Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3) Page 6

  As they gathered on the sidewalk, Pilar nodded at Diaz. “Token brown face to meet the spic bangers?” she asked him.

  Connor was offended, and opened his mouth to say so and point out that a bitch asking for help like this should try a little fucking courtesy, but Diaz grinned and answered, “Not like that. I volunteered. But it’s true that these assholes don’t speak Spanish.”

  Connor and Sherlock both flipped him off.

  Pilar made a scoffing sound. “They all speak English in there. They’re not just off the truck.”

  “Yeah,” Diaz answered. “But it’d be good to catch any side talk, you know?”

  “True, yeah. But I speak Spanish.” She looked up at Connor, who was still struggling with that spike of irritation. When he didn’t respond to her comment, she huffed and added, “So…what?”

  He looked at his brothers and then across the street to the entrance of the bar. A tall neon sign with a martini glass and a flashing olive glowed in the nearing dusk. This area had no restrictions on the height of its commercial signs. “We go in. We ask nicely. We work from there.” He glanced down at Pilar, who was binding her mane into a lush ponytail at the back of her head. “You stay behind us. Understood?”

  She shook her head. “I thought I was going in with you because you need me to talk to Hugo.”

  He hated having to explain the obvious. Biting back a sigh, he said, “We need you in there. But you’re not armed, and you are female. These guys have a bad rep with women. So you stay behind us. We’re your cover. Got it?”

  Without answering, she turned back to her Honda and hit her fob to unlock it. Then she opened the passenger door and ducked in. When she came back, she was pushing a little handgun into the back of her jeans.

  “Now I’m armed.”

  Connor reached around and grabbed her gun. When she tried to grab it back, he pushed her away. “No way, puss. Last fucking thing we need is you starting some drama waving this thing around. I don’t even know if you can shoot.”

  “I can. I’m good at it.”

  “Well, someday you can show me. But not now.” He tucked the gun into his own waistband.

  When she went for him again, Sherlock snatched her and held her back. “He’s right, sweetheart. We can’t add any more variables to this equation.”

  Shrugging free of Sherlock’s loose hold, she glared at Connor and opened her mouth to say something that would, he knew, be irritating in one way or another. So he grabbed her chin in his hand and closed her mouth. “I know you’re all up in your girl power and shit, but you want our help, you do it our way. Got it?”

  This time, she did answer that question, with a not-very-convincing nod.

  “I want to hear you say it, puss.”

  “I got it. And don’t call me puss.”

  “You could take a lesson in gratitude, puss.”

  At that, she had the grace to look abashed. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m just…”

  She didn’t finish, but she didn’t have to. “I know. Let’s see if we can get this done. Our goal is to bring your brother out quietly. If he wants to stay, are you looking for us to make him leave?”

  “No. If he wants to be there, then that’s his call. I just need to know he’s okay.”

  “Good. If he wants to go but they don’t want him to, then we’ll do what we can. But that’ll be messy as fuck—and that’s why you stay behind us. Understand?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I do. I will.”

  “Shoulda worn vests,” Sherlock muttered.

  “We go in wearing vests, and they know we expect trouble—so that’s what we’d get. We’re trying to get out of here without firing a shot.” He looked across the street again, unsnapping the guard on his holster. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  They crossed the street. Connor was the first one through the door, feeling the weight of his Glock against his ribs. Diaz came in behind him. Then Pilar, and then Sherlock, covering the rear.

  Connor widened his vision to see the entire scene, adjusting quickly to the darker space. The lighting made the kind of gloom that was typical for a place like this.

  Hip-hop music played on a jukebox near the door, and a girl danced alone in front of it. Two men sat at the bar. One guy stood behind it, paused in the act of wiping the top. Two men playing pool to the right. In the back corner, at a big round table, five men. Three women, as well—two of them being passed around to be pawed by them all. One woman sat on the lap of the man facing into the room.

  Ten men, all showing Aztec colors. No Hugo, apparently. Connor glanced over his shoulder and sent Pilar a silent question, making sure. She shook her head and shrugged subtly.

  Okay, fuck. If Hugo wasn’t here, then they’d come in with no good reason. The man in the corner was their leader, Raul Esposito. As the Horde walked forward into the room, all the men came toward them, hemming them in. Only Esposito remained seated.

  A massive, shaved dude with three teardrops inked at the corner of his eye and an elaborate sugar skull on his throat stepped directly into Connor’s path. “You lost, ese?”

  Connor smiled, keeping it friendly. “No, friend. We’re here to ask for some help.”

  Baldy grinned nastily, and Connor’s fingers twitched. Then the guy turned and looked back at his boss. When he stepped to the side, Connor knew that, at least, they’d get an audience.

  Some crews in San Bernardino County, and everywhere else, ran like businesses, saw value in their territory and the people in it. The Horde was one such, and they worked with several others in one way or another. But the Aztecs were like the Dirty Rats. Bottom feeders who got off on tearing shit down.

