Where Souls Spoil (105 page)

The van comes to a stop, and the men—all except Ryan—move into position. They each check their equipment and call numbers and codes back at one another. From behind Ryan, I see Ian take a deep breath and nod. He opens up the back door, grabs a duffle bag, and walks up to a group of men in jeans and flannel shirts with his back straight and the deadliest expression I can imagine on his face. I try to focus on the men but can’t. Ryan consumes everything in my line of sight. I was only trying to distract him with my whining, but once it came out, it was more honest than I expected or wanted it to be.

“Better get her out of here—they’re coming for the van,” Duke says. The two front doors open and then close, one after the other. We’re alone now, though we have an audience off in the distance. Something about Ryan’s reaction, or lack thereof, is more than a little frightening.

“Follow me,” he says. His neck muscles tighten as he speaks. Turning around, he hops out of the van and stands a few feet in front of the open doors with his back to me. I follow slowly, wishing to be as invisible to the strange men as possible. I keep myself tucked behind Ryan’s back, hoping I’m mostly out of their line of sight.

We make it around the van without anyone noticing, I think. Ryan nervously eyes the group in flannel that Ian and Duke are talking to, while Jeremy stands with his gun at his side and his back to them. Always have each other’s back. Always. That’s part of the Forsaken code. They just take it more literally than I thought. We’re parked in a half-enclosed field underneath a collection of redwoods on this side of the van. On the other side is a large wooden barn that’s so worn it looks as though it’s never been painted. It seems sturdy enough for what I assume is a working ranch judging from the potent smell of manure that practically suffocates me as the wind picks up.

“I’m not bored with you. Not one fucking bit. If I was, I wouldn’t have brought you with us. This shit we do? With RICO it could easily get us each a life sentence. You understand the magnitude of our business? You get that?”

“Yes.” My breathing is shaky—half from the words and half from our surroundings. I don’t like it here. I don’t know these people and don’t know what I’ve walked into. Beyond intimidating, it’s scary. I shouldn’t have asked for this, and I shouldn’t have distracted him as I did. If he needed to let out a little steam with Ian, I should have let him.

Chapter 4

Ryan

I shouldn’t have
brought Cub here. Even though the Mendo Ranch is the site of one of our least contentious business relationships, it’s still not right for her to be a part of this shit. She can’t defend herself well enough to be brought into club business. Ever.

The support club that supervises the ranch’s production on a daily basis has been licking Forsaken’s ball sack for the last twenty or so years, just begging for a patch over. It’s not going to happen, no matter how much some of the brothers think it could be good for us.
Part of what keeps Forsaken off ATF’s radar is the fact that the pussy agents they got working that shit consider us a small to mid-sized club. We’re not as big of a threat in their eyes as other clubs, so ATF doesn’t pay much attention to us. We also pay our guys reasonable salaries for the jobs they have been legally hired for. The fucking federal government doesn’t know shit about shit. Fucking idiots. Their idiocy works out for us in the end, though, so I can’t complain much.

Still, transporting at the level we do is a dangerous job. One motherfucker after another is always trying to cut into our game. Doesn’t matter how many we take down. Another fucking street gang pops up and starts busting our nuts. I guess if I was going to take Cub on a run, this is a good one to bring her on. Pop’s not here to give me shit, and nobody in the van is going to fucking rat. Each one of these assholes has done shit they shouldn’t have for their chick. Especially Duke—motherfucker better not get me started on the goddamn Darren situation. That shit blew up in our faces bad. We’re still cleaning it up.

“I hate you being here. If you get hurt, I won’t ever forgive you.” I’m being a dick and I know it. I just don’t care right now. I’m not normally this much of an ass to her when we’re alone, at least not anymore, and especially not after I’ve taken her. She’s the one person I don’t have to have my guard up around. I want to share shit with her and give her everything she wants. But shit’s been weighing on my shoulders, and I can’t be bothered with trying to play nice or making her happy. I’d rather she be safe and angry with me than at risk because I’m worried about being fucking popular.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to make sure I stay safe,” she says slyly. The way her eyes flutter and she speaks like she’s hanging on to her last breath is hot as fuck, and I just want to stick my dick in her mouth. But she won’t like that, and she’s not the same woman she was when I first met her. She’s been hanging around Ma too fucking long. Last week she had the nerve to tell me to kiss my own ass because she wasn’t going to do it for me. Not gonna lie, it just makes me want to fuck her every time she stands up to me about stupid shit. I liked her before I knew she had a backbone. But now? Fuck. I just wish it wasn’t so fucking obvious.

