VENDETTA: A Bad Boy, Motorcycle Club Romance (14 page)

Emily

I stitched through the thick brown fabric and sealed off the bag of coffee beans, adding it to the pile. A person going through the bag would find something a little more stimulating than java, though.
As long as it’s not the customs officials
…

“I’m done for the day,” I said, turning to Tommy and wiping sweat from my forehead. “Can you please get the damn air conditioning fixed before we start up tomorrow?”

“Dale said he doesn’t want to spend the money.”

“What?”

“You making him stop street dealing cost us all a lot of money and he doesn’t want to waste any of what we have on air conditioning.”

“What he’s putting up his nose every day would pay for the repairs. Either he does it, or I’m walking.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Tommy leaned back in his chair and pushed away the unfinished bag of coffee in front of him. “You’re here for life.” He didn’t say it unkindly. It still stung.

He was probably right, but that didn’t mean I’d take oven-level temperatures lying down. Dale’s nonsense had gotten harder to bear since I was almost killed and even if Tommy didn’t know it, I was making plans for something better. Giving the guys a head’s up about the bikers who’d come close to killing them had earned me a real salary, even if it was pathetically small.

Another year and a half, and I’d be able to get my own apartment and start taking classes. By then, I’d figure out how to move out without Dale tracking me down and finishing the job Santiago started that day in the desert.

For an extra kick in the teeth, Tommy was working with Dale full time by the time I got home. The first thing he did when I walked through the door, disgusting and sweaty from hours on a bus, was wrap his arms around me and promise we’d work through things.

“Fucking other women doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” he said, his breath sickly sweet with the smell of cheap beer. His arms felt small and weak after the perfect beauty of Flash’s.

“Not interested,” I snapped, pulling away. “I need to go to bed.”

“Dale wants to see you,” he’d told me, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. “He said to send you in as soon as you got here.”

“I’ll talk to him after I sleep.” I couldn’t even get scared at the prospect of confronting Dale. I was too tired. Missing Flash had wrecked me.

He reached out and grabbed my arm, digging his fingers into my skin. “Now, Emily.”

“I’m going. I’m going.” No point in starting a fight on the first day back.

Walking through the halls of the house at Dana Point, I remembered how much I’d loved it when Dale purchased it. The wooden supports were the perfect complement to the white walls, and the views of the ocean were spectacular. I even had a bedroom here with no stains on the floor, a nice bed and a private bathroom. The house in Malibu was messed up by the time I moved into my room, so there had been cigarette burns on the carpet and stains on the walls.

Here everything was clean. I could look outside and watch ships bob on the waves while breathing in cool, fresh air. If I wasn’t working in the converted garage, I spent most of my time in my room.

“You’re home,” Dale said when I pushed through the door of the den.

“That’s true. Thanks for sending me the money.”

“Thanks for saving all of us.” He was less cocky than usual, and at least half-sober. Reminded me of the man he’d been when I’d first gone to live with him and thought maybe he could love me.

“I didn’t want anyone to die.”

“Thought you’d be happy to see the end of me.”

“Sometimes,” I admitted before I could stop myself. “But I’m glad you’re not dead.”

He nodded. “We’re setting up in the garage. Can you help supervise it tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Excitement flashed through the numbness I’d cloaked myself in when I left Flash. For years, I’d been telling Dale that we could do better if he’d let me set up a more efficient line. More efficiency meant more money meant me squirreling more away and getting out sooner.

“Thanks,” he said again. “Good to have you home.”

The first words of affection he’d ever spoken to me would have once been enough for hope, but now I just didn’t care anymore. Nodding, I left the room.

Two weeks later, he was back to his old tricks—but worse. When he wasn’t so high he laid on the couch staring at nothing, he was abusing everyone. I took the brunt of it, and kept working hard during the day. When profits came in, I started taking more and putting it away. Building a nest egg.

Dreaming of escape.

But the angrier Dale became—for no reason I could see—the more I felt like I needed to stick around. Workers sometimes brought their kids by, no matter how often I cautioned them that it was a bad idea with Dale so unstable. If I was there, I was his favorite target and I could be sure that no one else got hurt.

“You’re going to get me killed,” he mumbled one day after punching me in the face hard enough that I worried my cheekbone would shatter.

