4 Horsemen Novella! Kayla's Ride (Sons of San Merced Erotic Motorcycle Club Biker Romance) (7 page)

“You know me Famine, I set up this meet in good faith. Tell these assholes to back off.”

“This him, Kayla?”

I stared at the man on the ground. His frame was too small, voice all wrong.

“No.”

“Let him up,” Famine said firmly. War lifted the man off the ground, depositing him on his feet.

War patted down Tyrone, knocking off the dust.

“He’s clean.”

"You surprise me Tyrone. No gun?” Conquest asked, smiling.

Tyrone took on a slightly more defensive stance, standing a bit taller. I shivered as Conquest approached, reaching out and laying a hand softly across my cheek, nodding at Famine, then turning back.

"You know who I work for Conquest. If something happened to me out here there isn't a hole deep enough to crawl in."

Conquest sized Tyrone up, putting himself between us. “No… That’s the problem actually. I don’t know who you work for.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve got your job, I’ve got mine.”

“And what exactly is my job, Tyrone?”

Conquest spat on the dirt, looking increasingly agitated.

"You've got the docks up and down the west coast. San Merced down to LA. Everybody knows you can get shit in. The Kings have used you before.”

“And yet you try to go around us with the last shipment.”

“Your prices are steep Conquest. Hard to run a margin. I thought we could make do, I thought wrong.”

"You still want to run cargo?”

"Sixty thousand a container, cash, no questions asked.”

“First you tell me our prices are too steep, now you offer three times what we ask for to keep our mouths shut? What happened to margins, Tyrone?”

Conquest turned to the others, laughing. Soon, everyone was cracking up. Something was very, very wrong. Suddenly, I found myself face to face with Conquest again as he spun, his hard lines grinning with malice.

“Money won’t be a problem,” Tyrone said, grimacing.

"And we're supposed to ignore the screams?”

I looked past Conquest at Tyrone as he squirmed in his boots.

"No. Questions. Asked."

"How about a small question Tyrone. Who ordered the last can to be dumped in the ocean four weeks ago?"

A silence fell over the desert, cold and unforgiving.

“We don’t kill women, we don’t kill kids. Seems to me you did both Tyrone. 56 of them, right?

Conquest walked away from me, moving around Tyrone, giving him a solid kick that sent him shuffling forward.

Tyrone spun, grabbing Conquest and pulling him close. Death lifted the shotgun, aiming at the pair but clearly hesitant to pull the trigger. At this range with a sawn-off, she'd be lucky to avoid hitting them both.

"We've both got blood on our hands Conquest. Cost of doing business. Are we done fucking around or should we sit here talking about skeletons in the closet?"

56 girls…
My mind raced as I took in the conversation.

“Just tell me you didn’t order it.”

“That’s above my paygrade,” Tyrone said, still holding Conquest close.

“Tell me the Kings didn’t order it.”

“Conquest, look man, we weren’t anywhere near that crate when shit went down.”

“You know what? I believe you,” Conquest said, stepping backward. Tyrone let go, the vest falling from his fingers.

“Sixty thousand Conquest. Your MC needs the money. Everybody knows the cartel isn’t shipping through the west coast when the Arizona border is so loose. Take the money, look the other way.”

“Wait… I said I believed you didn’t kill those girls on the ship. That doesn’t mean I don’t know about Claire…”

Tyrone seemed to shrink, his body coiling.

“Or Janie.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Tyrone whispered.

“Oh, you do. You think girls like that might not have friends or family, but you’d be surprised what people come to us about. Death, do you think you can help our friend here remember what he did to those girls?”

The masked Horsemen approached, leveling the shotgun at Tyrone’s crotch.

“I think we can solve this problem for you, Tyrone. We can keep it from happening again,” Conquest said softly. Tyrone couldn’t so much as get a sentence out, blubbering wildly.

“You’ve got ten seconds to tell me who you work for.”

“I work for the Kings! Conquest, c’mon man.”

“The Kings didn’t send you here. They didn’t shove that container off the boat. I want a name. Ten.”

“They’ll kill me…”

“I’m about to kill you. Nine.”

“What the fuck man, I did nothing.”

“Death here doesn’t like liars, I’d really try not to piss her off or she might just shoot your dick off for fun. Eight.”

Her? She?
I thought, staring at Death. Her thin frame was different than the others, but I never would have suspected…

“Seven.”

“Look man, I’ll tell you… I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Six.”

“What the fuck Conquest!”

“I want a name. Five.”

“I got money man, take my money,”

“We don’t need your money. Four.”

A silence fell over the desert, Tyrone visibly shaking.

“Two.”

“What the fuck happened to three man?”

“The name.”

Death reared up, her finger wrapping around the trigger.

“Fong!”

Everyone stopped, staring at the broken man, tears streaming down his face.

“Fong is dead Tyrone,” Conquest said, suddenly unsteady in his own words. I looked over at Mark, his own body language tensing up unexpectedly.

“He’s not dead. Fong is alive. Look man, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Anything.”

“Why would Fong want to work with the Horsemen?” Conquest asked grimly.

“He doesn’t. He wants the docks. Says he’s gonna dump more girls on your hands, even you can’t sweep that shit under the rug. He promised us control of shipping.”

Famine stepped forward, pulling me with him, spitting at Tyrone’s feet. “Tell me one more thing, Tyrone.”

The man didn’t move a muscle.

“Who was the big man at the bar. The one who tried to kill me?”

“Fong didn’t say anything about trying to kill you… He wanted to talk to you.”

“You don’t come to talk with guns and knives in a dark parking lot.”

