Sly: MC Biker Romance (Great Wolves Motorcycle Club Book 2) Read online

  “Can we speak freely out here, Mr. Kagan?” I said.

  He nodded. “That’s one of the reasons you’re here, Sweetness.”

  “I think we can all agree that what happened last night was a disaster. Amateur hour.”

  Lewis kept sputtering. His face had gone purple and he looked at me with murder in his eyes.

  “But you agreed to it,” I said, leveling a stare at Kagan. “You signed off on it.”

  I heard some rumblings from some of Kagan’s men. Clearly, they weren’t used to anyone talking to the president of the Devil’s Hawks M.C. this way. Tough shit.

  Kagan narrowed his eyes at me then shot a look to Jinx behind me. “You check her?”

  I turned as Jinx nodded but some of the color left his face. “She’s got one in her purse.”

  My purse was currently on the table in front of me but readily accessible for the amount of good it would do me. If Kagan wanted me dead, sure I’d probably be able to take out a few of his guys first, but I’d still be dead. I was outnumbered. But I knew that’s not what he wanted.

  “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” Kagan directed the comment to me.

  My heart raced, but I expected this. One last job. If I could just keep this particular fish on the hook. This was dangerous, yes. But if Kagan planned to kill either of us, he wouldn’t have asked to meet him in his own backyard. Of course, that didn’t mean his plans couldn’t change.

  “I don’t know you,” he said. “Your partner bungled a simple job last night. And now you show up asking me questions. The kind of questions that make me nervous. I need a little show of good faith. Your partner’s not wearing a wire. Are you?”

  Jinx made a move toward me and I put a hand up. I got to my feet and stepped to the end of the table. Kagan was smart. I could respect that at the same time I wanted to rip his sneering face off. But I was a big girl and this was business. Five years. If things went well, this would be my tenth hit. Ten and out. That was the deal I’d made with myself.

  I straightened my back and lifted the hem of my t-shirt, bringing it over my head in one quick jerk. Kagan’s eyes glistened and settled on my chest. I stood before him in my plain, white bra. He lifted his chin and shot a look to Jinx. I would not let any of these assholes lay a hand on me. They could eye fuck me all they wanted but that’s where it would end.

  I opened my denim shorts wide enough so he could see there was nothing under them but my pink cotton panties. Then I brought my hands to the front clasp of my bra and opened it wide. My breasts swung free. I turned my back to Kagan so he could see what he was after.

  I was clean. No wire. Let them look. I felt all of their eyes rake over me and my heart thundered in my chest. I heard Lewis’s breath get raspy and the wood slats of the picnic table creaked as he shifted. Slowly, I turned back around, leveling a hard stare at Kagan as I stood half naked in front of him. A breeze picked up, raising gooseflesh across my skin and my nipples puckered. But I wouldn’t flinch. In this battle of wills, let Kagan see he was well matched.

  Without breaking eye contact with Kagan, I fastened my bra and pulled my shirt back over my head, taking my seat across from him again. I folded my hands in front of me, letting him see they were steady.

  “Can we cut the shit now?”

  Kagan’s face split into a wide grin, displaying a row of straight white teeth. “Let’s have a drink.”

  One of the other bikers stepped forward and set a shot glass in front of me. He poured a double shot of Buffalo Trace into it and slid it forward. So I wasn’t done with the pissing contest. Keeping my hand steady and my stare fixed on Kagan, I downed the whisky and set the glass back on the table. He lifted his glass to me in salute and followed suit. My belly warmed and my spine tingled, but it would take a hell of a lot more than that to make me let my guard down. I pushed the shot glass away from me and folded my hands on the table again.

  “It might have worked,” I said. Enough with Kagan’s games, time for a few of my own. “I’m not going to lie and say if Cullinan had ended up at the bottom of that ravine it would have been brilliant. Untraceable. Clean. Perfection.”

  “Absolutely,” Lewis said. What can I say? I tried. But Lewis was Lewis and he was pathologically incapable of understanding when to shut the fuck up. “No way for them to think it was anything other than an accident. They’d suspect it. But that’s what you want. But no proof.”

