Trigger, page 19
This time it’s Hangman who narrows his eyes. “You forgot to flash your tits,” he sneers.
“Hangman,” I growl in warning.
Evanee touches my arm. “Trigger has asked me to stop using my assets when interacting with men and while I’ve found it challenging, what Trigger wants, Trigger gets.” She smiles too seductively for my liking, but she’s trying.
Hangman flattens his lips, but Evanee’s basically cut him off at the knees. There’s nothing he can say that won’t make him look like the offending party. However, I get an evil glare before he turns his back and stalks toward Dicer.
I make the rest of the introductions and the brothers are mostly respectful, even Hash. Maybe he’s learning how not be a total bastard from Peyton, our Blackbeard rescue. She’s noticeably absent, but that’s not a surprise.
As the evening progresses, the party gets wilder. I’m having trouble keeping track of Evanee as she’s not the type to stay glued to my side. Mostly, she’s hanging with the ol’ ladies, but I catch her talking to the passarounds at some point. The conversation seems friendly enough, but Jess comes along and drags her away. I have to remember to thank Jess later.
Hangman interrupts a conversation I’m having with Rider and Rocky. “Talk to the asshole in the Chamber yet?”
I blank. “Asshole?”
“Jesus. I’m raisin’ idiots! The Blackbeard that fucked with Kit.”
Aw shit! “He’s on my list of things to do. Been planning to talk to him tomorrow. Reaper and Joker are feedin’ and watering him.”
I fuckin’ hope.
“Get it the fuck done!” Hangman growls as he turns his back on me.
I track down Joker who seems to be having a serious convo with Mothman. Don’t look like the VP is about to punch the new prince, so I feel confident I can interrupt without getting thumped myself.
“Gotta borrow the VP for a minute,” I say to Mothman, dragging Joker away.
“What the fuck do you want?” Joker asks. He smells like he took a bath in a whiskey barrel.
“You been lookin’ after the Blackbeard in the Chamber?”
“Why the fuck would I do that? He’s your problem.” A sober Joker is serious and unforgiving. A drunk Joker can be a riot or cause a riot. And he can turn on a dime.
“Because you brought him here and a Blackbeard is a Jury problem. Not just mine.” I run a hand through my hair, then realize most of it isn’t there. “It’s been days since we put him down there.”
Joker squints at me. “Reaper’s probably been lookin’ after him. He’s the responsible one.”
I groan. Sure, Reaper’s got his head on straight, but his way of dealing with a problem stops at the door. He kills them or ignores them. I know he didn’t kill this one so….
Joker grips my arm and pulls me through the increasingly crowded room as hangarounds, associates, and friends of friends join the party. Reaper’s talkin’ to Eight, his head bent, listening intently. The two are partners in both the legit and criminal activities and are always plannin’ something.
Eight is stone-cold sober, but it’s clear Reaper’s had a few because he actually smiles when he sees me. “Trigger! Been talkin’ about your woman.”
That gets my back up. “Keep away from her or I’ll fuck you up.”
Maybe wrong words as Reaper grabs me by the collar and barrels me across the room. He tries to slam me up against the sliding glass doors, but the fucking things are open, and we land in a tangled heap on the ground.
“Jesus!” I grunt as my backbone bounces off the hard-packed dirt. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You, shithead,” Reaper snarls as he rolls to his back. “You’re an asshole.”
I manage to crawl a few feet from him. “I already fuckin’ know that!”
He sits up. “I know you know. I thought you needed a reminder.”
We’re the centre of attention for only a few seconds, then everyone goes back to their business except Joker, who hauls Reaper off the ground as I crawl to my feet. “You been lookin’ after the Blackbeard?” he says to Reaper.
Reaper narrows his eyes like he’s thinkin’ then his face clears. “The one we put in the Chamber?”
“Yes!” Joker and I both say with a healthy dose of irritation.
“Forgot about him completely.” He turns to me. “He’s your fuckin’ problem.”
“He ain’t just my problem!” I say again. “He’s everyone’s problem.”
“No one said he was my problem,” Reaper replies, his voice getting louder. “What the fuck have you been doin’ that you can’t look after him?”
