Calling the Biker's Bluff (Dogs of Fire MC: Savannah Chapter Book 7) Page 12

  Otter slid the peas under his waistband and pressed it against his genitals, hissing from the cold.

  “Oh my god, honey, he got you in the testicles?”

  “He got me in the dick,” Otter corrected. “Fuckin’ asshole delivered a low blow.”

  “Let me look,” I said, just as a knock came at the door.

  Shadow peeked his face in. “Had some trouble, I hear.”

  “Yeah, brother,” Otter said. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks, Shadow,” I said, and he grinned.

  “It’s all good.”

  Mouse arrived right after Shadow, making it impossible for me to examine Otter. Despite his injury, he helped carry the bags and the cat down to my car, handing Mouse his house key and my car keys, before kissing me and waiting for me to climb into my car.

  “Thanks for takin’ care of her, brother,” Otter said, and Mouse grinned.

  “I’m gonna drink your beer, so you’re welcome.”

  Mouse climbed into the car beside me and grinned. “Like your car, babe.”

  “Me too,” I said. “So, please be careful.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “I don’t know why I couldn’t drive,” I grumbled as we drove.

  “You don’t know where you’re going.”

  “I have GPS, Mouse, this is silly.”

  “Look at it as giving me a chance to drive your BMW. I’ve never driven one before.”

  “Aren’t you a mechanic?”

  “Yep. But I’ve never driven a new BMW,” he said. “Owners typically take them to the dealer.”

  “But you’re driving me now because Otter issued the edict.”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Then why not just say that?” I challenged.

  “Because it’s not my place.”

  I rolled my eyes but figured trying to argue with the man would be an exercise in frustration. We drove through an industrial area I’d never been to before, then pulled up to a run-down apartment building in a not so great area of Savannah.

  “I can’t leave my car down here,” I said as we drove into the complex.

  Mouse smiled, grabbing Otter’s keys and pushing a button on the key fob. A door on one side of the building opened and I realized it was a hidden garage. Mouse slid my car in without issue, then closed the door behind us.

  “Do all of the apartments have garages?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Mouse said, pushing the car door open. “Come on. I’ll get you and the cat upstairs, then grab your shit.”

  “Okay.” I slid out and followed him through a side door, then up a private staircase where he unlocked a nondescript door, and pushed it open, flipping on the light. I followed him inside and sighed quietly. The place was a dump. It smelled like Lysol, which indicated to me it was clean, but it was so rundown, you couldn’t really tell if there was dirt or just needed to be set on fire to start from scratch.

  “Otter had a recruit come in and clean yesterday.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. They clean it once a week whether he’s here or not. The club owns the buildin’ so recruits upkeep the property.”

  That surprised me, but I just nodded, and knelt in front of Sneezles’ carrier.

  “Don’t let him out yet,” Mouse suggested. “Let me get your stuff first, that way he won’t run.”

  “Good idea,” I said, and Mouse left us briefly to grab my bags.

  He returned quickly, informing me that another recruit was grabbing a litter box and food and should be there within the hour.

  I decided to see what Otter had in his fridge, taking a few minutes to whip up breakfast and coffee while we waited for the recruit to arrive with Sneezles’ supplies.

  Once everything was delivered, I decided to snoop. Mouse had stepped just outside the front door to take a phone call, so I perused Otter’s bookshelf, noting that he had some pretty interesting books. Whether or not he actually read them, I wasn’t sure, but he was a huge fan of Richard Bachman and had a first edition of Blaze. Interestingly, however, he only had one Stephen King book, Desperation.

  As I knelt to see what was on the lower shelves, I found a couple of large, leather portfolio cases, both covered with dust which I wiped off as I sat on my butt. Unzipping the first case, I laid it flat on the floor and was suddenly breathless. Each page had some kind of a sketch or watercolor, a few were finished, a few were not… all magnificent.

