Club Justice (34 page)

“What kind of relationship does your wife have with our son, Zeke? She practically felt the poor boy up,” Flo sneered, her whine cutting through the festival commotion.

Mox closed the space behind Ginny, instinctually shielding her from his bitch of a birth mother and Kramer. Hatred stamped his broad features. He glared down at Kramer, silently daring him to pursue. Shouldering past after Ginny, Zeke met his eyes. The brief flicker said more than any heart-to-heart. It said,
handle it
.

“You got a real fucking way with women. No advice or threats for me?” Crux asked, stepping up behind Kramer.

The cop spun, then retreated from the biker’s scarred visage, only to back into Mox as he stepped down from the curb.

“You should really watch where you’re going. Someone could get hurt,” Mox said, nudging the smaller man back with his shoulder.

Barely avoiding Crux, Kramer stopped short of smashing his nose into Bowie’s chest. He swallowed visibly as Reaper closed the noose. A groping hand came up empty where his weapon usually hung.

“Lose something?” Reaper asked with an amused chuckle.

“They took that with your badge, Pig,” Boscelli reminded, his smile chilling.

“I wonder how this piggy would taste on the smoker,” Taz pondered.  

Kramer turned, surveying the ring, eyes darting past the club members in search of potential witnesses. Even Flo and Miles Sr. had vanished.

“Unless you’re staying for dinner, you might want to run along,” Bowie said, stepping aside and holding his arm out in invitation.

“What? No barbeque or apple dumpling? How rude,” Reaper chided. 

“I want to hear more about how I should raise my kid,” Crux growled. “I guess you didn’t read anything about upsetting pregnant women in your research, Dr. Spock.”

Keeping a wary eye on Croston, Kramer backed through the provided opening. He jumped when his back collided with Tech’s three hundred pounds.

“Let the bitch go, boys. His time is coming,” Bowie said with a dismissive sniff.

The gleam in the big redhead’s eye raised hair on Kramer’s nape. Chuckles followed him as he skittered around the human pincushion and hurried down the street.

It was him
. Fear and shame fueled her flight. Tears blurred the way.  A sob caught in her throat. Gorge rose. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Ginny ran. Skidding to her knees on the tiles, she emptied the meager contents of her stomach. Shaking, she hung over the cool porcelain, sobbing between wrenching dry-heaves. Kramer’s gloating smirk floated behind clenched lids. She wanted to die. It was worse to know. Bile burned the back of her throat. She screamed, flinching from a touch on her shoulder.

Zeke drew her into his arms. She fought against the pull, head shaking. It was fresh again. She felt the crawl of filth on her skin. His lips were against her ear, but she couldn’t decipher the words. He wouldn’t let go. She lashed out, fists pummeling his chest.

“Let me go!”

“Never.”

The single word stabbed deep. Her mouth opened in a strangled wail and her punches faltered.

“I’m so sorry.”

Rocking her, he rubbed circles on her back.

“You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I should’ve—”

She wasn’t sure what she should have done. Wracking her brain, she searched for the sign she had missed. When had Kramer’s obsession manifested into something more sinister? How did one go from a vow to protect and serve, to committing the worst kind of atrocity?  Zeke was no angel, but his transgressions were in the spirit of protecting others. The rumble of her husband’s voice pulled her from thought.

“What did Kramer say to you?”

She pressed tighter to his chest, the haunting words still ringing in her mind.

“The third time is a charm,” she whispered. “It was him. I remember the stench of anise when the animal was panting in my face. I know that voice, Zeke. It was Kramer. I couldn’t place that smell before. I told the detective it was licorice, but it’s that nasty anise candy that Kramer eats.”

Zeke’s grip tightened, and he stroked her hair. Ginny felt the tremble in his powerful body and tried to push back to see his face. His arms didn’t give. Twisting her head, she peeked up at him. Jaw set and eyes closed, she could read his struggle. He was all the more frightening for his silence. The grim press of his lips and nostrils’ flare bode ill for Kramer. It was her turn to hold him as he tried to stand.

“Don’t!”

“Don’t what? Don’t kill the bastard that raped my wife? You, of all people, know better than that.”

