CLUB JUSTICE (The Trinity Falls Series) Page 2

  “Whose extra piece?”

  “The gun belonged to Porter. It was just a little matter of location.”

  It was Ginny’s turn to nod in thought as she put down the brush and stood from the dressing table. Pulling her nightgown over her head, she dropped it over the end of the bed and slipped between the sheets to cuddle against her husband’s chest. She sighed in contentment as his strong arms encircled her. Neither of them had had an easy childhood. Their own relationship had started in turmoil, and Lord knew the past twenty years had included its fair share of ups and downs, but no matter what was going on, she felt safe and loved in his arms. From the beginning, Zeke had always been upfront with her if she asked, be it work or club business. There were times she didn’t ask, but there were no lies between them.

  Chapter Two

  The Midwestern sun glinted off the pool’s cerulean waters and many a beer can, as the Lords of Mayhem Annual Memorial Day Picnic got underway. A large white tent covered a portion of the back yard, the sides rolled up to reveal tables and chairs in addition to those around the pool. Nestled in a shady nook, companioning a couple kegs, were troughs of ice well stocked with beer and soft drinks. Nearby, five-gallon beverage coolers containing juice, lemonade, and iced tea lined a table. Smoke rolled from the roaster, where a whole hog would provide the main course for the tables already laden with side dishes, salads, and desserts.

  Ginny leaned against the doorjamb, letting her eyes run over everything, making sure all was perfect. After nineteen years of organizing this particular get-together, and some a whole lot larger when all the chapters came together, she had earned her hostess stripes. Zeke had established the Lords of Mayhem Motorcycle Club shortly after returning from the Marines. What had started out as a handful of Harley enthusiasts looking to ride and party had branched into twenty-three chapters sprinkled throughout the Midwest. The MC was Zeke’s escape, his passion, and played a huge role in their life.

  The pool was full of children doggy-paddling between bike bunnies in skimpy bikinis. Rhys and Mox were dangling their legs in the water like the overgrown kids they still were, the sun reflecting off sunglasses and Mox’s smooth, bald head alike. As she watched, he flexed his bodybuilder biceps, drawing admiring comments from the girls as he did curls with giggling kids hanging from him. Living in the Brawer household, Mox had grown up in the club. He had prospected alongside Rhys and both boys displayed their allegiance proudly with full back tattoos of the Lord’s dragon insignia. Ginny rolled her eyes as one of the little whores traced a wet finger over Rhys’ sculpted six-pack. Even in tiny Trinity, there was no escaping the allure of motorcycle clubs. The Lords had their fair share of groupies.

  It was hard to tell the club members from the cops in the group that surrounded Zeke near the roaster. Colors and uniforms both put away, shorts and t-shirts were the dress code of the day. Ginny swore that some of those legs didn’t see the light of day any other time of the year. Obviously of the same thought, Amber approached her towering titian of a husband with sun block in hand. At six-foot-nine, Bowie was one of the few men Ginny had ever seen dwarf Zeke. The two men had stood shoulder to shoulder on the high school football field, in the Marines, and now as president and VP of their beloved Lords of Mayhem. They were as inseparable as Rhys and Mox.

  Tech was putting the finishing touches on the sound system up on the master bedroom deck. At six-two, three hundred pounds, the longhaired hell-raiser was covered in tats and piercings. He was your stereotypical biker, with the exception of his degree in Computer Science and Engineering from Berkley. He was a video game junkie and a wiz with computers and electronics of all kinds, hence the moniker, Tech. He didn’t mind. It distracted the guys from the fact his parents had stuck him with the name Josey.

  Not spotting the club’s artistic soul in the thick of things, Ginny scanned the crowded yard for Sambo. The son of a Chicago cop who had abused both him and his mother, Samuel Boscelli was at times not comfortable in the company of Zeke’s colleagues. She relaxed when she spotted his lanky form stretched out under the old walnut tree with his trusty Gibson and a note pad in his lap. He gripped a pencil between his teeth and flipped hair out of whiskey-colored eyes as he strummed the battered six-string, lost in his own world.

