STEEL TITANS MC BOOK 4
FRANCA STORM
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
RIDING DIRTY. Steel Titans MC. Book Four.
Copyright © Franca Storm (2021). All rights reserved.
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~Slade~
UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE.
I was pissed.
Nah, beyond pissed.
Being called down here, basically summonedweren’t something I was down for. People came to me. I sorted shit on my terms, when and where I chose. I didn’t cater to nobody else.
It angered me that I’d had to make an exception here.
I didn’t like being railroaded.
Fuck, I’d earned the right not to be, not to have to tolerate that kind of bullshit.
Problem was, I needed this business sorted ASAP. I didn’t have time to negotiate or get the person I was meeting with to budge on their way of doing things and make them submit to me and my way.
I cased the old brick building in front of me, followed by the surrounding area.
It was set off from the rest of the businesses in the area, everything around it basically dilapidated and deserted, leaving it alone, all to itself. Privacy, I liked that. With what I was caught up in, the way I lived as the President of Steel Titans, it had to be that way all the time.
There was no sign, no details at all, to give away what the building was all about.
Just the number.
666.
I rolled my eyes.
A bit heavy-handed.
I swung my leg over my Harley and made my way up to the entrance, constantly scanning the area as I went. Allclear .
The door was locked, but just as I was about to step back, a harsh buzzing sounded and I heard the lock release. The door opened in that creepy-ass horror movie way.
I shrugged it off. Weak try at intimidation. For a guy like me, it weren’t nowhere near easy. Fear weren’t a part of my life, or me. It took a fuck of a lot to cause that in me. Hell, my life was a goddamn horror movie.
Figuring that had been all in the past when we’d destroyed the Strikers MC and finally put down Nik had been a fool’s mistake. Living the life I did, all there could ever be was horror, pain, and death. It was a part of me and nothing was ever gonna change that.
The second I stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind me. I heard the lock clang.
I looked out at the rundown lobby. A brown leather couch that looked the worse for wear and a worn wooden side table were the only pieces of furniture, outside of the unmanned reception desk. A half dozen top-of-the-line surveillance cameras were positioned strategically all around the space.
There was a door to my left.
Nothing else.
Figuring there was no other route to go, I strode over there. But, a second before I got there, the door flew open and a shadowed figure filled the doorway.
I tensed as they stepped into the light. Goddamnit.
As much as I’d willed against it and hoped even harder than that, just the sight alone had me reacting. After all these fucking years, it affected me. Sheaffected me.
I took her in.
Her curvy body was made to torment and built for sin. In her late thirties now, her added years barely showed. She was still in impressive shape since the last time I’d laid eyes on her, packing toned muscle on her five-five frame, carrying herself like the warrior that she was. And she was still dressed to kill. Not in the hot, fuckable sense. Nah, literally dressed to murder somebody. She was covered head-to-toe in black. She had two Desert Eagles holstered at either hip of her tactical pants. A worn leather jacket was zipped down low enough to reveal a nice handful of tits stretching out a tank top. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. I watched her piercing blue eyes taking their time roaming over mewhile I did the same to her.
“Shadow,” I spoke, using her codename in an effort to put a distance between us and keep things strictly professional.
“Prez,” she returned, evenly.
That sexy rasp of her voice went right through me. It took me a second to shake it off, and then I told her, “This place is a shithole.” Especially compared to the last place we’d met at those few years back.
“Then you should feel right at home,” she shot back.
I took a step forward, not bothering to check my aggression as I did. I’d hit my limit with this whole thing. She didn’t react one bit. Just like usual. She was the first person I’d ever come across who hadn’t pissed themselves at the flare of my temper.
“I don’t take well to being ordered about. You know that, woman. Jumping through them hoops of yours—”
“Was necessary. A test.”
I stilled.
She’d cut me off.
I was all too ready to lay into her and tell her how it was gonna be from this moment out, when she stepped up to me instead.
She got in my face, that sweet vanilla scent that I remembered all too well wafting from her and distracting me for a second.
She told me all calm and collected, “If you failed to carry out the precise instructions to reach me, there would be no hope of any business deal existing between us, Slade.”
More disrespect with that attitude. It was becoming real clear that she was doing it to try to get a rise out of me. She was still testing me.
“I’mthe client here,” I growled down at her.
“And I’mthe one who’ll be shouldering most of the risk.”
“You don’t even know why I’m here, darlin'.”
A know-it-all smile spread over her face.
“Let’s talk.” She headed back through the door and down the corridor there. Just before she disappeared through another open door, she called out, “You coming?”
She might as well have crooked her fucking finger at me.
Swallowing down my growing anger, I followed after her.
The business I’d come here to take care of was bigger and more important than my pride.
I strode down the corridor, then turned left through the door that she had, finding myself entering an office.
It was nothing to write home about, even smaller than my office back at the clubhouse. It didn’t fit with her high standard of living, all the luxuries she liked to surround herself with.
What the hell was going on? Shadowwas a big gun. Operating in a rundown shithole like this didn’t fit in with none of that.
She’d already taken a seat behind the desk, so I took the one in front, staying on the edge, ready for anything, on high alert.
“You just moved in here? Bit of a dive compared to that penthouse we met at last time.”
She sank back in her chair and eyed me with amusement. “Same old Slade, asking way too many questions.”
“And you’re clearly the same old Willa Rose, with a hell of a mouth on you, asking for a shitload of trouble.”
“Actually, it keeps trouble away. I make it clear upfront that I’m not somebody to mess with.”
Scoffing, I shot to my feet.
I’d had enough.
The cryptic bull. Her major attitude. It was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. I didn’t have the patience for it, or the time.
As I strode to the door, she called out, “I was mistaken.”
“What?” I grunted over my shoulder.
