Pride and Pregnancy (A Devil's Dragons Motorcycle Club Romance) (9 page)

“I’m here to help you, Talon. You call on my Dragons, and we will be here for yours.”

“How touching,” he chuckled with a staggered cough. “The rightful Devil’s Dragons can handle this alone.” With a click of his fingers, he added: “Men… escort this motherfucker out.”

I
should have done
a lot more research on this fucking place,
I thought bitterly to myself.

Twelve hours of driving had really taken it out of me. Even after taking the occasional power-nap in the car on the long trek here, I was absolutely exhausted from the drive.

My reward was that I’d made it to the Port of Los Angeles. Now, the trouble was finding out exactly
where
I needed to go.

The port was massive, sprawling in every direction. It must have been
miles
upon
miles
long, with possibly hundreds of warehouses along the coast, all variously nondescript and lacking much visible distinction.

In layman’s terms, I was basically fucked.

There was no telling
where
the Los Angeles Devil’s Dragons were, let alone their leader.

What didn’t help was that nobody was willing to offer a hand. I noticed some dockworkers out and about, performing their work and surveying the docks. None were too receptive to my questions, and I realized that I wasn’t sure where to start.

It was a goddamn needle in a haystack.

Not just
any
haystack. That was too easy. This particular haystack stretched out towards the horizon in every conceivable direction…

After the first hour of walking around and asking questions, a grumpy old fucker with a clipboard overheard me losing my temper. He looked like some kind of a shipyard supervisor, and he was
pissed.

“What the blazes are you yammering about?” He grumbled, smacking the clipboard against a shipping container. “And for God’s sakes, woman, how the fuck did you get in here? What kind of security are they
putting
on this place?”

“I’m looking for the Devil’s Dragons motorcycle club,” I told him after calming down.

He glanced at me for a moment, his face stonewalling in the instant. “Can’t help you there. Never heard of ‘em. Now beat it, before I call the cops.”

“Of course you haven’t,” I groaned. “How the fuck am I supposed to find Talon in all of this?”

The supervisor paused.

“What did you just say?”

I searched his eyes for a moment. “I’m looking for an old bastard who goes by ‘Talon.’ He’s the leader of the Devil’s Dragons motorcycle club, and I know he controls this port…”

“So, you’re the girl?” He asked curiously and quietly, his eyes narrowing.

I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but I knew the answer that was going to get me answers instead of wandering around this godforsaken port another couple of hot, boring hours.

“Yeah. I’m the girl. And I need to speak to Talon.”

The supervisor looked me over.

After a moment, he glanced around, ensuring that nobody else was listening in. Satisfied, he lowered his face and whispered. “He told me you might be coming… You’ll want to be
real
careful before you meet the man you want to find. I can make the call, but you have to be certain you can handle yourself.”

“I can handle myself,” I replied indignantly.

The supervisor straightened up.

“Your funeral, little miss.”

With that, he walked over the way he’d come, popping open a box on a support beam. Lifting a phone receiver to his ear, he spoke quietly, throwing a glance my way.

A minute later, he was back.

“Someone’s on their way. Remember… show him the proper reverence, and be careful. The leader of the Devil’s Dragons doesn’t stand for disrespect in his presence…”

“I told you, I can
handle
myself.”

He chuckled and shook his hand, walking off. “Can’t say you don’t have spirit, kid. Good luck, and I hope you come back alive…”

Maybe I AM in over my head
.

It was maybe twenty minutes later that a burly biker pulled up nearby, scanning his surroundings until I came into sight.

“Are you her?”

In search of real answers, I decided to keep playing along. Faced with the biker’s obvious skepticism, I felt that giving him a little bit of attitude might help the charade.

“I’m here to see Talon, dick-wipe. Who
else
would be stepping onto this disgusting fucking dock?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Hop on.”

It was strange to me to climb onto the back of a motorcycle that wasn’t Hunter’s, but I did as I was told. Seconds later, we were heading down the concrete paths, dodging surprised workers and gliding between long metal boxes, warehouses, and small building units. It appeared that our destination was a raised building in the distance, dwarfing its surroundings and crowded by what looked like a few warehouses.

