Chapter Four
The Good, The Bad, and The Damned
“What took you so long?” Ape asked, waiting by a table near the jukebox. Massive arms folded across his chest, he glowered at her. At some point, he’d changed out of his stolen suit and now wore a sleeveless vest, with no shirt beneath, and blue jeans.
“Don’t start with me,” she shouldered him aside so she could glare down at Raphael. The smoke break had bought her some time, but she was still running low on patience—had been ever since getting Papa’s message. If she didn’t check in soon, he’d send someone to find her, which was a confrontation she wanted to avoid at all costs.
Her former enforcer was killed a few weeks back, and she’d held out high hopes for the newbie. Former military, he’d fallen on hard times after being denied his VA benefits. Joining the Legion fulfilled his desire for violence and camaraderie and got him the prescriptions he needed. Illegally, of course, but tomayto, tomahto. Each of the Legion got the chance to bring in a recruit. Raph had been Dusty’s pick, so his failure rankled in more ways than one. When she first met him, he seemed like the type who could get shit done, which may have been because the man was a certified sociopath. Whatever, she’d been willing to overlook his condescending attitude if it meant results. The problem was, she’d yet to see any.
Raphael was kneeling on the floor of The Hellhole in a Victoria’s Secret G-string and a pair of Ralph Lauren polo sneakers. At the sight of him, anger clawed through the high she’d cultivated back in the alleyway. Ape hated when she smoked, so she bit back a cough as she pulled up a seat.
Diesel stood next to Raphael, a hand on his shoulder and his face a mask of pride. Kiss ass. He was always buttering her up in hopes of taking over Ape’s spot as her second. She was sure he thought finding Raphael, before the cops could scoop him up, had earned him some brownie points, which might have been true if Raphael had come with good news.
Dusty sat, resting her forearms on her knees, and grabbed the remote Ape passed over to her. The news was on, and she turned up the volume. Together, the three of them listened to the reporter expound on the clusterfuck that had taken place that morning.
“Three people are dead, and the governor has called for a statewide manhunt. Several suspects have been identified as members of the Lost Legion, a biker gang that has been operating out of Los Angeles for the last several years.”
“I can explain,” Raph began.
“Shut the fuck up,” Dusty said mildly, her gaze glued to the screen. “This is my favorite part.”
“Founding member and former head of the Legion, Theodore Morehouse, has been on death row for the last fifteen years. Morehouse was found guilty of the murder of over twelve people—including his own daughter—back in 2008. Police are concerned that today’s events may have been orchestrated by none other than Morehouse himself from behind bars. If true, Governor Wilks is considering moving his execution date to early fall.”
The reporter disappeared, replaced by a clip of Governor Ronald Wilks at the press conference that had been held less than an hour ago. “We are doing everything in our power to ensure the safety of the residents of Briarcliff. Morehouse terrorized the nation fifteen years ago, and I won’t allow him or others like him to treat our justice system like a joke. I’m personally overseeing a task force to determine the extent of his involvement and whether he has had a hand in other crimes. If he’s found guilty, the state of California can no longer tolerate the threat he represents.”
Dusty turned off the television. The bartender, David, met her eyes over Raph’s shoulder and paled at whatever her expression was. David ushered Nico and the rest of the staff out the door, and soon, the bar was empty but for members of the Legion. Most of the civilians were smart enough to jump ship as soon as her engine sounded out front. She was relieved. It made what came next easier.
“Give me your hand.”
Raphael cursed. “Dusty,” he said, “listen to me. This wasn’t my fault.”
Bemused, she turned her head first left and then right. “But, Cher, you’re the only one here.” Hooking her finger in the strap of his pretty little underwear, she pulled him closer. “And I gotta punish someone, Raph. I can’t have you boys going around thinking it’s alright to fuck up this bad. What kind of leader would I be?”
They were nearly cheek to cheek. She could smell the fear on him. The sour stink of sweat. Turning her head, she whispered against the shell of his ear, “Of course, all that changes if you brought me what I asked for.”
Raphael met her eyes, “I got the bot,” he hissed.