  He fucking hated this piece of shit gang that solved every problem with blood and noise. He hated the way they lorded over this rundown turf and never put anything into their community but drugs and death. They acquired their wealth by scraping the last dregs of hope from the people who lived around them, and they flaunted it in front of the same people. He would have preferred to have come in here with two AKs strapped to his back and just strafed the shit out of every last one of these assholes.

  But the Aztecs had friends bigger than themselves, and the ripples reached far. He kept his smile plastered to his face and looked down at Raul Esposito.

  Esposito was older than Connor—late forties, maybe early fifties. His dark hair was slicked tightly back against his head. A long, wide scar bisected his face at an angle, from his temple, over his hooked nose, to his jaw on the opposite side. When he smiled, it was impossible to believe it could be sincere.

  He gave Connor that smile now and pushed the girl off his lap. She teetered off toward the bar. “The great and famous Night Horde Motorcycle Club needs help from some cholos down the block? Can it be?”

  “I guess so. Our friend here is looking for her brother. She’s worried. Just wondering if you might help us find him.”

  Esposito tilted his head, and Connor took one step to the side, enough to let Esposito see Pilar but not so far that he couldn’t cover her if he needed to.

  “Pilar. What you hanging with these boys for? You want some bad-boy dick, we can give you plenty right here.” He laughed, and his lackeys laughed with him.

  Pilar shuddered ever so slightly, and Connor felt his fingers tense and curl into his palms. He sensed the same tension in his brothers.

  “Just looking for Hugo, Raul. Is he here?” There was a catch in her voice, and Connor realized that she was scared. Of course she would be, should be, but it affected him more than seemed reasonable.

  Esposito leaned back in his chair and dropped his hands into his lap in a dramatic gesture of disappointment. “Your brother, baby girl, is a bad boy, too. He took something from me. He has a debt to pay off.” He nodded toward a man at the back. He said something in Spanish, but Connor could barely order a beer in Tijuana, so he had no idea what. Diaz, though, changed his stance, moving into battle readiness.

  “The door,” he muttered at Connor’s side.
>
  Connor pushed Pilar fully behind him, and Sherlock came in tight. They made a circle. And Esposito’s man opened the door.

  Behind the door wasn’t somebody ready to attack them. In fact, none of the Aztecs had moved except the guy who’d opened the door. What was behind it, and was now in full view of the room, was a man Connor assumed to be Hugo. He was stripped to a pair of soiled and bloody khakis and bound to a support beam. His face was grotesquely swollen, and his chest and arms were horribly bruised and striped with bloody gashes. He’d been beaten and whipped.

  At first, Connor thought he was either dead or unconscious, but then he lifted his drooping, gagged head. At about the same time, Pilar peered around Connor’s side and gasped loudly. “Hugo!” Connor shot out his arm to block her just as she surged toward her brother.

  Hugo reacted weakly but emotionally, yelling around his gag and shaking his head.

  Connor sighed. This was a problem. Hugo was obviously not okay, and Connor had told Pilar they’d help. But if her brother had stolen from the Aztecs, then he had to pay the price for that. The Horde was not in the business of meddling in other people’s business, not even scummy assholes like Raul Esposito. How he was going to get Pilar out of here and keep her out, he did not know, but he wasn’t going to start a beef with this street gang over a guy he didn’t know getting what was coming to him.

  “Yeah, okay. We’ll leave you to it, then. Sorry to interrupt your work.”

  At his side, Pilar said, “What?” and jumped forward again, but Sherlock grabbed her and held on.

  Connor turned and took hold of her arm. “Keep chill until we’re outside,” he gritted at her ear.

  But when they took a step toward the front door, the Aztecs closed around them. Nine men.

  “I’ll keep Pilar,” Esposito said behind him. Connor turned again and faced him, and the bastard, still at the table, let that nasty smile slide up his bisected face. “You boys keep to your white bitches with their yellow hair. This one’s one of ours. And she’s of use to me. Leave her and go.”

  Connor still had his hand around Pilar’s arm, and he could feel every emotion moving through her body in the tension rolling under his palm. He moved his thumb back and forth over her bicep, making an attempt to keep her calm.

  She hadn’t spoken. In fact, she’d said very little since they’d come in—and that was good. But her eyes were a riot of bad feelings. Still, she was letting him lead.

  And he was about to lead them all into chaos. “Sorry, ese,” Connor replied. “Can’t do that. She’s with me.”

  “Greedy motherfucking gueros think the whole world is yours for the taking. You leave her with me, or you and me, we have a problem.”

  Connor shifted his shoulder and let Pilar go so that he was ready to draw. “Then we have a problem.”

  He felt movement at his back, on his back, and he knew what it was. But before he could react, Pilar had pulled her gun from his waistband and aimed at Esposito. Jesus fuck.

