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CHAPTER TWENTY

SAINT

A fter my conversation with Bullseye, we move into the clubroom. Just about to order fresh drinks from Heathen, we hear a gunshot from the upper floor. Automatically, we glance at each other, then we’re racing upstairs, followed by Freak, Tempest, Short, Genie, and a few of the others.

Another shot leads us to the source, my room, and bursting in, I see Pippa and the prospect grappling for control of the gun.

“What the fuck?” I roar, my brain trying to interpret the scene in front of me.

“She jumped me, man!”

Fucking bitch! Here I’d been pouring my heart out to Bullseye about my feelings for the woman I’d left in my room. She’d been satisfied, and sated when I last saw her, but instead of reciprocating how great I’d thought the sex had been, she’d been planning an escape by disarming and shooting the prospect. I dismiss the question of why he was even in my room rather than keeping watch in the hallway. She must have lured him in on some pretext.

“Get Doc here,” Prez roars, noticing the blood and the obvious bullet hole in Gris.

His discomfort makes me glare at Pippa, feeling some satisfaction on his part that he’s obviously caused some damage to her, her arm’s hanging at an awkward angle, clearly dislocated again, and her face is pale with the agony, but I feel no sympathy. I thought I’d left her compliant and went to my prez, thinking there might be a way to sort this out. She’s obviously played me.

My hand twitches and goes to my gun. Why draw this out? Why not end this now?

I see her eyes as my weapon leaves its holster, but it’s not an expression of fear, it’s desperation. And then she opens her mouth.

“He’s a traitor,” she roars. As her eyes meet mine, there’s pleading in them as she repeats, “You’ve got to hear me out. He’s a traitor, a plant, he’s trying to take down your club.”

Bullseye’s hand is on mine, keeping my gun pointed down, and he growls, “What the fuck are you saying?”

“She’s saying fuckin’ nothing. She’s a Fed, a plant. She’s lying.”

Frantic eyes go to me, then my prez, then narrow as she focuses on the prospect. “He’s not one of yours. He’s not a prospect. He’s a full member of a club who obviously wants to take you down.”

Gris shouts, “You can’t believe a word that bitch says. She’s setting me up.”

“What club?” Freak asks, his voice menacing and low.

“I don’t know the full name, but they referred to themselves as the Devils,” she responds.

Though injured, the prospect jumps up and kicks her in the ribs, so hard I can feel the blow. “She’s a fuckin’ liar. I’m loyal to this club.” His voice is so loud it pierces my eardrums.

Bullseye has frozen, his features fixed in an expression that bodes well for no one. He takes a moment, then pronounces, “Tempest, get Gris out of here now. Call in Doc to come take a look at that bullet wound and get him patched up.” He turns to meet my eye. “Saint, you and Freak stay here and get the truth out of her.”

I feel I’m between a rock and a hard place. While Gris has only been prospecting for a couple of months, I admit his conduct and attendance could be better, but he’s done nothing to prove himself as anything other than loyal to this club. And no one could blame him for wanting to care for his sick mom. As for Pippa, I might know her biblically, but there’s no reason for me to doubt the prospect’s words that she was taking an opportunity and trying to escape.

Though, why? I wonder, as I watch Tempest help Gris out, did she risk firing a shot that didn’t kill her target and was certain to alert any brother around? It makes no sense. Given her career, she should know better.

Bullseye and the others have followed the injured prospect out. When the door closes behind them, Freak steps forward, yanks Pippa up and throws her on the bed. That he chose the arm with the dislocated shoulder makes her scream, and my gut clenches at the thought of the pain she’s experiencing, so bad her face goes completely white, and she retches as if she’s about to throw up.

I want to go to her, then common sense gets the better of me. She shot one of ours. He may only be a prospect, but he’s a member of our club. I’ve no loyalty to her. I stand my ground.

The enforcer takes his gun out of his holster and points it at her. “Give me one fuckin’ excuse why I shouldn’t shoot you now. I’ve got a hundred reasons to justify putting you out of your misery.”

