UNDERTAKER

by Nicole James

  They left, and Undertaker leaned back in his chair and stared into space, brushing the fingers of one hand absently through his beard.

  He wasn’t sure how AJ would take it if she knew what he planned to do. Didn’t matter, he had no intention of her finding out, at least not until it was done. It would be enough to let her know, somewhere down the line, that this asshole had finally gotten what he deserved.

  There was a soft tapping on the door.

  “Come in,” he hollered.

  The door opened a foot, and Holly stuck her head in. “Are you busy? I can come back.”

  “No, now’s fine. Come on in.”

  Holly moved to one of the chairs facing the desk and sat.

  “You okay?” Undertaker asked.

  “I’m fine.” She rubbed her palms on her denim-covered thighs and his eyes followed the movement. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, giving her his full attention.

  “What’s up?”

  “I just… the other day at the barbeque, seeing you with Dr. Carter? Well, you obviously like her.”

  “I do.”

  “When you’re with her it’s like you don’t even know I’m there.”

  “Holly, that’s not true.”

  “It’s not that it’s a bad thing. No, actually it’s a good thing. It’s good that I got to see it with my own eyes, because for a long time you tried to tell me, and I didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to believe you.”

  “Believe what?”

  “The truth about us. I get it.”

  He watched her closely.

  “You’ve never looked at me that way. You never could. I’m just tired, okay. I’m tired of spending every day worrying that I might lose you. I mean, I already have. I never had you in the first place.”

  He searched her eyes. “I’m sorry, Holly.”

  She nodded. “Me, too. But it’s okay, because now I know what I have to do. I have to let you go.”

  He nodded, studying how she was handling this.

  She glanced around his office. “Everybody warned me that you weren’t into me and that you never would be.” She huffed out a small laugh. “Even you. And in my heart I kind of knew that, but when we were together it just felt real. I wanted it to be real.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s time for us to be honest with each other and with ourselves.”

  “I was always honest with you, Holly. I never wanted to hurt you. You know that?”

  She nodded. “I know, and”—she shrugged—“I guess I kind of fell in love with you a little. I know you do care about me in your own way; you’re just not in love with me. I mean how could you be?”

  “I care about you, Holly. I want you to be happy. And when you’re ready there’s going to be some guy who falls head over heels for you.”

  She smiled. “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it, darlin’.”

  “Cat and I went looking at apartments.”

  “Did you?” He nodded. “That’s great. Find any you like?”

  She shrugged. “There were a couple that were okay. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “When you decide, I want you to know you’ll be protected. I’ll see to it.”

  She nodded. “I know. Can I… can I still come by here? I mean, now and then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  She stood. “Okay, well, thank you. I mean it, thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “You’re welcome.” He stood and came around the desk. “Come here.”

  She moved into his arms and hugged him.

  He squeezed her arms. “Everything’s going to be fine, Holly. You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Undertaker, Blood, and Sandman sat in a black cargo van parked across the dark street from a four story building on a bad side of Detroit. They’d borrowed it from the local Dead Souls chapter.

  “He ain’t comin’,” Sandman grumbled.

  “He’s coming,” Blood assured him.

  “You sure this is the place?”

  Undertaker cracked his knuckles. “Yup. Had one of the Dead Souls do a little recon for us. Last night he followed him from his job to here. Our guy’s been living on the fourth floor.”

  “Living? This place is abandoned.”

  “Apparently he’s squatting.”

  Undertaker checked the time on his phone. “Kid said last night he got off from the gas station at one a.m. Should be here any minute.”

  “What if he doesn’t come straight here? How long we gonna wait?” Sandman asked.

  “Long as it takes,” Undertaker said sharply.

  Sandman and Blood exchanged a look.

  Undertaker caught it. Hell, he didn’t mean to snap, but the tension was getting to him. He ran a hand through his hair. He’d never been one who liked waiting.

  Blood glanced in the back where Sandman sat and noticed he was fiddling with something on the floorboards. “What’s that?”

  “Some sticks of dynamite I borrowed from the Dead Souls.”

  Blood arched a brow. “What the fuck do we need dynamite for?”

  “What if we want to blow shit up?”

  “No one is blowing shit up,” Blood growled.

  “He said, sucking at being a badass biker.”

  Blood rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to the street, muttering, “You’re a genius, Sandman. Said no one ever before.” A light rain was beginning to fall, and he eyed the sky. “It’s gonna storm.”

