Protect (34 page)

“Listen, it’s too late. It’s gone to
print—”

“Yeah, I know. Nothing to be done to take it
back. Which is gonna suck for you.”

Prescott’s dishwater-grey eyes widened.
“What?”

“Nothing you can do to stop me hurting you.
So I ain’t here for torture. I’m just here to hurt you.”

“He could still be some use,” Jayce said,
stepping inside the office with Tank, Spaz, and Tiny. Clearly Buck
was going to be look out.

Prescott swallowed so hard Fritter heard
it.

“After all,” his Prez went on, thoughtful.
“We can
guess
who is behind all this bullshit. But there’s a
big
why
I don’t quite get. For example, I know Sheriff
Downey was very accommodating with this joke of a newspaper. That’s
the only reason any of your shitty stories ever got printed
anywhere other than here, asshole.”

“I-I’m a member of the press. I have a duty
to report the news.” Prescott stammered, eyes on Jayce now.

“You’re a fucking joke. Half the paper is
bake sales and community fluff pieces. Downey gave you the only
meat you had. If you think Turnbull will still be your buddy after
this you’re out of your mind.”

Fritter suddenly saw it, and he gave the
newspaper man a light slap that still made him squeal. Probably
from surprise. “How much does Turnbull spend in advertising in this
pathetic rag?”

“You’re kidding,” Tank boomed. “You sold out
the Sheriff for an advertiser?”

“My
biggest
account,” Prescott spat
back. “I lose that and the paper’s done. I employ four full-time
people and two part-timers.”

“Was it his idea?” Fritter asked, getting
right in the man’s grill. “He tell you exactly what to do? Just
follow her and wait for something good to happen?”

“Maybe he was already following
you
,
Fritter. After all, he only got a shot flashing
your
shit.”
Tiny was chuckling, making himself at home in an ancient chair in
front of Prescott’s desk. Spaz was already sitting down and
clicking away at the keyboard.

“Yeah, thanks for that by the way. It was a
good angle. My dick looked pretty good, actually.”

“I had no choice,” Prescott whispered.

“So was it you lurking around her house,
peeping in her windows? Like a fucking pervert?” Fritter was close
enough his chest was pushing into Prescott’s man-boobs. “Or do we
have to visit someone else, too?”

“He was going to pull all his ads if I
didn’t.”

That was the only answer Fritter needed. With
a great deal of satisfaction he plowed a fist into Prescott’s soft
gut, and the man heaved while bending over, coughing and
choking.

“So Turnbull gets this favor, and what do you
get?” Jayce was asking as Fritter stepped back and rolled up his
sleeves. “He keeps advertising? I mean, that’s hardly fair. A guy
running a business
needs
to advertise.”

“No he doesn’t,” Tiny piped up. “He’s the
only car dealer in Markham. He doesn’t have to do shit.”

“And he knows that. He could pull it all
anyway.” Jayce leaned over to the side, head almost upside down to
peer into Prescott’s face. “So you did this, brought us here, for
what? To bring a good woman down?”

Prescott had the fucking nerve to laugh. “A
good woman? Fucking a biker? When she’s a
cop
?”

Fritter’s blood went to ice water, and he
didn’t hesitate to bring his knee up into the man’s face. Blood
spurted out of his nose as Fritter snarled, “What’s wrong with
bikers?”

“Cops need love too, man,” Tiny mumbled as he
lit a cigarette, watching Dylan Prescott snort and cough around his
probably broken nose. “Especially a fine woman like that.”

Fritter ignored the twinge of anger that gave
him, only because he didn’t care what anyone was saying. He pulled
Prescott back up to his feet, leaning him against the wall before
drilling his stomach with another right. He jumped back just as the
man evacuated his stomach of whatever he’d been having for lunch.
It hit the carpet in a sickly splatter and he made a sound of
disgust.

“You knew this would bring us to your door,
man.” Jayce’s tone was calm, his hands hanging between his knees as
he perched on a long side table. “Why the fuck would you put
yourself out there?”

Fritter connected with his jaw this time, and
Prescott face went slack, his eyes blinking oddly. He was going to
pass out.

“Fuck, we’re losing him already,” Fritter
mumbled, disgusted.

“Okay, I deleted the video from the source,
but it’s still out there, obviously.” Spaz cut in, rising from the
desk.

