Pop Goes The Biker: Turf Wars #3 Page 2

  “Oh, that poor thing. You should break it to her now.”

  “Fuck off, Poppy.”

  “Seriously.” I cross my arms. “She might look at you and think, oh, Daddy, yes, but then you’re going to open your mouth and she’s going to be out of there.”

  “You done?”

  “What’s her name? I’m going to pre-warn her.”

  He looks like he’s going to take my head off if I open my mouth once more.

  All the more reason to open it.

  “How. Much. Fuckin’. Longer?”

  He says that through gritted teeth.

  “Two hours.”

  “Fine.”

  “You should brush your hair before you go, you don’t want her to think she’s dating a woman,” I point out, finger aimed at his ridiculously thick, long hair that is super sexy on him.

  He gives me a look that could bring someone to their knees.

  “Do your fuckin’ job, or we’re goin’ to have problems.”

  God, these bikers really are pushy.

  “We both know we won’t have problems,” I say, snarkily. “You’re not going to do anything to me because I’m the one bringing your weak ass club money, and without me, you’ll all have to sell the rubbish that you were trying to make before.”

  Beckett moves like lightning, hand around my throat, slamming me against the closest wall. It takes me by surprise, and I gasp as his fingers tighten around my neck, just enough to get my heart racing. “Listen and listen good, you stole from us. You mean absolutely fuckin’ nothin’ to this club and if you keep runnin’ your trap, we can make you disappear. If you think because you’re a woman, we won’t do that, you’re sadly mistaken. Watch your fuckin’ mouth, or I’ll find a hole to bury you in.”

  He releases me, and I stare at him, hate and anger mixed in my expression. “Are you finished? Great speech, but I’m not sure it sunk in.”

  “Do your fuckin’ job,” he growls low.

  Oh, I’ll do my job. I’ll do my job alright.

  But I’ll make sure I take these motherfuckers down while I’m doing it.

  Nobody treats me like that.

  Especially not a piece of shit biker.

  Beckett will find something out about me ...

  I hold a damn good grudge.

  “I NEED SUPPLIES,” I say, arms crossed, facing the group of bikers staring at me.

  “We’ve got a ride, can’t be takin’ you into town,” Riggs tells me. “You’re goin’ to have to wait.”

  “If I wait,” I grind out, “it’ll delay me by days. That means more time making this shit and more time with all of you. Put a tracker on me, I don’t give a shit. I need to go and get some things.”

  “What about Eve?” Remy asks Riggs, his eyes not leaving me even for a second. “She can take her in.”

  “Eve is way too fuckin’ soft,” Riggs mutters.

  “Ramona ain’t,” Adan points out. “They know what it means if they do somethin’ stupid. They can trail her.”

  “It’s not the fact that I’m worried about her runnin’,” Riggs points out. “It’s more about the fact that the bitch has the cartel after her.”

  “Poppy,” I say, cutting him off. “My name is Poppy. P-O-P-P-Y.”

  Riggs stares at me but doesn’t apologize. I really am nothing more than a slave to them right now. They’re using me to make money. They tell me it’s because I stole from them and I have to pay them back, but the truth is they’re more than capable of taking back what I took. They want me because I could make them millions and they know it.

  “We can spare two of the guys,” Beckett mutters, arms crossed, eyes not meeting mine. “Send them with the girls.”

  “Fine,” Riggs agrees. “Send two of the guys in. Get the supplies and get the fuck out of there.”

  “Excuse me,” I say putting up a hand, “I’d also like some food. The shit you left me with not even the rats like anymore, and they’re not fussy. A decent fridge full of groceries wouldn’t be unappreciated.”

  “You’re a fuckin’ prisoner,” Beckett growls. “Deal with it or accept the alternative.”

  I bite my lip to stop myself from going over there and punching him right in the nose.

  “Eve will organize something,” Riggs tells me. “Let’s go.”