“I didn’t think the notorious Slade Mitchell ran from anyone.”
“Ain’t running. I’m cutting my losses, woman.”
“Due to a bit of adversity? That’s extremely disappointing.”
I stopped short and growled low in my throat. “You’ve been pushing my buttons on purpose,” I realized.
“Yes.”
I turned back around and stormed over to her desk.
She rounded it as I did and stood there, leaning against it, like there weren’t a pissed-off biker president coming her way.
Getting in her face, I slapped my hands down either side of her hips and seethed, “Fuck with me again and you’ll regret it.”
In a move so fast and unexpected, she grabbed hold of me, spun me around and slammed me down face-first on the desk. Her elbow dug into my back, her hand fisting tightly in my hair.
The woman had some major skill to be able to put me down, even for a moment.
It had my cock waking up and taking notice.
“Why aren’t you responding?” she asked.
“I don’t hurt women, darlin'.” I chuckled nastily. “Unless they beg me for it. You know, when I’m fucking the living shit out of them?”
Her grip loosened a bit, letting me know my words had gotten under her skin.
“No, I don’tknow,” she snapped back. “You made sure of that.”
There it was.
“I did you a favor.”
She tugged at my hair, trying to hurt me physically for the emotional hurt I’d apparently inflicted upon her. Hell, she couldn’t have been more wrong about that. I’d honestly done her a favor. I weren’t gonna offer up an apology, no matter what she did. It was gonna take a lot more than just ripping some of my hair out.
Pain and me were real old friends. I didn’t let it get in the way. Actually, these days, I welcomed it. Sometimes it even got me off. I was a sick fucker, way beyond damaged.
When time ticked by and I didn’t offer up anything else, she got the message that it weren’t gonna happen and she released me roughly and stepped back.
As I got up and turned around to face her, I caught her eyes roaming over me. She bit her pouty bottom lip, then snapped out of whatever sexual fantasy had clearly been taking her over. Glaring hard at me, she said, “Don’t threaten me again.”
I tossed her a look. “Sure, let’s pretend it’s about that. Just like you making me jump through hoops for this meet.”
“I had no choice after the last time. I had to make sure you really wanted to go down this road this time.”
“Things changed with that last job. I improvised.”
“And cut me out without any warning.”
“I did what I had to do.”
“Spoken like a true wildcard. Your recklessness, your penchant for going off-book when the mood suits you, instability, resistance to following orders… that’swhy I’m being extra cautious and intense this time around.”
“Don’t do me no favors, darlin’. You don’t want my business, just turn me away.”
Our gazes clashed, eyes locking.
Intensity flared between us.
Heat, too, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.
I pushed through that and focused on what else I was seeing from her, what I knew real well about her.
She couldn’t pass up a challenge. Ever.
Breaking eye contact, and slumping back in her chair, she told me, “I promised Ricky I’d hear you out.”
“Rick Vale? You two know each other?” That was something I wasn’t up on. Both of them had played that real close to the vest.
“We’ve worked together once or twice,” she answered evasively.
“Against Nik Stone?”
She nodded. “Rick needed assistance with reining him in more than once over the years. Ronny was our first official job together.”
“Their old VP. You must’ve got there late, because he was with the club until his last breath. He had a heart attack.”
She grinned. “Thank you for the compliment.”
Realization hit me. “Jesus. Made it look natural. Damn, that was fucking good.”
“It’s what I do, how good I am. You would’ve experienced that firsthand if you hadn’t ridden roughshod over me with your own conflicting strategy against our target back then.”
“You gonna move past that and the… other thing, or are we dead in the water here?”
The seconds ticked on by, stretching like a bitch of a thing. Then she steepled her fingers, eyeing me. “Fill me in. What’s this all about?”
“The Strikers.”
She cursed under her breath.
Yeah, I figured it wouldn’t go over well.
“Lovely,” she groused.
~Willa~
LIFE AND DEATH.
Those were the stakes of my business. I accepted it, respected it, and I had measures in place to protect myself and my clients from succumbing to the latter. I played it smart.
I had the codename, Shadow, for a reason. I stayed in the dark and kept my clients’ involvement rooted there too, so that neither party’s involvement was detected. There was also a deeper meaning to it. I worked in darkness, committed dark acts, but all for the greater good, for the purpose of unveiling the light. I cast out evil with darkness, to bring in the light, to make the world a better place. Unfortunately, only darkness could conquer darkness. You had to get down to that level and mix around in the dirt in order to plant the seeds that would breed life and a better day for all.
Basically, my role was to broker peace between enemies. Just not via diplomatic means. No, I was the one who was called in when all attempts at the peaceable route had failed, when there was no reconciliation, or resolution through natural means. I took out the problematic elements to force a peace. I selectedmy kills in a very logical and safe way, in order to protect my clients andmyself.
Mine was a dangerous business, I had to ensure I employed safeguards.
One of those safeguards meant avoiding unruly, reckless elements.
Another was forgoing emotional involvement and never making a decision, or a mission, personal.
Right away, that put two strikes against Slade Mitchell.
Informing me that the job he wanted me to take on involved the Strikers Motorcycle Club made it all a hell of a lot worse.
Because of what he’d done recently.
He’d taken down a club, committed a massacre. Going anywhere near that right now was dangerous. The situation was still hot. He’d managed to cover up his involvement due to his impressive resources and calling in a ton of favors that he’d earned over the years. Buthe could only maintain that state by lying low and ensuring he and his club remained on their best behavior for a long time to come.
“The Strikers MC is decimated. The war is won.”
“They ain’t all gone, darlin'.”
“They went their separate ways with no intention of reviving the Strikers. You’re monitoring them as well, as I understand it.”
“I don’t wanna be monitoringthem.”
“Why not?”
