BEAST: Lords of Carnage MC Page 4

  My mind moves southward, sliding down her ribs toward her waist, when suddenly, it comes back to the outline of her gun, which snaps me back into reality.

  She’s a fuckin’ fed.

  Of all the things I could have imagined Brooke doing — of all the places I could have imagined she’d gone — being a federal agent is the absolute last thing I ever would have guessed. Shit, I could have seen her as, I dunno… a belly dancer? A singer in a rock band, maybe? Even a goddamn forest ranger. But a fed?

  I pick up an old carburetor and throw it as hard as I can against the side window of the junker. That shatters, too.

  Why do you even care what the fuck she is? a small, rational part of my brain argues. It’s not your fuckin’ problem, Beast. She is not your fuckin’ problem. And hasn’t been for a long time.

  She was never my fuckin’ problem, as it turned out. I was just too young, dumb, and full of come to know it at the time.

  I never really knew her anyway, did I? I was just an idiot kid. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted. Brooke was just the first piece of tail who seemed like she had a brain rattling around in there somewhere. I let my dick do my thinking for me. It was all just a stupid mistake.

  And now she’s back in town. For who knows how long. To make my life goddamn miserable, unless I can stay the hell away from her. Unless I can stop my dick from thinking, and use my big head instead of my little head where she’s concerned, for once.

  Fuck.

  I finish my smoke, and shrug off my cut. Then I grab a tire iron and start wailing on a pile of old tires by the side of the lot. Over and over, I bring the metal down, as hard as I can, feeling my muscles strain and flex with the effort. I keep pounding until I’m exhausted, dripping with sweat and my mind almost clear.

  “Hey!”

  I turn around. Hawk is standing about twenty feet behind me. His arms are crossed, and he’s surveying the scene in front of him.

  “God damnit, Hawk, do not fuckin’ break my balls right now!” I growl. “I’ll fuckin’ pay for whatever you think this junk is worth.” I drop the tire iron and pull my shirt off over my head, using it to wipe the sweat off my face and chest.

  “Fuck that. All this shit’s just goin’ to the junk yard.” Hawk replies easily. “Besides, it looks like you need to let off some steam. Wanna talk about it?”

  “What are you, my therapist?” I bark. “No, I do not want to fucking talk about it. Jesus!”

  Hawk shrugs. “Suit yourself.” The hint of a smirk ghosts across his face. Smug fucker.

  “So, if you ain’t out here to bitch at me, what the fuck do you want?” I challenge.

  Hawk’s smirk disappears.

  “I just got a call from Trudy,” he says, a frown creasing his brow. “She’s at the hospital. Rock’s been admitted for a heart attack.”

  “Jesus,” I mutter to myself under the sound of my engine. “What the fuck is up with this day?” It seems destined to throw me one goddamn curve ball after another. I’m lookin’ forward to drowning my sorrows in the bottom of a bottle of Jack when this is over.

  We’re riding in formation to Tanner Springs General Hospital. Since Rock, our prez, isn’t with us, our VP Angel is in his spot, in front and to the left. Normally Gunner, our Road Captain, would be riding beside him, but Gun is still off dealing with Lemmy and he’s not back yet. So instead Geno, our Secretary/Treasurer, is filling that spot. I’m further back, just in front of Ghost, our Sergeant at Arms.

  I don’t know much more about Rock’s situation, except that he’s awake, and out of danger for the moment.

  When we get to the hospital, we park in a group at the top of the parking garage, then take the elevator down to the floor that says it houses the cardiac unit. On the way in, I notice the black BMW SUV belonging to Rock’s old lady, parked in a spot near the door. I know it’s hers because of the vanity plate:

  BACKOFF

  At the info desk, Angel asks a gray-haired lady with a thin, chinless face where Rock Anthony’s room is. She casts furtive glances around at the group of us as she slowly pecks his name into the computer. For a moment, she looks like she’s having second thoughts about giving us the number, but finally purses her lips and murmurs it to Angel.

