Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Bane
“Good girl.”
Frankie’s breath catches, and her eyes droop. My baby’s hungry for more.
Rolling Frankie onto her back, I settle between her legs, her soft thighs cradling my hips. The sight of her beneath me—flushed skin, swollen lips, messy hair—makes my cock twitch back to life.
“Gonna fuck you again,” I growl, crashing my lips to hers.
She whimpers into my mouth, her body arching up to meet mine as I kiss her long, deep, and wet. My hand slides down to grip her thigh, hitching it higher on my waist when—
The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the moment like a knife.
“Fuck,” I groan, burying my face in the crook of Frankie’s neck. This can’t be fucking happening.
My phone rings again.
Raising my head, I plant a hard kiss on my baby’s lips and reach for my phone on the nightstand. “Someone better be fucking dying,” I growl into the receiver.
“Fuck time’s over,” Tacoma drawls, sounding bored.
I glance over at Frankie, her body still sprawled invitingly across my bed. “Was actually just getting started,” I mumble, watching as she pulls the sheet up to cover herself.
Tacoma groans. “TMI, motherfucker. TMI.”
“What do you want?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Church in an hour. Time to get some answers out of Bert and Ernie.”
My eyes narrow at the mention of those pieces of shit who tried to take Saylor and put their hands on my woman. “I’ll be there.”
The line goes dead, and I toss the phone back on my nightstand, scrubbing my hands over my face. Turning to Frankie, I find her watching me with those big brown doe eyes.
“I gotta take care of some business, babe. Gonna drop you at the clubhouse for a bit.”
She sighs, sitting up and letting the sheet fall to her waist. “I need a shower first. My back is sticky.”
I lift a brow, thinking about her walking around with my cum on her body. “No.”
“No?” Her brows snap together. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean no.” The caveman in me wants to pound his chest and shout from the rooftop that Frankie’s mine.
“Bane!” Her cheeks flush crimson. “That’s disgusting.”
I shrug, climbing off the bed and pulling her up with me. “Put these on.” I dig in my dresser drawer and pull out a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
She pops a blonde brow. “I need to go to my place and get some of my own clothes.”
I grunt in response. I’m not taking her back to that fucking place. Hell no, not after everything that’s happened. She’s staying with me now, where I can keep her safe.
I watch as she covers her body with my clothes, thinking it’s a crying fucking shame to hide all that perfection. Then I pull on my jeans, shove my feet into my boots, slide a clean tee over my head, and shrug into my cut.
“Ready?” I ask as she finishes pulling her hair up into another messy bun.
“I guess,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.
I light a cigarette and take her hand, leading her out of the loft. The dogs follow us down the steps, trotting alongside as we make our way across the compound to the clubhouse.
Inside I spot Foxy sitting alone at a table, her raccoon Panda in her lap, and her eyes narrowed at Destiny. Jesus. My brother has his hands full with that one.
“C’mon,” I mutter, tugging Frankie toward the table. Maybe she can keep Foxy from killing the club whore while I’m gone.
Foxy lifts her eyes, takes a sip of her coffee, and strokes Panda’s fur. “Hey, guys.”
“Can you keep an eye on her?” I ask, nodding toward Frankie.
Frankie narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
I grin and plant a hard kiss on her lips. “Don’t make me spank that ass, baby.”
She growls, and my dick gets hard. I fucking love her bad attitude. It just does it for me.
“Be good, baby,” I murmur against her ear. “I’ll be back soon.”
Leaving her in the hands of my future sister-in-law, I stroll down the hallway to the chapel. Inside, everyone is already seated and waiting.
“About fucking time,” Tacoma grumbles from his spot at the head of the table.
I flip my brother off as I take my seat.
“Lover boy was busy getting his dick wet,” Journey smirks from across the table.
I roll my eyes. They can crack all the fucking jokes they want.
Tacoma bangs the gavel and turns his attention to Cyber. “Let’s get on with it.”
Cyber clears his throat. “Right. So, I’ve been looking into those men who attacked Saylor and Frankie.”
“Where are they?” I cut in, looking at my brother.
“In the shed,” he answers.
I grunt in satisfaction. I can’t wait to pay them a visit.
Tacoma narrows his eyes at me for interrupting. “Let Cyber finish.”
