Storm: (Blood Legion MC) (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 3) (10 page)

That fucking kid.

He held his AK point-blank at the ringleader’s temple.

Escalate the situation much?

Verbal shouts were fired off. By them. By Slade. By me.

The leader had his hands in the air. He talked rapidly in Arabic. Slade and I circled around him and Angel. And all the others pointed their weapons at Angel as the tension mounted, nearly crackling on the air.

“Goddamn you! You wanna be a killer,
Ange
? Is that it?” I maintained my focus on him. “Shoot him then. Shoot him right now!” I held two guns on two of the other perps, my aim steady, my voice firm.

Seconds clicked by, Angel’s outstretched arm trembling.

“I . . . I can’t.” He finally lowered the machine gun. “I can’t do it.”

As soon as he palmed the gun at his side, the tension immediately dissipated.

Crisis averted, everyone stepped down.

“Jesus Fucking Christ.” I smacked Angel upside the head. “You
imbecile.
Now say sorry.”

“What? They just tried to blow you up!” he complained.

I dropped my voice. “I think if they’d wanted to fry us they would’ve accomplished it. Apologize so we can collect the rest of our coke and go home with our faces intact.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “
Fuckers
.”

“You proved your point?” I asked the head haji in charge.

“Yes. And you?”

“Think so. Don’t fuck with the Blood Legion and we won’t fuck with you.”

He assented with a nod of his head.

“What about them? Are you gonna retaliate?” I pointed at the dead bodies lying on the ground.

“Collateral damage.” He shrugged.

“So instead of concluding this business transaction with a mass shoot out, we do this like civilized human beings.”

Thank fuck, civility won out.

No more bombs.

No more gunshots.

Twenty minutes later, the new gangsters on the block were on their way with four crates of contraband weapons complete with magazines up the wazoo, and we were sitting on enough snort to make nasal reconstruction a number one item on the plastic surgeon menu throughout the streets of America.

Wonderful.

I wasn’t done schooling Angel though. “Who you been running with lately?”

“Burn,” he said with all the ’tude of a rebellious teen.

“Yeah? Well, cut that shit out. He’s not a man to emulate. He’s a fucking bully.”

Slade leaned against the van, slowly rolling a cigarette from loose tobacco, listening.

“Shoulda pulled the trigger on that fuck when I had the chance.” Angel clenched his jaw in an unforgiving angle.

“No. You shouldn’t have. Being a man doesn’t mean you have to be a killer like me.” I grabbed his shoulder. “You hear me?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Heard you.”

“I’m serious,
Ange
.”

“Don’t know what you want with me.”

“I
want
you to be better than me. And that doesn’t mean going off half-cocked just because maybe you can get away with shit. And you don’t wanna piss on Venom’s pastures by fucking up his runs going all cowboy. Not while he’s still at the helm of Legion.”

“Oh-
kay
.
Jeeeesus
. Can we get outta here now? Hate this fuckin’ place.”

I looked around at the dockside, kicking my boot against the tire of the van, suddenly remembering. This was where Angel’s dad had been murdered.

“
Mais oui
. Let’s head.” I bumped his fist.

“Wanna lift back to your bikes?” he asked.

“
Nah.
We’ll hump it. Just wait on the main road for us so we can provide escort.”

Slade and I set off, me lighting my own smoke, trying to blow out the troubles with big ringed circles.

“That was some tough love,” Slade mentioned.

“He needs it.”

“Let me guess. You’re his boot camp daddy?”

“Fuck you.” Clenching the cig between my teeth, I wheeled on him.

I clamped my hand around his throat, the glowing tip of my cigarette close enough to brand his cheek. “Who are you really?”

“Just a no-name nomad who got hooked up and patched through. You?”

I released him and took another drag of my cig. “Same.” I shook my head at the ground. “
Ange
shouldn’t be in this game.”

And Venom’s paranoia was catching. Like that fucking marriage virus that’d already taken down Walker and Justice.

“You want to get him disavowed from the club?” Slade asked.

Disavowed.

Only folks in The Job used that term. Not MC knuckle draggers . . .

Maybe I wasn’t paranoid after all.

The Misère

OUR BIKES GOT A workout on the way back to Thunder Road Bar, Angel keeping pace with us in the black, unmarked van behind.

