Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(34)

"I know," Damon said, leaning back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

"We need to talk," Mina said. "About what we do now."

Damon blinked, kept his eyes closed for a long time. When he opened them again, they were hard as stone and twice as cold.

"I have a name to give you," he said. Mina sat down at the edge of the  bed. Damon pulled his eyes from the pock-marked ceiling and let them  meet hers. "A man who can lead you to the men who set me up."

"Okay," Mina said softly.

"He can also lead you to a man named Curly Gottlieb," Damon said. "And Mina, I need to know where he is."

"Damon … "

"Promise me, Mina. No promise, no name."

"You realize, don't you? You realize what you're telling me? That even  after this … after all this … you're putting him before your family. You're  already hurt, Damon. You're already in a bad way. Cristov's ready to  tear your head off. Hell, Kennick's on the edge of banishing you. We  need to end this shit with the Steel Dragons, for the good of the  familia, the kumpania."

"I know, Mina," Damon said. "And you will end it. Just as long as you  give me your word. There's a way this can end where everyone gets what  they need."

"You don't even know what you need," Mina said, her voice soft and sad. "Give me the name, Damon. And I give you my word."





38





It had taken another call to their man Vanos, and a begrudging transfer  of a tidy chunk of change, but Kennick and Cristov finally tracked James  Whitley down. The part-time agent, part-time drunk, and full-time  junkie spent his days at a strip club in a seedy neighborhood. At least,  the days where he had money to spend. Apparently, he'd been having a  lot of those days of late. Rumors had been going around ever since the  fight  –  and the most compelling rumor of all was that James Whitley's  recent financial windfall was the result of some double-dealing he'd  done, playing both sides.

It had been harder to keep Kim and Ricky from coming along than it had  been to find him in the first place. Not for the first time  –  and not  for the last  –  both Kennick and Cristov found themselves questioning why  they'd let themselves go crazy for girls who probably never learned to  spell the word "can't". It had taken some well-phrased innuendos about  Ricky's condition to get the girls to stay in the hotel room they'd  rented on a night-by-night basis.

That, and some lying.

They told the girls that they were just going after James Whitley for  now, that after they found out where the Steel Dragons were hiding out,  they'd regroup and make a plan.

That wasn't true.

Kennick and Cristov planned on ending things that very day.         

     



 

And Mina  –  well, they'd barely even tried to tell her to stay behind.  There was no doubt that, if left behind, she would find a way to come  along anyway. She insisted on driving, saying that they'd need a getaway  car if something went awry. Cristov gave her a gun. Their father had  taught all his children to shoot, and Mina was the best shot, though  none of the boys would ever admit it. Kennick and Cristov had their own  protection.

"This isn't one of ours," Mina said, examining the pistol warily.

"I know," Kennick said. "Don't worry about it."

Kennick and Cristov had already run a few errands that morning, before  anyone was awake. They needed supplies. Including the guns.

The neon sign over the dingy old building declared Jimmy Slick's open  for business. It was late afternoon on a Tuesday, and as Cristov and  Kennick entered the smoky interior, their noses wrinkling at the smell  of sweat, sex, and stale beer, they saw that they wouldn't have much  trouble finding their man. The overly friendly bartender, barely clad  and an expert at creating cleavage where it didn't belong, pointed them  in his direction when she saw the crisp twenty sliding her way across  the bar.

James Whitley sat beside the stage, where a tired-looking girl with a  C-section scar and no top was winding her way around the pole to the  tune of "Welcome to the Jungle." She wasn't moving quite as fast as the  song itself, but none of the few men watching seemed to mind. They  didn't seem to be flush with cash, either, though, as the stage was  practically barren.

James Whitley didn't notice the two men approaching until they were  practically on top of him. His eyes were red as fire hydrants, his brown  hair long and stringy, his body wispy at best. It didn't take much to  convince him into following them outside for a chat; a flash of metal at  Cristov's waist did the trick. Still, he looked like a runner, so  Kennick kept a firm grip on his bicep as they walked out, Cristov waving  at the friendly bartender.

"We've heard a lot about you, James," Cristov said as they walked out into the sweltering day. "Or is it Jim? Jimmy, maybe?"

"James," the man said, shuffling along at Kennick's side. They made  their way around the corner of the building into a secluded alleyway.  "Listen, if Roper sent you, I didn't know nothing, alright? I did  everything he said, I got Curly to do him dirty, I didn't know he'd have  no friends, I didn't know … "

"Roper, huh?" Kennick said, shaking James free. The two men stood in  front of him, pressing James back against the wall. James looked at them  with a dazed, limp expression. "You on good terms with Roper,  generally?"

"Like to think so," he said, his words slightly slurred. "I try to do  best by him. I don't want no trouble with you guys. I don't want no  trouble. I don't want nothin' but what I get by doing what's right."

"Are you on good enough terms with Roper to call him up?" Cristov asked,  leaning in further, putting one muscled arm out and putting his hand on  the wall right beside James' head. The angle made his shirt ride up,  giving James another chance to see the gun's handle sticking up from  Cristov's jeans.

"What?" James asked, his eyes steady on the gun.

"Think you could call him up for us, buddy? Maybe tell him that you've  got the man he wants, and that you'll bring him over? That Damon Volanis  lived, but you managed to get to him, and that if Roper wants to finish  what he started, he ought to tell you where he is, so you can deliver?"

James looked up at the two men, confusion in his glassy expression.

"Why? Why'd I wanna do that?" he bubbled.

"Because we're telling you to," Kennick said, and shifted so that his  own weapon was visible. "And we've got no qualms about giving a shithead  like you what he's got coming."

"He won't believe me," James said, a pleading tone coming into his voice now. "He won't believe me."

"A desperate man will believe a lot of things," Cristov said, putting on  a fake smile. "Why don't you just give it a try, huh? For us? We don't  have to play nice, but we'd rather you just try and make us happy,  rather than us having to make you unhappy."

"Don't have … don't got a phone," James stuttered, shrinking back against the wall.

"No? Then how'd you make all those deals?" Kennick asked, and glanced at  Cristov. In a heartbeat, Cristov's hands were on the much-smaller man,  patting up and down. His hands stalled at the man's front left pocket,  that too-wide smile beaming down onto James Whitley's terrified face.         

     



 

"If it feels like a phone and it looks like a phone and it rings like a  phone," Cristov said, dipping his hands into James' pocket and pulling  out a little gray flip-phone. "By golly, it's a phone."

"You seem like a man who's good at looking out for himself," Kennick  said as Cristov put the phone into James' shaking hands. "I'd like to  recommend that you continue to look out for yourself. Do what we say,  and you'll probably come out just fine. Don't, and you'll definitely be  shitting in bedpans for a good long while."

"You don't understand," James whimpered. "You don't know what they'll do to me … they'll … "

"Don't make the mistake of thinking they can do you any worse than we  can," Cristov barked. "Right now, the only thing standing between you  and a bullet is me and my patience. And I don't have much patience for  two-timing junkie fucks."

James coughed, the sound like a scream. He opened the phone and  frantically pushed at some buttons, never taking his eyes off the two  green-eyed men who had him backed into a very literal corner.

"Roper," James said, finally, and watched the men tense slightly. "It's James. I got something for ya. You're gonna like it."





39





"So I guess this means he's playing nice, huh?"

Mina leaned across the passenger seat to get a better look at the man  Damon had told her about. He looked like a weasel, that was for sure.

"I'm driving now," Kennick barked. "We'll drop you off at the hospital."