Cash (The Henchmen MC Book 2) (5 page)

All my men mattered to me, every last one. They all had their own horror stories; their own reasons they needed to disappear; their own reasons for not being able to leave the life of war and violence behind them. Many were vets, some just streetwise kids who got sucked in early and ran before they could be spit out dead before thirty. They all had little pieces of my heart.

But Janie had a huge chunk of it. Janie was like a little sister to me, or like the daughter I would never have. She was rough and tough and prickly and she wore her intelligence like a shield, but underneath it all was the little sixteen year old girl I came across one night, a girl I had taken in and raised for eight years.

She was... everything.

And she had just bombed five powerful organizations in the course of one night.

There would be repercussions.

People would want payment.

The worst of them would never forgive, the rest would never forget.

And because Janie was Hailstorm, we would never again know the same kind of alliances we had before. We would never be able to enjoy our drama-free reputation again.

But all that, well, it didn't matter. What mattered was Janie. What mattered was the fact that she had planned and orchestrated such an intricate plot and I had somehow not even known she was going off the deep end. That never should have been able to happen. I should have seen the signs. I should have been able to talk some reason into her.

And if Janie was gone, if she packed all her stuff and took off, then she was g-o-n-e. She had the skills to disappear. I
taught
her how to do that shit. I had coached her on getting off the grid, becoming someone new. She had stood by my side and watched me do it for other people. Christ, had she been planning it all along? Had she been standing up with me, taking every bit of knowledge I could throw around, and cataloging it for later?

A part of me didn't want to think I was that blind. The other part of me, though, knew she was perfectly capable of being that smart and calculated.

What the hell was I supposed to do?

“Lo?” Malcolm, an older man, mid-forties, tall, lean, fit, graying in an attractive way, with the sharpest ice blue eyes I had ever seen, ex-military, ex-private security, ex-PI, ex-everything, came up to me. “What's up?”

Malcolm had shown up at Hailstorm one day at the very beginning after having me screw up one of his PI cases, spitting mad and ready to beat 'that fucking Lo guy' into a bloody pulp. Finding out I was Lo, well, his anger drained, he threw his head back and laughed, and a month later, he was living at Hailstorm and teaching me everything he knew. He was like a father figure to all of us (even though he was only a few years older than myself). And he knew me pretty damn well.

“I can't say yet, Malc,” I admitted, knowing better than to even try to lie to him.

He nodded, accepting that, sitting down on a foot locker across from me. “Is it bad?”

I sat down too, looking down at my hands for a moment. Was it bad? It was the worst. It couldn't possibly get any worse.

“Yeah,” I admitted, looking up at his face. He was attractive, unfairly so even at his age, a trait only men seemed to possess.

“Shit.” He sighed. “Should we all be worried?”

“No,” I said, firmly. “It isn't a threat. I am going to make sure it doesn't turn into one.”

“Lo, you know I have immense respect for you. I know you're one of the best out there, darlin',” he said, giving me a charming smile, “but not even you should be wading into bad shit by yourself.”

“I'm not in it alone,” I said, half-lying, not aware I was stroking Janie's locker until Malcom's gaze settled there.

“Jstorm's all over this?” he asked, lips twitching up, revealing his soft spot for her.

Oh, yeah, she was all over it, just not in the way he thought.

“Yeah,” I said quietly.

“You two together? You're a kickass team. But I'm not liking two women wading into bad shit alone either. Even two as badass as you two are,” he added when he knew I was about to pounce on him. Sexism simply wasn't acceptable at Hailstorm. We women busted our asses to be taken just as seriously as the men, which often meant we had to work a lot harder than they did, but we earned the right to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with our male counterparts. “Just sayin'... you know...” he added, eyes looking darker, worried.

“I promise if it is looking dangerous, I will bring some men in on this.”

“Good.”

“I am going to be a little... in the wind dealing with this,” I hedged. “I can trust you to hold down the fort?”

“Always, darlin',” he said, tone serious and I knew I could count on him. “I'll go round up the troops and fill them in. The usual.”

“Thanks, Malc,” I said, standing as he did and closing the distance to clamp him on the arm. I wasn't exactly a huggy kind of gal and he wouldn't be comfortable with his leader wrapping her arms around him anyway so it was as close to physical affection as we would get.

“Be safe, Lo,” he said, making it sound less like a plea and more like a command.

“Always. I'll be in touch,” I said, moving out of the barracks and quickly making my way to the line of vehicles we kept for common use.

I didn't pack. I didn't need to. I taught everyone to keep a bugout bag hidden somewhere close and then one far away in case they were ever in the need to get out of dodge. They knew it because I knew it. I had five bugout bags hidden in various places across the country. I never knew if shit would hit the fan in a way that not even the ferocious beast that was Hailstorm could fix. I always needed to be prepared.

I slipped in behind the wheel of a inconspicuous black hatchback and pulled out of Hailstorm with a lead-like sensation in my stomach.

I drove through town, slowing to check out the damage to Chaz's bar, seeing all five of the Mallick men and their father standing out front, arms crossed over their broad chests, looking hot and badass. Every last one of them was a black-haired, blue-eyed potential cover model. They also all looked quite vicious and pissed off as they had whatever kind of family meeting they were having. Out front of The Henchmen compound, bikes were lined up, making it seem like all hands were on deck. They were probably having church in wake of the bombings.

I took a turn out of my way, going up a hill a bit to check out the damage at Lex Keith's place.

