Wring: Road Kill MC #5 (17 page)

I chuck the pillow and walk over to the
bodies.

A thin silver-toned necklace is still wrapped
around the finger of one of them. The digit twitches.

Bending over, I unwind it from his lifeless
finger and pocket it. I pluck my cell from the pocket of my cut and
sweep a thumb over the encryption.

My page surfaces inside the glass rectangle, my
heated gun still in my left hand, and I hit the speech-to-text icon
and speak. “Clean up, Aisle Thirteen.”

Noose's answering ping is instant:
Affirmative. ETA five minutes.

I wait as my gun cools, then walk over to the
ruined door. I work on trying to close it for a few minutes, hiking
it up and sort of hitching it into place.
Fuck it.
I give
up. The panel hangs off hinges like a shattered wooden tooth.

Noose's bike and two others come to park beside
mine.

He saunters to the door, meeting my eyes through
the space of the obliterated door and jamb. He nods in wordless
greeting, and I sweep a palm toward the interior.

Noose’s eyes land on the two gangbangers with a
dispassionate glance. “Where's the mother?” There are a million
other questions to ask.

He forms the only one that truly matters.

“Don't know,” I admit.

The two prospects go over to the bodies, lift
them up by the pits, and start dragging them to the adjacent
garage.

Noose and I survey the squiggly blood trails
left behind by their heels.

Noose folds his arms, shooting his chin up.
“Park those fucks in the garage. We'll do hearse detail at night.”
His fingers ghost over his pocket for cigarettes. “Fuck—need a
smoke.”

Storm grunts, hauling the first body through the
door threshold and slumping it against the wall.

Noose chuckles. “No, Storm—ya dumb fuck.
R.I.G.O.R. That'll set in, and he'll be an
L
we can't get
into another letter. You feel me?” Noose puts a hand to his chest
and goes on, “Flat on his back. We'll plank his ass into the truck
with a tarp and make them both go away. Stack ʼem like sardines if
we have to.” He chuckles.

The corners of my lips tweak. Noose has always
been the most pragmatic of us SEALs.

Storm nods, heaving the dead dude onto the
middle of a carless garage floor. What’s left of his head makes a
dull thunk as it claps hard against the concrete.

The other prospect—don't know his name
yet—lurches his corpse beside the other one.

“Cover ʼem,” Noose says, swirling his hand in a
circle like that should have been obvious to them.

Storm shakes out a blue tarp neatly folded in a
corner, and it floats down like an electric-blue shroud, covering
the bodies.

Noose turns to me. “Report.”

I tell him.

“Heard from Rose. She's got your girl.”

My shoulders ease in relief. I don't deny she's
not mine anymore. Shannon couldn't be any less mine if I tried to
disconnect.

I'm so connected.

“Snare's gonna be steaming pissed,” Noose says
with a rough exhale. He swipes his hand over the crown of his head,
using a hairband to tie his longish hair back.

“Yeah,” I say, “couldn't be helped. Had to
cancel those fuckers.”

He sweeps a palm wide. “They're gonna be missed,
Wring. Ya know it, man.”

I shrug. “Either way, Shannon's mom isn't here,
and she's unwell.”

“She's probably dead.”

I let my anguish—Shannon's borrowed anguish—out
through my nose, suck in another breath, hold it in my lungs, and
release. “Yup.”

“You thinking she's your property now?” Noose is
too decent to let the
I told you so
inside his tone of
voice.

“Yeah,” I admit quietly.

“Don't think she knows that yet,” Noose cackles
then snorts, “Not like that mattered with Rose. Knew she was mine,
took her, knocked her up—put the rock on her finger.” He lifts a
shoulder as punctuation then digs around in the front pocket of his
cut for a smoke, and scowls when he comes up empty.

A hard laugh shoots out of me, and I murmur
sarcastically, “Don't think that'll work with Shannon.”

“Try it,” Noose says, digging around in another
pocket and finding a smoke. He lights up, shooting a ring in the
middle of Shannon's trashed living room. His flinty eyes slide to
mine, narrow and hard. “You might like it.”

He winks, and we walk out the front door.

The prospects will erase our presence. We've
trained them how. We left a DNA trail that couldn't be missed; it's
a mile wide.

Fire cleanses everything.

I'm already apologizing to Shannon. But some
things can't be helped.

