He squeezed me tight, his chin resting on the top of my head. ‘I won’t,” he whispered.
I got into Mom’s station wagon and he slammed the door. I’ll see him in a few hours, I told myself. It’ll be okay.
I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.
29
Carrick
It took hours to clean up, even with everyone helping. We had to separate the clean stock from the fire-damaged stuff and then we had to move everything. I love bikes like nothing else but one thing they’re useless for is moving loads. We had to get the van from the compound before we could start ferrying stuff back.
The mood was somber. We’d completely underestimated this Volos guy. No one was making any noises about giving Annabelle up, not for a second. But everyone was pissed off. Losing the warehouse would really hurt the club. And I brought this to our door. I had to find a way to make this right, to protect both Annabelle and the MC. But where do you even start looking for a guy like Volos?
On the way back to the clubhouse, I was thinking on it so hard that I didn’t notice the big red SUV at first, not until it was six feet from my rear wheel. Some guy in a suit was at the wheel. I could have easily outrun him but I wasn’t in the mood. I waited for him to overtake but he didn’t, just sat there on my tail. What the fuck?
Then he pulled alongside me and sat there next to my shoulder until I looked. That’s when I saw the badge he was holding up to the window and its three blocky blue letters. FBI.
Oh fuck.
I throttled back and pulled over. But I kept my bike running.
The guy got out and sauntered over. He was in his thirties and well dressed for a fed, with a sharp suit. I figured he was some trust fund kid who’d disappointed his parents and wound up working for the government. He walked around in front of my bike. “Carrick O’Harra,” he said with great satisfaction as he took off his sunglasses. “Been waiting a while to meet you. Thought we could have a nice quiet chat.”
I looked around. We were on a quiet country road that led into Haywood Falls: I’d taken the scenic route to give me some thinking time. There wasn’t much traffic. No one would see us. But if he thought I was going to keep this from Mac and the club, he was crazy. If any of us get approached by a fed, the first thing we do is tell the others. Otherwise, people think you might be cooperating.
I gave him my coldest stare.. “I got nothing to say to you.”
“It’s Agent Trent, by the way. But you can call me Marcus.” He looked over his shoulder. In the distance, we could still see the smoke rising from the smoldering remains of the warehouse. “Seems like you really pissed someone off.”
I sat back in the saddle and narrowed my eyes. The fire only started a few hours ago. How did the FBI hear about it so fast? Sheriff Harris wouldn’t even have written up his report yet.
“Oh, we’ve been watching the Princes for some time,” Trent told me. “Waiting for the right opportunity. Then we heard you were making enquiries about Volos and that really got our attention.”
My jaw dropped. “You know about that psycho?”
Trent nodded. “And he’s not someone you want to piss off. He operates on a whole different level.” He sounded almost impressed. “You are way, way, way out of your depth, O’Harra.”
“But you’re going to bring him down?” My pulse was racing. I hated the idea of working with the feds, but if they could get Volos off our backs….
Trent threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, Jesus, no! Are you kidding? Volos is practically a legend. No one’s even gotten close to catching him. Half the FBI think he’s a myth. No, no, no.” He paused for effect. “I’m here for the guns, O’Harra. I want to put the Princes away for running guns: Mac, Ox, Hunter, all of them.”
I blinked at him. “What? Fuck you! I’m no rat.”
He grinned and folded his arms. “You haven’t heard what I’m offering.”
I leaned forward and twisted the throttle, revving the engine. I was ready to ride straight over him if he didn’t get out of the way. “I ain’t interested.” My foot went to kick the bike into gear—
“Annabelle.”
My foot missed its target and I clumsily rocked on the bike. I slowly looked up at him.
And then I killed the engine and the silence of the forest swelled up to surround us.
