Cash (The Henchmen MC Book 2) (9 page)

I laughed, slamming the door and locking it. “We can take one of your projects then but I'm driving.”

Repo gave me a grin then ran off toward the back of the property where he kept his half a dozen cars in various stages of repair and rebuild. That was how Repo blew off steam. That was how he channeled his dark moods when they came over him. The kicker was, he never wanted them when they were done. The second they were restored and running, he wanted them gone. He ended up making bank selling his finished projects.

I waited at the gates as he rumbled up in what looked like a '82 Firebird in a faded, god-awful yellow color. It was making a clanging sound that I knew was probably not a good sign, but Repo seemed completely unconcerned by. He pulled out the gates, leaving the engine running, and hopped out to run to the passenger side.

“Is this thing going to make it?” I asked as I sat down in the driver's side.

“It should,” he said, shrugging like it didn't matter to him either way if it did or not.

“Right,” I said, laughing and reaching for the stereo.

“Oh god, man... not more of that shit,” he groaned, head on the rest, looking at the torn material on the ceiling.

“Shit?” I asked, one-handed connecting my ipod to his cassette tape adapter.

“That nineties and early two-thousands grunge, rock, alt shit,” Repo, a very loyal metal fan winced.

I felt myself grin as I clicked on Nirvana and cranked it up. “Kids these days,” I said, shaking my head at him despite there only being maybe a six or seven year difference in our ages.

We pulled up to Chaz's, the Mallick's bar, a few minutes later. Bikes were parked out front, Chaz's being for some reason a watering hole for the local weekend warriors. Apparently, a little bombing didn't shut down business.

“Are they as badass as their reputation?” Repo asked, looking at the bar, rocking back on his heels.

“I only know Shane and Reign knows him better than me, but... yeah,” I said, reaching for the door and letting myself in.

The inside was sleek, almost upscale with slate gray walls and floors stained so dark they were almost black which matched the bar to the right and all the tables and chairs inside. As I had expected, there was a table to the back with six black-haired (one with some whisps of gray) men with six sets of freakishly light blue eyes that belonged to the Mallick brothers : Ryan, Eli, Mark, Hunter, and Shane, as well as their father, Charles.

Beside me, I felt Repo stiffen when all their heads turned to us almost in unison.

“Henchmen?” I heard Hunter ask, brows drawing together. I knew him. He was the only Mallick son that wasn't in the business, wasn't a loanshark. He had gotten out a few years before, got himself hitched to some hellion named Fiona, had himself a couple of little girls, and worked with a tattoo gun. The rest though, still ruthless, calculating kneecap breakers.

“'Sup Cash?” Shane, the youngest and bulkiest of them asked, nodding his head at us and moving to stand.

“Just figured we would stop by and compare notes.”

“Reign ain't stopping by for that?” Shane asked, brows drawing together and I knew they had a bit of a friendship going on since right before Reign met Summer. Well, since he told us one of his clients was one of our men and that man turned out to be a snitch.

“Reign is over at Lyon's,” I said, shrugging. They knew the deal.

“We keep our noses out of other organizations around here, you know that,” Ryan, the oldest, the more professional of all of them reminded me.

“Know that. Know we all also have enemies. Just wanted to see if we had any in common.”

“You really think you, us, Hailstorm, Lyon, and Lex have a common enemy?” Chaz, their father asked and it took everything I had to keep the lazy grin on my face. He reminded me a lot of my father- fierce, commanding.

“Covering our bases. Talked to Hailstorm already. Came up with nothing.”

“Guys want a round?” Shane asked, already waving a hand at the bartender.

“Whiskey,” I answered.

“You?” Shane asked.

“Repo,” Repo supplied. “And sure... vodka is fine.”

“That your '82?” Mark asked, looking at me.

“His,” I said, jerking my chin. “He gets bored with them when they're pretty again so if you're looking for a car...”

“Keep that in mind,” Mark agreed, shutting up with a look from their father.

“You see Lex's?” Shane asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Not yet.”

“Fire completely gutted the place.”

I felt my brows drawing together, my smirk falling. I knew that his place got the worst of it, but I didn't think it was that bad. “Did the evil fuck make it out?”

Shane shrugged a big shoulder. “No one has any word on him. We know there were several casualties among his men, but no one knows or no one is talking about Lex's whereabouts.”

“So we got shit,” I said, throwing back my whiskey and handing the glass back to the waitress who brought it over, giving her a weak imitation of the smile I would normally give her, being all tits, ass, and long hair. She was so lush and, normally, I'd have been minutes away from burying deep in her pussy, no matter what was going on with the club. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“That about sums it up,” Chaz agreed, giving me a 'what can 'ya do' shrug.

“You'll keep us in the loop if you come up with anything?”

Chaz nodded.

“Tell Reign that Lea
is
dragging my ass to whatever dinner party shit Summer has planned.”

“Another fuckin' dinner party?” I asked, flat out grinning. “After the shitstorm that was her last one?” Shane sighed and I laughed. “You know, I never thought I'd see the day that two of the biggest dogs in town would be led around by their balls by some women.”

“Should be happy,” Shane said, smiling. “Got yourself less competition now. Just three of these fucks,” he said, waving at his brothers. “And... who? Breaker and Shooter?”

I laughed at that until Repo cleared his throat. “Break and Shoot took off last night.”

My smile died and I turned to Repo, eyes questioning. “What?”

“Shredder told me Rick told him that he saw them at Paine's shop, looking like they were sayin' goodbye then taking off with some dark-haired chick with a busted face.”

“And you were sitting on this shit because?” I asked, feeling anger, strange and unsettling, build up inside.

