Savior: Silent Phoenix MC Series: Book Five

by Myers, Shannon

  But, to what end?

  “It’s misdirection,” I said, moving off the barstool. “They’re still calling the shots, but in a way that no one will notice. Think about it, Kate. Why would the email keep coming through? The sender knew for a fact that your husband was home… maybe they even thought you’d confront him. It doesn’t matter. As long as we all end up on opposing sides, then we can’t fight them.”

  Kate rolled her eyes, looking so much like her fifteen-year-old self that I did a double-take. “Nate and I have never had anything to do with the club. Why would they come after us? And why would a bunch of bikers care about my marriage?”

  She set the mug down with a thud against the butcher block. “You really don’t want to believe that my father faked his own death. C’mon, Mom. He did it before, why wouldn’t he do it again?”

  “Because the last time he did, I got hurt, and he swore to me he’d never do it again,” I quietly admitted, running my fingertips over the wood, tracing the grain intently as a way of avoiding her penetrating stare. “Right here in this very spot, we made promises to each other.”

  I glanced up when Kate turned to face the two empty barstools. “I think...” She paused. “I think that maybe it’s time for the whole story. The truth. From start to finish.”

  “It happened so long ago,” I protested. “And besides, we have bigger issues to worry about.”

  Kate tapped her chin with her index finger. “That’s just it.” She placed her palms on the island, spreading them as if laying out a stack of papers. “There’s a connection between what happened to you and where we are now—”

  “There is,” I said with a nod. “One of the men who… hurt me connected with Saint. That’s not a mystery. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He died with his former club right before Dakota’s wedding.”

  Kate’s eyes widened as she whispered, “My father was shot, and now, my grandparents are missing. They’re sending you a message. Mama, I think you’re the key to all of it.”

  Death is comin’ for you…

  I’d assumed once Cobra died that the Sons would move on. Nothing connected me to them. Maybe there was something I’d missed.

  “We’re going to need Mikey,” I said firmly. I thought of his arms, covered in quotes about warfare and combat. A man who had been born on a battlefield.

  He wasn’t all that different from his father, and if we stood any chance at defeating the Sons, we needed every member of our family on the same side. He was the closest thing to Jamie that we had.

  Mikey’s overdose.

  Kate’s marriage falling apart.

  I’d gotten the Son’s message, loud and clear. Now, it was time to send one of my own.

  No one messed with my children.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mike

  When I was six, my pet hamster died. We hadn’t had him for more than a year, but as it was my first real experience with death, I bawled like a baby over it.

  When Comedian found me in the backyard, blubbering about Mr. Pickles, he knocked me onto my ass for it. He told me that real men didn’t cry like little bitches because they had problems, and they damn sure never showed their emotions.

  It seemed I was always the smaller kid growing up. For better or worse, the old man’s words of wisdom had saved me from getting my ass kicked by schoolyard bullies on more than one occasion.

  Until tonight, I hadn’t realized that it had also left me emotionally stunted, no better than a child in a man’s body. I’d spent the better part of my thirty-four years with an almost nonexistent degree of self-awareness and a complete lack of empathy for anyone around me.

  I was the perpetual victim of my own circumstances.

  At tonight’s twelve-step meeting, I’d finally made the connection and promptly lost my shit, crying my eyes out in a room full of addicts.

  Surprisingly, I hadn’t felt like a pussy, even after sobbing on Angel’s shoulder. I felt like the man I’d always been meant to be, a man that deserved Lauren Santiago-McGuire-Sullivan-Quinn—fuck, we’d figure out the last names later.

  When I grow up, I’m gonna be one of the good guys…

  As crazy as it sounded, for the first time in my life, I felt like maybe I could be.

  “I’ve been completely clean and sober for thirty days,” I said to the brake lights on the car in front of me, rehearsing the speech I’d been writing in my head since leaving the meeting.

