Brothers in Arms (The Kings of Mayhem MC Book 2)

by Penny Dee

  Police are continuing with their investigations.

  There was a picture of Talia. She looked very young. Too young to be at an MC party, drinking and socializing.

  I studied the photo for a moment. There was something familiar about her smile but I couldn’t place it.

  “Hey, Dahlia.”

  “Yeah, honey?”

  I rose to my feet and took the scrapbook over to her. “Do you know anything about this?

  She skimmed over the article but shook her head. “That must’ve been before me. Poor girl.” She pointed at the date. “Tex and I didn’t meet until the following year.”

  “And Tex never mentioned it?”

  She thought for a moment, but then shook her head again. “If he did, I don’t remember.”

  I nodded. “I’ve never heard anything about it either.”

  “Tex probably didn’t know her or what happened.”

  I agreed. It wasn’t odd for Tex to have kept that article, after all, it seemed he had kept everything club related that had appeared in the newspaper.

  “Did you want to keep the scrapbook?” I asked.

  “Give it to the club. Might be a nice thing to add to the showcase.”

  The showcase was where they displayed club memorabilia, like Hutch Calley’s dust off helmet and dogtags, old cut styles, and an impressive display of historical club photos.

  I tucked the scrapbook into the space behind the driver’s seat of the truck, then set about helping Dahlia sort through the rest of Tex’s stuff. It was a task that kept us busy right through to suppertime, and I was right, when it came to lugging old motorcycle parts and some of the heavier boxes, having two very big bikers close by came in handy.

  But no matter how busy we were, no matter how distracted I got, there was no forgetting about the young girl who had died a sad and tragic death at the base of the water tower. And the sneaky suspicion that the Kings knew something about it.

  Something niggled inside of me. Something I didn’t understand. Something that told me I needed to find out what happened to the girl at the bottom of the water tower.

  “Who was Talia Bennett?”

  I had just walked into the house and found Cade shaving over the bathroom vanity.

  He looked at me through the mirror on the wall, pausing as he searched his memory for the information. Then he shook his head and went back to shaving. “Who is who?”

  “Talia Bennett.” I opened the scrapbook to show him the old news clipping, and pointed to the grainy picture of Talia. “This girl here.”

  “Wow, what’s this you’ve got?”

  “It’s a scrapbook Tex kept of all the news articles about the club.”

  “Cool. I wouldn’t mind having a look at it.”

  “Are you avoiding the question?” I eyed him suspiciously.

  But he simply gave me a dismissive look and casually went on shaving.

  CADE

  Talia Bennett.

  Jesus Christ.

  I took a longer shower than usual, hoping to wash away the familiar guilt I’d felt when Indy had shown me the article. I’d acted nonchalant, avoided her questions and distracted her. But I knew Talia Bennett. And I knew what happened to her.

  I didn’t want to lie to Indy. And I wouldn’t. But I wanted to think about what I was going to say and that meant remembering back to a really fucked-up time in my life. A time I didn’t like revisiting because it was just after Indy had left me and I was seeking more and more comfort in the club. And drinking.

  And women.

  Twenty years old—young, dumb, and full of cum.

  Like I said, it was a really fucked-up time in my life when my head wasn’t screwed on right.

  But Indy was waiting for me when I stepped out of the shower, sitting in the chair by my desk with her legs crossed and arms folded. She cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrow. Her eyes rolled down my body, pausing at the towel around my hips, and then headed north again until they settled on mine.

  “Put some clothes on, Cade. You and I need to talk.”

  Right to the end I was going to try and avoid the inevitable. “What’s going on?”

  “That is exactly what I am trying to work out.” She gave me another raised eyebrow. “So how about you put on your clothes and then you can tell me who the fuck Talia Bennett is and why you’re lying to me about knowing her.”

  Fuck.

  “It was just over a year after you left,” I started. “The club was having a party. I can’t even remember what for. But it was huge. Talia was there. She was an MC groupie who had a thing for Isaac. I didn’t pay her any attention. I saw her with Isaac a few times but didn’t think anything of it. Isaac told me it wasn’t serious. That they were just having fun.”

  “It says she was a student at West Destiny High,” I said. “I don’t remember ever seeing her.”

  “Apparently, she and her family moved to Destiny after we had graduated. So she was never at school with us.”

  “But she knew Isaac.”

  “He met her at the Greasy King where she worked after school flipping burgers or something.”

  The Greasy King was a popular burger joint between Destiny and Humphrey. It was a bit rough. Not the kind of place you wanted your eighteen-year-old daughter flipping burgers for coin.

  “She got fixated on Isaac,” I continued. “But he wasn’t really into her. He banged her a few times but he wasn’t interested in anything long term. So when I saw him drunk and kissing her, I confronted him about it. Asked him if he thought it was a good idea.”

  I cleared my throat. I remembered the night all too well. Alcohol had made me morose because the sting of losing Indy from my drunken, drug-fueled partying was still fresh in my mind.

