Blood & Bones: Deacon (Blood Fury MC Book 4) Read online

  “He’s going to see what happens when he doesn’t follow the rules. Just because he’s sixteen doesn’t mean he’ll get away with pulling stunts like this. You know the rules. You broke them.”

  Deacon began to tremble as heat filled his cheeks. “But Dad!”

  His father slid the belt from the loops of his jeans. A familiar sound that made the hair on the back of Deacon’s neck stand. “One more word and I’ll add another six on to the six you already earned. You don’t disrespect me, your mother, your blood or this house. And you did all of that today. Now go.”

  Deacon blinked quickly and wiped away the tears that were already starting to fall as he jerked the screen door open and ran inside.

  Deacon winced as he pulled his PJ bottoms up over his still stinging butt.

  Judd sat on Deacon’s bed, his back against the headboard and his ankles crossed as he studied him.

  The whole thing had been embarrassing. Not only because his butt had been exposed as he kept his feet on the floor and his hands planted on the bed while his father struck him with the belt, but because he had let a few whimpers escape and he couldn’t stop the tears.

  All with his cousin, who was a stranger, watching.

  But his father used Deacon’s discipline as a warning to Judd. Letting the older boy know that he needed to keep in line, that he wouldn’t tolerate Judd becoming like his father, Ox. He would respect the law and his family. He would become a productive citizen and not some out-of-control convict.

  Now it was just the two of them in Deacon’s room. And Deacon had nothing to say. All he wanted to do was climb into the bed Judge was settled on and pull the covers over his head.

  But he had a feeling he wouldn’t get to sleep in his own bed tonight. Someone would be sleeping on the floor in the sleeping bag that was rolled up against the wall. Of course, it would be him.

  Judd had already staked his claim on Deacon’s comfortable bed. And if they got into a fight about it, his father wouldn’t hesitate to come back into that room and dole out some more “respect.”

  “You picked a hill not worth dyin’ on, kid.”

  Deacon sniffled and wiped the back of his hand under his running nose. “What’s that mean?”

  “Means you just need to not do stupid shit and if you do stupid shit, you need to know how not to get caught.”

  “And you’re going to show me how not to get caught?”

  “You bet I am and for that, you’re gonna be my bitch ‘til I’m old enough to move out.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Means when I need you to do somethin’ for me, you’re gonna do it. And you ain’t gonna whine like a little pussy about it, got it?”

  Deacon nodded, though he wasn’t quite sure if he “got it.” But if there was a way to avoid the belt, Deacon was on board with that.

  Judd grinned. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, kid, I’m takin’ the bed. And that sweet little BMX bike you rode off on? That’s mine, too, ‘til I get a set of wheels.”

  “But—”

  “Did you enjoy pullin’ your pants down in front of me and gettin’ hit with that belt?”

  “No.”

  “Then you stick with me, kid. Watch, listen and learn.”

  Watch, listen and learn.

  He could do that if it helped him avoid his father’s belt or a cuff upside the head. Or even getting grounded.

  So, maybe his cousins moving in wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  As long as he got his own bed back.

  Chapter One

  Fingers worked his hair and pulled at his scalp.

  She was probably being rougher than she needed to be as she braided it. On purpose.

  Because he was leaving.

  And she was pissed.

  It had been hot and wild, but it was time for him to hit the road.

  He was supposed to leave two days ago, but a couple of extra nights couldn’t hurt when the pussy was wet and willing.

  Her bare perky tits pressed into the Blood Fury MC’s colors inked into his back. His looks got him loads of willing pussy. His cut and tats got him dirty pussy. And not the kind of dirty that needed a shower. Though, afterward, they’d both need one.

  But the kind of pussy who weren’t looking for a husband or a boyfriend, usually because they’d just scraped one off, or a man scraped them off. Instead, they wanted a man who knew how to use his dick and tongue. And use them well.

  Tina finished braiding his mohawk before securing the end with a hairband, and then pressed herself harder against his back, sliding her hands around to his pecs and down, tweaking the barbells in his nipples.

  “Never met a man so into piercings,” she purred.