  In a room full of strangers, I’d only seen her face as I recounted my addictions and what they’d cost me, imagining exactly what I’d say to her if I ever got the chance.

  I hadn’t wanted to see it, but I’d shown her just what she meant to me when I chose to use again. And, as much as it hurt knowing that she was going through her pregnancy alone, I had no one to blame but myself.

  The bridge of my nose burned with unshed tears. From the moment she came into the world, Lauren had never had any other choice but to be a fighter. Her actions had saved both of our asses the night the Sons showed up, but it wasn’t fair.

  She’d been my compass when I lost my way, time and time again, always there to guide me back home. I smirked at the imagery, knowing there was no way in hell I’d be able to admit that to her and keep a straight face.

  I should’ve been her protector.

  As her husband, it fell to me to keep her safe. Instead, she had always been the one to save me, pulling me back from the brink when it felt like all was lost.

  According to Angel, she was preparing to do it again by taking out the men who’d shot my father. The same men who’d sent eight bikers to try to kill her on New Year’s Eve.

  The old me would’ve already gone in, guns blazing, just like I’d done after her mother was killed. I would’ve begged her to stay out of it under some delusion that I was saving her. In reality, all I’d be doing was trampling over everything she’d built.

  The light turned green, and the car ahead of me began moving again. I fought to sort my jumbled ideas into something resembling a coherent thought as I pressed down on the accelerator.

  What could I say that I hadn’t already?

  How was I going to prove to her that I’d changed?

  I ran a hand over my face, shocked again by the strange feeling of bare skin underneath my fingertips, wondering if I’d ever get used to it.

  “Lauren, I know that my word doesn’t mean shit—Fuck, I need you to know that I’ve changed and I’m one hundred percent committed to us. Goddammit!” I roared, slapping the steering wheel in frustration.

  Why was this so hard?

  I’d prided myself on my ability to sweet-talk any woman on earth, but this was Lauren. She’d see my pretty words as nothing more than bullshit before slamming the door in my face.

  I glanced over to the empty passenger seat, wondering again if I should’ve stopped for flowers. She hated flowers, but maybe this was an occasion where flowers were mandatory.

  Jesus Christ, Red had kept me on my toes since day one. She’d taken everything I thought I knew about women and turned it on its head. If I wanted her back, I was going to have to think like she did.

  “If I’m Lauren, what is it I want? I’ve got a husband who’s a crushing disappointment and two babies on the way. It’s obvious that my life hasn’t turned out like I’d hoped.” I sighed. It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for her to take me back.

  Torch’s house came into view, and my palms grew slick with sweat as I pulled in behind the generic black sedan her dad had loaned her.

  Grey had mentioned opening an account in my name as a sort of emergency fund, maybe there’d be enough to get her something of her own. Something big enough for a family.

  “Now you’re thinking like a chick, Mike,” I praised myself before realizing I still had no idea what to say to convince Lauren that I’d changed.

  My boots crunched across the gravel, and I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans before deciding it only made me look suspicious.

&n
bsp; According to Angel, I needed to keep my body language open… whatever the fuck that meant.

  I took a deep breath and knocked, watching a moth buzzing around the porch light as if it had found the holy grail. A few seconds went by, and no one answered, so I peered in through the living room window.

  “Since you left, everybody says I'm not the guy they've known. The lights are on, but nobody's home,” I crooned softly, sounding nothing like Clint Black, before moving around to the side of the house.

  “Oh, yes. Right there… right there,” a muffled female voice moaned loudly as I reached a bedroom window.

  I froze in shock, knowing exactly what it was I was hearing, but not wanting to believe it. The curtains were drawn, but it didn’t matter.

  I was going in.

  God help the man who had his hands on my wife.

  The front door was locked, but the back one was wide open. I slipped inside, easing the screen door closed behind me. They’d know I was here soon enough, but I wanted the element of surprise on my side.

  Especially if it was Jimmy.

