Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC (22 page)

“He wants to make a witness to last week’s disposal into his old lady. None of us had met her until two days ago, he’s only known her for less than a week, she’s got some bigwig city folk hot on her trail for some stolen money, and quite frankly, I just plain don’t like her. Shall we vote?”

“Not until I’ve had a chance to talk,” Gunner snarled from where he stood, nearly opposite Bill across the table. The president gave him a sarcastic wave, indicating for him to go on.
Asshole.
“We don’t execute innocent women. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time and that’s all. I wouldn’t need to make her an old lady if you shitheads would just let it go. She’s not a danger.”

Bill shrugged. “I made you an offer.”

“Drugging her and dumping her out of the country is not ‘letting her go,’ Bill, it’s just another sort of death sentence.”

"So this is purely about protecting an innocent?" Bill asked. Gunner didn't answer. "It's not because she's got you all wrapped around her finger?"

"We're all real sorry about your friend," Bars said, "But don't you think that maybe it made you vulnerable? We get it, we understand."
So Bars is playing good cop today.

Gunner shook his head. "No."
They won't convince me. Not again
.

"She's a seductress," Bill said. "She's going to use you and take off and who knows what she'll do with what she knows then."

He clenched his jaw. "You don't know that. What's your problem, Bill? Is it her? Or do you just hate women?"

Bill slammed a fist on the table. "Vote."

"I've got something to add." Gunner blinked as his father stood. Everyone silenced and waited for the former president to speak. "Firstly, she's got family here. Most of you know Dawn." A couple of the guys whistled good-naturedly, just to rib Irish. "Secondly, I know my son. He's impulsive and thoughtless and has a godawful temper. But he is a good judge of character. He's beaten a lot of people he shouldn't have beaten but if we're being honest, every last one of them was an asshole." That earned a laugh from the table - all except Bill, who still wore a scowl. “Thirdly, he's right. We don't execute innocents. In fact I was under the impression that we weren't the sort of men who carried out executions at all. And if this is the direction the club's heading, we've got bigger issues than one unlucky college girl."

Gunner wanted to thank the old man but couldn't catch his eye as he sat. "Anyone else?" Bill asked.

Should I say more?
He’d debated whether or not he should bring his own feelings into it. The others had when they’d put their current old ladies up for vote - Irish, Anchor, Bars himself. But their circumstances were different.
What do I feel, anyway? Heat, lust, sweat, addiction, none of that will help my case.
“She’s a good person,” he said, “She doesn’t deserve any of this. She certainly doesn’t deserve to be stuck with the likes of me. I get your reservations. But she was there with me when… when Alvarez passed.” It was hard to say it out loud. Hard to even say his name. “If she hadn’t been, who knows where I’d be right now. Not here. She’s not a seductress.” The thought made him want to laugh. He remembered her face the first few times they’d met - that stoic expression. How shocked, how downright
offended
she’d looked whenever he goaded a reaction out of her. No, she was never a seductress. She wasn’t even a flirt. “She’s just in over her head. So. Don’t be assholes.” Finally, he sat, and waited on her fate.

Grim faces greeted her as they filed out of the back room. The bartender had given her a sympathetic look and complimentary beer, but otherwise she’d had no hint as to what was going on back there. She’d heard no shouting, no gavels banging, no fights. Just silence as the bar slowly filled and as time ticked by.

She waited for Gunner as the other men passed, but saw no sign of him. Or Nomad, or Bill. Were they having a private meeting, just the three of them?

One of the bikers did approach her as she watched the clock and sipped her beer. He was younger than most of the other men, probably near Gunner’s age, with a scraggly black goatee and dark, glassy eyes. “Your man won his case,” he said without preamble, “They’re talking terms.”

“Oh. Um, thank you…” she waited for him to give his name. He looked her up and down instead.

“So. Is this a sham? I voted you in, so you know. Voted against the president. My own damn father. Guess I feel sorry for our friend. Way I see it now, you owe me a favor.”
Oh, shit.
Was this how it started? Owing the club favors? Owing them her life?

“Oh,” was all she could think to say.

“What’s your poison?”

She gestured at her glass. “Just beer. I’m good.”

“Yeah?” He stood closer - close enough to smell his aftershave. Close enough to crowd her against the bar.
The president’s son. Who will stop him if I call for help?
“That all you girls drink at college? Alcohol and what, just pizza and candy and dicks all day?”

“Please take a step back.”
What the hell does he want?

“I’m just offering my help,” he said, stepping away, but only a fraction. “Just tell me what you need.”

Drugs.
It clicked into place. She wasn’t completely oblivious, not entirely innocent. She’d experimented. Some of her friends were really into cocaine, some demanded a little X before they could declare any gathering a true party. But she had no habit.
I’m sure many of the girls that get stuck in this life do, though.
Was there a diplomatic way of refusing him?

“Nothing right now, thank you,” she said. “What was your name?”

“Call me Jester.”

Always ‘call me,’ never ‘my name is’ with these guys. “
Well, Jester, thanks for the offer. I know who to ask for if I’m shopping for - er - poison.”

“Still owe me a favor, college girl.”

“I’ll be sure to let Gunner know,” she said, emphasizing his name.

