by Quinn Ryder
“Men,” she growled, walking straight for me. “Give me the keys,” she demanded, holding out her hand.
“But Scythe said . . .”
“Scythe is an asshole. Give me the keys Specter, I’m driving.”
I handed her the keys and stood there dumbfounded.
She got into the car and rolled down the window with the hand crank. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked, when I hadn’t moved from my spot.
I stole a quick glance towards Switchblade. He looked like he was ten seconds away from stomping his foot and throwing a tantrum. Before he could say anything to stop me, I jumped in the passenger seat of Scythe’s car and buckled in next to Faith.
“At least there’s one man around here that knows how to follow directions,” she growled.
Chapter Thirteen
Faith
Sometimes I really hate my brother. When I came to him stating that I needed him to take dad his lunch today, I was hoping he would listen. Instead, he pawned the job off on his newest prospect, Specter. Poor sap. He’s barely put his cut on and he’s already getting treated like a second-class citizen.
“I thought you had stuff to do at the bar?” Specter questioned, pulling the cut over his back.
“I lied. This was my sad attempt to make my brother go see my dad. He failed—miserably.”
Specter frowned. “Does your brother and dad not get along?”
“They get along just fine. Jimmy is just a pussy. He can’t handle the fact that our father sometimes forgets who we are. He can remember shit that happened years ago, but faces are lost on him. I think it hurts him too much to see him like that. Five years ago, my dad came back from a ride and had no idea who we were. He remembered he was in a MC, that he was its president, where he lived, but everyone was a stranger to him. It was like he was meeting us all for the first time. That lasted ten whole minutes before he looked at me and Jimmy and asked what we were staring at. Shortly after that, his memory went to rat shit. Then Jimmy had the bright idea of locking him up in an assisted living center, assuring me and dad that it would be for the best.”
“You don’t agree?”
I sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this. We barely know each other.”
Specter chuckled. “Just because we don’t know each other, doesn’t mean I’m a total loser when it comes to listening. Sometimes, all that matters is having someone to talk to that will listen.”
He had a point, and for some odd reason I felt strangely at ease when I was around him.
I pulled into the parking lot of the assisted living center and turned towards him. “No, I don’t agree with Jimmy about my dad staying here. I know it’s good to keep him in a safe environment where people can watch him twenty-four seven, and I know that they take really good care of him here, but sometimes when I look at my dad, I see nothing but sadness in his eyes. I often wonder if he feels abandoned.”
Specter nodded. “Does he recognize you at all?”
I shake my head. “He thinks my name is Heather. Heather was my mother’s name. I guess I look a lot like she did when she was my age.”
“That’s gotta be rough.”
“It is. There have been nights where I’ve cried myself to sleep because of it. Those nights really suck.”
“I bet they do,” Specter answered. I wish I could see his eyes and gauge his reaction. Why did he have to be so fucking hot, sexy, and mysterious?
Take off the glasses, damn it.
“Well, let’s get in there and get you back before Switchblade has a conniption fit. I saw the way he was looking at you and me. Pretty sure he hates your guts.”
“Why?”
“I guess it’s because of what happened with Riptide, probably that shit you said about his dick, more than likely it’s because of the way I look at you sometimes.”
He looked over at me slightly confused. “And how do you look at me sometimes?”
I smiled evilly, knowing damn well that the second I said what was on my mind there would be no turning back. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, not really.”
“I stare at you like I want you to throw me against the wall and fuck the shit out of me. That’s how I stare at you.” I finished my sentence by grabbing the handle of the car and fleeing before he ever had the chance to respond. Besides, I didn’t want him to see how hard I was blushing right now.
Specter followed me inside without saying a word. I swear I saw him grinning a few times when I glanced over his way, though.
The receptionist greeted us upon entry, I signed the sign-in sheet on the desk and made my way to my dad’s room. It wasn’t long before I found him.