“Hey, doesn’t the paper have a Facebook
page?” Jayce asked as Fritter gave Prescott another shot, to the
ribs this time, and let the man drop to his knees.

“Yeah.”

“Get in there. Post an official apology for
violating the privacy rights of an elected official. Admit that
Dylan Prescott is responsible for the video leaked out last night.
We’ll beat the printers that way.”

Spaz’s smile was growing as Jayce was
talking. “You got it. And I’ll change his password and log him out
so he can’t take it back.”

“And if anyone comes asking, you had a
clearing of your conscience.” Jayce stood and towered over Dylan.
The man was huffing on hands and knees, swaying even in a
four-point stance. Jayce squatted and grabbed Prescott’s chin,
bringing his face up to look him in the eye. “You admit to
everything; taking and posting that video. You wanted a big news
story. You don’t have to tell anyone Turnbull put you up to it. I
don’t expect you to be that brave. But we were never here. I just
ask that the next time you’re asked to do something really fucking
slimy and illegal, you remember this. Okay?”

“What about Turnbull?” Prescott wheezed.
“He’s gonna be pissed.”

“And he’ll do what? Tell everyone you fucked
up your deal? Sue you for squealing? I doubt it. He’s not quite as
stupid as you.” Jayce let his chin go and the man nearly face
planted in his own filth.

Fritter wasn’t appeased. Not at all. He
wanted the guy beaten, bleeding, and in the hospital for this. But
that would have to mean jail, and no one had time for that.

“We should go,” Tank spoke for the first
time. “Spaz, you done?”

“Oh yeah,” the kid answered, too pleased with
himself, circling the desk. “It’s properly apologetic and
self-deprecating.”

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here.”

Fritter watched Tiny grind his cigarette out
in Prescott’s carpet, then before following his brother out Fritter
stepped cruelly on Prescott’s hand, crouching down. He ignored the
squealing. “You stay the fuck away from her. Even if you see her at
an accident scene and want a picture. You come within a hundred
yards of her again I’m coming back here with a fucking weapon and I
won’t be this polite.”

“I’m not a fucking peeping Tom!”

“How do I know that? Videotaping people that
don’t know you’re there? That’s scuzzy shit, man. I’m assuming
right now you’re a sexual predator, fucker. One wrong move and
you’ll find out how little I like perverts.”

“I’m not—” he never finished because Fritter
kicked him in his stupid, fat face. Prescott collapsed into his own
vomit, and Tiny was pulling him out of the office by both
shoulders.

“Okay, Fritter. You made your point.”

He pulled away roughly, rolling his shoulders
to reset his kutte and strode through the lobby. On the sidewalk
Jayce was lighting up a smoke and squinting at Fritter.

“All right,” the Prez said, exhaling. “I’ve
decided not to fucking tan your hide for this. We still get to take
a shot at you each, just for betraying trust by not telling
anyone.”

“I never talked, never ratted us out to her!”
Fritter spat out, heart still pounding from the beat down.

“I know. That’s why I’m not pulling that
kutte from your back. And what’s more, I can see she ain’t just a
piece of ass.”

Fritter made a scoffing noise.

“You can pretend,” Tiny said quietly. “You
were protecting her in there, too. That was for the club, sure. But
also for her.”

“And she ain’t a piece of ass woman,” Tank
added on, swinging a long leg over his Fat Boy. “Don’t pretend
she’s somewhere between a booty call and a sweetbutt. We all know
Sharon. That’s a woman you look after.”

His jaw set again. Fuck, he couldn’t sort out
his own head now.

“We should go see if she’s all right.”

Fritter spun on Buck. “Are you nuts?”

“Fritter, she must have heard by now. Imagine
what she’s going through, man.” Jayce squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll
just go by, check with her. Tell her what we know. Maybe she’ll
press charges.”

He knew Jayce was right, and as the words
sank in he realized that’s what he
should
have been worried
about. Not his place in the fucking club. He
should
be out
of his mind with worry for her.

Shit, he really sucked at this relationship
shit. If that’s what this even was.

“Okay,” he agreed eventually, grabbing his
lid from his handlebars. “Fuck. I’m terrified to see her now.”

“She’s going to be embarrassed,” Buck
guessed. “But not showing that you’re worried would be a real prick
move.”

