Through The Weeds (Nightshade MC Book 2)

by Shannon Flagg

  “Let's call the vote,” Buster suggested. “All in favor of an exit strategy?” He felt a sense of pride in his brothers as all hands raised, though he would have accepted it if they'd voted against him even if he thought it was a mistake. Thankfully, it hadn't come to that.

  “Let's figure out this prospect shit,” Train suggested. “I need a drink and a mouth around me, especially if we're heading out first thing. Clock is ticking.”

  “What else is new?” Buster asked. “I've got someone I want to bring up. Someone who I think would be a hell of an addition to us if you can all keep an open mind.”

  “An open mind?” Train frowned. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “James Monroe.” Buster expected the silence that followed the announcement.

  “Monroe? Seriously? What makes you think he'd want to prospect for us?” Ace asked with a skeptical look. “Come on, Buster. Don't get me wrong. I like him, but I'm not sure that this is the life he wants. He had a chance at it. Chose the exact opposite, remember.”

  “He knows why I asked him here and he still came,” Buster pointed out. “He's earned a chance. He's been a friend to us for years. And that friendship carried a heavy price for him. Monroe is a good man. He's strong and he's smart.”

  “I say we give him a shot,” Danny said. “All in favor?” All hands raised, even Train's, who Buster had been the most worried about. Not just because the prospect was James, but because there were going to be new prospects. He didn't much enjoy getting to know new people.

  “Anyone else have any suggestions?”

  “I do.” Danny sat up straighter. “Bones.”

  “Bones?” Rock asked. “He's like a toothpick. One fight and someone is going to snap him in two pieces. Hell, he probably can't even move a keg or a case by himself.”

  “He's stronger than he looks and seriously smart. Give him a keyboard and there's not a thing that he can't do.” Danny spoke with confidence.

  “And last I checked, that's what you had me for.” Ace's temper was obvious in his voice.

  “Last I checked, you hate being left out of shit. Always bitch that you don't get in on all the fun stuff. Bones will be happy to stay put,” Danny pointed out. They all knew that he was right. Ace liked to be in the thick of everything, but that wasn't always possible.

  “Alright, fine. But I bet you he's not as good as me.” Ace grinned.

  “I like him.” It was high praise coming from Train. “He doesn't seem like a complete idiot.”

  Buster didn't have a reason to object. Bones was a good guy. He had a wife and two kids, worked as a handyman and mechanic to make ends meet. “Sounds good to me. Any objection?” Rock and Edge said nothing. “Anyone else?” No one else volunteered any names. Two prospects at a time sounded just about right to him. “Let's get them in here.”

  When James came through the door a moment later, Buster was nearly sure that the man was going to refuse the cut. But he didn't. He took it, his expression unreadable. Bones looked downright flustered; he did not have a poker face.

  The entire ritual of handing out the cuts, hearing them swear their allegiance, gave Buster a feeling of satisfaction or peace. He wasn't sure which, and it didn't matter. The future for Nightshade kept getting brighter and brighter. This new blood showed him that the club would continue to grow and prosper. They would figure out a way to rid themselves of Joseph Miller. He was sure of it.

  <#<#<#<#

  Dark clouds were gathered overhead. The threat of rain hung heavy. Buster knew that if it started to rain and they had to pull over, they wouldn't make the drop on time. They'd already hit major traffic due to an accident and a busted water main. The moments were ticking away faster than the miles. Buster was angry at himself for not allowing much time, even if the extra hour he'd tacked on from the beginning had been generous.

  He wished he'd given two. Fuck. Maybe three, or perhaps they should have just ridden out the night before, after the meeting. He pushed the bike faster, eyes constantly checking on the clouds. If only the rain would hold out just long enough to get them there. Buster was certain that Joseph Miller would carry through on his threat, and he didn't want to have the death of a loved one on his head. And it would be because he hadn't planned well enough.

  Fuck.

