Chapter Nine #2
The place hadn’t changed much in the decade since he’d hung out here.
It was as advertised, a faded red barn with a crumbling ceiling and rotting wood planks.
Old tires, broken-down cars, and piles of garbage littered what was once a grassy area surrounding the barn.
The inside, if he remembered correctly, was always a hazy, smoke-filled cesspool where addicts and dealers passed out on random couches and futons, salvaged from the side of the road God knew how many years ago.
He’d rather lick a toilet seat than sit any part of his body on one of those couches.
“Wow,” Beth whispered as he killed the engine. “Who exactly are you meeting here?”
“An old friend.”
“Did you…”
He could imagine her wrinkling her nose as she took in the sight.
“Have you been here before?”
He grunted. “Unfortunately, I went through a bit of fucked-up stage after we left the cult.”
She stayed quiet but squeezed his waist once before releasing him to undo her helmet.
“If I can’t touch you, you’re too far away. Got it?” Saint asked as he dismounted the bike.
“Uh, yeah. Don’t worry. I’m not exactly eager to explore this place.”
As soon as her feet hit the ground, Saint palmed the back of her neck and pulled her close. She gasped at the possessive move, then squeaked when his lips met her ear. “As far as they are concerned, you’re mine.”
“Oh,” she whispered on an exhale. Her breath wafted across his neck, raising goose bumps along his skin. He fought to keep from letting a punch of lust distract him from his task as he scanned their surroundings.
“It’s the only way to keep you safe in here,” he whispered.
Movement from the crumbling barn caught his attention.
Someone, a woman who looked as though she’d not eaten in weeks, stumbled outside on unsteady legs.
Her eyes had that high-as-a-kite glaze he’d seen too many times.
She wobbled off to the side of the building, hiked her dirty sundress over her hips, and squatted to piss right there out in the wild.
Lovely.
Saint tightened his hold on Beth. “Try not to tense up if I get handsy. We’ve got to sell it. One whiff that you’re not protected, and every fucker here will be looking to take advantage.”
She nodded, making the shell of her ear brush against his lips. Fuck, how he wanted to retrace the path with his tongue, maybe nip her earlobe just to feel her shiver against him.
But this was not the time or the place.
And as much as she turned him on, she was not the woman.
“Whatever you need, Saint.”
If only.
“Okay.” He straightened and tucked her against his side with an arm around her shoulders. Of course, her skin had to be smooth and warm, enticing him to run his fingertips up and down her arm. If it weren’t for the need to stay as alert as possible, he’d have struggled to resist the urge.
“Is that woman peeing?” Beth asked as he steered her toward the shitty red building. A woman squatted right on the grass for all to see. “Gross.”
“We’ll be damn lucky if that’s the grossest thing we see while we’re here.”
“Awesome,” she muttered. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying not to ask you hundreds of questions about your past.”
He grunted. “It was fucked up.”
“Yeah.” She slid her arm around his waist, anchoring them even closer. “I gathered that much.”
As they reached the open entrance, a man at least five inches shorter than Saint stepped in their path. He wore jeans and a dirty wife-beater showing off his track-mark-riddled arms. His greasy hair and unkempt beard spoke to his poor hygiene as much as the decaying teeth spoke to his drug habit.
“The fuck are you?” he asked, eyes narrowed as he took in Saint’s cut. “We ain’t got no trouble with the MC.”
“Not yet, you don’t. I’m looking for Stillman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “He want you to find him?”
Saint nodded. “Yeah. He told me to meet him here.”
The guy’s cloudy gaze shifted to Beth, who stiffened under his blatant perusal.
Saint could practically feel the effort it took her to keep from snapping at him, but thankfully, she squashed her instincts.
Any other time, he’d have loved to watch her verbally eviscerate this piece of shit, but they’d be leaving with nothing if she did that now.
“He’s in there. I can get him for you, but it’s gonna cost ya.” He grinned, revealing the yellowed nubs of what was once a complete set of teeth. “Seems like you brought the perfect payment.”
He reached for Beth, who sucked in a harsh breath, but before his hand got anywhere near her, Saint captured his wrist in a punishing grip.
“Unless you want your insides ripped out through your asshole by your own hand, I suggest you do not touch what’s mine.”
“Fuck you, dickhead. Now I ain’t telling Stillman shit.”
Saint gripped him harder. The guy’s fragile wrist bones shifted beneath Saint’s squeezing fingers.
“Fuck. Fine!” he shouted as he arched his back, trying to relieve the pain. “Jesus, he’s in there. Go ahead.”
Saint shook his head once. “Get him. We’re not setting foot inside that cesspool.”
“Fuck y… okay! I’ll get him. Christ.”
He finally released the writhing guy, who turned and wandered into the dark, putrid barn.
“Didn’t want sloppy biker seconds anyway,” he muttered as he stumbled away, rubbing his wrist.
“You good?”
Beth nodded, but a wrinkle had formed between her eyes. One he wanted to smooth away with his thumb, or better yet, his lips. “This place is just fucking depressing.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
Less than a minute later, Stillman wandered out, and Saint was greeted with the stark reminder of what his life would have been without the MC. Of the drain he’d been circling and the soul-sucking pit he’d been so close to drowning in.
His stomach turned, not from disgust, but from recognition.
“Lee, shit, man, it’s been a fucking minute.”
“Yeah, a few years at least.” And in those years, Stillman had gone from a twitchy, frequent drug user to an absolute shell of a human.