“I need you.”

The soft plea, and the simple truth behind it, cut through his anger where no bellow could’ve.

“You’ll never be free. You’re mine.”

“Let the law handle this one. You’ve said it before; so much as a scratch on that rat bastard will track right back to you.”

She could see the wheels turning as he searched for a way to avenge her. Ginny cupped his cheek.

“Please don’t leave me. Nothing is worth that to me,” she whispered. “You know how long cops last in prison. Let that be Kramer’s worry. If you let him ruin your career and tear this family apart, he wins. I know you want revenge. Do this for me instead.”

He wiped at her tears, searching her face. Swallowing his pride and fury, he finally nodded.

Chapter Forty-One

The Durango’s headlights played across the unmarked sedan parked on the street. Glancing at Ginny, Zeke hit the garage door opener. She hadn’t said much since extracting his promise. Huddled in his jacket, she looked lost. Stepping out, he circled around to open her door. She didn’t acknowledge him, and then
jumped when Rhys nosed her Charger into the adjoining stall. Color stained her pale cheeks as she met Zeke’s worried gaze. Taking his hand, she slid out,
brushing a kiss across his cheek. The chill of her lips left the gesture far from reassuring.

“I got her,” Rhys said, nodding toward the approaching detectives and wrapping an arm around his mom to escort her inside. 

Zeke clapped him on the shoulder in thanks and stepped out of the garage, hand extended in greeting. The night fell silent after the ratcheting garage door.

“Are you sure?” the older detective asked.

The three words sounded forced.

“Ginny is, and I believe her.”

The younger detective muttered an expletive before glancing to his partner.

“This isn’t going to be easy.”

“It never is when we’re dealing with another officer, even if he is a member of the rat squad,” Zeke said with a slow nod.

“We have squat as far as forensics. It’s going to take more than ‘third time is a charm’ to get a warrant.”

“It is the only thing he said when he raped her. Are you going to fucking tell me that it’s a coincidence?” 

“I’m saying that we’re going to need more than that.”

“Do I have to do your damn job for you? Besides his obsession with me, Kramer butted heads publicly with my wife more than once. We’ve filed two harassment complaints. The asshole roughed up an old woman because she wouldn’t listen to his bullshit. You don’t think you might be able to present probable cause?” 

The senior detective held a hand between his partner and Zeke.

“We’re going to do everything that we can to find out who raped Ginny. If it turns out to be Kramer, we will nail him. His suspension already doesn’t look good. I have no doubt that Internal Affairs will want to distance themselves when this comes out. Let’s go talk to Ginny and see if this encounter might have stirred up anything else we can use.”

Zeke drew in a deep breath of the cool night air and blew it out slowly, his shoulders slumping. With Ginny tying his hands, he was in the unfamiliar position of having to rely on someone else.

“It’s been a long day.”

“That’s understandable. Let’s get this out of the way so that your family can settle in for the evening.”  

Cracking his neck, Zeke waved a hand for them to precede him to the front door. The younger detective skittered, his hand going to his gun as Mox stepped out of the shadows near the door. 

“That one didn’t fall far from the tree, Brawer.” 

“Handsome ox isn’t he?”

“You got part of that right,” the older man said, chuckling and nudging his blushing partner.

Smirking at the good-natured slight, Zeke put a hand on his son’s shoulder and directed him through the door. 

Ginny sat on an ottoman in front of the gas fireplace. Their youngest sat beside her and Rhys loomed nearby. Snatching up a chenille throw, Zeke waved Garrett out of his way and straddled the stool behind her, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest. Smoothing hair out of her face, he tucked her under his chin and rocked gently before nodding to the detectives.

Stroking a lock of her hair, Zeke looked down on his sleeping wife. Tears had left their briny trail over her stark cheekbones and her eyes were red and puffy. It had been a rough night on top of a long day. She was emotionally wrung out. Kramer’s six little words had brought memories of the rape back with sickening clarity. Talking with the detectives tonight, she had said it was like being violated again. He leaned back against the headboard, fighting the impotent rage building in him. 

