“Did you know about Pike before you went there? What he’d done?” Bear’s distinctive New Jersey accent didn’t show its face often, but it was there now, signifying the tension surrounding this question.
“What he’d done to his sister’s husband? I think everyone knows about Harddrive, brother.” Fury shook his head. “That’s family, not club. Did not factor.”
“What he fuckin’ did to you, man. Did you fuckin’ know?” Slate was behind Fury, and he twisted in place, turning to face the man, shaking his head.
“Pike never did anything to me. I didn’t like him, but that was more his attitude than anything.”
“Entitled asshole, through and through.” Gunny threw his opinion in the ring and Fury nodded. “We’ve all seen how he’d wander in, lording himself over the members and prospects, trying to wow the women. He’s a fucktard, no doubt, but the question on the floor”—with that, Fury realized this had turned from a witness conversation about what had happened on the screen to their national president, and into something else, a niggling trickle of fear curling around his balls, drawing them up tight to his body as he remembered the beating he’d taken in the basement of this building. Will I never move past that? Gunny continued—“is did you know what Pike did to you?” Fury shook his head. “Nothing? Not a clue?”
“Asked and answered, brother.” Fury squared his shoulders, turning to face the big man. “Spit out what you got to say. You’re wasting my fucking time.”
“He don’t know.” Slate leaned back in his chair. “Fuck me runnin’, he really don’t know.”
“Already said that, more than once. You a fan of makin’ me repeat myself?” Now Fury was pissed, crossing over the line from annoyed to angry. “Not sure what you’re talking about, and I do not appreciate the way you’re trying to put me off balance. Spit—” He leaned forwards at the waist. “—it out.”
“Pike is the one who called Mason. Told him you were a Fed plant. Told him he had papers from Ling in Memphis that named you. Pike twisted shit and twisted shit, and played it out until Mason didn’t have any choice but to call you in.” Myron closed the laptop with a snap, turning it upside down and removing the battery before putting it in a messenger bag. “Pike coulda gotten you killed with what he played. They…we were wondering if you’d put that together before you hit St. Louis.” Myron looked around the room, fingers working to fasten the buckles on the bag. “Pretty clear to me that wasn’t the case. Which I already told all of you. Only six of us knew who had made that call. Damn sure I didn’t talk about it after Mason gagged us. Pretty sure you were the same.” He turned back to Fury. “With it not proving true, it wouldn’t do for there to be division in the club.” He shrugged. “You get it, and Mason knew you would if it ever came out.”
“Oh, I get it,” Fury gritted out between clenched teeth. “Don’t mean I like it.” He swung his gaze around the room, pausing on each man, forcing them to meet his eyes. “This has me thinking Mason was wrong. Slate was wrong. And me? I for sure was fucking wrong.” He shook his head. “This isn’t the first time you’ve called me to the floor.” Slate sat up, twisting to face him, mouth open to argue but Fury cut him off. “Don’t mince words, man.” He deliberately withheld the word he would normally use, considering this was beyond the pale and he was infuriated. “What you orchestrated just now? Same as, don’t deny it. You don’t trust me, because I came in from Diamante and you’re warring with them. You don’t trust me, because I got tangled up with what went down with Gunny. And now, you don’t trust me because some of you beat the fuck out of me on the say-so of a man who’s turned into a goddamned cut.” Angry, he was so angry he could feel the blood pounding in his temples, hear every beat in his ears. “So you’ve called me out, questioned me in ways you would never have dared do with Slate, Bones, Tater, fuck—anyone. You want me out, you’ll have to take my patch, but it won’t kill me to explain to Mason why I’m handing back the office plate. Fuck you.” He pounded his chest with a closed fist, knowing his anger was misplaced, but not willing to put a halt to his words. “I know the kind of brother I am. You don’t, then that’s your goddamned, fucking loss.” He turned to walk out only to pull up short, Myron standing in his way. “Move, man.”
“Nope. You’re stuck here. I know you. You won’t turn your back on the club, this chapter, or a single brother in this room.” Shaking his head, Myron lifted his arms to the side, palms forward. “They went about it wrong, but they meant well.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to.” Myron shrugged. “What you said means there’s a void in St. Louis, and we have a mouth on the loose that we might not want to leave that way. I say we set a hunter on Pike, bring him back into the fold.” He glanced at Fury. “I can’t make that call, though.”
