Three Little Piggies, page 16
In all reality, I didn’t have much of a choice. “I’ll do anything you need me to do.”
Zane gripped my chin with his fingers and brought me in for a quick little kiss. “I need to case that cop of yours. It’ll take a few days. Unpack while I’m doing that and help keep an eye on Keith. Stay strong, Sugar. This will be all over soon, and we can live happily ever after.”
Chapter 40
Quinn
I only saw Zane a handful of times in the next four days. Meanwhile, I split my time between settling in and caring for Keith. He was doing better, but we were all convinced he had broken ribs. Moving hurt him. Hell, even breathing caused him pain.
To occupy my mind, I decorated my new home or, well, one of my new homes. Zane said I could put up anything I wanted as long as I left his turtle decorations alone. Apparently, he had a thing for the creatures, and most of his collection was given to him by his late grandpa, which was why he displayed them so proudly.
It was amazing how different the guys were from each other. Zane was tasteful and took pride in his home, always making sure it was presentable. His things were organized and mature. Keith and Taven, however, lived in a full-on bachelor pad. They didn’t have a single matching dish or cup. There was even a shelf designated for fast food cups they used for alcohol. Posters of anime shows and female models, both dressed and naked, adorned the walls. Toy motorcycles littered the shelves, and there was a general messiness everywhere. Every time I went over to their place, the coffee table was filled with empty bottles and junk like candy wrappers and ashtrays filled with the ass ends of joints.
I was busy cleaning up the aforementioned coffee table when Zane burst through the door, twirling a set of keys in his hand. “Good, you’re here.”
“Where else would I be besides your house?”
He looked around as if he were worried about something for a moment. Shaking his head, he walked into the kitchen, and I followed him. He picked up a cup and a bottle of Crown Apple from the freezer. Opening the fridge, he rummaged through the contents until he grabbed a bottle of pineapple juice. “Want a drink?”
I rolled my eyes. “Just help yourself.”
He opened the cap on the Crown Apple bottle. “I am. Do you want one?”
“Sure.”
Returning to his task, Zane poured us both a glass and, thankfully, put everything back where it was supposed to go. “You seemed shocked that I just decided to make myself a drink.”
“I am a little,” I admitted, sniffing the concoction.
He grinned. “Remember, Quinn, we treat each other like family. Coming here is no different than going to my grandparents’ house. The fridge and everything in it is fair game. Same with our place; Taven and Keith can walk right in and raid the fridge all they want.” Pausing, he took a swig of his drink. “Except there is one bottle I don’t allow anyone to open. I’ll point it out to you later. It’s a special edition I got from the Jack Daniels distillery. It’s one hundred years old.”
Nodding, I took a drink. My eyes lit up the moment the liquid hit my tongue. “Oh, this is dangerous,” I muttered. “I can see myself getting properly wasted on this.”
He laughed, “Yeah, it’s Crown Apple and pineapple concentrate. It’s alright with regular pineapple juice but not as good. I had to get creative at one of our parties. We were out of soda to mix with, and the only thing we had left was a can of concentrate. It worked. We call it a Royal Sunrise.”
“Well, it’s damned good,” I said, taking a full gulp.
“Next time, I’ll have you try a royal orchard.”
I cocked my head.
“A shot of Crown Apple and a shot of Crown Peach mixed with pineapple juice and Sprite. It’s fire.” Setting the cup down, he slid into one of the chairs at the small kitchen table. “We’re almost ready to rock and roll.”
I eyeballed him mid-drink. Slowly, I took a seat in one of the other chairs. “Rock and roll?”
He nodded. “We gave you that storage unit for a reason. It’s right next door to Chin’s unit. He only goes there when he needs to pull things out to decorate with. He already took down his Halloween stuff, which means we only have a few weeks before his wife makes him toss up the Christmas decorations.” He began tapping his fingers nervously on the table. “We need to get the pigs’ phones. That’s gonna be the tricky part. After that, it should be smooth sailing.”
