Page 50 of Strider's Misstep

“Prez? Chaz has arrived,” a prospect calls

There’s only one reason he’s here. That’s to question the man who’s currently held in our basement.

“I’ve gotta go, sweetheart.” It’s only club business that will ever drag me out of our bed.

“Go do your stuff,” she tells me, planting a kiss on my lips, then rolls over. “I’ll catch up on my sleep. You wore me out.”

Gazing at her for a moment, feeling the pride only a man can at satisfying his woman, I leave the bed, dress, and take the trek to the clubhouse. There, I greet Chaz with back slaps and a polite handshake to his woman.

“You okay, Helo?”

She hangs onto her man’s arm, whose face has twisted into a snarl. “I’m fine. Just a few stitches. How’s Jasmine?”

“Sleeping,” I tell her.

“Good.” She nods. “I suppose there’s somewhere I can get coffee?”

I yell for a prospect and make sure they know to keep our guest happy

“Fuckin’ women,” Chaz confides. “Helo should be resting, but there’s no arguing with her. She wanted to come to see Jasmine and make sure she’s alright.” As I pause to open the door to where our captive is held, he puts his hand on my arm. “You pulled your head out of you ass?”

Another man I might have hit for his question, but it’s Chaz, who I’ve known for a very long time. “Sure have,” I tell him. “Jasmine’s going to be mine.”

He gives a sharp nod. “Then let’s make sure all loose ends are tied up.”

Raising my chin, I gesture Chaz should go in front of me and guide him out through the clubhouse, along a concretepath, then enter our gym. He stops inside, looking confused. Chuckling, I point the way to where an exercise mat has been raised off the floor. Rapping on the trapdoor, it opens, and I nod that Chaz should descend the stairs.

At the bottom, he looks around with admiration. “Nice setup you’ve got here.” He’d appreciate it, but other people, particularly ourguests,not so much. The walls are bare, painted in a special paint that’s easy to wash down. The floor, currently covered in plastic, tilts toward a drain in the center. Looking up, it’s easy to see the insulation that keeps any sound from getting out. When he finishes his inspection, he asks, “Cops ever find it?”

“Nah,” I reply. “It’s survived a few searches of the club when feds have gotten overly nosy.”

“Reminds me of the Satan’s Devils.” He chuckles. “They’ve got their armoury under what looks like a filled-in swimming pool. Never been discovered.”

“Drummer’s lot?” When he raises his chin, I note quite seriously, “I think I’d like to have a good conversation with that man someday.”

“He’s sound,” Chaz agrees. He turns his attention to our current guest who’s hanging from some handy hooks we’d driven into the ceiling.

I, too, am all business now. “Take off his gag,” I instruct. Tequila leaps to do my bidding.

The man looks around, then fixes his eyes on me and Chaz. “You’ve got to let me down. I’ve got a concussion.”

“Yeah? Well, my woman gave you that.” Chaz sounds happy and totally unrepentant.

Ignoring the Arizona prez, the man starts looking around for anyone who might be more sympathetic. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. My boss won’t like having one of his men fucked with.”

I realise he’s got no idea he’s the last man standing, the only one of Aster’s crew who kidnapped Jasmine and Helo to still be alive. And, no inclination his boss, as powerful as he thinks he might be, is already dead.

“Your boss is in no position to object.” I shrug my shoulders as I tell him. “Which reminds me, Buzz. Where is Aster now?”

Buzz grins widely. “Dallas mortuary. Poor fucker had a car accident and somehow ended up with a broken neck.”

The man’s mouth gapes open. “You’re lying.” His voice has less strength in it than previously.

Stepping forward, I take the initiative. “What’s your name?” I snap.

His backbone puts in an appearance. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing.” Again, my shoulders nonchalantly rise and lower. “Just thought you might like it written on your gravestone.” He pales. I decide to end all speculation now. “You’re a dead man. You’re not getting out of here. The only choice you’ve got is how hard you make it for yourself. You can go quick and easy, or we can keep you alive for weeks.” Pausing, I turn to face Tequila. “What’s our record?”

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