  In the end, they reached the roadside diner just over five minutes later than they were supposed to. There were three men waiting for them, pretty boy types who thought that they were badass because they put on some leather and got on the back of a bike. Buster made the approach and sat down across from them.

  He decided not to take it as a bad omen when the rain finally started to pour down outside. “You're late.” The youngest of the three men spoke up. “I was just about to make a phone call I didn't want to make.”

  “Traffic,” Buster replied.

  “I get it, Man. I do, which is why I'm not making the call. Let's just do this. Get it over with.” The blonde man tossed some bills down onto the table. “We're parked around back. Meet us there.” He and the two other men walked away without another word.

  The exchange went quickly, but still they were soaked to the skin. The only option was to head inside the diner, try to get dry, grab some food and wait for the storm to run its course. There was the usual laughter and chatter around the table. Buster found it harder to relax than the others. He realized that he wouldn't be truly relaxed until they were back home and he knew that everyone was whole. There was an uneasy feeling sitting just at the base of his skull that he just couldn't shake.

  The food came and Buster started to eat without even tasting the steak and eggs, home fries and toast. He watched the rain, waited for it to slow down. Waited for it to stop so that they could get back on the road. Even with the long ride ahead of them, he thought that he might feel better knowing they were closer and closer to home with each moment.

  Buster didn't voice his worries. There was no sense in getting everyone riled up when they were essentially stuck where they were, but they were putting a whole lot of trust in the fact that a man they didn't know had said he hadn't made a phone call.

  The rain cleared shortly after they'd finished the meal. Maybe he wasn't the only one with the lingering feeling of doom, because there was no question that they were heading straight home even when earlier there had been some discussion about splitting the ride in half.

  <#<#<#<#

  The bar came into view. It was still standing, and Buster felt the first real sense of relief since they'd started the ride. He could see the smiles on the faces around him. He wasn't the only one glad to be home. All he wanted was a drink, it didn't have to be liquor, and a bed to fall face down in for at least the next eight hours. His back protested when he got off of the bike. His knees ached, and for once Buster actually felt his age.

  “I thought that you'd be heading home to Amelia,” he said to Danny as they got off of the bikes.

  “I'm in the doghouse. I figured I should have a beer first,” Danny admitted.

  “Do I even want to know why you're in the doghouse?” Buster asked. He was surprised that Danny hadn't mentioned anything earlier, when they were killing time and making conversation.

  “She's ovulating.” Danny sighed. “I've been trying to knock her up. It hasn't happened, so she's tracking her cycle and taking her temperature. Don't know how many times I've got to tell her that if she'd just relax for a while, it'd happen.”

  “You do realize that your Old Lady doesn't know how to relax? Right?” Ace laughed. “It'll be a cute kid, if it looks like Amelia.”

  “That's your opinion,” Train chimed in.

  “Fuck you,” Danny replied.

  Buster pulled the door to the bar open, stepped inside and stopped. There wasn't a chair or table in place, or whole. Glass littered the floor, and even the walls were stripped bare. He held up his hand to stop the men behind him, took out his gun.

  They all did the same. Buster stepped fully inside, and they poured in behind
him. Ace moved towards the back, and Train up the stairs. Buster headed to the basement; the door into their room was locked. He opened it and took a quick look, nothing had been touched. That was something.

  “I got something,” Danny called out. Buster took the stairs two at a time and found him in the kitchen. “It's Clark.”

  There was no denying that Clark was dead. He was wide-eyed, slack-jawed and almost completely covered in blood. From the look of the wounds on his stomach, it was all his. “What the fuck?” Buster demanded.

  “Tell me about it. Who kills someone and then tries to play with their insides? I've seen some shit but this...”

  Train burst through the door. “There's a girl upstairs,” he told them. “Oh shit,” he added when he looked down. “That's a gnarly way to kill yourself.”

  “How does that make you think suicide?” Buster demanded.

