Leather and Sand (Riding the Line Series) (20 page)

“Hi!”

Rhee was jolted from her thoughts by her daughter’s greeting. Sirena stood by the window, waving into the yard at some unseen person. For a wild second, she wondered if Dax was here, wanting the same kind of closure that she did. Maybe he had peeped into the window to see if she was home. Her heart pounding, she waited for the inevitable knock on the door. None came.

Rhee felt a prickle of apprehension at the back of her neck.

“Sirena!” she whispered.

Her daughter regarded her curiously from the window.

“Come away from the window, sweetheart.”

“No!” Sirena grabbed the curtain, as if she wanted to further the point that she was not going to obey. Of all the times for her stubborn nature to rear itself! Rhee scrambled for a way to achieve compliance.

“Honey, let’s play, -er, the mermaid game. Come on, swim to mommy.”

Rhee peered cautiously out of the small peephole and confirmed that no one was on the porch. Sirena, apparently deciding that the mermaid game was a fun idea, dropped to the floor and began pretending to swim. Rhee crept to the curtain, her heart hammering in her chest. She scanned the yard, wondering if she was acting the fool. There was no one lurking outside. No scary Darren. No long-lost abusive ex-boyfriend, Marco. No Mickey. Rhee slumped against the wall, letting out her breath and some of the tension she was carrying in her gut.

Sirena tugged on her ankle. “Why dat man have a black face?”

“What man, honey?” She attempted to sound nonchalant, but alarm traced her skin like fingers of ice.

Her daughter affected a child-like shrug and pursed her lips. “Hamburgler?”

“Did you see a man dressed like hamburgler? With a black mask?” Rhee questioned softly.

“Want milk, mommy.”

She couldn’t exactly interrogate her two-year old daughter, but the few words Sirena had uttered were enough to jostle Rhee’s nerves. Rhee was frozen against the wall of what used to be her safe haven. Her cozy little beach house no longer seemed cozy, or secure. She wasn’t sure if whoever it was still lurked behind a bush or around the back. Closing the curtains might draw unwanted attention. Silently, Rhee grabbed her phone and texted Turtle. She had no way of contacting Dax, but for some reason, she wanted to. Where was her personal
Mighty Mouse
, anyway? All she could do now, was stay away from the window. And wait.

Chapter Twenty

Alanna grinned as she stepped off of the plane. Her little plan had worked perfectly! For an older guy, Hawk was in remarkable shape. Screwing him had been totally worth it. After a few days of ingratiating herself to
The Phantoms’
top dog, he had left her alone in his office for a few minutes. The man was entirely too trusting. Either that, or he had never entertained the idea that a groupie might have an ulterior motive, other than to rack up notches on her proverbial bedpost. Alanna found what she was looking for in Hawk’s desk after popping the lock on the bottom drawer.

What a stupid place to hide something important. She knew exactly what the digits on that little scrap of paper were for. And the first chance she got, Alanna was turning the dial on Hawk’s personal safe—the one beneath the floorboards of his closet. At first, she had been disappointed to discover some bundles of cash and jewelry. A couple of love letters. Ugh. But beneath the safe’s main compartment was another place to stash papers. Jackpot. Alanna couldn’t believe what she found. Fuck, Hawk was taking a major risk. She didn’t care enough about the man to consider why he would do such a thing. But, he had. And lucky for her, Hawk’s actions gave her the inside pass she needed with Dax.

Alanna had always wanted to go to this particular island and now here she was. Ready to fulfill her destiny. And that destiny was tall, blond, and so fucking hot her knees trembled. While she sat on the plane nursing a dry chardonnay, Alanna reconsidered her game plan. Throwing herself at Dax had obviously not worked. He had practically called her a child before kicking her out and leaving her to the stalker whore gossip mill. She barely survived until she gained some credibility by bedding down with Hawk. Well, now she had some experience under her belt, and she knew she could be an asset. Especially with that document she had found hidden in the back of Hawk’s safe.

Growing up with family in a motorcycle crew had its advantages. Alanna could walk the walk and talk the talk, but she knew she looked a hell of a lot better than the other old ladies. She had class, something they obviously lacked. Dax was clearly over the used up hags that were constantly offering their loose cunts up to him. He wanted a lady. So that’s what he would get. A girl with class who had the wits to be an effective old lady—his perfect woman. The woman who would save him from utter ruin. If nothing else, Dax would owe her. And she knew exactly how to use the man’s outlaw code of honor against him to get under his skin…and into his heart.

