The Preacher's Daughter Page 4

  I’m able to grab a few hundred dollars’ cash and take their credit cards. I know their PINs.

  We have a car, but I don’t want to risk taking it. They’ll probably file a report just for the car. They wouldn’t care if they found me alive or not as long as they had their car back. Then, they’d spin my death to their advantage if that happened.

  Having their credit cards will come in handy. Not like I’ll take them with me, but I’ll drain the accounts immediately. I think it’s owed to me for all the crap I’ve put up with.

  Once I have everything, I sneak quietly out of the house. First, I take off toward the ATM. I’ll admit, I’m scared, but I’ve made my decision and I have to follow through. I deserve better than what they’ve put me through, and plan to make my life into something great and of my choosing.

  Once I have the cash in hand, I toss the credit cards in the trash and call a cab with my cell phone before throwing that in the trash too. I don’t want them to use it to track me down, so I’ll buy a new one when I get where I’m going. Not like I have any contacts in there that I’d want to keep in touch with.

  The cab driver pulls up—I made sure to call an out-of-town cab service so I’m not recognized—and I tell him to take me to the nearest bus station. From there, I’ll figure out where I’m going and make plans for tomorrow. But one thing is for certain, it’ll be better than whatever awaits me here.

  Chapter Four

  Torq

  It’s been almost a week since I was released from custody over something that had nothing to do with my club. When I think back on it, I can’t believe I stepped in. But at the same time, I know I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

  You can lay a hand on a woman, but only if she wants you to, and only if it’s to give her pleasure, not pain. Sure, in some cases pain is what gives them pleasure, but it all comes back around to consent and that leads to pleasure. I won’t even touch a woman without her begging me to do so, but that’s more for my sick pleasure.

  Thinking about that night reminds me of why I’m not behind bars right now and it makes me seethe all over again. I want to spank that girl—Angelica Hock—for not only being in that part of town, but for how she covered for me. Like I needed her to lie to the cops. As if I cared about sitting in jail for a night, or even a year for that matter. Been there, done that. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.

  So why did she do it? Did she feel like she owed me for saving her? Or did she do this shit all the time? The latter is a little hard for me to believe; she doesn’t look like a druggie or a prostitute, which would be the only reason she would have been in that part of town in the first place. Unless, of course, she didn’t mean to be there. She’s a preacher’s fucking daughter! As far as I know, people of God don’t lie.

  But she lied for me.

  Sitting on my bike, I stare at the sign that says “Welcome to Linksburg.” I haven’t left yet, and it has nothing to do with the cops telling me not to leave town until I’m completely cleared of all crimes. I wish I could say it’s because I still have club business, which I do, but that’s not the reason either. It’s because of her.

  I want to see her again, knowing it would be a bad idea. She’s too good for me and not my type, but I still want to see her, taste her, fuck her. I want to soil her good girl persona and make her my bad girl. I want to show her how good I can make her feel, and teach her how to please me. I want her to crave me, need me in every possible way.

  My phone ringing snaps me out of thoughts of dirty sex with the daughter of a preacher. Something I’ll probably go to hell for just thinking about. Not like I’m not heading there anyway, so I guess I should enjoy the pleasures while I can.

  Looking down at the caller ID, I see it’s Bear, the president of my club.

  “Hey, Prez,” I say, waiting patiently like a good soldier for orders.

  He knows I haven’t been able to find Georgie yet, but he doesn’t know about the arrest or the girl I saved. He wouldn’t be pissed about the situation and the reason behind it, but he wouldn’t be happy about me leaving a witness and getting caught. Or almost caught. I’m sure he’d get a kick out of the fact that a woman bailed me out. I’m just not sure if he’d order me to silence her. She’s a witness to my crime and the only person who can testify if it came down to it. Not like I think she would say anything. She dug herself a hole when she made up that story, so if she testifies and tells the truth, she’ll be in for an assload of trouble.

  She may be dumb when it comes to street smarts, but she’s not completely dumb about the laws of the world. She knows there’s nothing she can do now but go with her story.

  No, she wouldn’t be a problem.

  “Find him yet?” Bear asks. His tone’s hard, but not because he’s angry. That’s just his normal voice.

  “Nah. Haven’t seen him. Been patrollin’ the usual places he’s known to hang, but I can’t find him. I’ve seen other players in the game though, but I haven’t pressed them yet. That’s a problem all on its own that will need to be handled soon.” I hadn’t realized how many dealers had moved in on this area. We thought the only problem we had was Georgie going off on his own, working his own business on the side, but we were wrong. These fuckers who think they can fuck with territory and live to deal another day have a world of pain coming their way. It makes me smile, thinking of the ways I’ll torture them and what tools I’ll use.

  “In due time. For now, I need you down in Texas. That deal we made with the Devil’s is goin’ silver. I need you to make it gold again.” I laugh. That’s code for making them scream and bleed until they agree to our terms. Or taking their prez out and finding someone who will follow our orders.

  About a month ago, we had a meeting with the Devil’s Crew in Texas about setting up a deal with the Cartel in Mexico. Our business is big in the US—there’s not a state the Rough Riders aren’t in—but we wanted to go bigger, and what better way to get bigger and richer than work with the Cartel?