“I hope so,” I muttered, unsure what he meant.

Tommy had come in and helped me to my room, then to a clinic where I’d used part of my nest egg to cover x-rays. Everything was fine, but the doctors had looked at us from the corners of their eyes in a way that meant I’d never go back.

Thinking of the past six months made me feel ill. It was like I was stuck in stasis. If I left, everyone here would be worse off. If I stayed, my life would continue descending into a nightmare without the reprieve of waking up. The world was a hard place and Dale still wouldn’t give me my damn birth certificate so I could go get an ID that might lead to real employment.

I’d work as a waitress, I decided. As soon as I had enough to get me through two years of college, I’d leave and start a new job. Even if it didn’t give me the adrenaline rush this one did, at least it would provide some income while I worked toward a better future.

On paper, I was poor enough to get financial aid—but colleges use your parents’ income, which means that Dale would have to sign off on it. Since he wouldn’t, I had no way to go until I was either 24 or had money saved.

The few classes I’d taken at Cal Tech when I was still in high school had been so eye-opening and more fun than I was used to. I wanted that again.

“What’s with you?” Tommy asked when the silence stretched out between us. I reached over, took half his unfinished coffee bags and started to sew them closed. The meth inside would fetch us a tidy sum when it was shipped out to Hawaii.

“Nothing,” I said. “You could work a little faster.”

“Why bother? I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“I do.”

“Where?”

“Away from you.” The months of being forced into close quarters with Tommy had taken a toll on me. Now when I looked at him, I couldn’t figure out why I’d stayed so long. The allure of a man free of chemicals was much stronger than the tweaky childishness of his face. Once he’d been handsome. The meth had robbed him of that. Again, regret for the person he’d been washed over me.

“Don’t be like that, Emmy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry.” He looked down like I’d slapped him and I sighed.

“It’s fine. I’m in a bad mood. Why don’t you leave me to this and go get some food?” I wasn’t allowed to leave without supervision, but Tommy came and went as he pleased. That meant that when he was in an amicable mood, I could get pizza or Chinese food.

“Really?”

“Sure.” I reached across the table and grabbed some money from the lockbox. “Get whatever you want. Just get some for me too.”

“How about subs?”

“Sounds good.”

After he left, I worked more quickly. Selling meth-stuffed coffee bags to Hawaiian buyers was one of my more clever ideas. Meth was prominent in Hawaii, and expensive. By cutting out the middle man and selling online, we were making way more money than we would if we went direct through island dealers. It was also safer, because once the packages were shipped, no one knew who sent them.

Dale had raged when I’d insisted on pulling our product off the streets in LA, but he’d done it regardless when I explained why The Fallen were coming for him.

Once all the bags were done and ready for Ken to take them to the drop point tomorrow, I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. My anxiety had gotten worse since getting home and sometimes it was like herds of elephants were stampeding over my chest. Missing Flash was so tangible that thinking of him actually hurt, but I couldn’t stop playing a loop of him inside me whenever I closed my eyes.

The sun was starting to creep down, and I decided I’d grab a bottle of beer and enjoy it on the balcony. When Tommy came back, he’d be able to find me and deliver the food he’d purchased. If the boy would stop trying to get in my pants, we might actually have a nice time just sitting together and talking.

With that hope bright in my mind, I changed into a white sundress and sandals, grabbed a red cardigan, pulled my hair down and headed out to watch the sun set. I’d have to stop and talk to Dale first about shipping things out tomorrow—and he was going to be pissed it wasn’t done today—but hopefully he’d be too doped to be angry.

Flash

We took out the guards first.

The sound of their bodies hitting the ground was loud in my head. Manuel’s orders didn’t say we had to eliminate every person here, but men with guns could kill my brothers. That meant they were out, even if they didn’t pose a real threat.

Then we were in. The gate slid open, silent. No sounds of protest came from the wooden house down the driveway, which was glowing with lights from the inside.

Leaving our bikes outside the gates, we stayed in the shadows as we moved quietly through the grass. Rebel snuck ahead and peered through the downstairs window, motioning to the rest of us that the coast was clear. Circling the house, we came to the back. Fuck, I didn’t want to be here. Killing was one thing, but killing on the orders of a psychopath was another.