  I continued to flip the pages as Sneezles decided he wanted to look as well, curling up on my lap, and was transfixed by one, leaning in to get a better look. It was obviously a self-portrait and it was total perfection. It seemed to me that Otter had a strong grasp on who he is. He’d even managed to capture the quirky grin he got when he thought he knew more than you. I ran my fingers over his mouth, then decided I needed to move on, or I’d need to go somewhere private and flick the bean.

  “Shy?” Mouse stepped back into the apartment and I closed the portfolio with a thwap.

  “Here,” I said, setting it back on the shelf and standing.

  “You good?”

  I nodded. “Yep, I’m good.”

  “What are you doin’?”

  “Nothing. Just checking out Otter’s books.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

  “Yep,” I said. “Everything okay with you?”

  “Peachy.”

  “Great. Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Can I make you something?”

  “If you’re makin’ somethin’, I’ll eat.”

  I nodded, and escaped into Otter’s tiny kitchen.

  Otter

  I SLID THE side door open to find Caspar behind the wheel and Doc and Alamo on the van’s floor, in the process of hog-tying Shiloh’s intruder. He was gagged and totally unconscious.

  “Holy shit. He’s still out?” I asked.

  “No, Doc tranqued him,” Alamo said, securing his final knot.

  “I administered an intravenous sedative,” Doc corrected.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Nothing. But saying I tranqued him makes me sound like a goddamned vet.”

  “Don’t worry, Doc. This guy is a total animal. Take my word for it,” I said, adjusting the frozen side dish nestled inside my pants.

  “Get in,” Doc ordered. “I want to get this guy back to the compound ASAP. We’re gonna find out exactly who he is, and who the fuck he’s working for.”

  “This is a conversation I’m looking forward to,” I replied, sliding the door closed.

  We rode along in total silence. Traffic was light and Caspar made good time. At this rate, we’d be back at the compound in five minutes. Then I could let my fists do all the talking. This giant lump of shit was going to give us answers or I was going to make him unrecognizable.

  As we crossed Grant’s Junction the car in front of us suddenly slowed down, causing Caspar to hit the brakes. Grant’s Junction was a remote area not far from the barn, and not a whole lot of people drove it due to the fact it didn’t really lead anywhere.

  “What the fuck?” he growled in frustration, honking the horn several times.

  The car in front then stopped completely.

  “Screw this noise. I’m goin’ around,” Caspar said, checking his rearview mirror. But before he had a chance to pull around, the van was T-boned by something big. If I didn’t know for sure that the nearest tracks were at least five miles away, I’d swear we’d been hit by a train. The van skid sideways for several moments before turning over onto its side. The sound of scraping metal was almost deafening. Doc, Alamo, and I were tossed around the inside of the cargo van like rag dolls inside a toolbox. My head slammed into the roof panel as we eventually ground to a halt. Then darkness.

  I have no idea how long I was unconscious, but I woke up vomiting. A constant low frequency was ringing in my ears and my vision was blurred. I’d played enough football in my life to know I was severely concussed but seemed okay otherwise. Miraculously nothing felt broken and I didn’t
appear to be bleeding anywhere. I looked around and could see Doc and Alamo stirring. “You guys okay?” I called out.

  “I think so,” Alamo said. “Doc, how ’bout you?”

  “I’m fairly sure my ankle’s busted. Some ribs, too,” he said with a cough.

  “What the fuck happened? What hit us, Caspar?”

  No reply.

  “Caspar, man. What hit us? You okay?” I called out again, craning my neck to see an empty driver’s seat.

  Just then I heard voices from outside.

  “Shit, this one flew outta the van,” a woman’s voice said.

  “Is he dead?” a second woman asked.

  “Who gives a shit if he is. You’d just better hope Randy isn’t,” a man replied.

  Just then, one of the van’s back doors opened and the barrel of a rifle poked in.

  “We just want Randy. Give him to us and we’ll let you all live,” the first woman called out.

  “Go, fuck yourself, lady,” Doc replied, before coughing violently.

