Chapter 10

King/Dante

As I walked Ella out to the parking lot on legs that still felt a little weak at the knees, I was cursing Lucky for his lousy sense of timing and the soon-to-be-bleeding motherfucker trying to scam us out of the cost of a huge repair bill.

Sex with Ella last night had been incredible. By the time I'd been buried balls-deep in her tight heat, feeling her clench around me as her cunt milked every drop of cum from me, I was sure that life as I'd known it would never be the same. Without a fucking doubt, no one else had ever felt as good as she did in my arms. I'd wondered if anyone else ever would again.

All morning long, I'd been looking forward to having her in my arms again. In my bed, this time, so I could take my time with her without fear of interruption by her kids, or the need to leave early to go to a damned meeting. So much for that plan.

I opened her door for her, giving her one final kiss on the cheek before she slid behind the wheel. "I'll pick you up at six-thirty," I said, then handed her the bag of food that had been delivered.

"Take this home with you, sugar. I don't want you skipping lunch because of me." When she started to protest, I assured her that there was plenty of food in the kitchen that I could eat, once I dealt with the jackass out in the garage.

She gave me a little wave as she drove away. My smile faded as I turned and stomped across the parking lot to the building that housed our custom bike shop.

The dickweasel didn't want to listen to reason, even after Lucky pulled up the photos and video he'd taken not even five minutes after the guy had dropped it off to us for repair, according to the time stamp on the photos and the repair ticket and estimate, which the fucker had signed off on that day. That was our standard procedure, just to prevent situations like this.

I finally decided to quit playing nice and suggested that he get on his bike and get the hell out while he still had the ability to ride. He quickly gave in, after Viking had brandished the flexible scope video camera that we used for diagnostics in enclosed or hard to reach spots and threatened to give the guy a colonoscopy with it.

"And I won't use any fuckin' lube either, you cunt-faced, lyin' ass motherfucker!" I laughed as the guy fishtailed his bike and almost laid it down, trying to get away as fast as he could.

I slapped Viking on the back and told him he had a real talent for customer service. He flipped me off and got back to work.

An hour later, Bull popped his head into the open doorway of my office.

"Prez, I just got a lead on Slutty Spice."

"Fill me in," I commanded, giving him my full attention.

He hesitated, then glanced around my office. "Let's go over things in the chapel."

The room we held Church was sound-proofed, so I hoped the fact that he wanted to talk there meant he had something solid to share.

Five minutes later, I smiled grimly. This intel was good.

"Do me a favor and round up the officers. Tell them to drop everything and get here within the next thirty minutes. I'm going to run home and pack a bag, and I'll be right back."

"Will do, Prez. Ace too?"

"No." I didn't need to say more. Yeah, as our road captain, Ace was technically an officer, although he was only given the position to get him to shut the fuck up about not being voted in as president. Bull was aware of the concerns Cowboy and I had regarding my half-brother. My gut told me that we couldn't trust the asshole, and I didn't think it was a coincidence that we'd had so many problems with drugs being sold at Fallen Angels. Either Ace was an even shittier manager than I thought, or he was in on it. Maybe getting kickbacks to look the other way, at least. We just didn't have any proof. Because I trusted my gut and my officers trusted me, we'd started leaving Ace out of everything that didn't directly involve his role as road captain.

"Got it. See ya soon."

Since I lived so close, it didn't take long for me to get home and pack enough to get me through the next few days, if needed. Twenty minutes later, I left – without activating the security cameras, so if the cops checked, they wouldn't see me leaving – and carried two small bags out to my truck which was parked in the garage.

My excitement amped up during my short drive back to the clubhouse. I was fucking stoked to work out a game plan with the other officers. My mind was racing with different scenarios, and I hoped to fuck that this was the break we needed to find the shitstain who'd beaten his wife and stolen from us.