I shifted in the uncomfortable chair, taking a few large gulps. I was way too sober for this, even if it was only four p.m. “What will we need to do?”
“If we can get the phones, we need to text a conversation between the pigs. That will be after we get our hands on your cop. We’ll delete the messages on Chin’s end. Then, we’ll need to return the phone and dump the body in the storage unit. That’s where you come in, Sugar. We’ll let him sit for a day or two, you’ll show up and complain to the storage manager that something smells like it died in the unit next to you, and they’ll check it out. Then boom. We already have a unit rigged with evidence that Chin planned out this entire thing. Mix that with the body of your cop, and the fucker goes away for life.”
I took another long swig, nearly finishing off the entire drink. “And you don’t think they will assume it’s a frame job?”
Zane shook his head. “No. There is no way they will think three ratty ass bikers who do manual labor are smart enough to pull this shit off.” He grinned wickedly. “Besides, Chin is the one who ordered his unit to kill the members of our club to cover their fuck up. They don’t know we know the truth. Why would we want to murder the cops who took down the man who killed our families? Through the texts, we can make it look like Chin was working with Moralles, and he got scared. We’ll frame it like they were worried one of the cops was going to flip and turn them all in.”
I smirked. “You watch a lot of crime documentaries, don’t you?”
Zane chuckled, “Maybe a few.” He cleaned and towel-dried his empty cup before setting it back in the cupboard. At least one of the guys liked to be neat. Keith and Taven let their dishes pile up before running a load.
“So, how do we even do all of this?”
Zane shrugged. “Getting into the storage unit is the easy part. We replaced his lock a long time ago. We cut the old one, swapped it with another, broke into his house, and gave him a new key. We know the layout, and his place is easy to break into. The problem will be getting his phone and returning it to him. All I know is we need to do it. Otherwise, how do we explain why Moralles ends up dead?”
I slouched, looking down at my glass. “Too bad we can’t just drug him.”
“You’re a fucking genius!”
Furrowing my brows, I leaned back in the chair. “Okay?”
“He goes to the Dusty Bottoms every Friday night after work. He likes to hit on the owner.” Zane rolled his eyes. “I think he’s fucking her on the side, but who knows. Maybe you can get a little flirty with him and slip something into his drink.”
I shook my head. “That won’t work. One of my best friends works there. She’d question me. What the fuck do I say? I’m sure she already thinks I’m a hoe for sleeping with you three. Plus, she knows I don’t like cops.”
“That sounds like a shitty friend if you ask me.”
I sighed, “Well, there is a stigma to women sleeping around. Apparently, it’s just fine for men, but women get a bad rap. I fucking hate it. Men get high fives, and women are treated like shit for being sexual.”
“I can’t lie, that is kind of shitty.” Zane leaned forward, putting his elbows up on the table. He sat for a long while, deep in thought. “Alright, Taven and I will show up; we usually avoid the Bottoms on Fridays because Chin will be there. We’ll create a distraction, and you’ll chat up your friend and then drop something in his drink when his back is turned. Hopefully, we can get him to follow us into the bathroom before he passes out, and we’ll take his phone.”
“This all seems way too easy.” I let the entire plan run through my head. “Alright, let’s say this works. What about cameras at the storage place?”
“You act like we didn’t have all this shit planned out way before you ever came along. We know the owner. We sell a shit ton of coke to him.” Zane shrugged. “He’s a small-time dealer, and we supply him. Our meeting place is our unit, the unit we gave you. The cameras that face that section stay broken.”
I groaned, “Not only am I dating three serial killers, but drug dealers as well.”
“I prefer the term vigilante. But yeah, we are drug dealers.” He tapped on the tattoo under his eye. “We’re outlaws. We didn’t get this tattoo for being Boy Scouts.”
Chapter 41
Taven
I carefully crawled on top of Keith, making sure not to touch his chest. Leaning over, I pressed my lips to his as I gently slid inside of him. He winced, and I backed off. “You good?” I whispered.
