Page 10 of Bullet
Emerson had threatened my life before. Or maybe promised to end my life would be more accurate. I stood from the bed.
“Go to the police.”
“Then he will find me.” I shook my head. “I don’t know if he’s looking for me. Mars will eventually remember how he knows me. He’s been to my house. He knows I belong to Emerson.”
I kneeled on the floor and pulled the drawer from the dresser. I reached behind to the back, felt around on the floor, and grabbed several baggies.
“Jesus, Stormy, what are you doing with that money?”
“Getting out of here,” I said, setting the baggies of money to the side. I’d used a marker to note the amount on each baggie.
Bristol grabbed them and counted. “You have nineteen hundred here. And another hundred and twelve from today.”
Two thousand dollars wasn’t going to last long. “I was going to run when I had five, but I’ll be fine with two.”
I grabbed my duffel and tossed in the essentials.
“And what are you going to do when a guy in an expensive suit walks into the next club?”
I sat back on my heels. “I don’t know. Run again, I guess. And I’ll keep running.”
“No.” Bristol shoved my stuff into the duffel. “We’re getting out of here. Come to my place. We need to talk to Bullet. He’ll know what to do.”
Bullet was the biker-boyfriend-pimp. I’d made some bad decisions. The worst was falling for Emerson Barras. Maybe I was a hypocrite, because Bristol and I had a lot in common, but I wasn’t going to fuck guys for money just because I felt fucked over.
“Bristol, I can’t work for Bullet.”
What if he knew about the warehouse? He’d have to because there had been Crawlers, Hellers, and mafia killing each other. I’d heard on the news while I’d been in the women’s shelter that the leader of a cartel had been killed in the gunfire.
The DA had promised swift prosecutions. Good luck with that. Emerson and his associates were untouchable. Hence my reason for running. “You can’t help me, Bristol. If Emerson finds me with you, he’ll hurt you, too. Your friend can’t help me.”
“If he can’t, I’ll help you get out of town.” Bristol swung the bag onto the bed and stuffed the money into the side. “Why didn’t you tell me you were living here? You could’ve stayed with me.”
“Because I have a psycho ex-boyfriend who kills people.”
She snorted. “We have a lot in common.”
I paused at her words. “What?”
“Nothing. Hurry. Take one of the pillowcases. Put the rest of your clothes into it.” She went to the bathroom with the small plastic trash pail and returned with it filled with my makeup and toiletries. “Let’s go.”
I glanced around the dive motel for the last time. I was in over my head. I had to trust someone. I guess I was trusting a biker with a big dick named Bullet.
Chapter Two
Bullet
I checked my cards. I had a lousy hand, but I tossed another quarter into the pile in the center of the table. Fuck, but I missed this. Missed Friday nights in the MC. This was the way Hellers Raiders were meant to be. Bikes, beer, and a brotherhood. A brotherhood plus one feisty beast with bigger balls than anyone I’d ever met. Even thinking of her as anything but one of the guys would have my ass in the basement taking a beat down.
“Your bet, Jazzy.” I tapped my cards on the table.
Rogue’s old lady was the first and only female to wear the Heller Raider’s colors, a full patch member of the MC. And I was the first one to raise my hand for the vote. She was young, brash, and fucking badass.
And she’d saved my best friend from a bullet to the head. Rogue and I raised hell together. We shared a lot of shit over the years, including girls. Now that he had Jazzy, those days were over.
These days were better. The club had gone legit, for the most part. Some things would never change. I’d still fight in the basement of the MC, andI’d kill anyone who threatened my Heller brothers. I lived fast, hit hard, and gave zero fucks if anyone had a problem with me.
That’s why they called me Bullet.