Pike. Fucking Pike. He hadn’t recognized the man until St. Louis, but he’d been one of Dion’s cronies. That meant he might know what Fury’s gig had been back before the MC life. If he knew and flapped his lips, it could bring everything down. A life built on lies. Fuck. “I don’t think there’s a man in here wants me to make that fucking call.”
“You’re wrong.” That was Gunny, and what must be his footsteps sounded until he stood behind Fury.
“I agree.” Bear’s twang had subsided, but his voice was still distinctive. “Your call, boss.”
Myron held his gaze unflinching, waiting.
Fury sighed. “He’s been playing alongside the boys who don’t hesitate to pull in family.” Fury was thinking aloud at this point, wanting every man to follow his reasoning so there wouldn’t be any questions. If they were determined to make him do this in spite of a demonstrated lack of confidence, he’d give them the demanded show. “We know how Diamante and the Outrider holdouts are.” When Shooter went to prison, some of the Outrider chapter folded, some of them shifted away from the things he’d driven them towards, but a few chapters had held the line, maintaining they were the loyal ones who would be rewarded when Shooter got out. Ain’t no rewards comin’ their way now.
“They’ll bring blood right back to a man’s doorstep, putting it in the way of everything we have. If he winds up in the wrong place, wrong time, he knows a fuck of a lot of info about all of us.” Pike had been a Rebel for years, made regular visits to some of the clubhouses. That meant he had friends or at least acquaintances he might reach out to. “With everything that’s happened, we didn’t do a general notification about him being out bad. I think we need to do that now, see what it stirs up.” Beth’s forgiven me, even if I can’t forgive myself. If it comes out, it comes out. I won’t kill a man to save my ass like this. “He betrays us in word or deed, if we heard even a breath of him talking out of turn, we hunt him down. Until then…” He looked at the faces of the men, seeing agreement written there. “…we let him dig his own holes.”
***
“But I dun wanna.” The slurred words caught his attention and Fury glanced to his right where Bethy leaned against his shoulder. Eyes closed, her lips were pursed in irritation. Mikey was sprawled in the backseat, head against one door, feet stretched out towards the other side, earbuds in place a silent protest to Fury’s commandeering of the radio. Windows down, they were on their way from Nashville to Adken, Florida, where Mason would meet them and facilitate the introduction of the two sisters. With the windows down, the moving air had teased strands of Bethy’s hair free from her attempts to tame it. Fury smiled as it moved across his skin, as if even in her sleep Bethy was caressing him. She shifted, and he glanced at her again, seeing her nose wrinkle and her lips pull to the side. Whatever she was dreaming, it wasn’t making her the happiest camper on the block.
There had been a lot happening, and not all of it good. In fact, this trip might be the best thing in a couple of months, since Mason and Bones came home from this town that Fury was willingly driving towards now.
Myron had worked his magic on the video the Feds had of the coffeehouse, inside and out, and in the end, the
only thing that said there’d been more than Morgan and Shooter on the premises was the eye-witness account from the terrified teenaged employee. Well, and Bones’ blood. He smirked.
The man was pissed he had a hole put in him, and in his unique way of communicating had said as much. “When four men of varying skill are battling as we were in a closed environment, it is no wonder when three of the four have the bad luck to step in front of a bullet. What I do not appreciate is that it was Shooter, already dead on his feet, who had the audacity to be aiming at me at the moment his hand clutched the gun like a lover’s breast. The only thing worse would be to have been injured by a ricochet from Mason’s weapon.”
Engaged as he’d been with things within the club, and then with the burgeoning relationship with Bethy, Fury had somehow missed the memo about what Mason had found in Florida. Not just a sister, which was trippy enough when you thought about it, but his and Bethy’s mother. The story as Mason told it was convoluted. Shooter had always been unstable, his moods written off as edginess in a world where men made up their own rules. Morgan had recognized it for what it was, and when Shooter made threats against his own mother, Crystal, Morgan had taken steps to make her safe. He’d faked her death, displaying a mutilated body that somewhat resembled her in order to convince Shooter. It worked, and he’d moved both Crystal and Justine’s mother, Lori, to Florida.
