by K. L. Savage
I know Knives doesn’t mean that. He is angry, and he has every reason to be, but we won’t be able to move on. Knives will regret having Mason leave his life again. I can’t push him though.
“And don’t get me started on if he knows you. What if he helped your dad get to you every night?” Knives shakes his head and gets up from the chair, then lays down next to me. “It’s something unforgivable. I’ll kill him myself if I find that out.”
I want to say Mason had nothing to do with me, but I don’t know that, and I can’t comfort Knives if I don’t have the whole truth. Instead, I run my fingers through his hair and take Reaper’s advice.
Tomorrow is a new day, but a voice in the back of my head whispers: Only twelve more.
It’s eight in the morning. Everyone is in Church. I’ve never seen every chair taken up before, but here we are. I sip my coffee, unable to bring myself to look at Mason, who is sitting right across from me. He’s staring at me too. I can feel it, that invisible cloak blanketing me and the energy warping the hair long my arms, taunting me to look.
But I won’t.
I won’t give in.
He left me hanging for twenty years; he can deal with the fact that I’ve moved on from his death.
“Thomas,” he says my name to get my attention, but I ignore him. Is it childish? Maybe. I feel like I have the right to be fucking mad. No. Mad isn’t the word.
Devastated.
He was my only friend in the world, a person I thought would never betray me. He did what he said he’d never do: he betrayed me.
“Thomas, please, you have to talk to me. I know—”
Tongue slams his knife between Mason’s index and middle finger. “He doesn’t have to do a damn thing, Mason-jar. Keep asking him to talk; I’ll feed your tongue to Happy. Your voice is fucking annoying.”
Tongue yanks the blade from the wood and sneers at Mason. “And I don’t give a damn that you know Knives. I stabbed my own brother, right in his tongue. If I can do that to him, imagine what I’ll do to you.” Tongue rubs the onyx blade against Mason’s cheek, but Mason doesn’t flinch.
A few other members trickle into the room and shut the door. My thoughts are on Mary. She’s still downstairs recovering from the concussion Socks gave her. I’m worried about her, but instead of being there with her, I have to be here, because somehow, someway, my formerly dead brother is connected to Mary’s father.
Small fucking world.
Too small.
If Earth had a twin planet, I’d take Mary and get the hell out of dodge because the way people are connected here makes me unsettled.
The gavel made of one of our first enemies slams on the table as Reaper calls Church into session. Everyone has a cup of coffee in front of them; the room fills with the aroma. Sips are the only thing that fills the silence.
I hate the quiet anyway. It’s too loud, with endless bouts of possibilities and leaves me alone with my thoughts.
Can’t have that.
“Okay,” Reaper says, already pinching the bridge of his nose. “Before we start. You bastards are going to listen to something, and hopefully, some of the tension will be gone.” He pulls out his cell phone, and I smile around the rim of my mug.
I know what he is going to do, but I’m not going to say anything. This is his moment, and he is proud and excited. He presses play, and the biggest, cheesiest, happiest fucking smile blooms across his face as his baby’s heartbeat sounds in the room.
“That’s my fucking kid. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Everyone sitting around the table bangs on the wood, then cheers, all except for Mason because he isn’t a part of this life and doesn’t know what to do.
Now who’s the outsider?
“Reaper, congratulations, man,” Mercy says, holding out his hand.
“Thanks, Mercy.”
“Way to go, Reaper!”
“Happy for you, Prez.”
“I hope it is a girl, so she drives ye nuts,” Skirt says from the back. For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t have Joey strapped to his chest, and he seems a bit lost. Out of habit, his hands go to his chest, as if he feels her there, but then when he feels air, he scratches his pecs to play it off.
“Don’t you dare, Skirt. I can’t handle a girl. I’ll kill all the boys.”
“Aye, the boys,” Skirt’s voice darkens, becoming threatening. “I’m going to make them fight me to take Joey out on a date.”
“You’ll kill them, Skirt. How is that fair?”