  Deacon remained sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes focused on his clothes piled on the floor. He needed those to escape. But he couldn’t make a move while she held tightly onto his barbells.

  “Yeah,” was all he answered. He wasn’t there for deep conversation. In fact, he hadn’t picked her for talking at all. What he had been there for was over.

  It was time to jet.

  “Do you have to go so soon?”

  Soon? He’d been there too long already. She was starting to get clingy. While the pussy had been great, it wasn’t one he’d want to revisit.

  “Gotta work.” And that wasn’t a lie.

  “What do you do?”

  Fuck. He’d found her on Tinder, not eHarmony. She needed to learn the unspoken rules of a hookup app.

  “I’m a pimp.”

  Her hands dropped suddenly, like his skin had burned her, and her tits disappeared from his back. “What?”

  “Yeah. This was a job interview. Thought you knew that.”

  “Bikers are pimps?”

  “Yeah, we got a whole stable of bitches. You did alright. You interested? You’d draw some decent money. You work enough johns in a night, you could make enough scratch to start an IRA.”

  He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, then winced when she shrieked, “Get out! Get the fuck out of my bed! Get the fuck out of my house!”

  That was one way to get cling-free.

  He quickly got to his feet, yanked on his clothes, shrugged on his cut and shoved his feet into his boots, not taking the time to lace them. He’d do that when he got outside.

  Before walking out of the bedroom, he tossed over his shoulder, “Guess that’s a no?”

  Tina was sitting on her bed, the sheet now wrapped around her, pointing toward the door. “Get out! Before I call the cops.”

  Deacon shot her a smile, gave her a chin lift and did what he did best...

  Got out while the getting was good.

  “Four fuckin’ days.”

  He lifted one eyelid and stared at his giant of a cousin who was filling the doorway of Deacon’s office.

  He had his feet kicked up on his desk with his ankles crossed, his arms crossed over his chest and he’d been trying to take a little snooze. He guessed that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He reluctantly lifted his other eyelid.

  Judge apparently had a burr up his ass today.

  Deacon just might be that burr.

  “Last I checked there are seven days in a week, not four. Learn to count, cuz.”

  Judge took a step into the office and shoved Deacon’s feet off his desk. “Four fuckin’ days to do a job that shoulda taken two.”

  “Got sidetracked.”

  “Yeah, like normal. By pussy.”

  “It was decent pussy.” Otherwise he would’ve been home a day earlier.

  “Glad you were havin’ fun while my ass was back here takin’ our business seriously.”

  “Hey, I got the job done and the money should be hittin’ our account any day now.”

  Judge only grunted.

  His cousin and business partner couldn’t argue that because it was true. They were getting a nice little chunk of change for Deacon finding a fugitive out in the boonies of northern Pennsylvania. The skip had
been hiding out in a hunting cabin in the woods, where cell phone coverage was sketchy, and the neighbors consisted of mostly white-tail deer, black bear and squirrels. And a few backwoods rednecks.

  Despite that, Deacon managed to track down the bail jumper, get him cuffed and deliver him to the nearest police station for the bondsman to come haul his ass back to Jersey.

  It actually only took him a day and a half. But Deacon wasn’t bringing up that point right now. Not when he had a scowling giant standing a couple feet away from him.

  Fee-fi-fo-fum.

  “What’s up your ass anyway? Is Cassie findin’ herself unsatisfied with your baby carrot cock and forcin’ you to fuck your Fleshlight again?”

  “Got nothin’ to do with Cassie.”

  “Then, why you bein’ a dick?”

  Judge planted his knuckles on Deacon’s desk and leaned over until they were face to face. “’Cause I can.”

  “Whatever. Be Mr. Grumpy McGrumpFace all you want. I still wuv you.” He puckered his lips and made kissing sounds at Judge. “You need a hug?”

  “Need you to take your fuckin’ job seriously.”

  “This ain’t a job, Judge. It’s my business, too.”

  “Then fuckin’ act like it!” his cousin bellowed.

  Justice, his American Bulldog, got up from lying at Deacon’s feet to come around the desk. He nudged Judge with his nose.

  “Jussie don’t like you yellin’, just sayin’.”

