Hell on Wheels (Four Horsemen MC Book 6) (3 page)

 “You don’t say.”

“You got both Voo and the prez riled up. Doesn’t pay to provoke the men in charge.”

“Voo’s in charge?” she asked.

“He’s the vice president.” Justice dug around in his pocket and pulled out a Zippo and what looked like either a hand-rolled cigarette or a joint. He lit it up and Charlie smelled the sweet, smoky scent of pot.

Good to know.
She raised a brow.

“I have cancer,” he said, deadpan. “Now, be quiet.”

Charlie couldn’t tell if it was some sort of gallows-humor joke. Maybe the weed would dull his senses.

If she could find a distraction…

Justice took another hit, inhaling deeply. “Don’t get any ideas. Pot doesn’t affect my reflexes, cuz I toke every fucking day. Do yourself a favor and stay on my good side.”

“And if I don’t?” she asked.

“Then you and me are gonna have a problem,” he said very deliberately. He smiled afterwards, like he hadn’t issued a threat.

Most people didn’t look so casual when they threatened someone. And hey, she should know.  Charlie had been on the receiving end of a few over the years. If it was an idle one, there’d be some nervousness, some hesitation. People who didn’t mean it blustered and thumped their chests when they issued threats. But when someone said it matter-of-factly, it gave her pause.

Justice locked eyes with her. They engaged in a bit of a stare-off, until she finally dropped her gaze.

He grunted. “Settle in and we’ll wait this out. With any luck, no one needs to get hurt.” He unzipped his hoodie to reveal the red t-shirt. It read:
The Only Easy Day was Yesterday
. Beneath it, she saw an eagle clutching a trident, an anchor, and a rifle.

Charlie recognized it instantly. It was a special warfare insignia.
Crap balls.
“You were a SEAL?”

He glanced down at his shirt and frowned. She got the impression he’d dressed in a hurry and he hadn’t even realized what shirt he’d picked up. “No, I
am
a SEAL,” he corrected with a shake of his head. “And I’ll be one ‘til the day I die.” He chuckled darkly.

There was a finality about that statement, an apathy she didn’t quite understand. But she knew better than to bring it up. People didn’t respond well when she pulled back their layers.  Charlie tried to make people comfortable with her.

Once again, she focused on getting out of this place. If she had any hope of escape, she needed a distraction.  Something to split his focus. Due to his training, she doubted it would work, but she had to try. “You know, I haven’t had any coffee yet this morning. What about you?”

“No? You mean you didn’t steal any from the diner yet?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a smart remark. “Okay, I deserved that. But I need caffeine and you could use some too, right? We’re both stuck here and the diner is a few hundred feet away.” The use of ‘we’ had been deliberate on her part. It created a sense of camaraderie with the mark, making the person feel as if they were friends.

Justice snorted. “Nice try, sweetheart, but I ain’t leavin’ you alone, even if you
are
trussed up like a turkey. I don’t trust your ass.”

Hmph. Smart man.

 He ran a palm down his face and she noted the dark circles beneath his eyes. He could use a good night’s sleep. And maybe a whole pot of coffee to himself.
Good. Sleepy people are easier to run from.
“Although, I hustled over here before I could have some coffee. I’ll call the diner and have a hellion bring over a couple of cups.”

Crapola.
She’d hoped he’d leave to get them, but the caffeine might do her some good anyway. Make it easier to think. “Thank you,” she said. “I take mine with two sugars. And maybe something to eat?”

“Don’t push it.” He dialed from his cell and didn’t take his eyes off her while he ordered. After asking for the coffees, with sugar in hers and cream in his, and two donuts, he settled back in his chair.

Things were looking up. A caffeine fix and a sugar high were bound to help with her escape plan.

***

Axel hit the kickstand on his Harley Sportster Seventy-Two and ran a hand along the clean lines. It helped to focus on something real, something he could touch.

He absently wiped away some of the road dust as he mentally prepared himself. He’d gone with the black quartz finish, and it had a faint metallic sheen beneath the glossy black. The motorcycle was gorgeous, but also a bitch to keep clean. And they were fresh out of bike-washin’ prospects, too. Yet another item for his to-do list. He had a hangaround or two in mind, but that’d have to wait.