“Speaking of that dumb bastard-”
Oh, great, here we go.
“You’re in, now. So anything you do to him, anything you do to the club, the consequences are ten times more severe. Do you get it?”

“Yeah,” she said, “‘Don’t fuck up,’ right?”

“Don’t fuck up. Don’t fuck around. Don’t give us a reason to remove that tattoo. We don’t take you down to the doctor’s office and have them laser it off.”

Her stomach turned. “I got it.”

Gunner finally emerged, sending Jester scampering off. “Everything okay?” he asked.

She released a long breath. “Everything’s fine. What’s the deal?”

“We’re gonna keep you right here for a while,” he said, sliding onto the next stool. “With me. Don’t worry. Just until we straighten out your little problem.”

My “little” problem. The one that sent me fleeing across the country.
“How?” she asked. Was there an easy solution? A solution at all? She knew most of the threats she received were just that - threats with no real substance. Just angry clients who were lashing out.

But Colin had found her. He’d gotten inside her hotel room.

“Bill’s going to facilitate a sale,” he said. “The club gets a cut of it - a big one. Irish will help us investigate any other threats after that.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “If I sell it, that means I have money. That means that-” He pressed a finger to her lips.

“And,” he said, “We’re changing your name.”

“What?” She glanced around them. No one seemed to be paying any attention at all. “Why?” She didn’t want to lose her name. What would that leave her with? Her belongings, her place at school, her friends, her entire life - she’d left it all behind. She was already a completely different person, but did she need to cement it so completely?

“Irish said that Dawn’s gotten a few threats, but nothing like you’ve had,” he said. “We’ll call you whatever you want, it’s just for your IDs. No big deal.”
Just on everything that will identify you from here on out. Just on your license, on your mail, told to new people. “Call me so-and-so because I have no real name anymore.” Like hell it’s no big deal.

It was a worry she would have to fret over later. She forced the distress off her face. “Will Dawn sell her share, too?” Gunner shrugged. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy.” He swung and arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “You’re in, now. It doesn’t matter if they don’t like you. We take care of ours. We’re going to dig you out of this. And what do I keep telling you?”

“No one will hurt me if I’m with you.”

“Right. And I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight at all until some of the dust settles.” He whispered into her ear, voice lower, “And as my ‘prisoner’, you’ve got to do what I say.” She recognized that tone. She felt it rumbling deep inside her core when he spoke like that. It was one consequence that she knew she could handle.

◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙◙

When the Devils decided on a course of action, they didn’t waste any time getting right to it. She found that out the very next day when she heard banging on the bedroom door while she was still in the shower.

They’d stayed at the bar as instructed. Though it was more than a bar, once she saw the rest of the building. There was a number of small rooms, much like a hotel, and a conference room that was off-limits. “
Very
off limits,” Gunner had said. She decided not to ask too many questions. He’d stayed with her, as promised, so while she chafed at being told she wasn’t allowed to leave, it was bearable as long as he was there.

“What’s happening?” she asked, peeking out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. She wasn’t about to step out if somebody else was in the room but Gunner was alone.

He grinned. “Drop the towel and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me and I’ll drop the towel,” she replied, pinching the corner between two fingers. He brought that out in her - a teasing, playful side that had never seen the light of day in her old life. Her goal was simply to keep him distracted, keep his attention on her and not on the crushing grief that she caught crossing his face during quiet moments. She recognized it because she felt similarly, though she’d had a lifetime of keeping her emotions at bay to lean on. She could push it away easily, promise herself she’d deal with her sadness and her loss later. But he had no such buffer, and so she hurled herself between him and his despair as much as she could and hoped he would stay there with her, and not give in. So far it seemed to be working.

The grin left his face as he delivered his news. "That was Bars. Apparently Jupiter was keeping tabs on that Colin fellow."

She head a bad feeling about that. "Keeping tabs?"

"Well. More like keeping the guy locked in that hotel room all this time." He shrugged a shoulder. "Jupiter was after you, remember. When he dragged it out of this guy that he wanted to take you back to New York, he said 'hell no' and figured he'd lock him down until the club was done with you."

Her head spun. “‘Dragged’ it out of him?"

Gunner grimaced. "Punched it out of him."

That poor idiot.

On the other hand, fuck that guy.
Maybe Gunner was rubbing off on her.

"What does this mean?"

"They're making a deal. His boss - or someone posing as his boss, who the fuck cares - he'll fly out with a contract and a suitcase full of cash and we'll get this shit done."

"Too easy," she said, shaking her head. "Something will go wrong."

"Something always goes wrong." He'd inched close enough to reach her. "But you don't have to worry. You're with me." In a flash, the towel was in his hands and she stood naked before him.

She sighed. "This is one way to pass the time, I suppose." She giggled when he grabbed her.

It was too easy to forget the outside world when lost in a tangle of limbs and skin and sweat. Too easy to see herself there with him still in a month, six months, a year or longer. Too easy to imagine it, the impossible reality where they could make each other happy.

Later in the day as the bar opened for customers, she helped clean tables and wash plates and glasses. They didn't really need the extra assistance, but she didn't like feeling like a charity case while she stayed there.