GATOR: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 2) (15 page)

September 15, 2015–Los Angeles, California

Twelve years. It had been twelve years since I was last between J.T.’s thighs—and I thought I’d never get to be there again. So the moment I found my mouth on her pussy, I intended to keep it there as long as I could and make up for at least
some
of the pleasure I could have given her over the years.

As I licked and sucked at her and enjoyed her in ways I hadn’t before, I thought I could go at it for hours, and that nothing in the world could stop me… But, well, boy was I wrong!

There was one thing in the world that
could
make me pull my mouth off of J.T.’s body—and that was the sound of a gun cocking behind my head. I was still tongue-deep inside of J.T.’s pussy when I heard the awkward noise. Then I felt her body jolt forward and heard a man’s voice.

“Now I really could go for a piece of pie,” the man said. “Tell me, Gator—does it taste as good as it looks?” The voice sounded very familiar, and as I pulled my mouth away from J.T. I was pretty sure who I’d find when I turned around—if, that is, I was given the chance to turn around.

“You!” I heard J.T. shout, though I couldn’t imagine how
she
could know the man who was speaking.

My face was still soaked with J.T.’s juices, and J.T.’s womanhood was still exposed. I reached up to pull her skirt down before turning around, but before I could, I was interrupted by a command.

“Leave her skirt up, Gator,” the man behind me said. “You know how much I love the pink.”

“Fuck you, Tony,” I said, ignoring his words. I pulled J.T’s skirt down as best I could, and she wriggled around a little to finish the job.

I put my hands in the air and slowly rose to my feet, then turned around to confront the scumbag who had us at gunpoint.

“
You
did this?” I asked, coming face-to-face with the heavily tattooed, two-bit drug dealer I’d come to know well over the years.

“Yeah, I did,” Tony Ink replied. “But it wasn’t supposed to go down like
this
.”

“Fuck you, Tony,” I repeated.

“This is Tony Ink,” I said. I was talking to J.T., but I kept my eyes locked on Tony. “He’s a piece-of-shit pot dealer—and a pimp. And apparently, he’s a murderer, too.”

“I’m not just
a
pot dealer and
a
pimp, Gator,” Tony interjected with an evil laugh. “I’m
the
pot dealer and
the
pimp. I run those scenes in Central and West L.A., and you damn well know that… So if you’re going to tell your girlfriend about me, make sure you tell her the right thing.

“Not that you need to introduce us,” Tony added. “We’ve already met.”

I couldn’t tell what J.T. was doing behind me, and I couldn’t look at her to ask what Tony meant.

“We ran into each other in some shithole diner,” Tony went on. “Halfway between San Fran and here… Think about it, Gator. Ain’t it funny? Your girlfriend and her dumbass partner were on their way to L.A. to find Pigpen’s killer, and they stopped in at a diner along the way, to use the can… And little did they know, Pigpen’s killer was
right there
.

“Your girlfriend tried to hassle me and my friends for loitering… Can you believe that? Loitering? She had her killer
right there
and she was getting on my case about
loitering
!”

Tony was laughing loudly. He was obviously high on something—an upper of some sort, probably meth or crack, or both.

“You think this is funny?” I asked. I knew my question might anger him, but I figured the worst he could do was kill me, which he obviously already intended to do. “You killed
two
people—and now you’re gonna kill
two
more. That ain’t funny. That’s sick.”

“It’s
not
sick,” Tony said defensively. He itched the back of his shaved head with his free hand. “It’s business. You and your boys think you can run this town? Well, guess what—you
can’t
. I made a deal with you guys, years ago, to only sell pot—and do you know how much money I’ve missed out on since then? If I’d have been selling dope like I wanted to, I’d be a millionaire by now.

“I’m giving up on pot and whores and going into the powder scene, but I needed to shake things up a little before I did. I needed to show
your kind
that
my kind
was serious, and that we weren’t going to take it anymore.

“Once one of us stood up to you, others would as well, and then the streets would be ours again… But as I said, it wasn’t supposed to happen
this
way.

“There were supposed to be
two
—not
four
—murders. I was just planning on killing Pigpen and your girlfriend here—and of course, setting you up for both crimes. But when I went to off your girl, I found her partner there instead, which made things uglier and gave me more to clean up.

“Now I gotta kill her and
you
, Gator—and I tell ya that really, really sucks. Ya know why?”

Tony looked at me for a response, but I didn’t give him one.

“I’ve always liked you, Gator,” Tony replied. “I’ve always fucking liked you, man. You were always pretty cool, and I always loved it when you hung at my party crib.”