  “Thanks,” he says, and lifts his chin at the rest of us to follow.

  Most of us aren’t talking much. It’s a somber thing when your club president is out of commission, even if it’s only temporary. When we get to the corridor where they’re keeping Rock, I see Trudy coming out of a door on the right-hand side. As usual, she’s got her dyed-blond hair teased up into a high pony on top of her head. She’s wearing a tailored black leather jacket and tight dark jeans that hug her ample figure, and swaying a little on her high black boots. When she sees us coming down the hall, she turns and starts walking toward us.

  “Tru.” Angel steps forward, and she allows herself to be embraced.

  “Angel.” She’s taken out a pack of cigarettes, which she holds nervously in her red-lacquered hands.

  “How is he?”

  Trudy raises an eyebrow. “He’s about how you’d expect him to be. Weak. Tired. Acting like an asshole to the docs.”

  Angel snorts. “Yeah. About the size of it.”

  Geno cuts in. “What happened? Were you with him when it went down?”

  Trudy’s jaw tenses. Something in her face shifts. “No. I was not,” she says coldly. “The hospital called me after they brought him in.”

  Next to me, Ghost, lets out a low whistle that only I can hear. Something’s up.

  “Now that you’re all here,” Trudy continues, her eyes sweeping over us, “I’m going out for a smoke and a coffee. I’ll be back in a little while. You make sure that old fool doesn’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

  “Sure thing, Tru,” Angel reassures her. Trudy’s heels clack down the hall as she walks past us, head high, and goes in the direction of the elevators.

  “Wonder what Rock’s done to get the cold shoulder?” Ghost murmurs.

  “Wonder if is has anything to do with what he was doing when he had the attack,” I mutter back. Trudy and Rock have always had a bit of a tempestuous relationship, but I’ve never known anything to be seriously wrong between them. She and Rock have been together a long time. She knows what being the old lady of an MC prez is about.

  There’s too many of us for everyone to go into Rock’s room at once, so five of us head in first while the rest wait outside. Angel, Ghost, Geno, Thorn and I slip inside the open door of Rock’s private room, pushing aside the privacy curtain so we can all fit at once.

  “Oh, Jesus, look at this. It’s the welcome wagon,” Rock grouses as he sees us walk in.

  “Go ahead and complain, old man,” Thorn shoots back, flashing him a teasing grin. “A cranky cunt like you’d be lucky to have this many people show up for your funeral.”

  Far from being insulted, Rock finds Thorn’s remark amusing. He starts laughing, his head rising up off the pillow, but then the laughter turns to a cough and he falls back on the bed, clutching weakly at the sheets.

  “Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he finally manages to wheeze.

  “Sorry, prez,” Thorn mutters.

  “So, how you feelin’, Rock?” Ghost asks.

  “Like shit. How you think I’m feelin’?” He lifts up an arm to show us the IV drip plugged into him. “Look at all this bullshit,” he says in disgust. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “When are you gonna get out?” Angel asks. “The docs say anything?”

  “Nah, not yet. They’re keepin’ me here overnight for sure. Beyond that, what the fuck do I know? They keep sayin’ they gotta keep me here for observation. Make sure they know the extent of the damage to my ticker.” He shakes his head and grumbles. “They say maybe I gotta change my diet, start takin’ pills or somethin’. Fuck that.”

  “Who brought you in, Rock?” I ask.

  “I brought myself in!” he barks back. “Okay?”

/>   “Christ, okay,” I raise a hand. “Just wonderin’ what you were doin’ when it happened. Were you exerting yourself, or somethin’?”

  “Jesus fuck! None of your goddamn business, okay?” he splutters. “Christ, if I’d known I was gonna get the third degree, I wouldn’ta let any of you fuckers in here. You’re all worse than goddamn Trudy.”

  Behind us, the door pushes open and a familiar figure in a nurse’s uniform comes in.

  “Well, hello there,” Thorn’s old lady Isabel says. She just recently completed nursing school and was lucky enough to land a job here at Tanner Springs General. She looks around the room at all of us and flashes Thorn a quick smile.

