28. Chapter 28
twenty-eight
E arly the next week, Cassie unlocked the front door of Mamba Mama’s and opened it.
She was so excited, she felt like a kid on the first day of school again, all dressed up, with brand-new notebook and pencils in her backpack. Although, instead of her mom sending her off with a kiss, it had been Heavy. He’d wanted her to wait a few more days, when his new hire, Joe Day, a middle-aged Marine and plumber who was bored with retirement, and loved the gym life, started work.
But with the keys in her hand, Cassie couldn’t wait another day. This was it, the beginning of her tenure as manager of a real business. Oh, she’d started making plans on her laptop right away, but this was real. She was here, with the keys in her hand, and control in her grasp.
She walked inside and stood, looking around. Her high spirits fizzled and sank like a spent balloon, ending up somewhere in the thick layer of dust on the floors.
The place was filthy, as if she'd never been here, never worked her ass off to get it clean and attractive for customers. The bins of assorted merch were once again a disorganized jumble, as if people had pawed through every single item, tossed aside those they found uninteresting, and left them where they fell. And no one had bothered to straighten them again.
Dust lay thick on the glass cases of curios, and shelves of used CDs that Warren had insisted on keeping even though no one had ever even looked through them while Cassie worked there.
And the big windows that looked out onto the street—ecch! The displays were left over from Christmas, although the windows themselves were so grimy that probably few had noticed.
“Guess I know what I need to do first,"she muttered. Pulling out her phone, she began a list. She’d need cleaning concentrate—the XL size, plenty of rags, a good mop, buckets … oh, and a big push broom. She hoped the old vacuum still worked. Of course, judging by the dust wads under the display cases, Warren hadn’t used it since she left, so it was probably rarin’ to go after a long rest.
A floorboard creaked in the back hallway near the office, followed by a muffled thump. Cassie whirled, but couldn’t see past the door, which was only cracked open.
"Who’s there?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Get out the way you came in, ‘cause I’m on my phone to the cops!"
"Wait, Cassie--don’t do that!" called a feminine voice.
There was more muffled thumping, snickering, and the door to the hallway creaked open. Della stood there, grinning at her, Piper close behind her and Manda peeping around them.
Cassie clapped her hand to her chest. "Jaysus, you about gave me a heart attack," she told them. “And you nearly got to explain to the cops why, ‘cause I had my finger on 9-1-1.”
"I told you we shouldn’t have surprised her this way,” Manda said. "Sorry, Cassie. I would’ve been scared too."
"Sorry, gal pal, "Della tipped her head to one side, giving Cassie puppy-dog eyes, although she could not stop grinning, which spoiled the effect. She snickered. "But you shoulda seen your face. Ow, Shelle!"
Della stepped forward into the store, and the others followed. They all looked around in dismay at the layer of dust and grime on everything.
"Pretty bad, huh?" Cassie asked, dispiritedly.
"But hey, that’s why we are here," Della told her. "Right, ladies? "
"Right,” the other two women agreed, nodding.
"And…” Della made a show of looking at her phone. "The real experts should be here any minute now."
“Who’s that?” Cassie asked.
“The Scrubbing Bubbles, the cleaners who keep up the Flyers’ clubhouse,” Della explained. “They’re awesome.”
"Uh… I’m not sure they’re in my budget—"Cassie began. They could be, but she’d need to figure out what tasks she could afford to pay them for, just as Heavy did at the gym.
"Oh, it's on us," Della said happily. "I mean Rock Solid Security. Because you'll be using us for your business security.”
"Wouldn't think of using anyone else," Cassie said dryly. As long as Rocker gave her a club discount, till the place started pulling in a profit.
"Here they are.” Shelle gestured to the white van that had pulled up to the curb. Through the grimy front windows, Cassie could see the bright lettered logo and a trail of painted soap bubbles over the body of the van. "I’ll go let them in."
"Rav will come by later, " Della told her. "To do a walk-through with you. Then he can draw up a preliminary plan for security."
"Yeah, like some new locks on my back door?" Cassie said dryly. "I assume you got a key from Stick.” Who would’ve gotten it with the sale documents. God only knew how many extra keys were floating around, and she did not want Warren wandering back in here for a nap.
"Nah, Rocker scored it for me," Della said with a wink. "He takes care of us ladies. You do need new locks. Plus, the guys don’t want you in here alone until a security system is up and running, with eyes on you. Downtown Spokane has its share of crime."
Good thing Cassie liked Rocker so much, because it kept her irritation under control at the brothers’ typical high-handedness. Well, she’d known what she was signing up for when she agreed to manage this place for them. Best suck it up and get on with it.
Besides, Della was right. Spokane was the only city of size here on the east side of Washington state, and I-90 was unfortunately a pipeline for gangs and criminal activity. And of course, the downtown area attracted all of that.
Shelle opened the front door to let in three petite Hispanic women, one older and two clearly her daughters, all wearing crisp, matching polo shirts and slacks.
Della introduced them. “Cassie, I’d like you to meet Maria, Graciela, and Teresia, the best cleaning crew in the inland northwest. And ladies, this is Cassie Carson, the new manager of Mamba Mama’s! “
The three women looked around the big, open area, with its wide aisles and jumble of display bins and racks. The two daughters’ eyes grew wide, but their mother merely nodded briskly. “Oh my (Spanish), this place needs a good cleaning,” she said. “Della says we can start today?”
“Yes, please,” Cassie said. “Um, I hope you have your own cleaning supplies?”
“Oh, si,” Maria assured her. “Would you like us to drive around to the back?”
“Yes, please,” Cassie said. “Then I can keep the front doors locked, and I won’t have people wandering in, thinking we’re open. But, I do need to let shoppers know we’ll be re-opening soon. So, I’ll ask you to start on the front windows. I’ll put up some quick signs, just until I can get to the nearest print shop.”
“I could get signs,” Manda offered. “We passed a print shop just down the block.”
“I’ll go with, Manda,” Shelle offered. “Cassie, just tell us what to say, how big, and how many.”
“And I’ll stay here and help clean or move merch,” Della said, giving Cassie a brisk salute. “Put us to work, boss lady.”
Cassie smiled at the three of them, her heart swelling. “You three are the best, you know that?”