  Of course, there are risks and hazards, getting in bed with the Mexican drug lords, but we ourselves are a rough bunch of men so we weren’t scared. But the Devil’s Crew were sketchy about it from the start. The only reason they agreed to the arrangement in the first place was because we blinded them with money.

  I knew this day would come, though. Now that the fanfare has worn off and the dollar signs aren’t clouding their view, they want out. Dealing with the Cartel’s not for the weak. You need balls of steel and a strong stomach, and the Devil’s Crew isn’t cut out for that shit. But I’ll fix that. If Dino won’t cut it, I’ll find someone who will, and make it his lucky day with a promotion to club president.

  “I’m on it, Boss, but are you sure you don’t want me to take care of these guys first?” I’m anxious to get out of here and to put my sick skills to work, but it feels wrong to leave right now. Not only because I haven’t found my mark and completed my mission, but because we have new players in the game. If we let this go on longer than it already has, then we’re sending a message to everyone out there that we don’t care about our territory, meaning anyone can step up to the plate.

  Then there’s the other reason I don’t want to leave, but I’m not going to think on that anymore. I need to forget that bitch and do the job I came here for. After that’s done, it’ll be time to leave to go on with my life.

  Bear’s quiet for a minute, probably thinking what I am. He knows I’m right. If we lose this area, it’s going to hit our business hard. Plus, I’ve always been one for reputation, and mine’s something to be proud of. My name, and reputation with my tools, turn grown-ass men into blubbering babies. At least, that’s what I’ve been told.

  My first kill was with power tools, though it wasn’t on purpose. It was just what was close by at the time. But now, I make it a point to use various power tools to make my enemies feel pain and to deliver their deaths to th
e devil on a silver platter. That’s also how I got my road name.

  Clearing his throat, he says, “Make it quick, but leave a message.” When I don’t argue, he continues. “Let me know when it’s done, then call when you’re in Texas.”

  After hanging up the phone, I light up a smoke and take one last look at the church in front of me, praying for what I’ve been waiting to see all week. Come on. Just one last glimpse of her.

  I wait until I’ve burned my smoke all the way down to the filter. No one’s gone in or out of the church. If I hadn’t paid off a guy to give me info on the pastor and his family, I would think this place was closed. This is where Pastor Hock preaches, and where he goes, his daughter should follow.

  At least, that’s what I thought, but I guess I was wrong. Either that, or the guy I paid gave me false information. If I had the time, I’d track his ass down and beat the information I wanted out of him, but I have someone else’s blood to drain. Maybe next time.

  Finding the guy that’s intruded on our territory isn’t very hard. He’s been on the same corner every night this week, and every time I drive by on my bike—without my colors, of course—he smiles at me as he lifts his hand and holds out two fingers horizontally. It’s code for asking if I want to buy what he’s selling. Each time I’ve seen him, I’ve smiled back—with a promise of pain—and continued riding on.

  This guy’s either dumb as fuck and doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, or he just doesn’t give a shit.

  Tonight when I roll up, I have my cut on because I gotta represent. For all I know, the cops could be tailing me or watching the block, but it doesn’t matter either way. I got a job to do, even if it lands me behind bars for life. I live and breathe my club—I’d die for them. So you can be damn sure I’d walk into that courtroom smiling and proud as fuck of what I did before pleading guilty.

  Doesn’t mean that’s the way I want it to go, though, or that I won’t be taking precautions where I can.

  I take as many detours as I can without wasting too much time. Got other shit to do and all, but want to make damn sure I’m not being tailed.

  When I’m confident enough that I’ll have at least enough time to finish what it is I need to do, I finally steer my bike down the block.

  He sees me right away, but tonight, he’s not smiling. Maybe it’s the cut, or maybe he’s finally starting to wonder why it is I’m here every night and never buy anything. He probably thinks I’m an undercover fed, or some shit like that. Unoriginal asshole. Like a fucking fed could ride something as sexy as my bike, or even afford it.

  Pulling to a stop right in front of him, I gotta give the man props. He stands his ground and doesn’t cower. Sure, he seems a little nervous, but more curious. I don’t see an ounce of fear written on his though.

  I turn my bike off and push the kickstand down to the ground. I already have my leather gloves on so I don’t have to worry about that part. The tools I’ll use to torture information out of him are hiding in my saddle bag, but I can get those when the time comes. Now, it’s just getting down to business.

  Throwing my leg over the bike, I stand and face him.

  “What’s your name?” I don’t feel hate or anger when I do my job, just blissful nothingness. I don’t even get a high off the adrenaline anymore, but that doesn’t bother me. I don’t need it to do what needs to be done. It’s never personal, just business.

  “What’s it to you, man? Who the fuck are you?” he shoots back at me with attitude, but I let that roll. He’s young and dumb, and still doesn’t know who I am, or else he wouldn’t be so damn cocky. Or fuck, maybe he would. Some guys just don’t know what’s good for them.

  “Torq. Now, I’m gonna ask you one more time—what’s your name?”

  I can tell my name doesn’t ring any bells, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll learn soon enough.