It was bad. Whatever bombs Janie placed (and Janie was well known for her bomb work) were placed to cause maximum damage. The gate was blown open, for what, I wasn't sure. She wouldn't have needed to bomb the gates to get in. Was she not working alone? Jesus, did she team up with someone else without filling me in?

“What have you gotten yourself into, Janie?” I asked the car, watching the flames engulf Lex's mansion full of first edition copies of books he had never read and art he didn't understand.

A part of me, granted an ungracious, vengeful, borderline evil part of me, hoped he was slowly burning to death in there. The worst possible death for the worst possible person.

The other part of me, though, was pretty sure it wasn't possible to kill that evil bastard.

I did a quick K-turn and made my way back toward the other end of town, the bad end, the end even hardened gang members were a bit spooked to walk down alone at night. It had been a long, long time since I saw my old safe house.

Thirteen years ago, it was all I had in the world. I bought it with every last penny of stolen money I had on me, a steal really, but it was on the property directly across from a known and violent gang. So at twenty-four and female, it wasn't exactly a 'safe' place to be, but it was safer for me than what I needed to get away from. As time went on and I built up Hailstorm, there was really no reason to keep it aside from nostalgia. I could have made up a safe house anywhere. But I kept it.

I turned up the drive, checking out my mirrors to watch the guys across the street stand up on their stoop and watch me.

Crap.

It had been years. Leaders had likely come and went. New blood didn't recognize old faces. I stopped my car halfway up my drive, popped the trunk, and jumped out with the engine still running. I went to the trunk, trying my best to ignore the beating of my heart, reached in, and dragged out the two biggest guns that were stored inside.

I turned, arms raised, watching the mix of emotions run across their faces. Some, surprise. Others, fear. One, nothing. There was my leader.

“You guys hear of Hailstorm?” I asked, raising my voice to reach across the street.

“Yeah,” the one I pegged as the leader answered, jerking his chin up and keeping eye contact. Cool as a freaking cucumber. He was a good choice for leadership.

“My name is Lo and if you step one mother fucking foot on this property, I will round up some of my men, come into your little... headquarters,” I said, giving their dilapidated building a nod, “and personally chop off all of your dicks. You've heard my name?” I asked, seeing another small chin jerk. “Then you know I am perfectly fucking capable of following through with that threat. So, we cool?” I asked, keeping eye contact.

“Bitch, we cool,” he said, giving me a small smile that might have been charming if he wasn't a heroin dealer and pimp. “Ain't gonna step a foot on your property.”

“Good,” I said, lowering the guns and stalking back to my car. It was a risky move to threaten a gang, alone, female. It could have gone a completely different way. But fact of the matter was, I couldn't bring my men into my safe house. That was a part of my life they didn't belong in. So I either needed to be up front with the local bad guys, or shrink away and find another place to crash.

I was always the type to nut-up, so that was what I did.

I threw the guns back into the trunk, got in the car, and drove the rest of the way toward the house.

Calling it a 'house' may have been generous. It was really no bigger than a large shed, made of crumbling white stucco and a peeling black roof. The windows had been barred before I moved in and I added a security door for extra peace of mind. All in all, it was locked down tight. Last time I had been there, I had connected a light to a timer and kept the power, water, and heat going despite never even visiting to see if the place was still standing.

I reached under my shirt, digging out the chain that held the only two keys I ever needed- one to a safety deposit box where I kept all my other keys, and the one to my old safe house.

I locked the car, despite knowing that it would do me no good in a neighborhood where there was a chance my tires, stereo, and transmission could be missing by morning, and made my way up the gravel walk.

I slipped the key into the lock, feeling a mix of emotions flood through my system. First, there was the nostalgia, the feeling of comfort, familiarity, especially knowing that literally every last thing inside would be as I had left it. Second, though, there was a weird uncertainty that had my stomach rolling so fast that I felt queasy. Pushing past it, I pressed the door open and reached inside for the light switch beside the door. I flicked and nothing happened.

The swirling in my stomach intensified as I took a step in, reaching for my cell to brighten my way to another light source. I swiped through my apps, looking for the flashlight as I kicked closed the front door.

But then something happened.

A light flicked on across the room.

The swirling feeling in my stomach turned into a plummeting sensation.

“Hey, Willow,” a voice called. My phone fell and I turned to run.

Five

Cash

“Point me in a direction, Prez,” Repo said, fists clenched down by his sides. He had bulked up since he was patched-in, but was never a weakling to begin with. He kept his past locked down tight, but there was a darkness in his deep blue eyes and a scar that ran down the entire side of his cheek, cutting off at the sharp jut of his jaw. He'd seen some shit, done some shit before we even laid eyes on him. Match that with the fact that he had been beat to a pulp to try to save Summer once and then got up off his sick bed to come in, guns blazing, and help the rest of us get her out? Yeah, he was one of Reign's favorites.

“Don't have a direction to point you in yet, Repo,” Reign said, taking a stool and shrugging his shoulders. “All I know is someone is puffing their chest. To hit us? That's personal. To hit us and, say, the Russians? That's about trying to take the gun trade in the area. But to hit us, Hailstorm, Lyon, the Mallicks, and Lex? That ain't nothing but a show of power, telling us all to watch our backs. Ain't none of us have anything in common.”

“Hailstorm helped us,” Vin, an older member of the club, back from the days when our father ran shit, chimed in. “They helped you get Summer back. So did Lyon. And the Mallicks? Shane told us about that rat we had in the club.”

Good points, all.

“But we have never gone anywhere near that fuckwad Lex,” Reign said, looking up with his piercing light green eyes. “We haven't made any kind of stand against him, but I think it's pretty clear we want nothing to do with that rapist asshole.”