Unfortunately for them, they hadn’t accounted for Lauren.
Cobra’s admission only proved that he didn’t know as much as he wanted me to believe he did. Not only that, but he’d also inadvertently given up their mole.
At Dakota’s wedding, a cop had stumbled into me on his way out of the men’s room. At the time, I assumed he’d just spent too much time at the open bar and let him lean on me as I led him over to a table. Looking back on it now, it was obvious he’d been planted to check me for body armor.
It had never been one of my guys.
One dirty cop had been more than enough to give the Sons everything they needed to take me out that night.
“Detective Sullivan came to blows with another club member after your funeral; claimed the club was his to run. If that isn’t a motive, then I don’t know what is.”
No, it wasn’t a motive.
It was a sign that my son had heard me when we were sitting in the waiting room at the hospital. He was willing to become a renegade to protect our family, and I was going to have to play along to keep him safe.
“Maybe you’re right,” I rasped. “Told his mama to take care of it when she told me she was knocked up, but the bitch didn’t listen. Kid’s been nothin’ but trouble since he came into this world. We covered up his shit, and he pays the club back by tryin’ to kill me.”
Cobra tipped his head to the side, watching me intently. “You aren’t going to argue?”
I shrugged. “Why should I? You’re right. I never saw it before; never imagined that he was capable of doin’ it. Kid was so strung out on drugs and alcohol; I’m surprised he managed to pull it off.”
“You know Saint’s all bent out of shape over Sullivan ruining the surprise early,” he slipped.
At my blank stare, he elaborated. “In the cemetery. He stayed back to open the fucking casket; realized that you weren’t in it—
“And? What’s that got to do with anything?” I fought to keep my voice steady. Mikey knew I was alive and was willing to run the club to find me. Instead of feeling relieved, I was more worried than ever.
The Sons were going to be watching their every move.
Was that what Saint wanted—me, chained up, watching the people I loved getting picked off one by one?
He tightened his grip on the rope. “Saint wanted them to believe you were dead, right up until the last possible second. Now, we’re being forced to speed things up. Can’t make a fucking omelet without cracking a few eggs though, am I right?”
I’d been shot New Year’s Eve. It was now almost Valentine’s Day; more than enough time had passed for Mikey to assemble an army. Pain shot through my chest, the rope around my neck the only thing keeping me upright.
Too fucking bad his old man was out of commission.
“So, like I said before… they’re gonna come lookin’ for you,” I forced out through clenched teeth.
Cobra grinned. “Yes… and no. Your son wanted to take over the club to hunt you down, but Bear refused. Declared himself Pres unanimously and, even knowing you were still alive, ordered the club to stand down. Don’t you see? Without you, your enemies get what they’ve always wanted… power.”
Wrong.
I fought the grin playing on my lips, knowing he was seconds away from stringing me up. Bear wasn’t my enemy, and he’d never wanted power. All he’d ever wanted was for the kid he’d raised as his own to acknowledge him. Family had always been the most important thing to Bear, and like Mikey, he never would’ve allied himself with the same men who’d tried to kill his Ol’ Lady and son.
Initially, Saint had wanted them to believe I was dead. Thanks to Mikey, he was now going to try to convince me that the people I’d loved had betrayed me. I still didn’t know how the puzzle was going to come together but was at least aware of where a few of the pieces fit.
Cobra had yet to give up my rat, and I began to wonder if it was because he didn’t know.
I had to remember that if Silent Phoenix had suddenly decided to stand down, it was because they knew they were being played.
And a plan wasn’t worth shit if the enemy knew about it.
“Why does Saint want me alive then?”
He walked around me in a slow circle, eyeing my body like a slab of beef. Having spent decades dealing in torture, I knew what he was going for even before he did. With an amused grin, he plucked the cigar from his lips and stabbed it out against the festering wound on my chest. Instead of jerking away, I leaned into the pain, letting the burn work its way down under my damaged skin, keeping me focused.
“You’re the key, Grey. Without you, there’s no war, and you go down like a fucking hero. It brings me back to my original point—nobody wants to fight anymore. Even Saint leaves the dirty work to everyone else. It’s up to men like us to convince them to change their minds. They just need a cause.” He pulled on the rope until my toes skimmed the ground, and regretfully stated, “It’s gonna hurt.”
I clenched my jaw and nodded. “Alright, let it hurt.”
The pulleys creaked and groaned as he jerked the rope, the chains around my wrists stretching until they were taut. I’d been so preoccupied with what had been around my throat that I’d momentarily forgotten the arms shackled to the floor. He wasn’t going to hang me; he was going to tear me in two.
My shoulders screamed in agony, momentarily distracting me from the rope compressing my jugular.
It didn’t last.
Desperate for air, I began kicking my legs wildly, struggling to find something to hold my weight—anything that would relieve the pressure around my neck. My jeans grew warm with piss, but I was too far gone to care. A healing wound on my chest began to tear with the jerky movements, sending fresh streams of blood down my body. Involuntarily, I jerked my legs again, knowing I was only making things worse.
Cobra’s mouth widened into another grin as he gave one last vicious tug, and my right shoulder popped. The excruciating pain sent everything into darkness just as I opened my mouth to scream.