He nodded, rubbing his fingers along my back. I gave him another gentle thrust and watched as his teeth gritted with pain. I didn’t want to keep going, but Keith insisted that he was craving my cock. Since I hadn’t had him for a while, I obliged. Keith was the one who usually liked it hard and fast when he topped. But I didn’t mind slow sex, savoring the feeling.
His hand gripped my hair, and I hissed, dropping my lips to his neck. I thrust in again, and he groaned. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I whispered, running my tongue along his jawline. He nodded. As gently as I could, I thrust into him again. He moaned, tossing his head back. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He was so fucking sexy. There were times I couldn’t believe he was mine. Or at least partially mine.
Sitting up, I picked up my pace slightly, only to stop abruptly when Keith cried out, “Stop! Fucking root beer! I can’t, I can’t.” He grumbled. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“What are you sorry for?” I cooed.
“Cuz I wanted some fucking dick and I’m making you stop.”
I grinned, brushing my hand through his hair. “I can go get prepped, and maybe you can dick me down.”
He shook his head. “Man, my ribs are on fire. I don’t think I could get hard if I tried. You could feed me a bottle of Viagra and the little fucker still wouldn’t work.”
I laughed and looked down. “Who you callin’ little? You alone break the myth about white dudes being small.”
He half-chuckled, half-groaned. “Guess I’m a freak of nature. Maybe you can call Quinn, and she can take care of you tonight.”
“She’s with Zane. You know she’s getting dick right now.”
Rolling his eyes, Keith tried to sit up. He winced, and I pulled out. “Head over and tell him you get seconds.”
“Nah, I’m good. He needs to have time alone with her. We get each other when Quinn isn’t with us, but Zane has no one else.”
Keith grunted as he forced himself up, clenching the sheets with a tight fist. “Why does he have to be straight?”
I chuckled, pulling on my pants. “Cuz he doesn’t know any better. Besides, he only gets a couple hours anyway. We need to grab Quinn’s cop tonight.”
“I should be going with you.”
“No, the fuck you won’t. You can’t even handle gentle sex. You ain’t coming with us.”
He glared at me. “I lost everything that day. I can’t lose you and Zane, too. Especially you. I wouldn’t survive that.”
“Look, I’m just gonna say it, and I ain’t gonna sugar coat it. If you can’t handle gentle dick, then you’re just putting us in more danger by being there. Zane and I can handle ourselves. We got this. Trust me.” I pressed my lips to his so he couldn’t argue. “It’ll be fine. Get some sleep. I’ll be expecting a hand job when I get home.” He gave a pained laugh.
Blowing a kiss, I left the room. Zane showed up at the clubhouse an hour later on Keith’s bike, looking very pleased. I didn’t need to ask. He always had a shit-eating grin after sex, no matter who he fucked. I tried to ignore it and keep my own boner in check. We had to be on point.
Dressed in cold-weather gear, we headed to a large fishing pond in the middle of nowhere. From what Zane had been able to find out, Moralles’ brother owned the property, and the pig stopped by every morning he had a day off. If we did our math correctly, the fucker would show up around five a.m. to cast his line.
I looked down at the small gun in my hand, studying it. It wasn’t anything special. We would stash a throw-away nine-millimeter in Chin’s storage unit when we finished the deed to pin this particular murder on him. After all, we couldn’t do the regular ritual. It needed to look like Chin shot the man with an unregistered weapon. If he was stabbed, it would look like a setup. Due to Zane’s piss poor eyesight, I was the better shot, so this mission fell to me. “Do you think anyone is going to hear?” I whispered, pushing a pine tree branch away from my face.
Zane shrugged, rubbing his hands together. “His brother owns about one hundred acres. Nobody will hear shit. And it’s out in the country. Who’s to say someone isn’t shooting at a coyote?”
I shivered. “I can’t believe he goes fishing in November. It’s fucking freezing. Fucking white people shit.”
Zane rolled his eyes. “Racist prick.”
I glared at him. “I’m dating a white guy and a white chick. How the fuck am I racist?”
He chuckled, “Fetishizer.”
“Don’t make me shoot you and toss you into that pond, bro.”