  “There's only one set of foot prints.” Train got closer, crouched down. “And he's got bits of himself embedded in his fingers. Plus there's no real sign of a struggle. If someone was doing this to him, he'd have fought. Clark was a little off in the head, but he wasn't a pussy.”

  “Wait, you found a girl upstairs?” Buster asked. This day just kept getting better and fucking better.

  “Yeah, it's that chick Ace has been fucking? The giggling blonde with the nice ass. Her tits aren't bad either, a little on the small side for me.”

  “Tabitha,” Danny told them. “Her name is Tabitha.”

  “Whatever, she's beat to fuck. Ace is trying to clean her up now. Figured you want to talk to her. Figure you really want to talk to her after this.” Train motioned to Clark. He let out a laugh. “Hey. We need to get the prospects in here to clean this up.”

  “You handle that, Train. I'm going to talk to this Tabitha, see if she can tell us what she saw.” Buster headed to the second floor and followed the sound of Ace's voice to the smallest bedroom. “Jesus.” The room was trashed much like the downstairs.

  Tabitha looked like she'd gone ten rounds in an MMA cage, and she flinched back when Buster approached the bed. “Hey. It's okay. You're okay.” Ace continued to clean the cuts on her arms. “You know Buster. He's not going to hurt you.”

  “I just need to ask you if you can tell me what happened here.” Buster remained several feet away from the bed and tried to appear unthreatening.

  “It's alright, Tabitha. You need to tell him, tell me, so we can make sure it doesn't happen again.” Ace reached for a tube of antibiotic ointment. “It's okay.”

  “I fell back asleep after you left.” Tabitha directed all her attention at Ace. “I know you told me to get up and go but I was so tired. When I did wake up, Clark was the only one here. He caught me on my walk of shame. Offered me a cup of coffee.” That sounded like Clark; he was a friendly man by nature.

  “What happened next?” Ace prompted her when she fell silent.

  “He made me toast with peanut butter and jelly. And then some guy came in, I didn't know him. Clark went into the back with him, and when he came out he was acting different. I realized I left my keys upstairs, so after I ate, I went up to get them, and he followed me up. He was different. Aggressive. He...” Her voice broke and she began to cry.

  “Ace, I need you to check the security cameras for outside and the street. I want to know who this man was.”

  “No. Please. Don't leave me.”

  “I'm not going far.” Ace leaned in, kissed her forehead. “I'll get someone up here to finish cleaning you up.”

  “I'll wait for you. I don't want anyone else touching me.” Tabitha shifted on the bed and pulled her legs up to her chest.

  “What happened after he got aggressive, Tabitha?” Buster felt guilt about pressing someone who was obviously on the verge of some kind of breakdown, but she was the only one with answers. They needed to know what she knew.

  “He tried to push up on me. I told him that I was with Ace. He laughed. Said that I didn't have a brand. I wasn't marked. I was just meat. Warm and willing meat. Do you really need me to tell you what happens next?”

  “What happened after he was done?”

  “He kicked me around. Smashed the mirror and stormed out. I heard him go downstairs. Heard stuff break, and I guess it was just too much. I passed out. Can we be done with this conversation? Please.”

  “We're done. Right, Buster?” Ace looked over at him and he nodded.

  “We're done,” Buster confirmed. “Ace will be right back, and he'll bring you something to help you sleep.” It was a gentle reminder to Ace that he needed to leave the room, because he didn't seem to want to leave Tabitha's side.

  “I'll be back in a flash,” Ace promised. He kept the smile on his face until he'd followed Buster out into the hallway. “This had to be Miller.”

  “Slow down,” Buster told him.

  “Fuck slow down. This had to be Miller. We were late with the shipment and someone got hurt. Someone got hurt in our house. And for the record, when I find Clark, he's going to wish that he was dead.”

  “He won't need to wish. He is dead,” Buster told him. “I didn't want to say anything in front of the girl and upset her. Train thinks that he killed himself, but it's not like any suicide I've ever seen.”

  “What does that mean?” Ace asked as they made their way down the stairs.

