Shot to Hell (Four Horsemen MC #7) (17 page)

“Try harder,” she snarled.

Ash booked it in the other direction.

“Where you goin’?”

“Away from you, asshat.”

He didn’t follow her, but Ash knew she couldn’t outrun Steele. Not forever.

But right now, she needed a cold shower.

***

Later the same morning, Ash gaped at a palatial mansion coming into view.

After her goose-pimpling, chilly shower, Ash found both Justice and Steele on her doorstep. Steele had handed over her keys without a word, and Justice had informed her they’d gotten a terse message from Beauregard requesting a meeting. Apparently, he’d come across some useful information. 

She had trouble keeping her eyes on the road—the urge to gawk was almost overwhelming. She’d grown up in a nice upper middle-class home, but this was a mansion. It belonged to Dixon Wolf, Beauregard’s Dixie mafia douche buddy.

Their rich and famous lifestyle pissed her off righteously.  Her parents had played by the rules—earned all of their money by working their asses off—but these thugs broke laws and reaped all the rewards without consequences.

And now here she was, working with the bastards. She couldn’t believe Steele and his band of bonehead brothers had dragged her into a meeting with Dixie Mafia men.

The house had a southwestern hacienda look with a brick courtyard and a red tile roof. They parked near an ornate brick wall flanked by an illuminated fountain and hopped out to find another SUV pulling in.

Byron Beauregard jumped out and led the way to the front door while they trailed him.

They passed a collection of red clay pots and long thin shrubs lining the walkway. The turquoise front door was massive and ornate, possibly antique. It had a detailed cross carved into the surface and looked like it belonged in one of those old time Spanish missions. Maybe it used to hang in one.

A maid let them in the front door then hurried off. Beauregard yammered away to Steele and Justice, but Ash took a gander at her surroundings, noting exits and entrances.  

The foyer lived up to the exterior. The ceiling had to be thirty feet high with exposed wooden beams. The terracotta tile floors were sporadically interrupted by blue tiles arranged to form patterns. The walls were a plain beige stucco, which accented the rustic paintings on the walls in wooden frames with bright colors–red, purple, yellow, and orange.

Hard to believe a place this beautiful belonged to a killer.

A young woman stepped into the foyer. She appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties with baby-fine black hair pulled up into a haphazard bun, pale skin, and cobalt blue eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses.

She had a voluptuous, hourglass figure with large breasts and curvy thighs. She wore boot-cut jeans and a dark blue sweater, which seemed informal by mafia standards.

“Hello, Mr. Beauregard,” she greeted with a jerky wave.

“Vick, nice to see you again.” Beauregard gestured to the woman. “This is Victoria Hale, Dixon Wolf’s assistant.” Then he introduced Justice, Steele, and Ash  

“Nice to meet ya’ll. Call me Vick, everyone does. Dixon’s waiting. Please follow me.” She led the way down a hall and ushered them into what appeared to be a home office.  

Vick seemed like the sort of woman who’d be at home on a college campus—a graduate student or a young professor. How on earth did she get mixed up with the bottom feeders in the Dixie Mafia?

Again, Ash marveled at her surroundings. Dixon’s office also had a southwestern theme. The walls were stucco with the same tile floor found in the foyer. In lieu of a desk, he worked at a roughhewn table. Along the wall behind him were a selection of sleek black filing cabinets.

And seated behind it was
El Jefe
himself
.

Dixon Wolf wore a white button-down shirt and a sedate gray suit with a matching tie. She put his age in the late forties, possibly early fifties. His thick, dark brown hair was bracketed by streaks of silver. Along the edges of his mouth and eyes were laugh lines. He had a layer of stubble on his cheeks and chin.

He was a handsome man, like Beauregard. Yep, both of them were attractive, except for the whole murderer issue. It was probably some knee-jerk, fairy tale crap leftover from childhood, but Ash somehow expected bad guys to be ugly.

She noted Wolf wore a wedding band on his ring finger. What kind of idiot married a mobster? Probably the same kind who’d spent most of the night fantasizing about screwing an outlaw biker…the one who’d abandoned her brother to die alone.

Damn. Her
conscience could be a real bitch sometimes. So much for self-righteous indignation. Given her wayward thoughts, Ash was in no position to be casting aspersions on anyone’s character.

