The Club Betrayal : Sons of Lost Souls MC - Book Eight

by Ellie R. Hunter

  “What the fuck is this about?” Leo asks, and not for the first time today.

  His eyes stay on Holly and Rayna, who are sitting with Alannah and the other old ladies. Kicking at his chair leg, I gain his full attention.

  “What’s going on between you two?” I ask bluntly.

  I know everyone’s been wondering themselves, and I’ve had enough of not knowing for sure.

  “Nothing. She watches Ray for me.”

  “Your mom watches her,” I remind him. “I’ll ask you again, what is going on between you two?”

  Biting into his bottom lip, his eyes narrow into slits as he runs his hand down his beard.

  “She makes Rayna laugh. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Does she make you laugh?”

  “Why do you wanna know?”

  I shrug. “Just do.”

  “I bet he’s wondering what her Freddie Kruger hands will feel like wrapped around his dick when they’re healed,” Myles mocks. Leo rolls his neck around, a coldness washing over his features.

  “You’re lucky I can’t put a foot wrong today. Say that shit again to me, I’ll open up your jugular.”

  Always going for the throat. My boy never changes, but him getting so irate over this girl tells me there’s hope he won’t always close himself off in the future.

  “There’s the Leo we all hate to love. Come on, tell me what else you’d do to me. Get my dick hard.” Smirking, Myles cups his dick.

  “I always thought Emma was a good girl. Now, I’m wondering how fucked up she is for you to get hard over her,” Leo shoots back.

  Shaking my head, I fight the grin at the back and forth between them as I drum my fingers along the tabletop.

  “Don’t you worry about my old lady, worry about your own. She’s already had one bad experience with the club. Probably wouldn’t take much for her to leave.”

  “She’s not my old lady,” Leo grinds out.

  Having heard enough, I hold my hand up.

  “Shut this shit down. You’re giving me a headache.”

  Across the way, Harper sits beside Alannah, her eyes red and puffy.

  “Jay, what’s got Harper upset?”

  Watching him hang his head, I lean forward.

  “You sure you wanna hear this?”

  “If something’s upsetting her, I want to know.”

  “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he mutters, looking up at me. “I wouldn’t fuck her. We had a fight about it, and she cried.”

  “Man, you could’ve just said you had a fight,” Mason snorts.

  “I said he wouldn’t want to hear to it.”

  “I can’t believe you turned your own wife down. That doesn’t make for good husband material,” Myles tsks.

  “She wants a kid, and all she was going on about was ovulating and shit. That’s not hot at all.”

  I wasn’t aware Harper wanted a baby. The last we spoke of children, she was adamant she didn’t want them.

  Thankfully, Slade shoves his laptop on the table in front of me and clicks on something, bringing up a video.

  “You need to see this.”

  Hitting play, the recording begins from a passenger seat view of a fast-moving vehicle. Up ahead on the road is a van with heavily tinted windows.

  “Brace yourselves, boys,” someone out of camera shot orders.

  The driver hits the gas, coming up fast behind the van. Ramming into the back of it, it sends the van jolting forward. I lean closer to the screen, watching the scene as Pope is sprung from police custody like he’s in a damn movie.

  Slade hits play again when the video ends where Pope is being hustled into the waiting ride for the brothers hovering around.

  “Did you organize this behind our backs?” JJ asks.

  They get to the part where Pope is freed, and joyous chaos erupts around me, in clear view of the cops out front of the club.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I hiss.

  If the cops are looking this way, I don’t want to give them any cause to suspect we were a part of freeing our brother.

  “Is this what today has been about? The Kings giving us an alibi while they take care of Pope?” Leo murmurs, not taking his eyes of the video replay.

  “If it is, then why haven’t we heard anything?” I wonder out loud.

  I’m getting tired of these British assholes keeping me in the dark. The deal we have with them is too good to pass over, but I’m not feeling like an equal at the moment.