“Why’d you think? I don’t want any threats out there, nobody who’s gonna make a comeback a few years down the road. I want it done.”
Something wasn’t right here.
It just didn’t make sense, not from what I knew of Slade.
“You’ve never shied away from trouble coming your way before. What’s changed?”
I could see him starting to get agitated again by my probing. He was a leader, he didn’t like having his decisions and reasoning questioned, especially not to such an extent. Unfortunately, he’d have to suck it up if he wanted my help, because it was the cost of doing business with me.
Blowing out a breath, he looked me right in the eye and revealed, “I’m tired, darlin'.”
Oh.
I hadn’t expected that.
The guy was a machine, nothing seemed to slow him down, to stop him. He steamrolled over any and all obstacles that stood in his way. Besides, he was still young, especially for a MC president, only forty-seven, just ten years my senior. The shape he was in, I would have pegged him as at least a decade younger, if I hadn’t already known a great deal about him. He was tall, standing a few inches over six feet. His black leather jacket stretched across his linebacker shoulders. His broad chest and pecs filled out his black tee in an impressive way, the outline of his six-pack visible through the thin material. I could see some of his ink peeking out from the right side of the tee, stretching up to just below his neck. He gave off quite the intimidating edge.
Fortunately, I wasn’t someone easily intimidated, and it actually had the opposite effect on me. It intrigued me.
“Tired?”
“Yeah.”
It took me a moment, but the pieces fell into place quickly enough. “You want out? From the club?”
“I’ve had a good run.”
“So, you think taking out the few stragglers from the Strikers MC will facilitate that?”
“That and one more thing I’m taking care of.”
“One more thing?”
He grinned slyly. “Nah. That ain’t a part of this. That stays with me.”
“If this thingyou’re talking about involves assassination, it sure as hell involves me. We can’t both be launching strikes at the same time. Youare the common denominator. It will obviously lead back to you and—”
“And what?” he asked, sitting forward in his chair and grasping my desk. “That’s where it’s gonna stop. It ain’t gonna come back on you, because there won’t be a trace of this deal between us. I know you hide your shit well. And I don’t give people up.” He rolled his eyes. “If you’re still worried, know that I ain’t gonna be around for it
to even come back on me, so it ain’t gonna have no hope of touching youanyway.”
“What does that mean? You’re going to ground, is that it?”
He ran a hand through his thick head of hair, mostly black, with a smattering of dark-gray here and there. “Yeah. That’s what it fucking means.”
Color me shocked.
So, he wasn’t just tired, he was done. With the club.
With everything.
The surprise of it all had me pausing with my response.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he teased.
I couldn’t help smiling. “Seems that way, yes.” Blowing out a breath, I leaned back in my chair and eyed him questioningly. “That’s a hell of a thing. You’ve been club your whole life.”
“And you’ve been doing this kinda thing all yours. You really gonna tell me you ain’t never thought about getting out and walking away from all this?”
I shrugged. “Maybe once or twice.”
He scrutinized me. “Nah, you’re lying. Seems I ain’t the only tired one here, yeah?”
This was getting far too personal.
So, I shut it down quickly. Straightening and squaring my shoulders, I held out my hand to him. “I trust you brought the specs with you?”
He gave me a look that let me know he was onto my forced subject change to get the heat off myself. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and tossed a wad of papers onto my desk.
“Is this everything you have on the proposed targets?” I asked, as I began scanning them to see what I was working with.
“Yeah. They ain’t major players, not in life, and not when they were with the Strikers.”
Despite that, as I flipped through the documents, it was clear his research was fairly expansive. He’d certainly come prepared.
“Okay. Let me evaluate the targets and I’ll come back to you with a decision.”
“What?” he barked. “You put me through this bull and you ain’t gonna take on the job?”
“I didn’t say that. I need time to weigh the risks, to determine if a sure-fire plan can be formulated.”
“There ain’t no such thing as sure-firein our world.”
“I like to get as close to it as possible.”
“Bullshit.”
I leaned forward and told him firmly, “This is my process. You came to me, Slade. You wanted my cautious approach for a reason. If I had to guess, it has a hell of a lot to do with your extremely high-risk takedown of Nik Stone and the major players of the Strikers Motorcycle Club. The fallout has tied your hands. You need to continue to lay low and be seen as operating above board for a long time. You can’tactively target these remaining former members without risking exposure and incurring the wrath of the law. Iam your only choice.” I rose to my feet. “So, with that in mind, how about you summon somesemblance of patience and let me do my damned job, yes?”
I took in his reaction and he seemed an odd mixture of pissed and turned-on.
His eyes ran the length of my body, taking in every inch of me, like he was imprinting a mental picture in his memory. Or, more like cementing the first one he’d already catalogued of me from a few years back.
He abruptly got to his feet and smirked at me. “All right.”
“All right?”
“Yeah, you got yourself a deal.”
He held out his hand.
Confused by his sudden easy acceptance, I reached out and clasped it.
As we shook hands firmly, he winked at me. “Like your style. Always have.”
“I thought it pissed you off beyond belief.”
“People go out of their way not to piss me off. Takes guts to go the other route, to stand your ground against a man like me. You’re one of the few. I respect that. Plus, it means you ain’t gonna hold back on the truth and I like that, big time.”
I smiled. Just when you thought you’d figured him out, he threw something else out there that had you recalibrating everything.
He pulled his hand away and actually had the good manners to push his chair in before he started for the door. As he pulled it open, he turned back to me and asked, “A week’s time, yeah?”
“We’ll see.”
“All right. Be seeing ya, Willa.”
~Slade~
AFUCKINGGODDESS. Curvesfordays. Soft,goldenhairwrappedaroundmyfist. Eyessuckingmeindeep. Lipstastinglikesin. Hertight,wetpussystranglingmycockwithavise-grip. Sweatpouring. Bodiesslamming. Nailsscraping. Tonguestasting. Teethbiting. Hard.Dirty.Roughasallhell. Thekindafuckthatstayedwithyou. Shameitweren’treal.
