Chapter 40
Sarge
I don’t need to lay a hand on you, sweetheart.
“You slimy fuckin bitch!” My voice bellows from the depths of my soul.
I surge to my feet, and as I do, my eyes catch our audience. I hadn’t noticed the rest of the club as they came in, but they fill the room now, a solid wall of leather and muscle. Every face hard as stone; their eyes locked on Scarlett and me.
The silence that follows my shout is even more deafening than the roar. Scarlett’s eyes bounce from me to the now-blocked exit.
My breathing is heavy and ragged. The rage I feel is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Hearing I might never ride again after my accident didn’t even come close to this. I laughed that off, told ‘em “watch me.” This isn’t something I can laugh off.
I want to tear her to shreds, and I’m self-aware enough to know I can’t be near her right now. Stepping back, I force Gizmo’s frame between my body and hers.
“What the fuck was that, Scarlett?” I shoot my hand out toward the laptop still sitting on the coffee table.
“I don’t know what you mean, Sarge. We met for lunch. It was nothing.” She tries to sound sweet, but the shake in her voice gives away a mix of fear and undeniable deceit.
Gizmo is the next to speak.
“You think we’re that fucking stupid? You passed him a thick-ass envelope.
You gonna try and tell us it was a love note?
Nah, babe. Tell us why you met with the president of our rival club, and maybe you’ll get to leave this clubhouse.
” He glances over at me. “Not sure our Prez wants that outcome, but we have a strict policy not to harm women.”
Yeah, we do. And she’s placing me in a moral dilemma right now. She caused hurt to my woman; it only seems fair to hurt her back.
“You wouldn’t hurt me,” she says, her confidence wavering.
She’s right, I wouldn’t. Not directly.
“Scarlett, there’s more than one way to get someone to talk besides laying hands on them.” I point in the direction of a plain white door.
We don’t advertise what’s under the clubhouse, but it’s time she knows.
“Silence in a cold, blacked-out basement for days on end. No food, no water, no bathroom. Stripped of your humanity and a connection to the outside world. If the hunger pains don’t convince you to give up information, the need to see the sun again will.
I don’t need to lay a hand on you, sweetheart. ”
My words come out smooth and sure. We don’t have the time to starve the truth from her, but she doesn’t know that. The paleness of her skin tells me we won’t need to go that far; she’s scared enough already.
Her eyes dart around the room, searching for a friendly face. An out. She’s not gonna find either. Everyone here is on the edge of restraint, just waiting for my go-ahead to chain her up below our feet.
Her shoulders drop, and her head hangs. “I know you’re so proud of the club.
I never wanted to take that away. Cause you that kind of hurt.
But you never look at me, Sarge. You hardly look at women at all.
I’ve been patiently waiting for you to figure it out.
” She lifts her head so her eyes meet mine.
“Don’t you see it? We belong together. We could be something great.
I fit into your world, but you never look at me. Ever!”
Her last word is a yell. Her chest rises and falls with emotion as a single tear falls.
“Where is this going, Scarlett?” I question, keeping my voice even. Whatever she needs to say is coming out, just not fucking fast enough. We don’t have time for her Hallmark movie explanation.
“I see you at the bar, cozied up to some country bumpkin. Giving her your helmet so she can wrap around you like an anaconda for a ride home. You don’t even know her. You have no idea what she wants from you or how she could hurt the club. It’s dangerous. I was worried...”
“Stop.” I say before she can spew another lie. “She’s not the one who hurt the club, you are. Don’t you dare try to make yourself sound holier-than-thou. You did whatever it was for yourself. Not for me. Certainly not for the club.”
I step closer, the air in the room turning heavy. “I am running out of time and patience. You need to tell me what the fuck you did and why.”
“Gavin—”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” I cut her off. “Only family and close friends call me by that name, of which you are neither.”
Her sad eyes close as she takes a breath.
“A couple of weeks ago was my uncle’s birthday.
He had a barbecue at his house with friends and family.
We played a few games of beer pong, and long story short, I got pretty wasted.
” She takes another breath before continuing.
“I got upset and started going on about you and that girl you took home from the bar. About how I was always overlooked, even though I had been there from the start, and... I mentioned what the club runs from over the border.”
“To who? Who did you tell?” Wolf asks, taking a step toward her.
“My uncle. I told my u-uncle,” she says through a sob.
She shouldn’t be talking about the club to anyone, but why should we care about her uncle? So, she got drunk and emotional; bitches do that all the time. But there’s more to this.
“Scarlett, you need to start making this make sense really fast, or that basement is looking like your new home.” I don’t have time to play detective.
Through sniffles and quick, short breaths, Scarlett composes herself enough to speak.
“My uncle... he works for Glaxosil. He told me what you were doing was dangerous. How you could get people killed, get yourself killed.” Her breathing remains ragged, the words coming in fits.
