Biker Romance Book Bundle: 17 Full Length Novels, page 316
“I’m going to ask a question,” I explained, my tone without an ounce of emotion. “You can choose to answer, or you can lay there and act stupid. If you do the stupid thing, well, I’ll shoot you. That’s a promise, Marvin. I’m a man of my word, so you can bank on that. I will shoot you.”
He looked at me like I’d explained everything in Swahili.
“You ready?” I asked.
“I uh. I’m not...” he stammered.
“You’re not what?” I asked. “Ready?”
He looked at Tito, and then at me. “I don’t understand what you’re after.”
I pointed the barrel at his thigh. “Where’s Kimberly’s money?”
His mouth opened, but he didn’t respond. At least not quick enough to save his leg.
I squeezed the trigger.
Thwack!
An instant after the bullet bore into his thigh, he clutched his leg. His eyes went bug-eyed.
“You shot me!” he bellowed.
“Don’t act like I didn’t warn you, Marv.”
Tito tied a tourniquet on his leg and stuffed a kitchen rag in his mouth.
I looked at him and out a sigh. “We’re going to do this again. I’ll ask the question. Then, you can either do that dumb thing you’re so good at, or you can choose to respond. Ready?”
He nodded eagerly.
Reno leaned over, pulled the rag from Mavin’s mouth, and pointed his pistol at the leg I’d already shot.
“We’ll both shoot you this time,” Reno warned.
“Where’s Kimberly’s money?” I asked.
“There’s a safe,” he blurted. “It’s…there’s a BMW on the far side of the garage. It doesn’t… it doesn’t run. Move it, and there’s a floor safe under it. I’ll give you the combination, but not all of it’s hers. The money. Some of it’s…”
Reno stuffed the rag into Marvin’s mouth before he could finish speaking.
Without provocation, Tito and Goose turned toward the garage. After pushing the old-school BMW out of the way, Tito was in the safe within a matter of minutes.
He began handing Goose stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
Incapable of seeing in the safe, I tried to see over Tito’s shoulder. “What’s in there? Is it all there?”
“There’s stacks of ten-thousand-dollar bundles of hundred-dollar bills,” he said.
“How much was on that spreadsheet?” I asked. “From the investment place?”
“Her account had two million, three hundred sixty thousand, and change.”
I edged Goose out of the way and peered over Tito’s shoulder and into the safe. Stacks and stacks of hundred-dollars bills lined the interior of the large safe.
“Jesus.” My eyes bulged at the sight. “How much does he have in there?”
“Hard saying,” Tito responded.
After piling the ten-thousand-dollar bundles into stacks of ten, we counted the hundred-thousand-dollar bundles. Thirty-one bundles equated to three-point-one million dollars, or roughly six hundred and forty thousand more than Marvin had taken from Kimberly.
“You fellas load up the money and head out,” I said. “I’ll get this mess cleaned up with Marv.”
“Nobody’s going anywhere unless everyone goes,” Baker said from behind me. He nodded toward the open safe. “How much was in there?”
“Three-point-one mil,” Tito said. “Roughly seven-hundred-forty more than was taken.”
“My take of the extra cash goes to the girl,” Reno said.
“Ditto,” Ghost said.
“Give her mine, too,” Goose said.
“Mine, too,” Tito chimed.
“We follow the rules,” Baker said. “Club takes the club’s cut. She can have what’s left. It’ll be more than she had in the beginning.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “The rules are the rules.”
Within fifteen minutes, Reno and I worked out the details regarding Marvin’s future. The process went much easier than expected, allowing us to reach an agreement that he’d never show his face anywhere near me, the club, or Kimberly again.
If he did, his life would promptly cease to exist.
It may have been the ten pounds of plastic explosives that Reno rigged to the inside of the safe – before we welded it shut – that convinced Marv to agree so promptly.
Personally, I’d always believe it was my charm that coerced him. Either that, or my groovy new haircut.
79
Kimberly
The road was narrow, and not at all what I’d become accustomed to. The motorcycle dodged right and left unexpectedly, yanking the handlebars from side to side without warning. Every few feet, the tire would drop off into a pot-hole, causing me to fly out of the seat.
It was, however, much better than riding in a cage.
The trip would have taken three solid days in a car. On the bike, it took two. My willingness to ride was equal to Cash’s, and we’d ridden almost seven hundred miles a day to get there. Our early morning “crack of dawn” start assured us we’d arrive before nightfall, and we were doing just that.
Barely.
As the sun was setting, we pulled up the long, narrow drive. At the low speed we were traveling, the low rumble from the exhaust gave little warning of our arrival.
“You didn’t tell her anything?” I asked. “Seriously?”
“Not a word. It’s how I roll.”
“I can’t wait to meet the woman who is okay with that,” I said with a laugh.
Surrounded by large trees, green grass, and acres upon acres of rolling hills, the home looked like a typical farmhouse out of the movies. A front porch – complete with two swings – ran the entire width of the front of the home.