Ace. Of course it wouldn’t take much for Freak to put a bullet in her head to protect his son. What she’s done here is throw gas on the flame.

Pippa’s watering eyes give away the agony she’s in. Leaning toward my brother, I murmur into his ear, “Prez wants us to interrogate her, so hold off on that execution for a moment. And…” I put a little more force into my voice. “She’s not going to come up with something sensible while her shoulder’s hanging loose like that.” He turns and gives me the vaguest chin lift, but it’s enough for me to know he’s on board with my plan. “You hold her down, I’ll sort her arm out.”

Without further instruction, he’s leaning over her, trapping her under his strong muscular body. I take a rough hold of her arm, ignore the panicked look in her eyes, and twist it up and around until I feel the pop that puts her shoulder back in the socket. She screams, then settles down. Finding her discarded sling, I settle it back around her shoulder, and she sinks back onto the pillows with a sigh of relief.

From experience, I know it will still be sore, but the intense throbbing will have eased some at least.

Freak lifts his body and stands up, arms folded. With a more deliberate raise and dip of his jaw, he gestures that I should take the lead in the questioning.

“That was a stupid fuckin’ move to attack the prospect,” I tell her.

She breathes in and then out. Fills her lungs again, then lets air out on a sigh. Finally, she raises her eyebrows and asks me directly, “Is there really any point to talking to you? You’re not going to believe a word that I say.”

Imitating Freak, I widen my stance and cross my arms over my chest. “Try me.”

While the worst of the pain has been taken away, she places her palm against her shoulder and grimaces. I have an overwhelming urge to try to comfort her, to offer her painkillers, which wars against my overriding desire to protect my club from enemies like her. Pushing my personal feelings away, I stare impassively.

Again, she sighs. “I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to believe me.” Neither Freak nor I respond, but that seems enough for her to continue. “I stopped off in Tucson on my way to the graveyard. Stayed at a cheap motel and visited the bar opposite to get a bite to eat and something to wet my thirst.” She pauses, and narrows her eyes as if trying to get her recollections or her made-up story right. “I heard a phone ringing, nothing out of the ordinary, except most of us have either the basic ring or a personalised tone nowadays. This was one of the original ring tones, and it caught my attention as I wondered what kind of person still used that one.” She takes a breath before continuing. “I was facing the bar, while there was a mirror, it didn’t give me sight of the person answering the call, but I was intrigued enough to listen, picturing some dinosaur with his old woman calling to get him home. Instead, I hear him address the caller as Prez.” She shrugs. “While it’s not my jurisdiction, I immediately thought motorcycle club, as I didn’t think he’d be contacted by the President of the United States. I was bored and continued eavesdropping, not that I could pick up a lot. Only that he was trying to get information about routes and deliveries, and that he hated having to start at the bottom again. Oh, and his friend who was with him, called him Skunk.”

“Good story,” Freak snarls. “But how does that get us to where we are now?”

“I already thought there was something wrong about Gris.” Her eyes rise to meet mine. “Instead of guarding me from outside the room, he insisted on coming in. He didn’t pass me the tee, even though I asked, and watched me try to keep myself covered with the sheet as I had to slide off the bed to reach it.”

From where I’d thrown it down. Prospect was being a disrespectful dick if nothing else.

“He also told me that now you’d…” She pauses, swallows, then after a look at Freak, straightens her shoulders and says firmly, “Had your chance with me, I was going to be fair game for all the club until you put me out of my misery. And then he demanded I give him a blow job.”

“Fuckin’ what?” I snarl, suddenly not feeling quite so bad she put a bullet in him.

There’s a wealth of meaning in the glance Freak throws me. We already know Gris is in many ways out of step with the club and maybe needs some education that prospects have to go a long way before even thinking of getting their dicks wet. And that’s if we were inclined to pull a train on, or even shove our cock into a reluctant woman, and that is one thing we’re not. But Freak’s warning me to stay calm or at least resemble a graceful swan while underneath the surface I’m churning the water into foam.