  Kagan finally turned his attention to Lewis and it was that moment that was the most harrowing of the whole meeting. I squeezed my hands together as Lewis blathered on. Jinx and the others stiffened, then made subtle shifts in their postures and where they stood, quietly forming a circle of threat around both Lewis and me.

  “Lewis is an idiot, but he’s not a complete idiot,” I said. Lewis’s face phased through the colors of the American flag.

  “He knew when to call me,” I said.

  Kagan crossed his arms in front of his chest and sat back as much as the picnic table would allow him. I suspected if he’d been sitting in a proper chair in his office, he would have propped his feet up on the desk.

  When Lewis took a breath to say something, Kagan shot him a look and he shut right up. For once. “I want Cullinan dead. Clean and done. No mistakes. I’ve asked around about you, Scarlett. You’re supposed to be one of the best. Rumor is you handled the Fletcher job in Tampa.”

  I kept my face a stone mask. He’d get nothing from me I didn’t want to give. Kagan narrowed his eyes at me but the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile.

  “I’m as good as it gets,” I said. “But I don’t work by committee. I agreed to this meeting as a show of good faith. I take half my fee now as a down payment. One hundred thousand. That’s non-negotiable. But we don’t see each other again. You’ll know when it’s done. You get in touch with Lewis to make the drop for the rest.”

  Kagan wasn’t done playing mental chicken. He didn’t break eye contact. Neither did I. He shot a look to one of the bikers by the grill. He ran inside the house and came back out with another club member. My back stiffened and I clutched the outline of my gun through my purse. It wasn’t ideal, but I could shoot it this way if I had to. Kagan’s man came forward with a small leather duffel. Only when he opened it did I finally take my eyes off Kagan.

  “It’s all there,” he said. “I know the value of a job well done, Ms. Shaw. If you’re as good as everyone says, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

  One last job. Two hundred thousand less Lewis’s finder’s fee if I decided to give it to him. I had half a mind to put a bullet in him for trying to poach the job from me anyway, let alone nearly fucking it up. But the contents of that bag were everything. It was freedom. It would make this the mother of all last jobs. No more killing. No more dealing with Lewis. No more.

  Could I do it? Of course I could. The killing was easy when it was guys like him. Even with that killer dimple and the hint of lust flashing through those baby blues. One last job, for two hundred thousand and my ticket to freedom. And all it would cost was Sly Cullinan’s life.

  Chapter Four

  Green Bluff. It was a sleepy little town with a mixture of early twentieth-century storefronts and the real thing. A large water fountain marked the town square along with a large bronze statue of some Civil War-era general sitting on a horse. I heard a rumor when I came into town that the local teens made a tradition out of painting the horse’s balls green every St. Patrick’s Day. I had checked into the only clean hotel in town: the Hansen.

  I let Lewis follow me as far as the parking lot but not a step further. “I need you out of my way now.” I threw a thick envelope at him and he caught it just as it thunked into his chest.

  “I brought you in on this job, not the other way around,” he said.

  I looked around to make sure we were alone and lowered my voice to a whisper. “And your ten Gs is a finder’s fee. I owe you that and nothing more. Cutting his brakes? Really? You succeeded in tipping him off that s
omeone’s out for him. Kagan knows that. You need to lay low and out of my way until I tell you what to do next.”

  Lewis’s face went white. “You think you’re as good as Mickey was? You’re not,” he said and it shocked me a little. It was the kind of thing that he knew would get under my skin. My brother got himself killed on what was supposed to be his last job. I finished it for him and had been trying to get out ever since.

  “Well, I’m still here and he’s not. What does that tell you about how good he was?” Even as I said it, bile rose in my throat. But I wasn’t going to go down this road with Lewis. Not now. Not ever. “Just take your money,” I said. “Take it and get lost until I call you again. Don’t fucking take it to Vegas.”

  Lewis swallowed hard but shoved the cash into the breast pocket of his suit. Then he shot me a look like he wanted to spit in my face. I would have dropped him if he tried. He was pissed and that was fine. But he was also smart enough to know I wasn’t just playing him. There was a real threat that the Devil’s Hawks might have already put a price on his head for fucking up the hit on Sly Cullinan. I’d spun it well, but Bruce Kagan was formidable. No. I’d given Lewis the gift of an out and he was just shrewd enough to take it.