Chapter Three
Mike
“Fred, when’d the other guy show up?” I mumbled, waving my hand toward the back of the bar. I should’ve been sitting in my office, fighting to break Grey’s case. Instead, my ass had gone numb, sitting on a barstool watching basketball highlights.
I didn’t give a fuck about basketball.
I’d been trying to shoot the shit with the old bartender, Fred, but it turned out he wasn’t much of a talker. He preferred to work himself to the bone slinging drinks, over visiting with the lonely guy in the suit.
“Who the fuck are you talkin’ about, boy?” He snapped. “Ain’t no one back here but me. Ain’t no one been here but me.”
I looked up with a grin, my fingers tracing around a heart that had been carved into the battered bar top. “You got me, Fred. That was a good one. I like you a lot, you know that?”
“Drunk as a fuckin’ skunk and it ain’t even five o’clock,” he grumbled before slapping a wet rag against the scarred wood. “That’s what’s wrong with the fuckin’ world today.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” I sang off-key. “Okay, buddy, I gotta take a piss. Watch my tequila, would you?”
I slid off the stool and stumbled toward the back, fighting to remain upright. “Fred, my man, you gotta get someone out here to take a look at your floors. They’re slanted as fuck.”
“Floors are fine, dickhead.”
“Good talk.” I lifted my foot about three inches off the ground before slowly bringing it back down. The wooden planks sloped up like mountaintops in some areas but dipped like valleys in others. It was like climbing and descending Everest just to get to the men’s room.
After relieving myself, I washed up at the sink, keeping my head down. I didn’t need to see the man in the mirror; didn’t need to be reminded of what an epic fuck-up he was.
I pulled the small plastic bag from my pocket and studied the white powder, my mouth already watering
at the thought of taking a hit. It was the evidence that never made it into the station during a drug bust last month. Something they’d never known was missing.
The addiction I’d rewarded myself with after a less than banner start to the year.
“Don’t do it,” I warned myself while turning it over in my shaking hands.
I’d bitten my nails down to stubs, the skin around them cracked and bleeding. I forced my eyes up toward my reflection, seeing the wreck I’d become. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the day’s events. My greasy hair hung down past my ears, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to see my barber. I slowly ran a hand over the coarse hairs of my beard, staring at my blue eyes until I no longer saw myself, but my old man.
Grey.
The urge to pick up the phone and call him was overwhelming; almost as strong as my need to medicate. There was so much left unsaid between us, and while he’d fucked off to god knows where, I was left to wonder what he’d meant by addiction running in our family.
I was stuck with the responsibility of fixing the mess he made yet had no way of knowing how to resist the urge to use again. It must’ve been nice to just leave your problems behind for your family to sort out while you disappeared.
Proving that Red had a sixth sense when it came to me, my phone chimed with an incoming text.
Can you pick up barbecue on your way home? I suddenly have a craving for red meat again.
It didn’t matter that I’d turned my location finder off, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Lauren knew exactly where I was and what I was doing.
Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, I shoved the baggie back into the front pocket of my slacks before facing the mirror again. I’d gone to all the trouble of sobering up and getting clean only to end up right back where I started.
Michael Sullivan, Jr.
A fucking failure.
She deserved so much better.
I slapped the side of my face and growled, “What do you love more—her or the drugs? Huh? You gonna fuck away the last good thing you’ve got left?”
It was my voice, but Grey’s words. Rage bubbled up again at the thought of him, leaving me clinging to the counter to stop myself from destroying the glass above the sink with my fists. Once I felt like I could breathe again, I tapped out a quick reply on my way out of the bathroom, assuring her that I’d grab dinner on my way home.
Lauren had a way of anchoring me when I felt like I was drifting. I only hoped that when the ugly truth came out, she’d remember the man I’d wanted to be and not the man I’d become.
Any good feelings I’d managed to conjure up died when I realized that someone was now sitting in my seat. In a deserted bar, they’d chosen my goddamn bar stool.
“Hey, Fred, why don’t you tell my new pal here that there’s plenty of other seats for him.” I cracked my knuckles. “Would sure hate to dirty up your bar, if you know what I mean.”
“Sit the fuck down, Sullivan,” Zane snapped, finally turning around to face me.
“Masterson?” I dropped onto the stool next to his and reached for the bottle of tequila, but he slid it out of reach. “Guess you heard the good news and came to celebrate my early retirement?”
His jaw tightened. “I can’t believe they just let you go.”
Aiding and abetting a known outlaw motorcycle gang.
Deep down, I’d always known that one way or another, Grey was going to cost me my job. Instead of tossing me into a pair of handcuffs and hauling me to a cell to await what was sure to be a lengthy prison sentence, they’d let me go under the stipulation that I not leave the city any time soon. It seemed that even without Grey, the club still had some power. Whether it’d be enough to keep me out of prison remained to be seen.
“Oh, yeah,” I nodded. “It was always just a matter of time before I turned in my badge and gun to become public enemy numero uno. How the fuck did you know where to find me?”
“Ran a trace on your cell. Did you let the club know?”