“You see the guys in the flannel? Underneath those shirts they have their leather cuts on. Not Forsaken—it’s not important to you who they are—but they help us run our shit day-to-day. Low-level supervisory shit that I can’t be bothered with. Things like weighing the product and separating and packaging it into the appropriate weights. We used to do that shit ourselves, but that was back when Rage was in charge. Anal motherfucker. Now we have too many . . . locations . . . to individually manage each one.”

“How does the club handle the money made from an operation this big?” She’s asked this question before, and so far I’ve successfully dodged answering. I know why she wants to know, but I’m not up for fucking telling her.

“Fuck if I know. I just work here,” I mutter. Cub wants to go to school and get a degree in something that will help the club run our businesses. She mentioned becoming an accountant or some shit like that before. I don’t like the idea one bit, but I’ve told her no before. Just like I told her I wasn’t going to involve her in club business today, but here she is at one of our grow houses anyway. Crazy woman doesn’t take no for an answer, and I suck at denying her anything.

“Who’s she?” I barely recognize Jerry’s deep, throaty voice as he approaches. He always kicks up the dirt and stray rocks as he walks, his feet practically pounding into the ground below. Jerry’s not the worst guy to spot Cub—not that I’ve done a good job at keeping her hidden—but he’s not the best either. Jerry’s one of those “by the book” guys who will recite bylaws and shit to you if he thinks you need the reminder. But we don’t wear the same patch, and Forsaken don’t recognize another club’s laws. Fuck, some days we barely recognize our own. Like me bringing her up here. Not the first time it’s happened, though. Ma’s been on more runs with Pop than I can count. Pisses people off but nobody’s stupid enough to tell Ma she can’t do something if she’s got her mind set on it.

“Jerry,” I say. He’s a tall and burly man with a large gut and a lazy eye. His dark-blue-and-forest-green plaid flannel shirt is marked with dried mud in spots. About half the crew out here work the ranch as well as the grow house in an effort to disguise the ranch’s dual purpose. “This is my girl.”

Jerry doesn’t say anything. He just nods his head and turns to walk away. He makes a half circle before turning back around and raising his empty hand to his temple. With his ring index finger pressing into his skull, he says, “That’s right—uh, Boss wanted to see you next run. So I guess now works, huh?”

Fuck. Since when does his boss want to see me? I don’t give a fuck about going in there and talking to that old asshole, but bringing Cub in with me is a different story. Every passing moment we’re here makes me even more nervous than the one before it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jerry’s boss wants to talk to me—and while the dude is technically my fucking employee, he’s a valuable asset to the ranch, and his men respect him. They know Forsaken, damn well better respect Forsaken, and they don’t give us shit. But Jerry’s boss doesn’t know
me
, and I have a feeling he’s about to ask me some questions I don’t want to answer. Again, people with their fucking questions.

“Get in the van,” I whisper to Cub. She stands just slightly behind me and gives my wrist a soft squeeze before she moves around the van toward the passenger door.

“Pretty sure the boss is going to want to talk to her, too. Just to get to know her. She’s obviously important.” I could argue, but it wouldn’t do any good. I argue and raise my voice, then so does Jerry, and next thing I know Cub is yelling at him and he finds out who she is—if he doesn’t already know. My girl can’t help but slipping into Italian when she’s angry. I never know what she’s saying, but she’s sexy as hell when she does it. So it’s bad news if they figure out who she is. Voices get raised and Jerry’s guys rush over and my guys run over and it’s a fucking mess and this day gets worse than it already is.

I reach out and grab ahold of her wrist. With a firm grip, I pull her close to my side.

“Fine.” My voice is strained as I speak the word. Jerry turns on his heel, and we follow him in. I swore that I’d keep her safe, and here I pulled her into this fucking mess. She deserves better than what she has, and if she wants to go to school and learn about numbers and math and shit, I should support her. I should be a better man. I can work on my route to evolution tomorrow. Today is about keeping our heads on straight and not getting my ass handed to me by my boys when they find out about this. Because they will if Jerry’s boss knows.

We make it halfway across the field when she gives my hand a squeeze. She says she can always tell what my squeezes mean. I don’t really know what she’s talking about. She calls me on it, though, and she’s just about always right. Apparently sometimes my squeezes are for support and reassurance, and sometimes they’re just to let her know that I’m there. Don’t know how she deciphers between that shit. All I ever get out of it is that she wants something.

This relationship crap is half-terrifying and half-fucking-twisted. Who the fuck knows the language of squeezes?

Apparently Cub does.

“We’re okay,” she mouths to me and nods her head. Her long brown hair is in a messy braid that hangs over her shoulder, and her brown eyes are practically sparkling from the excitement of everything going on around her. All I want is for her to understand—for one goddamn second—that this shit isn’t a game. It’s dangerous, and working with other clubs always carries a certain risk and requires a high level of sensitivity. But here she is like she’s got no clue how bad this could be—smiling her ass off. I give her a warning look, but she ignores me. Either Mancuso totally kept her in the dark about how real shit can get, or she just fucking refuses to understand the potential for how bad things can go here.