  “He told me it was one last bang for the road. Joked how good she was at giving head. I told him he was playing with fire, but he wouldn’t listen. He told me to back off, and I figured he was right. I mean, who was I to go around giving advice about women? I had just lost mine because of my dick. So, why should he listen to me?” I sighed and shook my head, hating the memories seeping into my brain. “I was young and didn’t trust my instincts. But I should have because something told me this wasn’t going to end well.”

  “What happened?” Indy asked.

  “It was really late. The party had wound down. Isaac and I were in the bar with Tex and Irish sucking back a few more beers and talking shit. Talia wandered out from God knows where, wearing nothing but her bra and panties. We were very drunk and high, and Isaac started going on about how good she was in bed, and how good she was at giving head—”

  Indy sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. She knew where I was going with this story.

  “I guess Isaac wanted to show off a little. So he encouraged her to show everyone. One by one.”

  “Oh, Christ, Cade.” Indy pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. “Please tell me you didn’t—”

  “Not me,” I added quickly. And it was the truth. “But the others, yes.”

  “Not you?”

  “I told Isaac it wasn’t a good idea. And I told Talia that she should just leave. Get in a cab and get as far away from the clubhouse as possible. But you know what she said? She looked me in the eye and said, ‘I want to do this, Cade. After all, isn’t that what a good old lady does?’”

  I hated the memory. And I didn’t get it. Why would any girl want an old man who shared her around?

  “I told her, ‘Isaac ain’t taking an old lady anytime soon.’ But she told me she was making sure he would make her his old lady. I told her I was calling her a cab.”

  The years peeled away and I was that twenty-year-old boy standing in front of a scantily clad Talia Bennett.

  “You should go home, little girl.”

  “And unless you want me to suck your cock, Cade, you should go to bed.”

  “I can’t make you leave, but if you stay, you’ll be making a huge mistake.”

  It w
as the last thing I’d said to her.

  “What happened?” Indy asked, bringing me back to the present.

  “They didn’t all just get their dicks sucked. They all fucked her. Isaac, Irish, Tex, too.” I shook my head. “Or so Isaac told me later. I didn’t hang around.”

  Indy’s face went white. “Isaac, Irish, Tex . . .” Her eyes were widened with a sudden realization.

  It took me a moment before it hit me like a freight train.

  I’d been so concerned about telling Indy about the Talia Bennett story I had completely missed the connection.

  First, Isaac had been murdered.

  Then Tex.

  And then Irish.

  Was there a connection between their deaths and Talia’s death almost ten years ago?

  Or were we clutching at straws here and this was mere coincidence?

  How did Mirabella fit into it?

  And Freebird?

  I looked at Indy, she had gone very still.

  “How did Talia die?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I woke up the next morning when the cops banged on the club door. Said a young girl had fallen from the water tower.” I squashed down the memory of seeing the white sheet and the form of a body beneath it when we had ridden out to the watermelon fields. “There was some talk about it being a homicide, but they never got anyone for it.”

  “Do you think any of the guys had something to do with it?” Indy asked. She was frowning, but other than that, it was hard to gauge her reaction.

  “I spoke to Isaac. He swore they had nothing to do with it. Said they’d partied and he had passed out on the sofa. Next thing he knew, the cops were banging on the door.”

  I can’t make you leave, but if you stay, you’ll be making a huge mistake.

  “You need to speak to Jacob,” Indy said. She picked up my cell off the nightstand and held it out to me. “And you need to call him now. Find out how Mirabella fits into all of this.”

  But before I could make the calls, my cell phone buzzed in my hand. It was Caleb.

  “You need to get down to St. Gabriel’s now,” he said. “Jacob just went under a truck.”

  INDY

  The human body can endure great trauma— but not the trauma of falling under an eighteen-wheeler.

  Jacob was pronounced dead on arrival at St. Gabriel’s.

  Using my staff access, I was able to get us into the ER where we spoke to the Head of Trauma, a highly-strung young buck by the name of Craig Malone.

  “He can’t be back here,” Craig said, indicating to Cade.

  “We’ve got a couple of questions about the fatal motorcycle versus a truck,” I said. “He was one of Cade’s friends.”

  “They could’ve been twins for all I care—like I said, he can’t be back here.”

  I bit my tongue.

  “Listen, I know it’s not protocol having him back here, and I understand your attitude toward the MC because of who you think they are—”

  “On the contrary, he and his buddies are great for business.”

  I decided to ignore him and adopted a more diplomatic approach. I placed a gentle hand on his arm.

  “Please, I just need to know what happened.”

  He sighed, resigned to answering our questions. He looked at Cade and then back to me. “Paramedics spoke to eyewitnesses at the scene. Said he just laid his bike down and skidded into an oncoming truck.”

  I couldn’t help but flinch.

  “So this is a suicide?” I asked.

  Craig didn’t give it another thought. He picked up a file and started to walk away. “Don’t see how it could be anything else.”

  He was right. It would be pretty hard to time that kind of assassination.

  Maybe this time it really was suicide.

  Or maybe—just maybe—the assassin was a lot better than we thought.

  CADE

  Still in a state of shock over Jacob, Bull and I rode to Parchman Farm, the Mississippi State Penitentiary, to visit with Churchill. I was a little surprised he agreed to talk to us. But then again, prison could be a fucking boring place.

