Snapping my attention back to him, I release Ally and take a step forward.
“Ally missed her fucking appointment because Yankovich fucking slammed his car into us, motherfucker.”
That seems to shut everyone the fuck up and wipe the glare from Cobra’s face. Instantly, he peels his eyes from me and darts them toward his sister.
“I thought it was just some dick with a heavy foot, but Ally recognized him,” I explain, clenching my jaw before turning back to Lacey. “So, can you help or what?”
“Yes, of course,” she stutters. “Ally, why don’t you come with me?”
Spinning around, I look at her and reach for her hands. She comes willingly and I bend my knees to make us eye level.
“Everything’s going to be all right. You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course I trust you,” she murmurs.
Nodding my head, I swallow the knot lodge in my throat and draw out a heavy sigh. I want her to know without a doubt she’s different, she’s not Chelsea, and I’m not the same guy I was years ago. I won’t fail her like I failed Chelsea. I can’t say any of these things to her because she has no idea I’ve got another woman’s blood on my hands.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” I promise her.
Lifting a hand to my cheek, she nods.
“I know that.”
I’m the one who is supposed to be comforting her, soothing her, easing her mind. However, her words heal me. Her trust mends.
Then she’s gone. Celeste and Lacey whisk her away into the house and all eyes shift to me.
“Inside, now,” Jack growls, running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair.
With a mounting tension thick in the air, the wind changes, just as it always does and the catastrophic need for vengeance boils brightly in our black souls.
Fool us once, fuck us over once, shame on you.
Fool us twice, fuck us harder, shame on us.
Fool us again, fuck us where we breathe, well, it’s on.
No one’s safe.
The sound of death is coming.
The scent too.
But this time the face of death will be Yankovich.
Come hell or high water, if I have to kill him with my own bare hands, with no one at my side, I will get this motherfucker.
I’ll wear his blood like a badge of honor.
Once we’re all inside, we make our way into the living room where Stryker, Bas and Needles are sitting with a few prospects.
“Coming through,” Riggs calls, wearing a party hat just like Wolf as he comes charging through the kitchen pushing Linc through. “Dude, we’re going to go off-hill with this thing later,” he adds before lifting his gaze to us. “Whoa, why all the sourpuss faces?”
“Not now, Riggs,” Blackie warns as I stare at Linc.
Guilt eats me as I remember the last time I visited with him we fought.
“Welcome home,” I say hoarsely.
“Thanks,” he mutters, putting the brakes on his wheels. “But something tells me you showed up and killed the party.”
I nod, dragging my eyes away from him to stare daggers at Jack and Rocco.
“I need for one of you to tell me why we couldn’t get a hit on Yankovich? I need one of you fucking idiots to explain to me, to make me understand, why he got the chance to fuck with Ally today?”
“We had no idea he was here,” Jack argues.
“Then you should hand your fucking patch in,” I growl, slicing my attention to Rocco. “And you should quit while you’re fucking ahead because the two of you are going to get us all fucking killed,” I sneer.
“Back the fuck up,” Blackie warns. “You’re angry and you got every right to be but you’re overstepping.”
“Ask me if I give a fuck,” I retort.
“Someone put a leash on this kid so he can fucking explain what happened,” Rocco requests.
“Fuck you,” I growl.
“Deuce,” Wolf starts, pulling the party hat off his head. “Ain’t no one here going to be able to get a hold on this thing if we don’t know what happened.”
“Tell them what the fuck happened!” Cobra demands.
My first instinct is to lunge for him, but I refrain because I see the desperation in his eyes and know it mimics mine. Forcing myself to calm down, I let my mind backtrack to this morning, to the tires, to the black car parked outside the hotel, the same fucking car I’ve seen two other times. My gut clenches as I think, wondering if the slashed tires have anything to do with Yankovich. He wanted me to know he was there, he made his presence painfully clear to both me and Ally by pulling alongside us. He sent his message with his face; those tires weren’t his doing. It’s too sloppy for a pro like him.
“My tires were slashed this morning,” I start, lifting my gaze to meet Jack’s. Now is the moment of truth. Do I tell him what I already know in my heart or do I ignore it? Do I see this shit through to the end of the line and then make my break from them?
To be fair, Jack and Rocco can’t keep up with Yankovich, adding my own drama to their plate would do nothing but distract them, and they sure as fuck didn’t need any more distractions.
“It was probably some punk ass kids,” I lie. “That’s why we took the truck. Anyway, when I drove out of the lot I saw a black car and because I was already paranoid about the tires I got to thinking and realized I had seen that same car before, twice in fact.”
“What kind of car?
“A Bentley,” I say, shaking my head. “Before you ask, no I didn’t get the plates. Anyway, we were stopped at a set of lights and the car slammed into us. He backed up and hit us again. Three times total. I was about to get out of the car when he pulled up alongside me. The back window rolled down and Ally gasped. Then the motherfucker said something, I don’t remember what it was, but it spooked the shit out of Ally,” I pause as Cobra’s fist collides with the back of the couch. “Something about you have nothing to fear,” I continue, swallowing the lump in my throat.
Those fucking words haunt her.
They fucking wreck her.