Alanna’s cab pulled up to the hotel and she almost laughed aloud as she surveyed the lush surroundings. The place was pretty freaking ritzy for an outlaw biker to be staying at! A little flirtation and some “accidental” flashing of skin had the island boy at the front desk eating out of her hand. She smiled as the bellhop nearly tripped over himself to collect her luggage and escort her to her room. It was on the eleventh floor. Right next to the suite reserved under the name, Winston Walker. Alanna smiled.

Aloha, Wince.

And, aloha, Dax Jamison.

***

Wince forced a smile even though he felt like puking all over Vidal’s garish pink shirt. Even though the yacht ride was a hell of a lot smoother than he had expected, something about watching the land bobbing in the distance infused his entire body with queasiness. He inhaled big, purposeful breaths of the salty sea air, and congratulated himself on a job well done when he managed to retain his breakfast. They took the vessel to a small, privately owned island. The place smelled like coffee, which made perfect sense once the captain identified the coffee beans that grew there.

At first, Wince was surprised to see a legitimate operation, but as they walked to a smallish building that looked like a residence, he noted that the coffee plants formed the outer perimeter of a rather large crop of marijuana. He fervently hoped they would offer him a sample of weed. Being back on dry land was a relief, but Wince’s knees still wobbled and part of his brain still felt like it was on the boat.

“Ready for target practice, gentlemen?”

Vidal’s associate, Marino, indicated a ramshackle little cabin near a bunch of palm trees. Wince brightened, the vestiges of his seasickness fading. It had been a while since he’d taken down a building. He nodded to Slade, seeing his own excitement mirrored on the grunt’s face as they bent to unpack their arsenal. Dax had advised that even though he left a bad taste in their mouths, it would be better if Vidal felt secure and comfortable. That meant guiding the shipping magnate away from any embarrassing incidents, to avoid his temper.

It was a good thing Dax had decided to split the meetings. Vidal seemed edgy until he realized that Dax wasn’t coming. Wince, being the perceptive guy that he was, picked up on the shipping magnate’s irritation with his vice president. He made a few comments to show solidarity with Vidal, disparaging Dax a bit, but it was all to keep with the program.

Keep the guy settled, Wince,
Dax had said.
He’s a loose cannon with a drug problem.
We don’t want him popping off.
Wince agreed with Dax’s assessment. Vidal was a slimy pervert who liked attention. Definitely not the kind of guy they normally did business with. Their Russian connection would hate Vance Vidal. In fact, Wince wouldn’t be surprised if Ivan shot him in the balls if he ever crossed paths with the man. Ivan didn’t take kindly to posers. Ivan didn’t take kindly to anyone.

Vidal had pressed Wince about the connection during the champagne-infused voyage. Wince merely shrugged. Dax and Hawk handled that business. Wince was wearing a fresh cut—he had little to offer and he wouldn’t give up the details if he knew them anyway. He mumbled something about Russia and then feigned ignorance. So far, it seemed to have worked. Vidal didn’t need to know who their connection was. He’d meet Ivan soon enough. And he’d wish he hadn’t.

As they loaded the clips, Wince was pleased to see that Vidal’s head security guy knew his way around an assault rifle. The man moved with a familiarity that almost seemed out of place given the bumbling actions of the others who framed Vidal’s inner circle.
What a Motley crew,
Wince mused as he observed the squirrely goons who flanked the young shipping magnate.
Almost like the older guy doesn’t belong.
What’s his name?
Marino, I think.
Hmm.
There’s something about him.

He watched as Marino hefted the firearm to his shoulder with practiced ease, sighting the target. Then, in a gesture of respect he lowered the weapon, waiting for his employer to ready his own rifle. Wince nodded at the guard, but he gave nothing away, keeping his expression stoic as Vidal reached for one of the guns.

Wince could see right away that Vidal’s wrist was floppy.
Fuck!
The kickback was either going to punch the man to the ground or the gun was going to jam. Wince wasn’t sure which scenario he liked better. After the stunt they had pulled to get that young island girl away from the slime ball, Wince was kind of looking forward for something bad to befall Vance Vidal. He, like Dax, hoped to get out of the deal. Turned out that Hawk really wanted this particular connection.