  “Shit, they’ve got him all tied up,” the second woman said, peering into the van.

  “Did you kill him?” the first woman asked us to no reply.

  “Rocco, help Sparkles grab Randy. If anyone tries to stop you, I’ll be sure to shoot them in the face.”

  The second woman and Rocco, who was armed with a pistol, silently climbed into the van and removed the hog-tied unconscious man. Sparkles had multi-colored pink and purple hair that reminded me of candy and looked like the last person you’d suspect to be a violent criminal.

  “Take him to the rig,” the first woman ordered the other two, then turned her attention back to us. “Okay, now the three of you. Out of the van now.”

  “Was my first ‘go fuck yourself’ somehow unclear?” Doc asked, blood now forming at the sides of his mouth.

  “Get out now or I swear to God, I’ll torch this van with all of you inside it,” Nerds woman threatened.

  “Come on, Doc. We’ve gotta get you out of here. You’re hurt,” I said, and Alamo and I helped him out of the van and onto the street.

  “Stand right here by the curb and keep your hands on your heads,” she said.

  Once outside I could see I wasn’t too off base. Although, it wasn’t a train that hit us, but a lifted 4X4 with a reinforced grill. The truck looked completely unscathed and our van looked like a crumpled-up tin can, laying on its side. Caspar was on his back, lying motionless in the street. I couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead.

  “Oh, shit. His leg is all fucked up. I think it’s broken or something,” Rocco said while he and Sparkles untied Randy.

  Both women were attractive and looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties. Woman number one appeared to be the older of the two and was clearly in charge. She had short, dark hair and serious features. Like someone you’d expect to see in a boardroom.

  “Did one of you do this to his leg?” she asked, waiving her rifle at us.

  “He probably got hurt when you rammed us with your fucking Mad Max Mobile, you psycho bitch,” I hissed.

  Caspar moaned, raising himself up on his elbows. “What the hell, happened?”

  “You stay down,” she ordered a confused Caspar. “Stretch your arms out wide away from your sides where I can see them.” He did as he was told but was clearly in pain. God knows what kinds of injuries he’d sustained from being ejected onto the street.

  “Did you do it?” she asked Casper, who clearly had no fucking clue what was happening. She turned back to us. “Was he the one who hurt Randy’s leg?”

  We said nothing.

  “Sparkles, get my bag,” she said to the younger woman, who did as she was told, returning momentarily from the rig with a military style, canvas bag. “Thank you,” she said, trading the bag for her rifle. “If any one of them moves, shoot all four of them, starting with him.” She motioned to Caspar.

  “Look, lady. You don’t know who you’re fucking with here,” Doc said, spitting out a mouth full of blood.

  “My name is not Lady, it’s Daphne, and the Beast knows all about you and the Dogs of Fire. Not just here in Savannah, either. Believe me. The Beast is well aware of you.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re onto you, too,” he replied.

  Daphne laughed. “You only know about the Beast because we wanted you to know. Trust me, you don’t have the first idea of who we are or how we operate.”

  “How about you fill us in?” Doc said.

  “I’d be more than happy to,” Daphne said, smiling wide before reaching into her bag and producing a machete. “I’m sure you’re quite familiar with the principle of taking an eye for an eye. It’s a philosophy the Beast believes in so much, we pay our enemies back in double. Should you remove an eye from the Beast, we’ll blind you in return. Injure the the foot of the Beast… and we’ll take a hand.”

  Daphne’s machete came down on Caspar’s right wrist, completely severing his hand from his body.

  I watched in horror as Caspar gasped for air, convulsing in the street as blood poured from his arm. The three of us lurched towards Daphne, but Sparkles and Rocco had us covered.

  “One step closer, and you’re all dead,” Daphne said.

  “I swear to Christ you’ll pay for this,” Doc seethed through bloody teeth.

  “You have about four minutes to get him to the ER before things get dicey,” Daphne said, before bending down and picking up Caspar’s severed hand and placing it in her bag. “It’s a shame the doctors won’t be able to reattach this, but I’ve got some hungry dogs at home who deserve a nice treat.”