Fritter swung onto his ride. “I just hope she
doesn’t shoot me.”

“Mom, you almost ready?”

She had to smile down at her suitcase while
she tallied up what she’d been able to grab so far. Brayden was
being so kind.

Seriously, such a great kid.

“I think I’m done,” she called back, flipping
the suitcase closed and zipping it up tight. “You got your stuff in
the car?”

“Yep!”

“And Earp’s stuff?”

“Yep!”

When she heard it, her stomach dropped.
Straight pipes, growing louder, coming closer to her house. She
froze, waiting for them to drive right on by, but they didn’t. At
their loudest they suddenly stopped and she had her first ever
moment of doubt about her own safety when it came to the Red
Rebels.

Would they hurt her? Would Fritter let
them?

Was Fritter still around?

Beyond her own worries, she came to the
realization that he could be in as much trouble as she was. This
was why she’d picked him; he wouldn’t—
couldn’t—
tell anyone
about this. Just like her. What if they’d decided the betrayal was
too great?

“Mom?”

She jumped and turned to Brayden, in her
doorway. He looked worried, too. “Yeah, Bray?”

“The Rebels are here. Some of them. I only
know Jayce and Buck.”

Shit
. Jayce was here, too? “What about
Fritter?”

“Yeah, I think he’s here, too. They’re coming
up to the house. Are … are you going to be okay? Are we in trouble
with them?”

If she was a good parent she’d know how to
answer that, reassuring him while being honest. She had no fucking
idea how to do that so what she said was, “I don’t know.”

He swallowed and nodded.

“Just wait in your room. I’ll answer the
door. Okay, Bray?”

“Okay, Mom.”

She waited until he left her sight before
reaching for her nightstand and pulling the drawer open. She’d
tossed her revolver in there when she got home, and now she made
sure she loaded it before tucking it into the back of her jeans.
With an impatient tug she made sure her T-shirt fell over the grip
then headed for the front door. Heavy footsteps could be heard on
the front stoop before the storm door was opened and a hard knock
shook the interior door.

With an inhaled and held breath Sharon pulled
the door open. What kind of expression could one really pull out in
this situation? Play dumb? Look surprised? Invite them in for a cup
of coffee?

The first one she saw was Jayce. He was
holding the storm door outward, and Fritter was right next to him,
mostly blocking the doorway. She had no barriers between her and
them. She tried to stay calm, but at the sight of them, tall and
hairy and in all that leather, she was reminded of what they
were.

“Sharon,” Jayce greeted her, his voice
gentle. But she didn’t trust it.

“Jayce,” she replied, then nodded. “Fritter.”
Her voice almost broke on his name. She had the ridiculous urge to
burst into tears, just to see if he’d hold her.

“Fuck, Sharon,” he croaked out, his regret
evident on his face. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

That took her back a pace. She blinked, mouth
working to form a response, when Jayce cut in “Are you okay? What
can we do?”

None of this was expected. “Do?” she echoed,
stupidly.

“The Markham Marker just published an apology
on their Facebook page for infringing on your privacy,” Jayce went
on. “Dylan Prescott basically confessed he shot the video and
posted it to keep Archie Turnbull’s advertising money. It’s a
pretty safe bet Turnbull did this to hurt you, not us. So we want
to know; do you want any help from us?”

Sharon did a few most fast blinks, eyes
finding Fritter’s. “Can I beat the shit out of Prescott?”

There was a rumble of laughter, one of the
voices she recognized as Tiny’s though she couldn’t see him. “I did
that,” Fritter replied, still sounding off. His humor wasn’t there,
he wasn’t trying to make light of this. For some reason that made
her feel better.

“You did what?”

“We paid Prescott a visit. And I beat his
lunch right out of him.”

“Jesus,” she whispered, an odd warmth washing
over her. That shouldn’t be a good thing, she shouldn’t see it as
sweet
. But it was probably the best gift he could have given
her.

“He won’t talk,” Jayce assured her. “We’ll
pay Turnbull a visit eventually, but we wanted to see if you were
okay.”

Again, an odd sense of warmth and
comfort.

“Can I come in?” Fritter asked. Jayce shot
him a look but stepped back, not waiting for her to answer. She
moved to the side and Fritter moved into the foyer. The guys stayed
outside, looking to the street. Like they were guarding her
house.