Hell on Wheels (Four Horsemen MC Book 6) (4 page)

“What? You’re afraid of this jackass or something?” When he didn’t immediately deny it, Axel’s mouth fell open in shock. What kind of psychopath would intimidate Beauregard?

“Mr. Krug is…unpredictable. It’s in both our best interests to stay on his good side.” Beauregard crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side. “Maybe the payout will assuage your conscience. You’ll be paid very well for your duties, so I suggest you take this opportunity to line your pockets. And mind your manners, while you’re at it.”

 Beauregard could take the cash and shove it up his ass as far as Axel was concerned, but he didn’t say it.

 “The
Tres Erre
,” Beauregard said, “would be willing to cut y’all in for a small share of the product if you agree to distribute.”

“Hell no.” They might be forced to deliver the drugs, but he’d be damned if they sell them, too.

Beauregard shrugged. “Could be lucrative. The cartel has a stranglehold on the American heroin business. And since the fine folks at the Drug Enforcement Agency have started cracking down on prescription drug abuse, junkies have been forced to find their fix by more traditional means. So business is booming. It’s a victimless crime, if you think about,” Beauregard said. “Simply supply and demand. “

“You
would
think that. And how do you suggest we get the drugs into the States? Border security is tight.”

Beauregard chuckled. “I’m not a micromanager, so you do what you like. But I’d leave the convicted felons at home. I wouldn’t wear anything that identified me a biker. And I’d find a large vehicle with some hidden compartments. That’s why I wanted to give you a heads-up. It’ll take some time to modify a vehicle. Don’t expect this much lead time for every job.”

“And if we don’t make it across? What if it gets seized?” And he and his brothers ended up going to federal prison for the next quarter of a century. Axel took a deep breath. “It’s swarming with guards. One fuck-up and we’ll have the border patrol, ATF, the FBI, and every other initial you can think of crawling up our asses.”

Beauregard leaned forward and his polite veneer dropped. “Then you’d have to explain yourself to the
Tres Erre
and Mr. Krug, as well as myself…and trust me, you wouldn’t want to do that.” He grasped the sharp, shiny letter opener from his desk and idly played with it, stroking the sharp tip.

“I see.” Axel’s heart pounded in his chest. “We’ll whistle past the graveyard and hope it works out?”

“You know, the Raptors hauled blow for me and didn’t give me any lip. They’re stupid, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices for obedience.”

“Maybe you should give those boys a call instead.”

 Beauregard stood up and placed his palms against the desk. “I suggest,” he said with quiet menace, “that you do the job and give up on the heroics, or some of you’ll end up in that graveyard.” Then he smiled, real slow. “Now
that’s
somethin’ to whistle about.”

Axel knew when he was beat. Hell came their way because they’d made a deal with Hell’s resident devil. “Then, we’re on it. Unless there’s anything else you need?” Oh, it galled him to ask that.

Beauregard shook his head. “Not now. But if you cross me, I’ll be forced to turn your mother in to the FBI.”

As though Axel needed a reminder.

Beauregard stood up and walked to the vault behind him, leaning against it. Inside, he had a gun with Axel’s mother’s prints on it. “Murdering a federal agent. I imagine she’d have a short trip to death row. Speaking of your dear, sweet mother, how is Eddie?”

“Fine,” he gritted out. “When does the shipment leave?” he asked, changing the topic.

“That’s good to hear,” Beauregard said, laying on the charm. “Tell her I’d love to see her. I’ve been working on her artisan brand of moonshine. I have some label examples I’d like her to take a gander at.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.” He’d make damn sure they were never in the same room together again.

 “Back to business then. I’m not sure when the shipment leaves.  It seems there’s been an, uh, change of management, shall we say? It’ll take some time for things to shake out, and I want to be ready when it does.”

“Are you talking about an overthrow?” Axel asked.

“Things are a bit volatile south of the border. When you get the axe, it isn’t a metaphor,” he said, lips curving into a smile.

“And who’s the new boss?” Axel asked. He wanted to know what psycho would be in charge.

“A woman known as
the Bruja.”

“
Bruja
?
”
Axel asked.