Della, predictably, replied with snark. “We are awesome. But so are you, Cass. And I’m guessing you’re kinda nervous, but you got this.”
Cassie held her friends’ gazes in turn, pulling courage from the encouraging smiles they gave her. “I got this,” she repeated. “I do. And now, as my dad would say–best get to it.”
And as always, action truly was the best cure for nerves.
Because as she sent Manda and Shelle for signage, found disposable gloves, a large trash can for Della and herself to sort through the dusty merch, and watched the Scrubbing Bubbles team begin their brisk, efficient cleaning, she felt more confident with each passing hour.
The grand re-opening of downtown Spokane’s Mamba Mama’s–Under New Management! took place on a beautiful, sunny day in August, and was a success by any measure.
Since it just happened to coincide with a regional weight-lifting championship taking place at the Spokane Arena, Heavy had charmed a few of the competitors into doing a special appearance at MM’s for photo ops and autographs with starry-eyed kids and a few adults.
Attired in his gym logo wear, and looking very fine himself, he was a walking advertisement for his gym. Cassie insisted the lifters do a group shot with him in the center, to display in his trophy case, and got all their Instagram handles to tag and follow them.
Outside the store, biodegradable balloons in neon hues danced in the warm air currents over the parking meters along the curb, along with two tall, chartreuse tube men, dancing on their currents of forced air.
In the big store windows, live models, hired from a local cosplay group, posed in rotating displays, for short periods only, because that sun was hot.
The store itself, cleaned and shined, and with racks, bins and glass cases of updated merch, was full of the curious, many of whom had walked or driven by the store but never set foot inside. There were also plenty of college students and teens, from whom Cassie hoped to draw a large portion of future sales. They came to look, and stayed to shop, marveling at the cool, the funky, the fun and the bargain prices.
Piper and Anisha, one of Piper’s accounting classmates who Cassie was hoping to hire, were manning the cash registers and bagging merch in clear, biodegradable bags with the MM logo in neon ink. Cassie worked the floor, greeting customers, handing out goofy fridge magnets and flyers with hours, graduated discounts for amounts spent, starting with twenty-five percent off everything in the store today, except those items in locked cases.
Clad in his Flyer's cut, and armed, Rav was there as security, and to ferry deposits to the bank as needed. No one expected any problems, but the brothers thought it wise to make the point this first day that the store had good security.
Drew had volunteered also in his cut, since Piper was there, as photographer and to keep an additional eye out for shoplifters. He’d told Cassie, flushing under his gorgeous golden skin color, that he’d done some of it himself as a teen, so he kind of knew what to watch for. She bit back a snicker and thanked him profusely.
Rocker and Billie showed up at noon, bearing lunch for all the staff from The Hangar.
“Thank you,” Cassie told them. “I forgot to even think about food.”
“Lot on your mind today,” Rocker said with a gentle smile. “I’ll put this stuff in the back.”
Billie had wandered off, head down over the graphic novels. He shook his head. “She loves this kinda shit. Gonna be an expensive stop.”
Della and Boo were right behind the couple. He had one of the balloons from outside on a short string wrapped around his chubby hand, and his head was tipped back, watching it with glee.
“Sorry,” Della said. “He grabbed it, and wouldn’t let go. Let out a shriek you would not believe, so I figured just give it to him. Besides, those tall, quivery tube dudes were kinda scaring him, so…”
“Of course he can have it,” Cassie said, poking him gently in the tummy. “Our Boo can have all the balloons, yes he can.”
He giggled. “Boon.”
Then he saw his father, and his eyes widened. “Da!” he shrieked happily, throwing himself forward.
Rav leaned in to give his son a big smooch, and one to his wife, and then backed away. “Sorry, darlins’, on my way to the bank with a deposit. Back soon.”
“Bye, babe.” Della looked to Cassie with wide eyes. “Your big event is going great, huh?”
Cassie nodded, bouncing a little on the toes of her comfy sneakers. “So great,” she agreed quietly. “And our guests are not hurting one bit.” She tipped her head toward the group of lifters in their brief costumes posing with customers in front of huge posters of vintage superheroes and heroines.
Della elbowed her. “Right? Hunka hunka, those are some serious muscles. Even the women. Pshew, they make me look soft.”
“Yep, they’re very… defined,” Cassie said. “I prefer my guy.”
“Of course you do. The man is not hard to look at. Almost as fine as my Southern boy. Hey, Boo, wanna shop around with mama, while Cassie and Heavy eat their lunch? Boo and I ate already.”
Humming to herself, Cassie hustled off to grab Heavy and do that.
At the end of the day, she was tired out, but as she told Heavy, sitting back in her new ergonomic office chair, it was a good tired. He nodded from the comfy visitor’s chair in the corner of the office, also new.
“I know exactly what you mean. Best tired there is… well, other than post-sex with you.”
Since they were finally alone, she gave him a slow, flirtatious smile. “Well… I’m not all that tired.”
“Good to hear, pixie,” he said, rising, and walking around her desk to take her hands. “‘Cause I think it’s time we broke in your new desk.”
The desk wasn’t technically new, being a sturdy oak model with a computer pullout and plenty of storage which had been too good to get rid of, but she’d certainly scrubbed the hell out of it, and it now smelled of lemon oil and lavender sachet. It even had a plant on one corner, from RaeAnn.
“M-mm, so do I,” she agreed. “I need some new, sexy Heavy memories in here, instead of pothead Warren, snoring his head off.”
Her big man shrugged modestly. “I’ll try real hard to do better than that.”
Cassie hummed to herself as she hurried out of the grocery store, and across the lot toward her Camry. She’d parked on the kinda-sorta-scary end, where there were some deep, black shadows between the store and the gas station next door. Manda had been grabbed in those shadows by her creepy, drug-addicted ex-hole a couple of years ago, but then she’d been walking home in the wee hours, and Cassie was here at nine-thirty in the evening, and there were still other cars around.
Or at least, there had been when she went into the store. The lot had seemed half full, so she’d grabbed this spot on the end of the second row and jogged into the store. It was the week before her period, and she was craving some chocolate-cream-pie ice cream. She could just taste the rich, chocolatey ice cream with those bits of pie crust and frozen whip cream, yum. Now she had a quart of it in a shopping bag, ready to dive into when she got home.