“I’ve been busy,” I yell. “Why the hell do I have to remember everything?”
I’m three seconds away from knocking Reaper’s head off, but Joker steps between us. “Settle down both of you. We got a problem. Unless someone else has been checking on our good friend, Dino, he’s been down in the Chamber for almost a week.”
I scrub at my face. “So neither of you guys fed and watered him? Not even when you dumped him?”
“Why the fuck would we do that?” Joker snarls. “We thought he was your problem.”
We’re goin’ in circles. “We already established he isn’t just my problem.”
Joker gives me a shove. “You established that. I don’t hear anyone agreein’ with you.”
Reaper asks the important question. “How long can someone live without food or water?”
Shit! “I don’t know. Maybe a week.”
“We better fuckin’ find out,” Joker says grimly.
The three of us stumble to the Chamber. Well, those two stumble. I haven’t had much to drink because I’m intending to take advantage of Evanee’s offer to let me do anything to her later and I want to remember every glorious moment.
We get inside the garage that’s over top of the actual Chamber. It’s as dark as the inside of a fuckin’ raccoon. “I’ll get the lights,” I say, but Joker grabs my arm.
“Don’t turn on the lights, asshole. We’ll have the whole fucking party showing up to see what we’re doing.”
Reaper digs his phone out of the inside of his cut and flicks on the flashlight.
It’s not much light, but it’s better than stumbling around in the dark. The Chamber is a bunker directly under the garage we’re standing in. The entrance is a hatch in the floor hidden under a beat-up 1960 GMC Fleetside that Red drools over every time he sees it. He wants to restore it, but Hangman threatens to cut off his hands if he tries.
It don’t start anyway, so Joker and I push it out while Reaper steers.
Light or not, we’re attracting attention and some of the guys are headin’ towards us. Joker puts a stop to it by saying, “Nothin’ to see here, you fuckers. Go back to the party.”
Hangman may be the guy in charge, but as VP, Joker has almost as much authority. The guys drift away, though Rocky and Red don’t go far.
“Get lost,” I tell them. “I’ll explain later.”
“You fucking better,” Red says and I roll my eyes.
“Go fuck a passaround,” I snarl.
“Go fuck yourself,” he snarls back.
Reaper shakes his head. “You two share a brain.” He’s holdin’ the light so Joker can pull up the hatch.
I think maybe he’s right because I got no comeback.
Joker heads down first, followed by me and then Reaper, who closes the hatch behind us. Light floods the room as I flick on the switch. This place is our enemy’s worst nightmare. There are a couple of cells down here, a chair or two, chains, pliers, saws, a flame thrower, and anything else we might need to have a convo. Even a drain for blood and an incinerator. It smells like a funeral down here.
Reaper reads my mind. “Fuck, it stinks.”
“No shit Sherlock,” I snap. I’m fuckin’ pissed now, but mostly at myself for gettin’ so distracted by Evanee. Still, it’s Evanee, so how could I resist?
We make our way to the cell that Reaper and Joker put Dino in and find him slumped against the wall. Can’t be sure he’s dead, but him being down here almost a week without a toilet or shower, it fuckin’ reeks.
Joker presses up against the bars. “How long you think he’s been like this?”
“Maybe he’s sleeping,” Reaper adds unhelpfully.
Joker bangs on the bars. “Hey fuckface! Wake up!”
“He isn’t movin’,” Reaper again. He hardly ever gets drunk and now I know why. He gets embarrassingly stupid.
“Of course, he fuckin’ ain’t moving.” I scowl. “He’s dead.”
Joker presses his lips together. “Hangman’s not gonna like this.”
Reaper’s fumbling with the key, trying to fit it into the lock. “Well, Trig’s gonna be telling him. It’s his fuckin’ problem.”
I yank the key out of Reaper’s hand and slide it into the lock. “A Blackbeard problem is everyone’s problem!”
Joker bangs the door open and staggers inside. “Hey, asshole, wake up!” He gives Dino a kick.
Dino slumps over onto his side, then slides to his back face up.