  “Then stop makin’ me do it.”

  Deacon’s cell phone rang and vibrated at the same time. Unknown Number popped up on his screen. He snagged the phone off his desk and put it to his ear. “Deacon Edwards, skip tracer extraordinaire and all around awesome badass.”

  He grinned as Judge rolled his green eyes.

  “This Justice Bail Bonds?” the male with a heavy accent on the other end asked.

  He sat straight up in his chair. “Yeah, it is.”

  “This is Anthony Bianchi from Bianchi Bail Bonds...”

  “Okay?” Deacon hit the speaker button on his phone and placed his cell on the desk so Judge could listen, too.

  “From Philly,” the man finished.

  So, that was the accent. Fucking Philly. He hated that city. It was almost like Jersey, but way worse. It was Jersey’s sweaty armpit.

  Even so, the guy was acting like they should have heard about Bianchi Bail Bonds. Like they were famous or something.

  “Yeah, so...” Deacon prodded.

  “Yeah, so got ya numba from anotha bondsman. He said you’re good at trackin’ down these fuckwads when they skip.”

  Well, that sounded like a glowing review. His eyes met Judge’s. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  “I need betta than good.”

  “I’m betta than good,” Deacon repeated with a smirk.

  There was a pause on the other end of the call. “You makin’ fun of my accent?”

  He nodded while answering, “Nope. So, what d’you need from us?”

  “Got a skip that might end up in your area. This guy’s a real piece of work, though. Domestic abuse. Sexual assault. Attempted murder. How tha fucka got bond, who fuckin’ knows. Probably some asshole judge who’s worried about tha man’s reputation ratha than the victim’s right to live without fea.”

  Fea? Deacon rolled his eyes. For fuck’s sake, fear.

  This dude was worried about victim’s rights? He was making scratch off that “fucka.”

  “Also, tha asshole’s got no problem with witness intimidation.”

  “So, he’s dangerous,” Deacon concluded.

  “That’s what I’m sayin’,” Anthony said. “He’s been in and out of jail, likes to use and abuse women. Sweet talks ‘em for a while, gets in good with ‘em, then boom, runs up their credit cards, wipes out their bank accounts, and’s got no problem thinkin’ he’s a man by makin’ a woman do what she don’t wanna do. I got two sistas, I don’t got time for that kinda trash, hear what I’m sayin’?”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” Deacon muttered. He didn’t have time for that kind of trash, either. Jemma might be his cousin, but she was more like a sister to him and he wouldn’t want a man doing that to her. Or any other woman.

  “Anyhow, he’s bad fuckin’ news. That means if you take this job and you see ‘im, you gotta watch yourself. Make sure you got protection. I wouldn’t put it past ‘im to take a shot at ya. I wouldn’t put it past him to take out tha woman. Which is why I’m callin’ ya.” The man hacked a couple of times, not bothering to cover the phone when he did so. “Last woman he fucked up and drained dry is now up near you in Mansfield. Probably tryin’ to hide out ‘til the trial. But now the mothefucka’s probably lookin’ for her to either convince her to drop the charges or make her disappea.”

  Like swim with the fishes type of disappearing?

  “You notify Mansfield PD?” Deacon asked him.

  “Yeah, first call I made.”

  “They probably don’t have enough people to sit on her full time.”

  “That’s why you were my second call.”

  Deacon could hear the unspoken “dumbass” on the end of that. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to get her a damn bodyguard?”

  “Prolly, but that ain’t my problem. My problem’s findin’ tha fucka and deliverin’ him to the court and gettin’ my fuckin’ money back. I’m a business, not a babysitta. The victim has to look out for her own ass. It was her fault for gettin’ involved with this putz in tha first place.”

  So, Bianchi was saying the victim pretty much deserved what she got. Fucking great.

  “She the only victim involved in his current case?”

  “Yeah. He did a numba on her, and guess she wasn’t gonna take it lyin’ down.”

  “Good for her,” Deacon muttered.

  “Not so good for her, if this whacko finds her.”

  “He got connections? Like, does he have the assets to take out a hit on her?”

