XANDER (The Caine Brothers Book 2)

Copyright 2016 by Margaret Madigan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead are purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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For my fans.

Xander Caine stood watch while his buddy, Dude, plowed another fist into the deadbeat’s face. Dude’s other hand held the guy up by a fistful of shirt, and probably chest hair and skin.

“What do you think, Killer,” Dude asked. “He learned his lesson yet?”

Xander had long ago accepted the nickname the rest of the club had given him. With a last name like Caine, the connection to killing and murder was inevitable, so he’d become Killer, despite never having actually killed anyone.

“I don’t know. Hank, how do you like having the shit beat out of you?”

“Don’t call me Hank,” the deadbeat said, spraying spit and blood as he spoke.

“What are we supposed to call you?” Dude asked. “Shitface? Douchebag? Fuckwad?”

Hank sucked a loud, long snort of snot and blood and spat the wad at Dude. The slime hit him on the cheek and rolled down to soak into his beard.

Dude made a gagging sound in the back of his throat and Hank snuffled a laugh, pretty damn proud of himself for making the enormous bearded giant queasy.

Not nearly as amused, Dude slapped Hank open-handed across the face. It made a loud crack in the confined space of the tiny duplex living room. “Keep your filthy slobber off me, asshole,” Dude said, turning to wipe his cheek on his shoulder.

“Name’s Bug,” Hank said, the ‘s’ sound whistling around his split lip.

“Okay,
Bug
,” Xander said as he left his post by the front window, not really worried about anyone catching them beating Hank. Who’d care? “You enjoying having the shit beat out of you?”

“Had worse,” Hank said. He probably had, and as far as Xander was concerned after what Hank had done to his wife, he
deserved
a lot worse.

“Then maybe we’re not done yet, after all. You want me to take a turn, Dude?”

“Naw. I’m just warming up. I’m gonna enjoy squashing this bug.”

Xander shrugged as Dude cocked his fist and drove it into Hank’s already-broken nose for a thud, with a crunch finish.

Hank’s head lolled to the side and his eyes rolled up into their sockets.

“You knocked him out,” Xander said.

“He deserved it. You saw his wife. I’m just getting started. I could do this all night.”

“I hear you, brother. I’ve got no patience with pricks who pick on women and kids.”

“Or animals,” Dude added.

Xander headed for the kitchen, kicking a pizza box and empty beer cans out of the way as he walked. He didn’t find any clean cups—big shock given that the place was a shithole. Hank wasn’t really the tidy type. He was probably used to the wife keeping the place clean, but given her injuries, Xander doubted she’d be doing any cleaning in the near future. If she had half a brain she’d dump this piece of shit and move on. Even if she didn’t, Hank needed to learn this lesson.

Xander filled an empty beer bottle with cold water and returned to the living room. Dude had dropped Hank on the floor in a heap, so Xander stood over him and poured the water from shoulder level into Hank’s face. It splattered everywhere and after a few seconds Hank finally clawed his way back to consciousness, sputtering and flailing.

Dude hauled off and kicked him in the gut and Hank oofed the air from his lungs and curled into a fetal position.

Hank heaved a deep breath. “What the fuck is this about?”

“You really have to ask?” Xander asked.

“Yeah, man. What’d I do?”

Xander squatted beside Hank. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Hank’s head back so he’d see Xander’s face clearly. “Somebody thinks your wife’s suffered enough. It’s time you to learn how to treat people.”

“This is because of Lily? Shit, man, she fell, that’s all.”

“One more word outta you and you’re gonna fall, too,” Dude said. “You’ll fall a real long way. They’ll have to scrape your ass up with a shovel.”

“So the Huntsmen are what, the fucking Equalizer? I hit Lily a couple times you come and beat me?”

“Something like that,” Xander said. “You hit Lily, we hit you.”

“Well aren’t you guys a bunch of fucking white knights? Avenging worthless bitches? You save puppies and kittens, too? Help grannies cross the road? I bet you even got fucking Superman underoos under your leathers.”

Hank spat the words in a frenzy. He had to be high on the adrenaline, though it didn’t really surprise Xander. Men like Hank didn’t respond to being beaten. It didn’t scare him because he was right, he had been beaten worse and short of killing him they couldn’t hurt him enough for him to learn anything. Men like him lived to prove they could survive this kind of shit. It was probably why it didn’t occur to him that he shouldn’t beat his wife. Jail wouldn’t do anything, either. He’d thrive in prison, one way or another.

But every man had a weakness, and Xander suspected Hank’s was pride.

“Lily finally had enough of you, asswipe. She knows the cops won’t do anything, so she came to us,” Dude said.

“I ain’t afraid of being beat up,” Hank said.

Jutting his chin to prove his courage, Hank dared Xander to hit him again. As tempting as it was, he chose a different punishment.

“You’re right, Hank. Your skull’s too thick to learn anything just by being hit, so let’s try a different approach,” Xander said. “I’ll even give you a choice.”

“I’m still willing to give hitting him a chance,” Dude said. “I bet I could change his mind about being afraid.”

Dude’s expression hinted at kidding, but he looked pretty willing to kill Hank if Xander let him.

“How about we try something else, first? If I’m wrong, you can come back and work on him some more.”

Dude’s nod conveyed his disappointment, but he’d let Xander have his way for now.

“So, Hank. How about this—are you going to the Lone Star Rally this weekend?”

Hank’s expression turned suspicious, or at least Xander thought it did. It was hard to tell through the swelling and blood. “Yeah. Why?”

“Then here’s your choice: You apologize to Lily in a public way at the rally, and swear you’ll never hit her again.”

Hank grunted. “What’s my other choice?”

“Seriously?” Dude asked, taking an ominous step in Hank’s direction. His steel-toed book couldn’t have felt too good driven deep into Hank’s gut, and Dude looked ready for another round.

“Second choice is we take you to Rosie and have her tattoo something obnoxious and permanent on your face,” Xander said.

Dude snickered. “Oh, that could be fun. How about ‘riding the Hershey highway’? Or douchebag? Or wife-beater?”

“Fuck you,” Hank said, bloody slobber dripping down his chin.

“We’ll leave that option open for now,” Xander said. “Your last choice is the best, I think. Prez might be interested to know you’ve been skimming profits, using product, betraying the club.”

Hank’s eyes went wide with fear. Bingo. He yanked his hair from Xander’s grip and scuttled on his butt backward across the floor, as if putting distance between them would make the threat go away.

“Prez’ll never believe it,” Hank said, his voice hoarse with the fear that he knew Prez would believe every word of it. Maybe Xander had accidentally hit on the truth. Xander would have to store that little bit of information for possible future use. Any dirt on the rival Ravagers, and especially anything he could use against Prez, made him happy.

“Prez is a paranoid prick. He’ll believe anything he hears, even if it’s a flat out lie,” Xander said.

Hank had backed himself against the wall and sat with his knees pulled up to his chest. He ran his hands through his greasy hair in a gesture of desperation. He didn’t like any of his options. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll apologize to Lily. But that bitch don’t care if I hit her. I swear. Every time I do, she leaves, but she always comes back. So she’s gotta like it, right?”

Dude apparently disagreed, because he crossed the room in two big steps and grabbed Hank by the front of the shirt again. He dragged him up off the floor so his toes barely touched the carpet. He jammed his face within an inch of Hank’s. “I swear to Christ, if you hit her again, I’ll break every bone in your hands and arms, and when they heal I’ll do it again. You apologize to her, and swear in front of everyone at the rally you’ll never hit her again. You got it?”