Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) (11 page)

“By all means, speak your mind.” Beauregard glanced at his watch. “My patience is runnin’ low.”

Steele let Beauregard have it. “I don’t give a damn about your deals or your fuckin’ leverage. Far as I’m concerned, you got us into this mess, so I won’t be makin’ any arrangements or back-scratchin’. The only thing I give a damn about is finding Coyote.”

Justice spoke up, “What he meant to say is—”

“I said
exactly
what I meant to say,” Steele interrupted.

Steele got to his feet and stood toe-to-toe with the mobster, one hand hovering at his side, ready to pull the gun if he needed to. Justice also palmed his gun.
If they got out of this alive, Steele knew he’d be getting an earful on the ride home.

Nobody blinked or moved for several long minutes.

The mob boss took a step back. “I appreciate your candor. Let me be as honest with you as you were with me. If ya’ll took care of business, you wouldn’t keep needin’ my help all the damn time.”

“We don’t and we never have.” The club had gone to shit since Beauregard had gotten involved.

“You do. Or you woulda solved this problem already,” the mobster insisted.

“We’re about to,” Justice said.

“Don’t look like it from here. You boys don’t know where the vermin scuttled off to?”

Steele ground his teeth. “Not exactly, no.”

“Then you need my help.” Beauregard sat on the desk once more. “All you gotta do is ask me real nice, and I’ll help you out.”

Steele would be damned before he asked for a favor, but his brother piped up. “We’d appreciate any leads you got, Beauregard.”

“See? It wasn’t so hard, was it?” Beauregard finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in a crystal ashtray on the desk. “And don’t worry your
delicate
sensibilities none….you boys get this one for free.”

For a moment, Steele was stunned. No devil’s bargain? And then he got suspicious. “Ain’t that what drug dealers say when they give you a taste? Then they get you hooked.”

Beauregard smirked. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Steele doubted Beauregard had suddenly grown a conscience. He must be getting
something
out of this.

“I have my reasons,” he evaded. “One of my associates, Dixon Wolf, is damn good at finding people. I’ll have him dig into the Raptors and their families. Somethin’ is bound to shake loose.”

Justice cocked his head to one side. “Seriously, why are you offerin’ to help?”

“Why do you doubt my magnanimous nature?” Beauregard lifted a brow as though offended by the very notion.

“Because you ain’t got one,” Steele put in.

He chuckled. “Fine. I might have an ulterior motive or two.”

“You always do,” Justice muttered.

“Before they pulled their vanishing act, the Raptors did this. Don’t shoot, I’m only reachin’ for my phone.” He slowly pulled a cell from his pocket without making any sudden movements and tossed it to Steele.

Steele took a gander at the screen. The image was stark—inside a black leather duffel bag lay a severed head on top of blood-spattered bills. “What the fuck?” He passed the phone to Justice.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself. They sent back my employee in pieces, along with the sweetener I’d added to our deal.”

“Sweetener?” Steele asked.

“The cash.” Beauregard shook his head. “I’m done with the cartel. Drugs aren’t gonna be the cornerstone of my business any longer. I wanted to buy some time until the heroin could been found.”

“Looks like they didn’t go for it.”

“Ya think? I must say, I thought ya’ll would be more competent.” Beauregard clucked his tongue.

Steele really wanted to shoot his ass.

But who sends back a few thousand in cash with body parts? He had trouble wrapping his mind around it. The cartels used terror tactics to guard their reputation…or they were bat-shit crazy. Maybe a bit of both.

Steele glanced at his brother. Justice stared at the screen, eyes gone wide. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip. Steele slipped the phone out of his brother’s hand, and Justice shook his head as though trying to clear it.

Justice studied Beauregard. “You actually give a damn about your men?”

They all thought the Dixie Mafia considered their soldiers disposable, but maybe they were wrong.

Beauregard’s brows drew together. “It’s not like we talked sports every mornin’ at the office water cooler, but Grayson’s been with the outfit three years, and he was under my protection. This is a personal affront.”

Steele shrugged. So much for the mob boss having a conscience. “I see. This is about
your
rep.”