“Ye don’t fight fair, ye fight to win, and if they are smart boys, they will figure that out.”
“Jesus, okay,” Reaper says, pressing the mute button on his phone. When the heartbeat stops, he frowns, plays it again, and takes a breath.
I think Reaper is more afraid than he lets on. Losing their first child in a miscarriage fucked with him. It would mess with anyone, but now that Sarah is pregnant again, if he isn’t listening to that heartbeat, for a moment, it’s like he thinks it will vanish.
It’s how he was all night. I don’t think he slept.
“We need to get on track. We should hear from the FBI agents. They’re the reason why we are all here, right?”
Mercy stands beside Reaper and gestures for Mason to get up. Tongue snarls in Mason’s ear as he stands, trying to scare him, but Mason still doesn’t react. I know Tongue is on a mission now. He will have to scare Mason, or he will be a nightmare for us all.
“Thomas—”
“Don’t fucking talk to him,” Tongue says, pushing Mason forward.
None of my MC brothers correct Tongue for what he did. Mason has found himself in the wolves’ den, and I don’t know if he will make it out alive.
Mercy clears his throat. “Okay, I know there is a lot of tension in the air. There are a lot of issues that need to be addressed. The first place to start is with you, Knives.”
I finish off my coffee and smack my lips together, then throw the mug right as Mason’s head. He dodges it, green eyes wide with shock. “I’d rather not, Mercy. Let’s talk about how to save Mary.”
“No. You’ll be too pissed off. This needs to be addressed,” Mercy says, “in order for this to go smoothly. Mason, explain.”
Mason pulls out an extra chair from the corner, turns it around, and straddles it. Looks like some things don’t change at all. It’s the only way he sat in a chair when we were kids. Always too cool for school. “My name is Mason Fletcher. Thomas Underwood is my foster brother.”
“Was. This isn’t a fucking soap opera, Mason. Get on with it so we can move on to more important business.”
“This is important. You want to know what happened to me? Do you remember Louis? Well, he was a kid of a drug lord. The cops? They just shot me, but they didn’t kill me like they thought. I survived. I was in a coma, but when I woke up, I was somewhere else. Witness protection, so no one could find me. I couldn’t come to you, Thomas. I wasn’t allowed to.”
I slam my fist on the table. “Bullshit! Bull-fucking-shit. I would have come to you. You were all I fucking had, Mason.” I hit my chest. “I was alone.”
“You went to the Kings.”
“Good thing, because they became my family.”
“That’s what I wanted for you. I really thought I was dead, but when I woke up, I wanted to reach out, but I wasn’t allowed. When I turned eighteen, I decided to be an agent and—”
“And you decided to leave me alone anyway. The witness protection was an excuse, but after that? It’s been twenty years, Mason. Your excuses mean nothing to me now. You’ve been dead to me since I was fifteen, and you’re still dead to me now.”
I sit down, trying to calm my racing heart, and Tongue gives me a nod, a silent way to support me. I’m with my brothers. This is my home. My real home. I’m not with people that will abandon me. “And my name isn’t Thomas. It’s Knives,” I correct him. “What do you know about Mary’s father?”
“I’ve seen Mary—”
Before I can blink or inhale, I have a star in each hand, and I throw them.
Bam.
One in each shoulder.
“What the fuck!” he cries out.
Mercy gives me an annoyed, exasperated look and plucks the metal out of Mason’s shoulder.
“You knew her? You knew and you let that happen to her?”
“I didn’t know. I made sure she was safe and that she never made it to the underground auction house her father had.”
“And the other women? What the fuck took so long to get the information you needed?”
“His name was never anywhere. We needed evidence. We had suspicions. A ton of suspicions. But he never does anything himself.”
“Except when it comes to Mary,” I sneer.
“Yeah, it’s what led me here. I followed him, and the agency told me of a contact. I met Mercy, and they put Mercy on the case.”
“Okay, do you have any useful information?”
“He and Maximo have been working together for a while. Your ally is not your ally, Reaper.”