My eyes snapped open and reality came slamming back. I grunted with agitation at being pulled from such a hot and heavy dream. Normally, when I closed my eyes for more than a few minutes, there was just hell on the other side. Nightmares full of darkness, pain and death. Somehow, she’dcut through all that. Willa Rose.
Such a sweet name for a major hardass with balls of fucking steel.
The damn woman had gotten inside my head somehow, affected me. That meeting was supposed to be straight-up business. But there was just something about her.
It’d hit me in the gut the very first moment we’d met and each time I’d encountered her since, I’d gone from being on the verge of exploding with rage to being damn near desperate to fuck her all over, every-fucking-where possible. I’d never met anybody who’d managed to rile me up like that.
I needed to get a grip. I couldn’t be thinking like this. Especially not about somebody I was doing dangerous business with. Not about nobody else either. I didn’t take a liking to a woman. I never let myself connect that way. I got my rocks off when I needed to and that was as far as it went. One shot deals. My life wasn’t built for anything beyond that. It was just more hassle and bullshit stress. Being Prez of Steel Titans brought me more than enough of that.
Sure, if everything went to plan in the next while, I’d no longer have that burden on my back. But even then I couldn’t imagine going that route with any woman again. Been there, done that. And I had the scars to prove it. Going there meant being open, vulnerable. And that weren’t me. That kinda trust didn’t come easy for me, let alone when it came to the damaged, dangerous people I met in my screwed-up world.
With a growl of frustration that my mind had wandered down that road, I tossed the cheap-ass scratchy covers off and climbed out of bed.
I had shit to do.
First thing was first, though. I needed to check in with the club. I snatched my phone off the bedside table and dialed. I didn’t have to wait long until it picked up. It was a good sign that things were in order while I was off territory. “Liam. How’s things?”
“Hey, Prez. All good here.”
“You sure? Nothing to report?”
“Nah. Business is running smoothly. No security issues. The boys are all getting along.”
“Good.”
“How’s your vacation working out?”
“Fine.”
“Yeah?” he pressed. It was obvious he wanted more, but I weren’t gonna give him that.
“Yeah,” I said firmly, making it clear not to push it further. There was a brief pause on his end, then he said, “Okay, Prez. Stay safe.”
“Will do. Later.”
I hung up and blew out a breath.
Me and him had been through a whole thing about keeping secrets and he’d even gotten it in his head that I didn’t trust him, because I’d gone that route. But this was different. I couldn’t bring it to him until I had things sorted. If this mission failed, then it would slam the lid shut on my plans of leaving Steel Titans anyway. There weren’t no point getting the club all riled up for nothing. Me being away was a real good test to see whether they could pull it together without my leadership. Liam had come a long way recently. He had the instincts there.
Me being out of the picture for a bit was gonna help him to trust in them. Mason had shit locked down when it came to security. It was also a major load off for him that Cole had finally calmed the hell down now that he’d settled with Natasha and their kid.
Internally, things were primed for me to step down. It was just external issues that were throwing up a roadblock.
The Strikers side of things should be covered by Willa. I didn’t see no reason why she wouldn’t take up my case once she looked into all the shit she’d insisted on.
That just left the big gun for me to handle.
Adrian Nolan.
A real fucked-up result of my reckless, younger days. Back then, I’d been out of control. And because of that misspent youth and my foolish belief in my own invincibility, I’d racked up a load of enemies. Over the years, I’d managed to take them down.
Nolan was the only one left now. He wasn’t actively gunning for me, but I knew a lot of that was to do with the club. He knew our
code. If you came at one of us, you came at all of us. He didn’t want to risk that kind of blowback. But the second I left the brotherhood and went out on my own, he’d come for me. There was no doubt in my mind.
We had a score to settle. And guys like us never let that kind of thing go.
4
~Slade~
SLEAZY .
That didn’t even cover it.
Indulgedefinitely lived up to its name. I’d been in dozens of strip joints in my time, but this was another level.
It didn’t follow no rules neither. That shit bothered me. Rules meant order and things running smoothly. Rules meant respect. This place had none of that. There weren’t even no such thing as keeping hands-off the dancers. It was a goddamn free for all. I liked a rough and wild time, but this was just demented shit.
Just like the asshole I was here to see.
He hung out here the same time every week. Friday night. He spent his time in one of the VIP rooms screwing around with one stripper in particular. Chardonnay. Hell, they weren’t just strippers here. That was an insult to exotic dancers everywhere. Nah, they were whores. This place called itself a strip club, but it was a fucking brothel. They kept that part of it to the backrooms, though, to keep it off the general public’s radar. Only those approvedwere allowed back there.
It was just one of the fucked-up businesses that prick, Adrian Nolan, ran.
As President of Steel Titans, I’d done some bad stuff, been on the wrong side of the law, and I had blood on my hands. But even with all that, there were some lines I’d never cross. We had a code with the club, one I busted my ass to enforce. And part of that was that women and kids were off limits. Fucking always.
Nolan didn’t get that.
All he didget was money and power. He could never have enough of it. He was always working toward gaining more of both. The cost never mattered to him. Nothing was sacred to him. When I’d first come across him about a decade ago, it’d rubbed me the wrong way. Back then, I hadn’t known the meaning of the cautious, safe approach. I’d just let my gut lead me. I’d just reacted. It had bit me in the ass with him. He hadn’t been able to let go of what I’d done to him. Every year, he’d call me up and remind me that he’d be coming for me the second Steel Titans fell, the second I stepped out from the protection of the club.
Nah, I couldn’t be having that.