Dad was sitting in the parlor area of the center playing cards with Tank, the old SGT at Arms for the Armada, and my dad’s best friend.
Since my dad stepped down as president of the MC, a lot of the guys retired with him, Tank being the first one. I don’t think there’s been a day that I’ve visited where Tank wasn’t here as well.
As I walked up to my dad, he smiled at me. It was a smile I knew all too well, and when I saw it, it broke my heart.
“Hey, beautiful. Look, Tank, it’s that girl Heather I was telling you about. Isn’t she a beauty? I’m gonna marry that girl someday, she and I are going to make the most beautiful babies together.”
Tank corrected him. “Dutch, that’s your daughter Faith, remember?”
My dad looked up at me, squinted a bit, and shook his head. “She looks a lot like Heather, Tank. Are you sure it’s not her?”
“Dad, it’s me, Faith. I’m your daughter with Heather.”
My dad had that glazed look in his eyes, the same look he got anytime this happened. “Sure, sure, Heather. I know who you are.”
I handed him the sack of lunch I cooked him, and he smiled. “See, Tank, she’s beautiful and she cooks for me. That’s how you know she’s a keeper.”
Tank put a card on the table before looking up. “Hey, Faithy, what’s up? Who’s this?” he asked, looking Specter over with great scrutiny.
“This is Specter, he’s prospecting the MC.”
Specter stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sir.”
Tank rejected Specter’s outstretched palm and continued to play cards. “Call me Tank. This here is Dutch.”
My dad looked up at Specter and smiled. “JD? When did you get here?”
My heart bottomed out. JD was Midas’ real name. My dad’s delusions were so bad, now he was seeing ghosts.
“Sorry, Sir, but my name is Specter or Prospect. I guess it depends on who you ask.”
My dad laughed. “Stop playing games, JD, and come play a hand with us.”
Specter looked at me warily as he took the seat between my dad and Tank. I shrugged my shoulders, fighting the tears that were threatening my eyes. The fact that my dad was getting so bad that he was pretending JD was still alive, worried me. JD’s death was one of the major things that sent my dad’s Alzheimer’s into a tailspin. When Midas died, I noticed my dad was starting to forget a lot of things. I watched him closely, but when my mother suddenly passed away, everything changed. My dad checked out. It was as if his mind was connected to my mom’s soul and the second she left this Earth, she took my dad’s memories with him. There were certain periods of time he did remember, but most of them had to do with my mother and when he met her for the first time. He also remembered Tank and how he was his best friend, but when it came to me, my brother, and everything that happened after he married my mom, he was at a loss. It looked like he was remembering Midas, too, only he forgot that Midas died seven years ago.
“Do you play Gin Rummy, Son?” Tank asked, shuffling out thirteen cards to him.
“I do. A good friend of mine taught me when I was younger.”
“Good. You gotta watch that guy over there; he fucking cheats,” Tank said, motioning to my dad.
“I don’t cheat, asshole. I play the game as it was meant to be played.”
Specter laughed, and I couldn’t help swooning a bit as I watched him play cards with my dad and Tank. He knew he couldn’t say no, and after my dad won the first hand, obviously cheating like Tank said he would, Specter respectfully bowed out.
“Well, I better head back. They have some things for me to clean around the compound that I have until sundown to finish.”
“JD, why are you stuck cleaning the compound? You’re our Tail Gunner, not a prospect.”
I really wish he would quit calling him JD.
I walked over to my dad and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Bye, Daddy, I love you.”
My father looked up at me blankly. “Are you leaving so soon, Heather? JD, why don’t you walk her out? A pretty girl like her should not be left alone but remember to keep your filthy hands off of her, she’s going to be my wife someday.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. Hearing my dad hold on to such old memories of my mom and then inner mixing them with memories of Midas broke me in two. My bottom lip started quivering and I immediately rushed out of the room, unable to hide my tears anymore. I usually wasn’t this weak about my dad and his memory lapses, but today he got to me—bad. I wasn’t sure if Specter would follow, but for some odd reason I hoped he would. I could really use another hug right now.