Seeing she’s still speaking to two impassive faces and rightfully doubting we’re going to find any truth to her words, Pippa starts speaking again. “I went to the bathroom. I needed to freshen up.” Her pointed glance is at me, and I know the reason, but let nothing show on my face as she continues, “I took my time.” She pauses, then looks at Freak meaningfully, then slides the same serious expression toward me. “While I was in there, I heard that same ringtone as I’d heard in the bar.”

Freak shrugs. “Coincidence. Burner phone. We don’t bother to set up fancy music identifying our best friends.”

Without breaking eye contact with me, she delivers the fatal blow. “When I came out of the bathroom, I addressed him as Skunk and he answered.” I draw in air, look at Freak, and see him standing straight, his hands by his side now clenched into fists. She hasn’t finished. “As soon as he realised he’d reacted to his name, he took out his gun. I was prepared, had my crutch ready and swung it to take it out of his hand. And…” she shrugs. “Well, the rest you mostly saw.” Although I can see her grimacing with pain, she manages an insolent shake of her head. “Silly me, I thought you might want to know you had an infiltrator in your club.”

Freak roars. “Fuckin’ liar. You just want to bring this club down.”

“Then why would I have tested him by using his name and calling him out?” She scoffs. “Seems I had a lot more to lose. I could have achieved more to damage your club by keeping quiet.”

“You were trying to escape.” Freak still tries to twist it in the way that he wants.

“By firing bullets?” She looks incredulous now. “Believe me, by that point, I was fighting for my life.”

“Which you’ve already forfeited,” Freak shouts back. He turns to me. “VP, just do your job. Shoot this bitch now. She’s trying to fuck us up and divide us.”

My gun stays holstered as thoughts chase one another through my mind. She’s saved my cut, and now, if her info is correct, she could have saved my whole damn fucking club.

“Not so fast, Freak. As fanciful as her story sounds, I want to talk to Gris myself.”

He swings to face me, his jaw dropping. “You believe her?”

To be honest, I don’t. It’s far more likely that knowing which way the wind was blowing, she’d try to escape, however unlikely her chances of success. Wouldn’t that be what they’d teach a secret service agent? Do whatever necessary to get the job done or die trying. Problem is, I can’t reconcile his need to just put a bullet in her head with the feelings I’ve started to have about her. Hell, if she wasn’t the government agent that she is, I’d like to explore something I’ve never thought about before. A relationship with a woman. Shit, do I pick the wrong one when I decide to settle down. Someone I clearly can never have. But that drives me to give her every chance that I would never consider offering to anyone else. “What difference does a few more minutes or even an hour make? If there’s a chance she’s telling the truth, I want to find out.” Glaring at the enforcer, I add, “If there’s one chance in hell we’ve got a traitor in our ranks, I want to know about it.” With a snort, I add, in case he thinks I’ve gone out of my mind, “However unlikely that is.”

Freak stares at me for a moment before his face loses some of its tension and he nods. Then he points his forefinger at Pippa. “You’ve got a reprieve, for now.”

But I’m not letting her off so easily. “Timeline and details,” I snap.

Pushing herself up gingerly with her good arm, she props herself against the pillows. “It was after I’d just been told I’d been suspended, and I didn’t know how to deal with that. I decided to visit the only family I’d ever had, even though it was only their gravestones. I’d underestimated the driving time as there was a pile up on the I10. I was dead beat and knew I needed to plan a stop in my journey. So yeah, it was three evenings ago that I was in Tucson.” She breathes in, leans her head back, and some of the fight leaves her. “Now’s the time to tell me the prospect was here at the club, and I’m completely mistaken.”

Freak and I exchange a glance. We can’t tell her that Gris had had a pass to be absent for the last few nights because of his sick mother. Whatever, he hadn’t been here at the club at the time she reckoned she’d seen him in Tucson. The slight chin lift the enforcer gives me is enough to confirm that, however much we doubt her story, the prospect’s got some explaining to do.

It’s time for a reckoning. Time for someone to find out that nobody fucks with the Kings. And whether that’s her or Gris, one of them will be discovering that to their cost and will be meeting their maker. It won’t be one merciful bullet, it will involve a fuckload of pain.