Devil's Marker (Sons of Sanctuary MC, Austin, Texas Book 4) Read online

  “Okay. Come on in if you change your mind. Not much room, but we’ll work it out.”

  She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a smile, but it happened before she could stop it. She turned her body away to hide her reaction, but not before he saw.

  It was the best shopping experience of his life. Jeans that fit like they were custom made for his body. Cotton shirts that didn’t do free advertising or make any kind of statement about anything. Colors that looked more like nature than like a carnival threw up on a loom. He liked the stuff so much that he bought more than he’d intended to. But he also had the luxury of a trunk to put stuff in. Might as well take advantage.

  R.C.’s eyes flicked to the cash register as he handed over actual cash. Bikers, at least the ones she knew, generally preferred treasury script over plastic.

  They walked away with him carrying three large white paper sacks full of some of the most comfortable clothes ever.

  “You did good,” he said as they were descending the stairs. “You read my mind.”

  “Your mind isn’t that complicated, Garrett.”

  “You might be surprised. Hey, I’m hungry. You hungry? I think I saw tacos across the street. You got time for that. Right?” He read indecision in her eyes, that were a much lighter shade of green near the bright sunlight of the entrance. “Come on. It’ll be my treat.” When she still hesitated out on the sidewalk, he said, “Just half an hour. You gotta have lunch.”

  She took in a big breath and raised her chin. “You sure you wouldn’t rather call Robin? She doesn’t live far from here.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Robin’s on her own for lunch today.”

  After another couple of beats, she said, “Okay. But I’m not tellin’ any club secrets if that’s what you’re after.”

  “I’d have to slap a hand over your mouth if you tried.”

  “And I’m not sayin’ I’m sorry about the door thing again.”

  He cocked his head. “You said you were sorry? I missed that.”

  “If you didn’t hear it the first time, that’s too damn bad.”

  He smiled. “Okay, then. I believe you.”

  They walked across the street to the taco place, which wasn’t busy because it was eleven thirty on Sunday and a preponderance of Waco citizens were doing their duty in a church pew. They ordered at the cash register, Win’s treat as promised, got a number and two bottled waters, then sat down at a table by the front window.

  “What’s your real name?” Win asked.

  Her eyes widened slightly. “What makes you think R.C. is not my real name?”

  “Carla,” Win said with a lopsided smile.

  “Fucking Carla. What else did she blurt out without thinking about whether it was her business or somebody else’s?”

  “What R.C. stands for.”

  “Okay. So you know. Ha. Ha. Nothing to see here. Move along.”

  “So you don’t want to tell me your real name.”

  “If you knew my real name, you’d understand. Leave it at that. Besides. I like the way you say R.C.” She immediately wanted to slap a hand over her mouth, having no idea why she would say such a thing out loud.

  He responded with the exact smug smile she would have expected. “All right. So you don’t live here?” Win asked.

  “I live and work in Austin.”

  “’Cause you like it better?”

  “Well, yes. I went to college there. Kinda fell in love I guess.”

  “You don’t stay at the club when you’re here visiting?”

  She laughed. “Stay at the club? You must be joking. He gave me a condo so I’d visit more often. It’s not impressive, but it’s fine for weekends. Whatever. So you’re from California?”

  “No. Beaumont. I’ve been in Santa Clarita for a long time though. Guess I lost my drawl?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t pick up accents if they’re the same as mine. Why’d you pick Waco?”

  “Wanted to be back in Texas. Home is too hot and humid. The metroplex is too crowded and the air quality is even worse than L.A. San Antonio’s out because I just don’t have an ear for Spanish. Same with Corpus. El Paso wasn’t even a consideration. Don’t like the desert.”

  “And you don’t have an ear for Spanish.”

  “That, too.”

  “What about Austin?”

  He felt a catch in his solar plexus when he realized he was about to tell a lie. For some reason, he didn’t want to lie to R.C. Couldn’t be helped though.

  “Thought about it. Real seriously. But Marauders are affiliated with the club I left. Seemed like it could be a good fit. Me in the land of Baptists.” He grinned.

  She laughed. “Yeah. It’s alright, I guess.”

  “What was it about Austin you fell in love with?”

  “The politics. The culture. The live music. And everybody doesn’t have to be Baptist.”

  A server brought two red woven plastic baskets of tacos nestled into tissue paper.

  Win picked his basket up and breathed in. “Damn. Sure wish I could breathe.”

  R.C. narrowed her eyes. “I said I…”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I know. No more apologies. Doesn’t mean I can’t needle you about it though. After all, I am the one who can’t breathe.”

  “You’re doin’ okay.”

  “And you notice there’re no little children in here. Probably ‘cause I scared them all away.”

  She laughed as she was crunching down on the end of her taco. The salsa juices spurted out onto the breast of her flawless cream silk shirt.

  “Shit!” she said a little louder than intended. Win laughed, actually liking the fact that he had an excuse to stare at her breast. He handed her his napkin, which she used to dab at the red greasy stain. “Great. Just look at this.”

  He was already looking. “I’ve seen worse.”

  “No doubt.”

