Love Ties (5 page)

Strother was dealing with his own shit with a junkie son. He’d overdosed, and Strother’s old lady had found him. They’d rushed him to the hospital and pumped his stomach, but it was too late.

“Any word from Strother?” Jamison asked as Ace put two pills in his palm.

“Not today. He’s still ‘vacationing.’”

Ace and Jamison exchanged a look. Strother was a tough SOB, but knowing his son had wiped himself off the Earth wrecked Strother. He’d taken his old lady and headed out on his bike, bound for Pensacola to spend time with his elderly mother and leaving Jamison in charge.

“Keep him up to date when he calls. Ask him what to do with that peckerhead manager at Tomfoolery’s.”

“You think the bar is in trouble?”

“Nah, Tomfoolery’s is as sound and profitable as The Gearhead. We don’t want Strother thinking he isn’t missed. Make something up if you have to. You’re a smart guy.” Jamison patted Ace’s cheek, and they shared a grin. Jamison turned for the corridor leading to his room. “I’m gonna get some sleep. You know the drill.”

“Right—don’t wake you unless it’s the cops or drugs in Heller’s Gap.”

Jamison paused but didn’t turn around. “Or if Ever shows up.”

The smile in Ace’s voice was evident. “Got it.”

Annoyed that he was so transparent, Jamison tossed back the pills without a drink. Then he made it to his room. The bed was still rumpled from his time with Ever, and her scent would linger on the sheets.

Looking forward to collapsing into the pillow she’d used, he sank to the edge of the bed and unlaced his heavy black boots. Images of her soft curves flitted through his head like a slideshow. Golden skin, crazy-sexy hair, and a secret in her eyes.

Sooner or later he’d find out that secret.

His head began to fog from the pills, and he didn’t bother taking off his clothes. Stretching out, he inhaled deeply. Sandalwood and vanilla were Ever’s scents, but her personal musk smelled like heaven. He could bury himself between her legs for days at a time.

He drifted into a fitful sleep and dreamed of Ever being lost. She was wandering around the city and kept calling his cell, but every time he went to find her, she was gone.

When he woke, he was groggy and pissed off. He checked that her ring was still on his pinky, and it was. Then he opened the door and hollered for one of his brothers to bring him a drink.

Bunky appeared within seconds, holding a glass of water and two over-the-counter painkillers. Jamison grunted and slugged them back. Then he dumped the rest of the water over his head, trying to shake off the effects of the sleeping pills.

“Sweet dreams?” Bunky asked, amusement crinkling his face. He was one of the older guys. Reliable and a steadfast friend.

“Only thing sweet about the dreams was the girl in them.”

Bunky raised a brow but didn’t reply.

From the main room, some voices were raised.

“What’s going on out there?”

Bunky threw a look over his shoulder. “Just the guys having a discussion.”

“About?” The clouds in Jamison’s head were clearing.

“O’Dovey believes Middleton is in town.”

Jamison stared at him. “In Heller’s Gap?”

“Yeah.”

“He saw Middleton?”

“I don’t think so. Just a hunch.”

Jamison pushed past Bunky, headed for the main room. If O’Dovey had a hunch, they’d damn well better pursue it. O’Dovey sat across from Franklin in a heated conversation.

“I’m telling you, that girl was as high as a kite and had tracks on her arm.”

“You were drunk and seeing things. Sweetheart Sarah doesn’t do that shit,” Franklin spat.

Jamison clamped a hand on O’Dovey’s shoulder, and his friend turned to him. “Can I join this conversation?”

“Of course, man.” O’Dovey nodded.

Franklin kicked the legs of the empty chair, and it slid away from the table. Jamison took it.

“You say you saw tracks on Sweetheart Sarah’s arm?”

“Both arms, actually.”

Jamison shook his head. “And you didn’t ask her about it?”

O’Dovey had very fair skin and white-blond hair. When he blushed, he looked as if he’d fallen asleep in a roaster. His face turned from pink to crimson in a blink. “I was…occupied.”

“With her rug, O’Dovey,” Franklin teased.

“I won’t deny that. Have you seen it?” O’Dovey held out his beer, and Franklin clanked his bottle against it. Well, at least they were united over pussy. Although she was a member’s daughter, and they all felt protective toward her, she was also a grown woman with a smoking-hot body. Eventually someone would make her their old lady, but until then the guys enjoyed her.