Trick drove in through the open gates of the compound just moments after I did. We walked in together, neither of us saying a word until we got into the chapel. Bull and Irish were already waiting for us. Normally, I was the only one who carried my phone in Church, but I took the precaution of putting mine in the box outside the door along with the others this time. I took my place at the head of the table as Cowboy rushed in, shutting and locking the door behind him when he saw that the rest of us were already there.

"Sorry I'm late. I was helpin' Brick out with the cameras in that new parkin' garage downtown, and traffic was a bitch."

"All right, Bull. Let's hear it," I said, wanting to get this fucking show on the road.

Bull turned his laptop toward the others and gestured to the screen. "I've already shared this with King, but I got a lead on Cynammon. You all know I have an alert set up to notify me if either of their names pop up online. It flagged an ad for a strip joint outside of St. Louis, Missouri. They're promoting her as a special guest headliner for a three-night show, starting tonight through Thursday."

I stared intently at the computer screen, taking note of every detail of the ad that I'd seen. " Join us for Three Nights of Cyn ," featuring Cynnamon billed as " the Midwest's most provocative and alluring entertainer ". Trick leaned over to peer over my shoulder, then shook his head in disbelief.

"That's her all right, even though she's dyed her hair red now. Why the fuck would she be stupid enough to use her own name? I mean, Cynnamon isn't exactly a common name, especially spelled with a ‘y' like that. What the hell is she thinking?"

"Shit, I'd like to know what the hell her mama was thinking. Who names a baby something like that? It's like she was literally born to be a stripper," Irish muttered disgustedly. I'd been surprised to learn that it wasn't a stage name myself when we'd done the original background check on her, but we had better things to talk about than her mother's questionable choice of names.

Bull ignored our treasurer's grumbling and chose to answer Trick's question instead.

"Well, she is pretty stupid, as far as I remember, so she probably wasn't thinking at all. From everything I've seen online, The Velvet Boudoir is a pretty high-class place for a titty bar. It's not one of those shitty dives that pays the dancers cash off-the-books. I'm imagine they do things legally there, like we do, so she had to show ID, give her social security number, fill out tax forms, the whole bit. Plus, she did have quite a following here in Indy, so her name might help draw a crowd. If I had to guess, she's probably making bank with this gig, though, so it was worth the risk to potentially expose her location."

"Any signs of Pic in that area?" Cowboy asked, saving me the trouble.

"Nope, none that I can find so far." I knew from his tone that Bull was pissed off that he didn't have any new leads on Pic. But it was a safe bet that wherever Cyn was, Pic was right there with her.

"Missouri, huh? Do you suppose they're making their way back to Indy?"

Trick shook his head at Irish's question.

"Pic's a motherfucking fool if he is. Between us and his in-laws, he'd have to have a death wish to come back." Since the wife Pic cheated on was the former Lola Rossi, Trick was right.

Luca Rossi had never been a big fan of his cousin's husband, even before Pic cleaned out their personal bank accounts and left Lola and their three kids high and dry, in favor of life on the run with his stripper girlfriend. When Lola had confessed that Pic had given her a black eye and bruised ribs during their last argument, it had been a toss-up as to who wanted to kill him the most, me or Luca. He'd agreed to back off only at Lola's request. She worried that someday their kids would find out that their dad had been killed by another member of their family. Our MC wasn't under the same restriction, though, so Pic was fair game for us.

"Well, I'll find out soon enough," I ground out, already running through a list in my mind of the steps I needed to take before I could hit the road.

"You're heading to Missouri this afternoon?" At my nod, Trick asked another question. "I'm going with you this time?" He hadn't been happy when I'd gone to Colorado on my own the last time, but we'd had a big underground fight coming up shortly after I'd left, and Trick was needed to oversee everything ran smoothly. We didn't need to fuck up and end up on the wrong side of La Famiglia Rossi, that was for damned sure. Besides, this was personal for me. I'd sponsored Pic for entry into the MC, and that prick had repaid me by betraying the club. There was no need for anyone else to go down if I slipped up and got caught.

