Devil's Fall: Dust Bowl Devils MC (24 page)

“I don’t want them to keep her at all.”

The bartender finally brought him a beer, and he downed half the glass in two swallows.

“I guess you got the message,” Nomad said.

He had. That afternoon, just before they’d left. The wake and the funeral dates and times from Rosa. He’d pushed it out of his mind immediately, focusing instead on Senna. But of course Rosa would have kept his father in the loop. She’d only managed to get Gunner’s number thanks to him.

“What of it?” Gunner asked.

“You better be going.”

He sure as hell didn’t want to. As far as his own feelings were concerned, he’d said goodbye.
I guess I sort of did all those years ago, too.
“I am.” Rosa would want him there. It would be shitty to stay away. And he knew he could handle it, as long as Senna went with him.

“You overreacted. We weren’t going to kill you. You didn’t have to run halfway across the country, we could have negotiated something.”

Senna blinked and kept her face calm despite the dread sitting heavily in her gut. “Are you aware of the sorts of messages your lackeys were sending me? Did you know they were leaving notes at my home, that they were following me on the streets?”

“They may have been a little enthusiastic but you were just being paranoid. Crazy.” He looked up at Bill, standing over her shoulder. “Women, am I right?’

She could hear Bill shift, though she couldn’t see him. “If she says you were threatening her, then you were fucking threatening her.”

Bill? Defending me?
It was hard to believe.

The room was larger than she thought it would be based on the bar in the front, likely used for birthdays, or conferences, or budget wedding receptions. All it contained at the moment was one folding table and five chairs right in the center of the space. There was a row of windows along only one wall.

Colin’s boss sat directly in front her. A middle-aged, overweight man, who’d introduced himself as “Call me Mr. Farelli.”
Another man with a false name. Maybe these guys aren’t all as different as they seem to think.
He was flanked by his lawyer and by Colin himself. A bodyguard wearing an ear-piece and sunglasses like the damn secret service stood behind them. On her side of the table, Bars sat to her right, and Bill stood over her shoulder. Jester guarded the door.

She had a really bad feeling about the whole thing.

She’d signed what they wanted. Bill had taken the suitcase full of cash. He counted it. She didn’t particularly want to touch it.
Go away. All of you, go away.
She didn’t care about her shares in the company. She didn’t care about her father’s legacy - maybe she would have if he’d been a different person.
Let it go. Let it all go.

But when they accused her of overreacting, that was just too much. The texts traced back to phones with false names attached or no names at all. The emails had come from a flurry of faked addresses, sent from libraries across the city. These guys knew how to run a campaign of fear as easily as they made their morning coffee. She’d be lucky if she managed to wrangle a restraining order out of the whole ordeal, nevermind pressing any kind of charges. But for them to try to downplay it to her face, to
lie,
was too infuriating to ignore.

She couldn’t tolerate liars anymore.

“You haven’t left the building yet,” she said, “We can still burn those contracts.” She leaned across the table, drawing her bravery from the fact that Bill had defended her a moment before. She was gambling on him continuing to do so - even if it was all a bluff. “This is a quiet room. Apologize.”

The big man chuckled. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Bill grunted. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, either. When a lady demands an apology, you give it to her if you know what’s good for you.”

“Or what? You resort to violence?” He shook his head. “I thought we were being reasonable. If you imagine we came without considering our own defense, though, you’d be very mistaken.”

Bluffing. They’re all bluffing.
Her eyes flickered to the windows anyway. She couldn’t take the tension anymore. Lies or not, she didn’t want this to resort to violence. She wanted this to be over. She wanted these suits to leave and to never bother her again.

“Just go,’ she said, turning away in disgust. “Quit your fucking staring contest and go.”

But Bill wasn’t having it. He leaned across the table and grabbed Farelli’s tie. The table rocked with his weight as he leaned in. “Say you’re sorry,” he snarled.

Something tiny struck the outside wall, sending a shower of white dust down in front of the window.
A bullet. A sniper?! What the fuck?

Bill released the man’s tie and showed his palms. “You realize my guys can kill you before your man can kill us,” he said.

“Yes.” Farelli stood, straightening his tie and jacket. Colin and the lawyer rose around him. “But my guy would kill you before you could leave the room. Which is why you’re keeping your money right now and I’m keeping my contracts.”

Bill was unconcerned. “I’ve known men to die with idiot grins on their faces for lesser reasons.” She could see his fingers twitch out of the corner of her eye, hovering near where he hid his weapon beneath his vest.

Farelli cleared his throat. He spoke as if it pained him. “We apologize for any misunderstands and wish you the best in your future endeavors.”

“Right,” she said, though he barely looked down her nose at her, instead speaking over her head, “Good luck to you, too.” It was a non-apology if she’d ever heard one, but she’d take it if it meant getting out of there alive.

He turned without another word, not even sparing her a glance. She would have expected at least a sneer or a glare from Colin, but he too made his exit as though she’d ceased to exist. They left through the back, avoiding the bar altogether.

“Fucking rich people,” Bill muttered. “Out. Fast.” He ushered her through the door that led them through to the front, pushing her ahead, standing between her and the threat out the window.

“Thank you,” she said once they were away from the room, feeling oddly sheepish. “For defending me, I mean.”