  “Hold on, another email just came through from the same sender.”

  I lean out of Slade’s way, and he taps a few keys until a second video pops up.

  Pope’s on his knees with a blindfold on. Nothing in the background gives his location away, it’s just a plain white backdrop.

  “I can’t keep up,” Slade murmurs.

  Four figures file onto the screen, lining up behind Pope. They’re all dressed in black, their faces hidden.

  “Fuck your fed. This is our time to avenge Mr. Rathbone.”

  What the fuck is this? Who the fuck is Mr. Rathbone? I stand, and that’s as far as I get. I can’t take my eyes off the screen.

  One by one, they lift their arms, each of them holding a gun and aiming toward Pope.

  “What are they doing?” Mason starts to panic, moving closer to Myles.

  “Who the fuck is sending you these videos?” Sparky barks out at Slade.

  Not a word is said by anyone. The sound of the masked men opening fire is louder, sharper, every shot singular rather than blurring together.

  Pope’s body jerks as each bullet hits him in the back. He slumps forward, facedown, and out of the camera shot.

  Three of the men remain standing as still as me, but the fourth heads for the camera and picks it up. The others disappear from view, and the camera moves down to Pope. His back is riddled with bullet holes, blood trickling out of him like water from a sponge, but his eyes… they’re wide open, blank—lifeless.

  The video cuts out, and the part of me that broke after Oak died fractures once again. Ice creeps down my body, the world blurring around me. Sparky wobbles on his feet beside me, while Slade stares blankly at the laptop. A tear rolls down Ricky’s cheek. But it’s the twins—fuck!—it’s their souls being ripped from their bodies that brings clarity back to the moment.

  Shoving through the crowd of brothers, I stalk heavily toward the gate, barking for the prospect to open them as I approach. He makes quick work of pulling one open so I don’t have to stop. One of the cops is stretching his back out as he leans against the car. One cop behind the wheel, and two more in the car behind them.

  I wonder how much overtime they’re being paid? I’m guessing not enough to deal with me right now.

  The cop straightens when he takes in my appearance, and I waste no time in grabbing his shirt and pulling him forward before slamming him back against the car door.

  “Why weren’t we told he was taken?” I scream in his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying his best to shy away from me.

  The other cops warily climb out and draw their weapons. They could all shoot me, and I wouldn’t feel a fucking thing, not under this pain from having to watch my brother being shot to death like a dog.

  “Who got to him? Who else knew he was being transported out of town?”

  I refrain from smashing my head against the cop’s face. They were all fucking untouchable when they had us facedown on the ground and their guns on us, but not so much now when their boss isn’t around.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whines.

  Yanking him forward, I keep hold of him while throwing open his door. Shoving him into the car, I point to the radio.

  “Call in to your boss and find out what happened!”

  His hands shake as he calls in, nearly dropping the radio as he waits for a reply.

  “We have no idea. We’re looking into it now. FBI’s all over it.”

  “Move away from the car, Cas, now!�
�� one of the cops yells, but I ignore him.

  “Last chance. Walk away, or we’ll shoot,” another warns.

  Sparky and Slade block my view of the cop hiding out in the car and shove me back until my feet are on club soil.

  “They don’t know fuck all. And even if they did, they wouldn’t tell us. We haven’t got time for you to get arrested!” Sparky snaps.

  Spinning on my heel, I head into the bar and reach for the whiskey. I pour myself a large measure and throw it down my neck.

  It does nothing to take the edge off, so I pour another while digging my phone out of my pocket.

  Hitting up Jamie Boy’s contact, it doesn’t even ring, going straight to voicemail. I try again, hearing the same monotone voice telling me to leave a message. Like fuck I can leave a message.

  The bar fills with brothers, and the twins’ absence is greatly noticed.

  “What the fuck do we do, Cas?” Mitch asks.

  “We fucking hunt, that’s what we do,” Mason replies, frighteningly calm.