  I wait for them to get their shit together, and then two of the older bikers from the club take me into town. They’re under strict instruction to make sure they’re not being followed and that I’m not left alone. We stop at a place called Wildflowers first, and when we go inside, I see Eve working. She said she owned a café, I’m guessing this is it.

  She waves when she sees me, coming over quickly. “Poppy! I was going to come and see you this afternoon.”

  “Better check the visitation schedule,” I mutter. “Wouldn’t want to get into trouble from the prison guards.”

  Eve frowns. “That bad, is it?”

  “They are fussing about even getting me some decent food. There are rats and nobody is being nice. I’m a tough girl, I can handle it, but a good feed wouldn’t hurt ...”

  Eve looks pissed. “Riggs should know better than that. I’ll talk to him.”

  “What did I tell you?” a little old lady sitting at a nearby table says, wiggling her finger at Eve. “You let them have too much and they’ll take advantage of it.”

  Eve looks to her, then to me. “Poppy, this is Doris. My regular advice giver. She doesn’t hold back. You have been warned.”

  I glance at Doris. She’s small and old. How bad could she be?

  “Nice to meet you, Doris,” I say.

  “I’ll tell you what I told the other two, you give those bikers an inch and they’ll take a mile.”

  I snort. “I think I’m in a different situation to them. I’m more ... an unwilling participant in their little games.”

  Doris waves a finger. “That doesn’t mean you have to let them treat you badly. You show them who’s boss, dear. No backing down.” She turns toward the two older bikers who have just purchased a coffee and are sitting down. “Take these two for example, they might look big and scary but they’re gentleman deep down. Isn’t that right?”

  The two of them look at her.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Doris goes on, narrowing her eyes.

  “No, ma’am,” the biggest, burliest one says.

  “You see.” Doris wiggles her finger. “Don’t let them treat you badly.

  “Noted,” I laugh.

  “As for the rats,” Doris says, scrunching up her nose, “you show them who’s boss, too. When I used to live on a farm, I had my own gun. Those little suckers came near me and they’d have their heads shot right off. Eventually, they knew better.”

  Jesus Christ.

  “I warned you,” Eve says, laughing. “She’s a demon.”

  “What if I miss them?” I ask.

  “Oh, dear, you can’t miss. If you miss, they’ll certainly climb into your bed at night and chew your ear right off. Never miss.”

  Far out.

  I shudder. “The picture you’re painting for me right now is terrifying, Doris. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” she nods, pleased with herself. “Eve, dear, get me another one of those muffins. I’m in need of some plumping up. My new gentleman prefers the womanly curves. I’m not sure what he’s expecting, though. I’m a seventy-year-old woman, any curves I had have been taken by gravity these days. I’m not certain where my nipples are anymore.”

  I burst out laughing.

  Eve shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Anything for you, Doris.”

  I wait until Eve is done and then she comes with us to the supply shop. It’s nothing major— some bleach, ink, little bits and bobs I run out of from time to time. The bikers wait at the front door of the supply shop, and Eve and I walk around, getting everything we need. Eve finds herself distracted by some colored paper and an idea for her café, so I keep browsing the aisles.

  “Poppy
, is it?”

  I turn to see a man standing beside me in the ink aisle. He’s tall, drop dead gorgeous, and clearly a cop. I can tell them from a mile away these days. They’re always standing tall, too well dressed and their hair is always neat. This one, his dark brown hair is scruffy and yet it seems like it’s been purposefully done that way. His eyes are the prettiest green and he’s tall, at least six foot, and well built.

  “Can I help you, hot cop?” I ask, focusing back on my ink.

  I don’t dare ask how he knows my name, or go into how I know he’s a cop. I know my response shocks him because he’s silent for a moment before he speaks again.

  “What makes you think I’m a cop?”

  “It’s glaringly obvious,” I say, picking up some ink and studying the box. “Your hair, for one. It’s perfectly messy, nobody has perfectly messy hair. Also, you’re standing like you’ve got a rod taped to your spine, or shoved up your ass, either will pass. Only cops stand like that. Am I wrong?”

