Cash (The Henchmen MC Book 2) (27 page)

“You know the code?” she asked as I punched it in, her brows drawn together.

“Leo changed it,” I clarified with a shrug as I pulled the door open. “Need help down?”

Her head snapped to me with what I could only describe as horrified shock. “Not a fucking chance,” she said, like I was an idiot to offer. It was then that I realized sickbed Lo was gone. Hell, she wasn't even normal day-to-day Lo anymore. No, she was Lo, the badass lady boss of Hailstorm and offering her help was insulting. She could handle her own shit, no matter how bad she was hurting, she was going to go in there like she didn't have a care in the world.

Fucking sexy as hell.

“After you,” I said, waving a hand out dramatically and she smiled at me before making her way down the stairs, slow, but steady. She even managed to make it look like she was casually holding the railing instead of using it to help her keep her footing.

“Ah... Cash,” she said when she reached the bottom step. I was several feet above her, the half wall of the ceiling to the floor above still blocking my view.

“Fuck... is he dead already?” I asked, but voice too light. “It's cool. Won't judge you for beating on a corpse.”

“Oh my god. No no no...” she cried out as she moved around the room.

My heart skipped up into my throat as I flew down the last few stairs and took in the scene before me. That scene being... an open fucking ankle cuff and no Damian in sight.

“No fucking way. No fucking way,” I said, looking around helplessly, my fists curling up. “The door was locked. New code, all that shit. No fucking way.”

“There must have been another way out,” she said, almost too calmly and when I turned to face her, she was sitting on the side of the bed, looking down at the floor, her shoulder slumped forward and I knew it was hurting like fuck to sit that way, but I guessed whatever she was feeling was hurting worse so she didn't even register it. “He was smart like that. I didn't have a lot of time to look around but there must have been another way out.” I picked up the ankle cuff, seeing the scratches near the lock and throwing it down in anger. “He used the belt,” she offered.

“What, babe?” I asked carefully, wondering if this was going to be her recounting some of the trauma again. I thought she purged that, crying into my neck as her body shook violently. But maybe that poison buried deep. Maybe she would always need to let it out, little by little.

She sighed loudly and lifted her head to me, waving a hand toward the floor. “To pick the lock. I wasn't able to find the way out, but I had done enough snooping around to know that there was literally nothing in here to use to pick that lock. So he had to use something he had on him.”

“Fuck,” I growled, wanting to hit, kick, smash something. I left him the belt. I was such a fucking moron. Why would I leave the belt?

“It's not your fault, Cash,” she said, her voice suddenly softer, losing all of the badass lady leader and going right back to sweet, soft Lo. “There was so much going on. I was carried out of here. You were worried. The other guys didn't think to secure the area either and I trained them to do that shit. Everyone was all over the place. It's not your fault.”

“He got away,” I said helplessly.

“Yeah, but it's alright. We'll find him eventually. We have all the time in the world to track him down.”

“You shouldn't be so calm about this,” I said, sitting down next to her, my hand landing on her thigh and squeezing.

“I've spent a hell of a lot of time being angry with him, Cash. Honestly, I'm just sick of it now. I want to move on.” She leaned into me, her head resting on my shoulder and I heard the words she left unspoken: she wanted to move on... with me.

“But this isn't done, right? We're not going to let this fuck walk, are we?” Honestly, even if she told me that that was exactly what she wanted, no fucking way was I going to let that happen. I'd keep her out of it, keep her blind, but I was going to hunt the bastard down and slaughter him like the animal he was.

“No. This isn't done. But I also just... I don't know. I don't feel the need to be the one to do it, to take him down. You know?”

“Honest, honey, no I don't know.” I still wanted his blood.

“You know he's a war hero, right? He's been honored and all that. He has buddies still in the Marines. They wouldn't let his disappearance go without an investigation. Too much leads back to me and, through me, to you. We can't risk that.”

“You want to bring someone else in on this.”

“It's the smartest option.”

“Wolf would be itching for the job,” I offered.

“Wolf leads back to you who leads back to me. Same problem. It can't be people in our organizations. I know a lot of people who can do contract work like this if...”

“Shooter,” I supplied with a shrug.

“What?” she asked, picking her head up to look at me.

“Shooter. Used to work for Breaker. He's a friend. He gets word of this, he'll be all over it.”

“You're sure you trust him? I haven't really done any work with him or Breaker. I know the jobs they pull, but personally...”

“I'll bring him in,” I shrugged easily. “You talk to him, get a feel for him. You don't like him, we call in one of your guys. But, babe, he's the best fucking shot I've ever seen. If there's anyone who can clock him and take him out without Damian getting a scent of him, it's Shoot.”

She nodded, no doubt having heard the stories of the insane, impossible shots Shooter had pulled off. “Call him in,” she agreed, moving to stand up. She reached inside the nightstand and pulled out a necklace. At my curious look, she shrugged. “My mother's.”

I gave her a small smile, knowing her mother wasn't even much of a memory to her, but losing mine young, I knew that kind of wound. It was a kind of hollow inside that never felt filled. “You ready to head back, babe?”

“Everything hurts,” she admitted, leaning her forehead into my chest.

My hands moved up and down her arms, wishing I could wrap them around her. “Then let's go get you all drugged up.”

“Know what I was thinking?” she asked, following me up the steps.

“What?”

“That maybe I could use that... alternative cure for pain you introduced me to.”

I turned back, my cock twitching to life at the thought. “This time you let me eat you, though,” I said and she let out a surprised yelping laugh. “Been too long since I tasted you. Got a taste for that cunt, baby.”

“Okay shut up,” she said, stopping for a second on the step below me and I realized she was pressing her thighs together.