"No. I've got this," I grunted.

"Prez, with all due respect, that's a shitty idea. You need backup in case things go south, and as sergeant-at-arms, it should be me."

"That's exactly why I want to do this alone. Nobody else needs to get fucked over because of decisions I make and actions I take."

I raised my hand to stop him when he started to object again. Before I could say anything else, Cowboy spoke up to side with Trick.

"He's right, King. I get where you're comin' from, but we all know the risks involved, and we're all ready to take those risks. You need someone there to watch your back. If nothin' else, you need a second set of eyes on the situation. You've got to sleep sometime, brother. You need someone with you to trade off with."

I glared at my best friend and VP, pissed off that he was calling me out, but even more pissed off that he was right. I heaved a sigh, running my hands through my hair in aggravation, then pinned Trick with a look.

"Are you sure you're willing to do this? When I find Pic, things are gonna get fuckin' ugly as hell," I warned. "I'm not just giving him a beatdown and cutting off his club tat. When I find him, he's a dead man," I vowed.

"As he should be, Prez. Club justice." Trick's gaze was steady as he agreed with me. "It's my sworn duty to enforce the rules of the club, and I'm more than willing to carry out that duty. In fact, where Pic's concerned, I'd say I'm fuckin' eager to do it."

"Fine. You'll go with me on this run. Cowboy, can you get Joker or Buck to help you cover the gym?" He nodded, so I moved on to my next bombshell.

"I want to keep this information among the five of us this time. Nobody else is to know we're out of town. Nobody," I stressed.

Only Bull and Cowboy knew of my suspicions. Cowboy, because he was my VP, as well as being my oldest and best friend. Bull was brought into the loop because I needed him to sweep the clubhouse for bugs and hidden cameras. He hadn't found any, which was a relief. Predictably, Irish and Trick didn't react well to the news.

Trick's jaw clenched as he realized what I was saying. "You think we've got a leak in the club?"

"Fuckin' hell," Irish snarled, then pounded his fist on the table.

I sighed and brought my hand up to squeeze my neck to try to relieve some of the tension gathering there.

"I hope the fuck not, but Pic managed to stay one step ahead of me the whole time I was tracking him in Colorado. The man isn't that damned smart, and I don't buy that it was a coincidence. Besides, if we find him, we need to make sure we have an alibi. As far as anyone else knows, our asses were here in town the whole time. If nobody knows that we're out of town, then nobody has to lie for us if they get questioned, got it?" I looked at the four men sitting around the table with me and got a solemn nod from each one before I continued outlining the scenario I'd come up with on the drive here.

"If any of the brothers ask, tell them I have the flu and you're running the show until I'm better. Trick, you got the flu, too, and you're staying in the spare room at my place, so you don't infect the whole damned clubhouse."

Trick sniffled, then faked a cough and groaned like he was dying, which broke up the tension in the room for a minute.

"Now, I don't want to leave any kind of a paper trail. Bull, get a couple of the burner phones ready for us to use. Irish, get me some cash from the safe. Twenty-thousand ought to do it, in case we need to grease a few palms along the way. Trick, you go back a small bag, but be discreet about it. I'd like to be on the road within the next thirty minutes. We'll take the club's truck, since it isn't equipped with any kind of GPS system that can be traced. Irish, after you grab the cash, can you make sure it's gassed up? Check the oil and tire pressure on it, too. The last fuckin' thing we need is to break down at the side of the road in some podunk town in Missouri."

They all immediately got up and left the room to do as I'd instructed, leaving me alone with Cowboy. I glanced at my best friend, knowing I could be completely honest with him.

"Is it wrong that I'm looking forward to killing a man?"

Cowboy just shook his head. "Not from where I'm sittin'. Sometimes, people just don't deserve to breathe, and you know that as well as I do. I think Pic is at that point. Not only did he betray the club, but he also betrayed his wife and kids. After finding out that he'd been puttin' his hands on Lola toward the end, I'd say he definitely needs to be put to ground."