  I look to him again.

  He tips his head to the side. “No, you’re not wrong. I was wondering if we could have a word?”

  “About what?”

  “The club you’re hanging around with.”

  I stare at him, tipping my head to the side and studying his face for a moment or two. Yep, certainly hot. “What about them?”

  “Curious as to why you’re suddenly hauled up with a club?”

  I frown. “How do you know my name?”

  “You could say I’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve got a name that comes up a lot.”

  I don’t doubt it. I was hanging around with some bad people for a long time, my husband included. It’s not surprising I’ve been spoken about.

  “Well, you can tell those people that Poppy has moved on from that life.”

  He gives me a half smirk. “You’re not afraid of me.”

  “Have you got anything on me, hot cop?”

  “No.”

  “Then why would I be afraid of you?”

  “Because I could find something on you, but I’m giving you the chance to sweep your wrong doings under the rug by helping me out.”

  I purse my lips, crossing my arms. “The bikers, you want me to give you some sort of information on them? Would that be right?”

  “They’ve got their hands in some particularly interesting illegal business that I’d like to know more about.”

  “Well, I couldn’t tell you what that is. I’m only there temporarily. I’m friends with one of the old ladies.”

  God, the lies that come out of my mouth are incredible.

  “What’s the ink for?”

  I shrug. “I like printing pictures. I’m an artist.”

  My god.

  I can’t even draw a stick figure.

  “I’d like to see that art sometime.”

  “Oh, I’m certain you would,” I say, smiling. “I only do nudes, though. Sorry, hot cop.”

  His mouth lifts up in that half smirk again. “I can offer you immunity. I know you’re helping them.”

  I feign confusion. “How could I possibly help them? I can barely help myself.”

  “There you are!”

  Eve comes around the corner and sees me standing with hot cop. She looks to him and he holds her gaze for a second before looking back at me. “See you around, Poppy.”

  With that, he disappears.

  “Who was that hot piece of man candy?” Eve asks.

  “Oh, some dude who was trying to take me on a date.” I shrug.

  “And you rejected him?” Eve breathes.

  “He’s not my type,” I mutter. “Way too clean.”

  “Girl, girl, girl,” Eve exhales, “that was a sexy as shit man.”

  “Men are too difficult. Come on, we better go before the old dudes outside bust a top.”

  Eve laughs and we walk out of the shop after paying for our items. I catch the eye of hot cop as I’m walking out; his eyes lock onto mine and there is an unspoken message in his gaze.

  We’re not done here.

  2

  “You said you knew how to use a fuckin’ gun,” Beckett growls, watching me as I stare at the two pieces and wonder how the hell I’m supposed to put them together.

  “I do know how, when it’s loaded and all put together.”

  He growls. “Fuckin’ useless.”

  “Listen, buddy, if you keep insulting me, we’re going to have a problem. I’m doing you a favor, not the other way around.”

  He leans in close—a piece of hair falls over his face and it takes a lot for me not to reach out and touch it. Luckily, I hate him and would rather see him rolling around on fire.

  But still, he’s gorgeous.

  “The only person in this room throwin’ around favors, is me. You think we can’t do this shit without you?”

  “I know you can’t,” I say, crossing my arms. “Not to my standard, anyway. Whoever was doing it before should be put down, because it was terrible.”

  “That person,” he growls, “was me.”

  Good to know.

  “Well, I hate to break it to ya,” I say, leaning in too, “but you suck.”

  He grits his teeth, and I flash him a smile before leaning back. “Now, back to the gun.”

  “You can’t even load the fuckin’ thing.”

  I roll my eyes. “Then show me.”

  “Rather watch you get gunned down.”

  “God,” I snort. “We’re not in the sixties. Nobody says gunned down.”