Right now, he had to deal with Beauregard.

A few weeks ago, the Horsemen had been forced into a partnership with Beauregard. So far, he hadn’t asked them for anything, but Axel had a feeling that was about to change.

Axel tipped his head to glance up at Beauregard Manor. It was an antebellum-style mansion with long Corinthian columns which dotted the length of the white veranda. The house was painted white with black shutters around the windows. The manor was surrounded by lush, manicured green lawns and with the Texas climate, the landscaping bill must be gigantic, but the Beauregards could afford it. They were rich as Croesus, funded by bootlegging and their connections with the Dixie Mafia.

With a sigh, he trudged up the stairs, passing a row of guards in dark suits. The fucker had a serious security detail, probably because a lot of people were gunning for him. Byron had worked his way up the mafia food chain as a hit man. Most of his family were connected to the mob, but they all had to earn their own positions. The Dixie Mafia weren’t known for nepotism.

Axel walked down the hallway, past even more guards, and finally ended up in the study. It looked like it should belong to a businessman or a lawyer—fireplace, antique furnishings, a couple of ornate bookcases, and
the vault
. Axel stared at it a moment, so very close to the gun he wanted, yet so very far away.

Byron Beauregard sat behind his massive walnut desk with a China cup in hand. He wore a black suit with a gray silk paisley tie, which probably cost more than Axel paid in rent each month. Beauregard was shorter than Axel, around six-foot with blond hair and blue eyes. By all rights, he should be ugly as sin, to match that tarnished soul of his. Yet there something downright angelic about Beauregard.

“Good morning, Axel. Care for some coffee?” Beauregard greeted him, as if they were old friends. He had a matching porcelain carafe on his desk, along with a pitcher of cream and a bowl filled with sugar cubes.

The Beauregards weren’t shy about showing off their wealth, hence the Tara-like estate. They acted like all the money came from legit means, but Axel bet he had a lot of nooses in his family tree. It was a sad state of affairs that filthy lucre had gotten them into state politics. It wouldn’t be long before a Beauregard got himself into the statehouse. Hell, they might even go after the presidency.

“Well?” Beauregard prompted.

As his mother would say, if Beauregard had that coffee stuffed up his ass and Axel had a feather up his nose, they’d both be tickled. Axel glanced down at his rough hands with a smirk. Motor oil rimmed his fingernails, he had too many calluses to count, plus skinned knuckles from a stubborn carburetor. He’d break the damn thing if he handled it. The thought made him smile, but he shook his head. “No, thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s Kona coffee. I get it shipped in from Hawaii every few months. Expensive as hell, but worth every drop.”

Axel didn’t want to prolong this meeting one more second than he had to, so he kept his temper on a leash. Barely. Being forced to take orders from the man who’d blackmailed his mother didn’t bring out the best in him. At this rate, he’d have to take yoga classes or he’d have a heart condition by the time he was fifty.

He sighed and tried to keep his voice civil as he spoke. “It smells real good, but I’ve already had my morning coffee, thanks.”

Beauregard shrugged as he set down his own cup. “Your loss.”

“Am I here to talk about our Raptor problem?” Axel sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk. The Raptors had worked as Beauregard’s henchmen until he’d engineered an arrangement with the Horsemen. Beauregard had promised to help them get rid of the Raptors, but so far they’d seen zero action towards that goal.

Beauregard stilled in his chair. “Have they made a move yet?”

A few weeks ago, the Horsemen raided a rival club’s whorehouse/porn studio. The Raptors had been trafficking in young women, using them for profit. The Horsemen had freed everyone, destroyed the studio, and made off with the cash and closed circuit camera footage. They’d done it in a bid to shut down the Raptor’s operation. It worked, since they were no longer using the facility.

 “No. We haven’t heard a fucking peep out of them.” The Raptors hadn’t evened the score yet, which was a red flag. Axel and the rest of the brothers had been bracing themselves for a war since it had happened.

Beauregard placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in the chair, letting it swivel back and forth. “Now that’s a bad sign.”

“No shit,” Axel muttered. “We should do something before they come after us.”

“We will, but I have something more pressing at the moment.”

Axel prayed for fucking patience. “Like that?” He nodded to a couple of black and red
HELP WANTED
signs lying on the desk.

