Striker: No Prisoners MC Book 1 (24 page)

He moved around the bed, and lingered over the woman’s prone form. Neither she nor Rock stirred despite the fact that the men made no effort to be quiet. Gumby bent down and ran his hand over the woman’s ass. “Grade A,” he said with a smirk before he lifted his hand only to bring it down with a sharp crack against the woman’s rounded cheek.

A shrill cry sounded through the room, and she shot up in bed. With wide, frightened eyes the woman turned over and scooted back toward the headboard. Gumby kept the smirk on his face as he looked at the rest of the guys. “Ooh, front’s not quite as nice boys.”

The woman was probably attractive at one point. Now, however, the effects of prolonged drug use had taken an obvious toll on her. Her face was haggard, aged her before her time, and her limp blonde hair hung in her face, a stringy mess. She shrieked again, and attempted to rip the sheet from Rock to cover her own body. Her face reflected stark terror, and she trembled as her gaze bounced between the four men staring at her.

Finally, Rock stirred. “What the fuck, bitch?” he mumbled, eyes still closed. “There a fuckin’ fire or something?”

Gumby picked a cheap-looking dress up from the floor by his feet, and tossed it to the woman. “Get the fuck out, honey. We need to talk to your man.”

She snatched the clothing from Gumby’s hand, and ran from the room with the sheet wrapped around her. “He’s not my man,” she spat out. “Asshole was so stoned he could barely get it up.” The men’s snickers trailed behind her as she fled.

Jester hooted with laughter. “Hear that, Rocky boy? I think a limp dick means you’re doing too much of that shit.” Jester’s mega phone voice seemed to clear any lingering sleep from Rock’s head. His eyes popped open, the pupils dilated wide.

“VP. Shit, did I miss church? Something wrong?” Rock seemed unconcerned that he was nude, and no longer beneath the cover of the sheet.

He had to know why they were there, but if this was how he wanted to play it, then fine, Striker could play this game. “Get dressed and come out to the den. I don’t want to have to stare at your dick while I talk to you. Stay with him, Gumb.” He wasn’t taking the chance that Rock would escape out the window.

“Sure, VP.”

Striker moved toward the door with a signal for Jester and Hook to follow him. As they left, he heard Gumby talking to Rock. “Come on asshole, I don’t want to see your tiny dick either. Get your ass up. You’re about to have an interesting day.”

When he was dressed, Rock joined them in the den. Gumby lingered near the mouth of the hallway, arms crossed, one shoulder against the wall. Hook guarded the front door in much the same position, and Jester stood off to the left of the couch in front of the boarded window. All exits were covered.

“Sit your ass down.” Striker pointed to the couch.

Rock looked uneasy, and wasted no time trying to get on Striker’s good side. “Sorry about the mess, VP. I haven’t been here much to clean it up.” His eyes darted between the four men as he spoke.

He was a sight. A thick and uneven beard sprouted from his face, and his clothes were ripped and stained. Black grease caked under his fingernails, and deep purple rings of fatigue resided under each of his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and probably hadn’t showered in as long.

“I don’t give a fuck about this shithole, Rock.” Striker stood in front of the couch with one booted foot braced on the coffee table. He leaned forward and rested his elbow on his bent leg.

“Yeah. I know why you’re here.” Rock waved a hand back and forth in front of him indicating the drug supplies on the table. “Look, brother, I swear I only do it once in a while when I’m partying. It’s really no big deal. I’ll stop.” He wiped his hands on the front of his thighs repeatedly, a nervous gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Striker.

“You broke a club rule. A big one. No one gives a fuck about a little weed, but this hard shit?” He waved toward the table. “It’s unacceptable.”

Rock swallowed, and started to bounce his leg in place. “I’m really sorry, brother, I swear it won’t happen again. You’re not gonna try and take my patch are you?”

Striker ignored the question in favor of his own. “Grimms approached me. Actually, they ambushed me when I was with my ol’ lady.” Striker let that sink in for a few seconds before he continued. Rock stopped moving, but that was the only indication he gave of any knowledge of where this conversation was going. “Turns out they are missing a fuck load of product. Snake claims a No Prisoner is responsible. Know anything about that, Rock?”