  Feeling Zeke’s stare as sure as a physical touch, she turned to meet his warm gaze. He smiled, motioning her to him with a slight inclination of his head. Giving the get-together a last look, she left her post and wove through the crowd to her husband’s side. Catching her about the waist, he kissed her with unabashed enthusiasm before looking down at her.

  “Everything is perfect, baby. Relax and enjoy it,” he said, his tone soft yet serious. Seeing the protest in her eyes, he silenced her by covering her lips with his own. His hand wrapped in the back of her hair. Hoots and hollers broke from the crowd as he kissed her into submission with unhurried ease. When he straightened, she melted against his chest and struggled to slow her thundering heartbeat.

  “Damn,” she whispered.

  “Uh-huh. Now do as you’re told, woman.” He chuckled, kissing her one last time and turning her in his arms.

  “Talk about a tongue-lashing!”

  “That’s one way to shut a broad up!”

  “Chastise me baby!”

  Ginny met the wolf whistles and lewd comments with an unrepentant grin and a sassy wink as she leaned back into the cradle of his arms.

  Humming to the strum of Sambo’s guitar, Ginny pulled Tupperware out of the big side-by-side refrigerator to refill the veggie platter. Music and laughter floated through the open windows on the evening breeze, the cooling air a welcome respite after the heat of the day.

  “How do you two do it after twenty years?”

  Ginny whirled at the voice, fumbling a couple carrot sticks in her surprise.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jennifer apologized.

  “That’s all right,” Ginny reassured, bending to pick up the errant carrots. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

  Stepping to the sink, she glanced at Jimmy’s wife as she considered the question.

  “We’re no different than any other couple. We have our ups and downs.”

  “You made every mistake in the book, and still you came out of the shit smelling like roses. On top of that, when other couples your age are sleeping in separate bedrooms or divorcing, you still act like newlyweds.”

  “You sound a little bitter, Jen,” Ginny said, her smile forced as she turned to face the other woman, a hand on her hip. “Why don’t you educate me on all the mistakes Zeke and I made?”

  “You know, getting married straight out of the Marines for him, high school for you, barely knowing one another, getting knocked up right away, saddling yourself with kids, a house, a big mortgage, a long commute, new cars and expensive toys. You did it all, and yet here you are living like a queen in your suburbia kingdom,” Jennifer spat.

  The spite in the other woman’s words took Ginny aback for a moment, and then fired her Irish ire.

  “What pisses you off most, Jen? Is it that you spent twenty years handing your husband’s hard earned money to a seedy landlord, or that this place is almost paid off? Maybe it’s the fact that you chose your ‘feel the burn’ career over family and now you’re feeling the empty nest. Stretch marks don’t sound so bad now, do they?” Ginny leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conversational whisper. “You know, Jen, give Jimmy his balls back, and it might not be too late for those kids.”

  “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jen sputtered.

  “Try to stay with me through the peroxide fog, Blondie. Did you ever wonder why the squad calls your husband Newt? Let me narrow it down for you. It’s not a likeness to the politician or the salamander.”

  “You lying bitch,” Jennifer hissed, her face coloring.

  “You haven’t begun to see bitch,” Ginny whispered with a taunting smirk.

  “Ginny,” a soft voice called as the screen
door opened. “Reaper asked me…” A stunning Asian girl paused in the doorway as she spotted Jennifer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No worries, Lee. I think we’re done here,” Ginny said. Shaking the water from the couple of carrots in her hand, she turned her back in dismissal to toss them on the platter. “What does Reaper need, honey?”

  The girl hesitated as Jennifer pushed past her, slamming the screen in her wake.

  “Lee?” Ginny prompted, knowing how impatient the apt named Reaper could be. His icy gaze even sent death’s fingers dancing down her spine.

  “They are setting up for the fireworks and his Zippo is low,” Lee said, holding the lighter up with a shy smile.

  “The lighter fluid should be in the cabinet to your left above the breakfast bar. If there isn’t any there then I will get some from Zeke’s humidor cabinet.”

  “Did I interrupt something?” Lee asked, carefully filling the Zippo.

  “It seems Zeke’s partner’s wife needs another nose job because this one’s out of joint,” Ginny said with a sly wink. “Don’t worry about it, honey. She’s one of those women that measure her man and everything else in dollar signs. You and I both know there is more to a man than his wallet.”