She’d met Heavy for supper at their fave pizza place downtown, and then followed him back to the Heights, but at the last minute, she’d zipped in here. Oop, she’d forgotten to text him. He was gonna be mad. She stopped by her car, clicking the locks open, and pulled her phone out of her bag.
Which was when she heard a whisper of movement on the pavement close behind her.
She moved, fast and without conscious thought. Turn and kick back and up, hard as she could, and follow through with a fast punch, then another… but what the hell?
The person who’d snuck up behind her, and was now on the ground on her back, grunting in pain and giving her the dirtiest look in the history of dirty looks was Britt the bitch??
“Get. Her,” Britt gritted, and Cassie realized too late the bitch was not alone, and turned to run. But she slammed right into a hard, muscled torso, and strong arms closed around her.
“Easy,” he growled in her ear. “Hold on a sec, I’ll get you out of–shit! No, put the damn gun away! Put it away, you stupid bitch. What are you doing?”
The next few moments were a jumble of adrenaline-filled confusion. Of the man holding onto Cassie no matter how she struggled, of Britt giving harsh, somehow triumphant orders, of being shoved into the back seat of a car, something over her head so she could breath, but she couldn’t see, she couldn’t see–and then she was shoved down on the car sheet and the car took off, veering around corners with the tires screeching and gunning on a straight-away, more corners, until finally Cassie was slammed against the seat in front of her as the driver slammed on the brakes.
“Get her out,” Britt ordered breathlessly. “Bring her in here. Quick, no one’s around.”
Cassie was tossed over a hard shoulder–oh, God she was gonna puke… then sat on a chair, and the cover jerked off of her head.
She sat blinking and squinting in the dim evening light of… an old trailer. One that hadn’t been lived in for a while, except by squatters, by the looks and smell of that nasty mattress in the corner. The only furniture was the creaky kitchen chair on which Cassie sat.
“Tie her up,” Britt ordered, waving the pistol like she was some kind of old gangster film gun-moll.
“We don’t need to–” began a deep, patient voice behind Cassie. The same voice that had spoken in her ear.
“I said, tie her up, or I’ll just shoot her right now,” Britt hissed.
Cassie scooted back instinctively in the chair, because the other woman didn’t seem quite… right. She was power-tripping, as if she wanted to use the gun, and couldn’t wait for an excuse.
“Fine.” A large, warm and calloused hand grasped both of Cassie’s. “Hold still.”
In a few seconds, he’d fastened her wrists together with what felt like plastic zip ties. Damn, those things were strong, hard to break with bare hands. Unless of course, a person was a weight-lifter.
Oh, God, Heavy.
‘I need you,’ she thought desperately. ‘Please, please find my car and… and… ’ And what? How the hell would he know where she was? She didn’t even know where she was.
“Why did you grab me?” Cassie asked Britt. “I don’t have anything to do with anything. Why didn’t you just… leave town?”
“Shut up.” Britt strutted to Cassie and smacked her hard, across the face, with the hand that held the gun.
Cassie’ head went sideways with the impact, and pain shot through her head. It grew even worse, if possible, when she straightened, and sat up, staring in disbelief at the psycho bitch.
“What the hell was that for?" she demanded.
Britt smiled. “Because I felt like it. Because you ruined everything for me with Heavy, you stupid, chubby little biker babe. I had him right where I wanted him.”
Britt smacked Cassie again, on the same cheek. It hurt like a mo-fo, which was to say, even worse than the first time. She had to clench her teeth hard to keep from whimpering in pain, ‘cause she’d be damned if she’d cry in front of this evil bitch. But, holy hell, the side of her face was one fiery, throbbing ache, and she could feel her eye swelling shut.
Through her good eye, Cassie watched Britt draw back her hand again, and braced herself. Because if the next blow landed in the same place, that was gonna end her grown-up resolve and have her sobbing like a little girl.
But to her shock, the tattooed enforcer grabbed Britt's arm and held the woman back.
"Let go of me!" Britt hissed at him.
Instead, to Cassie’s shock, Tattoos shook the other woman, hard. So hard her long hair flopped into her eyes, and her mouth fell open.
"No more contact," Tattoos growled. "You're marking her up. They won't like that. So I don’t like it."
Cassie wondered who ‘they’ were. But she wasn't about to ask.
Britt nearly tripped over herself backing away from him. ‘Kay, so now they were both afraid of him.
“You–you took my gun,” Britt said. “I want it back.”
"Where's your boss?” Tattoos demanded, shoving the pistol in the back of his belt in reply. “Should ‘ve been here by now.
"I'll call him," Britt mumbled. She went to her fancy purse, and dug out a phone in a glittery pink case. Ugh, it was the same style as Cassie’s own. At least her’s was green.
Britt thumbed her phone, waited and then smirked. “He’s on his way. Wants to deal with her himself.”
Recovering some of her assurance, she gave Cassie a gloating look. "Guess now we'll find out how tough you really are, baby biker bitch."
Tattoos side-stepped to look out the nearest window. “How far away is he? We’re runnin’ out of time here.”
Cassie's stomach tightened even more, and she twisted her wrists, fighting the zip ties. Pain shot through her wrists, and something warm trickled down into her palm. Her heart pounded.
Oh God. How would Britt’s boss ‘deal with her’? Would he pull out a pistol and double-tap her like in the movies? Or would he do awful things to her first?
Bad idea. She really did not need to think about the creative ways in which a drug kingpin and his tattooed enforcer could find to deal with a female victim. Guys who sold drugs to high school kids likely wouldn’t hesitate to come up with those ways.
“Oh,” Britt said, disappointment clear in her voice.
“What?” Tattoos demanded, gaze still trained out the window.
“He’s not coming here,” the brunette said, thumbing her phone. “He wants to, uh, video chat instead.”
Tattoos jerked his head around, for some reason looking murderous at this news. “’Video chat’?” he clipped out, as if she’d suggested they all sit on pillows and do each other’s nails.
Cassie swallowed the sound that wanted to emerge from her throat, whether snicker or sob, she wasn’t sure. ‘Cause he had a point. A bad-ass drug boss wanted to video chat, like Cassie did with her grandma and grandpa Carson?