“Essentially. It’s also a matter of honor. I can’t let an attack go unpunished.” He glanced away. “Someone has to be held accountable, for group morale if nothing else.  He left behind a widow and three little boys.”

“What’s gonna happen to them?” Steele was curious despite himself. The club watched out for their own. Old ladies and children were considered precious, and the brothers would defend them to the death. The protection extended beyond a brother’s life too. His family would always be provided for and protected.

“None of your affair.” He sat down behind the desk, once more his cold-blooded, corporate self. “If you don’t mind, gentlemen, I have some calls to make. I’ll be in touch if we find anythin’.”

“I guess that’s our cue,” his brother said, standing up. Steele walked to the door ahead of him, eager to get the hell away from Beauregard.

***

Steele waltzed out of the Lone Star Saloon’s office feeling pretty damn proud of himself. He’d secured the bastard’s help without digging the club in deeper, and while he’d rather not work with Beauregard, hell was about to rain down on all of them. A little mafia protection would be helpful.

It was an all-hands-on-deck kind of situation. And who knew? They might get lucky. The cartel and Dixie Mafia boys might kill each other. Win-win.

Steele stopped by the pool table and perused the crowd of drunken men, looking for Ash, but she was nowhere in sight.

Justice stopped beside him. “If he hadn’t lost his guy, he might’ve painted the wall with your brains.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, brother, but I can’t stand his bullshit.”

Justice chuckled. “Get in line.”

He still didn’t see Ash. Surely, she’d finished chatting up the stripper by now. Where the hell did she go?

A stripper in a pink cowpoke get-up hauled ass through the door and ran over to Bonnie Beauregard, who sat on a barstool across the way. Steele couldn’t hear the conversation, but he knew enough from her wide eyes and big hand gestures something bad was going down.

As if on cue, Bonnie reached behind the bar and pulled out a rifle nearly as long as her body, then double-timed it outside.

“Let’s go.” Justice took off for the door.

“You read my mind, brother.” Steele took a pool cue from the wall, just in case. He always carried a gun, but gunfire drew the law. Right now, he couldn’t afford to cool his heels in the lockup when Coyote might be dying.

***

Steele skidded to a halt on the pavement.

Ash was surrounded by those drunk dumbasses from earlier. Two of them stood on either side of her, holding her arms, while another had his fist balled up, ready to strike. Yet another genius filmed the felony assault on his phone.

Fuck. This kinda situation could escalate.
 

Bonnie had her gun drawn. “Little tip from me to you, fellas. This thing’s loaded, and I ain’t afraid to pull the trigger.” She paused to let it sink into their alcohol-addled brains. “Though I’d rather not do a stretch for manslaughter. Step away from the lady and take your drunk asses home. No harm, no foul.”

Real fast and hands raised where Bonnie could see them, Steele approached. “Let me help?” Nodding, she lowered the gun a fraction. 

“Don’t need your help,” Ash growled. “Don’t want it, either.”

“Wasn’t talkin’to you,” Steele said.

The douchebag with a bloodied nose punched Ash in the gut.

Steele lurched forward, but Ash was already on top of it. She used the dickheads holding her for leverage and kicked the other one in the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. Justice grabbed the bastard and hauled him across the pavement by the shirt collar like a sack of garbage. Thank God the dipshit was smart enough not to get back up.

Steele barreled into the bastard on her left, pitching him to the pavement. He scrambled to his feet, and Steele whacked him upside the head with the pool cue. “Stay down.” Arms pinwheeling, he collapsed onto his back.

Ash had the other guy on his knees, punching him in the face repeatedly, making hamburger out of it.

“Stop! You’re killin’ him.”

Steele whirled to see YouTube dude lowering his phone, but he hadn’t called 911. Yet.

“Enough.” Steele tried to pull her back, but she ignored him, still pounding away.

He seized her by the waist and yanked her backward. Flailing, she swiveled in his arms and then walloped him in the jaw. “Dammit, Dusty.”

“We’re gonna sue you, crazy bitch,” YouTube threatened.

“Let me go.” Ash lunged at the cameraman like a wild animal.

“Fuck no. You done lost your mind.” Steele snatched her up again, pressing her arms against her sides this time. He glanced at his brother. “Justice, a little help, please.”