Like the Bloods and their interest in my
property. And what my property loves.

They'll fucking pay.

Come to think of it, they already have. I'm just
calling their debt due.

*

“They'll expect retaliation.” Viper's voice is a
dull flat sound like words dropping in a hollow bucket.

“We don't want war, Viper,” Noose says, “but
they drew first blood.”

“Like Rambo,” Trainer says, eyebrows popping
high.

We both look at him across the table of
emergency church. “Just saying.”

“Don't,” I seethe.

“Your girl is safe at Noose's, true?”

We nod.

“You just got a text from Rose?” Viper says,
part in question. “Shannon might have decided she wasn't wanting to
be your girl, but your girl's safe. Got to prioritize. Her safe is
better than anything I can think of.” His near-translucent gaze
turns to me, “But her mom isn't a club priority.”

“I've thrown down for her,” I comment, rock
solid.

Viper nods. “Miracles never cease. But you need
to see it from my perspective. Gotta ton of reluctant fucking
property lately. Got Noose's girl—Rose—did everything but hang a
sign around her neck that said
fuck off
.” A bark of laughter
breaks loose. “Clearly, Noose didn't.” His clear pool water gaze
pegs Noose, and he ducks his head. “Then we have my
sergeant-at-arms chasing sissy around—”

Snare stands, and Viper puts up a palm,
snickering. “Sorry, Snare. Sometimes you grab humor where it
presents itself. I know you guys aren't actually related
anymore.”

“Because mother fucking Riker is dead,” Snare
says slowly at our Road Kill Prez, like his cheese just slid off
his cracker. Then Snare adds, “Thank fuck.”

Viper leans back. “Now we've got yet another
potential old lady that somehow”—his astute gaze crawls over my
face—“manages to live in the middle of gangland.” He throws his
hands up and slams his palms flat on the table.

None of us jump.

He glares at Noose and me. “And you had the two
prospects torch a house after you cleaned a couple of Bloods—who
will
be missed at some point. And believe me, Lopez will not
buy into it being an accidental blaze. Not that I mind two less
Bloods. It's timing, gentlemen.”

“Fire seemed simpler in the end,” Noose explains
in a vacant voice.

Viper glowers at the fifteen faces around the
long rectangular slab of wood that serves as our meeting place. His
steely gaze never leaves me. “Fuck it. Find out if Shannon will be
your property. I can't give club support behind an unwilling
female. I just can't. If the Bloods had Shannon”—Viper spreads his
hands—“I'd take the risk for potential property of a brother. But
for the almost-dead, arthritic mom?” He exhales roughly. “It's
cowardly as fuck those Bloods would take a sick old lady as bait
and hostage fodder, but that's what separates us from them. We're
unwilling to exploit those who are defenseless—and they are. We
can't save every hard-luck case. Even if she deserves to be
saved.”

All eyes go to Noose as he leans forward
suddenly, a lit cell in his hand.

“What?” I ask, knowing it's bad from the
absolutely blank expression on his face.

“Rose isn't answering my text.”

“Maybe Aria's going down for a nap?” I hate the
hope in my tone.

“Nah,” Trainer says, leaning back in his chair,
“probably took one of those blast-it-out-the-back-of-the-diaper
shits. Rose is busy on clean-up duty, I bet.” He smirks.

Noose gives him a murderous look, and his face
falls.

“Fuck, just a joke, man,” Trainer mutters,
throwing his palms up.

Noose flips him off then says to the room of
brothers, “Don't like it.”

Snare's eyebrow hikes. “She good about getting
back?”

Noose's nod is thoughtful. He looks at the
prospect pair who remain. Storm and the other nameless guy are busy
setting Shannon's house on fire.
She's going to hate me.

I turn to Noose. “You got security up the
keister at your place.”

Noose nods. “It's only as good as the door. If
anyone—” Noose tears the tie out of his hair and snaps the elastic
ring between his fingers like a rubber band.

An uneasy, bloated silence fills the space where
we breathe. I'm suddenly fighting for oxygen as different scenarios
fill my already-crowded head.

“Meeting adjourned.” Viper hits the gavel to the
circular wood placard. The look he gives me is iron compassion.
“Find out.” He points at me then swings his finger at Noose. “Go
figure out why your old lady isn't getting back with you.”

