Glory (14 page)

Kitt tapped a cigarette from its box and brought it to his lips before offering one to me. I declined with a wave of my hand. He brought his lighter up to the tip and inhaled, casting a stream of smoke from his parted lips. “Fifty, give or take. The club’s gotten much smaller since the flares. And we don’t let just anybody in. Lucky is the newest since me. Membership’s exclusive.”

My eyebrows drew up at his words. That made Hastie, Kitt, and Lucky the youngest members of the club. “Has anyone ever left?”

Kitt didn’t respond right away, so when silence wafted between us like a breeze, I turned to him. He was giving me a look that was hard to describe. His panther eyes were open and honest, but his lips were set in a grim line.

“Blood in, blood out,” he said with grim truth. “That’s our motto. You’re Glory ’til the day you die. End of.” He polished off the last of the moonshine in a long swig.

Kitt’s words echoed in my head. Sitting beneath a heavy desert moon, surrounded by Hastie’s family, I entertained the thought of belonging to them. My eyes roamed over the desolate dunes, as wide and as empty of life as my heart had been. It was a reminder of how alone I was, with no family of my own to turn to. Hastie had a large one, and I had seen what the men did for their own, the lengths they would go through to protect their colors. Tonight had made me realize that blood may make you related, but loyalty was what made you family.

Hastie

Work. It was something my mind could focus on when I needed it. But Brennan’s timing couldn’t have been worse than now. I couldn’t rest easy knowing Indy was exposed to unknown dangers right this moment. Glory MC took loyalty to a whole new level, but Indy wasn’t part of the club. That made her an outsider.

Or an intruder if things took a wrong turn.

I shifted over to ride in before Newt, pulling free of the more congested, debris-scattered roads to park in a shadowed alley by an abandoned warehouse. Checking my pistol before dropping the kickstand, I swung my leg over the Harley. The sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could get back to Indy.

Normally, one of the prospects would be tagging along with me instead of Newt, but past dealings with Brennan had always been difficult, often resulting in more damage than fair deals. Newt was just an intimidation tactic if things got shady quick.

The vice-prez of Glory MC trailed behind me as he entered the dark warehouse. The first thing I noticed was the stench of stale air. It was thick and heavy, as if fluid was entering my lungs. Newt sneezed behind me, sending up a puff of dust around us. I drew the bandana around my neck over my nose and waited. “Where the fuck is he?”

“He’s coming,” Newt reassured.

A moment later, the man in question walked in behind us, flanked by four of his men. Brennan O’Flaherty was an Irishman who liked to put his head in areas where he had no business. He took a long lingering look around the warehouse before he spoke. “Haste.”

I nodded. “O’Flaherty.”

My eyes landed on the two additional men flanking his side. Brennan had brought more men than was customary for backup. If the way he was avoiding me like a diseased animal the past several days didn’t clue me in that something was wrong, then the tightness around his lips now confirmed it. I smiled grimly. “Have you been avoiding me?”

“Some business held me up.” Brennan took a step forward into the moonlight and my gaze immediately dropped to the busted up nose and the black eye he was sporting.

I tipped my chin to him. “Run into something?”

Brennan’s smile was embarrassed, pained. “Just a wee disagreement with Ward Seven.”

Ah, Ward Seven. The main dealer of drugs. In a world where there was no government, no police and other authorities to regulate the possession and distribution of drugs, Ward Seven had capitalized on the previously illegal trade, making it the richest of all the Wards by far. With that came ego. I didn’t mind if Brennan had knocked Ward Seven’s leader down a peg or two. But by the state of Brennan’s face, it seemed that Jacques Bonheur, the always-cool leader of Ward Seven, might have jumped into the fight. And won.

Brennan and his men came from Ward Three, the main dealer of agriculture. Like caulk around a tile, orchards and fields of grain and cotton lined their territory, holding everything together. Glory MC ran Ward Four and we dealt primarily in automobiles. Unofficially though, we had the largest selection of firearms and generators. Of all the seven Wards, Ward Four received the biggest hit. The solar flares crisped the land into a desert, allowing no agriculture whatsoever to survive. The only kind of green left were dead shrubs and even deader trees.

I smiled thinly, cracking my knuckles. “Let’s hope I won’t have to add to it.”