“He’s dead,” Reaper announces like we needed to be told.
“He don’t smell dead,” Joker observes despite wrinkling his nose.
“Maybe he just died,” I suggest.
“That’s probably true,” the VP agrees. “You can live longer without food than water and bodies decompose slower in the cold.” He shivers. “Freezin’ down here.”
Reaper turns to Joker. “How the fuck do you know that shit?”
“It’s criminal 101, asshole,” Joker replies. “Didn’t you go to school?”
Reaper glares at him and I think I’m gonna have to break up a fight. “None of this shit matters except we got a fuckin’ dead Blackbeard on our hands and Hangman’s not gonna be happy.”
“Let’s not tell him tonight,” Joker suggests.
“Yeah,” Reaper nods. “Dino here ain’t gonna get any deader than he already is.”
I’m on board with waitin’ because when Hangman finds out, he’s gonna go postal.
We lock the cell up again overlookin’ the fact that it’s no longer necessary, then close up the Chamber and rejoin the party.
Almost before I’m in the clubhouse, Evanee’s beside me. “Let’s go home, lover,” she says, her breath hot on my ear. “I want a little ‘you’ time.”
I immediately forget about Dino. “I’m gonna make you eat those words, baby.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Evanee
I’m nursing a two-day hangover and vowing never to drink something Haley’s made ever again. I like a few glasses of a nice Meritage or Syrah, but I rarely allow myself to get drunk. It’s Trigger, I decide. I feel safe with him, enough so that I can let my guard down for maybe the first time since puberty.
It’s Monday, which means Sweet Tidings is open. I’m sitting behind the reception desk fiddling with a pen because Wendy is on a longer-than-usual lunch break. We had a couple of appointments this morning. Both were dogs, one for a check-up, and the other needed deworming. There’s nothing blocked off for the afternoon, but I’m hoping we get one or two walk-ins.
I glance down at the accounts book and circle the final figure. Still red, no matter how many times I look at. I need to drum up some business and quick. This clinic can’t survive on good intentions.
I’m thinking about letting my darlings out of their pens and bringing Singalong back to the lobby, since there are no clients for her to insult, when the bell over the door tinkles. I slam the account book closed and look up, smiling warmly. It falters when I see my new clients.
Two men stand just inside the door, dressed in the typical biker get-up: boots, jeans, T-shirts and cuts. One is clean-cut, no whiskers, short hair and pretty in the conventional way some men are. The other has long hair and a beard. The problem is that they aren’t Hell’s Jury. By process of elimination, I’m guessing they’re Blackbeards.
Standing between them is a Rotti-Great Dane cross wearing a tactical harness. The dog probably weighs over 70 pounds and has teeth the size of a shark’s. It’s on alert, ready to attack and looking at me like it doesn’t realize I’m its best friend. It needs a bath, delousing, and a little TLC, all of which it will get if I don’t have to shoot it first.
“Hello.” I slide my hand towards the drawer that houses my .38. I decide to shelve Trigger’s no-seduction rule because my charms come in handy in certain situations. “Do you have an appointment?” I ask in a low inviting cadence.
“Get out from behind the counter, bitch,” the pretty Blackbeard says. He’s got the tag ‘Vice President’ sewn to his vest.
“I could, but why would I?” My insides are a quagmire of nerves, but my voice is steady.
“Because he fuckin’ told you to,” the bearded Blackbeard replies with a sneer. He’s wearing an enforcer tag.
I flash him a brilliant smile. “You’ll have to do better than that. As a rule, I don’t do what I’m told.” I bat my eyelashes at him.
It doesn’t seem to move him, and I wonder if I’m losing my touch.
“Today you do, or we’ll send Rip to come get you,” he threatens, his voice dead and cold.
Rip. How original.
The Enforcer loosens his hand on the Rotti-mix as it growls and raises its hackles.
I gingerly release the .38 I’m holding and slide the drawer shut. I might be moved to shoot these men, but I can’t shoot a dog just because someone trained it to be an asshole. “What can I do for you?” I ask, keeping my distance as I slide out from behind the counter.