“You can't honestly fucking think Break or Shoot would be in on this,” Repo reasoned.

He was right. On a normal day, I would never think they would meddle in our, let alone everyone's, shit. Breaker and Shooter were contract muscle. They did jobs for whoever paid the right price. Breaker, well, he was good at breaking people. Shooter, well, was good at shooting. They were tight as brothers and generally kept to themselves business-wise. I'd shared more than a few nights of debauchery with Shooter- drinking too much, taking bets on which one of us would land the hottest chick in the room. I didn't know Breaker well, but Reign did. They were friends, as much as anyone outside of the club could be our friends. That being said, them taking off in the middle of the night when bombs were going off? That didn't sit right.

“Wasn't Breaker,” Eli, the quietest, but also the most lethal of the brothers, spoke up confidently. “He's a hands-on kinda guy.” His eyes met mine and held. “People recognize their own kind,” he explained, looking down at his hands for a second. “You told me that Lex was beaten to death in an alley, then yeah, you can point at Breaker. But placing bombs? Too impersonal. Not his style.”

“I'll get in contact, feel things out,” I said, starting to feel bone-deep tired. There was fucking too much going on with the bombs, the accusations, whatever the fuck was going on with Lo... all of it. It needed to get it all the fuck sorted out so things could go back to normal- drinking, and riding, and women.

We walked back out to the car a few minutes later, Repo taking my glare with a defiant chin raise. “Think next time you share information with me before sending me in there and making me look dumb, yeah?”

He stopped at the passenger side of the car, arms spread out over the roof. “Don't blame me for you dropping the ball. There's bombs and you take off the next day and no one sees you for hours?”

“Careful, kid,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my head on straight. I was tired, I was confused, and I was in no position to get into a fight with one of the men, especially considering that he was absolutely fucking right. I should have been at the club. I should have been there setting things to right the second I knew there was a bombing, not fucking around at Hailstorm. I should have been gathering information, not undressing Lo.

“Ain't calling you out,” he said, holding up his hands. “Just pointing some shit out before someone else starts saying them in less of a brotherly way.”

“Cut me some slack this week, Repo. Got a lot of shit I'm dealing with.” With that, and no further explanation, I drove us back to the compound. I showed my face for a while, talking to the members hanging around, making sure no one could say I wasn't there for them.

Finally, around dinner time, I got back in Lo's car and went back to my place to find her still passed out. So I ordered food and waited.

She must have woken up startled by the unfamiliar surroundings, flying up, forgetting about her ribs. The cry she let out had me running up the stairs, stalling outside the door to give her a second to pull herself together. If there was one thing Lo had in spades, aside from the best rack I had ever seen, it was pride. She would never forgive me for seeing her when she was upset.

Watching her slowly lift up my tee and bunch it under her tits... fuck, fuck me. I tried to keep my eyes down, to focus only on the nasty bruises across her ribs. But, well, I was a man after all and she had the fucking perfect body- long, strong legs, flat belly, flare of hips, and she had her hands just high enough for me to see the soft underside of her perfect tits. It took every damn bit of self-control I had to not let my fingers brush there.

She followed me downstairs a few minutes later, wearing nothing but my oversize tee and those black panties with the pink lace trim.

“I got a bit of everything,” I said, unable to let any silence hang for too long. I was used to different types of women- women who liked to talk and bitch and fill the silences. Lo seemed perfectly content to not say anything at all and I wondered if that was just how she was- guarded, private, introspective or if it was from spending so much time around her men at Hailstorm.

She reached into the brown bag, pulling out white take-away containers, opening the tops, and setting them in the middle of the table. I watched as she took a plate and loaded up, feeling myself grin when she took enough to feed two growing teenage boys.

“What's your poison, Lo?” I asked, moving into the kitchen for drinks.

“Beer is fine if your taste is as good as your brother's,” she said and I watched as she stared down at the dining table for a minute before deciding to move over to the living room and plopped herself down on the couch, reaching for the remote, making herself at home.

I gave her beer, made my plate, and sat down next to her, looking at the survivalist show she picked off of on-demand. “So are you going to tell me what favor you are calling in?”

“I want to talk to Reign,” she said, staring pointedly at the TV.

“Honey,” I said, sitting up and placing my plate on the coffee table, “I'm the one who got you somewhere safe, got you some medicine, let you sleep, wrapped you up, and fed you. You don't think you can tell me why I needed to do all that?”

“Cash it's...”

“Lo,” I cut her off, shaking my head.

She sighed, putting her plate down, almost all eaten. She probably would have finished it if I hadn't distracted her. She took a breath before she turned to me. “Cash, I run a survivalist camp full of ex military who are really, really good at killing people in various ways. I didn't get to where I am today without making a shitton of enemies. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, they pop up and create trouble.”

“So that's all you're going to give me?”

“It's all I have to give. I was in my safe house. It was dark. I have a general description and the direction he took off in. The gang that runs that street are looking for him too.”

“Seriously? I mean I know you keep a lot of shitty company, Lo, but a street gang?”

“They bought me medical supplies,” she defended. “And they said if they got their hands on him, he'd be identifiable by dental records only.”

“So that's why you keep the company of scum? Because they can do dirty work for you?”

Her eyes narrowed at me. “I can do my own fucking dirty work, Cash.”

I didn't doubt that and I didn't know why I was choosing that moment to pick a fight with her. She was hurt, physically but also her pride. I was being a fucking dick for no good reason. It didn't matter what I thought about how she operated her business. All that mattered was she was bloody and bruised and asking me for help.

“You give me a description, I'll put some feelers out, okay?”

Her chest deflated as she realized I was giving in. “Okay.”