Chapter 60 Zeth
Zeth
Alexis Romera has been dating the President of the Widow Makers.
This information is more than a little surprising, but hey.
Nothing should surprise me anymore. Carnie, the guy who nearly gave Sloane a heart attack with this news, tells us that Jacob’s expecting us in his study.
Outside the kitchen, a dozen people lean against the walls, sitting on the floor, all pale and anxious looking.
A tall blonde beelines for Sloane as soon as she sees her and grabs her by the elbows.
“Is she okay? She’s fucking dead, isn’t she? She’s fucking dead!”
Sloane extricates herself from the girl’s grip and guides her toward the kitchen door. “She’s not dead. Sit with her and come tell me right away if her breathing changes. Check for her pulse every few minutes, too.”
The blonde heads into the kitchen, gasping when she sees all of the blood. Carnie escorts us through the hallways, giving the impression that Jacob told him we were to come or else he was to make us come. Hilarious. I’d like to see the bastard try to move me. And if he even touched Sloane…
“In there.” Carnie jerks his head into Jacob’s study.
On the other side of the door, Jacob, Michael, and Cade sit awkwardly around a large, polished oak table.
Cade and I barely got to speak before all hell broke loose earlier, but he did have time to tell me that Rebel is his friend.
That he’s been a Widow Maker his whole life.
I have no idea what to make of that. I’d thought we were on the same wavelength, Cade and me, but this revelation turns that concept completely on its head.
“Come join us,” Jacob says, gesturing to the empty chairs at the table.
There are three of them, one each for Sloane and me, and then an extra one.
“I hear you’ve had quite an eventful morning, Ms. Hawthorne?
” Jacob asks. He bridges his hands in front of him, spearing Sloane through with an arctic gaze.
“You could say that,” Sloane answers. She looks like something out of a fucking horror show.
There’s blood all over her hands and up her arms, and speckled all over her face.
It’s down her shirt and in her hair, too.
The clipped, dry response she shoots at Jacob doesn’t hide the fact that she’s not impressed by his glib remark.
“We’ll be leaving soon. To take the girl to hospital. ”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Ms. Hawthorne. Sophia’s a strong girl. She’ll be just fine.”
I was right. I knew he’d say that, of course, but I’d hoped I was wrong. I catch the look of fury on Cade’s face, and goddamn—he’s so angry that his neck has broken out in a splotchy, crimson rash.
“The girl is going to the hospital, Jacob.”
The Black Talon tilts his head toward Cade, smiling ever so slightly. “You are just a mouthpiece, Mr. Preston,” he drawls. “Please remember that you are a guest in my home.”
“I may be a guest, but Rebel’s on his way. What do you think he’s going to say when he gets here and his girl’s dead?”
Ahh. Rebel’s not here yet. But on his way. This could be a good thing. Sloane sees the opportunity, too, and grasps it. “If we leave now, we can get her to a private practice in San Bernardino. I know them there. They’ll keep her off the books if I ask them to.”
Jacob plants his hands palm down on the table, considering them for a moment.
When he looks up, there’s malice in his eyes that makes me think he doesn’t give a shit what Rebel is gonna do to him when he arrives.
But I’m mistaken. This look isn’t about Rebel.
The look is all for me. “You lied to me, Zeth. I had a very enlightening conversation this morning with an acquaintance of yours.” Jacob nods to Clark, who does as his master bids him and brings a single sheet of paper to the table. He puts it down in front of Jacob.
“This acquaintance of yours told me some very interesting things about you. See, I thought you were here to spy for Charlie this whole time. I didn’t suspect that you came here to steal my property.”
Jacob slides the paper across the table, and this time, there’s no point in bullshitting.
Rick, whom I left in Anaheim fishing for information on the DEA bitch investigating Charlie, is tied to a chair, while the fuzzy silhouette of a man partially out of shot lays into him with a tire iron.
I push the photo back to Jacob, raising my eyebrows.
Shit. Shit, fuck, shit. I don’t care all that much about Rick taking a beating, I have to say, but this means everything is over.
The whole ploy goes up in smoke. “You got me.” I hold up my hands.
“I wanted to take one of your girls. She’s dying in your kitchen right now, though, so you might as well let me have her.
I’ll take the whole mess right off your hands. ”
“You’re not taking shit from me, asshole.
” Jacob nods to Clark, and the guy comes and stands behind me, gun held loosely in his hand.
In a moment, Jacob will tell him to blow my brains out.
I have to admit, Clark lurking behind me with a gun is a whole lot less fun than it was when Sloane did it.
“Sophia isn’t my mess. Rebel bought her from me years ago, and she’s been sticking her nose into my business and riling up my girls ever since.
If she dies, it’ll be because she’s a nosy bitch who gets caught up in things that don’t concern her.