“It means “witch”. I’ll give you the new contact info in a day or two. Meanwhile, you get workin’ on that van.”

Axel nodded, his jaw tight, and stalked to the door. Once the club retrieved that smoking gun from Beauregard’s safe, Axel promised himself, he’d use it to put Beauregard six feet under. 

***

The door slammed against the wall and Charlie gasped. She turned to see Axel standing in the doorway. His hair was disheveled, and his back was ramrod straight. One of the veins on his forehead stood out, pulsing.

“Thanks for watching her, brother.”

“Not a problem, Axe. How’d the meet go?”

Axel’s mug was grim.
Yeah, definitely bad news.
She doubted he’d be in the mood to release a thief. So, Charlie unabashedly eavesdropped and tried to find an opening she could use.

Axel gave her a sidelong glance before turning his attention back to Justice. “We’ll talk about it in church. Tell everyone we’re meeting in an hour.”

Church? What the hell did that mean?

Justice nodded and ambled out the door. Then Axel turned his full attention on her. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Not that I don’t enjoy a bit of bondage now and then, but could you let me go?” she asked, widening her eyes and trying her level-best to appear innocent. It wasn’t an easy task, either. She tended to give off a ‘mischief and mayhem’ sort of vibe.

“I think I might have to.” He sighed. “I’d love to know what you’re hiding, but I don’t have the time to sort it out right now.” He stepped closer and pulled a pocketknife from his leather vest.

Charlie jerked in her seat, instinctively trying to get away.

“Easy there. I’m cutting your ties.” The back of the knife had a horse’s head in a circle, the mane blazing. The top of the circle read
Four Horsemen
and the bottom
Texas
.  Axel looked her up and down. “You don’t have any weapons stashed, do you? Because now’s the time to bring it up, before anyone gets hurt.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t have a gun. I
talk
my way out of tight spots.”

Scott had instilled his own sort of moral code. They were thieves, not killers. They never held people by gunpoint and they never physically hurt anyone.

Axel grasped one of her hands. She hissed at the contact. His eyes caught hers and his nostrils flared. Their gazes held a touch too long to be friendly.

Evidently, he felt the attraction, too.

Oh, perfect. I’m getting turned on by the man holding me hostage.
Charlie stared at the floor instead and mentally kicked herself.

 How long did it take Stockholm syndrome to kick in? Or maybe it was because she hadn’t been with a guy in a few weeks and she was starting to feel…
antsy.

Axel sliced the ties, then tossed them in a nearby trash can.

“Walk with me to the diner.”

“Uh, Justice gave me a donut so I’m not hungry. If you don’t mind, I’ll just be…”

“Oh, but I
do
mind,” he said, parking his big body between her and the door. “It was an order, not a request.”

“An order? I’m not one of your bikers.” He might be Hell’s head honcho, but to her, he was an arrogant kidnapper. He needed taken down a peg or two.

He smirked then looked her up and down deliberately. Charlie suddenly felt warm. Her hormones were threatening to knock the legs out from under her. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

They were alone together. In a room. With a bed.

As if he read her mind, his gaze flicked to that big, cozy queen-sized bed.

Axel cleared his throat. “We don’t have time for…I mean, we need to talk.” With that, he left the room and sauntered down the sidewalk, expecting her to follow.

Dammit.

She went to the doorway, staring at the parking lot longingly. She should make a run for it, but she doubted that would be the end to her troubles. Axel didn’t seem like the sort of guy who let things go. And she didn’t need a bunch of bikers chasing her around town in hot pursuit.

Charlie grabbed her silver Saint Nicholas pendant and kissed it for luck. Saint Nicholas was the patron saint of repentant thieves. While she might not regret her sins, she’d been born Catholic and needed all the luck she could get.

Then she gritted her teeth and followed him to the diner.

Once inside, she found him at a corner booth. He was a large man, and it looked like he was wearing the Formica table. The tops of his knees came up to the bottom of the table. He’d already ordered two cups of coffee. She sat across from him and plopped two sugar cubes from the bowl on the table into hers, watching them bob before sinking into the hot liquid.