  The goddamned tree was liable to take my head off.

  “Yeah, do that again. Touch yourself, I wanna see it.”

  It wasn’t Jimmy, I realized with a growing sense of nausea.

  It was Torch.

  “Torch, you motherfucker!” I roared as I marched down the narrow hallway and threw open the bedroom door. “She’s young enough to be your daughter!”

  My hand came up over my mouth, and I fell into the wall. “Jesus, fuck!”

  “The fuck is wrong with you?” Torch growled, yanking the comforter over the woman’s body before wrapping a sheet around his waist, but not before I saw more than I ever needed to. “You got a death wish, boy?”

  “L-L-Louisa?” I sputtered, struggling to cover my eyes. “Does David know? God, I thought you were—I’m trying to find Lauren!”

  “She ain’t fuckin’ here! Now, get the fuck out unless you want me knockin’ some goddamn sense into that thick skull of yours.”

  Keeping my hand over my eyes, I stumbled back out into the hallway. “I’m sorry. So, so fucking sorry.”

  Torch slammed the door shut behind me as Louisa called out, “You tell David about this, and we’re going to have some real problems, Michael Sullivan!”

  “I just wanna know where my wife is,” I pleaded helplessly. “I never wanted to see two old people going at it like rabbits—”

  “Old? I’m forty-six, you piece of shit! Still more than capable of kickin’ your sorry ass!” Torch threatened.

  “Forty-six?” I called back with a sudden smirk. “Why, Louisa Greene, you’ve gone and got yourself a younger man. Remind me again, did we just celebrate your fifty-fourth or fifty-fifth birthday?”

  “Fifty-fourth,” she grumbled. “Are you going to stay outside that door all night?”

  “Until someone can tell me where to find Lauren, think I’ll just camp out right here. Do your thing, Cougar,” I encouraged.

  “For Chrissakes, boy,” Torch ground out. “Lauren ain’t here. She’s probably out at Angel’s or Celia’s… somewhere you can’t find her. If she wants you, she knows where to look. Now, get the fuck out of my house!”

  I sighed and scratched at my jaw, trying to determine where she would’ve gone. As Angel had been with me just a half-hour before, I knew she wasn’t at his place. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell she would’ve gone to my mom’s, which left Celia.

  I’d never get through what needed to be said if Celia was watching me with those cat-like green eyes of hers, searching for signs of Grey.

  Instead of pretending I didn’t exist like most women would’ve done, Celia had always gone out of her way to make me feel as if I belonged.

  As a teen, I’d laid awake at night, imagining what it would’ve been like to have her as a mom. By that point, I was living down by the beach with my mother, but I’d never forgotten how Grey’s knockout of a wife had never once excluded me from their family events.

  Not all of my adolescent fantasies were as pure. More than a few had ended with me fucking Celia up against a wall, satisfying her needs as a widow. In 2009, when Grey turned up at my house to reveal that he was alive, I was relieved that I’d never acted on the fantasies.

  My old man would’ve snapped me in two.

  I fought to clear my head just as Torch asked, “Now, where were we?” Louisa’s giggling quickly turned to moans of pleasure.

  “Really? Not even gonna wait until you’re sure I’m out of the house?”

  “That’s it. Hand me my gun. I’m gonna teach this little shit-for-brains a lesson,” Torch announced as I jogged toward the back door.

  When I made it around to my truck, I fell against the door, wheezing with laughter.

  Torch and Louisa… who would’ve guessed it?

  I was strangely happy.

  If two people who’d both suffered through such severe loss could find love again, then maybe it wasn’t crazy to think that a quick-tempered redhead might still want a washed-up addict.

  I might have lost my opportunity with Lauren tonight, but I wouldn’t give up until she was mine again. As if a lightbulb had been turned on, I suddenly knew exactly what I was going to do to show her that I’d changed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mike

  The miter saw whined as I pulled it down, cutting my two-by-four to length. I blew the sawdust off as I held it up for inspection.