“Where is it?”
“I hid it,” when she drew back, sucking her teeth in disapproval, Raph hurried to explain himself. “I needed the insurance Dusty, you know that. You would have done the same.”
He was right. She would have. But it rankled that he was playing games with her when she’d been after the flash drive for months now.
“He doesn’t have it,”
Dusty’s head snapped up, and she almost reached for the gun in the holster at the small of her back. She stopped herself just in time. It was the guy from the alleyway and, as she studied him, her second impression mirrored her first. He was too pretty to be there.
Too…golden?
He had dirty blond hair, and the curls falling across his forehead shone even in the dim light. Amber brown eyes. Spiked lashes and strong brows. A sharp jaw. Broad shoulders. Her gaze flickered across him, noting each feature as if she were checking off items on a list. Decent amount of muscle for someone so mild-mannered. He was big. Almost as big as Ape and Ox, but he held himself like a man unsure of his place in the world or his welcome even if he found it. His clothes didn’t fit quite right, for one thing. For another, he was barefoot now. He must have ditched the heels before coming inside, which meant he wasn’t a complete dumbass. She had to admit that despite her doubts, he’d been right about the tattoos. The ‘ink’ looked good on him, though she found she liked the untouched canvas of his skin just as much. Her gaze caught and lingered on where her lipstick marred the strong column of his throat, and the surge of possessiveness that followed left her shaken. The urge to be the first to mark him, to leave him with a permanent story to tell, a scar that would never fade, made her ache. Made her hungry.
The fuck is wrong with me?
Dusty straightened, her hand fisted in Raph’s hair to keep him in line. A not-so-gentle reminder she wasn’t through with him just yet. “Care to explain?” she asked the stranger. His gaze darted from one of them to the other, as the thoughts raced across his face.
“What you’re looking for,” he continued, testing the waters. He seemed to sense, somehow, that this wasn’t a topic she wanted to discuss with the room at large, and her assessment of him went up a bit. “He doesn’t have it.” The stranger had the air of a man taking a chance, and she found herself fascinated by the anxious little look on his dumb face. Dusty glanced down at Raph from the corner of her eye, but he refused to look at her.
“Are you going to believe an outside over me?” The mercenary demanded, spittle flying.
Dusty nodded. “Fair point,” she said. “What’s your name Pretty Boy,” she asked, turning to him.
“Edward,” he squeaked.
“See, Raph,” she teased. “Edward and I are best buds now.” Her fingers tightened, and Raphael’s breathing hitched. “I bet he knows better than to lie to me,” she said, her voice darkening. “Do you?”
Raphael finally met her eyes, his own pools of helpless resentment. “You fucking bitch,” he hissed, defeated.
Dusty hummed. “That’s what I thought.” Letting him go, she got to her feet. Ape stepped in, and he and Diesel dragged Raphael over to the next empty table. He struggled with all his strength, but Ape was built like a goddamn silverback gorilla. No one was getting away from him unless he let them go. Diesel, eager to prove he was no lightweight, took it upon himself to shove Raphael’s head down on the tabletop, knocking over several glasses in the process.
Dusty pulled her knife and stalked toward the three of them as the other members of the Legion let loose an unearthly howl. She was going to cut off a finger or two, but it was a bitch sawing through bone. Plus, she didn’t want to chip her knife. Feeling magnanimous, she picked something a little less conspicuous. Grabbing Raphael’s earlobe, she lifted as much of it as she could and pressed the cold steel of her butterfly knife where the soft flesh met his skull.
“Scream,” she told him, though he probably couldn’t hear her past the curses flying out of his mouth. “It helps.”
Lucky for Raphael, Dusty kept her tools sharp. A flash of silver, and then blood was coating her hands. She held Raph’s left ear up for the rest of the Legion to see as Ape and Diesel let the man collapse onto the dirty floor. The bikers cheered, beating tables and stomping their feet. She let the visceral sound of their bloodlust wash over her, body flushing hot. She hated making a mess, but damn did she love getting messy.