Jamison leaned over the table. “If she was high, where is she getting her shit?”

O’Dovey’s expression darkened. “I can’t say for sure, but I have a feeling it’s Middleton.”

Yeah, yeah, Jamison learned all of this in a two-sentence exchange with Bunky. But he needed to pry the information slowly from these guys or risk getting false information. Once they got heated, things could get out of control.

“Have you heard of Middleton dealing in Heller’s Gap?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t lurking around the back alleys.” O’Dovey’s color returned to normal.

“I want you to find Sweetheart Sarah and stick to her. Like flies on honey. You feel me?”

He bobbed his head. “I feel you.”

“Follow her if you have to. Find out the places she frequents. And take Franklin with you.” Jamison tilted his head toward Franklin. He liked the guy and would take a bullet for him, as he would any of his brothers. But Franklin liked to stir the pot and cause trouble they didn’t need. Hopefully O’Dovey would keep him occupied.

“Go.” Jamison’s order sent the pair scattering.

Ace took one of the vacant seats. His black Labrador, Copilot, moved from behind the bar where he usually slept, to curl up by Ace’s feet. The dog went everywhere with him, and even had his own sidecar and goggles. The guys had long ago stopped teasing Ace about Copilot and accepted the animal as a fellow brother. Besides, he was a hell of a watch dog.

Jamison studied Ace’s features. He wasn’t yet forty and had all his teeth. A few white hairs speckled his temples and goatee, but overall he was in good shape. He waited for Ace to tell him what he wanted.

“Hey, I…need a little more information on this Ever woman. You have a place of residence?”

Jamison smirked. “And I thought you were intel for the Hell’s Sons.”

“Isn’t so easy without a last name.”

“I see your point. All right, she’s at 1055 Villa Navarra Way. You can get her last name from the bank, after you’ve hacked their system.”

Ace grinned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, boss. Everything I do is on the up-and-up.” With that, he slid back his chair and returned to his spot behind the bar, where he kept his laptop. Copilot dragged his bones off the floor and followed his master.

“Ace.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Take your mutt for a ride. He’s looking a little despondent.”

Several people laughed, and Ace nodded. “I’ll do that.”

“Oh, and get some more booze around here.”

Ace lifted a pen and poised it over a pad of paper. “What do you want?”

“Get the ingredients to make a Sex with an Alligator.”

The room erupted in laughter. “Sex with a what?” Ace asked.

“Sex with his momma,” someone called.

“Your momma’s so fat, I took a picture of her last Christmas and it’s still printing,” Bunky called.

“Your momma’s so ugly, when she tried to join an ugly momma contest, they said, ‘Sorry, no professionals.’”

Several whoops sounded, and Jamison got up, grinning at their antics. Your momma jokes were common in their MC, and he’d heard them all.

He stood across the bar from Ace. “Sex with an Alligator. A green drink. Look it up.”

“Anything else you need for this special woman?”

Heart warm at the mention of Ever, Jamison simply smiled. “I’ll keep you informed. Right now, I’m gonna get cleaned up.”

He showered and shaved nice and close, thoughts of running his face all over Ever’s body in mind. Within hours his beard would sprout, though, and she’d have red streaks down her pale skin.

He smiled at his reflection. His eyes looked brighter than they had in ages. He’d never had a steady woman or been in love. In fact, he didn’t believe in that one true love bullshit. But Ever was definitely shaking him up.

He splashed water on his face and went into his room to dress. His regular attire consisted of jeans, a black MC T-shirt, and his cut. He slipped the chain he always wore over his head—the one with a gold tooth dangling from it. Blake wore one just like it.

One night Blake had been in agony with a bad tooth. He’d begged Jamison to rip it and every other gold tooth in his head out, a total of four. They got him sopping drunk, and then Jamison helped a brother out. As a thank-you, Blake had given him the chain with the gold tooth.

Jamison wore it as a reminder of the lengths he’d go for a Hell’s Son, and how they supported him right back.

He slipped his handgun into the holster on his ankle and then headed out. When he passed Ace, he was on the phone with Jimmy, ordering supplies to make Sex with an Alligator.

Laughing, Jamison went outside and fired up his bike. The air was thick with humidity, and Ever’s hair would be a mess of curls. His balls tightened at the thought. Last night she’d blown his mind with that titty-fuck, her hair trailing over his upper thighs and groin. And the fact that the act aroused her made it even more erotic.