  “I’m gonna kill you,” Doc growled.

  “I feel like you’re not learning from today’s lesson, Doc. Do I need to show you another example of subtraction?” Daphne asked, raising her machete.

  “No!” Doc shouted.

  Daphne paused, her smile returning. “Good. As soon as we’re gone you can call an ambulance. Make one move before that and I’ll turn him into a can of Alpo.”

  Every muscle in my body burned with rage. I wanted to tear Daphne and her crew limb from limb, but she had the drop on us, and we had to get Caspar to the hospital before he lost more than his hand.

  Doc tended to Caspar while I called Doom and rallied the brothers to get here and get Caspar to the hospital. It would take them less time to get to us than an ambulance, and Milky drove up less than ten minutes later, Badger and Dash behind him. While Badger and Dash cleaned up the crash site, Milky drove the rest of us to the hospital.

  Doc was forced to stay out of Caspar’s surgery, mostly because he was too close to the case, but also partly to do with the fact that he was hurt.

  For the next three hours, we were forced to stick around in order to get stitched up, wrapped up, and overall watched for hidden injuries. I was released at almost seven in the morning, getting the fuck out of the hospital before anyone could stop me. I just needed to wrap my arms around my woman and sleep.

  Shiloh

  I FELT THE bed dip and rolled over just as Otter was sliding under the covers beside me. “Where were you?”

  “Takin’ care of something,” he said, vaguely, pulling me against his chest, hissing quietly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m okay, Loh. Go back to sleep.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Seven.”

  “Are you staying put now?” I asked on a yawn.

  “Yeah.”

  I burrowed against him, sliding my hand over his waist and holding tight. “Okay.”

  * * *

  I woke again tucked tight to Otter, my hand in his on top of his chest and I smiled, trying not to make any sudden moves. This was my absolute favorite place to be and I didn’t want to ruin the moment. But by lying there without moving, meant the sunlight illuminated bruises all over his chest and stomach and I could no longer stay still. I sat up and whipped the sheet off of Otter, ultimately waking him.

  “What the fuck, Loh?” he growled. />
  “What the hell happened to you?” I demanded, gently checking his bruises. The ones on his body were relatively mild, but they hadn’t been there earlier, so I wanted answers.

  He ran his hands down his face and winced. “The van rolled.”

  “What van rolled?”

  “I love you, but can you please refrain from yelling right now?”

  “Why, Easton? Are you concussed?”

  He sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Jesus,” I hissed, scrambling off the bed. “Why the hell did you go to sleep without telling me so I could check on you?”

  “Doc cleared me.”

  “Did he tell you that you should have someone rouse you every few hours to make sure you wake up?”

  “As you can see, you have adequately roused me.” He patted the mattress. “I’m fine, baby. Come back to bed.”

  I crossed my arms. “What happened?”

  “How much do you want to know?”

  “All of it.”

  He patted the mattress again. “Come here.”

  I slid back between the covers and kept my distance in an effort not to hurt him, but he was having none of it and pulled me over his chest. “Careful,” I warned.

  “I’m fine,” he reiterated.

  “Who were you with?” I asked.

  “Doc, Alamo, and Caspar.”

  “Are they okay?”

  He sighed. “Not entirely, no.”

  He filled me in on the accident, Caspar losing his hand, and the escape of the man who had broken into my condo, and I tried to keep my emotions in check until he was finished.

  I knew that it was important that I let him get everything out, but I was having a very difficult time breathing. I’d never experienced anything so violent. Even working in the ER for the two years I did, no one had come in with a severed hand because a crazy woman had cut it off and put it in her purse.

  “Baby, you need to talk to me, so I know you’re breathing,” Otter said.

  “I… have no words,” I whispered.

  “You want me to filter next time?”

  “No,” I said immediately. “I always want to know what you’re up against. I just wish there was a way to twatslap that cunt.”