Tony scratched his head again and went on, “And man, the stories you had to tell! You and your buddies—usually that fucker Hammer or that jackass Tall Boy—would come over on business, and you’d chill for a while. And you guys would talk—man, you would talk. You’d tell each other stories about people you knew, or places you’d been. You shared your lives. I never had friends like that, and I was jealous—and of course, I listened… to every word.

“I remember hearin’ you talk—a few times—about the girl you saved from a gator back in Lou’siana. I remember you sayin’ how special she was to you, and how all the other girls you were fuckin’ just didn’t measure up.
And
I remember you sayin’ about how you kept track of her all these years, and about how she was a cop now—a detective—out in San Fran.

“What a story, Gator! So much drama; it’s the kind of shit you’d see in a movie or read about in a book. It stuck with me… and it gave me an idea. I needed to bring the Wolves down somehow—and I needed to start
somewhere
. The rest of the pieces just fell into place.

“I heard about all that shit that Hammer got into with Pigpen, and I heard Tall Boy cuttin’ on you for always leavin’ your back door open. You were prime—and I mean
prime
—for the setup. You had a grudge against that little fucker, and it was super easy to get into your house and steal the shit I needed to frame you.

“But again, man, I tell ya—I always liked you. I always fucking liked you. All I was going to do was set you up for murder and get ya sent off to prison. I never planned on killin’ ya—but, damn it, now, I
have
to.”

Tony scratched the back of his head, yet again, and he did it so fiercely I’d have wagered it was bleeding. If I’d been a different type of man—or if Tony had been—I probably would have tried to talk some sense or reason into him. I would have told him that he didn’t
have
to kill me. I would have reminded him that he had free will; he had the ability to make decisions; he still had a
choice
.

But I am not a man to talk reason like that—and Tony Ink certainly isn’t one to listen.

“If you
have
to kill me, Tony,” I said, “then kill me. But first, let me ask you
one
question.”

“Shoot,” Tony said with a sinister grin.

“Where’s Katy?” I asked.

“Katy?” Tony repeated. “Who the fuck—”

Then, BOOM, all of a sudden, Tony Ink fell to the floor.

September 15, 2015–Los Angeles, California

Son of a bitch
, I thought to myself. I’d fucked up in
two
major ways, and they are as follows: (1) I’d come face-to-face with John Berry’s murderer not even twelve hours earlier, and I’d let him slip right through my fingers; and (2) When I came into Gator’s living room, I removed my side arm and placed it on the table, which was out of reach.

God damn it
.

This “Tony Ink” character was a disgusting mess. He was high as hell on something, and he was here to kill us… And there was nothing
I
could do about it.

But luckily, at one point, when Tony was blabbering on about how he didn’t want to kill Gator but
had
to, I realized that I didn’t have to do anything about it. I heard another out of place noise and noticed something out of the corner of my eye—and this time, I didn’t react to it.

As Tony was answering Gator’s question, midsentence, a large skillet came down from the air and hit him hard on the head… like a hammer. Tony Ink fell to the ground with a thud and left one hell of a hot hunk standing behind him.

“Good thing you leave your back door unlocked,” Hammer said, catching his breath. “This fucker was gonna kill you.”

Gator ran over to his buddy and hugged him tightly, standing above Tony Ink’s unconscious body.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Gator said.

“Alright,” Hammer replied, lifting his boot and placing it firmly on Tony’s chest to hold him in place in case he woke from his stupor. “That so-called lawyer that visited you in Central sang like a canary when I went to his house.”

The two men had just endured a life-or-death situation and were keeping guard atop a passed-out, drugged-up murderer, yet they were talking so nonchalantly. If there hadn’t been something so extremely sexy about it, I would’ve found it a little disturbing.

“Turns out Adam Michaels was one of Tony’s clients,” Hammer went on. “He was about three-grand in debt to him for pot and girls—which is
a lot
of pot and girls, if you ask
me
—and Tony called him yesterday and told him he’d erase the debt if he went into Central and got the scoop from you.”

I’d been in a bit of a daze, but I finally came out of it, and I stood up and readjusted my clothing as the men continued talking.

“Now, when I say Michaels sang like a canary,” Hammer said, “I meant it. All I had to do was ask, and he told me what I needed to know.”

“But how’d you know to come
here
?” Gator asked.

I’d gotten myself in order again—but for fuck’s sake, I couldn’t find my panties. I looked around on the floor for them, trying to do so as covertly as possible.