  From out of nowhere, he and Myles dump arms full of guns onto the pool table. Tipping my head back, I try to think straight.

  “They’re not getting away with that, no fucking way!” Myles roars, bouncing on his toes, pouring his energy into a fight I’m not letting them or anyone of us head into—yet.

  “We don’t even know who they are?” I hear Sparky say.

  “We will when we hunt,” Mason snarls back at him.

  Walking through the brothers, I pause before the twins, knowing they’re more like Pope than their own dad, yet not quite as cautious, and choose my words carefully. They’re like fireworks. If not handled with care, they blow and cause carnage.

  “For now, we’re not making any moves. Sparky’s right, we don’t know who we’re dealing with, where to start, or why the hell this went down today.”

  Their jaws tighten, their hands fisted at their sides. Their cues to move in sync is freaky sometimes, but now, they’re outright murderous. If I were their enemy, I’d think twice before facing off with them.

  “We’ll find answers, and then—and only then—will we take our revenge. You have my word. But you need to give me your word you’re not going to slip out and go find them yourself.”

  “Cas, they killed him,” Mason says, his voice breaking.

  “And they will pay, every single one of them.”

  They look to each other, and I watch as their freaky, silent conversation takes place before me.

  “Fine, you have our word, but it only lasts so long.”

  After a long night of no one getting any sleep, with Slade on his laptop, digging up everything on the Rathbone guy, and brothers making calls to see if anyone knows anything, I slip out of the bar and head over to the main house.

  I’m met with whimpers and cries as soon as I step inside, and I swallow the anger wanting to rise.

  Alannah is sitting at the kitchen table, her arm around Kyla, whispering something I can’t make out.

  Bonnie thrusts a mug of coffee my way, and I offer her a small smile in return.

  “Have you heard anything?”

  With a slight shake of my head, I sit at the table and reach for the pack of smokes. Flicking a cigarette out, I put it to my lips and close my eyes, imaging myself drawing the smoke deep into my lungs.

  “Cas?”

  Exhaling smoke that isn’t there, I open my eyes to Kyla dabbing at her tears.

  “Do you even know where his body is?”

  I have zero answers, and again, I shake my head.

  I can make her promise after promise to find him and the men responsible, but it’s not what she wants to hear right now. And besides, she knows me. She knows I won’t stop until I have the answers she needs.

  “I can’t believe this. None of it makes sense. He’s a bloody old man, for God’s sake.”

  She’s making out like she doesn’t know what her father is capable of, and has been capable of all these years. He hasn’t always been an old man. If we can find out who Mr. Rathbone is, I can more than likely figure this out and tell her exactly why this happened.

  “Cas, someone’s at the gate for you.”

  Over my shoulder, Zach fills the doorway and I tip my chin. “Who is it?”

  “Delivery guy. He’ll only speak to you.”

  For fuck’s sake. Heaving myself up, I leave the old ladies to console each other and catch Luca on the couch with a sobbing Victoria lying on his lap, stroking her hair. He doesn’t take notice of me as I pass through and step outside.

  For a moment, I hope to see the Kings delivery guy from the other day, but it’s no one I’ve seen before, holding a box in his hands.

  “Cas Jackson?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I have no idea. My instructions are to deliver this to you, and you alone.”

  Shoving the box toward me, a shiver runs down my spine. It weighs nothing, and the boy is gone before I can open it and see what it is inside.

  Tearing at the tape, I open the top and my mouth goes dry. The beating of my heart pounding in my ears drowns out my brothers behind me.

  It’s an urn.

  Taped to it is a card with four letters scrolled across it: POPE.

  These can’t be his ashes, they just can’t be. There’s no time to digest that I’m holding my brother in my hands as the sheriff drives through the gates before the prospect can close them.

  “The FBI is pissed they lost their murderer. I’d offer my condolences, but one less of your lot off the streets is a good thing in my book.”

