Beyond the Cut (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #2)(30)
Cade gritted his teeth against a memory that had almost destroyed him. He’d lived through the ambush only because the slaughter had been so sudden and so violent that his men had fallen dead on top of him, ironically saving his life. Even now the guilt lingered. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you back. Don’t expect me to be any less of a man than you were. And don’t even consider fighting the Jacks without me by your side.” He lifted his hand and Cade did the same, their knuckles bumping as fists collided.
“To the end,” Jagger said.
“To the end and back.”
Jagger ducked a bullet and then returned fire. “You planning to come back from the dead?”
“I’m not planning to die until I’m an old man.”
*
It was a little after seven when Dawn arrived at Banks Bar. She’d stayed late at the florist shop, helping her boss get the bouquets ready for a weekend wedding, and then missed her bus when she stopped to grab a snack from a nearby deli. She stuffed the sandwich in her mouth and grabbed her apron from the hook in the stockroom, hoping Banks wouldn’t be around. She had never been late before and she didn’t want to blemish her perfect record.
“That supposed to be your dinner?” Banks emerged from the parking lot with a crate of bottles in his hands.
Damn. Dawn nodded, her mouth too full of chicken salad to speak.
“Not very healthy, always eatin’ on the go. You need to sit down, relax, and enjoy your meals. Better for digestion.”
“No time,” she muttered through a mouthful of bread. “Not really a sit-down-and-relax kinda girl. I think they call me an A-plus personality.”
Banks pulled a bottle from the crate and placed it on the stock shelf. “You’re killing yourself to feed Shelly-Ann’s shopping habit. Those girls of yours should be livin’ in style with the amount of money you’re giving their aunt.”
“One day,” she said. “I haven’t lost hope yet. I reported the assault to the police this time and Deputy Benson thinks there’s a good chance they’ll be able to put Jimmy behind bars. My lawyer says that kind of offense will likely be enough to convince an appeals judge to overturn the custody order.”
“You want him outta the picture, you just say the word.” Banks shelved another bottle. “I got friends who can make him disappear.”
So did she, but she wasn’t about to share. “Then you’ll have the Devil’s Brethren hunting you for the rest of your life.” Dawn handed him another bottle. “My fight, Banks, and I’ll deal with it my way. But I appreciate the offer. Always nice to know I have friends who are prepared to kill for me.”
He gave her a rare Banks grin. “Anytime.”
The bar was hopping by the time she hit the floor. She counted at least a dozen Sinners scattered throughout the room, most of whom she didn’t know. Arianne waved to her from behind the counter and Rob, the bouncer, nodded a greeting. Dawn picked up her tray and headed to a table of rowdy biker wannabes in the corner, looking utterly ridiculous in their TV biker show cuts.
After one minute of putting up with their fake biker talk, she signaled to Rob to keep an eye on them. Invariably, they would get drunk and approach one of the real bikers in the bar. If they were lucky, they would get turfed out. If they picked the wrong bikers or really pissed someone off, they would be hauled outside and beaten half to death; their vehicles would be trashed, their money stolen, and she would be mopping up blood and calling for a bevy of ambulances to take them to the hospital.
By the time she filled their drink orders, the place was full, every seat taken, and it was standing room only at the bar. Dawn worked as quickly as she could, hoping to pick up enough tips to keep Shelly-Ann quiet, at least for the rest of the week. The Pretty Reckless’s “Messed Up World” blasted through the speakers and she returned to the bar from an umpteenth trip across the floor only to find Deputy Benson sitting at the counter.
“Hey, Doug. What are you doing in the wrong end of town?”
His crisp dark-blue jeans, hand-tooled leather belt, cowboy boots, and button-down denim shirt made him look more like a country singer than a law enforcement officer, but he greeted her with his usual firm handshake.
“I pulled the CCTV tapes from the night Jimmy attacked you and stopped by to check the positioning of the cameras at the bus stop. Thirsty work staring at hidden cameras, so I thought I’d come in for a quick drink before I went home.”
Arianne pulled his beer and Dawn chatted with him every time she hit the bar with a new order. He seemed in no hurry to get home and was content to talk in abruptly interrupted snippets, with Arianne pulling up the slack when Dawn was serving tables.
“He seems quite decent for a cop,” Arianne whispered as she loaded Dawn’s tray. “A bit straitlaced for me, but nice.”
“He is nice.” Dawn shuffled the glasses around to balance them out. “Too nice. I’d probably taint him forever if I told him my whole life story. But he can also be very intense. Sometimes he gets fixated on a case and he can’t let go. He told me all about it over coffee one afternoon. He hinted that it had something to do with one of his sisters.”
Arianne loaded Dawn’s empties in the dishwasher. “Where’s he from? He doesn’t sound local.”
“Chicago. He wouldn’t tell me why he moved out here, but he doesn’t have any family or ties to the town.” Dawn gave her a grin. “Maybe he’s running from something. I think he has dark secrets. The quiet ones always do.” She lifted the tray, freezing when Arianne hissed in a warning breath.