  Lee giggled. “You would be lucky to find anything in Reaper’s wallet besides his ID and a couple condoms.”

  “Lee!”

  “Ginny!”

  Both women jumped as their names thundered across the backyard.

  “Hark, they bellow,” Ginny quipped, drawing genuine laughter from the bashful girl.

  Whoops and howls of delight echoed throughout Trinity as the fiery remnants of the finale fizzled out, glowing embers falling back to earth. The Lords of Mayhem Motorcycle Club’s Memorial Day fireworks were a tradition the entire town had embraced. Smoke hung heavy over the small town, the sulfurous firework residue mingling with the grills and bonfires that dotted backyards for as far as the eye could see.

  Sparks flew skyward like a swarm of fireflies, as the boys stoked the Lord’s bonfire until the flames reached for the stars.

  “Let ‘er BURNNNNNN!” Sambo growled, drawing a roar of support from his club brothers.

  Tech cranked up the tunes and the party shifted gears. While the respectable sought their beds, the Lords caught their second wind.

  Weaving through the revelry in search of her husband, Ginny spotted him at the corner of the house, half obscured by the shadows. Her step faltered. Craning her neck, she tried to identify his companion. Unable to tell, her eyes darted through the crowd, searching out the usual suspects for elimination. Her mother’s heart sought out Rhys, finding him laughing with Mox near the keg. She rolled her eyes. Both boys looked three sheets to the wind. Bowie was nearby, scavenging the pork remains. Reaper was perched on a truck tailgate, Lee leaning back between his thighs. With the VP and Sergeant-at-Arms accounted for, if it was club business it was not very serious. Yet, the prickle at her nape didn’t dissipate.

  Glancing back to Bowie, she caught him watching Zeke. The squint of the big man’s emerald eyes and slight jut of his jaw spoke of mistrust. Nibbling her bottom lip, she moved closer to Zeke, trying for a better vantage point. Bowie’s unease added to her own, but also gave her a pretty good idea who Zeke was talking to. More than a pronounced height difference prevented Bowie and Zeke’s partner from seeing eye-to-eye. Fiercely protective, Bowie had never shied away from reminding Jimmy that he didn’t trust anyone to have Zeke’s back like he did.

  Jimmy shifted under the weight of Zeke’s stare. The flame of the cigar cast the larger man’s hard countenance in a demonic glow. Friends since the academy and partners for the past sixteen years, there were still times he couldn’t tell what was going on behind those cold, blue eyes.

  “You and I both know what happened with Porter, but Kramer is digging. He has our jackets, our case files. He’s pulling financials.” Jimmy ran a worried hand over the top of his smooth head. “I came home yesterday and he was sitting in my fucking living room talking to Jen.”

  “Your ol’ lady know something I don’t? You have a Cayman account you aren’t fessing up to?” The cigar clamped between his teeth twisted Zeke’s sardonic grin to something even more sinister. “Then stop being such a pussy and tell your ol’ lady to shut her trap,” he said at Jimmy’s troubled headshake. “Kramer has a hard-on for me, and once he gets his rocks off, this will all die down.”

  “Jen doesn’t know anything and I know you’re right, but…”

  “Don’t ever underestimate what a woman knows, Jimmy,” Zeke cautioned. “Just remind her that family is family, huh?”

  “‘Til the bitter end, bro,” Jimmy confirmed at the slap on the shoulder and the friendly tone, but didn’t miss the fact that Zeke’s eyes never warmed.

  An uneasy feeling twisted Zeke’s stomach as he watched his partner head for the street.

  “Is that going to be a problem?” Ginny asked, stepping up beside him.

  He didn’t answer as he watched Jimmy get in his car. The dome light illuminated a waiting Jen in the passenger seat. Even from a distance, the pinched displeasure on her face was evident. Thoughtful fingers stroked his goatee as the late model Lexus’ taillights disappeared. Rousing himself from his thoughts, he wrapped an arm around the silent woman at his side.

  “No worries tonight, baby,” he rumbled, leading her back to the party.