A ridiculous vision flashed through her mind, of a vicious looking guy with his hair slicked back, a big scar across his face, and gold teeth smiling at her from Britt’s phone, with animated emojis floating around him. ‘Hi, great to see you. Now my enforcer is gonna end you, and dispose of your body, *\ ^_^/*.’’
Britt’s phone chimed, and Cassie snapped painfully back to reality.
Britt’s whole demeanor changed. She tipped her head and gave an ingratiating smile to whoever was on the small screen. "We've got his girlfriend," she announced.
A male voice answered. Cassie, who was holding her breath, could not hear his words, but they resulted in Britt casting her a triumphant smirk, and then marching toward her, turning the phone so Cassie could see the screen. But of course, that wasn’t the point–it was so the man on the small screen could see her.
Cassie wanted to shrink back in the chair. Instead, she gritted her teeth and gazed stoically at him—as well as she could with one good eye, anyway.
He scanned her as impersonally as if she were an inanimate object he was considering purchasing.
And he didn’t look like her idea of a drug kingpin at all. He looked like a wealthy businessman headed for his afternoon golf game, in a collared knit shirt, his hair short and styled crisply, sunglasses hooked on his collar.
And if Cassie thought she had been frightened before… well now, she was flat terrified. If she hadn’t been so thirsty, and partly dehydrated, she may have peed her panties. As it was, she squeezed her thighs together extra tightly, just in case.
Because this man might be superficially handsome, but the flat look in his eyes said he'd shoot his own grandma, kick her body out of the way, and then go out and play a round of golf and buy everyone a drink to celebrate.
Also, he’d just shown her his face, and that was really, really bad. It meant he was not worried about her later describing and identifying him to anyone in law enforcement. Or to the Flyers, who were arguably more dangerous than any cop.
Well, damn it, she was Flyer nation too. She gritted her teeth and glared at him.
“Whatever you’re planning,” she told him. “You should think again. You kill me? The Devil’s Flyers will never stop coming after you–never. And they’ll make you pay, in ways you haven’t even thought about.” Okay, he probably had, and he’d probably done them too, but whatever.
“Shut your mouth,” Britt snapped.
Cassie shifted her glare. “What are you gonna do, bitch, hit me again? So tough when I’m tied up. Just wait till Heavy gets his hands on you.”
Ha, the skank didn’t like that. Her eyes flared in fear, and she flinched.
Tattoos stalked across the small room, moving behind Cassie. She braced herself, clenching her teeth and her thighs—as once again, she had the strong urge to pee her panties—and waited for another blow, or even the barrel of a pistol against her skull.
The big boss acted as if neither Cassie nor Britt had even spoken. His gaze lifted to Tattoos.
"Call him," he said. "Put her on. Get him there."
“And then?” Tattoos asked.
The other man lifted his brows. “Then take care of the problem, of course.”
The phone screen went blank, a spiraling symbol announcing the video chat session was ended.
The brunette lowered the phone, her gaze on Tattoos. She looked frightened and yet avid. “When he gets here, will you… you know, take them out?”
Tattoos moved closer to Cassie, so she felt his heat at her back. One of his hands grasped hers, and she felt a sharp tug at the bonds on her wrists.
What the… had he… she moved her hands just a little, experimentally. Omigod, omigod, he’d cut her loose. Well, okay, then. She was all in favor.
Except… why had he done it? Was it part of his plan, to lure her into doing something stupid, so he could shoot her and pretend it was all her own fault?
Or worse, was he gonna use her to lure his next victims in here? Like her dad, and Heavy? Oh, God, no, not that.
“What are you doing?” Britt demanded, watching Tattoos with sudden suspicion.
“Never mind.” Tattoos glided around Cassie, putting his back to her.
Eying him warily as he passed, Cassie stiffened. He now held a dull, black pistol in his hand.
Knives, guns, what other weapons did he have on him? She decided instantly she did not want to know, and instead concentrated on easing her aching arms forward, sucking in a sharp breath as pain shot through muscles strained by fighting at her bonds.
Her wrists throbbed. She looked down and stared in shock—her wrists were bloody, and red smeared her hands and dripped onto her skirt.
Oh, God. Suddenly lightheaded, she looked away, and up, straight into Britt’s livid face and hate-filled glare.
“You cut her loose?” Britt shrieked. “Don’t tell me you’re all hot for her little biker baby routine too!”
“Shut up and gimme your phone,” Tattoos growled in answer.
“What?” The brunette stiffened, clasping her shiny phone to her cleavage. “No! Who the hell do you think you are? You’re just the damn muscle.”
Two things happened at once.
Tattoos reached out a long arm and tore Britt’s phone from her grasp, just as something—or someone--smashed hard against the door of the room from the outside, making it shudder in its frame.
“Open the door!” a deep voice roared outside.
Cassie’s heart leaped in sheer relief and joy, and she rose part way from her chair, ready for anything. Heavy—Heavy was here!
Another thump shuddered against the door, and part of the frame cracked away.
“Go open it,” Tattoos ordered Britt, with a flick of the pistol in his hand toward the door.
Britt sidled uneasily away. “You do it, you have the gun.”
“Yeah, I do. And I’m not gonna tell you again, bitch. Open the door.”
“No!” Cassie cried, vaulting up from the chair. Her aching arms and bloody wrists forgotten, she threw herself at Tattoos, grasping his gun hand with both of hers and pushing it down.
“Heavy!” she shrieked. “Take cover—he has a gun!”
Tattoo’s eyes widened in his hard face, in a way that would have comical had the situation not been so dire. “Look out,” he roared, fighting her grip. “Jesus, no—!”
Cassie wrestled him furiously, a growl of fury emanating steadily from her throat.
“Cassie!” Heavy bellowed, and smashed into the door again.
It flew open with such force that it banged against the wall, and pieces of the splintered frame flew into the room, landing on the filthy carpet.
Heavy lunged inside, just as the gun went off with a sharp boom. The sound reverberated in the suffocating silence that followed it.
Heavy froze, gaze locked on Cassie. She stared back in horror, waiting for him to sag to the dirty floor, shot.
But he advanced, scanning her frantically, reaching out to grab her. “Are you shot, baby? Are you hit?”