Chapter Fourteen
Specter
“What’s wrong with her?” Dutch asked, confused. “You would think a woman would be flattered when you profess your love for her. She seemed upset.”
Tank stood up, walked over to Dutch and leaned down so he was at his eye level.
“Alfie, we’ve talked about this. That wasn’t Heather. That was Faith, your daughter. Heather died six years ago. Right around the time you started losing your memory. I’m pretty sure it’s part of the reason your memory started to go. The reason Faith ran out is because it hurts her to see you like this. She just wants you to remember her. Think hard, Alfie, think about the day you held Faith in your arms for the first time. Remember watching her grow up—her first steps, her prom, her graduation. Try to remember your daughter’s face.”
Dutch looked deep in thought. You could see the concentration as he fought his illness and tried to remember Faith. Instead of recollection, tears filled his frail, wrinkled eyes.
Since the last time I saw him, Dutch had aged tremendously. He wasn’t that old, maybe in his mid-sixties, but the effects of his disease had withered his features. His hair was a lot longer now, hanging just below his collarbone, but I couldn’t tell because currently his hair was pulled back into a ponytail with an old, frayed hair tie. The color had faded from a once dark shade of brown to a white gray color that could be considered salt and pepper if the gray hadn’t taken over so much of his head. His beard was turning the same shade, but it was not as clipped and cleaned up as he used to keep it. He had gained some weight, especially in the gut—and he wore a dingy blue shirt instead of the familiar Armada cut he proudly wore for over twenty years. But it was his face that had aged the most. Weathered and troubled, his once bright eyes were dimmed with an unfamiliar confusion, like every face belonged to a stranger, and he had no idea when yesterday was or today began.
“I don’t remember,” Dutch whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Dutch. Maybe you will remember her tomorrow.”
Tank rose to a standing position and stared at me. “We need to talk, Specter. Now.” His eyes bore through me as he said my name with a fierce authority that had me almost cowering. I could see behind that narrowed glare—Tank knew who I was. He turned quickly to Dutch and patted him on the shoulder. “Alfie, I’m gonna walk Specter out and then come back for a second round of Gin. This time I won’t let you cheat.”
Dutch stared up at him blankly. Blinking a few times, he hesitated before speaking. “What is Gin?”
Tank frowned, patting him on the shoulder again. “I’ll teach you. I’ll be right back, Alfie.”
A look of life flashed back in Dutch’s eyes. He looked up at me and smiled. “Good seeing you again, JD. Don’t be such a stranger next time.”
It was strange how he couldn’t even recognize his own daughter, but Dutch looked at me like he could see right through my disguise. It wasn’t a disguise per se, more like a lifestyle change, but it had fooled almost everyone else. It was almost like Dutch could still see me as the three-hundred fifty-pound man who loved his daughter with every breath of his soul.
I didn’t know how to answer him, so I gave him a smile and reluctantly followed Tank into the hallway.
“Does she know?” Tank asked in a low whisper.
“Excuse me?” I asked, playing stupid.
“Faith. Does she know who you are?”
“I think you have me confused with someone else. Tank, was it?”
Tank scowled. “You may have everyone else fooled, Midas, but I know who you are. I never thought you died that day. There wasn’t enough evidence to back up the mystery behind your disappearance to prove that you were gone. The question is, why in the fuck are you back?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. If I revealed who I was, would he blow my cover? How would Faith react if she found out this soon?
I opened my mouth to answer him, but he silenced me.
“It’s obvious she doesn’t know, and I bet my dick that my son had something to do with your resurgence in the Armada. So, what’s your game plan here? Are you fucking around? Do I need to let Scythe know that there’s a snake in the grass?”
I glared at him. “I’m no snake. The only snake is the man who shot me, buried me in a shallow grave outside of town, and left me for dead.”