  “Don’t you try and stiff me. I’ll call you in a week if I haven’t heard from you,” he said as he slid his sunglasses onto his face and slipped into the front seat of his car. I gave him a solid wave as he drove off toward the middle of town.

  I sighed, feeling my burden had lifted just a little. But the sooner I could get out of this particular Hicksville, the better. I slipped into my room and locked the chain behind me. Then I sat on the edge of the double bed, testing the springs, and reached into my back pocket.

  I fingered the match book Cullinan had given me. The Wolf Den. I did my research. The Great Wolves M.C. clubhouse was also a working bar and restaurant. It was a hell of a front and probably worked well for them to launder the money they earned on the criminal end. Gun running and drugs. That’s what I heard they were involved with. They were no different than the Devil’s Hawks or the Red Brigands.

  The Red Brigands, M.C. When I closed my eyes at night, I could still see the demon-faced patch with blood dripping from its fangs. I could still see the name carved into my brother’s chest in jagged, disconnected letters as I cradled him in my arms and he fought for his last breath. That night had both ended and started everything for me. It was the night I lost the last of my family and everything that tethered me to something normal. It was supposed to be Mickey’s last job, taking out the president of the Brigands. I didn’t even know who hired him. I never knew what happened, who sold him out. But they got the drop on Mickey and tortured him for two days. They’d pulled out his molars. Cut off both of his thumbs and carved him deep before dumping him on my front lawn. He bled to death in my arms.

  When I threatened to blow his brains out, Lewis had given me the name of Mickey’s mark. I finished the job for him the next day. It had been so easy. A flash of leg. A sultry smile. A bullet between his eyes. I had slipped in and out of that alley like a ghost and never looked back. I hadn’t done that one for the money but they paid me anyway. One hundred thousand dollars. Then word got out and Mickey’s clients started calling Lewis and asking for me. Five years. Nine jobs. This one would bring me to one million dollars. It would be my last.

  I had time to kill so I took care to get my look exactly right. I showered and picked my dress. It was the same dress I wore the night I killed the Red Brigand’s president. Red silk with a plunging neckline and slit up the side. I blew my hair out and lined my eyes in kohl. Four inch heels and I’d stand almost nose to nose with Cullinan before I snuffed the life out of him as well.

  I stuffed my Glock in my purse and called a cab. Sly knew the Mustang already. If I saw an opportunity to finish the job tonight, I would take it. I had a good feeling that I would.

  It was just past ten when I got to the bar. The place was packed and the clientele surprised me. This was no rough biker bar. This looked like an upscale sports bar complete with large flat screens and craft beer. The biker element was there, but they were working the place. Bouncers. Bartenders. Of the patronage, I saw more button-down shirts than leather and I didn’t quite know what to make of it.

  I took a seat at the end of the bar. It was a large, nickel-plated rectangle with the bartenders in the middle. I recognized one of them as one of the club members from Hurley’s yesterday. A tall, sandy-haired guy I think Sly had called Sawyer. He gave me a wink when I sat down and I ordered a bottled Corona. I sucked on the lime and scanned the place for Sly. If he was here he might be in the back. The tables around the bar were filled with single girls and couples. Saturday night. Date night. By the looks of it, the Wolf Den was the place for the single crowd of Green Bluff. Most of the men were up at the bar near me, ordering beers and fruity drinks for their dates. Before I had a chance to look any further, two guys jostled in beside me to order a round. Here we go.

  “I can’t think of a line other than did you come here yourself?” The guy next to me had hooded, bloodshot eyes and a wide, smiling face. He was early twenties with a solid build. Fresh out of college maybe. I could sense him trying to figure me out. I had a chameleon face. I could look twenty or forty depending on my mood and the set of my eyes. I dropped my chin and a decade of my thirty years by just the batting of my eyes.

  I smiled and sipped my beer. “I’m waiting for a friend,” I said. It was okay. I could let these guys talk me up for a few minutes. Sawyer had already seen me and I knew he recognized me. My guess, he’d already sent someone to tell his boss I was here. I knew he’d marked me as his territory at the bike shop. Letting these guys get friendly with me would serve my purpose for the moment. My play was that Sawyer would see me getting uncomfortable and he or Sly would swoop in.