We stared at each other solemnly, and I had no doubt that he was caught up in the memory of the one and only time we'd ever gone to such extremes. Three years ago, Cowboy had vowed to track down the man who'd killed BeBe while robbing the jewelry store she managed. I'd been right beside him every step of the way. A few days later, thanks to a couple of people on the streets who were willing to talk, we'd found the junkie hiding in his shithole apartment, surrounded by several pieces of stolen jewelry and baggies of meth that he'd scored after pawning some of the other pieces.

We'd dragged the murdering junkie from his bed in the middle of the night and tossed him into the back of the van the club owned, which we'd outfitted with plastic tarps so there would be no trace evidence left behind. We'd packed some of his clothes and left the rest of his shit behind, so the police assumed he'd skipped town when they'd found his apartment the next day.

We'd taken him to a hog farm in a little town in the northern part of the state, one that just happened to be owned by a shell corporation backed by Luca Rossi. For a hefty price, he'd been happy to allow us access to his family's disposal site. Standing side by side, with the tweaked-out shitstain crying on his knees in front of us, Cowboy and I had both placed our guns directly in front of each of his eyes and fired.

I'd never killed anyone, before or since, but I had zero fucking regrets. I'd watched the back of his skull blow apart, cursing him to eternal hell for what he'd done to my baby sister. Cowboy and I had tossed his body into the hog pen, where there was little, if any, trace left behind for anyone to find. We'd immediately driven straight back to the clubhouse, burned the plastic tarp in a metal trash barrel out back, then used the plasma cutter in the bike shop to cut the guns into pieces before we disposed of them in various spots along the White River. The guns were untraceable, purchased using the Rossi's connections, but we'd wanted that extra layer of protection.

The only downside was that for a solid year afterward, I'd been unable to stomach the idea of eating any kind of pork after seeing those hogs in a feeding frenzy. It had fucking sucked, especially since I love bacon. It had been a small price to pay for making sure the man who killed BeBe never drew another breath, but I was glad that I'd gotten over my pork aversion in the last couple of years.

I glanced up as the door opened, and Bull walked in with a small backpack that he placed on the table in front of me.

"The phones and a charger are in there, along with the cash. I also programmed the number for the burner phone that we'll keep here for you to contact us on. Irish said the truck was already gassed up and good to go. He's pulling it around from the garage now, and Trick is just about ready to go."

"Great, I'll meet him out front in a few minutes."

I shouldered the backpack with the phones and cash, then went into my office pushed my desk aside to access the small safe built into the floor. I opened it and retrieved one of the unregistered, untraceable guns inside, along with a box of ammo, and slipped them into the backpack. I was carrying my own legally registered gun, as always, but this one would be used exclusively for Pic. After closing the safe and moving the desk back into place, I locked my office and exited the building.

Trick was putting his own bag in the truck as I approached, and Cowboy, Bull, and Irish were with him. Irish had parked it next to mine, so I quickly grabbed the two bags I'd brought from home and tossed them into the club's truck, too. One bag had toiletries and a few changes of clothing. The other had drinks and snacks for the road. The fewer stops we needed to make along the way, the better, especially with the abundance of cameras around.

I opened the glove compartment on the club's truck and removed the owner's manual and assorted registration and insurance information we kept in there. Shortly after we'd bought the truck, I'd had Viking add a false panel on the back side of the compartment, creating a concealed space. My personal truck had one, too, although I'd never actually had to use mine before.

I slid that panel to the side, revealing the small hidey-hole that was just large enough for the gun and ammo that I placed inside. I slid the panel back in place, satisfied that it was all but impossible to detect should we be pulled over by the cops, then shoved the manual and shit back in the compartment before closing it up again.

I pulled my phone out and glanced at the time, then cursed as I realized that I'd completely forgotten that I was supposed to take Ella to dinner tonight. Dammit!

Me: Sorry, something came up, so I have to bail on dinner tonight. I'll call you when I can.