Cyber nods, his eyes flicking back to his tablet. “They’re from the Louisiana Bayou. But here’s the interesting part,” he glances around the table, making sure everyone is paying attention, “there’s a money trail linking them to the Valenciaga crime family.”
A chorus of “Fuck” goes around the table.
“Isn’t that the same family the Saints in Jacksonville are having problems with?” Bash asks, leaning forward.
Tacoma’s eyes flare, and he holds up his hand. “Shut the fuck up.” He grabs the phone sitting in the center of the table, dials a number, and puts it on speaker.
After three rings, a gruff voice answers. “Yo.”
“Chief,” my brother says, greeting the Jacksonville Saints’ president. “It’s Tacoma in Odin.”
“What’s up, brother?”
My brother sighs. “Nothing good, I’m afraid.”
Chief grunts. “It’s catching.”
It’s worse than catching. They’re spreading like goddamn wildfire. The fucking Russians are expanding their enterprise across the country at warp speed. “Why you askin’?” Chief continues.
“Seems we have the same pest problem,” Tacoma replies, his voice tight.
“Motherfuckers,” Chief swears. “Let me know if you need any assistance with the problem.”
“Same goes,” Tacoma says before ending the call.
He looks at Cyber. “What else?”
Cyber glances down at the table and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Nothing. That’s all I’ve got.”
Tacoma rises from his chair, plants his hands on the table, and roars. “Fucking find something!”
Everyone seated around the table sits up taller in their chairs. My brother is the most laid-back motherfucker on the planet but when you fuck with his woman or his kids, the gloves come off, and he’ll show you exactly why he’s the president of the Kings of Anarchy.
“Find something,” he repeats on a growl.
Cyber nods his head, sliding his tablet back into his bag.
“Gator’s got our visitors on ice. Let’s go.”
With that, my brother bangs the gavel, and we head for the door.
As I follow Tacoma through the common room, I catch sight of Frankie and Foxy laughing at the bar.
“Fuck.” That can’t be good.
Changing direction, I stalk towards the women.
Feeling me coming, Frankie lifts her head. “Are you done?”
I shake my head. “Not yet, baby.” My eyes go to the tumbler of amber liquid in her hand. “Thought you weren’t old enough to drink?”
She shrugs and takes a sip, grimacing at the burn. “I wanted to try it.”
I grunt. Lots of firsts for my baby today. “I’ll be back,” I tell her, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t leave the clubhouse.”
She sighs. “Fine.”
Tacoma stops to speak to Foxy, who’s already on her feet. “I’ll be back,” he tells her.
“Fuck no,” she snaps. “I’m coming with you. Those assholes tried to take my girl.”
I watch my brother’s face soften, but he shakes his head. “This is club business, Foxy.”
I can tell it’s killing her to be sidelined, but she’s a good ol’ lady and reluctantly accepts her man’s word as law.
“Fine, baby,” she finally says. “But you better make them fucking bleed.”
Tacoma grins. “Promise.” He kisses her again before leading us out the door.
“You’re so fucking pussy whipped,” I mutter as we cross the compound.
“It’s that voodoo pussy,” he shoots back with a smirk.
I grunt, thinking that must be what my woman has too—voodoo pussy. It’s the only explanation for why I’m so fucking hooked after just one taste.
All thoughts of Frankie’s pussy vanish at the sight of Gator standing guard at the shed door.
“They talking yet?” Tacoma asks as we approach.
Gator shakes his head. “Nah. Been waiting for you.”
The club’s enforcer steps aside, and we file into the darkened space.
In the center of the room, two men hang from the rafters by their wrists, their toes barely touching the ground. Their faces are swollen and bloody, but I recognize them as the fuckers from the store.
“Well, look who’s awake,” Tacoma says, his voice deceptively casual as he circles them.
The big guy who grabbed Frankie spits blood onto the concrete floor. “Fuck you.”
Tacoma chuckles, the sound devoid of humor. “I want to introduce you to someone.” He nods to Gator, who steps forward with a wicked grin.
“Hello, boys,” Gator says, cracking his knuckles. “I’m the motherfucker who’s gonna make you wish you were never born.”