“You love me too much for that. But you’re right, that’s some white people shit.”
We both laughed until we spotted headlights off in the distance. “That him?”
“We’re about to find out,” he whispered.
Together, we pulled back into the thick of the pine trees, trying to stay away from the light. I prayed Moralles set up shop with his back to us. Normally, I would prefer to shoot him in the chest, but there was no guarantee the man wouldn’t be a quicker shot. We needed to make Chin look like a cold-blooded murderer. He ordered the hit on our families, so he was more than shady enough to shoot a man in the back.
A large white truck pulled up along the other side of the pond, blaring country music. The engine stopped, and the cop stepped out, dressed in a heavy winter camo with black Carhart overalls. Casually, he walked behind the truck and began pulling out gear. A small rope to keep fish on, his rod, a bucket, a chair, and... a .22 rifle. I cringed. There must be coyotes roaming around; otherwise, why would he feel the need to carry that thing?
The worst part was how far away he was. It would have been better for us to be set up on the other side of the lake, but there was no cover.
“I don’t know what the fuck to do,” I whispered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Zane, I can’t hit him from this far away with a pistol. I ain’t James Bond, motherfucker.”
“Doesn’t James Bond usually use gadgets?”
I stared at him. “Who the fuck cares? My point is I can’t hit him from here, and there’s no cover anywhere else.”
Slouching, Zane looked around. “We may have to lure him back here.”
“How?”
“Maybe we can get him to do more white people shit.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” I whisper-yelled.
“White people always check out weird sounds. It’s like in our DNA and shit. We can make some noise and get him to come check it out.”
“You’re gonna risk everything on a stereotype?” I deadpanned.
Zane cracked a smile. “The man is out fishing at five a.m. in November. He’s gonna come check shit out.”
There weren’t many trees where we were hiding. Less than one hundred feet away was open land with a pile of brush and fallen trunks standing on the edge.
“I’ll hide in the trees, you lure him to the brush pile,” I instructed.
My friend nodded, and we got into position. Sticking his head around the stack, Zane let out a whistle. I tried to see the man sitting by the pond, but we were further away, so it was harder to get a clear view. Another whistle grabbed the man’s attention. My eyes stayed locked on him as he slowly got to his feet and picked up the .22. Fuck, why didn’t Zane think of that?
Drawing back into the trees, I tried to keep an eye on the cop’s movements around the pond; the foliage did me no favors. Zane whistled again. I heard the pig before I saw him. He crashed through the brush, not bothering to be stealthy. As he got closer, I heard a crack. Zane had thrown something off in the distance, creating another distraction. It worked; the man moved towards the sound.
I gripped the pistol tightly in my hand as I emerged from my hiding spot, making a conscious effort to not make a lot of noise. I took a few more steps, and my foot caught on something. I grunted, hitting the ground so hard the gun flew from my hand. Before I could push myself up, the cop turned, pointing his rifle at my head.
“Who the fuck are you? This is private property!” he shouted.
Licking my lips, I held my hands up and glanced around. I needed Zane to make another distraction, but I didn’t want to signal him in front of the pig. As I stared at the weapon, I remembered a lesson Keith had taught me. Run away from a knife. Run towards a gun. Swallowing hard, I lunged, gripping the barrel of the rifle in my hand and pushing it upward. It fired, causing my ears to ring. The man tumbled to the ground and seized my bad arm, making me cry out in pain and release my grip. The fucker took advantage, crawling on top of me and striking me across the face with bare fists. I damn near shit myself when another gunshot rang through the air. The cop looked down at me, blinked, and fell to his side. With a groan, I shoved him off and glanced at Zane, who was holding the pistol.
Breathing heavily, Zane asked, “Now what the fuck do we do?
Chapter 42
Zane
After catching my breath, I scrutinized the bleeding body. We drove our motorcycles because we didn’t want to leave heavy tracks, but I hadn’t thought past that point. What the fuck were we supposed to do with the body? We couldn’t leave it. It had to go into Chin’s storage unit.
