Текст книги "Rogue"
Автор книги: Callie Hart
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
I don’t feel the pain in my side anymore. My head is no longer fuzzy, my vision no longer blurred. Everything is crystal fucking clear, and my body is vibrating with fury. Only a second ago, I was clinging to the fact that his provocations wouldn’t work on me, and I honestly believed that to be true. But now, with this? I cannot stay calm. I cannot keep a cool head. Sophia is a game changer. I swore I would protect her, and now Ramirez is threatening to violate her dead body?
No.
Just. Fucking. No.
He doesn’t see the baseball bat coming. I whip it out from under the counter so fast that he has zero time to react before I’m swinging. Back in Alabama when I was a teenager, my father used to force me to stun his livestock with a sledgehammer before their throats were slit—‘one fierce blow to the temple, boy. What’s the matter? Are you a fucking pussy or an Aubertin? God, you disgust me.’
There were other, far more humane ways to end the animals’ lives, but my father derived some kind of sick pleasure in watching me cry as I swung that sledgehammer at his cattle. He had me do it over and over again, hundreds of times. I hated every second of it, disorienting those cows so they could be slaughtered, but the experience taught me a lot. I’ve had plenty of experience. So when I slam the baseball bat into the side of Ramirez’s head, it’s with a precise and brutal force.
Ramirez’s head rips around, the cigar flying out of his mouth. He drops down to one knee, making a low, gurgling sound at the back of his throat. Blood. There’s blood all over the baseball bat, and Ramirez’s head is pouring more of the bright red liquid down his face, soaking the crisp white collar of his shirt. I vault over the counter, already lifting the bat in my hands, ready to bring it down on his head again. I’m prepared to keep on lifting it and bringing it down until the man in front of me never gets up again. I can’t have him hurting Sophia. I won’t fucking allow it.
I’m two seconds away from landing another, terrible blow when Ramirez starts laughing. That was the gurgling sound he was making—laughter, while choking on the blood gathering in the back of his throat. “You…you really caught me with that one,” he says, grinning. His teeth are covered in blood—bright white obscured by crimson. “Oooh, Jamie. You should see yourself,” he growls, looking up at me, dark eyes burrowing into me. “You look fearsome. You look like the kind of man who’s unafraid to kill another to protect what is his. Perhaps you’re not such an unworthy adversary, after all. Your father was wrong. You do have a backbone.”
“My father can go fuck himself. And so can you, motherfucker.” I swing, and this time the bat connects with Ramirez’s shoulder, sending him crashing to the floor. The crazy bastard curls up on his side amongst the shattered glass and laughs long and hard. He’s insane. Has to be. He must know he’s about to die, and yet his only response is this complete and utter hysteria. “Like I said,” I growl. “You should never have come here, Hector.” I raise the bat over my head, gripping it in both hands, and I’m ready. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve killed a man, but this right now is well deserved. Hector killed Ryan. He killed Leah, and Bron. And now he’s a threat to Sophia? I won’t even feel bad about ending him. My conscience will be clear. There’s nothing on earth that can stop me from finishing this, here and now.
It’s at this exact moment that I’m thrown off my feet. It feels like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck. My back smashes against the counter, and my body wants to sink to the floor but I can’t because my muscles have locked and my jaw is clenched so tightly that my teeth feel like they’re going to shatter. Pain claims every nerve ending I own from my head to my toes. I can’t make a sound, but if I could I’d be yelling out in agony. Barely able to even move my eyeballs, I look down at the source of my pain and realize that there actually is something on this earth that could stop me. Two things, actually. The first, a fifty thousand volt Taser gun, the prongs of which are embedded into my chest. The second, the female police officer standing in the shop doorway.
******
“You wanna run that by me one more time, asshole?”
Detective Lowell, DEA, does not seem entertained by my response to her questioning. In fact, she looks severely pissed off. She likes things tidy. I can tell that just from looking at her—her immaculate gray pant suit, and her immaculately styled hair, and her immaculately understated make-up speak volumes. And questioning me in my messy, smashed up shop while two paramedics make sure I don’t have any lasting injuries from where she shot me with her Taser is making her less than congenial. Funny, really, since I’m feeling so bright and shiny. If bright and shiny could also be described as fucking broken and in serious amounts of pain.
“I told you. I was just showing a prospective client some of our sporting memorabilia.”
“I assume you’re talking about the baseball bat?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you were showing it to him? By pile driving it repeatedly into his face?”
I glance up at her, wincing as one of the EMTs uses an alcohol swab to clean a cut above my right eye. “You saw me hitting that guy with my bat?” My tone of voice is borderline shocked. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do at all.”