I’d shown mercy to him before, but that had been a mistake. You could only defeat people like him by getting down to their level. You couldn’t pull any punches, because then they’d get back up in time and come for you harder than you went at them.
Timetofixallthat.
I chugged back more of my scotch. It was some shitty kind. It tasted like it’d been watered down. Didn’t surprise me that much, given how cheap I knew Nolan to be. I might as well have ordered it on the rocks, instead of my usual neat go-to.
I eyed my watch. I’d been here for thirty minutes, wanting to get a lay of the land before he showed up at his ridiculously predictable time.
Sure enough, as I looked out toward the corridor that led to the backrooms, I saw the asshole himself striding down there.
It’d been a few years since I’d laid eyes on him, but he hadn’t changed. Still a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
That three-thousand-dollar pinstripe suit and the expensive cufflinks and jewelry was all in perfect place in a wasted attempt to hide his true fucked-up nature from the world. His bleached-blond
hair was drier than ever, after dying it for so long to ward off the gray, a mark of age that he just couldn’t accept. He’d had so many face lifts that his skin looked more plastic than real. The guy was playing at being a twenty-something kid, unwilling to accept that he was coming up fast on his fifties.
He didn’t know the meaning of keeping shit real. The asshole was hella deluded. And that kind of wild, unhinged thinking made him all the more dangerous.
He didn’t get far toward his destination until he was stopped by one of his suited security guards. The guy leaned down and whispered in his ear. Nolan pulled at his goatee as his gaze shot straight to me all the ways across the room, chilling in a red velvet booth.
I held up my scotch glass and flashed him a shit-eating grin.
To say he looked pissed was a major understatement.
Good.
I wanted him that way. On edge.
Reacting with emotion.
It would make it more likely that he’d slip up.
He started over my way, holding up his hand behind him to signal his security guard to hang back. That limp of his didn’t escape my notice. Seeing as though I’d caused it, it made it all the more noticeable to me. I felt my body tense, my mind shifting to a highly alert state with every step he took closer to me. I kept it from my face though. Showing a reaction to a man like him was a weakness. When he reached me, I pushed my scotch glass off to the side and held his fierce glare as he took me in.
“Got a death wish, Slade?” he seethed.
I took in the six-inch jagged scar etched into his left cheek. Again, something else I’d put there. “Got the hang of using make-up to hide it a bit, yeah?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “You piece of shit.”
“Right back at ya.”
I watched him draw in a breath, his fists clenching as he struggled to both hide and control the rage I’d awakened in him.
Underneath all that hardcore security at his back, all his bravado, he weren’t nothing but a weak man.
“So, your club’s waiting in the wings, surrounding the place?”
“They got no idea I’m here.”
Our eyes locked.
He looked nervous. He clearly didn’t like that I seemed so confident coming in here alone to histerritory surrounded by his high-priced security team. “Whatever your plan is, even if you somehow succeed, you’ll be all over the surveillance footage. The law will come down on you hard and lock you up for the rest of your pathetic, miserable life.” He leaned in close to me, the move he’d always used to intimidate his enemies or those he’d wanted to manipulate into seeing things his way. “You can’t do a thing to me here.”
“I guess you got nothing to fear then,” I said, meeting his fierce glare head-on, as I rose to my feet, forcing him to drop back. “So, how about you stop stalling and show me up to your office to get these negotiations underway, yeah?”
A menacing look came over his face. He clearly thought he knew something I didn’t, had something in store for me. We’llsee aboutthat.
It took him a moment, then he finally said, “Let’s have that talk.”
He led the way out of the seating area and off the public area of the club. Just as we were about to turn down a corridor, one of his suited security guards hurried up to him.
Nolan tried to keep his voice low, but he was too riled up to pull it off and it came out as some whisper-yelling hybrid instead, enabling me to hear every word.
“Whythefuckdidn’tyougivemeaheadsuponhimbeing here?It’sjustbychanceIsawhimsittinginmyclubwhenIwas headeddownheretoliaisewithChardonnay.”
Liaise?That was a real fancy-ass word for fucking.
“Hedidn’tpopuponthesurveillancefootage.”
I smiled to myself. Damn straight, I hadn’t. I’d made sure of it. “Howisthatpossible?”
“Noidea,boss.We’relookingintoit.Maybehesnuckinhere.”
“We’vegottoomanycamerasinhereforthattobea possibility.He’snotthatstealthy.Soundslikewhathappenedisyou foolsweresleepingonthejoborsomething.”
“No.Iswear . ”
Knowing Nolan as well as I did, I doubted it was just the prospect of being fired that was striking fear into his employee. I wasn’t gonna let some innocent pay for what I’ddone, even if the guy had been stupid enough to get mixed up working for the likes of Adrian Nolan. Before I left here, I’d make sure they knew the truth. I had enough blood on my hands without adding collateral damage to the charges.
Nolan waved the security guy off, then crooked his finger at me to continue on after him toward his office. I gritted my teeth at the insult of the gesture. But I left it at that.
This wasn’t about pride. It was about what was necessary. Besides, he’d get his. Sooner than he realized.
I followed him around a corner down a corridor that was lit with blue pot lights.
A few more feet and closed doors along the way and we finally made it to his office.
He opened the door and stormed in ahead.
“Shut the door,” he muttered over his shoulder.
Eyes narrowed at him giving me a command, I kicked the thing shut.
He spun around at the rough slam that reverberated through the room. The look on his face was all I needed to calm down a notch or two. He was pissed that I’d scuffed the door with the heel of my motorcycle boot. Everything had to be perfect and pristine with him.
Just like the inside of his office.
