Sweet Revenge (The Nighthawks MC Book 2) Read online

  Sweet Revenge

  The Nighthawks Motorcycle club

  Bella Knight

  Book

  2

  Edited by

  Natasha Lind

  © Copyright 2017 - All rights reserved.

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  Contents

  1. Takedown

  2. Hell

  3. Nighthawks

  4. The New Normal

  5. Love Among the Bikers

  6. Murder’s Ripples

  7. Consequences

  8. Follow up Danger

  9. Brazen

  10. Nolo

  Finders Keepers book 3

  About the Author

  1

  Takedown

  “The plot thickens when stirred.”

  Ivy sat with Ghost and Bonnie, two very strong women who liked to work on Harleys for fun. They were in the courtyard at a picnic table at the Nighthawks’ clubhouse at dusk. They were polar opposites —Bonnie had short red hair, and Ghost was a young black woman from the ‘alphabet streets’ in the north part of Las Vegas who Bonnie had found working in a gas station.

  Ivy was exhausted. She’d had the food inspector come into her bar earlier that day, and everything was a go there. The liquor license people were dragging their feet. She decided to sic her Vegas lawyer Charmaine, onto them.

  She passed out the drinks, Ghost getting a chocolate shake and Bonnie a strawberry one, while Ivy sucked on her cherry-lime ice.

  “Okay, ladies,” she said, “you all know Claw of the Blacksnakes killed my boyfriend Arsenal. I have a plan to take him down. It’s risky, but I think we can get it all done in one night. My opening night, next week.”

  “Why then?” asked Bonnie.

  “It’s the night of the dogfight,” said Ivy, “they’ve got a pit out in the desert. They kill a dozen dogs a night.”

  Bonnie’s face closed, “I’m in!”

  Ghost’s eyes filled with tears, “I gotta see that?”

  “Not for long,” said Ivy, “Claw tends to leave early, with some of the take, one of the books where he keeps info on the fights, and a girl. We don’t know why, but I think it’s to oversee a meth lab they’ve got just a few miles up the road, and to fuck the lady… of course.

  We call the FBI when the fight is still going on, and they close that down, after you arrive where you’re going. Then, we’ll call and hand them Claw, right in the middle of a meth lab. He may be able to wriggle out of Arsenal’s murder if the feds can’t find the knife or the gun, but between the dogfights and the meth lab, he won’t be getting out of prison anytime soon, even with the lawyers.”

  “I gotta bone him?” asked Ghost.

  “No!” said Bonnie.

  “Absolutely not,” said Ivy, “I’ve got a plan. We crush some pills in some beers and a whiskey bottle. That… thing… likes to drink. You drink near beers or a bottle filled with sparkling apple cider. We’ll use different labels so you don’t grab the wrong one. Let him drag you out, and Bonnie will follow you. Bonnie, you or someone from the club the Blacksnakes won’t recognize, will call the FBI from inside the fight. If they hear the dogs screaming over the phone, someone will come out.”

  She took a sip of her drink, “Ghost, once you get where you’re going, you give him the whiskey bottle or another beer. He gets woozy. You make sure his prints are on something inside the meth lab in case he gets out of there before they hit it. Take the empties and get out. Bonnie will meet you and get you out. Then, call and tell the FBI about the meth lab.”

  Ghost looked at Ivy, then Bonnie, “That sounds a lil’ cray-cray, but I’m in.”

  Bonnie glared at Ivy, “You’re sending a black girl into a den with a known racist killer?”

  “He’ll take the bait,” said Ivy, “all she has to do is act scared. He loves to hurt the weak.”

  Bonnie shook her head back and forth, “We gotta take him down some other way.”

  “I know it’s dangerous,” said Ivy, “if you don’t want to do it, Ghost, we’ll figure something else out. But, this is the best way to take down all of the Blacksnakes at once. If we just go after Claw, they’ll pick us off. They’ll do it one by one, for taking out their leader. They all gotta go down in the same night.”

  “I said I gon’ do it,” said Ghost, “Bonnie be my second. We get it done.”

  Bonnie looked at Ghost, “I’ll send you with a wrench. Don’t look like a gun, so they won’t take it away from you. You get in trouble, you break somebody’s arm like I showed you in the fight gym, and you run like the wind.”

  Ghost nodded, “I run. They don’ call me Ghost for nuffin,” she tapped the top of the picnic table, “you tell me what you want one more time.”

  Ivy went over the plan again, then again. They poked at it until they thought they had plugged up all the holes.

  Ivy got on her bike after nailing the plan down, and headed to the desert. She went to meet Reva, her former coworker at the brothel Palomino Roadhouse, at a truck stop. Reva was halfway through a plate of Huevos Rancheros when Ivy sat down.

  “Eggs,” said Ivy, “it’s what’s for breakfast.”