Tank’s glare softened. “It wasn’t the Saints, was it? Someone in the club tried to kill you, didn’t they?”
I nodded.
Tank whistled loudly. “Fuck. I knew I should’ve investigated in your disappearance more. I was so consumed with what was happening to Dutch and Heather that I never got around to following up what Switchblade and Guerrilla told us. It had to be one of them—maybe both.”
The thought of Switchblade having a hand in my death infuriated me, but I didn’t think he was capable of murder. He was too much of a pussy.
“It wasn’t Switchblade. I remember a few things from that night, specifically his build, hair color, and voice. Whoever shot me had dark hair and was short. Switchblade is tall, blonde, and built like a fucking freight-train.”
Tank frowned. “That definitely sounds like Guerrilla. I knew that Guerrilla was shady, but I never thought of him as the type of man who would murder a brother in cold blood.”
“I’m ninety-five percent sure it was him. When I met him the other day I was sent back in time and I remembered his voice very distinctly. I just don’t have the proof to back up my suspicions; which is why I’m staying undercover. Once I have my proof, I’m coming clean about who I am.” I told him, knowing that he’d keep my secret. “I mean I guess someone else could’ve worn our cut to throw me off if I saw them.”
Tank shook his head. “You weren’t here for the aftermath. Guerrilla volunteered himself and Switchblade to search for you. Somehow, they found your bike and your cut . . . that’s no coincidence, boy, that’s evidence.”
“But why drag Switchblade into it? What would be the reason behind that move or killing me at all for that matter?”
Tank thought out loud. “Guerrilla was the one who convinced Dutch to step down and Scythe to take over. Maybe he thought he would advance to VP if you were taken out of the equation. Everyone knew you two were next in line. As for Switchblade, either he knew about your murder and was in on it, or Guerrilla brought him in to cover his tracks.”
“I need more than circumstantial evidence. I can’t go off just suspicions alone, Tank. I need a confession. That’s what I’m here for. I came back to find my killer, get my revenge, and convince Faith to take me back after leaving her. That’s all.”
“And infiltrating the Armada again is all part of this master plan?”
“If it gets me closer to her, then yes.”
Tank nodded. “If Guerrilla finds out who you really are, he might try to kill you again.”
“I know.” I looked at Tank hopefully. “That’s why I gotta stay Specter for as long as possible. Will you keep my secret? At least until I can find out more about my murder?”
Tank stroked his goatee. “You know I’m no rat.”
I clapped him on the back. “I know. Thank you for not being a rat. I really need to try to stay undercover for as long as I can. Cipher told me that Faith is in a lot of trouble, and right now my only priority is keeping her safe.”
“Well, you better head on out after her then. Your window of opportunity is dwindling fast.”
I gave him a knowing smile and turned to run after Faith. I hadn’t even taken two steps before I abruptly stopped and whipped back around.
“Do you really think Dutch knew who I was?”
Tank shrugged. “There are days where Alfie remembers everything, and days where he can barely remember his own name. I had no clue who you were until he started calling you JD, and then, when I squinted my eyes, I could see it. Your posture, the way you carried yourself—that sense of pride in your eyes and the way you looked at Dutch with a hint of pain. I knew right then that you were Midas. You had to be. No stranger would stare at a man losing his memory with such sadness and admiration at the same time. You’ve always been a good, kind-hearted soul, Midas. The club lost a good man the day you disappeared. I’m glad you’re back. If you need anything, give me a call. It’s the least I can do after everything that happened to you.”
“It’s not your fault, Tank. You didn’t put out the hit. My only question is why me? Why did they choose me to go down?”
Tank shrugged. “Looks like you have some detective work to do, and some wooing, too. If you want to win her back, you’re going to have to break down that impenetrable wall she has put up around herself. Your death hardened her, JD. She went from the mushy, soft, beautiful woman we all know and love, to a hard and untrusting person who keeps everyone at an arm’s length. She could really use you right now. She’s hurting.”