Reaper doesn’t seem surprised, but he also doesn’t seem like he believes it. He swings back and forth in his chair by keeping his legs on the ground and using the ground as leverage.
“Daphne,” Tongue’s voice is dark, demeaning, and holds a vow of murder. His knife stabs the table again, and this time he drags it down to the edge. His shoulders rise in rapid beats, and his tongue flicks out over his lip. He is practically vibrating in his chair to go downstairs and kill Maximo.
“Tongue, deep breaths,” Reaper says, giving Tool a warning glance to make sure we are prepared to stop Tongue from leaving.
Tongue doesn’t have the ability to control himself, not really, and not when it comes to Daphne. He is… obsessed with her. I would argue it’s borderline unhealthy. He watches her constantly, but when he isn’t near her, I notice she looks for him.
But he is always there in the darkness.
He loves her more than anything. More than this club, that I know for sure.
I understand. I feel that way—a healthy way—about Mary.
“He was going to take Daphne from me,” Tongue says. “No one takes Daphne.”
“Tongue, Daphne is safe, remember? She’s here. She’s in your bedroom, reading, probably. She’s always reading,” Reaper reminds him, trying to get through the haze that has glassed his eyes over.
When he remembers that Daphne is in his bedroom, he relaxes. “Daphne,” he repeats, then brings the knife to his nose and smells it, which turns him into a smiling fool.
Why would he smell it?
“Okay, you have Maximo here, right?” Mason asks me.
Me.
I don’t answer him, and Reaper gives me a warning glare. “We have him.”
“Fed Happy three of Maximo’s fingers. Happy wasn’t happy it wasn’t a tongue, but he’ll take any treats.”
“What the fuck is a Happy?” Mason asks.
“My swamp kitty,” Tongue says with a ‘duh’ tone.
Mason’s brows pinch when he tries to think about what a swamp kitty is, but he stares at Reaper for more clarification.
At least he isn’t staring at me.
“It’s an alligator.”
“You have an alligator here?” Mason straightens in his chair.
“Yep and if you try to do anything about it, I’ll feed you to him,” Tongue warns.
“Okay, we need a plan.”
“Mary is the plan,” Mason says. “She’s bait. Use her, get her father, boom. Done.”
I don’t remember getting up. I don’t remember walking to Mason.
All I know is right now, my hand is wrapped around his throat, and I slam the back of his head against the wall, kind of like how Mary hit her head last night. I lift Mason off the ground until his toes are barely touching the floor, and I hear a commotion behind me, but I’m too focused on Mason to give a damn. I tighten my grip, watching his face turn red, and the veins in his eyes pop. “I’m not that fucking kid anymore, Mason. I’m not weak, so let me be clear to you when I say using Mary in any way is not an option. If you try to use her, I will fucking rip your spine from your body. You might be used to running the show, but here, you don’t fucking matter.”
“Let go, Knives.”
I turn around to see Mary at the door, her beautiful dark hair in a big nest on top of her head. She’s sleepy. She’s wearing sweatpants, a simple white tank top, and a grey zip-up jacket that hugs her curves.
“Mary, I won’t risk you,” I inform her in case she doesn’t know.
“I’m offering.”
I let go of Mason’s throat, and the fucking silence in the room deafens me.
Do I like the plan? No.
Should I have heard the plan? Also, no. No woman is allowed in Church unless they are invited, but I invited myself when I realized the meeting was mostly about me. I have a right to know, and I openedthe door at the perfect time because Knives was choking his brother.
“You can’t be serious. You’re not thinking straight. You hit your head last night,” Knives says, trying to make excuses for why I want to go ahead with the plan. I understand he’s scared; I am too. My dad is a horrible man, and what if he does get his hands on me? What if the Ruthless Kings can’t find me and I’m lost forever?
It’s a chance I have to take. This isn’t only about me; it’s about all the women my father has sold, auctioning them off like they are pieces of antique furniture.
How long did he keep me prisoner, only to keep other women prisoner too? How can a man like my father get up every day pretending to preach faith, yet steal faith from others?