Fifteen minutes of riding later, we pulled up at the foot of the building, surrounded by walls made of storage containers. I climbed off the back of the motorcycle and turned to show my rider some gratitude.

“Thanks for the–”

The motorcycle’s engine revved a few times, and the biker roared off around the corner and far, far away.

“Alright, fucker,” I grumbled.

“If that’s the kind of respect you show, you might want to consider pulling up your big girl britches and leaving the way you came,” an older voice called out to me.

I turned around to see a thin, chuckling biker nearby, occupying a doorway.

“Are you Talon?”

The biker laughed riotously, wiping at his face before turning and leaving. The doorway stood open, and nothing else nearby was making a sound, so I reluctantly followed him into the building.

I walked past a few bikers in what appeared to be a makeshift bar, slapped together into this metal building. A punked-out bartender smirked as I passed by, leaning on her elbows against the countertop to get a better look at me.

Elmira’s kind of company,
I thought to myself, remembering the sassy little redhead that made a point to constantly fuck up my drinks at Hunter’s bar.

The scattered crowd of gristled bikers wearing the emblem of the Devil’s Dragons glanced up from bar stools, bar top tables, and a few games of billiards or darts. They kept their eyes glued to me, silently watching me follow my aloof host.

Against the other wall was what looked to be a ridiculous throne, built out of the odds and ends of motorbikes. I could see exhaust pipes sticking up out back, engines and siding making up the main structure, and a makeshift seat Frankenstein’ed together from various others…

It looked highly impractical and kind of stupid, but it kind of set the tone for what I expected from the man I’d come to see.

The older biker escorting me in punched in the button on an elevator, and the doors pulled open. I walked in behind him, noticing every pair of eyes in the place continue to stare me down.

Finally, the doors closed, and I realized I’d been holding my breath. I gave a quick exhale, noticing how ancient the tiny room looked. It jerked to life, pulling us upwards.

“Talon don’t get visitors often,” the biker smiled, glancing at me through the gaudy reflection on the backs of the elevator doors.

“Can’t imagine why,” I muttered.

He pulled his mouth into a wicked grin, but the space between his lips was purely black. His disgusting smile was missing most of its teeth.

A few uncomfortable moments later, the elevator finally dinged and came to a halt. When the doors pulled apart with a squeal, I waited for the biker to move aside.

When it was clear that he wouldn’t, I carefully pushed past him. He pressed into me, and I could smell the stench of rotting meat on him.

It took everything I had to not gag.

The elevator opened up into a small waiting room with a few chairs and a bench haphazardly dashed along the sides. My guide stepped ahead to knock on the large wooden doors directly ahead, his ear pressed to the surface.

I glanced out the window quickly, noting that we were pretty high up. We were in that building on stilts above the bar, overlooking a sizeable chunk of the port…

“Talon will see you, Sweet-cheeks.”

I inwardly groaned as he pushed the door open and stepped aside, letting me walk into the office of the infamously vicious leader of the Los Angeles Devil’s Dragons. As he shut the door behind me, I noticed that he took the position opposite of another guard.

I was trapped in here, starting to put some stock into Hunter’s warnings. Steeling myself, I hoped that I hadn’t just made the mistake of my fucking life…

As far as atmosphere went, the room was filthy, filled with ramshackle bookcases and lockers along the wall, and smelled oddly of what seemed like wood varnish and apricots. The centerpiece was a large and battered desk, seated behind which was the man I presumed to be Talon.

The tall, broad biker rose up from behind, his face setting into a dark and brooding glare as he took me in. He looked damn intimidating, and I could see in an instant why Hunter didn’t like the idea of him being anywhere near me.

And I’d just waltzed right into his domain.

I was now alone with him in his private office, with biker guards posted at the door and a shoddy elevator ride back down to sprawling miles of his territory…

Safety was a
very
long way away.

“Word on the docks is that you have come searching for me…” Talon growled, his voice somewhere between a menacing Rottweiler and the walking dead.