  Morning light streamed through the bathroom window. Twisting her hair into a haphazard knot, Ginny gave her reflection one last glance. Fresh from the shower and sans makeup, she looked younger than her years. Leaving Zeke sleeping, she made her way through the silent house on bare feet. She smiled at the sleeping bodies sprawled on every available surface. Between the living room, family room, guestrooms, and a finished basement that was primarily the boy’s domain, they always found room.

  Arms akimbo, she surveyed her cluttered kitchen before digging in with a deep breath. Combining pies, desserts, and non-perishables as there was room, she downsized the mess and relegated the leftovers to one counter top. Wiping off the remaining surfaces, she dug through the refrigerator for the bulk sausage. As flames licked the bottom of the heating skillet, she pulled biscuits from the freezer and readied a few trays for the oven.

  “You’re so damn organized.”

  “Look who’s talking, little miss OCD.” Ginny laughed without turning around. She poured fresh coffee into a pair of ceramic mugs. An added dollop of Irish cream clouded each surface until the swirl of a mint chocolate spoon lightened the brew. Ginny handed one of the mugs to her best friend and leaned over the breakfast bar between them.

  “Thanks,” Kat said, wrapping her hands around the proffered mug.

  “You’re welcome, and with this many to feed, I better be organized.”

  “Have you looked out there yet?” Kat asked, indicating the back yard with an inclination of her head.

  “I’ve seen it before,” Ginny said, her expression long-suffering. “The good thing is I have their keys. Not one bike leaves until my yard is put back to rights.”

  “You’re a sly one, Ginny Brawer.”

  “I’ve learned a trick or three in twenty years,” she said, offering a saucy wink as she turned back to the stove.

  “If you hens cackled any louder in here, you would wake the dead for sure,” said a harsh growl from the doorway.

  “Getting a gander and a whiff of you, and I’m thinking we already succeeded,” Kat said with a snort of amusement.

  “Ya know you’re going to pay for that one,” Crux said, his voice soft and menacing.

  Green eyes clashed, one set pale and menacing and the other dancing shamrocks, and then Kat broke for the back yard at a run. Her pleading, giggling shrieks cut the morning air like a siren. Laughing, Ginny watched out the window as her friend curled up on the ground like an armadillo, trying not to give her man a handhold. Undeterred, he picked her up in a ball and headed back to the patio. Her screams intensified to a c
rescendo as with a heave of one tattoo-covered shoulder Crux sent her flying into the pool. His heavily inked torso glistened in the early morning sun with the fallout of her landing. He threw back his head to laugh as she surfaced with a string of imaginative curses. Ginny couldn’t help but notice how the good humor transformed the cruel lines of his scarred visage, bringing an almost boyish handsomeness to the dangerous biker.

  “You going to stand there gawking at other men all morning, or are you going to get your old man a cup of coffee?” Zeke murmured in her ear.

  Ginny leaned back into his embrace, tilting her head as he nuzzled her neck.

  “Mmmm…keep doing that and you will never get your coffee,” she whispered, her voice husky at his wandering hands.

  “Some sacrifices are worth it.”

  “Get a room, or at the very least get out from in front of the damn coffee,” Bowie grumbled.

  “We’re holding up traffic.” Ginny said with a giggle, trying to slip from Zeke’s arms.

  “Not the first time you’ve brought traffic to a halt, baby,” Zeke mumbled, with a wink. He pulled her back for one last kiss before releasing her to serve up breakfast.

  Chapter Three

  Zeke’s desk chair tilted at a haphazard angle as he leaned back, stretching his weary shoulders. A passing clerk winced in sympathy as his neck gave an audible crack.

  “I’d pay someone to commit a horrific fucking crime about now,” he groaned heavenward.

  “Then the rat squad would finally have a case,” Jimmy said, tossing another file on the teetering stack.

  Zeke cracked a grin that felt more like a grimace. His reinstatement had gone through, but the bastards had made sure he was tied to his desk. Maybe I.A. hadn’t had enough to hang him, but they could withhold the lube while they screwed him. A couple weeks of paperwork and he was ready to eat his gun. Twenty-two years on the streets and here he was, tight roping a fine line between desk duty and the big house. Closing the file in front of him, he stood and slapped it on the pile.