All color leached out of Rock’s face at Striker’s inquiry. To Striker, that was as good as a confession, but he wanted to see how this would play out. Would Rock man up and own it or would he pussy out and lie? It wouldn’t change the outcome, but it would help Striker further understand the kind of man who would deceive his brothers.

Rock went with door number two. “VP, brother, that would be suicide. I wouldn’t shit on my patch like that.”

Beads of sweat popped out along his brow and rolled down his face. Striker looked to Jester and gave him a subtle nod. Jester took one step toward Rock, cocked his arm, and rammed his fist into the other man’s ashen face. “Call him brother again, and I won’t stop until you’re dead. You are no brother of his.”

“Care to revise your answer?”

Rock broke down. He bent forward and covered his face with his hands as sobs shook his body. Blood ran unchecked from his nose, but Rock paid it no attention. Words tumbled out of his mouth so fast, Striker barely made out what he was trying to say. Something about owing money to his dealer and how sorry he was. All bullshit in Striker’s opinion. The excuses didn’t matter. He was done.

“Jesus, stop crying like a little bitch.” Gumby pushed away from his spot on the wall.

Striker held a hand out to halt Gumby’s progression. They’d get their retribution, but it would be done according to club policy.

“You sell it yet?” he asked Rock, his voice low and deadly.

Rock stopped crying, and leaned against the back of the couch looking utterly defeated. He shook his head. “I have a meet set up tomorrow, supposed to unload it then.”

Striker just stared at him.

“It’s all under the bed.”

“Fucking idiot.” Jester pushed off the wall and strode toward the bedroom. After a moment he yelled, “Should be able to fit it all in our saddle bags.” He came back into the den with packages of heroin in his hands. “I’ll load it up.”

Rock turned a bit green and looked like he might get sick. Striker moved in front of him, and leaned in, inches away from Rock’s face. He wanted to make sure Rock knew the extent of his fuck up.

“Snake has Lila.” Striker said it with a calm he didn’t know he still possessed. Hatred for this man burned through his gut like an iron poker straight from the fire. That he could put his own selfish needs above the needs of the club, of his family was unthinkable. He was a coward and a traitor, two things Striker loathed.

“Oh shit.” The words were barely a whisper.

“For that alone I would have killed you. But, you’re in luck. I made a promise, and I can’t kill you.”

A look a relief crossed Rocks face, and Striker took perverse pleasure in dropping the final bomb. “That will be Snake’s job.”

Striker saw the moment Rock realized the club planned to turn him over to the Grimms. He bolted up from the couch, and charged toward the front door. Striker reflexively punched him in the face, and he went down as hard as his name suggested.

“Damn that felt good.” Striker rubbed his knuckles and turned toward Hook. “Tie him up, then get a prospect out here with a van to take him to the warehouse. Have everyone else meet there in an hour.”

He strode toward the door and exited the house, walking straight toward his bike. After he filled Acer in, he threw a leg over his bike, and took off toward the warehouse. He needed a few minutes to collect himself. Right now he was in a tailspin.
 

What kind of leader was he if he couldn’t sort out the good men from the bad? And what kind of man was he if he couldn’t protect his woman? Now that he had a moment to think about something beyond discovering who betrayed the club, fear for Lila assaulted him. The only way to make this up to her would be to leave her to live her life. For the first time in his own life, Striker wondered how he’d get over walking away from a woman.

All patched members arrived at the warehouse about an hour after Striker left Rock’s house. The guys had secured his hands behind him with zip ties and knocked him around a bit, at least that’s how it looked. A prospect drove him in the back of a van to the warehouse, where he now sat in a chair in the center of the room begging someone to let him go.

Dried blood covered the skin from his nose to his chin, and Striker felt satisfied knowing he’d had a part in that. Rock’s cut had been removed, and lay on the ground in front of him. The brothers gathered around the chair in a circle, and the room was abuzz with speculation about what happened.

Shiv stomped his booted foot on the ground loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Looks like everybody is here, so let’s get started. The longer we’re all here, the more attention we risk. We received some unfortunate information from the Grimm Brothers. About a quarter mil of product was stolen from them. Snake claimed it was one of us.”

