When he guards, p.20
When He Guards, page 20
Cass’s head slowly lifted. As he gazed at her, Agnes’s thick lashes rose so that she was staring straight at him. Trying to steal his soul again.
No need to steal it, princess. Pretty sure all that I am—hell, everything belongs to you. He swallowed. “You meant that bit about trust, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You trust me, completely?” He could hear more motorcycles arriving. They would have to get moving. But before he made the big meeting in Arizona, he had one important pitstop to make. A pitstop that he was making for her. He’d come to this area of Texas to help Agnes achieve her goal. Getting vengeance.
A Rembrandt tattoo artist, huh? One exceptionally good with scales.
“I do trust you,” she assured him.
“Good.” His lips pressed to hers once more. A tender kiss. Because he could do tender, sometimes. At least, he could do it with her. “Remember that, will you?”
“Cass, what are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna take you to see a very bad man…about a very bad tat.”
Chapter Nineteen
Another day, another dead body left by Cass and Agnes. They were truly monumental pains in his ass. Individually, they were problematic. But put them together? Monumental pains in my ass.
“So…you’re with the FBI, huh?” The deputy pulled off his hat and clenched it in his hands. “You flew in on your own plane? That happen a lot, the Feds just zipping around on private planes?
No, it did not, in fact, happen a lot. Gray crouched near the body. Malik had come with him on this not-so-fun excursion, and the other Fed watched silently from about five feet away. “I’m not your typical Fed,” Gray responded. “My job comes with perks.”
“Like…a private plane? Because I heard talk about it landing at the strip near town.”
He was staring at Levi Addams. A Levi with a cut throat, a stab wound in his lower right side. And a bullet wound in his chest. “The cut to the neck wasn’t deep enough to kill him.” Just a slice. “Neither was the one in his side. But that bullet to the heart…” Yeah, it would have done the trick. His head turned as he tried to figure out just where the shooter must have been. “Where were you when you fired?” he murmured.
“Uh, sir?” The deputy again. Deputy Jaxon McClint. His badge was all shiny and new. “Sir, we recovered the gun right next to the body.”
Yes, he’d heard about that discovery. “You think it was an up-close shot?”
“Well, yes, sir, the gun was right here—”
“There is a lot of blood splatter at this scene.” He’d seen blood drops all over the place. “And the bruising on the vic tells me that there was one hell of a fight that went down here.” He did not like this, at all. He turned again. Surveyed the woods not too far from him. A whole lot of woods out there. After a moment, Gray pointed to one particular area. “I think the shooter was there.”
Jaxon scratched his chin. “There, sir?”
Malik did not speak.
“Blood splatter tells a story. Haven’t you ever watched Dexter?”
Jaxon shook his head. “Who is he?”
Who is…hell. “I think the bullet that tore through Levi’s chest was fired from a rifle. Probably one with a scope. Killer got him in his sights, he took the shot, and bam, Levi was eliminated.”
Jaxon pointed to the ground. “But the gun was found right there.”
“Yes, I am aware.” He was also aware, based on the description of the weapon that he’d been given, that the gun near the vic had probably belonged to Agnes. Her gun, her prints. And…shit, total clusterfuck of a situation.
The radio on Jaxon’s hip crackled. He pulled it out and almost dropped it on the dead body. Luckily, he caught it just in time. “S-sorry.” A flush stained his cheeks. He hustled back, fingers fumbling with the radio.
Gray glanced over at Malik.
Malik simply raised an eyebrow.
“Another body?” Jaxon demanded as he clutched the radio. “Where? Shot, too? And you say a rifle was found near him?”
Yeah, sometimes, it almost hurt to be right all the time.
“We got another body,” Jaxon loudly exclaimed. “Male, about six-foot-two, with about a dozen silver chains around his neck and a discarded rifle at the scene.”
The description of the vic sounded like Hugo Lorens. The guy was in Cass’s crew and always sported his silver.
Jaxon turned away and kept talking into his radio.
Malik closed in on Gray. “What’s going on?”