I hated to cancel on her, but I had no choice. We needed to get on the road.

I turned to Bull and tossed him the keys to my truck. "Take my truck back to my house and park it in the garage as usual so my GPS system will show it's there. I have my security cameras off, so you won't be seen. Irish, follow him so you can give him a ride back here."

I paused as I had another thought. "Bull, take my phone, and Trick's too. Leave them turned on and leave them at my house. Stop by a few times each day that we're gone, and stagger calls and texts to Cowboy and Irish from them, so they will ping from that location if things go sideways, and the cops pull our phone records later." I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension there. "The only thing I can't control is my neighbors, but hopefully it doesn't come down to them being questioned. Luckily, none of them are the nosy type. They all keep to themselves, so I doubt they'll notice anything out of the ordinary."

"Damn, Prez, you're covering all your tracks. Those true crime shows you watch are paying off," Irish snickered.

I flipped him off, causing everyone to laugh. "It might be a little overkill, but I'd be damned if Trick or I ended up behind bars over that piece of shit traitor."

"You got that right, man," he said. He wished Trick and I a safe trip, then ran over to the garage to get the club's van, telling Bull he'd meet him at my house.

My text notification went off, and I saw that Ella had responded.

Sugar: No problem. Just call or text when you have a minute, and we can reschedule.

Me: Will do.

Thankful that she didn't seem upset about me canceling on her, I handed the phone over to Bull for safekeeping, and Trick did the same.

"You two be careful out there. See you on the flip side," Bull called out as he got in my truck. He started it and pulled out of the lot, with Irish close behind him in the van.

"Cowboy, let Sinner, Jag, and Rome know that I'm not gonna be reachable for the next few days, but to keep it on the downlow. If it's an emergency, they can let you know so you can call me on the burner phone. Don't tell them where I am. The less they know, the better." He nodded in understanding.

"We need to hit the road. It will take about three and a half hours to get there, and I'd like to scout out the hotels and shit around the strip club before her show starts, on the off chance we spot Pic anywhere." I told Trick. He nodded and went around to get in on the passenger side of the club truck.

"Sounds like a solid plan," Cowboy agreed, then grabbed my shoulder and pulled me into a one-armed hug. We slapped each other on the back, then he took a step back and looked me in the eye.

"Watch your ass out there, brother. Don't take him out if you two can't get away free and clear, you got me? That miserable fucknut ain't worth doin' time over. We can get him some other time if we have to."

"I'll be careful. I'm too pretty to get stuck behind bars." Cowboy laughed at my claim, as I'd intended. "Keep those assholes around here in line while I'm gone."

"That's another reason you need to make it back. I ain't takin' over the president's spot. It's too much fuckin' work."

I laughed as I opened the truck door and swung my body into the driver's seat. "I'll check in when we get there."

He nodded grimly as I started the truck, fastened my seat belt, and pulled away. We hadn't even cleared the front gates before Trick turned and flashed me a shit-eating grin.

"Irish was right. All that CSI forensic shit you watch is really paying off. Either that or you need to talk to a professional about your paranoia," he joked.

"You won't be talking shit if the cops come sniffing around, brother. My paranoia, as you call it, is what's gonna keep the two of us from wearing orange jumpsuits with ‘ Inmate ' stamped on the back."

"Yeah, that would fuckin' suck. I can't imagine how hard it would be behind bars with no access to pussy for God knows how long. I just couldn't do it."

I snorted a laugh. "No pussy? That's what you're worried about if you land in prison?"

"Hey, it's a valid fuckin' concern, Prez. My dick would be so damned confused if he didn't get his regular workout, he might stop working altogether by the time I got out, and that would be the real crime."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, thanks to me, you shouldn't have to find out. And quit talking about your dick like he's a person. Actually, just quit talking about your dick, period."

Trick chuckled at the disgust in my voice, then we got down to the serious business of planning what we would do once we reached the strip joint in Missouri.