“Like that idea huh?” I teased, taking her hand and pulling her up the last step.

“Cash...” she said, looking downward, pushing against my chest.

“You're all wet thinking about my tongue sliding up your wet slit, teasing over your clit until it's throbbing then sucking on it 'till you come hard, screaming out my name.”

“Shut up and get me back to Hailstorm.”

I shut up, then I got her back to Hailstorm, made Mike check out her back, then I fucking delivered on my promise.

–

Later, Lo asleep on her stomach, flat on the bed, zonked from a handful of pills Mike had tossed at her an hour before, I moved into the bathroom and pulled out my cell.

The call rang and went to message, as I expected to, as it always did with professionals. His voice said simply, “Shoot,” then the beep for the message chimed.

“It's Cash,” I said simply then hung up.

I didn't call him often. Hell, I think the only time I ever actually did call him was one night when we were all drinking at Chaz's and one of the guys from the club went home with a chick who ended up having a dick and that shit was too fucking funny not to pass on.

I waited, five, ten minutes before my phone started vibrating in my hand. “Yo,” I said as greeting.

“You're just full of pleasantries tonight, huh?” he asked back, his voice teasing, sarcastic, as it almost always was.

“Where the fuck you at, man?”

“What?” he asked and, if I wasn't mistaken and I fucking wasn't, there was a guarded sound in his tone that I had never heard there before.

“All hell breaks loose around here and I hear you are off on some road trip with Breaker and some chick.”

“Winter, man,” he said, sounding lighthearted again. “Fucking miserable, coming on fast. We wanted a change of pace.”

Fuck. He was still out of town.

“Please tell me you aren't off in the Canary Islands somewhere.”

“Fuckin' wish,” Shoot laughed. “Mexico, man. Place is a hellhole right now, but fuck there are some ripe, lush ladies down here.”

I laughed, surprised when it felt like it had been forever since skirt-chasing seemed like my top priority. “You set on staying there?”

“Why? What's up?”

“Got a job.”

“What kind of job?”

“Your kind of job. Need someone who is air and can hit a target from as far as possible.”

There was a short pause. “What'd you get yourself into that your brothers can't get you out of, man?”

“Ain't my shit. It's Lo's shit. And since she belongs to me, it's by proxy... my shit and I want it handled by someone I trust.”

“Lo? As in... Hailstorm?” he repeated and I heard surprise in his voice.

“That'd be her.”

Another pause, followed by a low whistle. “Fuck, man. That's some grade-A pussy. Best tits I've ever seen...”

“And you ain't even seen 'em,” I added with a smile.

“Lucky fuck,” he added and I could practically see him smiling. “So you're like...
with
her?” he asked, his tone similar to how mine would have been a week or so back if he came up and told me he got himself shacked up with some chick. That wasn't what we did. We partied, drank, fucked. We took life as it came and we took it easy, no strings, no stress.

“First Shane, then Reign, then Breaker, now you... who the fuck am I gonna skirt-chase with when I get the fuck back there?” he laughed.

“I think Repo's got a few years left in him,” I mused.

“Christ,” he laughed.

“What?”

“Man, he's like eight years younger than me. Can't have young bloods as my competition.”

I rubbed a hand up the side of my head. “Guess we're getting a little old for that shit, huh?”

“Speak for yourself, Cash. How is Repo gonna handle all of these hunnies by himself? I have to do my part... for womankind.” He paused. “I'll talk to Break and see if I can get a plane into the city tomorrow then I'll rent a car and drive back. Meet day after tomorrow?”

“Sounds good. Hailstorm?”

“With bells on,” he agreed and disconnected.

Twenty-five

Lo

“Sugar, honey, darlin',” were the first words Shooter mysterious-no-last-name said to me as he stood at the gates sliding open, “you sure you want to be with this guy? You can do so much better.”

With that, I was charmed. Putty in his hands charmed and I didn't know a damn thing about him. I felt bad for all of single womankind. They didn't stand a chance.

And not just because he was good looking, but he was. Tall and a lean kind of strong in his black jeans, worn on the tight side, just shy of hipster, a v-neck white tee, a beaten up black leather jacket, and black creepers. Yes... creepers. Though it was cold out and he was mostly covered up, I could see ink on his hands, creeping across his chest, and culminating in an eagle tattoo, wings spread wide, across his throat. His face was on the thinner side, his eyes a sharp, dark green, his hair teetering between blonde and brown, cut close on the sides and slicked back down the center. His ears were gauged. His eyebrow pierced.

Hot.

He was insanely, unfairly hot in his weird modern punk kind of way.

But it wasn't the hotness. It was the way he carried himself- calm, casual, sure of himself without seeming too cocky, and there was a sweetness underneath it all that made you want to let him put an arm around you and whisper sweet, sweet nothings in your ear, fully aware that was all you would ever be to him- a sweet nothing.

“I think maybe Cash is the one getting the short end of the stick in this situation,” I admitted honestly. I was a mess and I came with so much baggage and he was just so... good. So sweet. So giving.

“Barely know you, but I know that ain't the truth,” he said, moving toward me, shocking me when he reached out and grabbed my pinkie with his and pulled me along with it. I looked over at Cash who was wearing a huge, amused grin. Seeing my confusion, he shrugged. It didn't bother him in the least that his friend was sort-of holding hands with me. He wasn't the jealous kind. I liked that. I liked that a lot. Because that meant he trusted me, even with his charming as all hell, attractive as all get-out friend, he trusted me... and there was nothing more important than that. “So I hear you got yourself into some trouble,” he said, flawlessly skirting around mentioning that he could
see
that I got myself into some trouble, saving my vanity. God, he was smoothe.