  With a smirk, he said, “Enjoy the rest of your tacos. They’re not the best I’ve ever had, but they’re pretty good. Right?”

  “Like you said, not the best I’ve ever had, but pretty good.”

  “So name the place where you got the best tacos you ever had.”

  After thinking it over, she said, “There’s a place a couple of blocks off the river in San Antonio. Gerson’s. Incredible.”

  “Chicken. Beef. Fish. Shrimp?”

  “I like ground beef in my crispy tacos and fajita meat in my soft tacos. Now, if we’re talkin’ puffy tacos, that would be El Chicos.”

  “I say Café Adobe in Houston for best tacos. How about nachos?”

  “Chuy’s for bean and cheese nachos with jalapenos. I can make a meal of ‘em. And somethin’ else about bean and cheese nachos. They never attack your shirt.”

  “True. I gotta agree about Chuy’s for nachos. I like El Fenix for cheese enchiladas.”

  “Guadalajara Grill for chicken enchiladas.”

  “Ninfas for chips and salsa.”

  “On the Border for chips and salsa.”

  “Shame you don’t like Mexican. That might be somethin’ we have in common.”

  Her face transformed from friendly to icy. “We have nothing in common, Garrett. Nothing.”

  “Why do you say that, Arcy?”

  “Like I said, I’m not interested in you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, for one thing, because I’m not doin’ indiscriminate dating.”

  He couldn’t help but be pleased by that pronouncement. He loved the idea that she wasn’t doing ‘indiscriminate dating’. He hoped she wasn’t dating at all. “Did I ask you out on a date?”

  She looked around. “I could make a case that takin’ me out to lunch is a date.”

  He smiled. “All right. Guilty. Thing is, I’m interested in you. Don’t know why exactly. I just am. Something about you I haven’t put my finger on yet.”

  “Well, might as well keep it to yourself, because… Did I mention I’m not interested?”

  He
leaned in a little. “Again, why’s that?”

  “Holdin’ out for the real deal.”

  “What’s the real deal?”

  “A person of substance.”

  “You’re gonna have to give me more. You’re circlin’ around somethin’ you don’t want to say outright. What is it?”

  “Substance. As in success, status, and I’m not ashamed to say it. Money.”

  “Money.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you need money?”

  “Same reason people always need money. I want to feel safe.”

  “You don’t make good money?”

  “I make good money, but I’m lookin’ to hook up with great money.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “And how much money would qualify as great money?”

  She pursed her lips so prettily he could almost imagine it was a sexy pout. “Three million dollars.”

  “And what would you do with three million dollars if you had it?”

  She looked flummoxed. Like she’d never thought about that and was totally unprepared for the answer. “I’d take a trip to Paris and then invest the rest.”

  “You don’t make enough to go to Paris?”

  “I do,” she said defensively. “I just…” She looked around. “I need to go.” Looking down at her shirt. “I need to change so I can run the rest of my errands.”

  “Okay. How far is it to your place?”

  She blinked. “My place?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you say you need to go change? I’ll wait for you, then you can drop me back at the clubhouse.”

  “I don’t take bikers to my condo.”

  “If you could hear how snooty you sound when you say things like that, you’d cringe.”

  She gaped. “Listen…”

  “It’s no problem, Arcy. I’ll wait with the car while you change.”

  She relaxed a little. “It would save me some time.”

  “It’s a done deal then.”

  On the walk back to the car, she said, “I guess I should say thank you for lunch.”

  He laughed, “Why do I get the feelin’ that was hard for you to say?”

  She responded with a smile that was almost shy, the very opposite of the façade she liked to wear.

  R.C. was only gone ten minutes. She left Win in the underground parking at her building.

  As they drove back to the clubhouse, he said, “Your pop said you’re the brain behind the design. It’s really something. Special. No question you’re talented.”

  She didn’t respond right away. “You’re not like the others, are you?”

  “Hope not. Can’t think of much worse than bein’ like everybody else.”

  “I mean the others, I don’t think they really care what the club looks like. Or whether or not the dedicated spaces are designed with purpose in mind.”

  “Don’t know about the others. But I can tell you that when I walked in… Christ. Was that just yesterday? I was amazed.”

  “Well, thank you, Garrett. That’s nice of you to say.”

  “Win.”

  “What?”

  “My name’s Win.”

  “Oh, right. Win. Great road name.”

  The gate opened when she pulled up to the truck yard and she drove in. She parked by the steps that led up to the dock and got out to open the trunk.

  When Win collected his bags, he said, “You aren’t comin’ in?”

  “One brouhaha per day with Pop is enough for my cardio.”

  Win laughed. “Okay then. Next time we’ll take my bike.”

  “First, there’s not goin’ to be a next time. I’m headed back to Austin in a couple of hours. Second, I don’t get on bikes. Third, how many times have I told you I’m not interested?” He shrugged. She got in the car and backed up, but rolled down the window before she drove away and said, “Plus. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

  “Aw. That’s just not right,” he shouted.

  She was laughing as she drove away.

