start is a head start. The motel we were after was something like three exits ahead of us when I spotted the fucking car. I was dumbfounded that we’d caught up, but sure as shit, after checking the plates twice from the number Radar had rattled off, that was the car.

“Captain!” I bellowed into the wind, and resorted to the risky move of breaking formation to ride up alongside. I pointed out the car and he nodded. Hand signals were traded, and the consensus was to fall back and to get onto the surface streets with him before attempting a takedown.

There’s an art to getting a car to stop that doesn’t want to when you’re on a motorcycle and the opposition is in the car. I hadn’t ever had a need to perfect such an art, but Radar in his line of work had, and Cutter had done it too, so I dropped back with Hope and Lightning to leave it to the pros. My expertise was in putting men back together when the shit went sideways, and for the first time that I could remember, that frustrated the hell out of me.

Never had I ever been so fucking righteously pissed off. It was like three plus years of rage and pain had just found a convenient target and he was behind the wheel of that car. My last chance at salvation was in that car too, and I wanted to fix things, give her the chance she deserved, be a better man, and I never would get that chance if we didn’t stop these motherfuckers.

The car took the exit for the motel, so it looked like Radar’s information was spot on. I didn’t know what to do with the feelings of doubt that were clouding me, it was a new thing brought on by the fucking bombshell the Captain had dropped on me. My brothers, my whole club had been lying to my face for
years.
Good intentions being what they were, the doubt I harbored now? It was that road to hell those intentions had been paving for close to four years.
No good deed goes unpunished.
I thought back to the smuggling work we’d done, to all of the medical care I’d provided to those refugees, and at what cost?
The cost of your marriage, you jackass. Corrine couldn’t get it from you, she went elsewhere.

We dropped back further, and tried to avoid being an obvious tail. Easier said than done when you were a pack of bikers and the dude behind the wheel stealing your woman was probably aware that bikers were the big bad in his world.

Cutter gave signal that he and Radar were going in, once we were more towards the glades versus heavily populated areas. Hope fell back next to me, her face unreadable behind her black, full face mask helmet. It was a good idea, concealing identity for those of us with legit jobs to worry about, but I painted houses for a fucking living. Radar had the bottom half of his face covered with an orange bandana. We all wore our colors, but that was the beauty of brotherhood. If we got pinched, one of the boys with a record would step up to take the fall.

My belief in these guys was rattled, but on some things? It remained true. That was one of them. We rode, me and Hope up front, Lightning acting as our tail gunner. It was getting dark, but we could still see Cutter and Radar split and go to either side of the car. Cutter’d disengaged his getback whip from his clutch lever and with a mighty overhead swing, brought the lead ball the tip contained down hard on the driver’s side of the windshield.

The sound of the crack it made against the safety glass traveled all the way back here. The Captain kicked out, his boot making contact with the driver’s side door. The guy in the car swerved towards Cutter, who evaded, but just barely. Hope revved her Ducati and leaning down over her tank, punched it. The engine whined and she shot forward. There wasn’t any stopping her, but I think she and the Captain had some kind of accord because he dropped back and let Hope pull up.

She waved at the driver of the car to pullover, but he swerved at her instead. She punched it again and he missed her, but it was close. Cutter pulled up, and took another swing, only this time Radar pulled forward out of the driver’s blind spot where he’d been hiding and took out the passenger side of the windshield. The driver braked hard, tires squealing, brakes screaming and both the Captain and Radar kept going.