“Did she recognize him immediately?” Cobra asks hoarsely.
“Yeah, yeah she did.”
“What happened next?” Jack probes.
“He sped off,” I answer, turning back to Cobra. “She was shaken up but she’s better than I thought she would be. We gotta get this motherfucker,” I tell him. “You hear me? We gotta get him. We can’t let him hurt her anymore.”
Silently, Cobra’s blue eyes pierce me with understand before he nods slowly.
“I hear you,” he replies.
“We all hear you,” Jack reminds me, drawing my attention back to him. “I know what the two of you are thinking,” he says, pointing to Cobra. “You doubted me once and I brought home your little girl and your sister. Me, I did that. Now, you’re going to go and underestimate the power of this club?” Slamming his palm against the coffee table, he shakes his head. “Over my dead body,” he roars.
“We fucked up,” Rocco admits, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “But now we know he’s right here under our noses. We’ll get him.”
“How?” Stryker asks. “How the fuck are we going to get him if we didn’t even know the sick fuck was here all along.”
“The card game,” Rocco says.
“Fuck your card game,” Stryker spits. “This guy is playing us and we have no fucking idea why. All we know is he’s a psychopath who preys on women and children. He kidnapped Ally and three other girls, one of which we know for certain is dead. Who the fuck knows what happened to the other two, and let’s not forget Gina. He fucking hired men to rape Gina.”
“What card game?” Linc asks, diverting everyone’s eyes toward him.
“This dope thinks he’s going to shoot up Yankovich’s card game, rob his money and I don’t know, scare him?” Stryker hisses.
“Look, whether it’s the card game or something else, we need to figure this shit out,” Riggs says. “Up until now all we
got are a bunch of quick fixes. This guy has us wrapped around his finger. First, he fed us the men he hired to rape Gina and had us kill them. Then he handed us Rush, and we whacked him too. When does it stop? When does it end?”
“It ends now,” Jack grunts. “It’s going to end here,” he states.
“I know you really want to believe that but unless we find out how he operates, what makes him tick, why the fuck he’s doing any of this, we’re not going to end anything,” Stryker replies. “We don’t know if this is a personal vendetta against the club or power play for Rocco’s territory. We know nothing.”
“Stryker’s right,” Linc says. “And you’re not going to get him unless you get close.”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask him.
“Turn the tables, play that motherfucker for all he’s worth,” he says. “You mentioned a card game, is this something routine or just a onetime buy in?”
“No, it’s steady,” Rocco answers.
“But isn’t it his brother’s?” Riggs asks.
“It doesn’t matter whose it is, all that matters is if it’s Yankovich’s wallet we’re working with,” Linc tells us.
“Talk to me,” Jack says, leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he looks at Linc.
“Wolf says, Yankovich loves his money, it’s the driving force behind his crimes. You wanna nail that motherfucker to the ground you fatten his wallet. You need to be of value to him, learn how the beast operates. You need to make him money.”
“You’re suggesting we pay this fucker off?” Riggs asks incredulously.
“No, I’m saying you send someone in like Rocco, with deep pockets, and you get a dealer in there, someone Yankovich can learn to trust, someone who knows cards and takes Rocco down in front of Yankovich. The dealer bleeds Rocco dry and earns Yankovich’s trust. He becomes an asset to him, he learns to trust him and he brings him into the fold. The dealer finds out what makes him tick, he finds out what game he’s playing and he finds out what the fuck happened to the other girls, why he took Ally to begin with and why he sent those men to hurt Gina.”
“That’s a fucking stretch,” Rocco mutters.
“It’s not if you get the right dealer.”
“Where the fuck are we going to find a dealer?” Rocco asks. “What you’re suggesting only works if it’s one of us and this bastard knows all of us.”
“He don’t know me,” Linc says.”
“You’ve lost your fucking mind,” Stryker says, shaking his head.
“Why? If anyone here knows, it’s you…you know I’m unbeatable in cards but because I’m in this fucking chair you think I’m worthless.”
“It’s too risky,” Blackie argues.
“It’s your only shot,” Linc fires back.
“Do you really think you can do it?” I ask, not giving a fuck about risks. Anything is worth the risk if it puts this guy in the ground and away from Ally.
Jack turns, pointing between me and Cobra.
“If we send him to do this, we’re not sending him in blind,” he snarls, rising to his feet. “He needs to know as much as possible about Yankovich or he’s going to get himself killed and I’m done digging holes. The next hole I dig will be for this cocksucking Russian.”
“What are you getting at?” Cobra grinds out.
“He’s saying he wants to talk to Ally,” I clarify. “He wants to fucking grill her and make her relive all that shit.”
“Not happening,” Cobra declares.
“Especially not after today,” I add, crossing my arms against my chest.
“The two of you don’t get to call the shots,” Jack reminds us, clenching his jaw. “This is my fucking club and you are all my responsibility, that includes your women and children. I’ll kill for them just like I’d kill for you. Now, I’m done pleading my case to you motherfuckers. You take orders from me, you hear me? If that’s a problem then hand me your fucking patches, just remember it won’t stop me from talking to that girl. Like it or not, Ally is our only chance at getting this right. She’s the only one with any intel on this guy.”