He turned his bike east. The urge to swing through the ’burbs and check on Ever burned bright, but he had something else to do.

That conversation about Middleton was bugging him. While he trusted O’Dovey and Franklin to find Sweetheart Sarah and follow her, he didn’t believe Sarah was the only junkie looking for a fix. Actually, he didn’t quite believe Sarah was using.

A month ago he’d been spending a lot of time with this sweet butt, Emily. She was sex on two legs—skimpy clothes and frizzed-out hair. A typical MC girl, and one that up until two nights ago when he’d set eyes on Ever, he’d thought pretty.

The girls who hung around the club wore too much makeup and waxed every hair off everything but their heads. But Ever…she was more natural than any female he’d been with. Now he couldn’t look at those other women the same.

At a stoplight, a van pulled up, and the driver eyed him. Jamison stared right back, assessing the guy and what he might be hauling in that van with no windows. Drug runners preferred black vans or SUVs in this part of the country. They loaded up on the coast and distributed north.

But not in Heller’s Gap.

Jamison raised a brow at the driver. The light turned green, and the van lurched forward. Jamison made a left-hand turn and rolled down a side street.

He might not see anything out of the ordinary, but he and the Hell’s Sons regularly patrolled the places where money could be exchanged for drugs. The back streets in this area were never quiet. Too many people out of work. They milled on the sidewalks.

When Jamison rode through, some looked up at him. A few acknowledged him with the Hell’s Sons hand signal.

He stopped to let a mother pull her toddler out of the street. She waved and smiled. He gave her a nod and rolled on.

Swinging his head left and right, he searched the dark places—next to trash containers and between buildings.

Sarah was from these parts. She lived with her little sister, Cassidy, and the club looked out for the girls, but if Jamison were honest, the girls were left to their own devices.

Sweetheart Sarah could buy speedball if she wanted it badly enough.

He passed a corner store. Two guys stood close together. One held out a fist and dropped an item into the other man’s palm. Jamison skidded to a stop and smacked the kickstand to lower it. In seconds he was on the guys, a nape in each hand.

He dragged them under the awning, growling deep in his throat. “You boys dealin’?”

The one in his right hand spat in Jamison’s face. A glob of slime slid down his freshly-shaven jaw.

He lowered his head and glared at the guy. Early twenties, mixed race. And a dirty cocksucker who spit in people’s faces. “You must not know how much I hate people spitting at me. Otherwise, you’d know I’d do this.” With a hard jerk of his hand, he smashed the guy’s head into the other’s.

Two bodies sagged, and the guy on the left howled.

“Let me ask you again. You dealin’?”

“Fuck you!”

“Wrong answer.” Jamison kneed the smart-mouth in the gut. His knees hit the pavement, and some crumpled bills fell out of his fist. Jamison plucked them off the sidewalk.

He turned to the guy on his left, who was bent over, holding his head. Blood gushed from his eyebrow.

“Hand over the shit. Now.”

The guy backed away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before he’d taken two steps, Jamison delivered a right hook that dislodged a tooth. Blood and spittle went flying, along with the tooth. Screaming, the guy collapsed to his knees.

Jamison thrust a hand into his face. “Give me the drugs, or I’ll bust out the rest of your teeth.”

He groaned and fumbled in his pocket, coming out with two small packets.

“This all you have?” Jamison asked.

“All I could afford to buy.”

Jamison kicked the dealer in the stomach, sending him sprawling. “Empty your pockets.”

Sniveling, the dealer turned them inside out. Several baggies fell onto the sidewalk. Jamison pocketed them and bent to pull his handgun. When he trained it on the buyer, he started crying harder. The dealer wouldn’t look up.

“You want me to blow this guy’s head off right in front of you?” he asked the dealer.

“N-no!”

“No? Well what the fuck do you think you’re doing by selling him this shit? Huh? Dumbass.” He kicked him in the stomach again, feeling a rib snap under his boot. The dealer gasped.

“If I ever see you buying again, I’m going to bust your ribs too. Understand me?” Jamison asked the guy who was bleeding from his mouth.

He nodded frantically. “Yesssh.”

Pivoting to the dealer again, he swung his foot back. The dealer jackknifed on the sidewalk to protect himself, but Jamison stopped before he kicked him again.