I swallowed quickly, forcing a mouthful of spit down to centerpiece my diminishing confidence. “That’s right. I think you can help me with a little something.”

Talon swept out from around the desk, brushing past me with an air of malevolent intent. I could see how his broad form and glowering eyes filled the room, even in the ample sunlight from windows raised along a sill lining the ceiling.

“Is that so…?”

He placed his hands on my shoulders, his voice low and sadistic in my ear. It sent a thrill down my spine – in another life, it could have inspired a flash of moisture between my thighs.

But in
this
life, it only terrified me.

“Tell me, stranger – what brings you to my lair, so knowledgeable of who I am?”

“A missing shipyard container.”

Talon immediate froze.

I heard the bikers begin to move behind me, but he waved them away, turning his back towards me.

“What…
what
did you just say?”

I swelled up with confidence. “I’m searching for a missing shipping crate that disappeared a little over a week ago. My client is
very
particular about getting it back.”

Talon turned me with something different in his eyes, something barely tangible.

Is that fear?

“Who sent you?” He growled, before descending into a coughing fit. I stoically waited out his lungs before answering the question.

“I wasn’t
sent
, I
came
. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Talon…”

Searching for a little more punch, I thought back to what Hunter had told me, before adding: “We both know how dangerous the owner of that cargo container can be…”

Talon laughed hard, stepping back behind his desk and palming his hands across the top.

“Funny... I know looks can be deceiving, but you don’t quite
look
like a proxy for Soroka Sarkonov…”

“Then you know,” I replied.

“I know
what
, exactly?”

“Who owns the box, and how hard the shit will hit it if that thing doesn’t turn back up.”

Talon paused, leaning forward to study my expression. “And I suppose you’re the one she sent to represent her?”

I felt that one answer would net me further cooperation than the other. “Yes,” I replied, thinning my expression into a subtly smug smile. “Yes, I am.”

The biker president glanced up at his bodyguard bikers. “Leave us.”

I kept my eyes on Talon as I heard the door open and close, and the sounds of receding footsteps. Although they didn’t have far to go, the walls were surprisingly thick, and I could barely hear them after a few seconds.

“Why are you here?” Talon growled.

“I’ve told you – I need that box.”

“There were other factors at play… Sarkonov has enemies, and they
interfered
with things,” he replied with a twisted groan, turning his head and stifling more coughs.

“Factors such as
what
, Talon?”

He composed himself and faced me. “Somebody paid off a few of the shipmates to dump that container a mile off-shore. Whole thing sunk like a goddamned stone.”

“Who do you suspect was behind it?”

Talon glanced up. “I would expect you to know the answer to that question better than I do.”

“This is your dock. Pretend that I don’t know anything,” I replied calmly, crossing my arms in a hopeful display of dominance. “Go through it all, from the top. I want to hear it in
your
words.”

“Why?” He growled.

Thinking fast, I replied: “Because it sounds like you lost control of the fucking situation.”

His eyes narrowed evilly.

He did
not
like that.

“Help
me
help
you
, Talon. Without your cooperation, I don’t know what I can do for you… but with more information, I can spin this the right way. Keep things clean.”

His lips pulled back, exposing his teeth.

Shit. Did I push too hard?

“The crate was due in eight nights ago on a ship bound from China,” Talon hissed his response, lowering down into his chair. “A couple of assholes on the boat dumped the crate a mile out. We’ve got a handful of men out on boats running sonar and trying to find the fucking thing.

“I don’t know who dropped the crate and I don’t know why. I didn’t even know it was
your
crate until somebody fucking called me. If I had been just fucking
told
it was your crate up front, I could have had ten guys guarding that shit all the way across the Pacific. This isn’t my fault.”

“I’m not here to blame you. I’m here to find that crate and figure out who’s responsible.”

“I’ve had my Dragons on double-duty stirring up shit in the local underworld. Nobody seems to know a goddamn thing about this fucking container. They don’t know why it was dropped, or who was behind it…”