Chrome & Leather: Liars Tomb (Motorcycle Club Romance) (5 page)

As they drew closer the moment of sweet abandon was broken by a loud and bellowing shout from downstairs.

"Blackjack, fuck, get down here now."

He pulled away from her immediately, all softness from his face gone as he his features hardened. He knew his men would only call him if it was of the utmost urgency. As if snapping out of spell he was under he shook his head gently and said "wait here," as he left the room and locked the door behind him.

Linda stood alone in the room and a feeling of rejection washed over her. She had been so close to hooking him. It wasn't only that, her heart had been pounding in her chest as they had gotten closer to kissing. She hadn't felt that way with a man in a long time, had she ever felt that way before she wondered. She wasn't sure what was going on with her feelings. Linda usually wasn't one for deep introspection, because sometimes second guessing yourself on the job could lead you to lock up and your cover getting blown. Maybe if she played this right she could use these feelings to her advantage. 

So what if she was feeling something towards him she tried to rationalise. That wouldn't stop her from doing her job, if she got the chance she would bury him and his gang. Her old mentor in police academy used to say "eyes on the prize". She wouldn't lose focus, she would take down this gang no matter what she felt for Blackjack. She repeated this in her mind again and again, after enough times repeating this mantra, she even started to believe it.

Blackjacks bedroom was a sparse affair. A large bed in the middle of the room and a three drawer dresser beside it. The window had thick iron bars on it and the glass looked thick and reinforced, Linda thought that it was most likely bullet proof. She double checked the door to make sure it was locked and then began to look around. She knew that someone as smart as Blackjack would have an escape route hidden somewhere in the room.

She ran her hands along the walls feeling for any seams to give away an exit. She could find nothing. Searching under his bed and along the floor was no better.

Atop his dresser was a handgun and a large bowie knife in a leather sheath. She quickly riffled through the drawers only to find nothing more than some extra clothes and a set of brass knuckle dusters. I guess I'm not going to find his diary admitting to all his crimes Linda thought to herself blackly.

She ran her hands under the mattress and found another gun and a wad of hundred dollar bills in a section cut out of the bed frame. The wad of bills was banded by a thick rubber band and atop the bills was a folded up photograph. It was a picture of a storage locker with the number 2103 on the door. It looked like a locker in any of the hundreds of nondescript storage companies dotting the country. There was nothing else to distinguish it. Linda folded the photo back up and returned the money to the secret hollow. With no where else to search she flopped back onto the bed. Directly above her was a small brass ring in a recess in the ceiling.

She slipped out of her shoes and stood up on the bed and stretched to the brass ring. With a simple tug of the ring a roof panel retracted and slid soundlessly into a recess. A metal clasp held back a retracting ladder that lead into the crawl space above the room. She closed up the panel and lay back on the bed. There was nothing much more for her to do but wait.

As soon as she lay down a wave of tiredness and weariness washed over her. A fretful and shallow sleep engulfed her as she drifted off on Blackjacks bed.

CHAPTER FOUR

As Blackjack descended the stairs he could see the faces of his men below. Each and every one of them was turned upwards to him with looks of grim determination. This was not going to be good he thought to himself. Nobody spoke as he locked the metal door to the stairs behind him. Blackjack nodded towards the blondes collapsed on the chairs.

"What about them?"

"They are passed out on some heavy shit," said one of the men, a older and greying man who looked like a cross between a viking and santa clause, and who the other members called Pops. He was a legend in the gang whose preferred weapon was a hammer. He was the definition of old school style retribution and the oldest member of the gang.

Blackjack made an exception as he usually wouldn't talk business in front of the women. It was too risky to go outside and be exposed. 

"Talk," he said to pops.

"I got these pictures sent to me a few minutes ago" he said handing a cheap burner smartphone to Blackjack.