His warm, calloused hands closed on her upper arms and she sagged into the shelter of his big body, dizzy with relief and overwhelming emotion. “I’m fine,” she managed. “I thought—I thought he shot you. Oh, Heavy.”
“You’re not shot? Then what the fuck happened to your face?” he demanded, his deep voice as harsh as his scowl.
“And why is she bleeding?” demanded another equally fierce, familiar voice, as Cooler followed Heavy into the room.
Tattoos pointed the gun toward the ceiling as he backed away stiffly, both hands in the air.
“Hold on, everyone, hold on. The face, that happened a bit ago. Little too much enthusiasm from my fake partner. As for the blood, your little lady has guts—too many for her own good. Instead of just sittin’ tight, and waitin’ for you fellas, she spent most of her time trying to get free of the zip-ties I put on her. I finally cut ‘em off before she opened a damn vein.”
“Somebody’s gonna pay for this bruise,” Heavy promised in a lethal voice, even as he swept her close against him, one hand cupping her head, his other arm around her waist, his voice a deep rumble under her cheek. “Jesus, pixie. Jesus.” His voice broke on the words, his chest heaving.
“Well, somebody’s shot,” Cooler said behind Heavy. “Lotta blood on the floor here.”
“Yeah, that’d be mine,” answered Tattoos, his voice tighter. “When your girl tried to grab my gun, it went off—hit me in the leg.”
“Good,” Cassie muttered.
Heavy swung around, holding Cassie protectively away from Tattoos. “Only question I have is, why’s he still have his gun?”
“Because,” said a new, deep, accented voice from the doorway. “He’s one of ours. A Flyer.”
“What the hell, Stick?” Heavy demanded. “He tied Cassie up and knocked her around. He’s no damn brother of mine.”
Tattoos grimaced, holding onto one jean-clad leg as he grasped the back of the chair Cassie had been bound to with the other. “Yeah, again, I’m sorry about zip-tyin’ her, altho I kept ‘em loose as I could. But I ain’t the one who hit her. Not my style—never hit a woman, ‘least not that I know of. Not gonna start now.”
“Whaddya mean, not that you know of?” Heavy demanded.
“Some other time, kid,” Tattoos said. “Long story.”
“Britt hit me,” Cassie told Heavy. “But he tied me up first.”
Heavy growled, deep in his chest. He was interrupted by a scuffle outside the open door of the trailer. Britt let out a string of curses. “Let me go! I had nothing to do with it, it was all him.”
Heavy swung around, Cassie with him. They both looked to Stick Vanko, filling the doorway. In his grasp hung Britt, his hand in her long hair, her head back at an awkward angle.
“Heavy!” she pleaded, a sickly smile on her face. “Tell them—I’m your friend, and–and more. You know me. You know I’d never do anything like this.”
“Bitch,” Heavy said coldly. “If Cassie says it, I believe it. And look around this room—who d’you think my brothers are gonna believe? You, or her?”
Britt gave a hunted look at all the big men glaring at her, and wilted. “H-he made me do it,” she wept.
“You’ll get a chance to tell your story,” Stick promised her, his deep voice cold in a way that didn’t bode well for the conditions under which she would do so. He pushed her back out of the door, where Snake and Bouncer waited.
Cooler came to Cassie, and cupped her chin with his hand, tipping up her face to examine her closely. “How you doin’, baby girl?”
Paradoxically, now that the danger seemed past, she wanted to collapse in tears. But she sniffled, and managed a smile. “I’m okay, daddy. J-just so glad to see you guys.” She leaned against Heavy gratefully, soaking in his heat and strength. His heart thudded against her ear.
“Not half as glad as we are to see you,” Heavy muttered into her hair, his hand cupping her head tenderly, the other stroking her back as if he was still reassuring himself she was alive.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going,” she said to him. “I was texting you wh-when they grabbed me.”
“I know, baby,” he said. “But it’s not your fault that psycho bitch went after you to get to me.”
“H-how did you know where to find me?”
“Got a text from a friend,” her dad cut in. “One who knew how important you are, baby girl."
Her attempt at a smile was not great, judging by the look on her dad’s face, but he still gave her a wink. “That’s it. Heavy’ll take you to the clubhouse, get those wrists seen to, and an ice-pack for your face, yeah? I best look after our brother here. Can’t be reporting a gunshot wound without bringing the cops in.”
“He really is a Flyer?”
“Later.” Cooler looked to Heavy. “You got her?”
“Hell, yeah,” Heavy vowed. “You know I do.”
He then shocked the daylights out of Cassie by bending to one side, slipping an arm behind her knees and sweeping her up high against his chest.
She gasped and grabbed the lapel of his cut. “What are you doing?”
His jaw set like iron as he carried her carefully out of the trailer and down the rickety steps. “Doing what I plan to do from here on out—taking better care of you.”
“But, you do take good care of me.”
“Not good enough. They should never have been able to get near you.”
But it was just as much her fault, and It was too much right now.
Her lower lip quivered, and he stopped beside his pickup truck, peering into her face. “You okay, baby? Your dad’s made sure we got the supplies to get you fixed up at the club house, but if you want, if you’re hurting bad, I’ll take you straight to the ER, yeah?”
“No,” she said woefully, “But, my face hurts. And my wrists hurt. And I didn’t get to punch Britt back before Stick took her away.”
Heavy’s lip quirked tenderly. “I know, pixie. Let’s go get you some ice and painkillers, get you cleaned up, and maybe you can punch Britt later.”
“Okay.”
He set her carefully in the passenger seat of his truck, pressed a soft kiss on her uninjured cheek, and fastened her seatbelt for her. If her other cheek and wrists hadn’t been throbbing so much, Cassie would have reveled in his pampering.
She leaned her head back against the leather seat and closed her eyes. She needed to get him to carry her again sometime, when she could enjoy it.
As Heavy bore his daughter away to safety, Cooler got busy in the room where Cassie had been held. He’d brought his EMS bag with him, figuring he was going to end up patching someone up, even if only from a no-holds-barred fist-fight.
But, working in downtown Spokane, he saw his share of gunshot wounds, and knew how to triage the worst, and stitch up the lesser ones.