The VP closes the gap, grabbing my arms and shoving me up against the counter. “Aren’t you a pretty cunt? Dressed up like you wanna be fucked.”
Pain races down my backbone, but his bruising grip distracts me from it. It’s like my arms are in a vise. His eyes are hard nuggets, and his face is twisted into an ugly mask that ruins his pretty-boy status.
“Take your hands off me, please,” I reply as pleasantly as I can. “You don’t have to manhandle me to get me to do what you want.” I look past him to the Rotti-mix. “If fact, I’m not busy this afternoon, so I could give Rip a check-up and the vaccinations he probably needs.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” the VP snarls as bangs me against the counter again.
I suck in a small breath, but that’s the only acknowledgement that he’s hurt me. “Rip will live a longer, healthier, more joyous life if he gets regular check-ups.” It’s not easy to resist kicking and scratching the bastard, but I dig my nails into my palms to keep from reacting.
“Bitch—,” he starts.
I don’t let him finish. “Perhaps we should talk about his diet.” I peer around the VP at the Rotti-mix. “His coat isn’t as shiny as it could be, and he’s more fat than muscle. If you want him to appear more menacing, you need to change his dog food.” I slide my eyes over the dog. “It would also be a good idea to neuter him.” And you too, you bastard.
He shakes me hard enough to rattle my teeth. “You think I’m playing a game?”
I grapple for composure. “Of course not. I’m giving you advice about your dog. It’s what I do. I’m a veterinarian.”
“You’re a fuckin’ headcase,” the enforcer says from behind us. “I say we let Rip take a run at her.”
The VP releases my arms, but presses his body against mine, grinding his pelvis into me. “Maybe I should take a run at her first.” He slides his hands up my sides and gropes my breasts.
I take a breath to quell the shake in my stomach. “If you aren’t here to have me tend to Rip, then why are you?”
“Your fuckin’ boyfriend and his asshole brothers have something of ours and we want it back.”
Okay. That I can work with. Trigger will know what’s he talking about. “I’m happy to send a message along to my boyfriend – well, actually fiancé – we’re getting married next spring,” I hold on to my anger as he pinches a nipple. There’s fear deep down, but if these guys think I’m intimidated by them, they’re idiots. I can shoot the nuts off a squirrel from fifty yards.
“I don’t give a fuck about your shit. I want my property back.” He grabs my hair and yanks my head back so I’m forced to look up at him.
I will kill this sonofabitch one day, but that’s a thought I keep to myself. I refuse to let him see his affect on me. Instead, to diffuse the situation, I say softly. “I will pass your message along.”
He lets me go so suddenly I struggle to remain upright. “You make sure you do, cunt.”
I watch Rip as he storms out the door beside his asshole humans. A dog that aggressive is trained through cruelty, punishment, and neglect. To calm myself down, I spend a moment thinking of how I will rescue him.
I don’t quite get to the phone to call Trigger when the bell over the door tinkles again. My composure plummets thinking the Blackbeards have returned, but instead, it’s two of Sagebrush’s finest in full uniform, both with grim expressions on their faces.
“Hello officers,” I say with a seductive smile. “Your arrival is timely.” I point to the door the men have just entered by. “There were a couple of gentlemen here earlier with a Rotti-Great Dane mix. It needs some care, and they left with him even though I implored them to let me examine him.”
Officer Brant, per the name on his tag, glares at me. “We didn’t come about a dog.”
“Oh,” I widen my eyes to appear confused. Inside I’m quaking because I’m still rattled by the Blackbeards and these two men seem almost as hostile. “You came about the threat?”
“What threat?” barks Sergeant Levine or so says his name tag.
Buy time, Evanee. Buy time. Wendy will be back soon and then there will be two against two.
“You didn’t come about the threat?”
“We did not come about a threat,” the sergeant confirms.
“Well in that case, did you come about your police dog?” I crane my head to look at the other officer.
Sergeant Levine calls my attention back to him as he steps closer to me. “Do we look like we have a dog?”
Don’t retreat, Evanee. Don’t give him the power. “No. Which is why I thought you came about the other dog, but since you didn’t, it must be about the threat.”