On the screen was the two brothers and Red. The two brothers lay crumpled on the ground in a puddle of blood. They had both suffered multiple gunshots to the torso. Red was on his knees staring straight at whoever was taking the picture. A man dressed all in black and wearing a mask with a lurid white skeleton painted on it stood beside Red with the muzzle of his gun pressed to Reds temple. The painted skull made it look like the masked man was laughing and revelling in the blood and mayhem around him.

"Scroll down," said Pops.

Below the photo was the message "Tomorrow at Midday meet at the docks if you want to see Red alive. Blackjack come alone." Below the message was the address of the meet.

Blackjack threw the phone backs to Pops in disgust.

"Who the fuck is this masked freak and how the hell did they get the drop on some of our best guys?" 

Blackjack could feel his cool slipping away and the familiar pressure in his head and behind his eyes was returning. The bloodlust was rising and the need for revenge coursed through him.

"We have no idea," answered Pops.

"Is it the Tri-staff club? Those fucks have had it in for us for years. I wouldn't put it past those weirdos to get all theatrical on us. What about the Red plague MC they still have a beef with us over that turf they lost last year? Find out who the fuck is behind it and find out fast," Blackjack growled at Pops.

"Post double the men outside and have them on watch round the clock. You two go with Pops and hit up the usual dive bars and see if you can find anything out. What about our guest downstairs is he comfortable?"

"I checked on him myself a few hours ago. Don't worry he is going no where. You don't think its anything to do with him do you?" asked Pops.

"Doubtful. If he is causing any trouble dispose of him. We need everyone focused on these fucking masked weirdoes," said Blackjack.

Pops pulled him aside so that he could talk to him away from the earshot of the other men.

"You know Red is a dead man already? Don't you. It will be suicide going tomorrow on your own."

Blackjack had known as soon as he had seen the picture that Red was done for. He had been in this world long enough to know that the odds of coming back from something like this were stacked against you. Most likely Red was shot seconds after the picture was taken.

"Ive no intention of rolling up alone. We are going to snatch who ever turns up at the meet and break him down until he is nothing but dog food. Then we will burn a swathe through every fucking gang that I think has any involvement. Make no mistake this is war and we are about to enter the trenches" 

There was a certain amount of manic glee in Blackjacks voice as he spoke, a looseness in tone. He knew the animal that prowled and circled inside him was about to be set free and he was curious about what would happen when it took control of him once again.

"Get those drugged out bitches downstairs and lock down this place tighter than a nuns pussy" Blackjack snarled.

"What about the woman who was with you?"

Blackjack looked confused for a minute as if he had forgotten about her completely. For a split second he was clouded by fear, not for himself but for Linda. He didn't want her to be harmed in any way, he had promised her protection.

"Im going to take her out of here and get her to one of our safe houses," he said impulsively.

"Are you sure thats a good idea? Will some of the men go with you?"

"I'll take the back roads and travel fast, I will draw less attention that way. I'm ready for anyone who tries to mess with me".

Pop said nothing as he knew it best not to question or doubt Blackjack. He had seen this crazed and manic look in his eyes before. Pop did not last this long in this world by foolishly forcing the issue.

"I'll be back here by the morning. Be here and ready. We will take these fuckers apart," said Blackjack as he turned to return upstairs. Before returning to Linda he grabbed a bunch of fresh bandages from a supply under the stairs. Blackjack paused for a second as he stuffed the medical supplies in his pocket. This well stocked closet represented the life he had chosen. He lived in a world were nearly all of his gang knew how to stitch a wound, repair damaged flesh or just generally patch up a fallen brother. He smiled blackly to himself thinking of all the shit his gang had been through over the years, what he was building, the plans he had. All of his life was built on a foundation of sand and he could feel it slipping away if he didn't focus and grit it out. His gang wasn't called the vengeful eight for nothing. He would bring a reckoning to all involved that would leave a trail of destruction a mile wide. There was no way he would not go without a fight even though in the back of his mind all he could think was, they have got the jump on you twice. He prided himself on being smarter than the average meathead biker he came across. His gang had always been smarter and quicker than anyone else. The combination of swift justice within his ranks and smart dealings on the street had allowed his gang to flourish. Maybe he had got greedy with the last few deals and that was why the had now become some sort of target.