  “This dude is gonna feel a storm,” Undertaker growled with a grin and held up one fist. “Little bit of thunder.” He held up his other fist. “Little bit of lightning.”

  Blood chuckled. A moment later, he pointed through the windshield, and asked in a low voice, “That him?”

  Undertaker pulled a folded piece of paper out of his vest’s inside pocket, unfolded it, and glanced from the mug shot to the man walking down the street. The description fit—six foot, thin build, big mole on his forehead. “Pretty sure. Says he’s got a tattoo of a smoking gun on his neck.”

  Blood shook his head as he tracked the man down the sidewalk. “Too far to tell.”

  They watched him duck behind the side of the building and disappear. Blood had already cased the place and found there was a side entrance with a broken lock.

  “You ready?” Blood twisted his head and asked Sandman.

  Sandman shoved something in his jacket and replied, “Let’s rob this train, Jesse.”

  “Let’s roll,” Undertaker said, reaching for his door handle.

  Blood stashed a few items they’d need into his hooded jacket and zipped it up.

  The three of them exited the van and jogged across the street. Dressed in dark clothing, they paused against the wall near the door, blending into the shadows. The door was open an inch, a small piece of wood wedging it open, probably to give him enough light to climb the stairs. Sandman moved close and listened. Leaning against the wall, he turned his head to Undertaker and silently motioned, pointing a finger up.

  Undertaker could hear the distant footsteps as the man climbed to the top floor, then the sound of a fire door opening and slamming shut with its weight. Undertaker lifted his chin, and they entered, creeping silently up the stairs.

  When they reached the fourth floor, they paused at the door. Blood drew his gun, taking the lead. As Sergeant at Arms he’d never let the club’s President be the first in. They didn’t know what they were walking into, and there was no way he’d let Undertaker be at risk.

  Sandman pulled his piece as well, holding it at his side and nodding back at Blood that he was ready.

  Blood silently opened the door, and the three of them slipped inside.

  There was a hallway and a lot of open doors. They crept down slowly, clearing every room and moving steadily to the end of the hall until the last door on the left was all that remained.

  Again, Blood was point. He held his gun up and nodded. He and Sandman burst into the room, with Undertak
er behind them.

  There were a couple of windows, letting in some dim light. Their guy was sitting with his back to a wall, on a bare mattress on the floor. He was about to light a crack pipe. His eyes went wide, and he tried to scramble away, but didn’t make it off the mattress before Blood had him by the throat and pinned to the wall.

  “What the fuck, man?” the guy yelled, his eyes darting among the three men. “You robbin’ me? I ain’t got nothin’.”

  Blood jammed the guy’s head to the side, grinding his cheek into the plaster as he yanked his collar down, revealing the tattoo. “It’s him.”

  Undertaker got in his face with an evil grin. “Well, hello, Jamal. Been lookin’ for you.”

  “What the fuck is this about?” Jamal ground out. “Lookin’ for me? Why?”

  Undertaker jerked his chin to an old wooden chair, and together Blood and Sandman dragged him over to it, shoving him down. Sandman held him in a headlock while Blood took a roll of duct tape from his jacket and quickly taped Jamal’s wrists to the armrests and his ankles to the wooden legs.

  “What do you want?” Jamal growled at Undertaker.

  “I want to make you feel one tenth of the pain you inflicted on Allison Carter.”

  “Who the fuck is she?”

  Undertaker punched him in the mouth. “Wrong answer.”

  Jamal’s head reeled back, and he leaned forward, spitting a mouthful of blood out. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talkin’ about.”

  “You should; you killed her husband, motherfucker,” Blood growled.

  “That doctor bitch?”

  Undertaker punched him in the mouth again. When he recovered enough to talk, spitting more blood out, he insisted with a sneer, “I was found innocent. You got the wrong guy. I didn’t kill nobody.”

  “She interfered in your life, and you didn’t like it, did you?” Undertaker taunted.

  “She was a meddlin’ bitch. Ain’t none of her business. She filled Laquisha’s head with a bunch of bullshit. Tellin’ her to leave me, tellin’ her to get a restraining order. Fuckin’ bitch.” And then as if he realized he’s said too much, he added, “But I didn’t kill nobody. They couldn’t prove a damn thing.”

  “Dude likes to talk, don’t he?” Blood asked Undertaker.

  “Diggin’ his own grave is all he’s doin’,” Undertaker replied, sickened by everything about this low-life loser.

