Breaking Hammer (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Inferno Motorcycle Club Book 3) Read online

  And then I began to feel panic.

  “Mr. Holder.”

  I looked up to see the head of casino security standing beside me. A barrel-chested man with a bulbous nose and hands so large they looked like they belonged to a giant, Mark was exactly what you’d expect the head of security at a major casino to look like. He was intimidation on two huge legs.

  “Mark,” I said. “How are you? How’s the wife?”

  “Doing good, Joe,” he said. “Mr. Anders would like to see you.”

  If my consulting firm hadn't been hired by the casino, those words would strike fear into my heart. Mr. Anders was one of the most powerful men in Vegas, known for his intolerance of cheating and disloyalty. And here I was, working in his casino. With my kind of background.

  It was all Benicio’s doing. The Panamanian smuggling kingpin who hired the Inferno MC to run his protection was fiercely loyal to his family. Since his daughter, Dani, was married to the Inferno MC President, anyone who was close to Blaze was close to him. And with all that had happened, I knew Blaze still felt responsible for April’s death, despite being in another country when she was murdered. I didn’t say no when Benicio put in a word for me with a small, secretive consulting firm that specialized in white hat hacking and security testing for casinos all over the world.

  What the hell else was I going to do? I was a hacker and embezzler who had been caught. I had a record. No legitimate business was going to hire me, and a fucking criminal wasn't going to trust me with his financials, not after what I'd done. Benicio had stepped out on a limb for me, told this firm to hire me. It was the reason I was living in Vegas. It was the only job I could get.

  To say I was grateful to Benicio was an understatement.

  “Does he want me to finish testing the equipment, or see me when I’m finished?”

  “He says to come up when you’re done,” Mark said.

  “Will do,” I said. “It should only take me a few more minutes.”

  Ten minutes later, I was headed out of the casino, making my way through the machines, and I ran into a woman.

  Literally.

  "Hey!" she said, her eyes wide as she stumbled on her heels, losing her balance. I grabbed her by both arms to steady her, meeting her gaze for a moment.

  Holy shit, she was gorgeous, with long dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders in waves, framing her delicate features. She was tiny as a bird, but I could tell she wasn't delicate.

  "Sorry," I said, not moving my hands from her arms. I found myself not wanting to move, too mesmerized by the intensity in her dark eyes.

  She didn't respond, instead yanked her arms out of my hands, her eyes darting behind me like some kind of scared animal. I realized what I was seeing as intensity in her eyes was really fear. And then I saw the red welts on her arms, raw and angry on her skin.

  "Hey," I said. "Are you okay?" I reached for her arm again, about to pull her away so I could talk some kind of sense into her. Whoever she was looking for, whoever she was afraid of, I couldn't just send her back to him.

  But before I could say anything, I heard someone clear his throat behind me, and I turned to see Mark, the security guard, standing there, shaking his head. When I looked back, the girl was gone, walking toward a man in a suit who stood on the other side of the room, his arms crossed in front of him.

  "Mr. Holder," Mark said. "That's not someplace you want to go."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked. "Did you see her? She looks scared out of her fucking mind."

  Mark shook his head. "You know that phrase about sleeping dogs," he said. "Let it go. Don't even think about it. That's trouble you don't want to be involved in. Not with her. Not with who she’s with."

  But even after I turned to walk away, I could feel her tiny body in my hands, the tremble as I gripped her arms.

  And later that night, I couldn’t quite shake the way I had felt looking at her. I felt protective. Like I wanted to kill whoever had frightened her.

  I had also experienced the unmistakable rush of attraction.

  It was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  And, almost immediately, a feeling of guilt washed over me, so strong it nearly took my breath away.

  Later that night, I lay in the bed, awake in the darkness, listening to the creaking of the ceiling fan. Most times were okay now, but nights were the worst. It was the time when I couldn’t shut down my thoughts, no matter how hard I tried. Lying awake in bed at night was when I missed April the most, when I questioned whether I could keep doing this every day, the rinse-lather-repeat of the same thing over and over again. Sometimes I truly didn’t know what the answer to that question was.