Lowell exhales sharply, hands on her hips. “You had the thing held high over your head. Your potential client was prone on the ground, laughing. It sure as hell looked like you were about to use the thing to shut him up.”
“Why would he have been laughing if I was beating him, Detective? That sounds crazy.”
Lowell looks like she’s about ready to pick up the bat and smash me over the head with it. She jerks her head toward the offending article lying on the ground where I dropped it. “Doesn’t look like sporting memorabilia to me. Looks brand new.”
“Not true. It’s signed. Super valuable.”
“I can’t see a signature anywhere on that thing.”
“It’s there. It’s just hidden underneath all the blood. See…there.” I point. “David Ortiz.”
David Ortiz hasn’t signed the bat. But I did when we hid it under the counter. It’s a fairly decent forgery. Lowell gives me a cold, dead-inside kind of look. “You think you’re funny? You think this is a joke? This is jail time right here, buddy. Serious jail time.”
“Detective, please. He’s telling the truth.” On the other side of the room, Ramirez is being aided by another EMT; his left eye has almost swollen shut and his arm is in a sling from where I dislocated his shoulder. “He was just showing me the bat,” he says. “I fell and hit my head. I assure you, there was nothing untoward taking place when you shot at Mr Aubertin.”
Lowell glances between the two of us, her brows drawn together, scowling furiously. “You’re both horrendous liars. You think I don’t know who you both are? You think I’m stupid? You think it’s a coincidence that I am here, in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere Hicksville, New Mexico, sitting here with the both of you? Because rest assured, it is not.”
I shrug, giving her my best I-don’t-know-what-to-tell-you face. “I’m no one special, Detective. I run a tattoo shop. And this gentleman—” I choke on the word. “—Just came in asking about getting some work done.”
Lowell laughs a hard, stony laugh. “All right, just stop. Don’t fucking bother. I’m sure I’ll get the truth out of you back at the station. You’re both under arrest.” She reads me my Miranda rights first, and then repeats the process with Ramirez. As soon as the EMTs are done assessing me, I’m cuffed and bodily dragged out of the shop by two deputies. Ramirez isn’t far behind. As I’m shoved into the back of a police cruiser, I catch Ramirez grinning at me out of the corner of my eye.
I know him. I know he won’t change his story at the station, and neither will I. Lowell is about to be frustrated at every turn and I suspect I’m likely to spend the next twenty four hours in a holding cell, but I couldn’t care fucking less. It’ll give me time to think this thing through. It’ll give me time to make plans.
I’m sure Hector Ramirez will do the same.
CHAPTER
SOPHIA
I can’t get the image of that headless woman out of my mind. It’s there, every time I close my eyes for the rest of the day. Horrifying. The most awful thing I’ve ever seen. Rebel, Cade and Carnie kept their cool, but I could tell the sight had disturbed them, too. Rebel’s hands were shaking as he walked with me back to the compound. Still shaking when he pulled me to him and lay with me on his bed for half an hour in silence as I cried.
He left me shortly after to go find the woman’s boyfriend in town, and I’ve sat in his cabin ever since, staring at a wall, wondering how this can really be my life. I find myself thinking about Matt again. I made a choice to stay with Rebel back in Alabama. I’ve thought myself crazy many times since then. I could have gone back to my old life and to safe, boring Matt. I’d never have been exposed to mangled, headless corpses if I’d stayed with him. I’d have had a Costco account and checked out books from public libraries. I’d have visited wineries on the weekends and eventually had some kids and rescued a dog from the pound. I would have had a mundane, safe life I’m sure. Everything would have been fine.
But Rebel.
It’s inexplicable. It’s the worst decision I’ve ever made, and yet all the same, headless corpses or no, here I am, still sticking to it. What does that say about my mental state? It’s dark by the time Rebel returns. He never told me what time to expect him back, so I haven’t been worried, though when I catch sight of him that changes. He looks way, way worse than before if that’s possible. He looks like he’s literally nearly dead on his feet. Cade helps him through the cabin door and dumps him on the end of the bed, and I can do nothing but stare at him with my mouth hanging open.
“What…what the hell happened?” Rebel lies back on the bed, exposing the lower half of his stomach, which is red with fresh blood. It’s then that I notice the two small holes in his black t-shirt. “And what the hell happened to your clothes?”
“He got hit with a Taser,” Cade says dryly. “And then arrested by the DEA. I don’t know, man. I leave you alone for five fucking minutes and look at the state of you.”
Rebel groans. “I appreciate your concern.”