I scratched at my jaw, suddenly more sober than I cared to be. “Why the fuck would I tell them shit? Bear made it clear that we weren’t patching in—I’m too clean to be a biker and too dirty to be a cop. Where the fuck does that leave me?” I gestured for the bottle, but Zane shook his head. “C’mon, Big Guy. Don’t leave me high and dry.”
“Don’t call me that,” he stated flatly. “Frank, can you make this disappear? I think Mike’s done enough drinking for the night.”
“His name’s Fred,” I clipped out. “And I’ll decide when I’m done drinking, okay—”
“You call me sweetie or pumpkin, or any of the other bullshit you spout off when you think you’re being cute, and I’ll introduce your face to the bar top and make you ride home in the bed of my truck. We clear?”
Fred raised his eyebrows before sliding the bottle off the bar and into a cabinet below. “Better listen to him, or you’ll be moppin’ up your own blood. I ain’t in the habit of cleanin’ up anyone else’s messes.”
“Fred,” I tried.
“It’s Frank, goddammit!” The old man growled. “How many goddamn times do I have to tell you? Your friend here got it in one try. Jesus Christ!” He threw up his hands before disappearing into the back.
Zane’s lip twitched, but he continued staring straight ahead, refusing to give me even the smallest of glances as he muttered, “Guess that settles that.”
“You know, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to keep this from Red for the time being… just until I pick something else up.”
In spite of the situation, I’d made it my personal goal to keep her pregnancy as stress-free as possible. We’d worked too hard to get those babies; the last thing I needed was her worrying about conjugal visits in prison.
“How long do you think that’ll take? I haven’t seen your file, but from the sounds of it, you’ll be lucky to get a job as a fry cook at a fast-food joint. That is if they don’t file charges against you.”
“That’s just it.” I stared down to where someone had gouged, Fuck Rhonda, into the wood. For all of Frank’s blathering about running a tight ship, he seemed to look the other way when patrons wanted to get creative with his bar top. “Why now?”
I’d worked with Silent Phoenix for years, and while Bear hadn’t wanted me anywhere near a kutte, it was heavily implied that I’d continue to use my badge to help them out. I refused. Cut ties with the club and decided to go straight, only to lose it all only days later.
Zane mulled over my words with a slow nod. The man was so even-keeled and quiet that it was a wonder he’d ended up with the woman who never seemed to shut up.
“It’s gotta be an unlucky coincidence.”
I worked my jaw back and forth before voicing the concerns that had plagued me for the better part of the afternoon. “What if it’s not?”
“The Sons targeted your family the night Grey was shot because you were helping the club,” Zane patiently explained. “Why would they continue to pursue you after you broke away? It doesn’t make sense.”
He was right.
Nothing about any of it made sense.
“What if Grey’s still pulling the strings?”
Zane shrugged while the tight expression on his face told me he thought I was full of shit. “Maybe?” he hedged.
I released an exasperated laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence there, Big Guy. Hear me out for a second, though. Grey goes dark, and the Sons immediately back down. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”
“They think he’s dead, Mike. Why would they continue a war when they’re convinced they’ve already won?”
I shook my head. “No, they have to know. Every member of the club was at Celia’s when I broke the news—”
“And one of those club members was working with the Sons!” he exclaimed, finally on the same page as I was. “Wait. That still doesn’t explain how Grey’s involved, though.”
“The day he was shot, he to
ld me that he wanted me to run the club beside him. Said I couldn’t straddle the line anymore. Well, he has to know I walked away. Maybe this is his way of punishing me for not making the right choice. Now, I’ve got nothing.”
He ran a hand over his face and studied the bar top. “You’re his kid, right? What kind of a father would fake his own death just to sabotage his son’s career and send him to prison?”
“Buddy, you’ve got no idea of the shit that man is capable of. He blackmailed me over—” I froze, seeing the look of surprise on Patrick’s face as I swung… hearing the sound his head made as it connected with the curb.
“Over what?” Zane prodded.
“Over some shit I got into at eighteen… kid stuff, really.” I kept my voice light, hoping he didn’t start digging into my past. The tequila had loosened my lips to the point of being dangerous.
His mouth settled into a hard line. “So, your old man’s an asshole. If he wanted to dismantle his family, why disappear? Why wouldn’t he just do it out in the open, like every time before? Shit just doesn’t add up for me.”
I patted my pocket, comforted by the feel of the cocaine against my thigh. The alcohol had left my head a mess, blending my thoughts into nothing more than incoherent blobs. There’d always been a clarity with blow that helped me think.
Maybe that was what I’d been missing.
A clear mind.
Zane tracked my movements before clearing his throat. “Are you doing okay? Things at home… are they good?”
“Never better.” I grinned. “Lauren’s finally out of the first trimester. The headaches and morning sickness aren’t as bad—”
“Then why are you here?” he interrupted. “Why are you getting fucked up in the middle of the day if things are good? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you just took a year and a half of sobriety and pissed it all away because you have daddy issues.”
How the hell did he know how long I’d gone without hard liquor?
Was there a calendar they all kept?
It’s been five hundred days since Mike’s last fuck up.
Savior: Silent Phoenix MC Series: Book Five Page 5