Trigger, p.3
Trigger, page 3
“Who’s coming?” Coyote asks. Coyote will have to do a security reassessment to accommodate the new guys.
“And where will they be staying?” Rocky adds.
Hangman addresses Rocky’s question first. “They’ll be staying with you, fucker. You and Jess have a big enough bed.”
Rocky’s face turns red. “Fuck that! Those guys aren’t getting’ anywhere near Jess.” Rocky’s smart, so it makes no sense he’s reacting to Hangman’s half-assed attempt at humour. I guess girlfriends really do make you stupider.
Reaper echoes my thought out loud as he rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
“Piss off, cocksucker,” Rocky replies with a middle-finger salute.
“Clearly someone didn’t get fucked this morning,” Jawbone comments, drawing laughter. He’s a pain in the ass, but he has some good one-liners.
Coyote interjects like the entitled asshole he is. “Who gives a fuck where they’re staying.” It’s funny to hear the shit that comes out of Coyote’s mouth these days. He used to be this posh bugger, but since his girl almost died and his sisters got kidnapped, his golden crown is tarnished. He’s still not up to my bad-ass standards, but less easy to fuck with than he used to be.
“There’s no fuckin’ room here,” Hash jumps in with his usual abrasive tone. “We’re full up since Peyton moved in.” Peyton, the fucked up ex-Blackbeard chick, was instrumental in saving Coyote’s sisters. Hash’s the biggest asshole the Jury’s got, so everyone was suspicious when he took her under his wing. He’s lookin’ after her, but keeping his dick zipped up. I’m still waiting for his ulterior motive, but so far, nothing.
“When’s she movin’ out?” King asks gruffly. “We’re not a fuckin’ shelter for Blackbeard ex-whores.”
Hash bares his teeth. “When I fuckin’ say, you asshole. You gotta a problem with that, I’ll meet you outside.”
Joker intervenes in the school-yard fight. “Forget about Peyton. She’s not on the fuckin’ agenda.” He looks down at his notebook. “Brothers from Vegas are Mothman, Viking, Rider, and Stark.
I whistle. Mothman is Vegas royalty. His father is president, and his brother is the veep. It’s a family affair, and the trifecta rule with an iron fist. “We get the evil princess, hey?”
Blood snorts. “Too fuckin’ ugly to be a princess.”
“Who’s Stark?” Red asks.
“Mothman’s prospect.”
Fender sighs like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “That’s just what we need. Another fuckin’ Crank.”
“Fuck off,” Hash warns. Hash is sponsoring Crank, who’s so wet behind the ears, there’s mould growing, but the kid’s an inker with more talent than Picasso. Better even than Hash, whose talent far exceeds his brain. Hash runs Sailor Jerry’s, our ink shop.
Eight snorts from his corner. He never sits, hardly ever talks, but he’s deadly with his fists and any other weapon of choice. “He ain’t no Crank. Ex-Navy Seal with a take-no-prisoners rep. Scary motherfucker.”
“How do ya know him?” Red asks.
Eight answers with a none-of-your-fucking-business glare.
“You’ll get along with Viking.” Hangman smirks at Eight. “He don’t got much to say either.”
Fender chirps like a cricket, which gets us laughing.
“They’ll be here tomorrow or next,” Joker says, trying to bring the meeting under control. “They’ll be takin’ rooms at the Shawshank.” Shawshank’s motel, which also rents rooms by the hour, is conveniently located near our brothel. Not one of our properties, but a good appendage to have and the guy who runs it don’t mind the business.
“Move on,” Hangman orders. “We got a lot of bullshit to get through.”
Joker doesn’t acknowledge Hangman and I wonder if they’re on the outs. Joker’s the only one that Hangman treats with real respect. If the prez has a friend in our club, it’s definitely the veep. Doesn’t matter if Joker’s pissed at Prez though – he won’t let that interfere with doing his job. “How’s the progress on the renos?” he asks Fender.
Coyote looks pained while the rest of us smirk. His fine for fucking up was a big one. Five-hundred K for killing Vortex, a Blackbeard, is funding the new shine we’re puttin’ on the clubhouse.