“Well, Preacher,” he said to Tattoos, who had subsided into the lone chair, face now pale under his weathered tan. “Best get this wound treated before we do anything else. And in case you thought the tale of how you shot yourself in your own damn leg was gonna remain our little secret… don’t count on that. It’s wa-ay too good not to share.”
“Wouldn’t… dream of it,” the other man replied, returning Cooler’s smirk with a wry look that turned into a wince. “Ow. And watch it with those scissors—these are my favorite jeans.”
“Not anymore, they’re not,” Cooler told him. “Gonna have to cut ‘em open. If I don’t get this bleedin’ stopped pronto, you may need a transfusion. And I’m a damn good EMT, but I don’t carry a supply of blood around with me, even if I did know your blood type.”
“O+, most common type there is. Ow, fuck.”
“Still don’t have any on me. Aw, sit still. You’d think you were a green prospect, never been in a fight before.”
“Not with your daughter,” his patient muttered.
Cooler cackled as he swiped blood from the hole in the outside of Preacher’s thigh, and peered at it with a small but powerful light. “She’s feisty, ain’t she? Takes after me.”
“I’ll pray for that big bruiser who carried her out of here, then,” Preacher said through clenched teeth. “He don’t know it, but he’s holdin’ a stick of dynamite. Now please tell me that bullet went on through.”
“Yup, and missed the bone. You are one lucky asshole—or smart to carry such small caliber bullets, not sure which. I’m gonna clean this up, bandage it, and we’ll get you started on some antibiotics.”
“Some painkillers would also be appreciated.”
“We-ell,” Cooler drawled, searching through his bag for the supplies he wanted next. “I do believe those can wait till you explain how the fuckin’ hell you managed to get my precious baby girl mixed up in whatever shady-as-shit deal you got goin’ on. And it better be good, or I may just lose those painkillers altogether.”
He went back to work, hands fast and sure, his gaze on what he was doing.
“Again, brother, I’m sorry about that,” Preacher said quietly. “I get why you’re pissed. Truth is, I’ve been working for a while to get close to Britt’s bosses, easing my way up the chain of command. Headed for whoever calls the shots.”
Cooler gave him a veiled look. “You’re after the head honcho of a damn supplement company?”
Preacher gritted his teeth as Cooler pressed a bandage tight. “I think we both know they’re using the supplements to peddle their real product - so called hero.”
“Well, hell. Stick’s gonna be real interested to compare intel with you.” Cooler raised a brow in challenge. “I assume you’re gonna share all that you got with us.”
“Of course.”
“And Cassie? You still haven’t explained why you grabbed her.”
Preacher sighed. “Britt again. Under the fancy clothes and makeup, that bitch is vicious as a cornered pit bull. She got herself into a dirty business, is just now realizing how dirty, and that her suave, smooth-talkin’ boss, who made her all kindsa promises of big money and the easy life, is a straight- up sociopath usin’ her as just another drug mule. She didn’t run when she had the chance. Now she sees the big dogs closin’ in both sides, doesn’t have the smarts to talk her way out, so she grabs a hostage to try and up her play, thinkin’ she’ll neutralize one set of big dogs and placate the other. Also, heard her tell Cassie she wanted to get back at Heavy by grabbing his new woman.”
Cooler sighed, then reached into his bag, pulled out a vial and flipped it to Preacher. “Well, hell. Since you kept her from using the gun on my baby girl, have some painkillers then. Only two every four hours, though. Mo-fo’s are strong.”
He watched Preacher shake two of the pills into his mouth and swallow them dry, grimacing as he did so. “I still don’t get how she got Cassie, though. I’ve seen to it my girl’s learned self-defense since she was knee-high to a bullfrog.”
Preacher barked a laugh, then winced. “Yeah, why d’you think Britt was so pissed off? Your daughter got in a righteous kick, hit her right in the snatch, then punched her in the tits. One of the funniest things I’ve seen in a while. Cassie would’ve been fine, if Britt hadn’t pulled that fuckin’ pistol out of her purse while she was on the ground. Once she had that out, and was mad enough to shoot either of us said ‘boo’, I had no choice but to let her take your daughter. Figured I’d bide my time, take the gun off her the minute she dropped her guard, and let Cassie go. Trouble was, i didn’t get it till after I’d driven us here to the rendezvous point, and she’d smacked Cassie a couple of good ones. Second time, she finally let down her guard, and I grabbed it.”
Cooler growled under his breath. “Wouldn’t mind a go at that bitch myself. Gonna take some time for my baby girl’s face to heal–and even longer before she can get outta her car in that fuckin’ grocery store parking lot without breakin’ a cold sweat.”
Preacher nodded sombrely. “Could use some more light in that area, for certain.”
“Yeah, there’s supposed to be more, ‘cause one of our other ladies was grabbed there a couple years ago. This time, it will by God happen, ‘cause we will put the fear of God Almighty into the city council of this podunk burg, or my name ain’t Mac Carson.” He slammed the last of his supplies back in his case, and closed it, his face grim.
“That’s a good man your daughter’s got,” Preacher said. “How long they been together?”
Cooler snorted. “‘Bout fifteen minutes. But that’s a story for another evening, when we’ve got time and some drinks in front of us. You got a place to stay, anyone travelin’ with you?”
“I’ll be fine,” Preacher told him. “Got a motel room, and don’t need a traveling companion.”
“You’re gonna need that wound seen to, if you want to keep walking on two legs. So stop fuckin’ around tellin’ me how tough you are, and either move into the clubhouse or gimme your phone so I can keep track of you, change your bandages for you and shit.”
Preacher raised his brows and handed over his phone. “Can’t refuse a kind offer like that.”
“No, you can’t. An’ I assume these people don’t know you’re one of us, since you’re not staying at the clubhouse.”
“You would be correct.”
Cooler handed him back his phone, and nodded. “All right. Gimme a call if you have any signs of infection or fever. Other’n that, I’ll see you in a couple of days. Keep it dry.”
“I will. Now, you got any more of that tape? Kinda feel stupid walkin’ around with half my pants flappin’ in the breeze.”
“Oh, ain’t you heard? The tattered look is all the rage. All the kids are wearin’ it. Just do the other leg to match.”
He grabbed his bag and walked out, whistling under his breath.