  Motherfucker.

  “It’s a long drive out here to offer your heartfelt condolences. What the fuck do you want?”

  “I can’t work out how your club got mixed up with Richard Rathbone, but with your brother taking him out and having paid the price, I’m expecting trouble to hit our town like never before. I’m letting you know that I’m watching you. If I haven’t got eyes on you, my men will. It’s my mission to rid this town of your club, once and for all.”

  He pulls away, and I go to throw the box at him when I remember what’s inside.

  What the fuck is going on?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Cas

  Death is a certainty, no matter what path you walk in life. But riding through the cemetery gates with the club in formation behind me, and Pope’s hearse in front of me, I can’t help but wonder once again what I could have done differently.

  As with everyone we’ve buried here before, Pope’s ashes are in a coffin Alannah helped Kyla pick out.

  The last three days have been a reminder of what we went through with Oak. No one speaking much, too much drink being consumed, and Pope’s absence leaving a gaping hole in the club. He was the last one who wore the patch from the very beginning, and he never once swayed away from club duty or second-guessed his place with us. If the definition of the Lost Souls could be answered in one word, it would be Pope.

  His unwavering love for the club, for us brothers, for his family and for loyalty, is everything we stand for, and will stand for as long as this club exists.

  The guys from the funeral home busy themselves with readying Pope’s coffin over the grave while we park up. The Mercy Chapter rode into town to pay their respects, and are with us here now.

  Kyla and Victoria take their seats with the old ladies. With one glance at my son, I know he’s not going to stray far from Victoria today. I don’t know what’s going on between them, and frankly, I don’t really care. But I hear the whispers about them, and I’ve seen her pushing him away for months since her accident up north where she lost her hearing.

  This is far from our first funeral, and wordlessly, we all take our positions as the preacher stands at the podium. For now, there’re no greetings to our brothers from out of town. There is nothing we can say to one another that will begin to fill the void Pope has left behind. We’ve all seen the video. Every brother knows how his death came to be.

  The tw
ins break rank and step closer to the grave as we listen to the preacher’s sermon. It’s the closest to God we ever get, and it’s only fitting to Pope’s send-off.

  God isn’t believed in around our parts, apart from Pope. He didn’t talk much about his faith, but he did have a love/hate relationship with the big man. He was called Pope for a reason.

  Pain isn’t the only thing he leaves behind. He leaves a bloodline that is strong, but crying for his loss. A daughter he kept from the club until she needed his help sits mourning for him, as well as a granddaughter who could bring a genuine smile to his lips by simply walking into his line of sight. And the twins. His boys, as he’d call them. He was so proud of them, and loved that they wore the patch as he did. Even Ricky managed to crack that black heart of his.

  A hot tear rolls down my cheek, but I don’t wipe it away. It’s joined by another, and another. The death of a brother is never easy, but this is Pope. The fucker is a part of us like no other.

  Scrubbing my face, I sniff and clear my throat. I look around, seeing brothers trying to hide their grief. Pope would hate seeing this sea of tears for him. He’d pull his gun on us and threaten to shoot us if we didn’t stop. He’d call us a bunch of pussies and shake his head, not understanding that many of us have hearts that bleed, though his only ever did when Sally died.

  The coffin is lowered into the ground, and Kyla stands holding a wooden box. Lifting the top off, she places it on her seat and makes her way to the twins. Picking out a photo each, they step forward and drop them into the grave. Kyla turns to Victoria and nods encouragingly. I side-eye Luca, noting how he watches her every step as she joins her family and plucks a photo from Kyla’s box. Her sob racks through her as she kisses the picture and throws it in with the others. Mason wraps his arms around her, and she turns into him, crying harder.

  Taking the lead, I step forward and stand before the grave. From inside my cut pocket, I pull out Pope’s gun and drop it in, listening as it lands with a thud. He never left his room without it. He deserves to spend eternity with it now.