Beauregard nodded to the other mobster. “Dixon is an associate and friend of mine.” And then he gestured to her and the two bikers. “This is Steele, Justice, and Ashton Calhoun.”

“You have friends?” There was a palpable edge to Steele’s attempt at humor.

“If I were you, I’d do my level best to stay on my good side, or you’ll find out exactly how many friends I do have.”

A little stare-off ensued. The room was thick with testosterone and ego. Ash shot a
solidarity, sister
sort of glance at Vick who groaned in shared frustration.

Vick stood next to Dixon and stroked a laptop on the desk in front of her, as if it were a pet. Ash wondered if it was a nervous gesture.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Dixon Wolf said.

A knock sounded on the door, and another man entered. He had thick dark hair and even darker eyes. The man wore another sedate suit—gray with a black tie. The pronounced five-o’clock shadow on the planes of his face kept him from looking like an ordinary businessman. Ash imagined CEOs appeared polished at all times.

“This here is one of our associates, Tennessee Ross,” Beauregard explained. “But everyone calls him Ten.”

Ten nodded but didn’t offer a verbal greeting.

While Wolf and Beauregard cultivated southern manners, Ten didn’t put on any respectable airs. He appeared cool, composed, and utterly indifferent to the tension in the room. Instinct, honed from hairy situations in the military, told Ash that he was easily the most dangerous man in the room, and considering the company she kept...it made an impression.

“Yeah,” Justice said, breaking the silence. “This is real nice.”

“Ms. Calhoun, I understand you’re currently employed by Cole Security, correct?” Wolf’s eyes gleamed in a
gotcha
sort of way.

Thrown, Ash could only stare.

“I told you he was good.” Beauregard wore an unholy smile.

“Not me, Vick.” Wolf patted her arm as though she were a treasured pet.

Vick cast sheepish eyes Ash’s way. “I’m only doin’ my job.”

Her boss cleared his throat. “And if I’m not mistaken, you got a contract with the DEA.”

Busted.
Lying about it would only make the problem worse. “How’d you hear about it?”

“It’s hard to keep secrets in the digital age,” Vick said. “Especially when it comes to government agencies.”

Wolf laced his hands together. “Answer the question.”

“Why go through this charade? You already know the answer.” Ash didn’t have a high bullshit tolerance.

Beauregard swaggered over to Wolf’s desk and turned to face them. “All of this means you’ve brought a fox into my henhouse.” He winked at her. “And I mean that in
every
way possible.”

Ash rolled her eyes.

“Fox in the henhouse,” Steele repeated, his eyes faraway. He seemed to be thinking about something intently, but then he shook his head. “Looks like the surprise is on you this time, Beauregard.”

“For once,” Justice muttered.

Ash had the feeling the club had been taken for a ride or two by the mobster.

“I wouldn’t get used to it if I were you.” Beauregard placed a hand at his side, where his holster bulged beneath the jacket of his suit.

“As I recall, we didn’t invite you to this here party. You got involved with the Raptor issue all on your own.” Steele had a hand ready to pull if necessary. “Actually, you caused the entire snafu.”

Justice copied the movement. She couldn’t see the rest of Wolf’s body behind the desk, but she bet he’d put his gun within easy reach too.

Oh, damn.
Ash and Vick were the only ones who hadn’t made a threatening move. This was rapidly becoming a volatile situation, and she needed to step in before they added more red to the office color scheme.

“I’m a merc, not a Fed.” Hands up, Ash slowly approached Beauregard, but Steele stepped into her path, putting his body between them like a human shield. “I don’t give a damn about the Dixie Mafia. You aren’t relevant to my assignment.”

She slipped by Steele, making no sudden movements in case anyone got trigger happy.

“You’ll understand if I somehow doubt your sincerity, since I’ve already caught you in a lie.” Beauregard got in her personal space, towering over her.

“Are you wearin’ a wire?” Beauregard scanned her body as if he had x-ray eyes and could somehow see it through her clothing.

“No, but you’re welcome to check.” Ash kept her arms at waist level.

Beauregard raised a brow. “Don’t mind if I do. Strip.”

“She ain’t takin’ off her clothes for you.”

The mobster chuckled. “Somebody’s got a crush.”