Dusty turned, excitement dying as she caught sight of Edward again. He was staring, not at Raphael but at Dusty, and he was…sad? It brought her up short. She would have expected many things. Disgust. Disapproval. Even horror. Where the hell had sadness come from?
“Get him out of here,” she breathed, shying away from Raph’s writhing form.
“You serious?” Ape asked.
Dusty had never seen the big guy look so surprised. It would have been funny if she weren’t holding a human ear. She tossed the appendage over to Diesel and snapped her fingers until someone hurried over and handed her a wet rag from the bar.
“Have a bit of decorum, Ape,” she said. From across the room, Edward choked as if she’d said something funny, but she ignored him. “There’s a virgin in the house and the last thing we want to do is scare him off. After all,” she met Raphael’s gaze and her lips tightened in annoyance, “we’re still a member down.”
Ape nodded and, together, he and Diesel drug Raphael to the storage room in the back. “Wait,” she called. The two men paused, and she motioned at Raphael’s shoes. “They don’t match the outfit anyway.”
Diesel yanked the shoes off, and Raph was taken away, cursing her name the entire way. Good. He’d need the energy for when she got her hands on him again. Assuming he was still around by then. If he were smart, he’d run while he still could. Taking a seat, she wiped the blood from her hands and motioned Edward closer. “Change your mind about joining?” she asked, half joking.
Ape sent her a look as he came back and took a seat by her side.
“You’re Dusty?” He asked, horrified. Dusty couldn’t decide whether she was offended or pleased. She settled on tickled.
“Last I checked,” she said. Sitting up straight, she extended her arms and posed like she used to see the little beauty queens do back home in Louisianna. “You like what you see?”
“Great!” he said stiffly, sidestepping her question. “That’s…that’s great. I’ve heard—”
God, he was precious. She had to fight the desire to mess with him. His eyes darted down; her hands were still covered in Raphael’s blood. Shit.
She scrubbed at her hands until the cloth was too filthy to use, and even then, her palms and fingernails were still stained red. She flexed her hand, burying a spark of embarrassment.
Wait, what the hell do I have to be ashamed of?
This was her life. He was the one intruding on it. She wouldn’t censor herself just to make him comfortable. If anything, knowing what he was getting into was the fastest and easiest way to send him packing. Dusty had a hard enough time ensuring the Legion was taken seriously. Biker gangs were notoriously run by older men. Older white men. Yet here she was, a young black woman. It was three strikes against her and anyone who chose to follow under her command. Despite this, every few weeks, she got random losers trying to join up. Sure, they could get into the Legion even when they wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else. But Dusty was picky. Most of the members who made up the Legion had been there since her father’s heyday. The rest she had handpicked over the years. This one didn’t look like a racist or an incel, confident he deserved to lead more than she did, but nor did he seem useful. Or bright.
Though she was proof looks could be deceiving.
Still, she owed him for his help with Raphael. She’d hear him out, see what he knew about the flash drive, and then kick his ass out of there before he chipped a nail or something. Speaking of…why was he still standing there barefoot?
Dummy, she thought.
“Put the shoes on,” she ordered.
Edward blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The shoes, Pretty Boy.” She waved toward the abandoned Ralph Laurens. “Put them on before you get hepatitis or gangrene or something.”
“I don’t think—”
Dusty growled in growing annoyance.
“Yes, ma’am,” he capitulated.
Ape, Otter, Diesel, and a few others began showing signs of boredom as he took his time, affixing the laces just so. They were not a group known for their patience, after all. Still, she glared them all into silence, and when Edward stood, he seemed braver.
“So,” she asked. “What the fuck do you want?”
It wasn’t what she was curious about, but there were too many listening in to bring the topic up just yet. She’d get a feel for him first, find out what made him tick, and go from there. It would make torturing the information out of him later much easier. Dusty would see where the night took them. Small talk was Plan A.
Torture was Plan B.
“I wanted to talk to you about your crew.” Edward hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and sort of slouched where he stood. The motion made the muscles in his arms bulge, and he winked at the waitress as she sidled past with a tray of beers.