  So far as Win was concerned it had been a good day. It had started with a fair to middlin’ BLT. He’d been patched into Marauders, which nobody had been expecting when he’d set out for Waco. He’d gotten clothes that felt good enough to sleep in. And he’d learned everything he needed to know about R.C. Greer. At least for the time being.

  He knew where she lived when she was in Waco. He knew that what she wanted out of life was safety and security, no doubt brought on by the anxiety and tenuousness of outlaw biker life. And to her, money represented safety and security.

  There was no reason, so far as he could tell, for him to be interested in those things. He knew he was there to do a job for his new club. Not chase tail. And normally he excelled at maintaining concentrated focus. He told himself it was probably a good thing that she was headed back to Austin.

  Maybe, when his month was over and he was back, he’d look her up. Go on a real date.

  CHAPTER Seven

  “The Stars & Bars are a bunch of inbred corn-fed dumb fucking hillbillies. That's my personal fucking opinion on those stupid asses.”

  — anonymous Marauder, Hill County Chapter

  Wednesday night Win was doing circuit training in the club gym when Cue jogged up to the door.

  “There you are,” he said. “Need you to hold down the fort with the prospects. Hops is in the hospital so we’re headed over there.”

  Win sat up. “What’s up?”

  “Stars & Bars caught him alone at a gas station out on 35. They kicked him and beat him with chains, set his bike on fire out in a field, then rode off and left him like that. Guess the station attendant called the cops and an ambulance.”

  “Okay.” Win was up and moving toward the door.

  “You got my number in your phone?”

  “No.”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  Win held his hands up. He was wearing sweats cut off at the knees and no shirt. “My room.”

  “Let’s get some numbers programmed before we take off. Awesome responsibility bein’ left in charge of the house.”

  Win was fishing the key out of his pocket as he walked back to his room. When he opened up, Cue followed him in and looked around.

  “Jesus Christ,” Cue said.

  “What?” Win grabbed his phone off the dresser.

  “You’re a neat freak. You sure you’re a biker?”

  “Your surroundings affect your brain. You live in chaos, you think that way.”

  “Wow.” Cue took Win’s phone and put in his contact info plus Zipper and Boss. “You need us, you’ll get one of us. Lock the place down. We’ll pay our respects. Make sure Hops is secure and most of us’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  “Got it.”

  “Bo and Catcher’ll show you how the security works. Good a time as any for you to figure it out.”

  Win nodded. It was exactly the kind of information the Ranger could use. How to get inside should that become necessary.

  He watched the monitors with Bo as the Marauders who were in residence roared away in formation.

  When the gate was closed, Bo said, “Cue says you want a workshop on the system?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, nobody knows more about it than Catcher. It’s his monster baby.”

  “Yeah?”

  Bo nodded. “He’s good with that stuff. Boss has even talked about investin’ in a security company for him to run. Make a little clean money for the club. It never hurts to be able to say we’re legitimate businessmen. Right?”

  “Right? So where is he?”

  “Command central.”

  “You actually have a place you call command central?”

  Bo laughed. “Yeah. It sounds overblown, but wait till you get a look. It’s on the other side of the president’s office. This way.”

  They walked past the office to where the hall ended in a trio of identical doors, one at the end and two facing each other. Bo stopped in front of the closed door on the left. L
ike the other two, it was unmarked and unremarkable in every way except for one thing. None of the three doors had handles or knobs. Instead they had digital security pads.

  Bo punched in a code that was followed by a click indicating a super heavy duty lock. The door opened a crack. Stepping back after he opened the door further, Bo gestured, “After you.”

  It was easy to see why they called the room command central. It was about twelve by fourteen. Not huge, but not small either. The walls were lined with a modern built-in, continuous desktop that featured several stations with keyboards. Just above the desktop were twenty-inch flat screen monitors that could be angled and adjusted according to the task and the preference of the person on duty.

  Above those were grids of camera monitors, similar to the ones they had in the common rooms, that stretched to the ceiling. There was one key difference. The monitors in the common rooms kept track of what was outside. These monitors surveilled every room and hallway except the members’ private rooms. Even the president’s office had a camera on it.

  After looking around in stunned silence for a full minute, a ping prompted a question.

  “First, wow,” Win said.

  Catcher grinned. “Impressive. Yeah?”

  “Understatement.”

  “It’s a lot of fun to work with this stuff when somebody has the scratch for state-of-the-art.”

  Win pointed at the view of Boss’s office. “Did you get this,” he pointed to his face, “on video?”

  “Yeah, man,” Catcher said. “Gruesome. Props though. You didn’t make a sound when it happened.”

  “So you’ve got audio, too.”

  “Just interior.” Win’s eyes found the video feed of the infirmary. “Yeah. We have the recording of you gettin’ your nose put back where it belongs.”

  Ignoring that, or trying to, Win changed the subject. “What was that ping I heard?”

  “We got a lot of cameras.”

  “I see that,” Win acknowledged, looking around the room.

  “And one person can’t be lookin’ at all of ‘em at once. So I have the system set to give me a little prompt when somethin’ passes in front of a camera. That was a bird.”

  “Pretty sensitive then.”

  “Better safe than sorry.” Catcher wiggled his head back and forth. “That’s what my grandma used to say.”