  He snatches up the gun and angrily shows me how to load it.

  “Are you always this angry?” I ask, watching the way his jaw is constantly tight, like he’s always got the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “I am when I have to deal with fuckin’ idiots.”

  He’s starting to piss me off now.

  “What have I ever done to you for you to judge me so heavily?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “You stole from my club.”

  “It’s not your club, and I was doing you a damned favor.”

  “You were doin’ yourself a favor.”

  “Same diff,” I shrug. “Still, I haven’t hurt any of you, I haven’t done anything to warrant the disgusting way you speak to me.”

  “I just don’t fuckin’ like you.”

  “Why, though?”

  He growls and slams the gun down. “Because you have a mouth that doesn’t fuckin’ close and you’re bad news. It’s written all over you. I don’t trust you, and I don’t like you.”

  “Yeesh.” I shake my head. “This is going to be a long few weeks.”

  “If you quickened the damn pace, we wouldn’t need it to take so fuckin’ long.”

  I roll my eyes again. “It takes time to make quality, which is something you would know if you damn well tried.”

  Beckett puts the gun away, and I get back to work creating the god damned money that will get them out of the shit. In a big way. Once they know how to do this, they can run it through a business of some sort, have it come out clean and live their best damn lives. I just need to take enough to give me a clean break.

  God knows, I deserve it.

  I’ve been on the streets since I was fourteen after being passed around from foster home to foster home. My parents are both drug addicts, and I was taken from them at a young age. My foster homes weren’t terrible, but I never could settle anywhere. I was always being moved. My last home was the only abusive one and it was then I decided I was better and stronger on my own, so I took off to the streets.

  I met a lot of bad people and did a lot of bad things. It wasn’t until I met my husband that I cleaned up. He was toxic, but he saved my life. He cleared my debts, got the bad people off my back and, in exchange, I married him. He taught me a lot, and it’s because of him that I have all the contacts that I do. I didn’t learn about making money until a few years back, but the whole thing fascinated me, and I decided
I was going to learn to do it perfectly, set myself up, and get away from here forever.

  Maybe to a tropical island somewhere, I don’t know.

  Either way, it’ll be freedom.

  “You’ll be at the club tonight,” Beckett tells me. “We got a meeting, can’t have anyone here watchin’ you.”

  “I’ll be fine on my own,” I mutter, leaning down and squinting at my work. It’s just not as good as I’d like.

  “You won’t be stayin’ out here on your own.”

  I turn my head and glance at him. He’s got his arms crossed, watching me. “Why not?”

  “Don’t trust you.”

  “Where the hell am I going to go? For a nice stroll in the woods? I need the money I’m making here, not to mention I have some bad people after my ass. No, thanks, I’m staying.”

  “Either way, you’re comin’ to the club.”

  “Look, whatever, man, can you help me or get the hell out?”

  He glares at me but gets to work doing some of the jobs I know he can do well. He is good at this, not as good as me but he knows most of what he’s doing. I’m not about to tell him that, though. Hell no.

  “How did you learn to do this?” he randomly asks me after about an hour of silent work.

  I’m surprised by his question, mostly because he doesn’t talk to me normally, and he certainly doesn’t make conversation.

  “My husband had contacts, I learned off them. I studied it, I tried my hand at it, I practiced until it was perfect.”

  “Your husband make it?”

  I nod. “Doesn’t everyone in the illegal business?”

  He glances at me. “He a bad man?”

  I nod again. “Oh yes, but he helped me out of some pretty big trouble so I can’t be too picky. We just ... didn’t get along all that well. Way too much fire between us.”

  “Find that easy to believe when it comes to you.”

  I pause and glare at him. “Why assume it was me?”

  “You have a big mouth.”

  I see he has leaned too far down into the bleach solution and the end of his hair is sopping wet. I grin. “And you’re going to have poorly colored hair in about two minutes.”

  He looks confused, then glances down, realizes what’s happened and curses out loud.