 “No, I’ve brought you here for another business matter. Although, I’m in need of a maid.” He ran a finger along the line of his desk and examined it with a sigh. He grabbed a tissue and wiped off the dust. “I had to let the last one go, and this place hasn’t been cleaned in a couple of weeks. Good help is so hard to find these days.”

Well, no one wants to work for killer.
And Axel knew that firsthand. “I haven’t found that to be the case.”

 “Aren’t you lucky?” Beauregard picked up the signage. “The agency I usually use said they wouldn’t be sending over any more applicants.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. “Labor disputes.”

Labor disputes, my ass
. Maids had the opportunity to observe a household practically unnoticed. God only knows what his staff had witnessed.

Like an FBI agent’s blood all over the carpet, for instance.

Speaking of, Axel glanced down at the carpet, which appeared to be brand new. Axel bet the former maid had quit around that time. If she’d quit…her blood might have been spilled in this room, too.

“What about one of your hellions?” Beauregard asked. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to loan one of them to me, since you and I are working together? I think it might be best to keep this all in-house, as it were.”

Hellions were biker groupies who hung around the club. They were nice enough women. Most of them were young, pretty, sexually uninhibited, and willing to please. Axel had partaken a time or two and while it eased his sexual needs, it hadn’t done much for him other than a physical release.

 “You lookin’ for a maid or a date?” Axel asked.

Beauregard sneered. “I’ve always found sex and commerce don’t mix.”

While he didn’t have any strong feelings for the hellions, he wouldn’t let them be cannon fodder, either. Working anywhere near Beauregard was a hazardous occupation, one guaranteed to get you six feet under or in jail pretty damn quick.

“Nope. Not that I know of. Now, as fascinating as this small talk is, why the fuck am I here?”

Beauregard smirked as he smoothed his tie. And took a long fucking time to speak. “Yes, I suppose we can’t chitchat all day. I have an assignment for y’all.”

Here we go.

“What kind of assignment?”

Beauregard cracked his knuckles. “Oh, you know a drive down to Laredo and then a quick run over the border to pick up some cargo. Then make sure it arrives in Dallas intact. It should be pretty this time of year. Think of it as a sightseeing trip.”

Axel had a feeling a felony was about to come his way. “And what are we protecting?”

 “Heroin.”

Chapter Three

“You want us to be your drug mules?”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” Beauregard said before taking another sip of his coffee. “I’m not asking your brothers to swallow condoms full of drugs. All you need to do is drive one little-bitty van back and forth across the border. And then truck it on back to hell, break it up, and make sure it arrives in Dallas on time.”

“Why do we have to break it up?”

“The DEA and police follow vehicles that come across the border, especially when they head to large urban areas. Places where you might sell drugs.”

Axel snorted. “I see. You’re a drug dealer now?”

Axel didn’t have a problem with weed. He considered it harmless. Especially because the club grew and smoked their own, but they weren’t funding anyone’s drug empire. And he sure as shit didn’t want to follow in Joker’s footsteps.

Beauregard stiffened. “As a matter of fact, I find these types of jobs…distasteful. And it isn’t
my
shipment, actually.”

Axel raised a brow.
Well, what do you know?
Dickhead has standards.
Axel wanted to come across the desk at him, but settled for sinking his hands into the leather armrests. “I see. You’re loaning us out? We’re the errand boys for your Dixie Mafia buddies too.”

Beauregard stiffened. “I have an arrangement with one of my business associates, a gentleman by the name of Cotton Krug. He has a somewhat higher rank than I do within the organization and I am…obligated to do him favors.” His lips twisted. “As a show of respect, of course.”

 “If you find it so fucking objectionable, why don’t you tell Krug to go piss up a rope?” His jaw tightened. If he couldn’t talk Beauregard out of this, the Horsemen would be forced to haul drugs across a heavily guarded border.

Talk about mission fucking impossible.

 “I’d love to, but I can’t,” he said curtly. “As I told your mother, I’ve been reorganizing, making changes to the business. However, these adjustments take time and resources. And I know you biker boys like to think I’m evil incarnate, but everyone has to answer to someone. And unfortunately, Mr. Krug has a deal with the
Tres Erre
cartel.”