Without warning, he drives his fist into the big man’s stomach. The impact is so brutal, I can hear the air whoosh out of his lungs. He gasps and chokes, his body swinging from the force of the blow.
“Now,” my brother continues, lighting a cigarette. “Let’s start with who you’re working for.”
The man who tried to take Saylor keeps his eyes on the floor. “We don’t know nothing.”
Tacoma sighs, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “They always try to lie. Motherfucker, do you think I don’t already know who you are?”
The man’s eyes go wide.
“That’s right, Carl. How’s the wife? She know you’re banging her sister?”
Carl’s eyes round to the size of dinner plates. These assholes have no idea who they’re fucking with.
“And you? Can I call you Will? You owe a lot of fucking money to the Saints. That why you got into bed with Valenciaga?”
The man Gator is working over looks like he might piss his pants.
“So you see, I already know who you are. What I don’t know is why you’re in my town, and why the fuck you came after my daughter.”
“Fuck you.” Carl doesn’t seem to be getting the picture.
Nodding to Journey, I watch as he wheels over a cart covered with a cloth. With a flourish, he pulls the fabric away, revealing an assortment of tools—pliers, hammers, knives, a blowtorch.
“No,” Carl whispers. “Jesus Christ. Fuck.”
“He ain’t gonna help you,” I growl, picking up a pair of pliers. “But I might, if you start talking.”
Carl clamps his lips shut.
The hard way it is.
For the next hour, the shed fills with screams as we extract information, piece by painful piece.
By the time we’re done, Carl and Will are sobbing, broken husks hanging from the ceiling.
“So,” Tacoma grunts, wiping blood from his knuckles. “You’re working for the Valenciaga family, who’s partnered with the Sinners to move girls through the Southeast.”
“Y-yes,” Carl chokes out.
“And you went after my daughter because she fit the profile of what your buyers are looking for,” my brother continues, his voice deceptively calm. “Young and pretty.”
Will nods, blood dripping from the gash in his head.
“And you went after my woman because she was in the way,” I add, stepping closer.
“Your woman?” Journey snorts behind me, but I ignore him.
“Tell me about the trafficking operation,” my brother demands. “Where are they keeping the girls?”
“I don’t know,” Will pleads. “We’re just the pickup crew. We grab ‘em and drop ‘em at a meeting point.”
“Where’s the meeting point?” Gator asks, pressing the tip of his favorite Bowie knife against the man’s throat.
“There’s an abandoned warehouse on the east side of town,” he gasps, his wide eyes trained on the knife. “By the old paper mill.”
Tacoma nods to Bash, who makes a note on his phone.
“Who’s your contact?” I ask.
Carl and Will exchange a look, and Carl shakes his head.
“Fuck you, I’m not dying for those motherfuckers.”
I almost laugh. It’s funny he thinks he’s getting out of here alive.
“No!” Carl tries to yell. “They’ll kill my family.”
“Fuck your family!” Will turns his attention to my brother. “They call him Demon.”
Tacoma gives me a look, and I grin. Now we have a name.
“Anything else I should know?” my brother asks, his tone making it clear this is their last chance to be useful.
Both men shake their heads, their eyes begging my brother for mercy.
But, that ain’t happenin’.
Tacoma sighs, then pulls his knife from his belt. “You tried to take my daughter,” he says quietly. “There’s only one punishment for that.”
“No. Please—”
Without hesitation, he draws the blade across Carl’s throat. Blood sprays across the concrete floor as the man gurgles and chokes, his eyes wide with shock before the light in them dims.
Will starts screaming, thrashing against his restraints.
“Nobody fucks with the Kings.” I step forward, yank his head back and drag my blade across his throat, severing his vocal cords and carotid artery in one swipe. Hot blood coats my hand as I hold his gaze, watching the life drain from his eyes.
“Good fucking riddance.” Stepping back, I wipe my blade clean on his dingy white shirt.
“Your woman, huh?” Journey asks, stepping up beside me and planting his hands on his hips as he surveys the mess my brother and I just made. “Foxy’s gonna be pissed.”
My lips twitch. She sure as fuck is. As the club’s cleaner, getting rid of these assholes and making sure there’s no evidence left behind is her job.
“Fuck,” Tacoma hisses, already heading for the door.
We all laugh.
No voodoo pussy for him tonight.