Riding Dirty (15 page)

“It’s not always like this,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “It’s not always this upside-down with the club. I’ll make it better for you. I promise.”

If there was anything Rowan had learned about life so far, it was that it always got worse before it got better. She sighed and fished her clothes up from where they had fallen. When she was dressed she straightened, suddenly weary.

“Take me home.”

Home. Where was that?

An offhand glance at that tyrant clock over the nursing station confirmed that it was that most magical time of day: shift change time. Day to evening was always a mass exodus of tired, cranky personnel to the nearest exit, and therefore a convenient backdrop for shenanigans. Terry Russo knew from careful calculation that she would have exactly seven minutes to do what she had to do, seven minutes before the fresh night people rose up from the locker room like summoned ghouls and started straightening up the laces that had loosened throughout the afternoon.

“Well I’m off,” sighed Terry with a sweet smile at her supervisor, Denise. “Keep it together tonight, ladies. Don’t be too jealous of my hot date. Someone’s out there for you too.”

“That’s right, you’re going to the fight! Eww,” Rhonda shuddered, shuffling through a stack of files for a patient’s information. “You’re such a good fiancé, I don’t think I could sit through it even for a diamond. So violent!”

Terry laughed and squiggled her name on the clipboard timesheet, shaking her head yet again at the bizarre, random inefficiencies of certain administrative policies of Desert Springs Hospital. Why a clipboard timesheet? For God’s sake, it was the twenty-first century.

“Well, love makes you do crazy things,” she chuckled, winking at Rhonda and unclipping her nametag. “Besides, a couple guys pummeling each other with a referee to intervene has to be way prettier than some of the stuff we see in the ER.”

“True story sister. Well, enjoy! I’m going home to my own hot date: my cat and Netflix.”

With a round of polite laughter, the RNs scuttled away like revolving dodos on a cuckoo clock, leaving Terry alone with her window of opportunity. There was silence on the floor, only the far-off beeping of monitors echoing from patients’ rooms. Terry calmly turned and opened drawer one of the crash cart, humming complacently as her fingertips drummed over the sodium bicarbonate and sodium chloride solutions until she came to the one dissonant package.

“One of these things is not like another thing,” Terry sang under her breath, pocketing the powder suspension a friend in pharmacy had secretly tucked away for her earlier. With a subtle gesture she unburied the nasogastric tube she had planted in a disheveled corner of the station, stashing it in her purse. Satisfied, she put on her sweater and marched casually down a flight of stairs, past the cafeteria, and out through admissions.

“Bye Jessica,” she waved at the receptionist, and was Scott-free. She pulled out her cell and shot off a text to her fiancé: “Got it. Coming.”

Her man was right: you really could get away with anything if you acted with confidence and calm; it was all in the way you carried yourself. He had proved it the day they met, when she'd found him snooping around outside of visiting hours. What should have been a scolding had quickly turned into a dinner date. Now, he had groomed her for an important task.

“Be casual,” he had said. “Just go about your business as if it’s what you do every day. No one’s gonna mess you up if act like you belong.” That’s was his secret: confidence. Everything about his polished appearance exuded power. That intangible ease and charm had been the first thing to sweep her off her feet and out of her senses, more so than the expensive gifts and the glamorous Las Vegas nights. He’d certainly changed her expectations in life. Now here she was, stealing from the hospital for him.

Love makes you do crazy things.

Igniting her engine and pulling her silver Audi A4 onto East Flamingo Road, Terry laughed to herself for most of the ten-minute drive. “Bunch of jamooks!” She giggled, imitating one of her fiancé's favorite expressions and the silly frown that usually accompanied it.

He’d be pleased with her tonight. He’d sworn he’d reward her generously as soon as they were alone, and she shivered in anticipation. It was always nice to be on his good side—he could be so loving when he wanted to be.