Traffic checkpoints weren’t unheard of in New Orleans, but given the big Legion back patches on our jackets, we were waved right through the police cars blocking the roads. Venom was one shady motherfucker who held a few key po-po in his back pocket. To go along with the cartel and now the terrorists.

Biz as usual.

Back at the MC, 01:30 was like morning reveille at Thunder Road, the bar fronting the Legion outpost and headquarters. Everyone was wide awake, in high spirits, and living large like it was their last day on earth.

I cut company with Slade and Angel, stalking down the halls until I hit Venom’s office.

If he was surprised to see me alive, he didn’t show it.

He simply laid a clean glass out for me and poured the drink du jour.

“There’s a fire down on the wharf?” he asked.

“Minor diversion.” I sank down on the sofa and took my tequila as was my due.

Neat. Burning. A head-clearer.

Setting down the empty glass once I’d drained it, I made myself all comfortable with an arm across the back of the couch and one foot crossed at my knee. “Now you’re outfitting terrorists, Venom?”

“It’s a whole new world. Expansion rights.”

“Well, that’s one philosophy.” I glanced at his bookcases, heavily laden with a multitude of books by famous philosophers, which maybe made him think he was something other than a coked-up MC thug. “At least no one can call you a racist. You know, playing in the dirty Saudi sandbox and all.”

“Those ones were from Syria.”

“You might be right. They all look the same to me.”

He held up the bottle.

I dipped my head.

Another glass filled. Another drink downed.

Still completely clear-headed.

“Ain’t that the truth.” He turned his chair sideways. “Besides, didn’t think you were all too fired up to meet with the Taco Mafia again.”

“Now
that
I’d call racist.”

He snorted a laugh—making the tattoos that dripped down onto his forehead wrinkle.

“Tell me something.” I stood up and absentmindedly thumbed through the books on the shelf. “Did you expect me to die tonight?”

“I don’t think you’ve outlived your sell-by date, Storm. But you’re on a short leash.”

“Good to know.”

“Lucky for you most of the towelheads survived.”

Again with the race relations.

“One more thing.” Moving to the door, I glanced back.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I don’t want Angel working with Burn again.”

“Anymore edicts, Storm?”

“That’ll do.” I pulled the door closed behind me.

Another bullet dodged.

But for how long?

Ah, fuck it.

I needed a real drink.

And I needed to catch up with Blaize.

Lo and behold, when I reached the bar I spotted her immediately. She was all cozied up to Sharon.

I sidled over to the pair, rapping my knuckles on the bar for a drink. “You didn’t tell me you were going out,
cher
.”

“I didn’t know I needed permission.” Blaize slanted those big blues at me, blinking with the perfect blend of innocence I didn’t buy for one instance.

I took my beer and my shot and set them down. With my hands on Blaize’s hips, I moved in to stand behind her. “You don’t need it. But I need
you.
”

Her bottle halted halfway to her lips as I nuzzled the side of her neck.

“I went shopping with Sharon,” she murmured softly.

Shar looked on, amusement glittering her eyes.

Kissing the nape of Blaize’s neck, I crooned, “Show me what you got.”

She swung in my direction, and I stepped back to get the best view possible.

What a view it was.

Her long legs were bare and gleaming, leading up to a soft suede mini skirt all topped by a halter top that bared a sliver of toned skin at her stomach.

Everything perfectly suited for very easy access. Access I wanted to make full use of.

I cupped her waist again and slid my fingers over her bared silky flesh, watching chills cascade across her skin.

Nice.

Drawing Blaize forward, I snugged up between her spread legs. “I like it.”

“I can see that.” Her fingers drifted down my hard-packed stomach and just one more inch she’d hit a hard-packed cock. “But you have a hanger-on.”

I glanced behind me to find Nikki with murder in her eyes.

Knew it was too good to be true.

“I gotta hit the can. Be right back.” I disengaged from Blaize, and Sharon started lining up shots on the bar.

I heard her saying to Blaize, “Those two got a long history, sister.”

The john wasn’t really my destination, and I probably wouldn’t have made it anyway, because the closer I got to Nikki the more pissed she looked.

I never liked the shrew-look on a woman.

“Outside. Now.” I grabbed her arm and hauled her behind me.

On the sidewalk, Sol took one look at the two of us and quickly checked out of the vicinity.

“Bring it on, Nikki.” I freed her arm and stationed myself for her blow.