  “See?” his companion said. This guy was short and stocky and hopefully the designated driver. He had clear eyes and thinning black hair. “I’m Stuckey. That’s Greg.” Stuckey extended a hand to mine and shook it. I took another swig of my beer and set it down. Greg put a hand on my shoulder and leaned in close to my ear. I smelled whiskey and peanuts on his breath.

  “Big fight tonight. It’s on in the back in a few minutes. Your friend’s going to miss it if he doesn’t get here soon.”

  “His loss.” Stuckey lost his balance and leaned into me further. I nearly toppled off the bar stool but got a hand on his shoulder and shoved him backward. He flailed his arms wildly but didn’t fall over. He did knock my purse off the back of my stool and I turned and grabbed it. The place was loud enough I doubted anyone would notice a clunk if my gun hit the floor but I didn’t need negative attention of any kind.

  “Take it easy there, brother.” This from Sawyer behind the bar. “Everything cool over here?” Perfect. Just as I’d hoped. Sawyer was watching. I had no doubt he’d get word to Sly that I was here.

  I raised a hand. “Couldn’t be better.” I turned back and downed the rest of my beer then raised it toward Sawyer.

  “One more?” He nodded but narrowed his eyes at Stuckey and Greg. They didn’t take the hint they were on thin ice.

  “I think I will go back and catch that fight, guys.”

  I slipped off the stool and tried to weave my way past the two of them. Stuckey and Greg weren’t so easily deterred. I had a hunch where the nickname might have come from because the guy was on me like glue.

  “There’s time,” he said. For as klutzy as he seemed when he first sidled up to me, Stuckey seemed pretty sure footed now. That was the first thing that raised an alarm in me. This wasn’t right. His eyes looked clear and his look was over familiar. He put a possessive hand on my arm and that did it for me. I needed to get the hell away from him but do it without too much of a scene. I wanted the right people to notice me, not everyone.

  Then, as I took a step forward, the room seemed to grow darker and hazy. My head swam and felt heavier on my neck, my stomach roiled. My next step went
sideways and Stuckey’s hand shot out to catch me. He pulled me close against him, his hand sliding down my side until it rested on my ass. I was having trouble picking my head up. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

  “You little shit,” I said. “What’d you give me?” And when the hell had he given it to me? I’d turned my head once to catch my purse. It had been all the time he needed. Shit.

  Stuckey just smiled. He turned me toward the door with Greg bringing up the rear. I felt my shoulders fall and my knees went weak. With each step I took, the ground felt like it was turning to quicksand. I had enough presence of mind to know I maybe had a few more seconds before I blacked out.

  I dug my heels in and dropped down, slipping out of Greg and Stuckey’s grasp. With great effort, I managed to stand back up and I drew my right arm back. My swing was wild but made contact. I got a good one in on Stuckey’s or maybe it was Greg’s nose. I saw blood spurt and then a blanket of blackness dragged me down.

  Chapter Five

  Sly

  September’s receipts at the Den looked good. Damn good. Colt hovered over my shoulder as I looked at the final tally. I let him sweat it for a second. It was too much fun not to. Six months ago he’d talked me into stocking craft beer and we were on the verge of becoming the largest distributor in Northern California.

  “It’s good, Colt,” I said. His nervous pacing threatened to wear a hole in the carpet. “We’re gonna have the highest quarter earnings for the last three years. You were right. This one’s a money maker.”

  He slapped his hands together. Tiny made a grumbling noise in the corner. Of all of us, Tiny was the biggest cheapskate. He hated to spend a buck even to make three. He scratched under his sling and I gave him a menacing look. “Our favorite nurse told you to leave that alone,” I said.

  “You know what they say about blind squirrels,” Tiny countered, shooting a pissy look at Colt. Colt countered by flipping Tiny off. Then he took a different approach, crossed the room and took Tiny’s round cheeks between his hands. I barked out a laugh as Colt planted a wet one right between Tiny’s eyes.