  Reva snickered, “Gotta keep my strength up. You know how early this is for me, too!”

  “You are the strangest mother-fucking bitch I know,” said Ivy.

  Reva laughed, “Yep!”

  The server came by, and Ivy ordered a Coke, “What’s new?” asked Ivy.

  “Di bought two broken-down trailers. She got me stripping ‘em with Lissa. We gonna make gorgeous rooms for ourselves. Taking on two more girls full-time, we all gotta live someplace.”

  “What’s she paying you for the remodel?”

  “Two percent more of my take,” said Reva, “you didn’t raise no fool.”

  “No, I didn’t,” said Ivy. The server brought her cola and a new check, “I’m gonna pick up this tab, and I want to pay you some more, for an impersonation, but you gotta get out of there a week from
today, around nine pm. I need you to look like me, sound like me, dress like me, twist your hair like me. You’re gonna do it two or three hours.”

  “What you gonna be doing?” asked Reva.

  “I’m taking a little ride in the desert. Some nasty biker been killing off dogs in the desert with dogfights. And I wanna take him down real hard.”

  Reva’s eyes filled with tears, “He kills dogs?” She swallowed some of her orange juice, “I’m in.”

  “Great,” said Ivy.

  She strengthened her voice, “That don’t mean I don’t get paid. You didn’t raise no fool.”

  “One percent of my opening night’s take,” she said wearing a smile.

  “Shit, girl,” said Reva, “you wanna do this every week? I could rake in more money with you than the Palomino!”

  “You’re top of the line,” said Ivy, “Lissa’s saving up for her acting and dance studio. What are you saving up for?”

  Reva finished off her eggs and swallowed, “I’m gonna teach modeling classes with Lissa. We gonna go into business together. We already looked at studio space, and we’re gonna get us a plan. Two or three years, baby, we got it in the bag.”

  Ivy laughed, “You do that,” she said, “I’ll be wearing black slacks, a white top, and my black motorcycle boots on my opening night.”

  “Okay,” said Reva as she looked at her empty plate.

  Ivy handed over a picture of herself in that exact outfit, “Make yourself look like this. Talk to Ivan and Dion about working the bar. I’m going to take the receipts and the cash about midway through the night towards the back. You’ll go in the back door, and already be in my office. I’ll give you some of it, and you can pretend to be me in the office.”

  Reva took a sip of her own drink, then continued to listen, intently.

  “Ace may call you out to help wait on customers if we’re super slammed. The lights are neon blue and purple, with black walls and a silver coating. It will also be really loud with a rock ‘n’ roll band. I wouldn’t even be able to pick me or you out in that environment.”

  She passed over a drink list and a food menu, “We just serve beers and whiskey. We got some top-shelf stuff on the back of the wall; you can pour that. Just charge premium. The girls will take the food orders. Work fast and keep your head down. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I just gotta be sure that guy goes down.”

  Reva smiled, “Can do.” Both women stood, and hugged.

  “Thank you, Reva.”

  “See ya, girl. And get some damn sleep. You look ready to fall over.”

  Ivy smiled a broken smile. “I’ll sleep when that son-of-a-bitch goes down.”

  Ivy paid the bill, walked Reva to her little silver Jeep, and waved goodbye.

  Takedown

  Opening night started with people lining up at three. Ivy threw up her hands and ran the servers through their paces one more time. She put the dancing girls on their plinths, got the cooks to turn on their fryers and ovens, and got Ace and Bella, the bar back, behind the bar. She asked the band if they were ready to go, as they were tuning. They told her five minutes. She turned on all the neon, the band started up with Poison. Big Mike settled his mountainous bulk in front of the door to check IDs, and Ivy opened the door at three-thirty.

  There was an influx of all kinds of people, bikers and wide-eyed tourists and reviewers and curious natives. Ivy expedited the kitchen for the first round of bar food, poured drinks with Ace, drank fizzy apple cider in a beer bottle and clinked glasses with her customers. She even danced on a plinth with one of her dancers, and ran around like a maniac. The tables turned, things slowed down, and she took the time to pour drinks for customers and dance with them on the edge of the dance floor.

  She drank way too much apple juice, and Ace substituted a rocks glass of apple juice instead of the whiskey he was pouring into glasses all over the bar. Bella damn near wore herself out trying to keep the ice and bar beer coolers filled.

  By nine, things were slowing down, and the band switched out from rockers with spiked hair to a woman with no hair singing, while guys banged drums. She screamed, “What’s Going On,” and the entire bar screamed it with her. Ivy cleared the receipts and registers, and walked it back to the office.

  Reva watched her stow the receipts and cash in the safe, and pulled out an envelope. She handed it over, and Reva counted it while she messed with Reva’s hair and makeup to make it more like her own. She made sure the boots made them the same height, even as Reva finished counting, “This is four hundred dollars!”