“Not if we have a deal.”

“The regular?”

“Yes, but I’d like something a little extra.”

Eyes narrowing with suspicion, I growled. This was exactly why Newt needed to be here. Brennan was always trying to weasel something else out of the deals. “What now?”

“I’m in need of some extra protection.”

I laughed dryly. “Being in possession of a gun doesn’t keep you from dying, especially when you keep making fucked up decisions.”

Brennan’s eyes grew dark with anger. “I can handle it,” he bit out. His men drew closer, sensing the rising tension, readying to attack if provoked.

Unfazed, I deliberately took a step closer, putting myself right up against Brennan’s beaten mug. “I doubt that, motherfucker.”

“Hastie!”

My name was barked out like I was a dog being scolded for taunting a small child. I stiffened, but hearing the irritation in the voice caused my lips to pull into a lethal smile. Brennan’s shocked expression over my shoulder confirmed my suspicion.

Lazily, I turned to face my father. Knuckle glowered at me with annoyance. The other man folded his arms over his chest and widened his stance, as if pretending to be bigger would help him hold his own against the likes of Knuckle Haste. Hard to do when he didn’t even top five and a half feet.

“Brennan,” I drawled. “I don’t think you’ve met my father.”

Dark eyes slid from me to Knuckle. It felt like the beginning of a boxing match, two opponents sizing each other up, eyes glaring, body tensed, just seconds away from exploding. “Ah, we finally meet,” Brennan said. “Pleasure to meet you.”

A dip of Knuckle’s chin. “Likewise.”

“Let’s get down to business, shall we? Regular shipment of generators?”

“You’ll get your regular order of generators, but I won’t sell you the firearms.”

“Thought we had a deal,” Brennan intoned. “Going back on your word?”

“The firearms were never part of the initial deal.”

Brennan nodded and started to pace across the room, hands pinned behind his back. He gave a nod to one of his men who left by his command. I shot a curious glance at Newt, checking to see if I needed to follow. He gave one shake of his head. Negative.

Shortly thereafter, the man returned with a woman whose mouth was gagged and her arms were tied behind her back. She stumbled in her heels, one of which was broken and explained her limp. She was a pretty one, with a waterfall of auburn hair falling over one shoulder. Her neckline was reddened, the marks of fingerprints still marring her porcelain skin. Despite her exposed body displayed in a short miniskirt and a skimpy top, her eyes held defiance.

When Brennan spoke again, all our eyes shot to him. “Her name is Tansy. She is Bonheur’s daughter. I obtained her in a trade and am willing to give her to you in place of the firearms. Think of her as a way to . . .” he trailed off, shot a glance at Tansy’s long, shapely legs, licked his lips and grinned. “Sweeten the deal.”

Bonheur was as boisterous as his lifestyle. Outspoken, aggressive, and highly manipulative. In other words? He was a total jackass. But to include his own daughter in a trade? That was beyond heartless.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Knuckle asked.

Brennan waited, but when it was clear that Knuckle expected a response he said, “No.”

“Then you should know I don’t sell to those who have shit for brains.”

Brennan laughed. His head fell back as he slapped a palm to his knee. The air suddenly turned cold with the drop of moods, the effect akin to having a sheet of ice placed between us. When he wiped his eyes and his laughter finally settled, he said, “A gangster with a conscience? I never thought I’d see such a thing.”

Knuckle didn’t bother with a response. He simply growled.

I stepped forward, speaking over him. “No deal. You get your usual shipment for our usual shipment of grain and produce. That’s it. Take it or leave it.”

In Brennan’s eyes, I could see the fury finally reaching its boiling point. That just further proved how shit of a leader he really was. In business, it was all about keeping a level head. Once you allowed your emotions to control you, you might as well put a gun to your own head. Emotions messed up the mind. The more you felt, the more blurry reasoning became. And in some dire cases, reason was the distinguishing factor between living or dying.

That was why, as a rule, Ward Four didn’t do business with those not strong enough to control themselves. A flare of irrational emotion could result in far more devastating consequences than just a mistake. Some fuck-ups were irreversible.

“Sell me the guns or you cut all ties to Ward Three,” Brennan threatened.