He ran a hand through his hair, and she got the impression he was still agitated. His meeting that morning hadn’t gone well, obviously.

“What’s wrong?” Before she could stop herself, the words left her mouth.
Dammit.
How many times had Scott told her not to get involved? She could almost hear his voice in her head.

Keep moving, Charlie girl. Be friendly, but not memorable. Anything else leads to trouble.

“I got a piece of bad news this mornin’, and I’m tryin’ to square with it before I tell my men.” He shook his head as though to clear it. “But I don’t want to talk about you.”

Oh, goodie.
“More interrogating? Let me guess, this is the ‘nice cop’ routine.” She stirred her coffee, savagely poking a dissolving sugar cube before taking a sip.

“More like a professional question, for security purposes. How’d you get into the hotel room?”

Charlie grinned. She prided herself on thieving skills and rarely got the opportunity to brag. “It’s easy. You guys still have old-school keys and locks.”

“You picked the lock?” he asked.

“Nope,” she said leaning back in the booth. “Didn’t need to.” She plucked a battered library card from her pocket. “I used this. All you gave to do is squeeze the card into the frame between the lock and the door.”

“We’ll be changing out those locks,” he grumbled, wrapping his hands around his cup. It was a big mug, but it appeared delicate between his long, blunt fingers. He had manly, callused hands. She could see traces of motor oil embedded around his nails.
He must be a mechanic.

For a wild moment, she pictured those fingers sliding up her inner thigh…

Woah.

She shouldn’t be sitting here ogling him. She should be making this little meeting short and sweet. After all, she wasn’t in town for kicks. “Anything else?”

“No. As soon as we finish our coffee, you can be on your way.” He stared at her, his expression hardening. “I never want to see you in Hell again.”

Oh, crap.
That would be a difficult promise to make. “Yeah, we’re gonna have a problem, then.”

He scowled. “What sort of problem?”

“I have business in town.”

“Stealing isn’t a business.”

“I don’t mean petty theft. Something else. Something important.”

“Care to share?” he asked.

Charlie didn’t answer him. “That…and my car died. And I don’t mean a dead battery, something I could fix with a trip to Wal-Mart. It made a horrible noise, there was smoke, and I ran the hell away from it, in case it burst into flames like they do in movies.”

He blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m even saying this. Okay, new plan. You’re gonna tell me everything, and then I will fix your car so you can get out of here.”

“I guessed you were a mechanic,” she said, nodding to his hands.

“Where’d you leave it?”

“It’s in the parking lot of this tea place in town, but I can’t remember the name.” The last time she’d checked, it’d still been there.

“The Bloody Hell Tea Room,” he supplied. “I’ll have it towed over to my shop and take a look at it after my meeting. You’ll be on your way in a few hours, assuming it isn’t beyond hope.”

When all else fails, offer up the truth. It might save you
. That was another of her father’s sayings. “I can’t leave. My father was murdered, and I need to figure out who killed him.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I bet. I’m not a sucker, Robin, and you’ve already hustled me once.”

“Robin?”

“As in Hood.”

For an outlaw biker, he certainly seemed sanctimonious, lecturing her on the error of her ways and all. “Does that make you the Sheriff of Nottingham?”

His brows arched. “No, I’m the good guy.”

She laughed. “What Robin Hood movies have you been watching? Robin is always the hero.”

“Robin Hood doesn’t lie as much as you do,” Axel pointed out.

“But I’m telling you the truth.”

His face spoke volumes, mostly four-letter words in this case.

“This time, I mean.”

“See, that’s what happens when you lie all the time. No one believes a damn thing you say.” He drummed his fingers on the table then heaved another sigh. “Give me your sob story.” And then something in her expression made Axel’s gaze softer, more sympathetic. “Tell me about your dad, Robin.”

Tears pricked her eyes, but these weren’t the ones she put on for show. Nothing about this was an act. “My dad, Scott Nash, disappeared when I was sixteen. He went on a…business trip,” she said.

He made a sound in his throat. “That’s a lie. This only works one way. You tell me the entire truth, or I call the cops on you.”

“You were going to let me go.”

“That’s before you told me you wouldn’t be getting out of town and out of my hair.”