  “You'll see. And I need you on that video, Ace. I want to know who came here to see Clark today.” What Buster wanted most of all was answers. If they found out who came there, they'd find him, and then he'd get those answers one way or another.

  “It'll take me two minutes to pull them up. Come on.” The computer and security system were kept in the storage room off of their meeting room. Ace sat down at the computer. “It'll just be a second. Wait a minute, what the fuck? There's nothing.”

  “What do you mean there's nothing?” Buster demanded. “How can there be nothing?” It only took a trip outside for them to see why there was nothing. The camera had been painted over with black spray paint.

  “I'll check and see if whoever did the painting got themselves caught on camera, but honestly, I doubt it. You go to this much trouble, you're not going to just stroll up and try to appear casual.” Ace shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “And I take back what I said earlier, this isn't Miller. Miller would have wanted us to see him. He'd have left the cameras alone.”

  “You're right about that. I want that camera fixed, more cameras out here. I want actual eyes out here. Use the hang-arounds if you've got to,” Buster ordered. “I'm going to get someone on cleaning up inside. Make sure that Clark's taken care of.”

  “I'll get it done. I'm going to grab Bones. Let's see how good the skinny little shit really is.” Ace headed back into the bar, a man on a mission.

  Buster remained outside. He didn't know why he was surprised that just as everything seemed to be looking up, it all started to go to hell. It was the first real crisis since he'd taken over. The men inside and the people around them were going to be looking to him, to see how he weathered the storm. He needed them to see him as strong, so they would be strong.

  He took a moment, just stared up at the sky. The rain from earlier was gone. Everything was clear. Everything except his mind. Buster reached into his cut, took out the pack of smokes he hardly ever touched anymore. His fingers brushed against his phone, and he took it out.

  Caroline had called once. She'd also sent him a picture. The backdrop obviously her bedroom, more specifically her unmade bed, with her stretched out on it. From the angle she'd held the camera he couldn't see her body, but her bare shoulders suggested that she was naked. He didn't need a picture to remember the sight of her. She was burned into his brain.

  Buster wanted to call her. He wanted to hear her voice, even though he knew that she was okay. She'd been far away from the bar when Clark lost his mind, but she just as easily could have been there. She could have just as easily been hurt, and it would have been on him, because she was with him, just like Hann
a, who had paid the ultimate price.

  “Buster!” Danny called his name from the door.

  “Coming.” He tossed the cigarette he hadn't even taken a drag off of, returned his phone to his pocket and headed back in. Buster didn't expect the kick to the gut it was to see the place with all the lights on and everyone who wasn't taking care of Clark with trash bags in hand.

  “Clark had to be out of his mind to do this.” Danny sighed. “He loved all this stuff, called it history.”

  “Kept them all clean. Kept everything clean. I'm going to miss him. We're all going to miss him.” Buster knew that it was true. “We'll find who did this to him. They'll regret the day that they set their sights on Nightshade.”

  Chapter Eight

  It had been a week since she'd seen Buster, not that Caroline was counting or anything, and it had been nearly as long since he'd texted her more than a one word answer. She'd last texted him two days before, and he still hadn't responded. She didn't know what to make of that, so she just went about her life as she normally would.

  Eventually the little voice in her mind started, the one who said all the things that she didn't want to hear, all her deepest fears laid bare. He'd hit it and quit it, smashed and dashed, bounced on her and bounced. The nagging voice told her she'd been a fool to ever trust him in the first place. He had gotten what he wanted, and now he was gone. It made her feel physically ill every time that she thought about it.

  She thought about it a lot. It seemed that she'd thought of nothing else but him since they met. Sure, they had a few false starts, but the day at the warehouse had made her realize they'd built something together. Caroline had told herself she was being paranoid. He wasn't that type of guy. He'd pursued her. Wined her. Dined her. Held her hand. Why all that effort for something he could get by crooking his finger at the bar? There was no shortage of willing women around him.