Jeanine should have left with the others, but she was married to Otter and worked for the Legion when they were in town. There was little she hadn’t seen before, but even she seemed taken aback by the display.
Dusty cocked her head to one side, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing. She should put a stop to this, but it had been a shit morning so far, and she could use a little entertainment while the cops were busy chasing their own tales. The ‘strays’ knew better than to talk, so it was just a matter of waiting a day or two until the heat died down.
If Papa Tate’s in town, it might be time to go scorched earth regardless of what the BPD has on us. Speaking of…
“My crew,” she repeated, rolling the words around in her mouth and finding the taste of them strange. Dusty pocketed her butterfly knife, tossed the rag in favor of a beer, and nodded. “Right.” Squinting at him over the edge of her glass, she asked, “You a cop?”
The question was a lit match. Instant brushfire. The men at her table surged to their feet. Those who had been shrouded in shadows up until then made themselves known.
Edward’s throat worked convulsively as bikers closed in on all sides, hemming him in. Dusty pictured the group as a newcomer might. They were an odd mix of races, ages, and genders, and every one of them presented a threat.
“Of course he’s a cop, look at him. Twitchy little shit.”
“Fuck him up, Dusty.”
“You got a lot of nerve, stepping foot in here.”
Edward turned back to Dusty, amber eyes accusing and body tense.
Dusty muffled her laugh with her drink. Not a complete idiot, then. A shame. The pretty ones were only fun so long as they were dumb.
“I’m not a cop.”
Dusty was proud of him for managing to sound so calm. He swallowed hard, and his fingers began a nervous promenade. “Then what are you?” she asked, fascinated by the display.
Edward hesitated. Shrugged. “Edward,” he said. “Just Edward.”
“Alright then, Just Edward,” Dusty said, softening despite herself. Maybe there wouldn’t be a need for Plan B after all. “Pull up a seat.” She waved off the others, and the crowd dispersed as fast as it had formed; satiated. The conversation picked up at a couple of tables, and the rumble of pool balls filled the bar again. Someone Fonzied the jukebox into working, and Stevie Nicks crooned a soft ballad that erased the last vestiges of violence from the air.
Edward did as he was told, pulling a chair from another table so he could perch on the edge of it. When it was just her, Edward, Ape, and Diesel, Dusty dropped the act. “What do you want?”
Edward held up his hands in a show of surrender. “I don’t know what you—”
“Cut the crap,” she interrupted. Leaning in close so the others wouldn’t overhear, she continued, “Where’s the bot? What were you doing in the bank? You working for somebody?” Edward’s picture was all over the news. He was wanted for questioning, though the media hadn’t identified him just yet. The fact that they thought he was one of hers was a complication she didn’t need.
Edward flinched, glancing down at his hands in his lap. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Dusty glanced at Ape, and he nodded in silent agreement. She had been teasing about the cop thing, but it looking more and more plausible. She asked, “Then why are you here now?”
“Because,”—Edward took a deep breath—“I think we can help each other.” He reached into his pocket and Dusty tensed, half expecting him to pull a weapon. Instead, he slid a small, rectangular disk across the table to her. Her heart leaped, and Ape cursed beneath his breath.
“Where did you get this?” Ape asked, his expression stormy.
Edward’s eyes didn’t stray from Dusty. “So, you were the one after it.” He exhaled, and his shoulders relaxed. That he seemed relieved was odd, since she was two seconds away from breaking his kneecaps.
“Answer the question,” she ordered, snatching the drive.
Edward tensed as if he was going to stop her, but he changed his mind at the last second. “I took it from the MARCO bot,” he said, chin high. “I figured it was enough to earn me some protection. Was I right?”
Dusty ignored him, too busy staring at the flash drive.
How long had she been trying to get her hands on one of these? The security at the prison where Theodore Morehouse was being held was top of the line. No one had ever seen anything like it before. Which is where Papa Tate came in. Her former guardian had pulled a lot of strings to get her information about the drive, about who had made it, where to find it, and when. She knew it was just a matter of time before he called in a favor, but she wasn’t yet ready to play his game. There was still so much left to do if she had any hope at all of freeing her father.