You, on the other hand, are going to wait here with your fine little piece of ass until Charlie arrives.
Then I’m gonna let him take care of you.
He seems highly motivated toward that end.
He was especially pissed off when I sent him a shot of your little friend here. ”
He gestures to the image of Rick. Fucking perfect. Charlie’s probably had plenty of time to put two and two together, but seeing the physical evidence that Rick’s living and breathing after he betrayed Charlie to the Wreckers… the guy’s gonna be fucking raging.
Michael has watched all of this play out nonchalantly. I’m not fooled by the facade, though. He’s a viper, not a rattlesnake. With him, you don’t get a warning. He stands up and casually takes a throwing knife from the waistband of his pants. Jacob gapes up at him, face drawn into an angry scowl.
“Sit down, man. This doesn’t concern you.”
Michael disregards the command, flipping the knife over and driving it through Jacob’s hand with lightning speed, pinning him to the table.
“Motherfucker! Clark, kill him!” Jacob’s cry is loud enough to alert the whole fucking house.
Perhaps Clark’s too stunned by Michael’s suicidal actions, but he makes a mistake—he hesitates, and that hesitation gives me enough time to spin, grab hold of his M16, and punch the guy square in the throat.
He crumples to the ground like a ragdoll, fighting to breathe.
I collapsed his esophagus, though, so he won’t be doing that again any time soon.
Sloane screams, jumping up, and now it seems like everyone is screaming.
We’re about to have fifteen angry guards storm this room.
I shoot Michael a displeased glance. “Real smooth, man.”
Michael braces against the table and jerks his knife free from Jacob’s hand, then lays it against the big man’s throat instead.
The leader of the Black Talons stops yelling and freezes.
As though thanking him for his silence, Michael gives him a friendly pat on the arm.
“You didn’t hear what he was saying before you came into the room, boss.
He was gonna let Anton cut your dick off.
At least that’s what I thought he said. It was in Spanish. ”
Cade nods. “Yeah. That was pretty much the gist of it.” He gets to his feet, coming around to take a look at Clark, who is lying still and silent on the floor.
Sloane only has tear-filled eyes for me, though. “Did you have to do that? You crushed his windpipe.”
She wants me to defend my actions or make her see the sense in what I’ve done.
To make it okay in her eyes. I can’t do that for her, though.
She needs to decide for herself. Gently, briefly, I cup her cheek in my hand.
“Why don’t you think about it and make up your own mind.
” Then, I turn to Michael. “We need to get the fuck out of here.”
“Agreed. What about him?”
“You motherfuckers seriously think you can pull this shit?” Purple as a beet, Jacob spits everywhere as he shouts. “You are fucking dead. All of you!”
I stalk toward the two of them. “Hey, Michael, how many times can a man die?”
“Just once, boss.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Just once.” I take the throwing knife Michael offers to me and I hold it in front of Jacob’s face.
“Charlie’s already called dibs on my death, motherfucker.
Sorry to disappoint, but you aren’t gonna get a look in.
Now…” I trail the knife down Jacob’s cheek, watching the metal reflect his wide-eyed terror back at him.
“We’re both big fucking dogs, Jake, remember?
You see yourself in me. We’ve both come from shit, as you so kindly reminded me the other day.
So ask yourself this.” I bend down, bracing my hands on my thighs and giving him a thoughtful shrug.
“If we’re so similar, what would you do in my position right now? ”
“You can’t kill me, Zeth. You wouldn’t fucking dare!”
Cade has joined Michael behind Jacob now. He looks grim, but he gives me a hard nod—I’m with you, brother.
“Oh God, this isn’t happening.” Behind me, Sloane looks like she’s going to throw up any second. She turns around and leans her forehead against the wall, hyperventilating and covering her ears with her hands.
Jacob smirks when I face him again. “I’m unarmed, Zeth. You gonna show your woman what kind of monster you are by slitting my throat in front of her?”
I rush forward, shoving my face into his. “Yes.”
I lash out with the knife.
But the steel doesn’t strike flesh.
A wet stain soaks the front of Jacob’s pants as I signal to Cade: Finish the job. The Widow Maker flips his gun and brings the butt down on the back of Jacob’s head, knocking him clean out.
Hah. Slumped in his chair, unconscious, sitting in his own piss—exactly what the cocksucker deserves. I allow myself all of a second to feel smug, but only the one. “Come on. He won’t be out forever.”
Sloane’s been mumbling, cursing by the sounds of things, but her diatribe trails off as she turns around. “You didn’t kill him?”
I wrap an arm around her waist and guide her out of the room. “Jacob Dixon is an evil son of a bitch, Sloane, but he was right about one thing. I won’t kill an unarmed man.”