“TWO FUCKING YEARS!”

Smack.

“C’mon. You got than that in ya.” I took the slightly stinging strike without even recoiling. “Because this is the last and only time I’m gonna let you have a go at me.”

“You left me.” She lit into my midsection, pumping away with fists that were mostly ineffectual. “I didn’t know where you were. If you’d come back to me!”

I stood there taking it until she ran out of steam.

“Nikki.” I pulled her into my arms. “I never promised you anything.”

“We were lovers.”

“
Were.
We weren’t in love.”

“You were protection.” She raised her head, glaring at me.

“That’s right. That’s all. And a good fuck.” I arched my eyebrow. “You’re your own woman. You don’t need to play house with no man. Least of all me.”

“What about
her
?” She spat out.

“Her? Blaize?”

“Yes. Blaize.” Nikki stepped away from me and stomped her foot on the pavement.

I hooked my thumbs at my waist. “Here’s the thing about that. I don’t own her. Not at all. But she possesses me body and soul. And I don’t deserve the favor, but I’d ask you all the same to make her welcome.”

“Sharon already has.”

“But Blaize knows about our history. It’d mean double coming from you.”

“Then kiss me one last time, Nash.”

She strolled up to me. Lord, but I had wanted her, in those days when I’d had nothing else. She’d been the honey pot.

Still was.

Just not for me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Nikki.”

“I can’t believe Nash LaFontaine finally fell for someone.” She pouted delicately.

I didn’t answer, merely walked over to the door and held it open for her.

“I think I’ll stay outside a bit. Catch the night air. I always did like it best just before dawn.”

“Yes. You did.” I looked at her silhouette a final time before heading back inside.

I rejoined Blaize at the bar. Funny. She looked as content as a kitten playing with a ball of yarn as she curled her hand loosely around her drink, but her smile was nothing short of razor sharp. Her words? Equally sharp.

“Got that outta your system?” she lashed out.

“
That
?” Jesus. I’d just talked down one angry woman. Now I had to deal with Blaize getting in my face?

I laid my elbow on the bar, digging a cigarette from my leathers I probably wouldn’t get the chance to smoke before Blaize exploded her wrath all over me.

“Nikki,” she hissed loudly.

“She was a sweetheart, nuthin’ more.”

“That is
not
what I heard.” Blaize practically chucked the remainder of her drink down her throat.

“Mind if I smoke?” I asked, almost laughing.

Seemed to me Blaize was—
dare I say it
—goddamn motherfucking straight-up-jealous.

She snatched the Zippo from my hand. “Yes. I mind. I mind everything about this. You all easy come, easy go.” She grabbed the cigarette from between my lips, sank it between her own, and lit up.

She inhaled then blew smoke rings up toward the ceiling.

“Can I have a drag?” I watched her, trying not to grin.

“Get your own.”

I didn’t bother pointing out the one she was busily chewing down to the butt—when I knew she didn’t even really smoke—
was
my own. Instead I shrugged—
easy come, easy go
—and flipped another Red from the soft pack.

Blaize watched my every move, her blue eyes as hard as slate.

I took a deep drag. Rolled my neck. Accepted a drink. “
Ahhhh.
Bien.
That’s better.”

“You’ve got some never-ending nerve, Nash LaFontaine.” Blaize swept her sexy red hair over shoulder.

“That so?”

She didn’t miss a beat, her finger pointed at my barrel-hard chest. “Bringing me here. Acting like the fucking prodigal son come home—”

All the dudes in the bar cheered at us.

“Where you have your secret stash of snatch—”

Another cheer went up in my direction.

Blaize thundered on. “Nikki? Who else? Who else has been in
my
bed? Between your legs? On your cock?”

Holy fuck. I didn’t know if she was serious or not, but this public show of
mine-mine-mine
was making me hard.

“You wanna take this upstairs?” Hell. I didn’t have anything to lose and just enough booze-plus-bravado to lay her down on the bed and give her all of me.

Blaize grabbed me by the front of the shirt, hauling me down to her mouth. “You bet I want to take this upstairs.”

Making a big show of letting the little woman lead me to the stairs, I winked at the dudes.

What I got in return?

Catcalls and loud whistles
.

Once inside the bedroom, I planted myself in place while Blaize slammed the door shut and locked us in.

“I was hoping you’d drag me up here.” I grinned. “Wanna fuck?”