  Tonight, I kept seeing the face of the girl from the casino when I closed my eyes. And felt my heart race, thinking about her.

  And then I felt the unmistakable feeling of guilt and shame.

  There wasn’t anyone for me but April. There never would be.

  It was going to be fucking ridiculous, showing up to the clubhouse in a fucking car. But I didn’t give a shit. I was only going because I still considered Skunk a good friend. He’d stood by me, especially after April died. I’d known him from way back years ago, but he’d joined the Vegas chapter of the Inferno MC and I’d been out in California with the Los Angeles chapter.

  He’d been showing up at my house, pretty regular. Even when I first came back to Vegas, when I’d cleaned myself up but things were still really dark.

  The first time he showed up was a year ago.

  ~ ~ ~

  When I saw him standing at the front door wearing his leathers, I felt a rush of anger at the sight of the Inferno MC logo. I’d let the brothers come out to April’s burial, but fuck, I was in such a daze then I didn’t give a shit about what anyone else did. After time away with MacKenzie in Puerto Rico, time away from all of the club shit, I didn’t want to see it anymore. I couldn’t be around it.

  “I don’t want to fucking see the colors, Skunk,” I said. “I’m not a part of that shit anymore.”

  He nodded. “I can see that. But you and I go back farther than that, Joe. You know me.”

  “I know you,” I said. “And I don’t need you fucking checking up on me. I don’t need the goddamn club checking up on me. You understand what the fuck retirement means?”

  He shrugged. “Understood,” he said. Then he turned, got back on his bike. I listened to the motor rev, and watched him ride away. Good riddance. I didn’t need a reminder of the shit that had killed April. I had a new life now. I was a goddamn white collar worker. My job didn’t involve anyone getting killed. It didn’t involve beating anyone to death.

  Still, later that night after MacKenzie was in bed, I sat in the garage, drinking a beer, looking at the bike, the one I wouldn’t ride, but couldn’t bring myself to let go of.

  ~ ~ ~

  And then Skunk came back again two weeks later. Showed up on my doorstep, just like before. He just shrugged when I opened the door. That time, I didn’t turn him away. And then he showed up two weeks after that.

  It had taken a year for me to consider associating with the club again. And even now, I still wasn’t sure about this shit. I'd gone out to see Blaze, let him talk me into doing that job for the club.

  Now all of a sudden I was about to fight, in an actual fight, next week. I can't say there wasn't a small part of me that liked the idea of getting set up for another fight. Liked, hell. I was fucking craving it. I was itching for it like a junkie who needed a fix.

  I told myself that just because I was going to the clubhouse didn't mean I was coming out of retirement. It didn't mean I was getting back into the lifestyle. I wasn’t the same person I was, back when I was a part of the MC.

  At least, I hoped I wasn’t.

  “Shit, man,” Skunk said, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “Fucking great to see you here.”

  “Crunch.” Pipes walked up to us, clasped my hand. “Fucking A. Where's your bike?”

  Skun
k tossed him a dirty look.

  I shrugged. “The bike’s in the shop,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I just lied. It’s not like they didn’t know what had happened. Everyone knew. It’s not like I didn’t have a good goddamned excuse not to be riding anymore.

  “Long time no see, man.” Tater greeted us, a red plastic cup of beer in his hand. His long beard trailed down to his stomach. “How’s that kid of yours doing?”

  “Oh, she’s good,” I said. “Getting real big now.” I reached into my wallet for MacKenzie’s photos, passed them around.

  “She’s practically all grown up. Looks so much like April,” Tater said. Then he paused, gave me a sheepish look. “What happened to April, man, that was some fucked up shit. Just wanted you to know we had nothing to do with that shit, either. We all thought April was one of the best.”

  I nodded. “I know,” I said. “Fucked me up pretty good.” The air felt tense, charged with the undercurrent of all the unspoken resentment about the club. Or maybe it was just me that felt that way.

  Pipes interrupted, cutting the tension. “You know Rachel and I just had another one.”