  Controlling his initial reaction to grab her and disarm her, Connor stood pat and made ready. Right now, she had the floor, and trying to change that would blow this room up. He sent a quick glance to his brothers, conveying to them that they should hold, too.

  She was shielded by the bodies of the Horde men, and the Aztecs didn’t realize that she’d drawn until she was aimed and still. “Anybody draws, and I’ll just shoot,” she said, her voice clear and steady. Her head tilted toward Connor. “That goes for everybody.”

  Despite her threat, the Aztecs around her reached for their weapons, but then Esposito put up his hand, and they all stopped. For a moment, the room was perfectly quiet. Then Esposito made that snaky sneer and turned his attention to Connor. “You let a little girl fight your fights for you, ese?”

  Connor shrugged. He and his new little friend were going to have this shit out, but not here. “I’m secure enough to take help where it comes.”

  “I want Hugo,” Pilar cut in, her aim still true. “Just let me have my brother, and we’ll get out.”

  Esposito returned his attention to the woman with a gun pointed at his head. They stared at each other. Meanwhile, Connor tried to keep track of the whole room, looking for where the danger would start. Baldy would be his first target. That guy was looking for blood.

  But Esposito nodded. “Sam. Cut him loose.”

  Baldy turned. “What?”

  Without looking away from Pilar, Esposito snarled, “Don’t fuckin’ question me. Cut him loose.”

  While Sam did as he was told, Esposito cocked his head at Pilar. “You got balls, chica.” He nodded sidelong at Connor. “More than him. So I’ll let you and your pussy friends leave. But you know this ain’t over. Your brother pays his debt, or I take it from somebody else.” He looked her up and down. “You, maybe. You got some assets I might want.”

  Sam pushed Hugo toward their little circle, and Connor caught him. The guy was dead weight, barely conscious, so he hoisted him over his shoulder. Fucker stank to high heaven. “Let’s go. Back out, puss. Come on.”

  Pilar nodded without breaking the lock of her attention on Esposito.

  Keeping to their wary circle, the Horde, Pilar, and her troublesome brother eased backward out of the High Life and onto the street.

  Once outside, they all drew their weapons, expecting the Aztecs to follow. But they were alone on the dark, dead street.

  Connor got Hugo into the passenger seat of Pilar’s Element. “Where you taking him?”

  “He needs a hospital.”

  “Hospital means questions.”

  “Look at him!”

  Connor did. The asshole was fucked up bad, and he wasn’t willing to drag his carcass into the clubhouse. He’d been enough trouble as it was. “Okay. We gotta get moving. You found him on the street like this. By his house, someplace not here. Right?”

  Getting it, she nodded. “Yeah, okay.” After a beat, she added, “You were gonna leave him.”

  “I was. If your brother’s tangled up with these guys of his own will, then that’s nothing I want to meddle in. But I wasn’t gonna serve you up to them. Fuck that.”

  She stared up at him for a couple more beats, just long enough for Connor to shift and prepare to remind her that they needed to beat hell out of here.

  But she spoke before he could. “Okay. I get it. Thank you for your help.”

  “We’re not done yet, puss. We’re riding you out of here.” And he and she were going to have a fucking talk.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Shut up, and let’s ride.” With that, he went to his bike and mounted up.

  ~oOo~

  In the ER parking lot, Connor dismounted and put up his hand to hold his brothers off from doing the same. They weren’t followed, so the coast seemed clear enough for now.

  “You sure?” Sherlock asked.

  “Yeah. Got it from here. You get back, catch Hooj up on this shit.”

  Diaz and Sherlock exchanged a look, then they nodded in unison and pulled out. Connor took off his helmet. After a thought, he shrugged off his kutte, folded it, and stowed it in a saddlebag. Going into the ER with this douche while he was wearing colors could cause problems. Then he went to Pilar’s car and opened the passenger door. Hugo was unconscious.

  He hoisted her brother back onto his shoulder.

  “I can take it from here,” she protested.

  “Too late. And we’re still not done. We need to have a serious talk. So let’s get him seen to.”

  ~oOo~

  Connor sat in the ER waiting room and did what the room was there for. He waited. Until he could grab Pilar and get some information and set some parameters, he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d fielded a couple of calls from his father, but since he didn’t have any more information yet, Hoosier had stopped calling.

  It was a pretty sure bet that they were now beefing with the Aztecs, and they had to control the ripple effect to every extent that they could. But there were a lot of
unknowns yet—several of which had to do with Pilar and her brother. The club had to decide whether this one foray into helpfulness was the last favor they’d do for them, or if they’d taken them on as a responsibility. To know that, they’d need to know how the fuck Hugo had gotten himself into the position they’d pulled him from.

  Pilar came through the doors to the treatment room once, but she ignored Connor. Her attention was devoted entirely to a small, thin woman who’d been standing at the reception desk. The woman was older—elderly, in fact—but her back was straight and her hair and clothes were stylish. Pilar hugged her, hard, and after a few exchanged words, they went back through the doors.