"Phone," Mad Dog said, holding up the secured cell phone that was always kept behind the bar.
"Who is it?" Cecil growled without taking his eyes off Stake.
"Hog. He said there's a problem." Mad Dog's gaze swung back and forth between Stake and Cecil. "What should I tell him?"
Cecil slammed the envelope against Stake's chest. "Do what I told you."
"Since when do I do a prospect's job?" He hadn't been Cecil's delivery man for years.
"I need you to feel Gordon out. There's something going on with him, and I want to make sure we can trust him," Cecil replied. "And the next time you question me, I'll put a fucking bullet between your eyes."
Fuck! Stake grabbed the envelope from his uncle. He hated Sheriff Pete Gordon. The fat pig had blackmailed the club for years, and as far as Stake was concerned, it was a waste of good green. "Why don't I just put a bullet in the fucker, instead?"
"Because there'd be someone else to take his place before the last of the shit left his body. The way our luck's gone lately, some pencil-dicked motherfucker who refuses to look the other way would take his place." Cecil jerked the phone out of Mad Dog's hand before turning back toward the club. "Call your mom, and tell her I'm not your goddamned babysitter."
Stake stared after his uncle, thankful that he'd left his gun at home.
"Everything okay between you two?" Mad Dog asked.
Stake chuckled, the sound anything but light. "That's the question of the day."
Mad Dog continued to stare at Stake. "Anything you want to talk about?"
Stake straddled his Harley and settled the half-helmet onto his head before fastening the chinstrap. "Be at church tomorrow night, and you'll get a fucking earful." He pulled out of the club's parking lot and headed toward town. The shit would drive him crazy before he got to say his peace. A conversation he'd had years earlier kept playing through his mind. "Fuck!" He squeezed his eyes shut and screamed into the wind, opening them just in time to avoid a car that had pulled out in front of him.
Avoiding the car, he zipped around it and flipped the fucker off as he passed. He needed to keep his head straight. There would be plenty of time to chew on the past after he delivered the goddamn money.
The last time he'd made a drop-off at Gordon's place, he'd spotted Santana sunbathing next door. Fuck, even at seventeen she'd had tits that had made his dick hard, which was really fucking sick considering he'd known her since she was four. That had been almost seven years ago, and he'd done his best to stay the hell away from that side of town since, knowing what would happen to him if he gave into his need for the sexy as fuck woman he had no business thinking of.
He pulled into Gordon's graveled drive, trying like hell not to notice the house next door. Except for the open windows, the house looked abandoned, complete with a ragged blue tarp stretched over a section of the roof. Goddamn. The mere thought of his old friend still had the power to hurt him. Smash's betrayal in telling his bitch of a wife all the club's secrets had prompted Ellie's greed. The fact that the club agreed to allow the bitch to continue to breathe was only due to Smash's years of service and the innocent daughter he'd left behind when he was killed. Stake had used the shit with Smash to convince the rest of the brotherhood that messing in the hard stuff wasn't worth it. He'd fought long and hard to get the fucking heroin and cocaine out of club business, and for years, he'd been proud of the way his brothers had gone against Cecil to agree.
Gordon's front door opened, and the disgusting slob stepped out onto the porch, obviously alerted by the sound of the bike. He rested his hands on his stomach and stared at Stake as if he had no clue why Stake was there.
"Fat fucker," Stake mumbled. Making no move to climb off his bike, he retrieved his ringing phone. Shit. "Yeah."
"Why didn't you call and tell me you were back in town?" Rachel asked.
"Now why in the hell would I do that? I've told you a million times, we're done." He hated to get nasty with the daughter of one of his brothers, but Rachel was like a leech that wouldn't let go. He'd been dumb enough to fuck her on three separate drunken occasions and the bitch wouldn't get over it.
"I'm sure my dad wouldn't be very happy if I told him how you used me."
"I didn't use you, bitch. You knew exactly what I was about when I sank my dick in your pussy. So go ahead and tell Magic. I'm sure he'll also be interested to know that you've fucked Tiny and Lumpy in the last six months, too." He was so tired of dealing with bitch drama. What the hell did they expect after a couple nights of hard-core fucking, a marriage proposal?
He climbed off the bike. "Don't call me again." He hung up the phone and shoved it into the pocket of his leather vest, known as a cut, before reaching down the front of his T-shirt for the envelope.
"'Bout time you got here," Gordon bellowed. "I was about to call your boss."
Stake stopped and stared up at the slimy sonofabitch. Although Cecil was club president, no one was his boss. Despite what Cecil said, Stake was dying to put the sheriff down and take his chances with the next prick who moved up to take the position. "You'd better shut your fucking mouth before I shoot your ass."
Gordon's eyes went wide. "I don't think you realize who you're talking to."
Stake stepped up on the porch, invading Gordon's space. He towered over the sheriff and narrowed his eyes. "I know exactly who I'm talking to."
A sound from the road drew Stake's attention away from the threat he was about to issue. A slip of a woman with big tits and long dark hair piled on top of her head stopped in front of Gordon's house. "Fuck me."
He blinked again, unable to believe the incredible creature was Santana. He wouldn't have even recognized her if it weren't for those memorable tits and hair. He was too far away to see her eyes but he didn't need to. Kaleidoscope. That's the color he'd always told her they were. She used to argue, insisting they were boring hazel, but he'd never seen hazel eyes with flecks of so many colors in them.
As if she'd been shot, Santana's body jerked before she took off toward the house next door. In her haste to reach the safety of the dilapidated building, the wagon she pulled tipped on its side, spilling its contents onto the hard dry ground.
He shot off the porch before he could stop himself. He didn't put thought behind his action as he ate up the distance between them where she was scrambling in the dirt and gravel to retrieve her groceries. By the time he reached her, Santana's head was bowed as she cradled a bottle of grape soda that had split open and sprayed its contents all over her and the ground.
"Here, let me help," he offered. After righting the wagon, he began to re-bag the groceries. There wasn't enough food in the wagon to keep a bird alive. No wonder she looked so fucking frail.
When he tried to take the bottle out of her hands, she jerked away. "Don't touch me," she growled, looking up to meet his gaze for the first time.
The moment he saw the bruises marring the prettiest face he'd ever seen, his blood ran cold. "What the fuck happened to you?"
Santana got to her feet, still clutching the nearly empty bottle. "Ask your friend," she spat before taking off again.
He stalked toward her. "I don't have friends, so you'll have to be more specific."
She didn't say anything more, but he noticed her glance in Gordon's direction.
"Oh, fuck no." Stake moved to block her path. He reached out and ran his thumb gently over her cheek. "Gordon did this?"
She pulled her head back, breaking the contact between them. "Stop acting as if you give a shit."
Stake looked over his shoulder at Gordon. The thought of the fat bastard touching Santana in any way fueled his rage. "I'd like a verbal confirmation before I kill a man. Are you going to give it to me or not?"
She narrowed those beautiful fucking eyes and dug a sheathed hunting knife out of her purse. "I can take care of myself." She removed the knife from its leather holster and held up the fourteen-inch serrated blade. "I'll go to prison before I let that pig touch me again."
A sick feeling settled in his gut. "Did he rape you?"
"Is that your polite way of asking if I'm still a virgin?" she shot back, squaring her thin shoulders. The action drew his attention to her tits and the fact that her nipples were hard and begging to be pinched and sucked.
"I don't give a fuck if you've had dick up your cunt every day. I want to know if that bastard raped you." As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized he did give a fuck if men were sticking it to her on a daily basis. Shit!
"Not yet, but he tried." She waved the knife again. "That's what this is for."