  “Nah. He’s just a broke-ass losa. Gets his jollies from breakin’ women, physically and financially.”

  “So, what are you askin’ me to do?” Deacon asked, scraping a hand down his beard.

  “Snag his ass and hold ‘im for me.”

  “You sure he’s comin’ up this way?”

  “Nope. But if I can find the victim, so can he.”

  “She aware he skipped?”

  “Don’t fuckin’ know. Again, not my problem. That’s tha DA’s problem.”

  The District Attorney for the City and County of Philadelphia probably had way bigger problems and cases than one domestic abuse incident. Their office was most likely overwhelmed.

  “So, ya interested?” Bianchi asked.

  Deacon met Judge’s eyes. His cousin gave him a slight chin jerk.

  “Depends on what it’s payin’,” Deacon said after a few seconds.

  “I’ll give ya ten.”

  A measly ten percent? Deacon shook his head and laughed. “Then no, ain’t interested. ‘Specially if this asshole’s violent.”

  “Twelve then.”

  “No.”

  “Whadya want? No guarantee he’s headin’ up your way.”

  “Right, that means I might be wastin’ a lot of time sittin’ on the vic if he decides to go underground and forget she ever existed.”

  “Got a feelin’ he won’t forget her. He’s tha kinda dick who don’t like a bitch gettin’ tha better of ‘im.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He might go underground, then pop up like a weasel when she least expects ‘im, slice her damn throat and then go back into his hidey-hole. He’s tha kinda dumbass who thinks if there’s no witness, tha charges will be dropped.”

  “Again, sounds like she needs a bodyguard. Not my area of expertise.”

  “And again, that’s her problem, not mine.”

  Judge blew out a breath and shook his head.

  Deacon was sure his expression matched Judge’s annoyed one. This guy was a total fucking asshole. But, in truth, the man was
right, his job had been to provide a bond for a criminal. That was it. He wasn’t a crusader of justice.

  But then, neither was Deacon or Judge.

  He pursed his lips and considered what the job may be worth. “Twenty-five percent.”

  “Cazzo! I’ll find someone cheapa.”

  “You get what you pay for, Bianchi. You get fucked if he’s not captured. Somethin’s better than nothin’, right?”

  Through the phone, Deacon heard fingers drumming against what he figured was a desk, so he stayed quiet and waited.

  “Twenty,” Bianchi countered.

  “Twenty-five. Last chance or I’m hangin’ up. Don’t got time for these fuckin’ games.” He needed to stare at the back of his eyelids soon. Bianchi was interrupting his nap.

  “All right. You drive a hard bargain. Twenty-five.”

  Deacon smiled up at Judge. His cousin didn’t return that smile. “Email us the bond, docket, photos, any info I’m gonna need.” He rattled off the business email address. “Soon.”

  “Gonna get it to ya in the next half hour.”

  “I’ll be in touch if I got any questions. You find him first, let me know.” Deacon ended the call before getting a response. He leaned back in his comfy office chair and folded his arms behind his head. “What you thinkin’?”

  Judge shook his head. “Just wonderin’ what pussy you’re gonna fall into while in Mansfield.”

  “Don’t be a hater. Not ready to settle down like you, old man.”

  “Then hopefully you’re wrappin’ it tight when you go divin’.”

  “Also not makin’ the same mistake you did. Learned from you to never trust a fuckin’ woman.” He grinned. “’Cept for Mom. I trust her.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” Judge threw at him as he walked out of Deacon’s office.

  “What does that mean?” Deacon yelled.

  Judge paused right outside the door. “When she used to tell you all the cookies or pie were gone? She was just savin’ that shit for me.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Keep tellin’ you, I was the son she never had.” A snort came from down the hall.

  Justice sat down next to him and whined. “Guess you’re gonna be hangin’ with Bubba Grump for a few days. I got some scratch to make.” The bulldog laid his head on Deacon’s lap and turned his chocolate brown eyes up at him. “Would take you along if I could, believe me. You can hang with ya sista. And Daisy.” He rubbed Jussie’s head. “And make sure you take a huge shit in the giant’s boots. I’ll give you extra treats when I get back if you do.”