“Jackass,” Preacher muttered to himself, not without appreciation. Then he pulled his knife out and got to work making cutoffs out of his favorite jeans, before he headed back to his motel.
At least he wouldn’t be bored while he healed up. He had Britt’s phone, with all her contacts. And since none of them knew her link in the chain was compromised, they all thought they were safe.
They’d never see him coming.
Britt Eglund sat, hands bound to the chair behind her, in a small room somewhere in Airway Heights. There were no windows, no way to tell where she was, what time of day or night, or if anyone else was around. The room stank of urine, body odor and… ugh, was that vomit?
Also, she was certain the dark stains on the cement floor were dried blood. Layers of it, that no one had bothered to wash away. As if she were far from the first victim to be dragged in here and left, until such time as her captors should find it convenient to return and deal with her.
She was shivering in her thin dress, had been since she awakened from her last doze. And she was so very, very thirsty. God, she'd do anything for a drink of water… just water. The thirst was worse than the pain now.
Her throat hurt from yelling for help, the first hours she'd been in here. Her arms ached with a steady, cold pain from struggling against her bonds, and since her struggles had only tightened them, her hands were now completely numb from the wrists down, hanging like chunks of meat that no longer belonged to her body.
No one had come when she yelled, or when she screamed, and pleaded for help. Because they couldn't hear, or because they wanted her to suffer? Were they going to let her die in here?
Would that be Marcus' revenge for grabbing his little biker chick? Huh, she wouldn't have thought he had it in him. Thought he was just a big softie at heart, under all those muscles.
It seemed she'd mistaken patience for weakness.
She was about to doze off again when the door rattled, and opened, and Jason—stupid, feckless Jason staggered into the room.
His eyes widened in horror when he saw her. "Oh, no," he bleated. "Oh, shit."
The tall, dark, film-star handsome biker behind him, wearing a leather vest from Marcus' motorcycle gang, smiled at Britt. "Brought you some company. I believe you two know each other."
Jason turned and flung himself at the biker, blubbering like a little kid. "Rocker, I told you everything, I swear. And I'll—I'll do anything, Rocker. Just—just please don't hurt me."
"Oh, I wouldn't think of it," the biker said, fending Jason off with an outstretched hand. "You've already been so helpful, Jason. And turns out we don't need to detain Britt anymore either."
For one second of agonizing hope, she nearly bought it. And then she saw the savagery in his smile, and the other men behind him, filing into the room and standing in a bulwark of strength and retribution between her, and Jason, and freedom.
"Yeah," Rocker went on, "We got Britt's contact list now—all the other folks she was using to push her product, and a great description of her boss from witnesses. I'd say we're about ready to take down the entire Fitness Lab network."
Marcus entered the room, his face as cold and implacable as all the others, and slammed the door behind him. Britt shivered harder, and Jason blubbered, huddled on the floor.
"And as a token of our thanks to you," Rocker said, still jovial, "We'd like you two to each enjoy some nice fruit chews. Hero, it's called, and I hear all the kids like it. Jason, Heavy has your share. Britt, my brother Cooler will help you with yours. Eat up—there's plenty, and since you've both shared it so generously, wouldn't want you to miss out on the full effect."
On a Thursday afternoon in early September, Cassie received a fascinating post on Instagram #tricitiescommunitycollege #assistprofDhancock #HancockAllegedVictimsSpeak
She clicked on the post, her eyes wide. According to an article in the TCC online student newspaper, Assistant Business & Entrepreneurship Professor Daniel Hancock had been suspended from his post, pending investigation into a list of claims filed by Tri-Cities attorney Maria Ramos, including coercing female students into sex for grades, attempting to coerce recent female graduates into sex for job recommendations, and more.
Cassie read the post, and sat for a while, thinking about how lucky she was to have escaped Daniel Hancock’s grasp so lightly. She could have been one of the seventeen young women pressing charges against him now, and feeling used and hollowed out by his sexual predations. But… was it luck, or was it having a dad who, even if he hadn't been able to be there full-time, had let her know as she came of age that she had worth as a person, not just a body to be bartered for affection and attention?
On impulse, she called RaeAnn. “Remember that assistant prof I told you about, who kept promising me interview recs? You won’t believe what he’s done.”
It turned out that RaeAnn would believe. “Honey,” she said. “After you mentioned him to me, I just kept thinking… what about other girls? I talked to Rissa, and she talked to Streak. His friend is quite the feminist attorney in the Tri-Cities. She placed an ad in the student online forums, asking students to contact her confidentially who had been made to feel they must bargain sexually for grades, interviews or otherwise. ”
“Oh, my God… “ Cassie breathed. “Rae, you did this. You rock.”
RaeAnn laughed gently. “Cassie, honey. Our Flyer family network rocks, but more importantly, reporting men like him rocks.”
“Yeah,” Cassie said in satisfaction. “That jackass won’t be harassing any more girls in business school. He can go try his luck in minimum security prison, instead.”
“Right,” Rae said. “And you did just fine without him, anyway.”
“I did, didn’t I? And firing him will make room for a new assistant prof, one who really wants to help students.”
“So win, win.”
“Although," Cassie said. "I feel so, so stupid not to realize that he was trying to groom me, essentially, for sex. Gah! I wanna drive down there and kick him in the gonads!"
"Well, I'm sure someone will, sooner or later. And don't feel stupid, this guy was slick."
They talked for a few more minutes, and Cassie said goodbye, feeling educated on the power of not only Flyer family connections, but of women speaking up and standing together.
Very cool.
One Sunday evening in mid-September, as the sun laid a last strip of gold across the entryway carpet, and glinted off the Heavy Iron emblem on the gym doors, Heavy stood before the computer on the reception desk, checking a few numbers before closing it down.
The Inland Northwest was enjoying a stretch of what had long been known in the north as Indian Summer, that time at the end of true, hot summer and before the chill of autumn, when the weather seemed to hold its breath for every creature to revel in sunny days and perfect temperatures.
Cassie perched on a tall stool at his side, waiting for him to finish. She was admiring the play of muscle in his forearms as he tapped keys, and enjoying an inner shiver of anticipation as she imagined them braced beside her while he bent her over his desk in the office behind them.