“Sarge, I’m sorry. Shit. I fucked up, I know I did. But I was desperate.”
Her shoulders shake as the sobs take over again.
Fucking Glaxosil. Only one of the nation’s largest pharmaceutical companies, and she told them what we do. What we move.
Grimace steps forward, thrusting his arm out forcefully, grabbing her chin. He pins her in place, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You need to pull your shit together really fucking quick. When you say your uncle works for them, what is it that he does?”
Scarlett keeps crying.
“Fucking tell us!” Grimace roars in her face.
I step forward to intervene. I want to rip this bitch to shreds, too, but Grimace’s rage isn’t going to get us answers any faster. She’s a sobbing mess.
“Brother, let her go.”
I sit on the coffee table across from her, watching the sobs wrack her body. Sure, there’s remorse there, but it’s only because she’s caught. I’m not stupid enough to think otherwise.
“Scarlett,” I start, my voice low and dangerous. “You need to tell us everything. Crying isn’t helping shit. You did this. You put someone’s life in danger. You. Now you need to tell us what we need to know so we can fix it. What does your uncle do? What did you pay Diesel for?”
My body is physically shaking, my nerves shot. Between the lack of sleep and the adrenaline spiking in my veins, it’s taking everything I have not to end this oxygen thief right here. I’m staring at the person who got my Butterfly taken—the soulless bitch who could only think of herself.
“He is a rep. He just... promotes their products to doctors.” Her eyes dart between Grimace and me. It’s clear as day that she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this.
Great. So her uncle is a legal drug dealer. He’s no fucking better than us, except he does it for profit and profit alone. He knows the risks behind what he pushes, but he does it anyway. A sale is a sale to people like him.
“That night they slipped her something... it was a t-test,” Scarlett says in between gasping sobs. “They wanted to make sure Hannah was the right one... to use to get to you guys.” She pulls in a ragged breath. “I’m s-so s-sorry.”
She breaks down, her shoulders shaking and her face buried in her hands. She isn’t going to find any sympathy here. She gave up information on the club and targeted my woman. A rat is a fucking rat.
“That shit doesn’t mean anything.” Grimace spews at her, “So, your uncle. He works for them, and he found out what we do. Then what? How did the Scorpions get involved?”
Scarlett shakes her head, a movement so small I almost miss it.
“Cat got your tongue or what? Spit it the fuck out, you vile petri dish.” At this point, my patience for this woman can only be seen under a microscope.
She shudders, her voice barely a whisper. “He asked if I knew anyone who could intimidate you. Scare you out of selling.”
“So you told him who our biggest rival is. Smart, if you want to take us out. But why? Why help him?”
Her eyes lunge to me.
“Don’t you fucking get it? You never fucking look at me!
” She shouts. “First, it was that bitch you wasted years on, and then it was like you didn’t seem to want anyone while you recovered.
Going through that shit alone. But I was there, waiting, hoping you’d notice me.
We fit together. A little broken, unconventional, and against the grain.
I could be a good Ol’ Lady for you, Sarge.
I just had to get you to see that, but that bitch was in the way. Clouding your judgment—”
Whatever she was about to say is cut short as a hand slaps crisply across her face. I didn’t even hear Denise come in, but she’s standing over Scarlett as if she might kill her.
“You’ll shut that well-used mouth of yours before I make you unable to ever use it again. Won’t have you disrespecting the Prez’s Ol’ Lady. Don’t give a shit if you like her or not. This ain’t your family, never was. Never fucking will be. Get that through your delusional head.”
Wolf moves in to disengage his Ol’ Lady gently.
“Come on, baby. Hot as you are right now, I need you to put the claws away. You can use em on me later.” He teases.
Scarlett remains on the couch, damn near hyperventilating by this point. Not a friend in sight to turn to. Must be isolating. Scary.
Good.
Maybe she can feel a fraction of what Hannah is going through right now, because of her.
“Let me make sure I’m understanding this.
” I pinch the bridge of my nose, well and truly over this conversation.
“You wanted me so bad that you were willing to partner with your uncle to maximize his profit, sacrificing my woman in the process. For what? So we could hold hands and skip into the sunset?”
Dropping both arms to my sides, I’m realizing this chick more gone than any of us could have imagined. “Did you honestly think we’d stop moving product to save Hannah and then she would disappear while you slithered your way into my good graces?”
The question is rhetorical because I have no interest in giving her the opportunity to lie again. Before she can try, I pick up her phone and toss it in her lap.
“Contact your uncle, tell him to be at Rawhide tonight. Don’t give a fuck how you make it happen. Just make it happen.” I lock eyes with hers. “Oh, and if you tip him off at all, there’s a lot of desert out there.”