Fender grins. “Comin along fine. Got the plans drawn up and I’ll go over them with you and Hangman later today.”
Hangman’s attention shifts. “Blackbeards are gonna come knockin’ on our doors so watch your backs. Keep your families safe. Doubt they’ll target kids or women but can’t trust they won’t after they grabbed Coyote’s sisters and knocked-off his parents.” Not a hint of sympathy in his cold dead heart over Coyote’s loss.
“Jesus, Hangman,” Red says under his breath. Despite being sponsored by the prez, Red hasn’t been a member of the club long enough to know that Prez is an unflinching bastard.
Hangman ignores him. “Crip’ll paint his club as the victim because we left a trail of bodies getting the girls back. Need to retaliate before they do.” He glances at Coyote. “How’s the thief? Still worth startin’ a war over?”
Coyote narrows his eyes at Hangman’s bullshit. “Bryce is fine. Sends her love.”
This gets a laugh since Coyote’s new fuck-toy is almost as talkative as Eight. “Good,” Hangman says. “Bring her around. Time to vest her.”
“In due time,” Coyote murmurs.
Hangman would normally challenge something like that but for some reason breezes by it. “Gonna put word on the street that we got hard evidence on the feebs that have been harassing us.” He turns his attention back to Coyote. “Got anything on the two fucks, yet?” The feebs are two federal agents who’ve gone rogue. They killed Jess’s brother and Hangman thinks they have a snitch inside the club.
“Gettin’ on it today.”
“Make it a priority,” Joker orders. “We need to find those fuckers fast, before they do any more damage.”
“What else?” Hangman asks, lookin’ around the room.
“Got a new business on Front Street. Vet clinic.” Reaper says. Reaper and Eight are in charge of our protection racket. Most of our ‘customers’ are in Reno, the one’s that pay the premium rate, but we don’t like to neglect the good citizens of Sagebrush. The businesses here get a discounted deal.
“Been there yet?” Hangman asks, his interest sharpened.
“Nah. Doors aren’t opened yet. Woman vet, apparently. Figure it’s an opportunity to send in the rookies.” The rookies are the two prospects, Zero and Crank.
Hangman nods. “Good thought. They should be able to handle a broad. Talk to them, make sure they have the process down, then give it a go.”
“On it,” Reaper grunts.
“I’m gettin’ tired of talkin,” Hangman says to Joker. “Anything else?”
Joker shakes his head. “I’m fuckin’ tired of talkin’ too. We’re done here.” Yep, definitely tension between the prez and VP.
Hangman ignores him, directing his attention to me. “Since you ain’t keeping Raven company, track her down and send her to my office. My dick needs some relief.”
He gets up and storms out like he’s pissed with the world.
The rest of us follow him out. Rocky and Red are tryin’ to get my attention, but I’m distracted by thoughts of Evanee again. I take a couple of steps towards the front door as I pull out my pack of smokes, but Coyote blocks me. “Want me to find her?”
“Who the fuck are you talking about?” But I keep my voice low and look around to make sure no one’s listening.
“Whoever has your panties tied up so tight you can’t drop them for Raven.” Raven’s my favourite passaround. Didn’t figure she had a temper, but she’s so pissed I’m actually a little afraid of her.
“Ain’t a woman.”
Coyote smirks. “Can’t think of what else it might be.” He used to be a monk, but now that the smug bastard’s emptying his balls on a daily basis, there’s no living with him.
“How the fuck did you reach that conclusion?” I should tell him to fuck off and walk away, but a little voice inside me, probably my dick, thinks maybe he can help.
“Only thing I can think of that would get you swearing off the passarounds.”
“Later,” I mutter as I catch Reaper headin’ over, his attention on Coyote.
When I approach Raven, her eyes light up, then dim when I tell her Hangman’s lookin’ for her. Trouble with passarounds is they get attached, start thinkin’ things that ain’t ever gonna happen. She and me were never gonna be a thing and I never told her otherwise. She’s a good girl, but not for me. Until Evanee, I didn’t think anyone was for me.
I get hard when I conjure her. Time for a shower.