Trent stepped right up to my bike and put his hands on the handlebars, leaning in until our faces were only a few inches apart. “Volos is going to destroy your club. It’s a plaything to him, an amusement. He’s like a cat with a mouse. You’ll watch your friends die and then he’ll kill you and take Annabelle back. It’s just a matter of time. But if you were to help me...well, then I’d have to put you in witness protection. You and Annabelle. You’d testify and then disappear. Fresh new lives. Even Volos wouldn’t be able to find you and he wouldn’t be targeting the club anymore. Some of your friends would go to jail for a while but they’d live. And the Hell’s Princes would survive.”
I stared at him, unable to believe even a fed would stoop this low. Mac’s words came back to me: they always want something.
“I’m offering you a life,” said Trent. “You could leave it all behind, O’Harra. The killing, the violence—oh, I know what you do for the club. In a few months, you could be on the other side of the country with a new name and your girl by your side. All you’ve gotta do is give me the club.”
We stared at each other. Say something, I screamed inside. But I couldn’t find the words.
Trent smiled.
“Go fuck yourself,” I spat. But my voice was thick and hoarse. I started up my bike again.
Trent plucked a business card from his pocket, slid it into a pocket on my cut and tapped it meaningfully. Then he stepped back out of the way before I could run him down.
As I tore away, I was almost panting with rage. He thought I’d rat out the club? I’d heard of some pretty dirty deals from the feds in my time, but this was a new low. Volos sold women and this guy was prepared to practically side with him to get what he wanted. I should have punched him out. Hell, I should have shot him. I should have—
But as I sped around the next bend, I knew my anger wasn’t really at him. Feds are feds. Making dirty deals is what they do. I was pissed at myself. Because when he’d made the offer...I’d hesitated. I hadn’t been able to tell him to fuck off. Only for a few seconds, but when my loyalty to the club was being questioned, that was a fucking ice age.
I hadn’t been able to tell him to fuck off because a little part of me had been tempted.
A little part of me had seen an image of Annabelle in a summer dress, walking hand in hand with me. Happy. Safe. Together forfuckingever.
And I hadn’t been ready for how fucking hard that image tugged at me. Being able to look in her eyes and not see that fear there. Being able to set her free from this whole nightmare, permanently.
I’d never, ever rat out the club. But that image of Annabelle had actually made me consider it and that scared the shit out of me. And Trent had seen it, too: that’s why he’d smiled.
I leant low into the next bend, my anger pushing me to ride faster and faster. I have to fix this. Not by ratting out the club. Not with the club’s help, as Mac would want me to do. The club had suffered enough. I had to do this myself.
And suddenly, it was all clear to me. I had to kill Volos.
Violence and killing were what I was good at. Kill him and all my problems went away. My hands tightened on the handlebars. All I had to do was find him. But how did I do that when even the FBI couldn’t catch him?
I had the bike pushed to its limits, now, leaning hard over to make each turn. I had to find someone who’d know something. The Blood Spider’s President, Hay, had known almost nothing. Someone else….
My hand slipped from the throttle and the bike began to slow. I feathered the brakes and brought it to a stop, right in the middle of the road.
There was one other person who might know something. Someone I’d hap
pily take apart to get the information out of him.
Someone who deserved to die.
I made a tight turn and then blasted back the way I’d come, heading towards Teston.
30
Annabelle
Back at the compound, I chopped onions and fried off chunks of steak with Mom. But once the chili was slow-cooking for the members’ return, there was nothing else to help with and she chased me out of the trailer and told me to go enjoy myself.
With most of the members helping clean up after the fire, the compound was spookily deserted. Every hour or so, the van would return to drop off another load of rescued stock, but Carrick was never in it and the faces of the Prospects driving were grim. The guilt ate me up. I checked with Scooter but there was nothing that needed fixing so I couldn’t even help out that way. And the last thing I wanted to do was sit around.
Eventually, I borrowed the spare bike members used while theirs was being fixed and practiced riding. It was much harder without Carrick to guide me. He was right: I didn’t have the muscle to haul the big bike’s weight around. But I’d never get stronger unless I tried.