Wince wouldn’t ever question Hawk. Neither would Dax. But Wince knew that Dax pushed the deal because Hawk said so, not because he thought it was a good idea. It was an old brotherhood thing, he supposed. Still, if the weapon jammed because this idiot couldn’t hold his wrist firmly enough, he might think the weapons were flawed. Looking at Vidal, Wince could tell that if the backlash slapped the man into the dirt, he might be so pissed off or embarrassed, he’d kill the deal and fuck all the consequences.

Might not be the worst that happens…

Wince made eye contact with the buyer’s head minion, noting that the other man also recognized the problematic grip. But, he only shrugged, as if to communicate that any advice would not be taken well. Vidal hefted the weapon to his shoulder, a gleam in his eye.

“I’ve never shot a gun like this,” he admitted, the childish glee in his voice giving rise to more worry. But, the comment gave Wince a way in.

“Mr. Vidal, if I may?”

Vidal paused, waiting for Wince to continue.

“I’m glad you noticed that these are new models.”

Vidal’s chest puffed up. “Well, yes. I keep up with all of the latest trends. Obviously.”

The man sniffed, his nostrils puckering in a way that Wince had observed among the speed queens that kicked it with the
Chicos
back home. Wince smiled thinly. “These are, um, very sensitive. The first time I tested one, I wasn’t holding my wrist right,” he lied. “May I demonstrate?”

Vidal nodded and Wince approached cautiously. He hefted his own weapon, showing the buyer a floppy wrist. “See? If I don’t firm up my wrist, the gun might jam. Another thing, these new models are extra strong. The backlash can dislocate a shoulder.”

A worried expression ghosted across Vidal’s face, but he quickly pasted on an arrogant smile. “Of course.”

Wince met Marino’s eyes, and was startled to see that mirth that played there.
Hmm, so he knows his boss is a fucking tool.

“May I?” The swarthy associate interrupted politely, seeking permission from his boss.

At Vidal’s terse nod, Marino aimed his rifle with swift, fluid grace. A sharp staccato peppered the air, leaving behind the unique scent that lingered when one of these guns was fired. Wince was impressed. The man had the skills of a seasoned sharpshooter. Wince looked more closely at Marino, wondering where he had picked up his shooting ability.
Military, perhaps.
A niggling worry wormed into Wince’s brain but before he could process his thoughts, Vidal hoisted his weapon and somewhat clumsily pulled the trigger.

Wince saw how the man struggled to maintain control on the weapon as bullets sprayed the trees around the target. Heaving, Vidal lowered the gun expectantly. At first, nothing happened. Half a minute later, there was a low yawning sound followed by a splintering crash as the cabin collapsed.

“Nice.” Wince breathed. Fancy shooting by Marino. As he made eye contact once more with Vidal’s silent security detail, Wince ignored the tingle that once again went through him. It was a familiar sensation—one of warning. He pushed it away, choosing instead to exalt in his victory. Wince traced the seam of his cut with his finger. This deal was as good as done.

***

A little girl laughed, her pigtails bouncing as she chased her father down the beach. Nearby, an older boy wore a wide smile as a man, presumably his father, helped him to paddle out to a mushy spray of whitewash. Dax sat on the beach, his arms sore from taking wave after wave in an attempt to block the emotions that rampaged in his soul. Everywhere he looked he saw children. Happy children. He sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his past pressing heavily upon heart.

“Hey,
brah
. Smoke?”

Jerked from his melancholy, Dax managed a half-hearted smile as he accepted a fat, hand-rolled joint from Turtle. “Sure, man. Thanks.”

“Ready to talk shop?”

“Always.”

They gathered their boards and hiked up the beach a ways, to a large, airy home with a lot of windows. In fact, the whole damn place seemed to be made of glass and wood. Axl bounded to Turtle, barking excitedly as they set their boards on a rack to dry. Dax gave the animal a pat and he rolled onto his belly immediately, eliciting a chuckle from Turtle.

“If my dog likes you, that’s the sincerest form of flattery.”

Dax smiled, despite his brooding thoughts. The dog flipped onto his paws and followed as they entered the lush, green yard. This place was like its own resort. Dax tried to keep the awe from his expression as he glanced around at the simple, tribal decorations and the greenery that adorned the walkway. He grinned at the feel of a cold, wet nose nudging his hand as if to nudge him towards the Turtle’s residence. Trees and shrubs lined the place, obscuring it from prying eyes. Delicious smells emanated from within, and despite everything on his mind, Dax was distracted by the food and the cheery women inside.