It was as overdone and as needlessly luxurious as I remembered it being the last time I’d set foot inside. Flashy artwork hung on the walls in gold frames. Big-ass, hand-crafted mahogany furniture filled the space. A desk took up at least a third of the massive space. A portable bar over in the seating area boasted the
most expensive liquor I’d ever laid eyes on. So, he served his customers shit, but enjoyed the best there was to offer for himself? It was the opposite of what he was going for. Class. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t just buy that. You either had it or you didn’t.
The other thing he’d never had that pissed me off more than anything?
Honor.
“Neanderthal,” he muttered under his breath. He gave me a sour look, then turned and strolled behind his desk. “Have a seat and we’ll discuss this like civilized men.”
I walked over one careful step at a time, sensing something was off. I’d felt it the moment he’d invited me to join him in his office. The history between us didn’t fit with that. I knew he usually handled that sort of thing out back in the piss-soaked alley.
He flicked his suit jacket open, then shrugged it off and hung it over the back of his chair. Then he started uncuffing his shirt sleeves and slowly and deliberately rolling them up to his elbows.
That was when I knew.
There was no civilizeddiscussionin our near future.
He was preparing for a fight.
Hell, he’d brought me in here to kill me.
As he moved behind his desk, I watched his hand brush against the smooth wood.
Did he really think that would get past me?
There was a silent alarm under there.
He was bringing his security team in to do his dirty work. Or, so he thought.
I took a seat in one of the high-backed chairs in front of his desk, lounging back casually.
His eyes strayed to the clock over the door. Anxiety spiked in them.
“Waiting on something?”
His gaze snapped to mine. “What have you done?”
I just shrugged. If he didn’t have the smarts to figure it out, he really didn’t deserve to know.
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Le fameux chevalier Gaspard de Besse
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Le fameux chevalier Gaspard de Besse ses dernières aventures
Author: Jean Aicard
Release date: March 7, 2024 [eBook #73118]
Language: French
Original publication: Paris: Ernest Flammarion, 1919
Credits: Véronique Le Bris, Laurent Vogel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by the Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF/Gallica)) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LE FAMEUX CHEVALIER GASPARD DE BESSE ***
JEAN AICARD
de l’Académie française
CHAPITRE PREMIER
Dans la prison, Gaspard qui a tout le loisir de méditer sur sa vie passée et de songer à de nouveaux projets, pressent que, dans la gorgerette d’une chaste pucelle, il trouvera la clef des champs
La prison de l’Observance est encore visible dans la partie haute du vieux Draguignan, et assez voisine de la maison dite Maison du Bourreau.
Elle a quelque chose de naïf, cette prison historique où fut enfermé Gaspard de Besse.
Bien qu’ayant un judas, la porte qui donne sur la rue est assez semblable à toutes les portes massives des maisons voisines :
mêmes dimensions, même aspect paisible, innocent. La porte ouverte, on se trouve dans un étroit vestibule ; et, à trois pas devant soi, on a l’entrée du cachot principal, à vrai dire un simple cabinet noir ; mais un reste de ferrures, scellé dans les murs, atteste que, tout de même, les prisonniers devaient être, en un tel réduit, assez misérables pour satisfaire la vindicte publique. Seulement, du cachot à la rue, il n’y avait littéralement qu’un saut. Et ce saut, tout prisonnier le faisait en rêve nuit et jour Beaucoup s’évadaient, pour peu qu’ils pussent récompenser les complaisances du geôlier. Et les procès-verbaux d’évasion étaient remarquablement nombreux dans toutes les villes de France.
Si le mur de son cachot eût été seulement percé d’un fénestron donnant sur la verte campagne, Gaspard eût considéré le temps de sa captivité comme une halte reposante, favorable à la lecture et à la réflexion.
C’est à la lueur d’un calèn qu’il lisait tout le jour.
M. de Tervieille, en lui faisant parvenir divers ouvrages d’histoire, avait, à prix d’or, obtenu du geôlier que le prisonnier pût s’éclairer de la pauvre petite lampe de fer, suspendue à un clou et qui donnait une lamentable mais suffisante clarté au lecteur assidu. Quand il ne lisait pas, Gaspard réfléchissait, la nuit surtout.
Non sans guetter l’occasion de s’évader, il prit ainsi son mal en patience.
Il médita sur son existence passée et sur son avenir ; se raconta plus d’une de ses propres aventures, s’interrogea sur ses sentiments. Il vécut un peu à la façon d’un novice sincère qui, tout de suite, du fond de son couvent, juge plus librement et mieux les conflits humains, les méprise même, et, en vérité, s’élève à des pensées qui lui étaient étrangères au temps où il vivait dans le siècle.
Il y a toute une littérature qui, au XIXe siècle, s’est appliquée à montrer le paysan de France comme étant toujours un être sordide, uniquement préoccupé de s’arrondir, incapable de s’élever à une vraie vie morale, une sorte de végétal-animal, n’ayant d’autre souci
que celui de satisfaire ses appétits. Cette figure du paysan a passé pour rigoureusement ressemblante, jusqu’au jour où, lancé dans la guerre pour la défense du sol, le paysan français a été proclamé un héros, compréhensif et conscient. Peut-être est-il juste de dire que la nécessité d’être héroïque a paru transfigurer l’homme de France ; les circonstances n’ont fait que mettre en lumière des sentiments qui existaient en lui virtuellement ; ces sentiments, les circonstances ne les ont pas créés mais seulement fait éclater ; l’homme de la terre ne s’est élevé à la hauteur des événements qu’en se relevant de toute sa taille, courbé qu’il était sous les fardeaux d’une vie quotidienne qui exigeait cette attitude. Ce n’est pas devenir grand tout à coup que montrer soudainement toute sa stature, en se redressant.