  “How are you feeling, Rock?”

  “Does everybody gotta ask me that question?” he answers irritably.

  “The nurses and doctors do,” she smiles, pretending to ignore his rudeness. “Otherwise, how are we going to know how to take care of you?”

  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Rock grumps.

  Isabel rolls her eyes and grins. “This is a lot of people to be visiting our patient,” she points out. “You guys look like clowns trying to fit into a Volkswagen in here.”

  “Yeah, get ‘em outta here,” Rock echoes. He raises a hand and waves us off.

  Thorn takes a step forward and catches his old lady around the waist. “Hey, there, gorgeous,” he growls. “Ya know, I’m not feelin’ that great meself. What’s a man gotta do to get some nursing around here?”

  Isabel giggles and flashes him a radiant smile. “Don’t you get enough of that at home, sir?”

  “Ah, geez, enough of that,” Rock grunts, but Isabel’s presence seems to have lightened the mood just a little.

  “All right,” Angel says. “We’ll get out and let the next group come in to say hello.”

  “Angel,” Rock says suddenly. “The shipment tomorrow.” He glances at Isabel, but then keeps talking. “I won’t be there to lead the run. You gotta make sure things go through.”

  “Don’t worry, Rock. It’s handled.” Angel claps him gently on the shoulder. “You got nothing to worry about. Everything’s under control until you get outta here. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Okay.” Rock leans his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes.

  The five of us file out of the room. Isabel comes out with us.

  “I know he looks like hell right now,” she tells us. “But actually, his vitals look okay. The heart attack could have been a lot worse. It was a warning. Hopefully, a wake-up call. If he takes it seriously, and changes a few things in his lifestyle, there’s every reason to believe he’ll come out of this just fine.”

  Ghost smirks. “Hard to imagine Rock eatin’ a low sodium diet and drinking green tea.” That gets a chuckle out of the rest of us.

  Angel tells the rest of the brothers that the five of us are gonna take off back to the clubhouse. On the way out, I half-expect to run into Trudy, but she’s nowhere in sight. Back out in the parking garage, I see why: her car’s gone.

  “Looks like Trudy’s taken off for a while,” I say to Angel, pointing to the empty space.

  “Huh.” Angel doesn’t seem surprised. I lift a brow at him.

  “She seemed pretty mad at him,” I remark.

  “Well, that might be because of this, or it might just be in general,” Angel answers reluctantly. “Trudy and Rock are on the rocks.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. She kicked him out of the house a couple weeks ago. He’s been sleeping at the club. Apparently, she wants a divorce.”

  6

  Brooke

  After I manage to choke down half a burger and a few fries, I pay the waitress at the diner for my meal and Travis’s, then head over to the hotel to check in.

  I’m still trying to convince myself that running into him like this was a good thing. Good that it happened right away, I mean. And especially good that he’s mad at me. That means he’ll avoid me from now on, and I can just focus on my work.

  Work. That’s what comes next. I need to clear everything else from my mind.

  I walk into the lobby of the chain hotel on the edge of town where I booked my reservation. The place is brand-spanking new, so much so that the furniture in the lobby still has that weird off-gassing smell to it. I approach the front desk, rolling my suitcase behind me. A young girl who can’t be more than nineteen greets me with an overly-lipsticked smile. From the name tag pinned to her shirt, I gather her name is Brandi.

  “Hi. I have a reservation under Brentano.”

  The girl nods, a parody of adult efficiency, and reaches down to pick up the single paper lying on the counter in front of her. “Absolutely,” she enthuses. “Brentano, single occupancy? Looks like you’ll be with us for… three days?”

  “That’s right.” I watch as she turns to a monitor and starts to clack at the keys with multicolored nails. “I may have to extend my stay at some point,” I continue. “Will that be a problem?” It seems like a ridiculous question, given that there are only four cars in the whole parking lot, but I figure I should ask.