“A war, from the sound of things.” He pointed down at the body. Levi had been covered up before they arrived. Not moved, per his instructions. The scene had been secured and blocked, and he’d hauled ass on his private plane to get there. But it wasn’t like they could just leave the body outside much longer. Decomposition and all sorts of screw-them issues would be occurring.
He eyed the ranch house. It had already been searched. Nothing important had turned up. Nothing overly useful.
“They can’t be that far away,” Malik murmured. “We were here damn fast.”
Yes, they had been. Because he’d gotten a text right after the shooting and had been on the way instantly. A text that had not come from Cass.
Are you holding out on me, cuz? He didn’t like that Cass hadn’t told him about the shooting. Not the best sign.
“Do you know where they are headed?” Malik asked.
Oh, he had a pretty good idea. The finale had been in the works for a very long time. But the players in the finale had shifted a bit. Agnes shouldn’t have been involved. She was, though. And maybe…maybe that was a good thing.
Especially if Cass’s own crew couldn’t be trusted.
Or maybe Agnes being involved is bad. Bad as in, the worst mistake I’ve ever made. Because he could have stopped things. He could have planned an alternative that didn’t involve her riding off with Cass. But when he’d plotted, and, yes, profiled, having Agnes at Cass’s side had seemed like the best option.
Because I trust Agnes completely. She might doubt herself, but I don’t doubt her. And I know that she will protect Cass’s back. Cass. His family. His cousin, yes, but more. His brother by choice.
But Cass wasn’t aware of the other players also closing in. One particular player was pissed that Agnes was riding straight into danger with Cass. Ryan Quinn was a dangerous bastard on his good days. On his bad days? The man was hell on earth. He usually worked covert ops for Uncle Sam, but this time, he was going off script. And making new problems for Gray.
As if Gray wanted more problems in his life.
Why couldn’t Ryan have been tied up with a case in Spain or Russia or somewhere else across the Atlantic right now? Instead, Ryan was screwing up Gray’s plans.
I’m staring at a dead body. The second one since Agnes and Cass paired up. That couple is lethal. And as to why the guy on the ground was dead…
“He betrayed Cass,” Gray said as his gaze flickered back to the dead man.
“How do you know?” Malik asked.
He crouched beside the body once more. With his gloved hand, he lifted the edge of Levi’s shirt. “When you betray your MC leader, you don’t walk away clean.” In fact, you rarely walked away. He pushed up the bloody material to reveal the slash in Levi’s side.
“Shit.” An exclamation of surprise from Malik. “Is that a ‘T’ carved into his skin?”
Yes, it was. “T for Traitor,” Gray murmured.
“Damn.” Then. “Damn…what in the hell has Agnes gotten herself into?”
I told you already, a war. One that has been a long time coming.
“You swore to me Cass would watch her back.” Now Malik was angry. Fair enough. The guy liked and respected his partner. A week after Malik had joined Gray’s team at the Bureau, Agnes had shoved him down two seconds before a bullet would have blown his brains out. She’d spotted the shooter hanging out in the alley. Malik hadn’t. She’d saved his ass.
He’d been watching hers since then. And Malik didn’t always think others could protect the woman as well as he could. But in this instance, Gray was sure that Cass wouldn’t let anyone hurt Agnes. I better not be wrong. “He will watch her back.”
“Until what…the others find out she’s working undercover? Then is she gonna get a T carved into her skin, too? And what the hell will happen to Cass? If the others find out the truth…”
Gray rose to his full height. “Cass has always understood what will happen to him. As for Agnes, I don’t think Cass will let anyone carve up her skin.”
“You don’t think? Or you know he wouldn’t?” Malik’s strained expression showed his worry.
“He wouldn’t.” Gray hoped that he sounded confident. Usually, people couldn’t see past his lies. And they never saw when he was uncertain. I am very, very uncertain right now. “He won’t let anyone even so much as put a mark on her.”
Agnes eyed the needle. She bit her lower lip. She squinted and eyed the needle harder. “So…” A long, drawn out Sooooooo. “Where will you be putting the tat?”