When we were a hundred or so yards from the front of the home, woman stepped onto the porch with a gun in her arms.
“That’s her,” Cash said.
“Holy crap. She’s not going to shoot us, is she?”
“I hope not,” he said with a laugh.
Despite the condition of the crappy road, he sped up. Half the distance to the porch, the woman musty have recognized him. She leaned the gun against the door’s frame and rushed to down the steps.
By the time she reached the drive, we were coming to a stop.
Her skin was pale with a tinge of redness to it. She was tall and thin, like Cash. Her hair was long, white, and draped over her shoulder in a long braid. The dress she wore was white with faded blue flowers and had pockets in the front. Adorable was the only word I could use to describe her.
She outstretched her arms and flapped her hands up and down excitedly. “Get that thing off your head and let me have a look at you,” she said, in a thick Irish accent.
As Cash put down the kickstand, I took off my helmet.
“Oh, my word. He was right, you’re beautiful.” She continued to flap her hands. “Climb off that motorbike and come here.”
“Nice to see you, ma,” Cash said sarcastically. “And, how many times do I have to tell you, it’s a motorcycle, not a motorbike.”
“It’s a feckin’ motorbike,” she snapped. “Always will be.”
I stepped off the motorcycle, almost falling in the process. “Sorry, my legs fell asleep.”
She shot cash a glare. “You didn’t let her stretch her legs, did ya?”
“She didn’t want to.”
“If he didn’t already tell you, my name’s Erin.” she said.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Kimberly.”
She wrapped her arms around me and gave me a smothering hug. When she released me, she leaned away and looked me over. “I can tell you this, he doesn’t deserve you, Kimberly. He was the orneriest child that ever graced this countryside, and don’t let him tell you differently. I hope he’s in heaven two hours before the devil knows he’s dead. Did he tell you lies to get you a courtin’? He must have, because you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. He’s not deservin’.”
“Lies.” I laughed. “I hope not.”
She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and turned toward the porch. “Come in, I’ll tell you the truth about him. He might be riding home alone.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Cash stood at the rear of his motorcycle, wearing a smile like I’d never seen.
He cleared his throat. “I said, Nice to see you, ma.”
“I heard ya when you said it the first time.” She waved her hand in his direction without so much as turning around. “I saw you eight months ago. It sores my eyes to look at ya.”
She led me to the kitchen and poured me a cup of tea while Cash unpacked our things. Before Cash so much as stepped through the doorway, she’d taken me on a tour of the home.
She pointed into the downstairs bedroom. Posters of motorcycles were pinned to the walls, and the few places that were free of posters were covered with stuffed fish.
“Was this his room?”
“The only room on this floor. Did he tell you why he moved into it?”
“I guess not.”
“So that manky slag Ashley could slip through the window,” she said. “She broke his heart, that one.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I said. “Manky slag.”
“She’s calling her a dirty whore,” Cash said from behind me.
“I was being proper,” Erin said.
“You were talkin’ shit, ma. She did not break my heart.”
“I’ll put that bar of soap in your mouth, Brock Cashton, and don’t think I won’t. You might be thirty-one, but your still my son.”
“Sorry, ma.”
I laughed to myself at the thought of Cash not cussing.
We went to the kitchen and sat at the table, Cash on one side of her, and me on the other. With her arms outstretched, she held each of our hands. Her eyes drifted back and forth, between us.
“What?” Cash asked.
“You’d make beautiful babies.” She looked at Cash. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
I would love to have a child, but knew it wasn’t possible.
“We’ll see, ma. First things first.”
She lifted my hand. “She needs a ring on this finger, you eejit.”
Cash scowled. “Enough with the eejits, ma.”
She glanced around the kitchen. “I got so carried away with looking at this fine thing, I forgot to feed you. Let me get something.”
I stood. “Can I help?”
She smiled. “If you’re willing.”
I could listen to her speak all night. Her Irish accent made even the simplest words sound multifaceted. Together, we prepared a meal of potatoes, bacon, cabbage, and onions. According to her, it was one of Cash’s favorites.
While she formed the mixture into patties and fried them in a skillet, I made two loaves of the bread Cash had grown to love.
“So, your love is shoes, is it?” she asked as I pulled the bread out of the oven.
“No. Shoes is what I can afford. Everything’s expensive in Southern California.”
“What’s your true love, Love?”
I sighed. “I’d love to have a nursery. I love growing flowers. Tending to them. Watching them grow. Nurturing them. Having them depend on me to support them and to sustain life. I never let them down. Mine are the best in the neighborhood.”
“Have you always loved tending flowers?” she asked.
“No. It started right after menopause,” I said with a laugh. “Go figure.”
She smiled. “I’ll pray that dream comes true one day.” She smiled. “The luck of the Irish.”
“Following my dreams isn’t going to be easy. Not in San Diego.”
“Don’t follow your dreams,” she said with a grin. “Chase them.”