  “I’m sure it should be fine,” she smiles politely. “Just let us know as soon as you’re able to. Worst case scenario, we’d just have to have you switch rooms. Would that be okay?”

  I shrug, even though I can’t imagine why that would be necessary. “Sure.”

  Brandi types some more information into the computer, frowning in concentration. She asks for my credit card, which I provide, and then clacks some more. Finally, she reaches for a tiny envelope. “One room key fine?”

  “That’ll do it.”

  “Okay!” she says chirpily. She scrawls a number on the envelope, slips a card in, and hands it to me. “Your room number is here,” she says, pointing with a colored nail. “Elevators are down the hall and to the left. You’ll be on the fourth floor. Please let us know if you need anything.”

  “I will. Thanks.” I take the card from her and turn down the hall, happy to be done with the transaction. I don’t know why, but I’ve always found these kinds of conversations exhausting and unpleasant. It’s not quite fair — Brandi’s just doing her job, after all. I just kind of hate the whole official-speak of it. It makes me feel like we’re all robots, instead of human beings.

  As the elevator takes me up to my room on the top floor of the hotel, I shrug it off and turn my mind to the rest of the afternoon. My first order of business is to stop in and see the chief of the Tanner Springs Police Department. A Brandt Crup, apparently. I don’t recognize the name, so I’m guessing he’s not from Tanner Springs originally — meaning he probably won’t recognize or know anything about me, which is a plus. I called yesterday and spoke to his assistant, who told me she’d convey the message that I’d be stopping by sometime today.

  Sliding my key card through the slot, I enter the room, turn on the light, and glance around at my new home for the next few days. Nothing glamorous, but more than adequate. I take off my jacket and remove my shoulder holster, then bend down and do a few stretches to work the kinks out of my neck and shoulders. I toss my bag on one of the two beds and decide to spend a few minutes checking my emails, which yields nothing important. Resisting the urge to lie down on the other bed, I instead go into the bathroom to splash some water on my face. A minute later, I’m strapping my holster back on, complete with the familiar weight of the .40 caliber Smith & Wesson that FBI agents carry.

  Travis noticed my gun almost immediately.

  In my mind’s eye, I see his look of disgust. His curled lip.

  We sure did end up on opposite sides of the law. Though to be honest, anyone who was guessing about our futures ten years ago probably would be more surprised by my career choice than his.

  I see his deep, cool eyes, staring right through me. Those eyes, that used to know me so well.

  And at the same time, that didn’t know me at all.

  I pull my jacket back on and make sure it’s buttoned and that the holster is concealed. Then I head
back out to my car to make the journey to the Tanner Springs Police Department.

  One thing about Tanner Springs: it doesn’t take very long to get anywhere. I’m parked and walking up to the building within ten minutes. I remembered the location from when I lived here as a kid. The squat, sprawling brick structure with its angular green roof brings back uncomfortable memories. But as with every memory about Tanner Springs, I stuff them down inside me.

  A guard behind Plexiglass directs me to where I need to go, and soon I find myself standing at a large desk where a small, efficient-looking woman is sitting. The name plate in front of her tells me her name is Joyce.

  “Hello,” I say, pulling out a card and handing it to her. “I’m Agent Brooke Brentano. I called earlier. I’m here to see Chief Crup.”

  The woman looks up at me and takes the card I offered. She stares down at it. “From the FBI?” she asks, her eyes widening. She looks at me like she doesn’t quite know what to make of me.

  “Yes, that’s right. Is Chief Crup in?”

  “He, ah…” she glances back toward a closed door which must lead to his office. I get the distinct feeling she doesn’t want to disturb him, but she doesn’t quite dare turn me down. “Yes, just one moment.”

  Joyce gets out of her chair and goes to the door. She taps on it a couple of times and then turns the knob softly. I see her hunch a little, almost apologetically, as she enters.

  I wait there, taking in my surroundings. The office is a large, open area, with quite a few desks distributed around the room. Uniformed officers of different ages talk on the phone or work on computers. A couple of them look up at me curiously.