Crank snorted. “We’d be fucking stupid to launch an all-out attack right now, but roughing up a Handlers ol’ lady is perfect. Those pussies ain’t gonna run to the pigs. We need to send a message. We ain’t gone, and they better not fucking forget it.”
Oh, my God. Mak’s stomach roiled. She was going to be sick.
“Makes sense. So what’re you thinking? You’re the one who told me all their bitches are guarded now.”
Mak could picture the evil grin curling the lips on Crank’s craggily face. “Yeah, but I’ve had eyes on them. Every afternoon at around two, that slut fucking two Handlers takes the trash out back behind the diner.”
Mak squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to be privy to a plan to hurt Jazmine. The urge to stick her fingers in her ears became near impossible to ignore, but she dug her fingernails into her palms and forced herself to keep listening. She might very well be the only person who could keep Jazz from being attacked, so she needed to memorize every detail spoken.
“Okay,” Blade said, full of skepticism. Blade was the president if she recalled the quick rundown Kristy had given her on the way over.
“She takes it out alone. All we gotta do is have someone waiting there for her,” Crank said, humor lacing his words.
The room spun. Mak released a silent breath in an attempt to keep from passing out. She’d noticed none of the ol’ ladies were ever completely alone, but she’d assumed it was merely an overprotective macho biker thing. How the hell was she to have known the CDMC and HHMC were violent enemies? It’s not like they ever mentioned club business around her.
Why the hell had Kristy let her come here? Why the hell was Kristy associating with these monsters?
“You planning to bring her back here or somewhere more off the grid?”
Crank laughed. “Nah, just want ’em to kick her ass a bit right then and there. Nothing that’ll make her go to the hospital. Docs’ll call the fucking cops. We do it right there, but be ready to split. Want ’em to know we’re paying attention to ’em. Make ’em think we know their habits, schedules. Rattle the fuck outta those goddammed Handlers.”
Blade’s laugher sent a shiver down Mak’s spine. “Can always count on you, Crank. That bitch has caused us a fuck ton of trouble. You choose who you want to get the job done. Lotta the guys will volunteer. They’ll look forward to making that bitch ugly for a good long time.”
She bit her lower lip so hard the metallic tinge of blood flooded her taste buds. She had to tell someone immediately. Thunder’s face was the first that popped into her head, but she had no way to contact him. Shell would be the best bet since she had direct access to Copper at all times. Her hand went to her back pocket for her cheap, prepaid phone.
Shit! She’d left it on a shelf behind the bar. Having the bulky thing in her against her backside all night had been driving her nuts.
The voices grew muffled then stopped completely.
Mak blew out a breath as relief settled over her. Any need to use the restroom had long disappeared, and now all she wanted was to get to her phone and call Shell.
As she was about to reach for the rusty knob to peek into the hall, the door swung open, and she came face to face with an astonished Crank.
“Well, well, well, who do we have here?” His eyes lit like he’d won the freakin lottery.
Her tongue locked up, preventing speech. All that came out was a croak.
“I did tell you to come find me on your break, didn’t I?” His mouth curled into what was probably supposed to be a smile, but it only made him look like a predator—a hungry lion.
And she was the gazelle.
One about to be eaten if she didn’t find her freakin’ voice. “I-I was looking for the bathroom,” she said with a forced laugh. “Got totally turned around.” With a shrug, she took a step to the side to let him in the room. “I’ll just go back out and see if I can find it.”
He stalked forward, forcing her to shuffle back until she collided with the wall with a hard thump. “I’ll tell you where it is.”
Her eyes darted left and right. No chance of escape. She’d been here before, many times before. Waiting for the fists, unable to pretend they weren’t coming, unable to run. Insane as it was, the rapid beat of her heart and the icy rush of fear in her veins wasn’t the anticipation of pain. She’d been hit countless times, beaten on more than one occasion, and she’d endured it. She was far more afraid of—