Quelque opinion que l’on ait sur Jean-Jacques Rousseau, on est bien forcé de convenir que ce valet n’était pas un sot. Épictète fut un esclave, ce qui prouve que pour penser noblement, il n’est pas nécessaire d’être empereur comme Marc-Aurèle. Tous les apôtres n’étaient que de pauvres diables, de très humbles pêcheurs ; et ils comprirent mieux que les princes des prêtres la plus sublime des paroles que l’âme humaine ait jamais entendues. Gaspard, fils de paysan, avait, nous le savons, une intelligence des plus vives, servie par une mémoire infaillible. Il avait beaucoup lu ; il s’appliqua à lire beaucoup dans sa prison, car il croyait en son étoile et il ne doutait pas de sa prochaine libération.
Dans l’ombre de ce cachot sans air, où il passa bien des semaines, ses bras, chargés d’une chaîne assez légère quoique solide, soulevaient le livre vers la clarté fumeuse de son calèn ; et il s’instruisait avidement.
Le Voyage de Provence, écrit par M. l’abbé Papon, tout particulièrement l’intéressa. Il y retrouvait ses itinéraires de coureur des bois, de routier ; les paysages familiers de sa province ; des anecdotes sur ses plus célèbres compatriotes, parmi lesquels deux surtout lui apparurent comme dignes d’attention et de sympathie : le
marseillais Adraman et le toulonnais Paul qui, de ce pauvre prénom, fit un nom illustre.
Adraman tout enfant, fut, par des parents qui vivaient dans la misère, embarqué comme moussaillon sur un petit navire armé en course. Pris par les Turcs — tout comme devait l’être un jour l’ami Sanplan — Adraman ne fit ainsi que changer de misère. A bord du bateau pirate tunisien, il reçut des coups de garcette turque, des coups de pieds turcs et des gifles turques. Or, les mêmes traitements lui avaient d’abord été prodigués par ses concitoyens d’Europe ; en sorte que, ne pouvant établir aucune différence entre chrétiens et musulmans, il se fit Turc sans remords et bon serviteur d’Allah. Il avait du goût pour l’état de pirate et le fit bien voir, si bien voir que, dit Papon, « dans un pays où tous les hommes sont égaux par la naissance, et où ils ne sont estimés qu’en raison de leurs services (où diable, se trouve ce pays-là ?) Adraman ne tarda pas à être élevé aux premiers emplois… La mer devint son élément… Il y fit des expéditions dignes des plus grands capitaines… Le Grand Seigneur le nomma Bacha de Rhodes, ensuite amiral et général des Galères, à la place du fameux Mezomorvo ! »
Voilà une belle carrière d’aventurier ; mais, plus que tout autre, un trait de cette curieuse existence charma Gaspard.
Adraman était accoutumé à une discipline sévère.
Un jour, ce Bacha de Rhodes, suivi de quelques soldats « faisait la patrouille à Scio ». A la porte d’une maison, il vit, attachés à l’anneau du mur, trois ou quatre bourricots dont les doubles paniers de sparterie étaient chargés de pierres. Un enfant les gardait.
— Où donc sont les maîtres de ces ânes ?
— Ils sont allés prendre nourriture.
Le Bacha ne répondit rien et continua sa tournée ; mais, une heure après, repassant par là, et voyant les mêmes animaux toujours à l’attache et toujours chargés, sous la garde du même enfant :
— Va me chercher les maîtres de ces ânes, et me les amène.
Et quand les âniers furent en sa présence, Adraman leur dit :
— Avez-vous mangé de bon appétit ?
— Oui, Seigneur.
— Il est donc juste que vos ânes mangent à leur tour. Je regrette pour vous que vous ayez cru bon de leur laisser ces lourdes pierres sur l’échine pendant que vous faisiez durer plus que de raison le temps de votre repas.
Là-dessus, il leur ordonna de se tenir immobiles devant lui, à quatre pattes ; et à ses chaouchs de leur mettre sur le dos les paniers des ânes avec leur chargement de pierres, dont, à vrai dire, le poids portait en partie sur le sol mais les retenait captifs.
— A présent, leur dit ce Turc très chrétien, vous attendrez patiemment qu’à leur tour vos ânes aient mangé à leur faim… Il ne faut pas faire à autrui ce que vous ne voulez pas qui vous soit fait !…
« Quelque étrange et dure que fût la punition, dit Papon, il fallut la subir. »
Cette histoire, donc, enchantait Gaspard, le faisait à la fois rire et pleurer de satisfaction, et, bien des fois, plus tard, il la conta à sa bande.
Il est absurde de prétendre que les livres n’ont aucune influence sur la moralité des hommes. C’est avec des paraboles simples que l’Évangile a transformé la pensée humaine.
La sévérité d’Adraman lui fit des ennemis ; sa grandeur, des jaloux. Faussement accusé d’avoir voulu incendier Constantinople, il fut « condamné à perdre la vie par le cordon » et fut exécuté en 1706. L’excellent Papon déclarait qu’il était mort victime d’un « gouvernement arbitraire ».
La vie de ce Toulonnais, demeuré illustre sous le nom de chevalier Paul n’enchantait pas moins Gaspard.
Paul, simple mousse comme Adraman le Marseillais, s’éleva de cet humble état au grade de « chevalier de justice dans l’ordre de Malthe » et de vice-amiral de France. Il était fils d’une blanchisseuse. Elle était fort avancée dans sa grossesse lorsque, allant de Marseille
au Château d’If, par mauvais temps, tangage et roulis la délivrèrent brusquement. Ainsi son enfant, le futur amiral, fut un peu le fils de la mer et de la tempête, ou de « Neptune, dieu des flots ».
Paul commandait la Marine à Toulon, quand Bachaumont et Chapelle visitèrent la ville ; et leur voyage, en vers de huit pieds, lui rend hommage en ces termes :
C’est ce Paul dont l’expérience
Gourmande la mer et le vent ; Dont le bonheur et la vaillance
Rendent formidable la France
A tous les peuples du Levant.