“Well, Michaels told me Tony sent him, so I knew Tony was involved, but I didn’t know how deeply,” Hammer said. He leaned to the side—with his foot still on Tony’s chest—bent over and picked something up.

“So, first thing I did was go to Tony’s party crib, but he wasn’t there,” Hammer went on. He reached his arm out toward me and held out his hand, with my panties hanging from the tips of his fingers.

“I asked around and some young chick said he went out to finish yesterday’s business,” Hammer said, as I took my undergarments from his hand, blushing.

“I knew what that meant,” Hammer continued, unfazed by my embarrassment, or my panties. “So I called Crete, told him what I’d discovered, and asked where you and J.T. were. He said he didn’t know where you’d gone, but that you’d gone somewhere safe.

“And, come on now, Gator, I know you—and I know your crazy notions about throwing curveballs. I knew you’d come here because you thought no one would expect you to, but fortunately
I
did.

“When I pulled up, I saw Tony’s Impala parked down the road—and when I got to your back door, I saw that he had you at gunpoint. So I did what I did… And I’m sorry if I fucked up your frying pan in the process.”

Out of curiosity, I looked at the ground, to see the skillet. The handle had broken off in one spot, and the pan had a huge dent in it and was splattered with blood. Indeed, I could understand why they called Hammer “Hammer.”

I heard a gurgling noise and saw Gator and Hammer glance down beneath them. Tony was coming to, and he’d just coughed up some bloody spit.

“I should call this in,” I said picking up my cell phone. “We need to get L.A.P.D. out here and get him in custody.”

Just as I said that, Hammer started to lower himself down, to sit on Tony and better hold him in place.

“No!” Gator shouted, interrupting both of us. “Let
me
talk to him first.”

Hammer stepped aside, and I lowered my cell phone. Gator dropped to the floor and straddled Tony Ink’s chest, with his knees pressing down on Tony’s tattooed arms. He grabbed Tony’s wife-beater shirt by the scoop-neck collar, lifted him from the ground, and shook him.

“Wake up, you little fucker,” Gator said. “Wake up!”

Tony coughed again and intentionally spit a mouthful of his filthy saliva on Gator.

“Hey, brother,” Tony said deliriously, as he opened his eyes and gazed at Gator. “What the hell happened?”

“Don’t you
dare
call me ‘brother,’ you worthless piece of shit,” Gator hissed at the poor excuse for a man. “I am
not
your brother—and even though you always liked me, guess what? I never fucking liked
you
… Now answer my goddamned question!”

“What question?” Tony asked. He appeared to have a silly grin on his face, though it could have just been the concussion he likely had.

“Where’s Katy?” Gator demanded. “What happened to Katy?”

“Katy?” Tony asked, laughing. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” Gator insisted. He raised his hands to Tony’s head and dug his fingers into his scalp, right where Hammer had hit him with the skillet.

“I swear, I don’t!” Tony yelped in pain.

“Think about it
harder
,” Gator said, digging his fingers in deeper. “Katy… the Kat.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony whimpered. “I know
who
you mean, but I have no idea
what
happened to her. All I know is what you know—what I heard you and your boys talkin’ about. All I know is that she’s missing… But I don’t know nothing about it… I swear.”

Gator eased up on Tony a little. “I actually believe you,” he said, slapping Tony across the face in a good-ole-boy fashion. “A piece of shit like you couldn’t get away with something like
that
.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Tony replied in a tone that sounded anything but silly. “But whoever took that bitch—good for them. I hope they have her doped up somewhere, turned out, and laid up in a bed somewhere, turning tricks. People would pay a lot of money to tap a gang boss’s bitch. I know I would.”

Despite not sounding silly, Tony laughed. He laughed a wicked laugh that made my skin crawl.

“Nah, I take that back,” Tony went on. “That bitch is too old… I like my pussy a little fresher.”

With that, Gator pulled his arm back into the arm and slammed it hard against Tony Ink’s face. He hit him harder than I’d ever seen anyone hit a person (or thing) in my life, and I was surprised he didn’t knock his head off.

Tony passed out from the blow, and Gator rose to his feet. “Okay, J.T.,” he said. “Go ahead. Call it in now.”

I drew my phone to my chest and dialed “9-1-1.”

“L.A.P.D. emergency,” the operator said, answering the phone.

“This is Detective J.T. Knowles, with San Francisco P.D.,” I started. “I’ve apprehended the man responsible for the murders of John Berry and San Francisco police officer Richard Barnes, and I need you to send officers and a medical unit out to Carl Struthers’ home…”