Only this once
.

“Rebel, take Stitch and head upstairs. Clear it. Don’t kill unarmed people unless you have to.” Rebel nodded, looking up from where he knelt by the door, picking the lock.

“Jackson, sweep the perimeter with everyone else except John. Check the outbuilding. I don’t know if we got all the guards, so watch your back.” As the words left my mouth, the men scattered like shadows.

Once the door was open, Rebel, Stitch, John and I went through into the well-lit kitchen. The sounds of a television playing in the distance was the only thing I heard.

Clearing each room, we exchanged looks of surprise when there was no one to be found. Intelligence said the house would be teeming with people. Part of coming at night was the hope that most of the day workers would be gone. It looked like we’d lucked out and most of the guards were on the outside.

When we hit the stairwell, Rebel and Stitch peeled away, moving up the wide steps and disappearing into the hall. Separating from my brothers always put a knot in my throat. Nothing worse than losing a Fallen member doing something like this. It happened, but rarely.

At the end of the hall, the house split two ways.

“Which way first?” John asked. He was the most recent patched member, and I wanted to keep him close and watch out for him—but we needed to get this shit done.

“Head down to the left. If you see anyone, track back and get me. Don’t engage on your own.”

John nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. I remembered that feeling, when adrenaline was more than just a way to push through exhaustion. Soon I’d hit my 10 year mark as a fully patched member of the club, and shit like this just made me tired.

When John turned a corner, I scanned my own section of the house. The sound of the television was coming from the end of the hall and I could see faint lights flickering under the door. Someone was in there.

If Dale and his number two weren’t here, we’d have to come back and finish the job later. That possibility put a weight in my stomach as I moved toward the light. We’d already been delayed for months when Dale went missing and the house in Malibu had been abandoned.

I’d wandered through it, digging through the shit left behind for clues. Fucking nothing. Just frayed furniture and moldy food in the fridge. What a waste of a day.

At the door, I stopped. Voices were lowered enough that I couldn’t hear them clearly, but two people were arguing about something. Crossing my fingers that they were the two I needed to find, I leaned closer, then jerked back when one of the voices broke into a yell. Did they know I was here?

“Shut up, you useless bitch,” said a man’s voice through the door. The sound of skin striking skin followed, then a body hitting the floor. Assured that I still had the element of surprise, I turned the knob and moved into the room with my gun drawn.

The thin man turned and threw up his arms, covering his face. It wasn’t quick enough—I already knew it was the one I wanted to find. Dale. Expecting to be met with a gun to my face, I was shocked that he just cowered away, dropping back onto the white leather couch behind him. Scanning the room, I didn’t see the other speaker at first, then saw the lump in the corner. Dark, tangled hair covered the face of the second person, who’d curled up into themselves.

“Dale, you should have quit selling meth.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” All the rage I’d been bottling up for months was churning to the surface. He was a piece of shit who sold to kids and speaking to him was beneath me. “Tell me how you knew we were coming to Malibu.” Piston had said there were no leaks, but a man doesn’t just up and leave his house for no reason.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, moving forward and pushing the barrel of the gun against his head. “You’re done.”

“No, no,” the coward screamed. A stain spread across the front of his slacks. The disgusting bastard was pissing himself. “You don’t want me. I’m not the dealer. Not me. Not me.”

“Then who is?”

“Her,” he screamed, pointing his arm out at the person who had moved to huddle in the corner, her hair still covering her face. I punched Dale in the face. He went down hard and didn’t move, but he was still breathing. Turning slow and cautious to face the brains of the operation—my real target—my fingers tensed on the trigger. With the dark and my attention focused on Dale, I hadn’t noticed at first how fucking young she was.

Killing a woman isn’t something I’d done before, but her death was the price I’d pay for Emily’s life. And the death of one drug pusher who sells to children and orders broken legs and slit throats like appetizers isn’t something I can mourn. Before I was going to finish her, though, I had to make sure she was really the one I was supposed to kill. Didn’t seem likely that it would be a woman, especially such a small one.

“Get up,” I said. “Get the fuck up now.”

Trembling, she rose.

Her slender hands pushed back her hair.

What the fuck?

“Emily?”