His shoulder ached as he went back upstairs to Linda. Blackjack was surprised as his heart sped up the closer he got to the bedroom door, his palms even began to sweat a little. He hadn't felt like this around a woman in a long time. There was something special about this woman. He could see she was wounded and withdrawn because of the shitty deal she had been dealt by her dead beat husband. There was more to her than a bruised and battered woman, he could see that clearly. Behind the broken and damaged face he could see a strong and calculating woman waiting to be set free. He felt both protective and in awe of her at the same time. She had saved his life back in the bar and he would be forever in her debt. Blackjack felt that maybe she could be his equal, someone to trust as the foundation gave way and the sand pulled him and his gang towards its doom. He pushed all such thoughts from his mind as he entered the room.

Linda was dozing on the bed and roused from her shallow nightmare filled sleep as Blackjack entered. She smiled her crooked busted lip smile at him, wincing as she did so. He reciprocated with a broad toothy grin which if she was being honest with herself made him look hot. His smile looked good on his square jawed and very handsome face.

"Is everything ok?" she asked propping herself up on the bed.

Blackjack sat down on the bed as his smile slipped away and his usual stern scowl returned.

"Red is in trouble. Some masked freak is holding him until I meet him tomorrow morning," Blackjack said. Usually he would not divulge any gang business to a woman he was with but with Linda he felt differently. He felt like she could handle anything he would tell her.

"We have to leave here tonight. Its not safe for you. I have a bolt hole in the city were we can crash for the night."

He took his heavy leather jacket off and threw it on the floor in a heap. He stripped his tight t shirt off and Linda could see that blood had began to spot through the bandages. 

"Do you want me to change your dressings?" Linda asked.

Blackjack got up and began pacing back and forth across the room, slowly rotating his arm in a circular motion. He grimaced with each rotation. His torso gleamed in a sheen of sweet and the muscles of his stomach tensed with every twist of his shoulder.

"It feels like I was wrong about the broken ribs. I think it just grazed them," he said.

He continued to pace back and forth, each thud of his boot on the floor sounding like a drumbeat. As he paced across the room he began to talk and as each word was uttered he felt himself relax a little more and more.

"Do you know what this little merry band of reprobates is called?" he asked Linda.

She shook her head.

"Most of the gangs out there go for some sort of variation on the name devil. It makes them sound dangerous and evil, to me it sounds like a bunch of overgrown boys trying too hard. Its all surface level bullshit. The stupid names, the tattoos and the gang logos plastered everywhere. To be sure it spooks the normals. I see through all that bravado. We have none of that. We have no logo, no colours, none of that shit. We don't need it. My reputation is built on actions, not some fucking logo of a flaming skull with a dagger through it. Those other punks make me sick to my stomach. The shit they get involved in, human trafficking, dirty deals, selling drugs to kids, its all real seedy shit. We would never touch something like that. I couldn't live with myself if we did."

Linda wasn't sure how to take all this. Her files had been light on information on his gangs activities, most of what they reported was second hand information from street snitches. They had no evidence on any of it, they didn't even have a name for his gang. The files simply referred to them with the designated name and number of gang 359. Was he saying all this for show she wondered? For her benefit? Maybe in his twisted way he was trying to charm her, show that he was a thug with a heart of gold. Was he changing up his pitch to her telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. Linda wasn't so sure, she couldn't put her finger on it directly, but for some reason she was believing what he was saying. It could be because of his lack of swagger or forced machismo. He was the alpha male around here and he knew it, he didn't need to layer it on for her. He seemed completely earnest as he spoke and she could see the fire inside him as he spoke. His words washed over her, the deep baritone settling into her bones. The rhythmic way he spoke was unlike anyone she had heard before. He was a leader who led not by brute force, he led by something more intangible. Linda could see why he had his reputation.