'Til Death - Part 2 (9 page)

He narrows his eyes. “Can’t talk about that.”

“Of course, sorry.”

We sit awkwardly for a moment, and then the door swings open and Jaylah enters. She smiles at me, and rushes forward, hugging me close. I hug her back, but once again I feel nothing. I want to feel something. I want to be happy, or sad, or even angry. But there’s nothing but emptiness.

“I’m so glad to see you. How are you?” she asks, flashing Mack a smile as he leaves.

“I’m doing okay.”

“I’m so sorry about your mom,” she whispers.

I nod, staring at the wall for a moment. “I have a question. It’s a rather odd question but . . .”

She sits beside me. “What is it?”

“I was wondering . . .”
God, how am I going to put this?
“If Mack or one of the club members would have information about”—I swallow—“hiring a hitman.”

Jaylah gasps. “Katia, why would you need to know? God, is it for Marcus?”

“Of course not,” I cry, actually sounding offended by that. “It’s . . . I have an old ex.”
God, I’m a liar
. “He’s dangerous, Jaylah. Really dangerous. The reason we broke up was because he, well, he tried to beat me. Recently, he’s been back in my life and he won’t leave. I’m afraid of what he’ll do to me if he gets too close.”

“So tell Marcus.”

“I can’t do that,” I whisper. “Right now, I can’t face him.”

“Katia, you don’t want to be messing around with hitmen. It’s dangerous.”

She’s not going to break.

God damn it.

“You’re right,” I say, standing. “I’m so sorry. It was a stupid question.”

She studies me. “Did you want me to talk to Mack, see if he can help with this ex?”

“Sure,” I mutter.

Let him help with the non-existent ex.

“Katia, are you sure you’re okay?”

I nod, forcing another smile. She can see right through me. I need to get out of here. “I have to get going. Thanks for your help.”

I rush out before she has the chance to speak again. Damn it. I’m going to have to go deeper. Right into the bowels of the criminal world. I hurry to my car, avoiding the suspicious stares of Maddox, Mack and Krypt. I speed off.

Back to square one.

M
y hands tremble with rage as I listen to Mack.

“She asked Jaylah about a hitman?”

“Yeah, bro,” he mutters. “Not sure what it was all about. She swore she had an ex who was bothering her.”

“Yeah,” I growl. “That ex would be me.”

“Said it wasn’t,” he says, though I can tell he doesn’t believe it. “Said it was for an old ex.”

“She’s lying, Mack. You and I both know she has enough reason to want to take me out.”

“This is Katia we’re talking about.” He sighs. “Why the fuck would she want to hurt you? She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Have you ever had someone in your life you couldn’t breathe without?”

Mack sighs deeply. “Yeah.”

“Her mom was that someone. She was the only reason Katia fought so hard. I held her back. If I didn’t stop her at that airport . . .”

“She still might not have made it in time,” he cuts me off. “Fuck, dude, you can’t blame yourself. It’s not like you knew.”

“Tell her that.”

“I’m looking into it further, going to find out as much as I can. Until then . . . stay safe.”

Fuck. Me.

My wife is trying to kill me.

She might as well rip my heart out with a knife. It would be kinder.

~*~*~*~

I
stare at the large compound surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Inside there are two massive warehouses, and out front, a line up of bikes for a mile. I close my eyes, my hands shaking. These are the only people I could think of who would help me. They’re bikers. They’re known to be bad-ass and ruthless, and they’re not going to tell anyone. It’s cliché; I know that, coming to a biker lot. It’s the only place I could think of that made sense right now.

“Oi!”

I flinch and turn to see a huge, burly man storming towards the gate.

“You fuckin’ lost?” he asks.

I swallow, straightening my shoulders and pushing my fear back into the darkness. “I’m here to see the president.”

He cocks a grey brow. “Who the fuck are you? His pussy? Never seen you ’round here before.”

God.

“I, ah, I need his help.”

He narrows his eyes. “You a fuckin’ cop?”

“No.”

He swings the gate open, reaches out and hurls me in. Suddenly I’m slammed against it, my face pressing into the wire. His hands start running up and down my body. I close my eyes, waiting for it to end but not really feeling anything. I have no emotion right now; everything is just a big fucking blank space.