Ash bit the inside of her cheek as Steele made a noise low in his throat. This was about to go south in a big way. She didn’t want to be in the middle of a gunfight—especially for such a petty reason.

Gritting her teeth, Ash pulled her T-shirt over her head, leaving her in a plain black sports bra. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t worn anything more exotic.

Keeping his eyes trained on Steele, Beauregard spoke to her. “Don’t be shy, darlin’. Show us some skin.”

“Ash doesn’t—”

“Steele,” she said sharply. “It’s fine.”

Before the mobster could provoke him further, she slipped the bra over her head. Ash made no attempt to cover herself. She was far from shy, and she wouldn’t give Beauregard the satisfaction of acting all girly about her own nudity. It was only skin. Although she wished it were warmer in the room—her nipples had pebbled in response to the cold.

“Happy?” Ash asked Beauregard.

“Very.” Beauregard’s voice dipped lower as he leisurely perused her chest as if he had all the time in the world. “I’ve always admired a pretty view.”

Steele didn’t look, though, and it irked her. He’d been all hot and heavy last night.

Ash tugged her clothing into place once more. “Now that we’ve established I’m not wearing a wire, we can get back to business. I arranged an immunity deal for the Four Horsemen. Any felonies discovered in this investigation won’t be reported to the DEA.”

“How nice for the biker boys,” Beauregard drawled. “But what about my organization?”

Ash gritted her teeth. “The DEA is interested in the Raptors, since they’re the ones who have direct contact with the
Tres Erre
. The cartel is the main target.”

“You sidestepped my question.”

Damn, he’d noticed. In this business, she usually had a choice between two objectionable decisions. She’d love to hand over the Dixie Mafia, but the DEA wouldn’t be handling their case anyway. Most likely, it’d be slid over to the FBI, and the drug charges would be folded into a RICO case. 

The DEA and her bosses only cared about the cartel. Ergo, it was her priority, as well.

She sighed. “If you give me your fax number,” she told Dixon, “I’ll call my supervisors and procure a similar agreement with you.”

Beauregard and Wolf stared at one another
. Oh, goody
.
More mental conversations.

No one moved or breathed, waiting to see if they’d go for it.

After what felt like forever, Beauregard nodded.

Wolf wrote a number down on a scratch piece of paper and handed it to her. Ash stepped outside to dial her supervisor and explain the situation. He agreed, a decision Ash wasn’t exactly happy about. After the documents were signed and faxed back, they got down to business. 

“What did you find about the Raptors?” she prompted, taking a seat on one of the Queen Anne’s chairs in front of his desk. The sooner they got out of here, the better.

The three men behind her didn’t sit down, and she chafed at having Beauregard at her back. But Justice and Steele would handle it if he got a homicidal urge.

Huh.
She trusted the bikers more than the mobsters.

Wolf pulled out a manila folder and flipped through it. “I’ve been going over the club members’ financials.”

“And how’d you get access?”

He smiled slyly. “I have my ways.”

“And those would be?” Steele asked.

“I make it my business to know money. Over the past few days, Vick and I made some inquiries into their spending habits. Those boys are smarter than I gave them credit for. There ain’t been any activity on their bank accounts or credit cards for more than a week.” He smirked. “I froze ‘em anyway, though.”

“How?” Last time she checked, only the government could do something so high-handed. Unless he’d corrupted some politicians along the way, which wasn’t totally out of the question.

Wolf smirked. “Like I said, I have my ways.”

While she didn’t like using questionable means, not having ready access to their money would make it harder for the Raptors to remain in hiding. Hopefully, this would flush them out.

“But Vick found out something even more interestin’.”

“Actually, it wasn’t really me. I had a clue where to look. Hackers, like me, all travel in the same circles, you see. Fox approached me while I was on Tumblr.” Vick shrugged.

Ash had heard of the social media site before. “You were blogging?”

“Yeah, about the
Walking Dead.
I have a thing for Steven Yeun. He plays Glenn on the show, and he’s so sexy, I mean—”

“Vick, on topic please,” Dix said sharply.

She flinched. “Right, sorry. Fox told me I needed to check a particular PayPal purchase made by one of the Raptors named Woody.”

Woody? What a stupid alias. Knowing the Raptors, he’d probably meant it as a dick joke.