I stepped in closer as well, gauging Tyrone’s reaction. Something didn’t seem sincere, and then, he lunged. His hands were around Famine before anyone could react, I saw the small blade flashing as he swung Famine around, putting him between Death’s shotgun and himself. He backed up toward me.

“Look, I came out here to talk. I’m getting in my car and I’m driving the fuck out of here. I’ll cut this son of a bitch ear to fucking ear if you don’t back off!”

He was gesturing wildly, his hands waving. Without a second thought, I reached up, pulling the metal pen from my hair. The long locks fell downward as I swung, slamming it home into his forearm. He screamed, his hand flinching and releasing the small blade. It looked like part of his belt buckle. The distraction was long enough for Famine to turn the tables, pulling from his grip and slamming him to the ground, the pen still standing deep in his muscle.

“Kayla,” Famine whispered, looking up as War and Death approached.

“Thank you.”

Chapter 8:

Friend or Foe

“WHAT’S GOING
to happen to him?” I asked, as two club members shoved Tyrone into the back of the rented Chrysler he’d arrived in.

“Death is going to finish her chat with him, then they’ll drop him with the feds, hand over some evidence about what that asshole has been doing. He’ll disappear for awhile, especially if he starts handing over names. The Kings are fucked.”

I shook my head, looking over at Conquest as he had a close conversation with Death.

“Famine… Who’s Fong, and why is Conquest all up in arms about him?”

“Fong is a ghost,” Famine replied, visibly shaken.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I killed him.”

Conquest was coming our way, clear anger behind his muscular body. I watched the dust kick up behind him in little arcs, as each boot moved in front of the other. My heart stopped.

“He’s lying, he has to be,” Famine said, halting Conquest’s approach.

“Death can be pretty persuasive. That man is taking orders from Fong,” Conquest replied, looking grim. I admired the lines on his face. They spoke volumes.

“I killed him Conquest. He’s been dead almost seventeen years. You and I are the only ones that know who pulled the trigger. You watched him drop. The man didn’t have a brain left to operate.”

“He’s been dead long enough for someone to take his place, Famine. They are building off a name. We’re dealing with a dread pirate here. A brother, a friend, I don’t fucking care. We need to stop this before it gets out of hand.”

“Anyone who wants to be Fong is no friend of mine. I’ve buried him once, I’ll bury him again,” Famine growled.

“Tyrone says he doesn’t do face-to-face meets. Money’s wired to the account, deals by telephone. How do we find him Famine?”

Famine stared past conquest at the car, Tyrone thrashing about in the back as Death finished her interrogation. He smiled.

“If Fong is back, Lucy will know all about it,” Famine said quickly, turning to his bike. “She’ll know where to find him.”

Conquest nodded as I mounted the bike, Famine sliding in front of me.

“Horsemen! Lets ride!” Conquest shouted, the men mounting their iron steeds. Soon, a cacophony of sound rose up in the desert as we rolled out together, reaching the main road a few minutes later. The bikes took up the lane, riding two and three abreast in a big swarm as we tore up the road into Las Vegas.

The road can be appealing, and riding with the MC was a strangely adrenaline pumping experience. Men jockeyed for the front of the pack, while the Four Horsemen maintained their place toward the center, engines roaring and screaming along as the miles ticked away. It wasn’t long before we were roaring along the freeway in clear view of the strip, veering off toward a quieter part of town on the east side. The homes got bigger the further out we went, with the club roaring up to something that could better be described as a mansion as we came to a stop.

“She’s all yours Famine. I know you’re got history together,” Conquest said, laughing. I dismounted, leaning in.

“You’ve got friends in high places…” I whispered to Mark as we walked around the mansion. He deftly turned, punching in numbers on a hidden keypad recessed in the block wall. The gate opened, giving us access to the huge oaken doors behind it.

“Who lives here?”

Mark smiled at me faintly but said nothing, knocking loudly at the door. We waited in silence, before he reached out and took my hand in his, the small gesture unexpectedly comforting.

“She’s someone a lot like us. Former CIA, ran with bad people, did bad things.”

“Some kind of secret agent?” I asked, exasperatedly.

“No, Kayla. Something more dangerous than that.”

I stared, eyes wide, glancing from the house back to Mark.

“You’ll like her.” He added, grinning.

My body shivered as the large doors opened, revealing the exquisite wood and metal interior of the home. It was impeccably designed, the closest thing to a work of art that a home could be. Blocking the view however, was another kind of work of art.

She was twenty years past her prime and still very nearly the image of perfection. The woman in the doorway was tall, slender, with features that were at once stunningly beautiful and incredibly regal. Her pale skin was draped in silvered hair that draped over her shoulders, reaching all the way down to her hips. I found myself not wondering about who this woman was, or what she was, but rather, how she had held off the effects of time.

“So dramatic Lucy,” Mark laughed, waving to the huge entry doors.

I stood in shock, but I didn’t seem to be the only one. Lucy hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Kayla, meet my guardian angel,” He said, pressing his way over the threshold and embracing our beautiful host. The woman pulled away, ripping herself from his grip.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time, and now you greet me like an old friend?”

Mark drew back. “

“Why are you here?” Lucy said softly, her skin becoming even more impossibly pale. I looked down and noticed the silver handgun she was holding.

“I’m here, because Fong is back.”

“I’ve heard,” Lucy replied, letting out her breath and turning to walk back inside, leaving the door wide open. We stepped over the threshhold, following her into the living room, the heavy wood closing behind us.

“Tea?”

“Please,” Famine responded. Lucy stepped past us, walking into the dining area and returning with a pitcher and five glasses hung around it.