  “Michael!” Abuelita called from the porch. “Your dinner is ready!”

  “In the garage,” I shouted across the yard before going back to studying the printed diagram on my workbench, trying to decipher the next step.

  The side pieces to the cribs were lying on the spare workbench across from me, the slats held together with clamps. The ends were leaned up against the wall, just waiting to be stained. I’d added a decorative triangle with some of the leftover wood pieces, hoping to give them more of a farmhouse feel.

  “Oh, Michael,” Gloria gasped as she entered the detached garage, carrying a large plate in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. “They are going to be so beautiful. You have done so much work.”

  It turned out that Angel was right. I just needed something to keep my mind focused. Woodworking had always been something Grey had done, but I found that I liked getting my hands dirty too.

  I liked the process of turning nothing into something.

  Kinda like me.

  “It’s coming together. Might even be ready to assemble by tomorrow. I need to find out what stain Lauren used on our nightstands—”

  “Oh!” Gloria held up a finger. “She used the Precipitation Gray—no, it’s the word that means it’s not new. It’s old and worn. Michael, do you know what I am talking about?”

  I nodded slowly, fighting a smile. “Weathered?”

  “Yes,” she exclaimed with a grin. “The Weathered Gray is her color. I will help you get it done. Now, you take a break and get some food.”

  “What’d you whip us up tonight?” At some point over the last five weeks, I’d stopped seeing her as my enemy. Sure, we still got in each other’s faces from time to time, but she’d taught me a lot about family.

  It meant never giving up on someone.

  The woman who’d brought me into this world hadn’t shown her face since finding out I’d overdosed again. Seemed only Comedian got second chances with Betsy.

  She grinned. “Your favorite, mijo… the fried chicken steak with my sofrito on top. I am so proud of you. You stop using the drugs, and I say to myself, ‘Gloria, he is trying so hard. You should make him a little treat.’”

  I settled against the workbench with the plate in my hand, my mouth already watering just from the smell of it.

  Gloria offered me the iced tea before saying, “I mean to tell you that Celia has called again. I tell her you are very busy and she says to tell you that it is importante that you call her back.”

  “Yeah,” I nod
ded. “I need to talk to Lauren before I do anything, you know? Can’t seem to catch her, though.”

  “I will call her,” she volunteered, but I shook my head.

  “You’re not calling her. Torch will tell her I’ve stopped by…”

  Several times now.

  Unlike the first time, he and Louisa were fully dressed.

  “When she’s ready, we’ll talk. I’ve got nothing but time.”

  “Not me,” Gloria grumbled. “I am nothing but an old woman who just wants to see her only granddaughter happy before I leave this earth.”

  I laughed through a mouthful of chicken fried steak. “You’re so full of shit, Abuelita. You and I both know that you’re going to outlive us all. You just say that to get what you want.”

  “Is it working?” she asked with a sly grin.

  “Fine,” I conceded. “If I haven’t found Lauren by the end of the week you have my blessing to meddle.”

  “You say meddle. I say, ‘Gloria, you are just helping young love,’” she called over her shoulder as she made her way back to the house. “Do not stay up too late, mijo.”

  I worked until the sky was blanketed with stars before finding a stopping point. After ensuring that everything was cleaned up, I popped the tailgate on my truck and climbed up, rubbing the sawdust from my eyes while scanning the sky for familiar constellations.

  It had been the one constant in my life.

  No matter how bad things got for me as a kid, the stars remained. Sure, the constellations shifted, depending on the season, but it didn’t matter.

  They had always been a way for me to feel connected to Grey and later, Lauren. I leaned back and tucked my hand under my head, wondering if they were looking up at the same sky. Maybe we were even searching the skies for the same ones.

  Was Grey even somewhere he could see the stars?

  There was a crunch of dead grass, and then a soft voice asked, “Did you find Leo?”