Christy and Paul were watching me, and I felt a flush creep up into my cheeks. I took a sip of my wine as Christy leaned in and asked, “Who’s Jackson? You have two guys in love with you? Should he be worried Gray will beat him up?”
GRAY
* * *
It was after one when Frankie dropped me off at the restaurant to get my truck, and I drove home. I glanced up at the windows to my apartment, but all was dark. Emory was probably asleep. I envisioned her in my bed, her dark hair fanned out across my pillow, ensuring the coconut scent lingered long after she got up. I realized after sharing the bed with her for only one night I didn’t know how she slept. Was she a stomach sleeper? Side? She’d been curled up against me all night, but that wasn’t the norm. She hadn’t been with a man since her ex. It was these unknowns that had me climbing from the truck and clicking the lock button. I wanted to get upstairs and find out. It made my night’s activities worth it. I curled my fingers into fists at the thought, swiping my key fob across the access panel in a tight grip.
Quake had had information about the man who was using women to get his drugs through the clinic—and other clinics around town—but the little fucker hadn’t been at the place we’d gone. It had been a rundown house on the other side of town, an area I’d never been. I assumed the whole town was part of Quake’s turf.
I spent fifteen minutes in the back of Quake’s SUV as he talked on his cell, working his connections, whoever they were, to find the guy. Frankie and a couple other men were in a second truck following us. I’d asked Quake why they weren’t riding their motorcycles—since they were a motorcycle club—and he’d said while they hated riding anything but their bikes, some things called for stealth. Their bikes weren’t quiet, nor did a big group of them blend in.
Quake had only offered road names as way of introduction. I doubted Razor’s mother had given him that name at birth. Every one of them knew me. They either nodded or shook my hand with a certain level of what seemed to be respect. There was no question in their minds I could hold my own in a fight, but I was content letting them keep the guns. My gun shooting days from Marines were over.
I’d remained quiet as Quake talked, listening and watching. I’d dealt with some bad people, some bad shit, but this was outside of my comfort zone. The men were organized and calm as if this kind of thing was something they did frequently. Hell, they probably did. I wanted my hands on the fucker, but finding him was up to Quake.
The second place we went was a few blocks from the clinic. Emory had told me of her volunteer work and where the building was, but at night, driving past it with men carrying guns, this wasn't a place I wanted her on her own. She wouldn’t be driving to it alone anymore. We parked in front of another rundown house, the one next door vacant and abandoned, the windows boarded up.
A light was on in the front window, the blue flicker of a TV indicating someone was home. Frankie rang the doorbell, and the fucker had answered it. Gangbangers didn't ring the bell, so he probably thought he was safe. It seemed too easy. I’d wanted a chase, a fight, something, but he was just a dead-beat low life who pissed his pants at the sight of Quake’s men pushing him back into his living room.
“That’s him?” I asked as Quake, and I went inside. I wanted to beat the shit out of the right person.
“Been busy, Ralph,” Quake said, his voice low and even.
Quake gave a little swipe with his fingers, and he and his men went back outside, giving me a minute alone with the asshole without being asked.
“You broke into a house last night,” Quake said.
Ralph’s eyes widened in his gaunt face.
Quake gave a nod, and I walked over to the fucker. He stood, practically shaking in his baggy jeans. “The woman who had to climb down a fucking rope ladder to get away from you? Yeah, she's mine.”
I punched him, and he fell to his knees, blood splattering from his nose, dripping like a leaky faucet. While it had felt good, he was a worthless piece of shit. He cried, actually cried when confronted with breaking into Emory’s house.
“Dude, she wouldn’t give over the scripts,” he said, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood dripping down his chin.
“So you break into her house. What were you planning to do?”
He held up his hands as if to ward me off. His eyes were wide and wild, and I recognized a guy hyped on drugs, on meth, and he was flying now. “Just scare her, that’s all, man.”
Just scare her. Right. If he’d been high in Emory’s house like he was now, he wouldn’t have stopped at finding her keys or a script pad and leaving. He’d gone up the stairs looking for Emory. Turned on the fucking light. Shouted for her. He was either a complete dumbass or had intended to kill her… and other things first. My anger flared back to life.
“Do you know who I am?” I growled. For once, I wanted someone to recognize me.
He nodded. He glanced to Quake, who stood beside me, arms crossed over his chest.
“Who am I?” I asked. I wanted confirmation that he knew it wasn't just Quake and the MC watching out for Emory.
“The…The Outlaw.” Good, he knew who he was facing now.
“Yeah, and like I said, Emory’s my woman.” When he stood on shaky legs and started to back away from me, not just in fear, but absolute terror, I continued. “I’m a more matched fight than a woman, don’t you think?”
I cracked my knuckles, and I saw him swallow when Quake walked out the front door, leaving the two of us alone.
“You just wanted to scare her? Well, dude, I don’t plan on just scaring you.” I stepped toward him and sought the retribution I wanted.
Five minutes later, I met Quake on the front steps, and Frank tossed me a rag while the other men went in to retrieve the guy. I wiped blood from my knuckles as the fucker was dragged out of the hovel he called home and tossed into the backseat of the second SUV. One guy held up his hands, and I tossed him the rag. He walked over and leaned against the closed door, face impassive, waiting for direction from Quake.
The air was heavy, and I was sweating from my exertions, but the night was still. Only the far-off hum of the highway and a distant siren broke the quiet. If someone wanted to cause trouble, they'd take one look at our little group and run the other way. I shook Quake’s hand. “I’m done here.”