Despite the afternoon traffic it was only a hop skip and a jump until Terry turned from East Tropicana Ave onto South Las Vegas Boulevard and pointed herself at the shimmering façade of Mandalay Bay. When she finally presented herself to the concierge, she was greeted warmly and escorted to a waiting elevator that went directly to the boss’ apartment on the top floor. He had one in all of his casinos, but this might be Terry’s least favorite: it was cold and modern, the boxy lines and beige coloring of the furnishings reminding her of the hospital.

One of his bodyguards opened the door for her, nodding the concierge escort away and ushering Terry through the high-ceilinged entryway until she came to the living room. She felt important, with such attention. And there he was waiting for her, those warm chocolate eyes sparking with intelligence and secrets. Terry practically skipped over to him.

“Joey!” She curled her body into him, kissing him desperately, turned on by the knowledge that he had really needed her help today.

“Hi gorgeous.” Joey Auditore allowed his hands one pass over her supple back before pushing his demonstrative lady friend back a step. “Business first baby, then pleasure. You remember Ramsey, I think? He’s got a big fight tonight.”

Recalling the task at hand, Terry turned to survey her patient. She remembered the wide hairless chest, the bulging muscles, and the intricate tattoos illustrating his skin from all the UFC posters but hadn’t realized the last time they’d met at a dinner table just how gigantic he was in person. He was strapped to a chair this time; his handsome face was screwed up in pain and his eyes flashing with anger. Four enforcers stood in a semi-circle around him, their sweat and breathlessness indicating a recent struggle.

Joey gave Terry a pat on the ass and lowered himself into a crisp leather chair, facing his defiant guest. “Let’s get going kids, the clock is ticking. Fight time is in an hour and a half.” He watched as Terry began to remove her goods from her purse and set up, his teeth showing in a smirk of victory. “Ramsey had a beef with our strategy for the night, as he had some trouble grasping that his reign as champion should be at an end so soon. That’s what happens when you piss off King Kang, Ramsey.”

Bronson’s eyes lit up. He recognized that name, and the puzzle pieces snapped together. So, that metro-sexual asshole john had ratted them out. Well, it was too late for retribution now. If Joey knew about the Ruiners’ soliciting and robbing johns in his casinos, then the game was a bust. And he probably also knew about Rowan. Not good. In a burst of resentment, Bronson surged against the duct tape restraints that bound him and his chair lurched forward a few inches, creaking angrily. The display brought another punch to the back of his head from one of Joey’s goons. Bronson saw stars and groaned.

“Easy!” shouted Joey. “Stick above the hairline, we can’t show any bumps. We want him pretty for the cameras.” With an effort, Joey resumed his cool façade. “Ramsey, you are a fucking idiot. My brother and I showed you mercy, took you from dirty cage fights and gave you a name. Why’d you have to go and shit where you eat? I don’t understand you bikers, this death wish you all seem to have. You can’t ride in a car, you gotta donate your organs on a god damn steel bicycle. What’s the point? I don’t get this self-destruction bullshit. Bringing your street friends into our casinos…not smart, guy. Almost like you wanted to make us angry. Is that what you wanted? Well, you got it. You and your club are done. You will go on tonight and fight, only, you’ll be mezza morta from the first bell. No chances Ramsey. You are out of chances. You lose! Game fucking over.”

Joey stood and lit a cigarette, turning his back and looking out the window. The desert sun was just setting behind the distant mountains, changing the steaming gold of the strip to a hazy purple. It was the witching hour, when the law-abiding citizens went home and the fun started. “Here’s how it’s going down,” said Joey, dragging his cig. “You will wrap up your contract with my family tonight, and the ceasefire with the Ruiners MC is over. See, we’re betting against you now. You gotta lose tonight whether you like it or not. Then you won’t have been a total disappointment. We make our money back, a bunch of bikers become road-kill, and no one will be able to prove it was anything but natural causes. My friend in the medical profession has seen to that. Miss Nurse, the meds if you please. Might as well tell us what it’s gonna do, I don’t like surprises.”

Terry’s latex gloves were on and everything was in place. She picked up the NG tube, unsure who she should address as she worked. Finally, she picked an enforcer and locked eyes. “He needs to tilt his head forward, chin to chest, if you can help please.”