I’m not even sure I’d care if they killed me.

“You’re clean, so why the fuck are you here? You a reporter?”

“No. I need . . . your services.”

He snorts. “Services?”

“I need to hire a hitman.”

He flinches behind me. “The fuck did you say?”

“I was told . . . or . . . I thought . . . you would be the right people to ask.”

“You lost your fuckin’ marbles, woman?” he barks.

“If you can’t help me, I’ll leave.”

“The fuck you will. Walk.”

He turns me and shoves me towards the massive warehouse. I walk slowly through the dirt until we reach the front door, where he flings it open and pushes me inside. I’m faced with a room full of bikers, women, and a whole lot of drugs and sex. I stare at them, but there is no fear.

“What you got there, Fatso?” A young man laughs. “Didn’t think someone so pretty would go for your fat ass.”

“Fuck up,” Fatso grunts, shoving me down the hall.

He leads me to a massive blocked off room, and reaches around me to bang on the door.

“Fuckin’ what?” a somewhat masculine voice growls.

“Got a visitor for you, Pres.”

There are the sounds of shuffling, then a moment later the door swings open and I’m faced with an extremely attractive man. He’s tall. He’s built. He’s deadly. I stare up at him, and he returns the favor with full force. “What’s this?”

“Bitch shows up at the fence sayin’ she needs to pay someone to do a hit.”

The president raises his dark brows. “No shit.”

“Shit. She’s yours.”

He shoves me towards the man, and then disappears back into the sex-fest going on in the main area. The man in front of me reaches out, curling his fingers around my arm, and hauls me into the room, slamming the door shut.

“You a cop?”

“Your friend already frisked me,” I mutter.

“You a journalist?”

“You guys need some new questions,” I deadpan.

He turns to me, narrowing his eyes. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Are you going to give me yours?”

He tilts his head. “No.”

“Then you don’t need to know mine. I heard I could pay you to do a hit. Can you, or can you not?”

He narrows his eyes. “What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ askin’ a biker club for a hit?”

“Does it matter?”

“Does if I’m goin’ to do it.”

I shake my head. I don’t have time for this. If he’s going to ask twenty questions, I’ll find someone else.

“You know what? Don’t bother. If you can’t do it, that’s fine.”

“I never said I couldn’t do it,” he says when I turn for the door. “Now, tell me who you want to fuckin’ take out?”

“My husband.”

He flinches. “He beat you?”

“No.”

“Rape you?”

“No.”

“Then why do you wanna risk shit, to take him out?”

“Because he destroyed me.”

He must see something in my eyes, in my dead, cold eyes because he sighs and mutters, “Fuck me. Fine. You got cash?”

I look back at him. “How much?”

He crosses his arms. “Twenty, large.”

I nod sharply.

Shit.

I
shoot back the amber liquid and it scorches my throat as it slides down. Ulio is pacing the room, growling down the phone. My knee bounces as I wait for him to end the call and tell me what the fuck is going on.

“Well?” I ask, when he finally hangs up.

“Had our guy followin’ her. She was just seen at the Tinman’s Soldiers compound.”

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ shittin’ me,” I bark.

“Nope,” he says, shoving his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. “She’s serious. Whatever she’s planning, she’s serious.”

Pain radiates through my heart. She won’t answer my calls. She won’t see me. She refuses to let me fuckin’ make this better. Now she’s hangin’ around with bikers, asking shit about hitmen.

They’ll do it for her, too.

Fuck me. This shit is serious.

~*~*~*~

“W
hat do you want that much cash for?” Ford asks, crossing his arms.

“I’m coming to you, Ford, because I can’t go to anyone else. You’re the only person who will understand.”

He narrows his eyes. “Understand what?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Katia, what the fuck do you need that kind of money for?”

I need it to pay the Tinman’s Soldiers to kill my husband. The only people who could get away with killing someone and not be questioned. They’re a motorcycle club. It makes sense. It works. They can be subtle, and with Marcus’s past, the police won’t suspect them.

