Page 11 of T-Bone (Steel Demons MC #11)
Faith
“O h yeah,” I moaned and closed my eyes.
“I really needed that.” I liked coffee any way I could get it, even the bitter stuff offered at police precincts all over the country.
As long as it was hot and black, I’d take it, but this place T-Bone had stopped at on our way to Shiloh Basin?
The coffee was magnificent, full-bodied and flavorful, and strong enough that I felt the jolt of caffeine instantly.
“Need a moment alone with your cup?” T-Bone’s voice was filled with amusement and his gray eyes danced with good humor, which surprised me since it was early in the morning and because he’d proven himself to be rather bad tempered.
“No thanks, in this instance I’m okay with an audience.” I clutched the cup in both hands as a swell of satisfaction fill my chest at T-Bone’s shocked expression.
“Unexpected.” That was all he had to say, which was fitting. T-Bone didn’t seem to speak unnecessarily, a fact I appreciated in a man.
But we did have things we needed to discuss and since there was no room to talk on the back of a motorcycle, now was as good a time as any. “Tell me about the Ghost Riders.”
He studied me over his coffee cup for a long moment before he finally spoke.
“Nate Ferris is the president of the club, and he rules it with an iron fist. Not a tyrant but he believes strongly in the democratic approach, which means no actions not sanctioned by the MC. His VP is Howie ‘Long John’ Jackson. Solid second in command, used to be an enforcer so he’s quick to violence.
The MC is violent, and they don’t give a fuck who they hurt as long as it’s not the MC.
They make money with automatic weapons, girls, and drugs, mostly coke and meth.
” He spoke so matter of fact that it was hard to tell how he felt about any of what he’d just said.
“Not so different from Steel Demons, right?” I didn’t mean it as a slight and he didn’t seem to take it that way.
His broad shoulders shrugged. “We have plenty of legit businesses, and we don’t force our girls, through drugs or violence, to work. They come because they want to make money in the sex trade and be safe about it. We provide protection and a place to conduct their business for a cut.”
“So Steel Demons is what, a philanthropic motorcycle gang?”
“First off, we’re a club not a gang.” He stared at me to make sure I understood. “Make no mistake about, Faith, we do operate outside the law when we have to, and yeah, we also sell guns and illicit drugs. We’re criminals too, but there are different types of criminals.”
That much was true. “I’m not judging, I swear. I’m just trying to understand the differences.” I’ve always lumped all biker groups together and a lot of that had to do with Marcus and his treatment of my sister, so I needed to understand.
“You were a detective, so you know that some people do illegal things, but they aren’t bad people. Others are horrible fucking people and do horrible things. Drugs are illegal but we’re not forcing anyone to buy them or do them. Same with sex.”
It was so simple, yet I understood completely. I nodded to let him know I heard what he said and didn’t say. “What do you know about a blood debt? I looked it up online and it’s some medieval shit.”
His lips curled into a hint of a grin. “That about sums it up. Basically the Ghost Riders think Chloe killed Marcus and Victor, which means she owes them blood in return. Since she’s dead, they are happy to take Gemma’s blood.”
I gasped at the barbarity of it all. “But she’s also Marcus’ blood.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re also her blood, which is why we need to be extra careful. They might want Gemma because she’s Marcus’ daughter.”
“But you don’t believe that?”
“No,” he sighed. “I don’t. But I’m not sure if they want her dead. I’m still working on it.”
“I take it the Steel Demons and the Ghost Riders are not friendly?”
He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “We are not. A few years back they tried to take some of our business. We fought about it, and they didn’t come out the victors so there’s been bad blood ever since.”
It really was like a TV series. “Chloe swore to me that Marcus and his club were a lot like you describe your MC. Sold a bit of weed and coke and that was it, but she didn’t see what I saw.”
He nodded. “What did you see?”
“Marcus was one of those guys, too charming and charismatic and not in a good way. It was surface. The few times I met him there would be the flashes of darkness mixed with the charm. I know that darkness well.” I looked up at the blue, cloudless sky and sighed.
“He charmed her so completely that I couldn’t break through it, how could I when he’d given her the exact fairytale she’d always hoped for?
The misunderstood bad boy, that’s what she called him and wouldn’t hear anything otherwise.
” Guilt clawed at me for how hard I pushed.
“His mask slipped, and he started to isolate her—which was easy because the more I tried to help her, the more she defended him. The beatings got worse, as they tend to over time, and then one day they were just gone. Lots of blood in their house, Marcus’, Chloe’s, and Victor’s. Not Gemma’s though.”
“What about the bodies?”
A bitter laugh escaped. “That’s what led to the murder-suicide theory.
The cops figured Marcus and Victor killed Chloe and did something to Gemma, but they couldn’t say what and they never bothered.
” My hands balled into angry fists as those old arguments came back to me.
“They theorized that later that Marcus was so overcome with grief or guilt, possibly both, that he turned the gun on his brother and then himself. It’s bullshit, of course, but that’s the official story. ”
T-Bone kept quiet for so long I wasn’t sure if he was one of those guys who slept with their eyes open.
His gray gaze was stormy but there was a softness in there that was inescapable.
“I’m sorry about Chloe,” he finally said, his voice gruff and slightly rusty as if he hadn’t spoken in too long.
“My sister Alina was also killed by the man who’d abused her. ”
My hand instinctively reached out to his. “I’m so sorry, T-Bone. That must’ve been tough.”
He nodded. “The fucker is up for parole soon.”
That explained some of his willingness to help, in addition to the personal connection to Ashley. “I can help you craft a statement that says all the right words to make sure he doesn’t get out.”
His steely gaze met mine and he gave a short nod, stood up and tossed his coffee cup. “We should get going. We have a long ride ahead of us.”
Men with their shuttered emotions was another reason I’d given up on relationships years ago.
In my line of work—previous and current—relationships were the beginning and end of too many crime scenes to count.
A woman was better off on her own than trusting in a man, especially one who couldn’t share his feelings.