  “Yo, I’m Keeto, and I run this block. Now why don’t ya get the fuck outta my face,” he says with bravado.

  If he wasn’t so damn stupid and dealing where he shouldn’t be, I’d offer him a job with us, just for the simple fact that he’s got balls. And it seems like business is his life. From what I’ve seen of him, he’s dedicated and doesn’t back down. Such a waste of potential. No matter. There will always be other guys to do our work for us.

  “All right, Keeto, let’s get a few things straight.” I take a step closer to him, my fists automatically tightening in anticipation for what’s to come. The tools in my saddlebag are calling my name, but those will have to wait. Who knows what I’ll have time for tonight. “This block is run by the Rough Riders MC, not you or whoever you may be workin’ for. In fact, this whole fuckin’ state is run by the Rough Riders. Do you know what that means?” I can’t help but ask. I’m curious as to what his answer will be.

  “That don’t mean shit, man. I don’t see your fuckin’ name on the block,” he challenges, then takes a step toward me. I don’t know if he expects me to stand down or step back, but I don’t and I won’t. This little hothead is just adding to the pain I’ll inflict. Not that I mind.

  He seems a little surprised that I haven’t withered under his hostility, but he doesn’t back down either. “Listen, you little shit. This is red and black land, and you’re currently pissin’ where you shouldn’t be fuckin’ pissin’. So, we can do this the easy way, and you can tell me who you’re workin’ for so I can handle them, or you can be difficult and cause yourself more pain than I intend to give you. Either way, I’ll get what I want outta you.” I’m not cocky, I just know my skills.

  “Fuck y—,” he starts, but I’ve had enough of his mouth. It’s time to get the show on the road with this fucker. Time’s wasting.

  My arm moves faster than a cobra. One second he’s talking, and the next, my hand is wrapped so tight around his throat, no words can pass his lips.

  I wait until his face starts to turn red and his eyes bug out before I loosen by grip, but only enough so he doesn’t pass out. He’s not going to get off that easy.

  “Guess you choose the hard way,” I say in an even tone, like I would if speaking of the weather. “I can’t complain too much, though. It’s been over a week since I’ve spilled blood, so I’m due to paint some shit red.”

  I did my research before I came back tonight, just in case I got the go-ahead to take care of this motherfucker. The house behind him has been empty for over three years, so that’s where I plan to paint my canvas of blood and gore. Too bad for him, he won’t enjoy it like I will.

  ***

  Three and a half hours later, I walk out of the house, feeling accomplished. It took a little longer than I thought it would—thinking he’d break at the first pinch of pain—but I got what I needed out of him. Now, there’s only one thing left to do.

  Lighting a match, I spark my cigarette. I’d put my tools back in my saddlebag already when I grabbed my smokes. So when the match falls to the ground and the first lick of flames start to rise, I’m already on my bike, heading out of town. It won’t be long before the police show up, so if I did have someone tailing me, this will keep them well occupied. I couldn’t have planned it better.

  I pull over once I’m an hour away from Hanover, Illinois, to call Bear.

  “I’m just about to the state line. I should be in Texas before the day is out tomorrow. Where do you want me?” I know who I’ll be dealing with, but unsure where it is Bear wants me for this to all go down. Since it’s just me, I doubt he’ll want me walking into a clubhouse full of pissed off brothers, but I also know I’ll be dealing with more than one personally. I have no doubt things will go according to plan, but I still like to have specifics before I get to a job location.

  “Good. I’ve setup a meet with Dino at the warehouse on 65th Street. He thinks I’m sendin’ you down there to get the details of the arrangements and their progress, for us to setup another club to take over where they’re leavin’ o
ff. He shouldn’t be prepared for a fight,” he says this with a laugh.

  I laugh too, because it’s brilliant. “Fan-fucking-tastic. I should have no problem either way,” I assure him. He doesn’t need it. He knows me, and that I get shit done. There’s a reason he sends me to do the dirty work, and I don’t mind. I enjoy it, live for it. Being on the road and making people bleed feeds my black soul.

  “I know, son. I know.” I can hear what sounds like pride in his voice. Bear’s been like a dad to me, so even though he’s proud of me for hurting people, it feels good. I don’t remember my real father, and the man who married my mom…well, I’m not going down that road again, but Bear’s been there for me. He helped me become the man I am today, and though that’s not someone my own father would have wanted me to be, I’m happy. I’m a part of something that goes beyond myself, or even my brothers.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. How’d things go with the other problem?”

  Thinking back on what happened, I smile. “Turns out Georgie really had started a side business, but more so than we thought. He was takin’ girls and sellin’ ’em to the highest bidders, but he was also takin’ some of our product and sellin’ it as his own. I don’t know how we didn’t notice it, but once I find that fucker, I’ll make him pay. I promise you that.”

  “Son of a bitch,” he yells into the phone. I bet T-Bone will be getting an ass-chewing as soon as he gets off the phone with me. Shit, maybe even a beating for letting this get past him. As our Treasurer, he oversees all our finances and money coming in from all our businesses. And for something this critical to get past him is inexcusable.

  “Call me when you’re finished,” he says after taking a minute to cool down.