“What?” My ears must be playing tricks on me. Rebel is so damned nonchalant, like being arrested and Tased is an every day occurrence. As soon as the thought hits me, I realize that perhaps it really isn’t so uncommon for him, though. “You feel like explaining what happened?” I say.
“Love to. I kind of need a second, though,” Rebel replies, pressing his knuckles into his sternum—he’s in a lot of pain, though I know him well enough to know that he’ll never say so.
“You should get into bed, man,” Cade tells him.
“Not yet. We need to go to the clubhouse. The others will be raging if we don’t explain all the cloak and dagger bullshit before the end of the day. They deserve to know.”
Cade shakes his head, throwing his hands in the air. “Why the fuck did I just drag your ass up the damn hill, then?”
Rebel slowly turns his head to look at me. “Because we had to come get Sophia. It’s time the rest of the club met her properly. I’m sure they’re all asking questions.”
Cade laughs. “That’s one way of putting it. They were about ready to lay siege to this place this morning in order to find out who the hell she was.”
Rebel’s face takes on serious expression. “I hope you informed them how unwise that would be?”
“I did. And they didn’t like it.”
“They don’t have to like it. They just have to do as they’re told.”
I haven’t seen this version of Rebel before. He’s angry, that much is obvious, but he seems focused, too. Determined. He’s been intimidating since the first moment I met him, but right now he’s downright scary. He looks at me again, taking a deep breath. “This is what you wanted, right? Free rein of the place. Freedom to see and talk to whomever you like? Well, this is it. Do you want to come with us to the clubhouse?”
I bite my lip, images of Costco and the fiction section of a Seattle public library flashing before my eyes. I slowly shake my head, feeling slightly hysterical. It’s the challenge in his eyes. The look he gives me that tells me I need to be strong in order to immerse myself in this life.
I fold my arms across my chest, tilting my chin up in acceptance of his challenge. “Sure. Okay. I’ll come.”
Rebel’s eyes flash cold steel. “Fuckin’ A.”
******
My memories of the clubhouse the other night are pretty hazy. I was too concerned with getting Cade to follow me back to Rebel in order to assess my surroundings, but now things are different. Now I have plenty of opportunity.
The place is cavernous—an old remodelled barn with high rafters and recast concrete floor. Long wooden tables and benches line the room, and smaller tables dot the edge of the space. A bar runs the length of the back wall, stocked with a multitude of different bottles of scotch as well as everything else you might expect to see in any normal bar.
There is a sea of people gathered inside, seated at the benches and hovering by the bar. Most are men, huge guys with arms full of tattoos, larger than life, scary as all hell. There are a few women and kids, too, all of whom look generally terrified and out of place. Everyone stops talking when they catch sight of Rebel. And me.
A woman at the back of the hall gets to her feet straight away. I recognize her—she was the woman who gave me the dirty look as I raced out of here behind Cade. She’s different to the other women packed into the clubhouse. She’s inked up, her nose pierced, pink hair pinned back in a messy topknot. She’s wearing a torn Sepultura t-shirt and a snarl on her face that already spells trouble. Beside me, Rebel hangs his head, apparently sensing the same thing.
“What the fuck is going on, man?” she snaps. “We’ve been sitting here with our thumbs up our asses all day. Keeler’s missing, and Cade hasn’t told us shit. And who the fuck is she?” The woman stabs her finger at me like I’m an invading alien and she’s ready to go Independence Day on my ass.
“Sit down, Shay. And shut your damn mouth. This isn’t how we’re doing things,” Rebel says. His voice is monotone, controlled, but even I can tell he’s irritated by her outburst.
The woman—Shay—shakes her head. “That’s bullshit, Rebel, and you know it. You can’t keep us in the dark, and you can’t bring random women—”
“I SAID SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH, SHAY!”
I nearly jump out of my skin as Rebel explodes. His face, completely colorless for the past five days, is suddenly bright red. His body is shaking, shoulders tensed, hands clenched into fists. “Today has been a seriously shitty day. Do not make it worse,” he hisses.
Shay blanches, the hostility falling away from her. She looks very much like a frightened little girl, which I’m betting is a rare event. I’m also betting it’s not very often that Rebel loses his cool; nearly every single person in the clubhouse looks stunned. Shay slowly sits down, and everyone else keeps their lips tightly sealed, clearly waiting for Rebel to speak.
Eventually he does. “This morning, Hector Ramirez sent us a very clear message. Carnie discovered the body of a woman hanging from a tree on the dirt road into town. It was Bron, Keeler’s girlfriend. She’d been decapitated, her hands and one of her feet removed. Her body had been hung upside down from the tree.”