He’d lost so much weight he looked as though a sneeze would take him out.
His once-full cheeks with the dimples that scored him more women than anyone in their group had sunken in, giving him a skeletal appearance.
A wide grin revealed missing teeth. Weeping sores that had to be painful covered his face and arms.
“We need to hang more, brother. I got some great shit. New shit, man. Like you’ve never fucking had before. I can give you a taste for free, for old times’ sake.”
Beth went rigid beside him, and he couldn’t help but stroke his thumb over her shoulder, trying to let her know he’d never do that with her present. Hell, he didn’t mess with that shit in general anymore, but he’d rather die than be incapacitated when her safety rested in his hands.
“Thanks, man. I’m gonna pass for today. I’m more interested in the source than the product.”
Stillman’s grin disappeared, and his eyes went cold in an instant. Nothing would piss him off more than the thought of his drug supply getting interrupted. “Why?”
Saint shrugged, trying to keep his stance casual. “Curious. You know how it is. We like to keep tabs on all the players in town.”
“We? The MC?”
Saint held his gaze but didn’t respond.
“No. Fuck that. You assholes don’t own this town.”
Oh, but we do.
“You ain’t gonna fuck this up for me. They got some Grade-A product and at good- fucking-prices.” Stillman shook his head. “I ain’t telling you shit. You’ll have to deal with the competition.”
“Not competition. You know the MC doesn’t push that shit. But we know who does, and there seems to be some new kids in town who don’t want to play by the rules.”
“No.” Stillman set his jaw as he shook his head. The jaw that would probably shatter with a half-power slap. “I ain’t telling you shit.”
Saint cocked his head. “You owe me, Stillman.”
“Oh, come on, man.” He groaned and stared up at the clear blue sky, so in contrast to the murky brown of his gaze. “That’s not fucking fair.”
“Was it fucking fair when I took a knife to the side, saving your ass from that fucking psycho whose girl you were fucking?”
Beth gasped and glanced up at him. He squeezed her shoulder in response.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
Saint shrugged.
Stillman lifted a thumb to his mouth, where he chewed the already destroyed nail for a moment before spitting on the ground.
His agitation grew by the second until his eyes shot fire and his twitching became almost violent jerks.
“Fuck!” He glanced over his shoulder into the hazy barn.
“They’re gonna… fuck. After this, we’re even, and you stay the hell away from me. ”
Saint snorted. “Trust me, Stillman, I have no plans to visit this petri dish ever again.”
“You’re not who you were. You used to be fucking fun. The bikers turned you into a pussy bitch.”
He gave Stillman the glare he used even more often than his fists as an enforcer. Zach claimed it was his greatest weapon, one that could make a man shit himself. Stillman wasn’t too far gone to realize the shit pile he’d stepped in. His face paled to a sickly gray, and he sighed.
“This is gonna fuck me so hard,” he whispered, shaking his head. “The only name I have is Silas Crow. Don’t know if it’s real or not. Don’t give a shit. Heard he’s up from Memphis. That’s all I fucking know.”
“How do you contact him?”
“Saint…” he groaned. “Don’t fucking do this.” His gaze shifted to Beth. “If I tell you—”
“Don’t fucking finish that sentence, Stillman. As of now, I’m planning to leave you breathing with your dick still attached to your body. That can change.”
His jaw twitched. His eyes darted in every direction, never landing on anything fixed for more than one second. For a heartbeat, Saint worried Stillman would run. Then he’d be faced with the choice to let go of Beth and give chase or let him get away.
And with Beth to protect, there really wasn’t any decision to make.
“I’m getting impatient. You’ve got ten seconds, Stillman.”
A low growl came from his former friend before he shook his head and spat on the ground again. “Fucking fine. You go to that new laundromat in town. Jesus,” he muttered. “They’re gonna kick my ass.”
“Yeah, but I’ll kill you.”
“Fuck you.” Stillman must have believed him because he sighed.
“Go to the laundromat. Ask for machine thirteen. There ain’t no fucking thirteen.
They’ll give you a number to text. It’s different every fucking time.
Text it, and they text you back a location.
That’s all. Now will you please get the fuck out of here before someone realizes what I told you. ”
The distinct clicking of a shotgun being primed had Saint’s spine snapping straight.
“S-Saint…” Beth’s eyes widened as she tried to find the source of the familiar sound. Most likely, someone hiding in the shadows in the barn got tired of their presence.
“Unless you want the entire MC tearing this place apart, you’d better call off your guard dog, Stillman.”
The scrawny guy lifted a hand. “Let them leave,” he shouted. Surprising as it was, given his physical appearance, Stillman seemed to be in charge, or at least had a lot of sway. “Go. Next time you show up here, we’ll shoot on sight.”
“I’ll shoot myself before I come back here. Take care of yourself, Stillman, maybe buy a fucking toothbrush.” With that parting shot, he guided Beth back to the bike at a rapid clip, feeling the sight of the shotgun on his ass the entire time.
She didn’t need any instructions. She immediately climbed on the bike and jammed the helmet on her head. As he settled in front of her, she gripped his hips tighter than usual and rested her helmet against his back. “That was intense,” she whispered. “But we got what we came for.”
“You did good, Beth. You’re a good-fucking-wing woman.”
Though impossible, he swore he could feel her smile as he sped off, leaving his past where it belonged, firmly in his rearview.