I gritted my teeth and started riding in slow circles and figure-8s around the compound. It took all my concentration, which was a blessed relief: it took my mind off Volos. I’ll tear your club apart, the note had said. Now it had begun. What if they couldn’t stop him? What if it got so bad that they decided to—
I shook the image from my head. Stop it! Carrick and the club had promised to protect me and they would. I had to trust them. But if they wouldn’t give me up...how much would they lose?
The bike teetered and it took all my strength to keep it upright. Concentrate!
After a few hours, my thighs burned and my arms ached but I welcomed the pain: I felt like I deserved it. I only stopped when I heard the throb of approaching engines. I climbed off the bike and ran over to the clubhouse as the members rode up. But Carrick wasn’t among them. When I asked, everyone said he and Hunter had been the last ones to leave. I waited...but still he didn’t show.
Then Hunter rode up, a crate of beer strapped to the back of his saddle. “Have you seen Carrick?” I asked immediately. I was starting to get a bad feeling.
Hunter frowned. “Weird thing,” he said. “He was ahead of me. I stopped to get beer and then I saw him race past the store the other way, heading out of town.”
“What’s out that way?”
Hunter shrugged. “The highway,” he said. “Teston.”
I walked away, completely confused. Could he be going to the Blood Spiders? Why? To try to track down Volos? They’d already interrogated the Blood Spiders’ President. And there was nothing else in that direction, aside from—
I stopped dead.
Aside from my house.
I spun and raced back to Hunter, catching him as he climbed off his bike. “We have to go after him!”
“Why? What’s the matter?”
I unstrapped the beer and climbed onto the bike behind him. “He’s going to question my step-dad,” I said breathlessly. I looked him in the eye. “Hunter, he’ll kill him.”
Hunter nodded grimly. “Hold on tight.”
We roared off. And I prayed we’d be in time.
31
Carrick
The drive to Annabelle’s farm was like stepping back in time ten years. I could still remember every twist and turn of the approach...hell, I’d even been on the same bike. Except, back then, I’d been looking over my shoulder for the bikers chasing me, feeling the blood soak slowly through my t-shirt. I’d lost control right outside her house. Right...here.
I slowed to a stop alongside the fence. There was still a sagging section where my rolling body had smacked into it: twelve years, and Annabelle’s step-dad still hadn’t gotten around to fixing it. There: that’s where she found me. There was the tool shed, where she’d dragged me. Where she’d saved my life by hiding me.
My hands tightened on the handlebars. And how had I repaid her? I’d left her with a necklace and a promise. I’d left her alone for twelve years with...him. I hadn’t known, of course. I’d had no idea how much of a bastard her step-dad was. I hadn’t known he’d do something as unthinkable as selling her. But that didn’t stop the knowledge from knotting me up inside.
I knew now.
I climbed off my bike, unstrapped Caorthannach and brandished her in both hands. The rage built with every step I took towards the house, like I was soaking up all the evil in this place through the soles of my boots.
I realized I was going to enjoy this. I was going to enjoy beating the information out of him.
Ten years ago, the fields in front of the house had been full of dusty, dead maize. Now they were barren dirt. This was barely even a farm, anymore, just a slowly rotting house in a dead plot. I opened the screen door...and then, on instinct, I tried the door handle. It turned and the door swung open. I caught my breath, hands curling into fists, waiting for him to run at me...but no one appeared.
I stalked inside. Had he heard me approach? Was he lurking somewhere with a gun? I checked the living room: nothing. The kitchen: nothing. Upstairs, then.
I crept up the stairs as quietly as I could, wincing at every creak. But still no one appeared out of the shadows. The afternoon sunlight was lancing through windows, pinning motes of dust in midair. It was eerily quiet.
I checked each room I came to. One of them, I figured, was his bedroom: it stank and the bed looked used. But it was as empty as the rest.