  “That’s one percent of my projection for the night,” Ivy lied, “I’m outta here. Hold down the fort. If you wanna be conspicuous, dance with one of the dancing girls on the plinth. Sling some booze, then grab some receipts and get back here.”

  “Sure thing.”

  She pointed to a locked drawer, the key inside, “Put it in there and lock it. I’ve gotta go!” She hugged Reva.

  “Good luck, girl,” said Reva, “and don’t you go thinking I’m stupid. You’re going after the guy that killed your man?”

  Ivy just smiled a wintry smile.

  Reva nodded slowly, “I’ll take that as a yes. Now, get the fuck out of here.”

  Ghost was already in the desert with Bonnie, waiting for things to heat up. The Blacksnakes were already in the pit, a sea of bikes surrounding the building, along with some shit kicker trucks and a flatbed with cages on it.

  “I’m ready,” Ghost said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “give me the bottles.”

  “Ivy isn’t here yet,” said Bonnie.

  “Don’ care. Those dogs are dying in there. We gotta take that son-of-a-bitch down hard, Sista.”

  The noise was deafening, shouts, screams. Some of the screams were from people. Some weren’t.

  “I got my burner with the FBI dialed in,” said Bonnie, “I already primed them, told them I knew the Blacksnakes were just outside Las Vegas, told them I knew about something bad going down.”

  Ghost looked at her with a serious face, she was ready to do her part.

  Bonnie talked in a country hick voice, “Them motorcycle boys, they be whoopin’ and hollerin’ and doin’ stuff in the parking lot, looks like ‘dem drugs. Gotta go, they mightcan see me. Call ya later.”

  “They be massin’ at the edge of town ‘bout now,” said Ghost, “I gotta go in.”

  She slipped two beers out of the cold pack into Bonnie’s saddlebags, “Get me closer. None of us should be wearing our skulls on our jackets.”

  The skull was the symbol of the Nighthawks, their own motorcycle club. Bonnie brought her into the edge of the parking lot. She pretended to fight with Ghost, and drove off. Ghost went in, pretending to stumble. She slipped a twenty to the guy in front, and got in.

  It was worse, much worse, than she thought. It smelled like dog and blood, and leather and sweat. A dog was in the pit, crying… dying. People waved tickets and money in their hands. People screamed at the dogs, at each other. With most of them in motorcycle leather, but there were some people in cowboy hats.

  It was easy to find Claw. He had a mohawk. He wore a curved blade in a holster at his side. He was writing stuff down in a book with a little pencil. Ghost slipped her way through the crowd and found someplace where Claw could see her out of the corner of his eye. Looking scared was easy. She just pretended to be one of the dogs. She shook, and looked at the floor, and drank from her near beer bottle.

  Claw was beside her in no time. Wordlessly, she handed him the beer from her jacket pocket. It still had beads of condensation running down it. He popped the top with his teeth, and drank it. She looked at the floor, then at him out of the corner of her eye, then at the floor.

  He grabbed her arm, “We going somewhere, little girl.”

  She twisted free and bolted towards the door, remembering how Ivy and Bonnie had warned her never to go deeper inside the pit. He might take her to some back hallway and rape her there.

  He came out after her, “Wh
ere’s the fire?” he said.

  “My girlfriend left me here alone,” said Ghost, her voice low, quivering.

  She didn’t have to fake her fear. This guy had blood in his eyes. She took a sip of near beer, “Was gonna look for a ride.”

  Claw pointed to his bike, “I’ll take you somewhere. Got a place I gotta go. We’ll have a drink, have a good time.”

  Ghost felt her body tighten, just from being near to him.

  He caught her arm and pulled her towards his bike, “Then I’ll have one of my brothers take you home.”

  Ghost tried to pull away, but then pretended to just go along with it. Yeah, right, she thought. Your brothers would rape me after you did, and leave me in the damn desert to rot. He put her in the sissy seat, revved up his bike, and took off. Two of his guys came out of the club and followed him.

  He took her to a couple of trailers hooked together on a desert road with nothing else on it, not far from the pit. She could smell the meth cooking from there. She hoped the GPS tracker sewn into the lining of her jacket was working.

  Claw dragged her in, past the women counting money in their underwear, past people wearing white plastic suits. He took her to a couch across from the bathroom. He slipped up the cushion on the other couch, and put the book and a stack of money in there, on top of a strange-looking gun.

  Ghost slipped the pint of whiskey out of her other jacket pocket, and pretended to find it in the seat cushions. She pretended to take a drink. He grabbed the bottle from her, and drank. She finished her near beer.

  He dragged her into the tiny bathroom, downing the whiskey while pawing her, “You got no breasties on you girl, do you?” he said, turning his head to swallow more whiskey.