I straighten my shoulders. “I am leaving, and I need cash to help me get started.”

“Why would you leave when you have all this support here?”

“Because.”

“You’re lying.”

His jaw tics and I clench mine. “Please, Ford.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at me. “You tell me or I won’t give it to you.”

I sigh and growl, low and deep. “I need it to pay a motorcycle club.”

He makes a wincing sound. “What the fuck do you need to pay a motorcycle club for?”

“To kill my husband.”

His face goes white. My body jerks. I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe it came out of my mouth. He’s staring at me, eyes wide, and his mouth slack. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

“No,” I say, my voice dead. “He took my life. He kept me from my mother. He stripped me of everything real. He needs to go.”

“Katia,” he says, his voice steady. “You have a child.”

I flinch.

“You don’t want to mess with this kind of stuff.”

I turn away. “If you won’t help me, Ford, I’ll find another way, but I won’t stop until Marcus is gone and I’m free to live again.”

“And you think you’ll be free?” he yells after me as I start off down the hall. “You think you’ll feel okay with ending a life?”

I don’t answer him.

He doesn’t understand. No one would.

I’m on my own.

~*~*~*~

T
he car is hot. I’m sweaty and sticky. My hands are shaking.

The money is in a handbag beside me, ready to be given. I convinced my father I needed a new car and I couldn’t live without one. I’ve been borrowing his but he’s due back at work soon so it was a logical lie. He just handed the money over without question. Of course he’d believe me. Why wouldn’t he?

A tall man in a dark hoodie comes to the car window, and taps three times. I wind it down to stare at him. I found out the man I spoke to is the new president of the Tinman’s Soldiers, the nephew of Howard, the old president. Howard was killed in prison three months ago.

He is hard, dangerous and incredibly good-looking. He was captivating the first time I met him, and he’s just the same now. He’s got dark, messy brown hair. His eyes are bright green, mixed with a tiny bit of yellow. His skin is olive. His body is massive, and covered in tattoos. His jaw is set and his mouth is a straight, but plump line.

“You got the cash?” he asks.

“Yes.”

I push the money towards him. He reaches in and takes it out. He leans in against the car and counts it, then nods, looking down through the window at me.

“You sure this is what you want, girl?”

“Yes.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Seen a lot of things in this world. Seen darkness. Seen pain. Never seen emptiness the way I see it in your eyes. Whoever this man is, he probably deserves the bullet going into his forehead.”

I flinch.

He continues.

“But can you live with that? Can you live with his death?”

“Yes,” I croak.

“We didn’t share names. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. This will be clean and it won’t come back to you. You’ve got forty-eight hours to change your mind. You know where to find me if you do.”

“I won’t.”

“Think long and hard about that.”

I turn to him, and God, does he have beautiful eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be the criminal?”

His lips tip up. “I am. I’m also trying to clean up a lot of mess my uncle left this club in. I’m doing this because the money is needed, but if you change your mind, it’s yours.”

I know these men are the enemies to the Jokers’ Wrath MC, but this man, whoever he is, seems like he isn’t so bad. I supposed, he probably thinks the Jokers are the problem, just like they think he’s the problem. Life is twisted like that. Who is really the bad guy, in the end?

“I’m going to leave now,” I say.

He nods, stepping back. “Forty-eight hours.”

I don’t answer him.

I just drive off.

I won’t change my mind.

T
he moment I step inside my home, I know something is wrong. Everyone is there: my father, my brothers, Candy and Dusty. They’re waiting for me. Their faces are tight and hard. Candy has Penny in her arms, stroking her arms softly, but her face is a hard mask, boring straight into me.

“Where have you been?” my father asks.

I shrug. “Out.”

“Katia,” he warns. “Where have you been?”

I stare at him. “Out.”

“Where’s the money I gave you?”

I flinch. Lifting my head. My eyes shoot to Ford, and he’s glaring at me, arms crossed. He told. He fucking told. My father pulls out a letter, and I know it’s the life insurance policy. He’s put two and two together, with Ford’s help.

“You told,” I bark to Ford.

“You have any idea what you’re doing?” he growls. “Any idea what sort of danger you’re putting yourself in.”