Eventually, there was only one room left. Annabelle was hand-painted in big, blue and red balloon letters on the door, together with a butterfly. The whole thing had been painted over at some point, but whoever had done it had only used one coat of white and the colors still showed through.
I slowly pushed it open, holding my breath. I was expecting to find the step-dad holding a shotgun.
No one. He wasn’t home. So why had the front door been unlocked?
The closet was wide open. Inside, there was nothing but empty hangers swaying in the breeze from the open window. That made no sense, either. Annabelle hadn’t taken anything with her to the auction: I’d had to buy her new clothes. The drawers were empty, too. Pretty much all that was left in the room was a bookshelf on the wall: some very old books on engineering and—
I frowned at the thick book someone had carefully covered in paper and then in plastic to make it last. A Harley had been sketched on the spine, every line lovingly hand-drawn in pencil. I pulled it down and opened it at a random page. It took me several pages to realize I was looking at her diary.
She hadn’t written in it every day. She’d saved it for the really good times and the really bad times: the ones she wanted to remember and the ones she wanted to cleanse from her soul by trapping them in ink.
There were a lot more bad times than good times. I could tell the really bad ones by the circular stains that marked her tears.
Every page I turned notched the anger inside me higher. I knew reading it was wrong but I couldn’t stop.
I read about her mom dying, my chest growing tight.
I read about her step-dad hitting her and then letching after her, my fingers gripping the pages so hard I almost tore them.
It wasn’t just what had happened to her; it was how she dealt with it. Maybe she hadn’t even known she was doing it at the time, but she’d doodle things in the margin: motorbikes, leather cuts, even a good rendition of the Hell’s Princes logo. I could imagine her sitting there, tears in her eyes, drawing to work up courage to describe her day. I’d given her courage. Memories of me. I’d been her escape.
But it was worse than that. Carrick, it said, just after each bad day. Like writing it was her way of drawing a line underneath. Carrick. Carrick, Carrick, Carrick.
I’d been her rescue plan for twelve fucking years.
The rage was so strong, I could barely breathe. At first, my name was in elaborate balloon letters. As she got older, it became brutal and har
d: dangerous and exciting. When she was in her late teens, it became sensual and flowing. And when she was an adult...it started to get smaller and smaller.
She’d given up hope.
I swung at the closest thing: the bookshelf on the wall. My fist snapped off the bracket that supported it and the whole thing tumbled to the bed, spilling a flood of books.
I’d been her knight in shining fucking armor. And instead of being there to save her, I’d been off in Haywood Falls, dealing out vengeance to the enemies of the club, getting darker and darker, less of a hero each day. Why didn’t you call? I could have rescued her a year before, five years before….
I tossed the diary onto the pile on the bed, panting with rage. I’d failed, back then. I hadn’t known she needed help.
But I knew now.
I stomped down the stairs, no longer worried about making a noise. A good thing her step-dad wasn’t home, with what was going through my mind. I’d track him down, though, make him tell me where Volos was—
As I passed the living room, a noise made me freeze in the doorway. A kind of groan. I raised Caorthannach and stole forward.
There was an armchair that faced away from the door. And sprawled in it, hidden from the doorway by its back, was Annabelle’s step-dad. His mouth was slackly open, a bottle of whiskey nestled to his chest as if for comfort. He was so thoroughly passed out, he hadn’t even been aware of me.
I walked around the chair, never taking my eyes off him. The rage was white-hot, now, searing away thought and leaving only emotion. This was him. This was the man who’d hit her, who’d made her live in fear for so many years. This was the man who’d lusted after her. This was the man who’d sold his step-daughter.
I’ve dealt with a lot of despicable people in my life, but I’ve never hated a person so much.
I fingered Caorthannach, her engravings familiar and comforting. God, it would be so easy, so quick. One squeeze. Both triggers. He’d be gone. But I needed answers.
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