Jerry walks us into the large barn that sits in the center of the open field that welcomes visitors to the Mendo Ranch. Once a month or so they open the ranch up to sell fresh meat at a discount to locals who want to cut their costs at the grocery store, and a portion of the sales goes directly to help cancer research. The rest of the meat is sold to supermarket chains around the county who have no clue they’re doing business with Forsaken. The same store owners and managers buy our product and then turn their noses up when we frequent their stores. Fucking assholes don’t know how fast we could cripple their businesses if we wanted to.

The barn doors are open and welcoming, like fucking Disneyland for cows or some shit. There’s a front desk and an elderly receptionist who sits here and handles the phones when we get calls. On the walls are photos of cows that have called the ranch home, their names tacked onto the top in colorful pieces of paper. I’ve never fucking understood it. We kill the goddamn animals and eat them and put their pictures up like being here is winning a prize? Fuck. If I put up pictures of everybody I killed with their name attached, people would think I was fucking psychotic. Whatever.

“Ryan Stone,” the receptionist says in an uninterested but kind tone into the cordless phone at her ear. She shifts in her chair on the hay-covered floor, then redirects her eyes to Cub. “And a lady visitor.”

Bitch. She must be on the phone to Jerry’s boss—whose name I never can fucking remember—and she just sold Cub out. Not that he wasn’t about to find out anyway, but the element of surprise is always handy, and now we’ve lost it. She better fucking pray Cub makes it out of this unscathed, or all that dry hay under her feet will light up quick and she won’t make it to the door before her flesh is burned off.

“You may go in,” she says without looking up.

I take a deep breath to chill myself out, but it doesn’t work. “I fucking own the place, lady. I know perfectly goddamn well I can go in.”

“She’s just doing her job, man,” Jerry says. He turns around before we enter the closed office door. I close the distance between us and pull Cub up to me. I don’t want her away from my side. She has to stay close, just in case.

“Who do you work for?” I keep my voice as low as possible. Jerry is respected around here, and I don’t want him to lose that. One of the reasons this works so well is we put people in charge who command respect from their men but who fear us. If he loses that respect, I have to start over training another lapdog, and I fucking hate teaching some bitch how to kiss my ass properly.

“You,” he grits out. His red face deepens in color as his neck muscles strain from the tension in his body.

“Forsaken owns this land, owns both operations here, and owns your ass. Do. Not. Forget. That.” He doesn’t move or breathe. He’s pissed and doesn’t like to be reminded that he’s expendable. “I’m feeling charitable, so I’m not going to make you pay for your fuckup.”

“And what about yours?” he seethes. His eyes slide halfway to Cub and then back to me. “What would your father say about you bringing the Mancuso rat to work?”

Anger floods my vision with his words bouncing around in my head on fucking repeat. He knows who she is, but what’s worse is he just disrespected her. In our world there’s two things you don’t disrespect—another man’s patch or his woman. The penalty in Forsaken’s world for either is death. The only question is should I do it now or after our little meeting?

Cub gives my hand a firm squeeze and pulls me backward. I take one step back to pacify her and lock my body in place, refusing to be moved again. Her grip lightens, and as it does, I notice the intense shaking of her fingers. Even her wrist is vibrating from how terrified she must be. Fuck. I don’t want this for her. I can’t hold her right now, and I can’t run out of here with her. All I can do it squeeze her hand back and hope she knows what it means—that I love her and she’s safe. I’ll die protecting her if that’s what it takes, but I’d rather get a ring on her finger before that shit happens.

“Our president would be incredibly displeased to hear how little respect you’ve paid his stepdaughter,” she says. Her voice isn’t all that steady as she speaks, but she gets it out without crumbling, and for that, I’m proud of her. She’s chosen her words carefully. She doesn’t call him Pop or Jim—which she would to family—and she doesn’t address the rat comment. She just lays it out.

“Heard rumors you’d taken up with someone you shouldn’t. Just surprised to see it walk onto the ranch for everybody to see,” he says, ignoring her. “Some of my guys heard it, too. Started questioning Forsaken’s judgment.”

“The fuck did you just say, Jerry?” Duke barks. Cub and I turn our heads around to see Duke and Ian standing in the open doorway with Baby Boy’s back to them. Duke and Jerry have had a longstanding pissing match since Jerry insulted Duke’s mom about five years back. The two have been out for blood since, and for once, I’m fucking grateful for it. “Because I sure as fuck know you ain’t talking shit about my patch or my brother’s girl.”