“Already on it.” Justice marched over to YouTube. “Can I borrow this?” Without waiting for permission, he grasped the phone, tossed it to the ground, then stomped on it, smashing it to smithereens. “Lookie there. No evidence.”

“Turn me loose.” Ash struggled in his arms.

Bonnie raised her gun once more, leveling the barrel at the drunken men. “Like I said, hit the road, boys, and never come back here again.” Bruised and beaten, they shuffled over to one of the cars.

Bonnie glanced at Steele. “Thanks for the help.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” He hauled a struggling Ash to the passenger seat and climbed in. Justice bounded over, started the vehicle up, and they took off for Hell.

Bloody and wheezing, Ash slumped against Steele. “I hate you.” Her eyes were blazing with fury.

Steele winced even though he should’ve been used to her barbs. She still had the power to hurt him.

“You’ve got every right to. Now shut up and sit still.”

***

Thirty minutes later, they stood outside of Ash’s room at Hades. Justice had already hauled ass out of the parking lot like it was on fire or something. And Steele had reached the very end of his patience.

“Let me call Duke. He’s our resident doctor, and he’ll check your wounds, maybe give you some painkillers.”

“I’m fine. I can take care of myself,” Ash muttered as she rooted around in a pocket for the right key. She seemed as flustered as he felt. “You shouldn’t have jumped into the fight.”

He bit the inside of his cheek and prayed for divine patience. “If I hadn’t, you would’ve ended up in the poky.”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t need to. Her body did all the talking, trembling with anger. Ash had always been as stubborn as a mule, but she’d blown right past obstinate to damn near irrational tonight.

“If you don’t wanna see a doctor, at least let me look at it.” He’d taken care of bruised knuckles and blackened eyes by himself over the years.

“No.”

She got the door open and was about to slam it in his face again when he shoved a hand against the wood, halting the movement. “
‘No’
ain’t an acceptable answer.” He pushed his way inside and shut the door behind him.

“It’s the only one I got for you,” she huffed. “In case you missed it, I don’t need or want you here.”

“Message received, but you ain’t gonna scare me away.”

“Why the hell is your club mixed up with Dixie Mafia and the
Tres Erre
?”

He’d been waiting for her to bring it up. “No ma’am, we’re takin’ care of your wounds first, then we can talk business.”

“I got another lead, but it’s a shaky one.”

“Good, but I said doctorin’ first, then business.”

Muttering curses under her breath, Ash stomped into the bathroom. She returned moments later with a hot, soapy washcloth and a first aid kit.

Steele snatched them from her. “Sit down and shut up.” He pointed to the bed. Ash glowered, but he didn’t back off. “Sit down, or I’ll put you down.”

They stared at one another, unblinking. Steele wondered if he’d be forced tie her to the bed in order to see to her wounds. He would if he had to.  

Ash was a mess. She hadn’t dealt with Abe’s death, and neither had Steele—not really. The past ten years must’ve been hard on her. He didn’t remember her ever being so unreasonable, and he probably wasn’t helping the situation none.

They’d always rubbed each other the wrong way, but since Abe’s death, she couldn’t stand the sight of him. Rightly so. He’d gotten her brother killed—of course she hated him with an abiding passion. Steele hated himself and always would for his role in Abe’s death. He might not have been the one who wielded the sword, but he was just as culpable. 

Finally, she turned away with a sigh. “Fine, since you’re gonna be such a pain in the ass about it.” She sat down so hard she bounced.

“You say such sweet things.”

“Shut up.”

“Shuttin’ up.” He rifled through her supplies. Not too shabby. She had antibacterial ointment, gauze, medical tape, large bandages, a set of scissors—everything he needed to tend her wounds.

“Give me your hand.” He held his out expectantly.

Curling her lips, she slapped her palm into his and then grunted in pain.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t dare laugh. She might take a swing at him. “Smarts, don’t it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah, everything with you is all hunky-dory.”

He gently dabbed her bloodied hand with the washcloth. Her knuckles were red, raw circles on her hands where the skin had split and peeled back.  He hissed in sympathy. Steele had bruised his own quite a few times, and they hurt like a bitch. Took forever to heal too.

She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him. “Tell me about the cartel.”