After we ate, we had a cup of coffee. Cash talked about our plan to search for a home when we returned to San Diego. She seemed genuinely thrilled at the thought of us being together, and of us living together. Seeing her excitement – and witnessing her love for Cash – made me feel welcome, and almost as if I had a parent again.
When we finally decided to retire for the night, Erin walked me to the living room while Cash carried our things to the bedroom.
She placed her hand on my shoulder. “He called me one night in tears when you were apart,” she said. “His heart was broken.”
I didn’t know that he’d even told her. I felt terrible. Before I could tell her my fear of losing him was all that caused it, she gave me a hug.
“I told him, your feet will bring you where your heart is.” She kissed me on the cheek and then looked me over. “And, look where they took him.”
She turned away. “Sleep well.”
I smiled. “Thank you. Sweet dreams.”
* * *
We stayed for three wonderful days. I hated the thought of leaving but knew we must. A few hours ahead of a storm, we loaded our gear, and walked out to the motorbike together.
Cash looked up at the darkening sky. “I hope we miss this son-of-a-bitch.”
Erin smiled. “If you don’t, just remember, there’s nothing so bad that it couldn’t be worse.”
I thought about what she said long after we were gone. In fact, I thought about it for most of the trip.
When we arrived home, I missed having her around. I missed the immediate comebacks to Cash’s smart mouth, her Irish accent, and her Irish sayings that seemed to solve all of my problems and worries.
“When can we go back and visit your mother?” I asked as I unpacked my bag.
“Whenever you want.”
“Before summer’s over?”
“Sure.”
I smiled. “Thank you.”
Upon reaching the bottom of the bag, I found a folded sheet of paper. Knowing I didn’t put it there, I unfolded it, wondering what it was, and how it got there. A few sentences were hand-written in a beautiful cursive script.
Kimberly,
I’m so sorry about your parents. I though this might help. Give it some thought.
“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal.
Love leaves a memory no one can steal.”
Erin
I folded the piece of paper and closed my eyes.
Thank you.
80
Cash
As soon as we walked through the door, I fell in love. There were only two bedrooms, but the living room was humongous, and the rear of the home was all glass – giving a great view of the ocean from anywhere in the living room or kitchen. There was no room for a family, but it would be perfect for us and one guest – or entertaining. The home was in the perfect spot – in Point Loma, within walking distance of Sunset Cliffs.
The realtor walked into the kitchen and picked up the spec sheet from the countertop. “Let’s see. Twenty-six hundred square feet, two bedrooms, two full baths, and the owner will pay half the closing costs. Beach view, and a two-car garage. It’s tough to get a garage, so that’s an added bonus.”
“Let us look around,” Cash said.
“Did you see the ocean?” I asked excitedly. “When we parked?”
He glared. “Shh,” he whispered. “Don’t let him hear you. These guys are like sharks. When they smell blood, they strike.”
It was the fourth home we’d looked at with a beach view. Although we’d made offers on the other three, none of them were accepted. It seemed that although we could afford to buy a home on our combined income, having a home with a view of the beach was something we were not going to be able to afford.
It was, however, on Cash’s list of ‘must haves’.
The first bedroom was covered in pineapple pattern wallpaper from the nineteen fifties. The second was faded pink with stains on the walls surrounding the outlets and light switch covers.
Both bathrooms needed more than updating. They needed demolished and redone completely.
In short, I loved it.
When we walked into the kitchen, the realtor was looking under the kitchen sink.
“It appears we might have a small leak,” he said. “I shut the valves off.”
“How long has it been vacant?” Cash asked.
The realtor shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s been on the market for three hundred plus days.”
Cash pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “Tell you what. They’re asking a million six-fifty. I’ll give a million one. Fifty percent in cash, and I’m prequalified for the remainder. Thirty day close, the owner pays half the closing, and I’ll resolve whatever issues come up in the inspection short of termites. Take it or leave it.”
He chuckled. “That’s sixty-six percent of ask.”
“It’s a reasonable offer. They’ve been sitting on it for a year. It’s worth a million eight in perfect shape, and it needs three hundred grand worth of work. It’ll cost a hundred grand to get it to pass inspection. That’s a solid offer.”
He shook his head. “That’d be stealing this home.”
“It’s what I can afford.”
“Your inability to afford this home doesn’t warrant the owner taking a financial loss. Make it a million four, and I think we can make it work.”
“A million one is all I can do.”
I pulled Cash to the side. “I can take some of my money out of--”
“No,” he said. “I won’t consider it. That money stays in there until you’re retirement age. No exceptions.”
I sighed. “Okay.”
Over and over, I’d heard the same numbers, and the same “I’m sorry’s.” A million one hundred thousand wasn’t going to buy us a home with a beach view. We’d either need more money or to settle for a home without a view.
The problem was that after seeing homes with a beach view, I couldn’t imagine living in one without it.
“Are you going to make the offer?” Cash asked.
The realtor shrugged. “I’ll make it, but I doubt it’ll get a counter.”