I stiffened. This was exactly the shit-storm I had tried to avoid. Not selling the firearms would kill any chance of obtaining a significant source of food for everyone. However, selling the firearms would result in an abuse of power. Putting a gun in the wrong hands could end up with lives lost, just in a bloodier, fucked-up way.

Brennan thought he could succeed, but he was about to get a lesson in what happened when you tried to push Glory MC around.

The next sequence of events happened fast. Knuckle moved forward and delivered a mean right hook to Brennan’s face, causing the injured nose to re-break. Blood spurted out as he hollered in pain. In quick movements, Knuckle used Brennan’s disorientation to his advantage and had Brennan plastered to his body, his thick forearm pressed against his vulnerable neck, the business end of his pistol pointed at his temple.

The girl yelped as Brennan’s men moved forward to attack. In a quick one-two pump of my pistol, Newt and I managed to shoot down three of the four men’s forearms within seconds, leaving only the man holding the girl armed and standing. He held her up against his body tight, his own gun pressed up against the younger girl’s head.

Knuckle’s laughter rumbled low as the dust settled around us. Only the moaning sounds from Brennan’s men filled the air. “This is exactly the reason I don’t want to sell to you. You have no goddamn knowledge of how to use them.”

“I’ll shoot her!” the man holding the girl cried out. His voice was strewn with panic. The fucking asshole was losing it.

“Go ahead,” Knuckle growled, focusing his attention back on Brennan. “You’ll get your shipment for my usual shipment. That’s the deal. Ask me twice and I won’t spare your life.”

He released Brennan in a shove, sending him stumbling to the floor in a heap and a curse. As Brennan righted himself, he wiped the blood off his chin. “Fuck you, Knuckle. What the fuck kind of name is Knuckle anyway?”

I stepped right into his space. “Keep talking and he’ll gladly explain his name all over your face.”

With a sneer at his men on the ground, Brennan and his men stumbled out of the warehouse one by one. My eyes caught the fear-glazed ones of the girl being dragged out behind them. Poor girl. She was just a woman caught in the crossfire.

“We’re done here,” Knuckle said as he wiped his hands on his bandana. “Newt, you handle the rest.”

With a nod in his direction, Newt and I exited the warehouse. The first hit of fresh air made me realize how stuffy it was in there. Warm air beat bloody potpourri any day.

I slid an annoyed glance at Newt. “I can’t believe you called him.”

Newt shrugged. “You had that look in your eyes, like you were begging for a fight.”

As the doors to the warehouse closed slowly behind us, I looked down grimly at the spilled blood on the concrete floor. “Looks like we got it anyway.”

ELEVEN

Glorious

Hastie

A
s Newt and I pulled up to the hog roast, my gaze immediately found Indy even before I cut the engine. Dressed in white, she stood out against the star-cut sky. Though she looked the part of an innocent girl, I knew that beneath her clothes was a wonderland of curves I wanted to discover. The thin strap to her outfit had fallen over her shoulder. It made the front of her shirt dip down, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of the top mounds of her breasts. I felt a shot of lust go through me like an arrow.

I had always been possessive of Indy, but after seeing that other girl—Tansy, was it?—being handled by Brennan’s men, I realized that someone could use her as a means to hurt me. I had made a lot of enemies in my time with Glory MC and simply because I was the son to the club’s president, I knew many would love a shot at me. Indy had no idea what dangers were out there just by being here.

I knew the moment she saw me. Her eyes flew wide and that smile of hers was sweet agony to my system. I quickly regretted my actions earlier at Neptune’s. Seeing her handled by some drunken bastard set me off like an explosion, leaving Indy to deal with the aftermath. I knew that if anything was going to work between us, I had to tone down my possessive streak. But that was like asking a lion to become a vegetarian—it went against my very nature.

I would try though. I would try damn hard to be what Indy needed me to be. The honest truth was, seeing Tansy in the arms of a bad guy scared the shit out of me. In my mind, Tansy’s pale gold eyes were replaced by Indy’s sad amber ones. Fear shivered over my skin as the burning need to protect her made me grit my teeth with its intensity.

Still holding her gaze, I moved towards her, lessening the distance between us. If I could help it, there would be no more between us for a long time. I wanted her mind and her body. Then hopefully, her heart would follow.