  Churchill was a scary looking motherfucker. But it wasn’t his size that was intimidating because he was relatively short and small, and I towered over him in height and width. And it wasn’t the way he spoke which was intimidating, because he was quietly spoken and had an almost slow, sleepy cadence to his voice. It also wasn’t the way he held himself, because his mannerisms were calm and still, almost unassuming and Zen-like.

  No. What was scary about Churchill—the president of the Southern Sons MC—were his coal black eyes. They were cold. Dead cold. Like the empty stare of a great white shark.

  When Bull and I sat on the other side of the glass from him, he fixed those demon eyes on us and I felt that look all the way through to my bones. Chilling motherfucker. Bull pulled off his dark glasses and it was like a damn stare-off between the freaky-eyed kids. Churchill with his satanic-black eyes, and Bull with his bright, otherworldly blue eyes. It was a silent throw down between the two presidents of rival motorcycle clubs to see who could out intimidate the other.

  Me. I didn’t have fucking time to worry about anything other than finding out if Churchill had any information about the attack on the Kings of Mayhem. And if I had to break down the glass between us and rip the information out of his throat, then I was prepared to do it.

  “Let’s cut to it,” I said. “Who has the vendetta out on The Kings?”

  Churchill’s coal black eyes shifted to me. “Vendetta?”

  “Four of our brothers and an old lady have been murdered,” Bull said calmly. “We figured you might know something about that.”

  Churchill barely moved. He was sitting up straight, his shoulders back, his hands in his lap. He didn’t exude the authority of a man with a big, powerful physique; he exuded the authority of a psychopath.

  “Check your surroundings, gentlemen. I’m in prison.” He slowly raised his arms at his side like a messiah. “How would I know?”

  “Drop the bullshit, Churchill. You know any of us could run the planet from inside here,” I said, glancing around the visitors’ area of the medium-security prison. “I don’t have time to do your little dance. So how about you just fucking give us the information and we’ll consider it a gesture of good will from the Southern Sons to The Kings. How does that sound?”

  A small smile curled on Churchill’s small lips. “Cade Calley. Just as ballsy as your old man. I heard you’re the new VP.” His black eyes slid to Bull. “I’m impressed.”

  Bull didn’t move as he spoke. “Yippee-ki-yay. Stop wasting my time. You have all the time in the world, I don’t.”

  “Well, that is true, I guess.” He looked unfazed. “But before we talk, how about you do me a favor.”

  Bull looked unimpressed.

  “What’s the favor?” I asked.

  “I’ve had some privileges removed lately,” he said, his eyes gleaming like polished obsidian. “Seems my cellmate came upon some trouble and cut himself . . . shaving.” Meaning Churchill had cut him. He leaned closer to the glass. “He wouldn’t stop talking. So I made him. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

  My jaw tightened. Churchill was a menace.

  No, he was a fucking psychopath.

  “Get to the point,” I said, my patience running out.

  “One of your men is inside here.”

  He was talking about Zakk, one of our club brothers who was inside for assault. He’d caught his old lady in a compromising position with her boss, and in a fit of rage had beat him to a pulp.

  “I’m not allowed things. But I have a list of items I would like. You can get those items to him and he can get them to me.” Churchill smiled and it was snake-like. Slimy.

  “Items?” Bull asked.

  “Cigarettes. Tobacco. Chocolate. Condoms. Simple items.”

  “Condoms?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “For trade, you see. They’re popular in here.” />
  Right.

  “Fine, you’ll have those items by the end of the day,” Bull said. “Now cut to the chase, who has the vendetta with the Kings? Is it any of the rival clubs?”

  Churchill smiled but it was cold.

  “It’s not anyone we know. Not the Southern Sons, or the Rebels. And it’s not The Knights or the Tribe either. Behemoth and Saber put out feelers to their affiliates, too, but there is no vendetta in play. It might be better for you to think of this as personal. Not club related.” He smiled. And again it was cold and reptilian. Then he stood up and stared down at us, his dead, shark eyes raising the hairs on my arms. “It’s funny, really. Sometimes the very thing we should be afraid of is right in our own home.”

  And with that, he turned his back and walked away.

  Bull stood up and put his glasses back on. “I’m calling chapel. Now.”

  INDY

  While Cade was visiting the prison, I was doing a little investigation of my own. I was on my break at work, lying on a hospital bed while a colleague rolled an ultrasound transponder around on my flat stomach. Her name was Lani and she was another emergency room doctor. A few years older than me, she had a kind and gentle nature about her, and a smile that was as calming as it was attractive. She was also someone I knew I could trust. She wasn’t one for gossip or judgment.

  In one of my hands was a pregnancy test I’d taken in the bathroom half an hour earlier.

  It was positive.

  And now Lani was doing an ultrasound to confirm it.

  I let out a puff of air not believing just how poor the timing was. The last thing we needed was for me to be pregnant. Not with everything going on. And if Cade knew . . . he’d go stupid trying to protect me. I put an arm over my eyes to hide the tears brimming in them. I didn’t want Lani to see them. I didn’t want her to know what a mess this whole situation was.