The tattoo artist sighed as he shifted in his chair. A big, burly guy with a body full of swirling and actually quite stunning tats. He’d admitted to drawing the tats himself. The hulking man seemed truly talented.
They were in his shop. Apparently, a must-stop visit in the middle of their current madness. The wall to the right was filled with tattoo sketches. Lots and lots of snakes. Some dragons. A medusa with a gorgeous, heaving snake body.
Someone is really into snakes.
Cass came up behind her. A Cass who had stripped off his shirt and slapped a bandage over the wound on his right shoulder. She was sitting in the black lounge chair for customers, and he leaned over her, locking a powerful hand on the armrest to her right.
“You’re looking a little green sunshine,” he purred.
They’d driven for three hours to get to this place. Her whole body ached, she was hungry, she wanted more answers, and she did not relish getting jabbed with a needle again and again.
“I think the tattoo should go…” His left hand feathered over her body. Darted down between her breasts.
She hissed out a breath. Her hand flew up to grab his.
But he…he caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. And pressed a kiss right along her racing pulse, on her inner wrist. “Right here,” he said, as his gaze met hers above the hand he held.
The tattoo artist grunted. “And what am I inking her with? The Striker emblem?”
They had an emblem? And what did that look like?
“She doesn’t belong to the Strikers.” Cass’s mild response. “She belongs to me.”
A little shiver went down her spine.
Cass’s head turned toward the tattoo artist. “You gave me the newest tat I carry—you marked me with it not too long ago. You did a good job on it.”
Again, the guy grunted. Clearly, he was not a conversational kind of fellow.
“It was the two-headed cobra,” Cass added.
And another shiver had her shifting in the chair even as her gaze sharpened on the artist. As if she hadn’t already figured out—based on all the snake tats on the wall—that this man had given Cass that very specific tattoo. Her attention shifted from the artist to the wall of sketches. So many sketches.
Her gaze lingered on one of the dragons. Goosebumps rose on her skin. The man is talented. Definitely talented. His art is unique. Her attention tracked back to him.
The tattoo artist licked his lips. Eight gold hoops climbed up his right ear lobe. “I ain’t putting a two-headed cobra on her.”
“Of course, not,” Cass murmured. “Because she’s not a member of that select group. But…you know who the members are, don’t you? Because I was referred to you. To you, specifically. You’re the one who does the best snake work.”
“It’s all in the scales.” His forehead began to sweat. His gaze darted to the doorway.
Javion had just entered the tattoo parlor.
“Scales. Yeah. Right. You also tatted one of my crew, Levi Addams.”
A curt nod from the artist. “Levi’s cool,” he muttered. “Had some drinks with him and—”
“He’s dead. I fucking carved a T into the traitor’s body and left him to bleed out.”
He’d carved a what? She snapped her mouth closed to hide her shock. Agnes had not been aware of the carving portion of the event.
The tattoo artist leapt to his feet. “I thought you were tatting her.”
“Um. Change of plans.” Cass smiled. “I’ve decided I like her just the way she is. I’ll put a ring on her finger if the others need to see proof of my claim, but no one is touching her. Not with hands. Damn well not with needles.”
This would be why he’d asked her to trust him. The whole scene was a setup. She’d rather suspected it might be.
Cass inclined his head toward the artist. “I need information from you, Raz.”
Raz?
“I am looking for a very specific tattoo. I want to know who is wearing that tattoo. I strongly suspect, see, that you are the designer who placed the tattoo on the individual’s body. After all, you do the best snakes. All in the scales, right?”
She sucked in a breath. Cass had high-tailed it to this place so that he could get a name, for her? So freaking sweet.
She’d tried searching for the tattoo and the tattoo artist before, but that had been like searching for a needle in a haystack.
Cass had just found the, uh, needle for her. The tattoo needle, that was. Excitement quivered through her. They’d been surrounded by his crew during the drive, so they hadn’t been able to talk freely. When they’d been on the motorcycle, Cass had been flying, and the roar of the motorcycle had been so loud. If she’d wanted to talk to him, she would have needed to scream. Not like she wanted her screams overheard by the others.