The room explodes into sound. Forty people start shouting at once, the sound of their anger deafening. The obvious club members, the men with Widow Maker tattoos and leather cuts, are the angriest. In the corner of the room, a tall, skinny guy with long blond hair jumps out of his seat and rushes forward, limping ever so slightly. “Where the fuck is Keeler? And where the fuck is Ramirez? We have to kill the bastard. He’s gotta fucking pay, Rebel.”
Rebel blows out a deep breath. “Keeler’s just taking a beat, Brassic. And Ramirez is holed up in a farmhouse on the other side of town. He was arrested this afternoon, as was I.”
He goes on to explain that Ramirez showed up at their tattoo shop after Cade left and made some poorly veiled threats, at which point he’d laid into him with a baseball bat. I stand beside him, listening in horror as he goes through the motions of describing how he was then shot with a Taser and taken down to the local sheriff’s department. Cue one very angry DEA agent, ten hours of very aggressive questioning, and then he was allowed to call Cade who came and got him. The tension in the room is at boiling point by the time Rebel finishes his story.
Brassic, the tall, blond guy who asked about Keeler, slams his palm down onto the table in front of him, sending an empty glass shattering on the floor. “When are we going after him, Rebel? We can’t let this stand.”
“And we won’t. I know you’re all angry. I’m angry, too. But we need to be smart. If you can come up with a solid plan of attack that doesn’t end up in most of us dying and the rest of us in prison, I’d love to hear it. If not, then we need to take some time to figure this thing out. That DEA agent was intent on getting answers out of me. I’m sure she was the same with Ramirez. She told me plainly that she was in town with a crew, and that they weren’t leaving until they get what they came for. That includes Hector Ramirez on charges for drug trafficking and murder, and the Widow Makers locked up for the LA shooting at Trader Joe’s.”
“We were cleared of that, man! The cops arrested the guys the Desolladors hired to frame us. They admitted everything!”
“I know that. You know that. Lowell knows that. She’s pissed, though. Anything she can pin on us is a win for her. We’re living under a microscope right now, guys. If we put one foot wrong, we’re all fucked.”
Rebel’s words don’t seem to have any effect. Or certainly not the one he’s clearly hoping for, anyway. From the snatched words I overhear from people’s conversations, it sounds like no one cares if they get caught, sent to prison, shot or killed. They just want revenge.
“You still haven’t told us who she is,” Shay repeats. She moderates her tone this time, but it’s clear she’s furious over my presence. Rebel fixes her in an artic stare.
“She was witness to my uncle’s murder in Seattle. Hector and Dela Vega kidnapped her and we had Julio arrange purchase of her. She’s my guest here, Shay. That’s all you need to know.”
“So Hector and Raphael found out you had her and came here looking for her, right?” A rumble of dissent goes up amongst the crowd. Shay can hardly keep the hatred from her face as she locks eyes on me. Rebel does something that surprises me next. He steps in front of me, blocking me from her view. “You look at her again like that, Shay, and you and me are gonna have problems. In fact, best not to look at her at all, you read me?”
“She’s put us all in danger, Rebel. And you brought her here without telling any of us,” she spits. “Don’t you think we had a right to know about this? Don’t you think it would have been smart to tell us if you were bringing danger to our doorsteps?”
“It sounds very much like you’re questioning my judgement.” Rebel’s voice is all gravel and hard edges. He sounds like he’s about to go off at the deep end. Cade places a hand on his shoulder but Rebel shakes it off. He looks around the room—I can’t see the expression on his face, but I’m betting it’s terrifying. “This is not a democracy,” he says slowly. “This is not a fucking day spa. You don’t get to question me or go against my wishes. I’ve always done my best by you guys. I’ve always done my best to keep you safe. As of this moment, if any of you are unhappy with my leadership or think the threat Ramirez and his men poses is too great to your safety, I invite you to leave. No repercussions. No hard feelings. However, if any one of you so much as thinks of stepping out of line and putting this club in further danger, I’ll strip the motherfucking ink out of your backs right here and now.” I can see the hairs on the back of his neck slowly rising. The silent pause that follows is uncomfortable to say the least. Half the Widow Makers are looking at their feet when Rebel continues. “And should any one of you so much as think about making life here difficult for Sophia, you’re going to have to deal with me personally. Old or young. Man or woman. You’ve trusted me for the past five years, followed me through hell and back, so trust me now when I say this: you have never seen me pushed to my limit. Do not fucking test me. It will not end well.”