  “Congrats, man,” I said, glad for the interruption. “That’s great.” I looked at the photos of his wife and newborn, and swallowed hard as I handed his wallet back to him.

  I couldn't look at it for too long.

  Skunk turned as a prospect walked by. "Prospect," he yelled.

  "Yes, sir," the prospect said.

  "Get this man a fucking beer."

  Skunk slapped my back. "Let's introduce you to some of the new blood. It's been a while since you've been here."

  I looked around at the group of people gathered in the parking lot of the club building. It was an open event, so hang-arounds were welcome, people the club was friendly with, people who might be interested in patching eventually.

  Of course, that's basically what I was now, right? A fucking hang-around. A nobody.

  I felt a pang of nostalgia, standing there, surrounded by the type of people I used to know. I wasn't sure if I liked the feeling.

  "Fucking A, man," Ants yelled from across the lot when he saw me. "I never thought I'd see you again."

  I couldn't help but grin. Ants used to be one of my favorite people, back in the days when we'd do runs down here. He was a fucking trip- always made me laugh. Couldn't sit still for a fucking second, hence the nickname- short for "ants in the pants." The only time he stopped was when he was dead drunk and passed out. Did the stupidest fucking things in the world, with no sense for self-preservation. So he was always good for a laugh.

  "Ants," I said. "Good to see you, man."

  "You out of retirement?" he asked, bringing a cup of something to his lips. His cheeks were ruddy, red, and I could tell he was already hosed.

  I shook my head. "Just came for the entertainment."

  "Fuck yeah, you did," he said. "We got some fucking entertainment tonight too. This goddamn stripper, an Asian girl."

  I laughed. "What's so goddamn special about a stripper?" We were in Vegas. Seeing tits wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence.

  "Shit. Hammer," he said, gulping from his cup. "That's what they call you now, you know."

  Skunk interrupted. "Ants, shut the fuck up."

  "No disrespect, man," Ants said.

  "It's fine," I said. "Hammer is good. Better than Meat Pipes."

  Pipes grinned. "Just got to be careful with you and the sledgehammers."

  "Don't fucking piss me off," I said, grinning, the tension gone now. "So anyway," I said. "What's so special about this goddamn stripper?"

  Skunk groaned. "This is all I've been hearing about from this shithead all week," he said. "This stripper is legendary before she even fucking gets here. She's going to show up and be ugly and old, man, tits sagging down to her fucking belly. I keep telling you."

  "The prospect has an in with this," Ants said. "This isn't a regular strip show."

  “Okay,” I said, looking at the others, who all seemed to be in on some kind of inside joke I wasn’t getting.

  “This chick shoots stuff out of her twat,” Tater said.

  “Fuck.” I grimaced. “What the fuck is she shooting out of there? Crabs?”

  “Ping pong balls and stuff,” Ants said. “They fucking do that shit in Asia somewhere.”

  “In Thailand,” Pipes said.

  “How the hell do you know about that?”

  “I’m fucking cultured, man,” Pipes said. “Shit, I’ve seen it on the internet. What the hell do you think?”

  “Wherever the fuck,” Ants said. “Ping pong balls. Out of her twat.”

  “That’s...awesome,” I said. I looked at Skunk and he grinned. Okay, so there was a part of me that missed this life.

  Ping pong balls and all.

  Skunk slapped my back. "Hammer didn't come for the fucking stripper, you shitheads," he said. "He came because he wants to fight. Got him a fucking fight next weekend. So which one of you assholes is going to practice with him, make sure he's ready?"

  ONE WEEK LATER

  "What is this place?" Aston and I walked toward a warehouse of some sort. Cars lined the parking lot, many foreign and expensive, the kinds of cars you'd see in Beverly Hills, not in a dirt lot in the middle of the desert.

  I didn't know where the hell we were, or what the hell we were doing here, and those things made me nervous. Aston taking me out into the desert made me nervous. The only thing that consoled me was that he had so many opportunities already to kill me. If he really wanted to, he would have done so by now.

  "It's a little side venture I've got going on," Aston said. "You'll see. You'll be impressed."