“It's probably nothing.” Noose shrugs, every bit
of him on edge.

Lariat, the quietest of us all, pipes up for the
first time. “She was at the condo, right? When she texted they got
home.”

Noose nods.

Lariat keeps his dark eyes on Noose. “You got a
feeling?”

Noose nods again, hands clenching into fists.
“Yup.”

Lariat shrugs. “Good enough for me.”

My heartbeats tick faster.
Shannon's with
Rose and Aria
. I’ve got to believe Noose is being
overprotective and freaking out about nothing.

But our experience wasn't like that in the
sandbox. His Spidey sense was damn unnerving. The skill saved our
fucking asses.

Viper comes up to me and Noose and grabs us
around the necks, though we kind of dwarf him. “Listen, you Nancys,
go check on the women. Get shit figured out. Then call me. No
texting bullshit—can't figure that tech out. We'll go from there.
We finally got shit settled with Chaos. An uneasy truce is better
than no truce.”

Snare adds, “And the cop is on the inside with
Chaos Riders.”

“Puck?” I clarify.

Noose is already heading for the door, with me
on his heels.

“Yeah,” Snare says.

“Fucked-up road name. He couldn't pick any
better than that?” Viper says randomly.

Snare shrugs. “Canadian. And whatever—that's the
guy's real name—nickname.”

“You guys go.” Viper tilts his head with a flick
toward Snare and Lariat. “Just in case Noose's gut is real instead
of nerves.”

Noose grabs the door before it can swing shut
and shoots a look at Prez. “I don't get nerves.”

That's more true than anything I've heard in a
week.

“You really think I should disregard this
violent streak that Wring has?” I ask Rose as we ascend in the
elevator on the way to her condo.

She shakes her head, and I'm momentarily
surprised. “No—I, don't disregard what he is. Just… accept
him.”

Aria lays her head on Rose's shoulder, giving me
a glassy, thousand-mile stare.

I smile and flutter my fingers.

She gives me a sleepy wave back.

Cutie.

“It's super-close to naptime,” Rose says
apologetically.

My eyes rise from the nearly sleeping baby.
“That's no problem. I love kids.” Mist covers my eyes, and I close
them, ruthlessly keeping my sadness at bay.

“What, Shannon?”

The elevator rocks as it comes to a stop. The
doors whisper open, and I step out. Rose follows.

“I—it sounds so selfish, but if my mom wasn't so
compromised physically, I would have gone to school, become an
elementary teacher. I've always loved kids.”

“Charlie loves you at story time.”

I'm sure my smile is wistful. “Yeah,” I say
softly. “They're sort of like my own kids.” I think of Sally, and
that causes me a pang of anxiety.

“Maybe once you hook up with Wring, you'll have
more options.”

I turn to her, and we're standing right outside
her door. “I don't want to ʻhook upʼ with Wring. I mean—” I feel my
blush from my toes to my scalp. “We have hooked up. I want to end
it, or I want more. A ton more.”

Rose nods. “I understand. But Wring has problems
since he's been back from the war,” she confides, “ya
know—emotionally. He doesn't sleep well.”

I can't help it. I cover the giggle with a
hand.

Her eyebrows arch, and she shifts Aria to the
other shoulder. The baby's eyes are drooping so hard, they're tiny
slivers of chocolate in her face.

“He sleeps just fine,” I say.

“Really?”

I nod. “Like the dead.”

Rose grins. “So either you wore him out”—she
pauses significantly, her lips quirking at the corners—“or you make
him feel better. Safe.”

I feel my face tighten in disbelief. “I can't
make an aggressive killer feel safe. He's the one that makes
me
feel safe,” I say with quiet emphasis.

“That's it, though, Shannon. Don't you see it?
You make each other feel safe.”

I lift a shoulder. Maybe she's on to
something.

Rose touches my arm. “Please tell me you won't
shut Wring out without giving him a chance.”

Her big brown eyes look into mine.

I nod. “Okay.”

Rose turns, and I hear her word before her hand
goes to the doorknob. “Good.”

Then Rose is screaming as she's wrenched inside
her condo.

Aria's startled cry greets my ears, and I don't
run.

I can't abandon them.

Even though Lopez's eyes drill into me through
the open doorway.

His intent is like an advertisement.