According to Papa, the developer behind the tech- a guy named E.M. Hayes- hadn’t been seen in public since his company was founded ten years ago. No one knew anything about him, besides the fact that he was a genius and richer than God. Dusty didn’t give a shit about Hayes or his money. All she cared about was the drive. Vance, one of the best hackers in the country, lived right here in Briarcliff. It was the whole reason she’d moved to this godforsaken city. All she had to do was get Vance the drive, and he promised he could use it to customize a virus, one they could use to decimate the prison’s security features. Not indefinitely, but long enough for Dusty to get in and out.
Maybe. Hopefully.
It was going to cost her, of course, but it was the least she could do after Desi. She owed her spirit this much. A touch, featherlight, across the nape of her neck. It could have been the air conditioning. A stray breeze. But Dusty knew better. She was tired of being haunted. Tired of the ghost shit. Maybe if she made things right, Desi would leave her alone.
“So, you need protection, huh,” she mused. It’d been a few years since the Legion had protected anyone. They were always on the move, which meant any alliances were temporary. “What about Drugs?” She offered, hopeful. “You need some Money? If you want girls, you’ll need to go to someone else. We don’t peddle in that shit.”
Edward’s eyes got as big as saucers. “No, no, no. I don’t…I don’t need any of that. I just…” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
There was a dimple in his cheek and the sight brought her up short.
This one’s trouble.
“I just need some help,” he was saying. “Someone wants to kill me. I need you to find out who and to help me cancel the hit.”
Dusty got to her feet. “Sure thing. You did me a favor. I got you.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Diesel asked with a smile. He always said she had the attention span of a rodent, but she’d been still for at least five minutes. A personal best.
Clearing her throat, she zipped up her leather jacket and pulled on her gloves so she wouldn’t have to look at Ape. “To see Vance.”
Ape shook his head, expression thunderous. “No, the hell you’re not.”
Edward jumped at the skin-crawling baritone, and Dusty quelled the urge to pet him behind the ears. He reminded her of an anxious kitten, or maybe an excitable golden retriever. Dusty winced, Ape’s bellow still ringing in her ears. She often said his nickname should have been Foghorn, but no one listened to her when it mattered. Several members of the Legion glanced at them, and she lowered her voice, careful to keep her expression blank. “And why the hell not?”
“Maybe because of the citywide manhunt?” Ape asked, incredulous.
Grinning, Dusty tightened her ponytail. “Emphasis on ‘man,’” she lied, sharing a weighted glance with Ape, and his lips tightened with bitterness as realization dawned. The missive hidden between her breasts was heavier than ever before. Maybe she could take care of two birds with one stone. “Ain’t nobody gonna be looking for me,” she continued, for the sake of Diesel and Edward. “Joe and Lenny know I’ll bail them out once I have the cash. They’ll stay quiet ’til then.”
“And how are you supposed to find Vance?” Diesel queried.
Dusty breathed a sigh of relief. She had been worried she’d made a mistake trusting Diesel with her plans, but so far, he’d proven he could be an asset. Dusty patted his shoulder. “Manhunt,” she said. “Anyone with a record and a lick of sense will keep their head down . And I happen to know where Vance likes to play.”
“Care to share with the class?” Ape asked.
“Nope,” she said merrily. “Come on, Pretty Boy.” She dragged Edward from his seat as she headed to the front door. “Let’s get you initiated.”
“Initiated?” His voice squeaked a bit at the end.
Dusty grinned. “It’s a rite of passage, Cher,” she replied. Throwing her arm over his shoulders, she jerked him closer. “As far as this lot is concerned, you’re a new recruit, and new recruits are put through the gauntlet.”
He paled. “Oh…fun?”
Dusty kissed his stubbled cheek. He smelled like cedarwood and honey. Something warm and newly blossomed. “Oh,” she said, relishing the way his hands shook before he clenched them into fists and tucked them beneath his arms. “It is.”