Chapter Four
Evanee
It’s another retail therapy day and I’m shelving my new purchases (bandages, surgical gloves, and a new pair of Amina Muaddi slingback pumps) in the storeroom. Well actually, I’m shelving the vet supplies and admiring the shoes in the mirror. My feet and legs were made for heels, I decide.
My Zen zone is interrupted by a commotion at the front door. I freeze as my heart thinks about stopping. I left the door unlocked and while I’m not normally the nervous type, I’m not always popular with the humans who used to belong to my sweet, rescued animals. Only some of my sweethearts come from the rescue society.
Other times, when urgency’s required, I’m forced to eliminate the middle-man and escort the darlings from their current hell with the help of my duffel bag. It’s stocked with bolt cutters, a screwdriver, a hammer, gloves, leashes, animal treats, a loaded Smith & Wesson .38, and running shoes.
A loud unhappy ‘woof’ followed by an offended ‘meow’ gets me moving to the front.
I jog out in my new heels, which I have to admit look pretty good with my Devi tuck shorts and white sheath top, only to come skidding to a stop at the scene in front of me.
There are twins for starters – tall, blond, and beautiful – young though, and not quite grown into their potential. They’re like bodyguards flanking the woman standing between them. She’s a small, perfectly formed porcelain doll and while the twin girls practically beam at me, the woman eyes me with open curiosity and a marble countenance. All of that is irrelevant because a gorgeous Neapolitan Mastiff is leading their party. Its joyful bark sends a cupid’s arrow straight into my heart and I risk getting drooled on as I crouch down and greet it like a long lost dearly-loved relative. “You are the most beautiful animal I’ve ever seen!”
In a dry, slightly mocking voice, the little one interjects. “Great. A blind vet.”
Apparently Cujo thinks so too as he peeks around the corner of the reception desk and gives a tentative high-pitched yip. Poor guy’s a dalmatian in a Rotti body.
The twins giggle and I wonder how they can resist patting their little friend’s head – I mean the woman, not the mastiff. “His name is Freud,” one of them says.
“Freud,” the other echoes.
I stand, pleased at how long I’m able to squat as I get a visceral vision of naked me with my new heels on, crouching in front of Trigger, our eyes locking, his hands pulling my hair as he forces me to swallow his cock. I clear my throat. “I’m Evanee.”
“I’m Maddy,” one of the twins says. “And this is Emma.” She gestures to her sister, who repeats, “Emma.”
Since they’re not wearing matching sailor suits, knowing their names makes it easier. In fact, Maddy is wearing an Etro short sleeve romper that probably cost $3000 dollars, and the other, Emma, has on the sweetest Charo Ruiz pink mini dress, which beautifully complements her colouring. I have the sense that these two are kindred spirits.
The little one not so much as she says, “Is the real vet in?”
I frown at her. She’s kind of cute, but her vibe is remote, like she’s there but not there. “I’m the real vet,” I reply, trying to keep the annoyance from my voice. “Dr. Evanee Whittaker.”
“Oh,” the woman replies with a ghost of smile that says, I’m fucking with you. Then she adds, “The vets I’ve encountered in past are old and ugly.”
My animosity vaporizes.
The twins giggle. “I can’t believe you of all people are generalizing, Bryce,” one of them says.
“Yeah,” her clone agrees. “It’s like saying all thieves are male and smarmy.” Even their voices sound alike.
Bryce takes exception to the statement. “I’ve never met a smarmy thief.” She thinks for a moment. “But you’re right. Not all thieves are as talented as me.”
I’m intrigued by the possibilities. “Please tell me you really are a thief.” I’ve never met a thief before and hold on to my excitement that she’s more than just a shoplifter.
“Oh, she’s real, alright. She steals jewels,” Maddy says like she’s taking credit for everything the thief knows.
“And money,” her sister adds in the proud tone.
“And collectables.”
Emma turns Maddy. “Didn’t Jess say she stole a puzzle box?”
“I’m right here, girls,” Bryce says, then looks at me. “And I’ll deny everything the under-age, over-giggly, monozygotic peaches have just told you. Besides,” she adds. “I have retired.”
“Bryce is our brother’s girlfriend,” Emma says as she shares a shy intimate look with Maddy. Then the twins turn from bubbly to pensive, their smiles falling, their faces reddening, their blue eyes dulling.