Louis XIV, en 1660, fut reçu à Toulon par le chevalier Paul, qui lui donna une fête dans son jardin, à Dardennes.
Pour amuser les belles dames de la Cour, Paul fit suspendre, dans ses orangers, parmi les bigarrées, d’excellentes oranges confites, attachées aux branches par des fils menus, habilement dissimulés :
— Oh ! voyez, chère marquise, les belles oranges, extraordinaires d’être si douces, parmi les autres si amères !
— C’est une merveille !
— Cela ne vous étonne point ?
— Un peu sans doute ; mais les fruits du dattier, dit-on, ne sont pas moins mielleux, collants et sucrés, et se peuvent dire naturellement confits par les soins de la nature !
On se croyait dans cette Ile des Plaisirs que M. de Fénelon devait plus tard imaginer pour la joie de Monseigneur le Dauphin.
Un jour, le chevalier Paul rencontra, sur le quai de Toulon, un pauvre batelier qui, à sa vue, parut vouloir se dissimuler parmi d’autres. Paul le reconnut pour un de ses anciens camarades. Il l’appela par son nom ; et, l’homme s’étant approché, l’amiral se tournant vers ses officiers :
— Je vous présente un de mes anciens camarades de jeunesse et de misère. Souffrez, messieurs, que je m’entretienne un instant avec lui.
Il l’interrogea en particulier sur sa famille, sur ses besoins, lui témoigna beaucoup d’amitié et lui fit accorder un bon petit emploi… Paul mourut en 1667, laissant toute sa fortune aux pauvres, parmi lesquels il voulut être enterré.
— Voilà un homme ! s’écriait Gaspard qui, en lisant, dans son cachot, ce trait de la vie de Paul, versait des larmes. Nobles larmes, comme celles que firent verser à Condé, Corneille et la clémence d’Auguste.
Ces émotions de Gaspard, la préférence qu’il eut pour Adraman et le chevalier Paul — la simple et touchante bonté des actions qui leur valurent cette préférence — suffiraient à nous révéler la qualité de son grand cœur populaire ; et à nous faire comprendre pourquoi le peuple de Provence a fait de Gaspard un de ses favoris.
Gaspard, aidé par les circonstances, aurait pu avoir une destinée égale à celle des héros dont il admirait la fortune, dont il aimait surtout la bienveillance envers les existences des plus humbles.
Comme le bandit Mandrin, qui fut un vrai capitaine, Gaspard, sur un champ d’action plus vaste, eût sans doute acquis une renommée universelle ; et, dans le rang des réguliers, il eût conquis l’admiration du monde, grâce à des qualités heureuses qui ne furent pas toujours celles des chefs de peuples. Avant tout, il aimait, autant que la justice, la bonté. Et voilà déjà qui n’est pas commun. Son curé lui avait appris à faire son examen de conscience ; il le fit dans la solitude du cachot.
Il regrettait de s’être fait bandit. L’idée du juste mépris où l’on tient les voleurs lui était difficile à supporter. Cependant, si sa condition de chef de bande le mettait un jour à même de faire comprendre aux puissants que le peuple exigeait la réforme de la juridiction pénale, n’y avait-il pas quelque chose de respectable dans sa condition ? C’est du moins ce qu’il se disait. Les vols à main armée opérés courtoisement, sans violence inutile, n’étaient à ses
yeux qu’un impôt prélevé par lui pour l’entretien de sa troupe, à laquelle il ne permettait aucun pillage. Des tributs volontaires rendaient les vols de jour en jour moins nombreux. On vivait, on ne thésaurisait pas. Il poursuivait un but hautement politique : il voulait humilier le parlement, le ridiculiser, le dénoncer à tous les yeux comme une institution qu’il fallait ou changer ou rendre à elle-même, c’est-à-dire aux principes dont elle se prétendait issue et que pourtant elle paraissait mettre souvent en oubli.
Le Parlement avait étouffé l’affaire de l’assassinat de Teisseire parce que les coupables étaient des puissants selon l’expression du bon La Fontaine ; et Gaspard voulait que les coupables fussent atteints ; que la mort du père de Bernard fût expiée ; et que, dans le châtiment des coupables, les paysans, les petits, vissent le signe de la protection des lois étendue sur eux. Le but qu’il se donnait lui avait paru jusqu’alors une satisfaisante excuse à ses actes de rebelle ; toutefois il les sentait en contradiction permanente avec l’idée d’obéissance aux lois, qu’il eût voulu servir, et de cela il souffrait étrangement. Mais, s’il souffrait ainsi, est-ce que ce tourment ne donnait pas à sa mission un goût de sacrifice qui la rendait honorable, ne fût-ce qu’à ses propres yeux ? En tous cas, il ne pouvait plus rien changer aux contradictions dont il gémissait : il s’était engagé dans une voie où, à sa suite, il avait engagé d’autres existences ; il se devait à elles ; il poursuivrait sa tâche. Toutefois, et cela était nouveau en lui, il se répétait souvent : « Il est malheureux que, pour servir mon désir de justice, j’aie cru pouvoir m’entourer de coquins ! » L’état d’humiliation où il se voyait réduit, les chaînes qui l’attachaient aux murs de son cachot, éveillaient en lui ces poignants regrets. Il se sentait sous le coup de la réprobation publique ! Il combattait ce regret en se répétant qu’un grand bien sortirait peutêtre de sa révolte condamnable. Et, tout d’abord, n’allait-il pas donner une vie heureuse à Bernard, son frère d’adoption, en lui faisant épouser la fille de l’usurier Cabasse, cet ancien valet de fermier général, qui avait dépouillé tant de pauvres gens, et par qui il avait été dépouillé lui-même de son patrimoine ?