  I forced a smile. "I have no doubt, Aston," I said. "I'm always impressed with your business acumen."

  He laughed, the sound mirthless. "For a whore, you use a lot of big words."

  He'd taken something earlier, I could tell. He was unpredictable normally, but when he was high, it was much worse. It seemed to bring out the wild part of him, the sadistic part.

  He was right, of course. I was a whore, bought with my son's life.

  I hadn't seen him since last week, when I'd been walking through the casino and that man had run into me, the man who put his hands on me, who held me for a moment too long. Aston had seen it, and swore he was someone I knew. Someone I had to be sleeping with.

  He’d dragged me up to the penthouse at the hotel, paced back and forth, a frenzy of meaningless activity, his movements erratic. He grabbed me by both arms, slammed my back up against the wall, the back of my head throbbing immediately where I made impact.

  Afterward, he'd whispered into my ear, stroked my neck where he'd gripped me with his fingers, so tightly it had left imprints, welts on my skin that matched the fading bruises on my arms. "Forgive me, Meia," he said. "It was more than I intended."

  I didn't respond, and he’d laughed. Said he didn't mean it. "I'll do anything I want with you. You're mine. I give, and I take away. I'm like fucking God to you, do you understand?"

  "I understand," I said, my voice sounding smaller than I'd ever heard it sound before. "Like God."

  More like the Devil.

  I vowed that I would kill him with my bare hands.

  It was only a matter of time.

  I would figure out how to get Ben back, and I would kill him.

  It was the only thing that kept me hanging on.

  Aston's voice broke me out of my thoughts. "Meia," he said. He gestured toward the large man at the door, apparently a bouncer, dressed in jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket - or vest, I wasn't sure what they were called- with patches sewn onto it. On one side of it, it had a one percent patch. Underneath, it read Inferno Motorcycle Club.

  He looked down at me, a permanent scowl seemingly etched on his face. “You’re with him?” he asked, obviously recognizing Aston.

  “She’s with me,” Aston said.

  Even from outside the building, I recognized a fight environment. The old man who h
ad owned me had a penchant for dog fights. Violence against humans was one thing, but I couldn’t take cruelty to animals. If I was about to walk into a dog fight, it would push me over the edge, I already knew it.

  I felt the bouncer’s eyes on me, sweeping over me. “Do I need to search her, Mr. Roberts?” he asked. He ignored me, expecting me not to answer. Why should I? I was on the arm of a man who traded in human chattel. There was no reason to expect that I had a voice of any kind. I had no opinion.

  “No,” Aston said, without looking at me.

  “Cell phones or recording devices?” he asked.

  Aston shook his head. “I’m familiar with the rules.”

  “Just a reminder, for the lady, Mr. Aston,” the bouncer said.

  “Yes, well,” Aston said. “Are we finished here?”

  “Yes,” he said. I wasn’t quite sure, but I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice, an edge that I’d expect from someone who had contact with Aston. Aston was a real prick, especially where “the help” were concerned. And he would certainly consider this guy to fall in the category of "the help," with his imposing frame and arms covered in tattoos.

  We were waved on through, and Aston's arm was on mine, guiding me through the bodies inside the warehouse. I stepped gingerly on the concrete floor. I was wearing jeans, but I didn't want to know what the hell kind of bodily fluids might be covering the floor here. A loose coating of sawdust and dirt covered the floor, I assumed to mop the blood. Human or animal, I didn't know, but the thought was nauseating.

  Then the bodies in front of us parted, and I glimpsed the corner of the cage in front of us. And I felt a huge sense of relief. Human fighting, not animals. Aston turned toward me, looking down at me with a strange grin. "Have you ever seen this kind of thing?" He paused for a beat, not waiting for me to answer. "Of course you have."

  He knew about the old man and his dogfighting. How much Aston knew about my life when he was not a part of it chilled me inside.

  Aston looked ahead, distracted by what was about to happen. All around me were the sounds of voices, the murmuring of conversations I couldn't quite catch. The air was charged with a sort of electricity, and I imagined that this is how it must have been for spectators watching gladiators - two men fighting to the death.