“You’re one of ours whether I like it or not.” He held up the suitcase. “Sixty forty.”

She nodded. “I trust you.” The split was in the Devil’s favor, of course. Originally he’d demanded an even larger portion but she negotiated quickly, before Farelli arrived. Not because she cared about the money, aside from possibly getting herself back into school - which even ten percent would have covered quite easily. She couldn’t let herself look like a pushover, though, couldn’t let anyone smell fear on her, no matter how afraid she actually was.

She was
still
afraid; the bad feeling hadn’t dissolved one bit. It should have, it was over. But it had been too easy. She didn’t think she’d stop buzzing until they were all the way back at the clubhouse.

When she didn’t spot Gunner right away, she stumbled outside, suddenly desperate to escape the smoky claustrophobic bar and breath in some fresh air. He was probably out there himself, chain smoker that he was when he got nervous.
As long as he’s not hanging out with Jester again.
She hadn’t forgotten the previous night - everything he’d said from from deep within his drugged-out haze. But she wasn’t ready to process it yet.
Later. Not until this bad feeling goes away.

The night air did nothing to alleviate her dread. Rather, it grew; she felt sick with anxiety. Time slowed.

Senna wasn’t superstitious like Gunner. She didn’t believe in fate, karma, destiny, things coming full circle, none of it. Coincidences were only coincidences. Bad timing was simply bad timing. Luck wasn’t real.

It was quiet out front. As expected, she found him smoking a cigarette at the curb, watching one of his brothers peel out down the road.

“Hey,” she said as he turned.

“Hey.” He’d worn the same look of concern all day, and the end of the meeting hadn’t changed it.
We do need to talk about yesterday.
“Everything go okay?”

“Yeah.” She took his hand. “I think I’m a little rich again. So’s the club, now.”

“It’s robbery,” he snarled, and she laughed.

“It’s not robbery if I negotiated. I’m just relieved. Do you know if they’re going to set up something similar with Dawn?”

“According to Irish, she’s still considering it.” He grinned as she kissed his knuckles. “Want to get out of here?”

“Yes, please.”

But the luck and the fate that she didn’t believe in were working against them.

She thought nothing of the man that walked towards them down the sidewalk. He was just another pedestrian, a barhopper, nobody worth noticing. She wasn’t even conscious of his presence until he ducked low, out of her vision in one swift motion. But Gunner saw. He swung her aside, wrenching her arm as the attacker’s knife just grazed her behind her knee.
I knew it. I knew this was too easy.
She watched in horror as Gunner advanced on the knife-wielding man. She didn’t recognize the stranger - the only thing that stood out about him was the eyepatch he wore.

They didn’t even speak. No taunts, no blustering. She screamed in the direction of the bar’s open door, for Bill, for Nomad, but even that was too late. The confrontation was already over when she turned back.

Gunner was kneeling, facing away from her.

The stranger was gone.

She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Shit.” Blood blossomed on his black t-shirt, welling from a gash in his chest, dripping slowly to the ground. She pressed her hands to the wound. “How deep is it, did you see?” she asked. The blood seeped through her fingers. “Shit! Nomad! Stay with me, Gunner. Look at me.”

His eyes focused on her, unfocused, focused again. “I deserved it.”

“What? No, no you didn’t. Stop that.” Where were they? People had gathered at the bar’s entrance. Someone was talking into a cell phone, reporting their location.
Yes, please, get an ambulance.

“It’s okay,” he said, “It’s all come full circle. I was… was I here?” He groaned and crumpled over.

“No no no,” she chanted, leaning into him, catching him so he slumped against her, keeping him from hitting his head on the concrete.

Nomad and Bill both finally appeared, and Jester behind them just a moment later.

“An ambulance is on the way,” someone in the crowd reported. She couldn’t see who through the gathering tears.

“We have our own damn doctors,” Bill said, kneeling at her side, then “Shit,” as he took in all the blood.

“He needs a hospital,” Nomad said, “How long?”

Their voices faded away, replaced by a ringing in her ears, her fear robbing her of any sense of her surroundings. All she saw was the blood coating her hands and his eyes, hurt and confused and locked on hers. “Stay with me,” she said again.

“You stay with me,” he said, his words sluggish. The sound of sirens finally pierced through to her ears.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his. “I will,” she whispered, “I’ll stay. I want to stay. Just hang on, all right? For me?”

“Senna.” He reached up as if to touch her face, but someone was dragging her away. Hands lifted him onto a stretcher - the ambulance had arrived.

“We’ll follow,” Bill said. She tried to pull away but his grip on her arm was immovable. She watched the EMTs cover his wound with gauze as they loaded him into the ambulance, Nomad jumping in after them. The watched the vehicle accelerate up the street, a storm of sirens and lights carrying him away.

“Better get ahold of yourself, girly. You aren’t getting on my bike if you’re shaking like that.”

She didn’t know that she was. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves as she always did, burying what she felt beneath a cool and steady exterior. Her stomach churned like a washing machine but to Bill she appeared ready to ride.

“Did you see who did it?” he asked, leading her around the corner to where he’d parked.

“No. I mean, yes. Some guy in an eyepatch.”

Bill tensed. “Motherfucker. I knew this would happen.”