Mason is gasping for air, rubbing his throat, and staring at Knives with sorrow. He isn’t angry. He isn’t trying to attack; he just looks… sad. He has missed his brother.
“I wasn’t allowed to contact anyone from my past, Knives. Ever. You have to understand,” he explains through a raspy, strained voice. “I was done with my past.”
“And you’re still done with it,” Knives says to Mason, turning his head to his shoulder, but not looking behind him to stare at the person that used to be his best friend. Knives makes his way over to me, walking behind the men who are sitting in chairs, and Reaper’s eyes harden as he stares at me.
Probably because I entered the room when I wasn’t allowed.
“You are not going. You will not be bait. Do I make myself clear?” Knives is stern, pointing a finger at me and setting his jaw. “I won’t have you putting yourself in harm’s way. I won’t.”
“Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t patronize me. Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I know what I’m doing.”
“The answer is no, Mary.”
“It isn’t up to you,” I say, noticing the shift in our arguing. This isn’t bickering. This isn’t to poke fun. This is a real make it or break it argument. I shift on my feet, never meeting the freezing temperature of his eyes.
He’s pissed.
“The hell it isn’t up to me. I don’t care what I have to do. I’ll throw your ass in jail again,” he threatens.
I gasp, uncrossing my arms from my chest as if he slapped me in the face. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would. If it meant keeping you safe, I’d do anything. If it means you hate me and never talk to me again, I’ll do it. Your life is more important than anything else. I’ll risk you not loving me anymore if it means your heart is still pounding and your lungs are still breathing. Don’t mistake it for one fucking minute, Mary. I’m that man you used to think you hated, remember? Hold onto that if you have to, because I will do anything—” He crowds my space, and I take a step back out of the room. He follows me, and the heat of his body warms mine. “—Anything to keep you safe. Don’t raise hell with me about this, I’m begging you,” he pleads with me
“Knives—”
“—Mary, please,” his words break, like a dam holding in a river, the barrier cracks and threatens to spill. He’s on the ver
ge of breaking, because Knives is proving he is already fractured. “What do I need to do? I’ll do it.”
“We need to know what to do,” Mason says from behind him.
Knives spins around and throws a star, slamming his foster brother in the arm again. “You can shut the fuck up before I decide to kill you. For good. You can wait. You waited all these years to show your face; you can wait a while longer.”
“Twenty,” Mason grunts in annoyance, holding his bicep against him as he yanks the silver out. “It’s been twenty years.”
“Semantics. All the years blend together when someone dies and goes missing from your life.”
The moment he says the words, I know they aren’t just meant for Mason, but they are meant for me too. He thinks that I’ll go and never come back. In my mind and my heart, I hurt for Knives because of the mindset he has.
I intertwine our fingers together and pull him out the door. “We are going to go talk. We will be back later.”
“No the hell we—” I slam the door before Knives can say anything else.
“You’re so fucking bossy.”
“I learn from the best.”
“You—”
“Knives!” Maizey bursts from the kitchen in her princess dress, and she waves her wand in the air and bonks him in the leg with the glittery stick. “You will now be happy!”
Aw. She’s so damn cute.
“Kid, not right now,” he snaps, in a harsh tone he never uses with Maizey.
“Knives!” I scold him, and Maizey pouts her lip, her large brown eyes well with tears. There is no stopping it. She wails, throws her wand at Knives, and runs right toward Sarah, who is cutting up apples to make a pie.
Skirt will be happy.
Maizey wraps her arms around Sarah’s thigh and buries her face to cry.
“Are you kidding me?” I say, the words a harsh hiss directed at Knives. “Apologize to her, right now.”
Knives thinks about it for a minute and nods, realizing he fucked up in that moment with Maizey. Our issues can wait. Sarah lifts her chin when Knives stands in front of her, a stance only a mother takes to protect her child, and Knives kneels. “Maizey, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I have a lot going on, and I took it out on you; I shouldn’t have. I hope you can forgive me, squirt.”