It’s all about trust. Cass was proving that she was right to trust him completely. She jumped out of the chair and grabbed a piece of paper. Raz had plenty of pens around, so she sketched out the image fast. Easy to do because her drawing skills weren’t rusty, and her memory of that particular snake burned hot and bright in her mind. “This is it.” She slapped the paper against Raz’s chest.
He looked down. Eased the paper back so he could stare at it. As soon as she saw the flare of his eyes, she knew he’d recognized the tat.
“Who did you mark with that design?” Cass asked, voice as cool as a summer breeze.
Javion closed in, moving to stand right next to Raz.
The bell over the tattoo shop’s door jingled. Another member of Cass’s crew had just walked in. The one called Bear filled the doorway. Filled it.
“Does your memory need jogging?” Cass asked. Then, when there was no immediate response from Raz, he drawled, “Hey, Bear, come do me a solid and jog this guy’s memory with your fist—”
“He’ll kill me.” Sweat dotted Raz’s temples.
“Bear?” A roll of Cass’s broad shoulders. The powerful muscles of his chest flexed. “Nah, he’ll just shake you up a bit.”
A frantic widening of Raz’s eyes. “No. The man with that tat. If I tell, I’m dead.”
Cass closed in on the tattoo artist. “If you don’t tell me, you’re dead.” He eyed the array of needles next to Raz. “FYI, that death will be very painful. See, I’m not a professional when it comes to the art of tattooing. Don’t know how to use all the equipment. And when I try to use these needles on you—and I will have to try, if you don’t cooperate with me—it will hurt. A lot.”
Her body practically vibrated. This man…Raz knew the tattoo she’d drawn. It was his tattoo, after all. He’d been the designer.
Raz’s gaze cut to her. “Actually…I-I used that same design twice. Two people have that tat.”
Her heart thudded hard in her chest. Cass had said that he believed two men were killing, two leaders in the Twins. Two serial killers.
“I’m a dead man,” Raz rasped.
“You will be,” Bear swore from the doorway. His hands had fisted.
Raz’s gaze jumped from Bear to Cass. Then lingered on Cass. “G-gave it to your uncle, Cass. Gave it to Winston Striker when he first came up with the idea of the Twins.” He grabbed a tattoo gun. Gripped it tightly in his hand. “That was years ago. When I first opened my business. Wanted to make him something badass. So I worked hard. Went through about a dozen sketches before I created one that he approved.”
Cass’s uncle had come up with the Twins? She slanted a quick glance at Cass.
He showed no surprise.
“The other bastard…he came to me about eight years ago, wanting the exact design.”
Eight years ago. That was right around the time her whole life had changed.
“Tell me his name,” Cass demanded.
Instead of saying the name, Raz lunged forward, swiping out with the tattoo gun—
Cass planted an upper cut in his face. Agnes was pretty sure one of Raz’s teeth went flying as the man staggered back. The tattoo gun went flying, too. It banged into the wall of sketches.
“His name,” Cass repeated, tone patient.
Raz lifted a hand to cover his bloody mouth. “Bayne! Bayne Hendrix!”
That name again. Bayne had been the one who murdered Hugo. The one who’d taken a shot at Cass and killed Levi.
“Put it on his right wrist.” Raz had blood dripping on his chin. “Bastard wanted it to match the one I gave Winston, but Winston wore his on his back, just like you! Now I told you what I know.” A swipe of his fingers over the blood. His green eyes darted around the parlor. “You’re all fucking twisted bastards, and I want you out of here! Out! I want you—”
Javion stepped forward and punched him. Raz went down hard. Out cold.
Javion sighed. “He was getting loud. I hate it when they get loud.” His lips pursed. “You get what you came for?”
Cass nodded. “Bayne Hendrix is a dead man.”
Bayne Hendrix. Bayne Hendrix. The name replayed in her mind again and again. Finally, she had her target. After all of this time.
“But he’s a Twin,” Javion muttered. “And the leader of the Western Mavericks. Won’t that be a problem for you?”