Bronson could do little to stop them, and experienced a terrifying moment. What were they going to do to him? He clamped his mouth shut, determined not to give Joey the satisfaction of any comment. Powerful arms cinched his head in an unshakeable grip from behind, and there was no way to use his restrained body to thrash loose.

Terry quietly measured the tube along his nose, ear and chest, then marked a spot with tape and dipped the end of the tube in some KY jelly. Bronson eyed her coolly. “So this is an NG tube,” she said, her nursing protocol taking over, as if she were in the midst of a normal routine. “It’s going through the nose to the stomach. I’ll pump in about 60 grams of sodium polystyrene sulfonate. Since this usually treats potassium poisoning or calcium deficiency and he’s normal right now, this will throw his electrolytes into imbalance, drain his bloodstream of potassium and cause hypokalemia.”

There was a pregnant pause as Terry wrapped the end of the tube around her finger, curling it, before stepping toward Bronson.

“Don’t she sound smart?” Joey took a long luscious drag of his cigarette and chuckled to himself. “Basically, Ramsey, that means you’ll be hot mess dot com. You’ll be twitchy, your muscles will go weak and your heart—that’s a muscle—just might give out. Oh well. At least there will be no trace of any drugs in your piss test or autopsy.”

“You son of a bitch!” Shouted Ramsey, in spite of himself, sputtering and straining his head away from Terry’s outstretched hands. His temples throbbed against the pain from the head-blows he’d taken, but he couldn’t bear to sit still with that crap pointed at his face.

If he was honest with himself, he had known this reckoning was inevitable since the moment he had taken Rowan into his arms, sobbing and naked, and promised to help her. He’d known the Ruiners’ peace with the mob was temporary, that his idea was pushing it. He’d known they’d get caught eventually. He’d just figured on more time, more setup. He wasn’t ready for the finale, not like this.

There were no aces up his sleeve, no way to send word.

“Shit!”

“Don’t talk yet,” Terry commanded, aiming the tube at his nose. “You might choke.”

Joey laughed. “Ain’t she something? You don’t get smart dames much in your end of the gutter do you Ramsey?”

It was surreal for Bronson to watch the tube disappear into his nostril, to feel it sliding through a part of his interior face he’d never consciously noticed before. He felt sick as the thugs flanking him roughly pushed his head forward and Terry was suddenly pouring water into his mouth. Bronson coughed and gagged as she forced the hose down his throat, inch by inch, until over a foot of the hose disappeared inside.

“You’re lucky Ramsey,” Joey grunted, snuffing out his cigarette. “Cosmo wanted to give it to you up the ass, they call it an ‘enema.’ Sounds Italian don’t it? Thought it would be a clearer message and fucking funny. But he’s out of town and that just was a little too gay for me. Not really my thing. I don’t need to see that shit. Besides, this will hit you faster. And hit you hard. It’s the end of the world as you know it, hotshot.” Joey gave Terry a light kiss on the cheek as she worked. “Babe, I’ll meet you in the box when you’re done. Ciao, Ramsey. Lose hard.”

The door clicked shut and Bronson was alone with his torturers. His pulse raced with stress as he watched Terry attach a syringe to the tube. She calmly drew out some liquid from his stomach.

“Great,” Terry said to herself. “It’s in the right place. We’re in business.”

“You ever killed someone before, princess, or am I your first?” Ramsey spat, challenging her. His chest heaved in involuntary panic, the reality of his demise sinking in.

Terry’s green eyes flickered up momentarily but averted back to their task. He’d seen her brief flash of guilt, though, and hammered her weak spot.

“That’s what you’re doing, you know,” He growled. “But you probably like that shit don’t you, fucking corpses and power trips? Turns you on, makes you feel important? You think he needs you right?” Bronson scoffed, low and hollow. “You must be a real dumb sick-o to ride with Joey. This is just the tip of the ice-burg honey. Next he’ll have you chopping cocaine and bodies. Eventually you’ll be in the way of something, know too much. What makes you think you’re not gonna get whacked someday too?”