Miss Marble inexplicably takes their hands and squeezes. “You’re okay, girls. You’ve got me and Coyote.”
Coyote? How intriguing, but whatever’s going on is a private moment so I slide behind the reception counter and fuss with three vintage troll dolls Wendy keeps on the desk for luck.
The moment passes as Freud, picking up on the sudden tension, gives a terse bark.
Cujo’s answering bark of solidarity yips out from the back.
I put my vet hat back on as I glance at the Mastiff. “Is he ill?”
“No,” Bryce replies. “The other vet is an idiot, so we came to check you out.”
I laugh at Bryce’s forthrightness and then harder as the girls join in.
“He is, isn’t he?” I say as I return to the group.
Freud nudges up to me and I run a hand down his back. “I’m sorry, sweet baby, but I’m not quite open for check-ups yet.”
“The door was unlocked,” Bryce states the obvious like she’s personally insulted I’m not open.
The twins prowl the office, peeking behind the counter, looking down the hall to the closed doors. Emma is talking to Singalong, my most recent acquisition. The budgie effectively shuns the girl by turning his back and mooning her. Literally. She’s lost all her tail feathers from the stress of her former life, but there’s some peach fuzz now that she’s in a calmer and more welcoming environment.
Maddy is heading to my shoe stockroom, and I slide in front of her and herd her back to the reception area. “Yes, the door was unlocked,” I tell them. “I just got back from getting some supplies and had my hands full so I couldn’t lock it behind me.” I smile affectionately at my new shoes, which smile back at me. “I got slightly distracted.”
“Why aren’t you open?” Emma asks as she picks up Kona, the three-legged cat and kisses its nose. Kona hisses and attempts to swipe at her with its missing paw.
“Yeah,” Maddy adds as she sticks a finger in Singalong’s cage and gets nipped for her efforts. “You’ve been setting up for weeks.”
Their Mastiff loves them, I’ve no doubt, but they aren’t charming any of the other animals. Inexplicably, Bryce is being crowded by Blackie, and she’s examining his missing ear with her fingers.
I’m starting to feel stalked by these women who are asking intrusive questions. Still, I’m growing fond of my three future clients, so I decide to be truthful. “I’m setting up in stages because I’m having trouble getting financing.”
“Really!” all three exclaim like this is the most exciting thing they’ve ever heard. Well, the twins exclaim. Bryce adds a slight emphasis to the word.
I can’t help smiling at their enthusiasm. “Yes. I’ve only managed to raise 51 percent of what I need to fully open the doors, so I plan to do a soft opening next week.”
The three women exchange looks. “Wouldn’t it be fun?” Maddy says to Emma.
Emma appears to fully understand her sister. “I’ve been so bored,” she replies. “And this would be such a distraction.” Her eyes get distant, and my brain finally kicks in. These are the girls whose parents died in a horrific house fire a few weeks ago. It’s been all over the media. No wonder they’re hot and cold.
Bryce intervenes, “It seems we can’t do anything without Coyote having an opinion.”
“He’s smothering you?” It’s Emma who’s asking.
“No,” says Bryce bluntly. Then, “Yes.” Then, “Maybe.”
The girls exchange smirks. “He’s always been overprotective.”
Bryce sighs. “I think I need an outside project now that I’ve managed to manipulate BETH.”
Beth?
“And it would be good for us,” Emma says to Maddy (or vice versa because I’m starting to confuse them again).
“Get our minds off all the stuff that happened.”
“Yes,” Bryce agrees. “It would be like therapy.”
Then the twins say the one thing that solidifies my opinion that they’re kindred spirits. “Shopping therapy!”
Even though I’m confused, I’m all in. “You want to go shopping?”
Bryce shakes her head. “No. We want to invest in your enterprise.”
The twins nod enthusiastically, then Emma (the one wearing the pink mini, I think) says to the other, “But how can we do it without Dylan finding out?”
Dylan?
Bryce raises her eyebrows at the girl like she’s just been insulted. “I’m a thief if you recall. Coyote doesn’t need to know what we’re doing.” She turns to me. “If you’ll take straight up cash.”