She had tied his hands. Ginny was a smart one. Not only had she extracted a promise that he wouldn’t kill Kramer, but she had insured he wouldn’t enlist the aid of his club brothers either. The rat bastard deserved to die. Snap shots of stringing Kramer up by his intestines and castrating the son-of-a-bitch flashed behind closed lids. His lips twisted in a self-deprecating smirk. How the hell had he ever passed the psych eval? The next one wasn’t going to be as easy with the knowledge of his mother’s rape now in his file. The shrink would have a field day.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, he looked for a way out of his promise. She had begged him to let the law handle it. He snorted. The Porter case showed how well the law handled rapists. You didn’t have to be as fucked up as he was to realize that rapists were vile pieces of shit that didn’t deserve the protection due process afforded them, let alone the effort it took to scrape them off the bottom of your boot. The bleeding hearts who believed the monsters could be rehabilitated, were deluding themselves. Bowie was right. You put a sick animal down.    

Ginny whimpered in her sleep and he wrapped his arms tighter. Her nose turned into his chest and she relaxed. He watched the creases in her forehead smooth. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Gin. She was his Kryptonite. Nothing could bring him to his knees like the love and trust she gifted him. The need for revenge burned hot, but he couldn’t break his word to her.       

Chapter Forty-Two

Kramer searched blindly in the cupboard for another bottle. At this point, it didn’t matter if it was alcohol or drain cleaner. Twisting off the cap, he tossed his head back and grimaced as the whiskey burned a path to his gut. Taking another long draw, he headed for his recliner, eyeballing the coat-of-arms decorating the label. The fucking Irish whiskey had likely been a Christmas gift from one of his mangy co-workers. Equal opportunity be damned. Even after all these years, you couldn’t swing a cat in a squad room without hitting someone that bled green. The spud-fuckers stuck together. He had no doubt that Chief Shaughnessy stripping his badge had been more about protecting the shamrock schmuck than the whining of a little old lady.

Tipping the bottle back, he let the amber liquid flow down his throat. The fear in Ginny Brawer’s eyes tonight had been satisfying. He wished he had been there to witness the moment Zeke realized it was him. It had to be tearing him up. The dumbass loved his wife. He chuckled. Too bad the big oaf hadn’t had a daddy around to explain life to him. His own father had made sure he understood that women had their uses and their place. Putting them on a pedestal only confused the natural order.

Closing his eyes, he replayed the fear and pain that had permeated his joining with the lovely Mrs. Brawer. Knocking that bitch off her perch had been orgasmic. Brawer knowing that he was no longer the only man to savor his wife’s pussy—that was priceless. 

“Pleasant thoughts?”

His blood went cold at the low rumble. Eyes snapping open, he stared down the silencer barrel. It took effort to focus on the man behind the gun. The same broad features had haunted his nightmares for years. The young man’s dark brow quirked joined by that familiar condescending smirk. How the hell had Brawer not known the bastard was his? Following the pointed look, Kramer jerked his hand from his crotch.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he asked, wiping a shaky hand over his face.

“Alcohol makes you sloppy. The door was open.”

Kramer flushed at the chiding tone. The whiskey churned in his gut. Stealing a sidelong glance at the end-table, he gauged his chances of reaching the Glock nestled in the drawer.

“I wouldn’t try that if I were you.”

“Will it really matter? You’re going to kill me either way.”

The ox chuckled.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

His heart hammered, waiting for the punch line. When none was forthcoming, he swallowed hard and shifted in his chair.

“What do you want?”

“I want to hear you say that you raped my ma.”

“Your mother would fuck a chimp for a twenty.”

Tension hummed in the room, and the brute’s knuckles whitened on the grip.

“The only favor that bitch ever did for me is push me into this world. Ginny is my mother.”

“This was never about you.”

“You made it about me when you used me to hurt the only woman who has ever loved me.”

“Yeah, she’s a regular saint. I think you have a bit of an
Oedipus complex.
You think she didn’t know, or at least suspect, that you were her husband’s bastard? Look in the mirror, kid.” Kramer sneered. “Are you honestly stupid enough to think that the Brawer’s opened their home to you out of the goodness of their hearts? Don’t you wonder why your parents didn’t challenge the move?”