According to Justine, something had happened about ten years ago to break both Lori and Crystal’s hold on reality. She had suspected Morgan because he visited the women regularly. Mason didn’t disagree with her. That lined up with the troubles Morgan’s original club was having with the cops, and both women would have had a wealth of knowledge about a variety of his crimes. Myron was researching what compounds would have been available, pairing the information with knowledge about the other things that Morgan might have had going at the same time. Mason had said he wasn’t holding out much hope, but it was easy to see he had some.
Mason and Willa had brought their three kids down a couple of weeks ago to meet Crystal, and it had gone well. So well he’d agreed it was time for Bethy to make a visit. Bethy had immediately petitioned to bring Mikey, and that brought Fury back full circle to the car full of sleeping people. He smiled, reaching out a hand and placing his palm on Bethy’s thigh. Just the feel of her leg under his hand was enough to have his cock fattening, and he shifted in the seat, fingers tightening. Jesus.
He’d stopped at a rest area, rolling up the windows and locking the doors, leaving his sleeping charges in the vehicle. It was winter, but the chill wouldn’t creep in too quickly, not with the sun out like it was. Flipping his shades back into place, he started down the walk to the car, seeing Bethy standing beside it, arms over her head as she stretched. She saw him and waved with one hand, looking adorably ridiculous, and he swept her into his arms, holding tightly as he pressed his mouth to hers. Pulling back, he watched as she blinked up at him, the movement slow and sleepy. “Hey, baby. You need to pee?”
She nodded and covered her mouth with one hand, yawning wide. “Yeah. Should we wake up Michael?” He didn’t release his hold, just reached out with one hand and rapped on the window next to Mikey’s head, grinning as the boy sat bolt upright, looking confused. A moment later he was on the receiving end of a Mason specialty, this being one of the darkest scowls he’d seen in a while. “Guessing that’s a yes,” Bethy said with a giggle.
“Yeah, baby. Go, take care of business, let’s get back on the road.” He kissed her nose.
“Where are we?” Mikey shoved his phone in Bethy’s face and her eyes crossed, then focused as she tried to look at what he was showing her. “Map shows us in a swamp.”
Fury reached out and gripped Mikey’s shoulder, shaking him back and forth. “Swamps are good for a lotta things.” Bethy moved to Fury’s side, wrapping one arm around his waist. “Like hiding a teenaged boy’s body if he doesn’t get a move on and go pee.”
Mikey rolled his eyes and grabbed Bethy’s hand. “Come on, Mom. Before he leaves us behind.”
This had been happening more often than not, but every time Mikey called her that seemed to hit Bethy hard. This was no exception and her eyes closed for a moment, a soft smile on her face. “Okay, okay. I’m right behind you.” Tipping her chin up she stared at Fury. “Back in a minute.”
“I’ll be here.”
The rest of the drive was unremarkable, except for Mikey’s choice in music. Even Chase’s influence hadn’t shifted the boy from his love of all things country music. If it wasn’t boot stompin’ with a twang, he had no interest. Fury found himself hiding a smile from Bethy as she lectured the boy in a way that sounded practiced, and he was certain he was listening to a conversation they’d had many times before. This, he thought, this is what it means to be with someone. Not the hot-as-hell fucking they did every night, although that was part of it. Lives together were built on this warm sense of comfort felt when someone you loved wanted to share themselves with you.
Fury changed lanes, seeing the hotel sign ahead and both Bethy and Mikey clammed up, their nervousness coming to the fore again. Fury rested his hand on Bethy’s knee, squeezed once to get her attention and told her, “She’s excited to meet you.”
Grinning at him, eyes bright, she whispered, “I have a sister.”
“That—” He turned into the parking lot. “—you do.” Myron had made the arrangements, booking the hotel and reserving a private dining room for the meeting. The plan was for Fury to check them in while Bethy and Michael went to meet Mason and Justine. He’d give them a few minutes of privacy, then join them, thinking it would be easier on Justine that way. “I’ll get the bags, y’all go on inside.” He thumbed the button to open the trunk and leaned close, cupping his hand around the back of her neck. Pulling her in for a kiss, he told her, “You’re going to do great. You have a sister.”