She looked up and made a noise of amused disgust as two young guys sauntered up to the front doors. They were near copies of the gone-but-not-forgotten Jason, with styled hair and trendy jeans and tees.
“Ugh, here come Dude and Duder,” she said.
“’Dude and Duder’?” Heavy repeated under his breath as the front door opened. “Where do you come up with this shit?’
The two guys walked in, straight to the desk, their eyes lighting up when they saw Heavy.
“Dude,” the shorter one breathed.
Cassie nudged Heavy in the ribs, which he took with only a crooked grin because she’d been right.
“Sorry, guys,” he said. “Sundays we close early.”
They continued to gaze at him as if he was an exhibit in a museum.
“Dude, seriously, how’d you get so swole?”
Heavy sighed quietly. “Hard work and genetics.”
The kid’s brow knit. “So, is that like the shit Jason’s selling?”
Heavy’s brows drew together. “Fuck, no. I said genetics.”
“Right. So where do we, uh, get some of it?”
“He means heredity,” Cassie put in, a calming hand on Heavy’s arm, before he exploded around, or over, the desk and threw both guys right through the glass doors of his gym. His muscles were hard as iron under her grasp.
Shorty gave her an uncomprehending look. “But he just said it’s gen-genetics.”
The taller kid elbowed him. “Dude. Drugs have, like, brand names and then there’s the cheaper ones, different name but same shit, everyone knows that.”
“Oh-hh.” The short kid breathed. “So, where do we get it—the cheaper shit?”
Cassie could not resist. “Try Ancestry.com.”
Heavy dropped his head forward as if it was suddenly too heavy for his massive neck, and his arm quivered in her grasp.
Both guys’ eyes widened. “You mean, we can just buy this shit online? For real?”
Heavy opened his mouth again, and Cassie kicked him in the ankle. “You bet." She ignored Heavy's side-eye, to grab one of the sticky notes he kept near the computer. “Here, let me write that website addy down for you.”
“’kay. Thanks a lot.” With a last admiring look at Heavy, the two turned to go.
The door whooshed shut behind them, and Cassie sank back her stool, giggling so hard she nearly fell off.
Heavy came back from locking the front doors behind his visitors, shaking his head. “Jaysus, those two are two stupid to be walking around on their own.”
“I w-wish I c-could be there when they open up A-Ancestry.com on their phone,” Cassie managed. “To s-see their faces. Poor li’l d-dudes, so disappointed.”
“Nah, the short one’ll prob'ly buy a DNA test kit and then wait for his ‘good shit’ to show up,” he said. “So he can get ‘swole’.”
Their gazes met, and they both laughed together.
Then he swept her off the stool and up against him, her arms and legs clinging to him as he walked her back into his office and kicked the door shut.
“And now,” he told her, eyes narrowed on her flushed, happy face. “You’ve been a very naughty girl, lying to people in my business. You know what happens to naughty girls in this office.”
“Uh-huh,” she breathed, her pupils dilating.
He nodded, letting her slide down his body, till her feet were on the floor, steadying her carefully ‘cause he knew sexy play made her legs wobbly. “You wear your thong like you know I like?”
“Yes, Heavy.”
“All right. Bend over my desk and show me.”
She did, flipping up her short skirt and spreading her legs the way he liked, so he could see her, and touch her everywhere he wanted.
“That’s my good girl,” he praised her, his voice deep and rough, his big, calloused hands, so much heat and power, cupping her bare cheeks and squeezing as he admired her from above and behind. “Little blue string, and pink pussy, already wet for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, squeezing her inner muscles as she waited, anticipating what was next. “I’m always wet for you, Marcus. Now hurry up and spank me, and then fuck me.”
His hands stilled their caresses. “You givin’ me orders now, pixie?”
Her eyes widened. “No. I meant, please f--”
“Oh, I think you were. And I think—“ Smack! Smack! His hard palm came down on both her ass cheeks in swift succession, leaving a sting in its wake and then heat, so much heat. “I think that gets you extra spanks.”
Two more hard smacks, and then he leaned over her, cradling her with his body, surrounding her with his scent and heat and power and whispering in her ear. “Now be my good pixie and play with yourself while I watch. ‘Cause it’s been a real long day, and I’m gonna go off like a rocket once I get in your sweet, tight, little pussy. I want you ready.”
Because he now had her in the same condition, she obeyed. And as always, the combination of working her clit, of knowing he was watching, and the sweet suspense of not knowing when or where he would spank her again, had her crying out his name and pleading for more. He gave that to her, and she came so hard she saw stars.
“Fuck, yeah,” he approved. “Now take my cock, pixie. Take it all, and give me you.”
“Yes, Marcus, please,” she moaned. She braced her forearms on the desk and whimpered with joy as he filled her, and then drove into her in hard thrusts, his body slapping against her stinging cheeks each time.
Perfect.
She came again as he filled her, even harder than the first time. “Oh, my God, oh, Marcus, I love you.”
He followed her, shouting out wordlessly, and slowly relaxed over her, sweating and panting, his breath like a bellows in her ear.
His arms tightened in, giving her a loving squeeze, and he pressed soft, nuzzling kisses to the damp curve of her neck.
“How did I not know, the first time I saw you,” he muttered against her skin. “That you were the perfect woman for me, sweet as honey and hot as a chili pepper?”
She giggled when his breath tickled her neck. “I don’t know. But at least you finally figured it out.”
“Did you mean what you said? That you… love me?”
She nodded, turning her head enough to see his face. “Yes. I’ve loved you for so long.”
He sighed, kissing her. “Took me a little longer to see what was right in front of me. I love you too, pixie.”
“Oh, Marcus.” Her heart was gonna swell right out of her chest, she was so happy.
He straightened, and pulled carefully out of her, tugging up his gym pants. Then he helped her up and held her close, looking down into her face.
His face was flushed, damp with sweat, and he looked sleepy, the way he always did after good sex. But the open sweetness in his beautiful hazel eyes was everything.
“Know something else? I have you now, Cassie Carson. And I’m gonna hold onto you—for good.”
“Promise?” she whispered.
“Promise.” He leaned down to kiss her lips again, lingering there.
Sounded like the sweetest life possible to her… sweet as honey.
The End