“What do you want to know?” Ally asks, causing me to turn around. Standing in the doorway, she glances at me and then Cobra before turning to Jack. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”
Behind every strong man is a woman who made him that way. A woman who shared her strength with him when his started to falter.
Then there’s us.
All of us.
And then there’s Ally.
Sharing her strength with the whole damn club.
-Thirty-seven-
JACK “THE BULLDOG” PARRISH
A man I didn’t know came to my son’s wake. He offered his condolences to me and Connie and then sat in the back of the funeral home unnoticed to everyone but me. He faded into the background of flowers and leather until I saw him at the mass. The church choir sang as he leaned over the tiny white coffin and prayed for my son’s soul and then took a seat in the last pew.
I saw him once more, this time he was the last to leave the cemetery. Before I kissed my son’s coffin one final time and watched the gravediggers lower him into the earth, the man came to stand beside me.
Once Jack Jr.’s coffin disappeared from my sight he turned to me and offered me the book of hymnals and he asked me if I was a music man. In my state of my mind, I didn’t process the question much less answer it. Then he told me music was the soundtrack to our lives. He told me music was the language of a man’s spirit. It abolishes strife and brings peace to every lost soul.
Then he took my hands and closed them around the book. I opened my mouth to ask him who he was but he was gone before I could. Still, to this day, I don’t know who he was and sometimes I question if he was real or a product of my maker. Then I take the book out of Jack Jr.’s room and turn to the page he bookmarked.
Hallelujah.
As I reach for the bourbon Wolf keeps stocked, I hum the first verse allowing the music and the words to prepare me for what I’m about to do.
I heard there was a secret chord.
That David played and it pleased the Lord.
The verse goes on to speak of man who never really took a liking to music. He’s introduced to the minor fall and the major lift—the baffled king. Then he composes his own hallelujah.
The amber liquid fills the glass as I lift my eyes to the woman sitting in front of me and play the second verse over. The blue-eyed girl is as much a part of this hallelujah as I am. While I’m the baffled king she’s the woman in the song that tied me to the kitchen chair and broke my throne. She’s the one drawing the hallelujah out of all of us, the beauty sent to restore faith.
“Thanks, but I don’t drink,” she says, eyeing the full glass between us.
I feel the smile tick my lips.
“This one’s for me, sweetheart,” I tell her as I raise the glass to her. “Here’s to you,” I salute before I take a long sip of poison. Drawing the crystal away from my lips, I glance at the two guard dogs standing behind her.
The brother who lost his twin.
And the brother who found his heart.
So very different and yet we’re all the same.
“Ally, you don’t have to do this,” Cobra says.
“You don’t have to relive it,” Deuce adds.
I fix my eyes back to Ally and she stares back at me. She doesn’t blink and neither do I. It’s just me and her.
I’m the man who ordered her death.
She’s the one woman who begged for it.
Then I became the man who saved her and she became the hallelujah that’s going to save this club.
“I appreciate what you’re doing here,” I tell her.
“Well, I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” she replies. “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for not putting a bullet in my head.”
Leaning back in my chair, I scratch the whiskers at my jaw and stare back at her. Giving in, I smile at her and nod my
head.
“You’re welcome.”
“I thought you were just like them,” she admits.
“And now what do you think?”
“I think you’re crazy.”
A chuckle escapes my lips and I reach for the glass again.
“You’re smart,” I say, before taking another sip.
“But as crazy as you are, you are also kind. You care for the people around you and it’s obvious you put them all before yourself,” she says, pausing for a beat. “You’re an admirable man, Jack Parrish, and I’m proud to know you, to know there are still good people in the world and not every man who wears leather is a monster.”
Music isn’t all that heals the soul.
Sometimes it’s just words.
It’s respect and appreciation.
It’s the truth you don’t believe.
The truth you don’t always deserve.
“I want to help you catch Yankovich because I know you can,” she whispers. “If anyone can stop that monster it’s you,” she says. Tearing her eyes away from mine, she glances over her right shoulder to her brother. Then her left, letting her gaze linger over Deuce.
“It’s all of you,” she adds.
“Appreciate your faith, sweetheart,” I reply hoarsely. “It’s much needed right about now.”
Drawing out a heavy sigh she turns her attention back to me and braces both hands on the armrests of the chair.
“I was fourteen,” she begins then pauses and closes her eyes. “You know that already.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “Just say it as it comes to you and if it’s too much then stop. The last thing I want to do here is make you hurt any more than you already have.”
“Okay,” she nods and starts over. “He told me his daughter was missing. He asked me to help him find her, said she was about my age and thought maybe I knew her. I believed him, there was no reason not to. He was dressed nicely and he genuinely looked upset. Then I saw the van and I knew I had made a mistake, but it was too late.”
She breaks for a moment and I lift my eyes to her brother, watching as he grips the back of the couch and stares up at the ceiling.
“He told me I had nothing to fear and then he threw me in the back of the van,” she says. “I screamed. I cried. I begged for help and then he put a helmet over my head. The kind of helmet that completely covers your face and blocks out any sound.”
The Nomad Series-Collectors Edition Page 91