A murmur of shock and disbelief ran through the room, and Shiv held up a hand to quiet the irate group. He went on to explain the ambush on Striker and Lila, the deal made with Snake, and Rock’s part in causing the situation.

“We need a unanimous vote to take his patch back. He’ll be going to Snake either way, but we decide if he does it as a brother or not.”

There was no way in hell he’d keep his patch, the vote was just a formality at this point. He’d turned against his club, nearly started a war, and got an ol’ lady abducted. No fucking way he deserved to call himself a brother.

“All in favor?”

Every hand in the room shot up immediately. Each man bore varying degrees of disgust and anger on their faces.

“Stand him up.” Shiv stepped forward, and retrieved the cut from the floor. He turned to Striker and held it out. Typically, the president stripped the No Prisoners’ patch from the cut. “You deserve to take this one, Striker.”

Satisfaction flowed through him, this would go a long way toward easing his fury. Striker drew his knife from his boot. The sound of ripping leather echoed through the quiet warehouse as he sliced along the back of the cut. It was a fulfilling noise, and he stared right in Rock’s guilty face as he did it. When it was done he, walked over to stand in front of Rock. “Ready, boys?”

According to the bylaws, when a member had his patch stripped he had to take one punch from each club member. If he fell, they were allowed one kick each. Striker started it off. He plowed his fist into Rock’s face once again, and ignored the man’s pathetic pleas for forgiveness. He wouldn’t be finding that here.

Striker stepped back, and watched as each of his brothers delivered a nasty blow to Rock. He fell to the ground after the fifth hit, and the remaining men used their boots to inflict the punishment. Rock cried out as each man made contact, but no one showed any mercy.

When it was over, Rock was a bloody mess, lying unconscious on the ground. “Go get the prospects from outside. Have them toss him back in the van.” Shiv spoke to Gumby, who jogged outside. Three prospect came in and dragged Rock out by his feet.

Striker rubbed across the back of his neck. At some point during this miserable day the muscles had knotted and a dull ache settled between his shoulders. He should have been able to spot the weak link in the chain before it broke. Rock slipped past his defenses and made it through a year of prospecting. It never should have happened.

~ ~ ~ ~

Lila’s nerves were stretched so tight she feared she’d shatter if she tried to sit down. She’d been at the Grimm Brother’s clubhouse for about seven hours, and didn’t have any idea what was going on outside the four walls she’d been locked in.

As soon as they’d arrived at the Grimm’s clubhouse she’d been dragged off the bike and into a small room. The door wasn’t locked, but there were two men standing guard outside. She knew this because after two hours of sitting in a room by herself she’d been brave enough to try and open the door.

She’d recognized Mohawk immediately from the night he came to the hospital, and when he winked at her she slammed the door closed and sat back down on the floor. She should be grateful they left her alone, but she was going crazy wondering what was happening.

The room they held her in was bare, no furniture, no windows. Just four blank walls that closed in on her a bit more with each passing minute.

When the doorknob turned Lila couldn’t suppress a yelp of fear. The door swung open and Mohawk filled the doorway with a grin on his face. “Sorry, princess, didn’t realize you were so jumpy. Snake would like the pleasure of your company in his office.”

Oh God. Why was she complaining about being left alone?

Mohawk stayed in the doorway as Lila passed. She had to turn sideways and press herself against the doorframe to avoid rubbing against him. When she squeezed by she heard an audible inhalation and his arm came down to block her path. “Mmm, lady. You smell good. Striker buys you the good stuff, huh?”

“I buy it for myself, asshole.” The words were out of her mouth before she thought better of it. His comment caused some of her fear to be replaced by anger.
 

“Oh well, excuse me,
doctor
. Sounds like Striker lets his woman have a little too much freedom. Me? I like my women obedient. You know how to obey, Doc?”

“Enough! I asked you to bring her to me, not make a move on her.” Snake’s voice came from somewhere down the hall.

“Yes, sir. After you, princess.” He extended his arm down the hall, and Lila walked in the direction of Shiv’s voice.

When she stepped into his office he pointed toward a chair opposite him at the desk. “Sit. Close the door on your way out,” he called to Mohawk.