She smiled and repeated his words back to him. “That I do.”
Several hours later they’d moved their party poolside. The adults watched Michael as he did his suave best to impress a couple of girls about his age, swimming side to side across the pool underwater, and treading water beside the girls, his mouth never ceasing its movement.
“Did you know where they were keeping him?”
The sound of the kids playing mixed with the manmade waterfall at one end of the pool, working to obscure their words from casual eavesdroppers. Fury had used Myron’s tool to sweep the area before they all sat down, ensuring there were no electronic devices in play, just in case.
Even with the noise and assurances of privacy, Justine still looked over her shoulder before answering Mason’s question, the long-time habit kicking in. Him, in this case at least, meant Christopher Camp. The heartbreaking story she’d told over dinner had curdled Fury’s stomach, and the look Mason and Bethy shared told the tale. They were both pleased for once that Morgan’s paternity claim meant they weren’t any kin to old man Mason.
“Irving told Daddy”—Mason grimaced, making it clear hearing about the two men who had ruled his life for so long wasn’t his favorite thing. Justine continued—“that as long as Daddy left you two alone, my son would be unharmed. He gave Daddy back Luke, my nephew, and then said it would be the last thing Daddy would ever get from him.” She shook her head.
“I didn’t know where he was, and Daddy exhausted all his contacts unsuccessfully. Chris was just…gone.” Her neck twisted and she glanced at the pool, eyes on Mikey. “After I joined the DEA, I kept quietly searching. I never found anything. As far as anyone knew, he had disappeared off the face of the earth, gone.”
“How’d they get their hands on him?” Mason’s question was quiet, respectful, but filled with a hard edge of anger. Fury eyed him, gauging his reaction. He suspected if old man Mason wasn’t already dead, his breaths would be numbered on the smaller side of the ledger.
Justine sniffed, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. “I was stupid. So stupid.” She shook her head. “Jimmy wasn
’t the sticking around kind of guy. I should have known, but when we started things we were both so young. Young, stupid kids. Things got bad in California. John’s wife left him. She took their daughter.”
Mason supplied the name with a nod. “Eddie. Moved her girl away from the club, trying to give her a normal life.”
“Yeah. Made things difficult for me and Mom, because John was always a little crazy, but after that happened, he really fell off the edge of the earth.” Mason nodded again, and Fury remembered some of the stories he’d heard about those times. Death and destruction following John around, him earning his club name of Shooter by killing a friend of Mason’s. Blood and pain were the watchwords for those days. “Mom knew Crystal, liked her.” Justine shrugged. “The club was a different kind of life. I didn’t realize how different until after I got to college and found out that not everyone had a second mother figure, both sharing a bed with your father.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Bethy flinch and put that reaction aside, deciding to follow up on it later.
“Crystal had talked about Kentucky, talked about the two of you. When Jimmy and I decided to leave with Chris, we didn’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t expect to find trouble waiting.” Justine shivered, picking up her cardboard container of coffee and cupping her hands around it. “Crystal had been gone for a couple of years, and Mom was…she saw where things were going. Every night, it was the same thing. I’d sit nursing Chris, and she’d come in and talk, telling me I needed to go before Daddy had a need for me. Everyone is always just a tool for him, he's—” She interrupted herself and looked at Mason, bleakness bleeding from her eyes. “He’s dead, right? Really, really dead?”
As an active federal agent, she hadn’t claimed a relationship with Morgan, and he wasn’t listed anywhere in her personnel file. Since the shooting was still at the local level, it hadn’t hit her radar for a couple of days other than a ten-second blurb on the news. That meant with a little influence from a few Benjamins, Morgan’s autopsy had been completed and his body released to family before she knew about his death. Mason had arranged for a quick cremation of Shooter’s body, and with Myron’s assistance, Morgan’s as well. Justine hadn’t seen the body. After watching over her shoulder for decades, it was natural for her to not trust the news.
Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4 Page 57