  Sandman kicked some boxes near the mattress, squatting to dig through them. “He’s got fake IDs, check making shit, prescription pads. Dude’s runnin’ a hell of an operation out of this dump.” Then he stood and lifted his flashlight. “Look at this bullshit.”

  Sandman gestured toward the wall. Devil worship signs in spray-paint took up half of it. He moved to the corner where a little altar with candles sat, and toed something with his boot. “Looks like he cut up a cat. Gross.”

  Blood walked over, studying the gore, and muttered, “Animal sacrifice.”

  “What the fuck shit you into, Jamal?” Undertaker asked.

  “What’s it to ya? You the cops?”

  Blood shifted his gaze from the gore to the man in the chair. “We ain’t the cops, Jamal. But I’m sure they’d be interested in what you’ve been doin’. Breaking and entering, destruction of property, identity theft, forgery, animal abuse—”

  “Felony creepiness,” Sandman added.

  Blood chuckled at that one as he strolled back over to Jamal.

  “Fuck you. Ain’t against the law to practice your religion.”

  Undertaker jerked his chin to Blood. “I’m done listenin’ to his bullshit.”

  “Yeah, he needs to shut the fuck up.” Blood wrapped duct tape over his mouth and around his head.

  Jamal gurgled and moaned behind the tape.

  Sandman chuckled. “Better hurry up before he chokes to death on his own blood. That’d take all the fun out of it.”

  Blood stood back and pulled a big heavy wrench from inside his jacket and hefted it in his gloved palm.

  Jamal’s eyes got big as he followed the movement.

  Undertaker held his hand out. “This one’s all mine.”

  Blood passed it to him. “Be my guest.”

  Undertaker hefted the tool several times, getting a feel for its weight in his hands and enjoying the fear in Jamal’s eyes as he dragged out the anticipation of the first blow. Grinning, he brought it up and slammed it down on Jamal’s hand, cracking bones like twigs.

  Jamal screamed behind the tape.

  Undertaker brought his arm up, and the silver wrench flashed as he slammed it back down again, shattering more bones.

  He continued the torment until he’d broken every bone in both Jamal’s hands.

  While he worked on him, Sandman whispered to Blood, “How’s this party ending? He gonna finish him here, or are we takin’ him somewhere?”

  “He didn’t share that part of the plan with me.”

  Sandman glanced at the time. “We gotta get outta here, Prez.”

  Undertaker stood back, his breathing heavy. He wiped his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, and then nodded.

  “What do you want to do?” Blood asked.

  Undertaker studied the man in the chair moaning in pain, tears running down his face, and passed the wrench back to Blood, who shoved it in his jacket. Then Undertaker bent, hands on his knees, and looked right in Jamal’s eyes. He’d thought long and hard on the drive up here about what this moment would be like—finishing off the bastard who’d ruined AJ’s life and took everything from her. “What I’d like to do is drive him out into the woods somewhere, find a nice quiet spot, and dig a deep grave. Then throw his ass in it, still taped to the chair, tape still over his mouth, and listen to him struggle while I throw shovel after shovel of dirt on him until he’s good and buried. Stomp that dirt down good, until it’s all packed tight.” Undertaker grinned at the Jamal’s wide eyes as the man contemplated his fate, then he straightened up. “But we ain’t got time for that.”

  “That’s what you want, we can make the time. You are the Undertaker—seems fitting that’s how he goes.” Blood grinned.

  Sandman chuckled and folded his arms, staring at Jamal. “He’s pretty skinny. Wouldn’t have to be too big a hole, but I still ain’t lookin’ forward to havin’ to dig it.”

  Undertaker scanned the room. It was an old building with old-fashioned windows, the kind that still opened. He lifted his chin toward one. “Open the window.”

  Jamal was foggy with pain, but he was alert enough that his eyes got big at that order.

  Sandman moved to it and had to struggle with it for a moment before he finally got the ancient thing up.

  Undertaker moved to one side of the chair, jerking his head at Blood. “Give me a hand.”

  “Love to.”

  They each took a side of the chair, hefted it up, and carried it toward the window.

  Jamal screamed behind the duct tape and thrashed at his binds, a look of absolute terror on his face.

  “On three.” Undertaker grinned down at Jamal as he slowly counted, and they rocked him toward the window. “One…two…three!”

  They gave a heaving toss and sent Jamal, chair and all, sailing out the window. Then the three of them leaned out to watch him fall to the concrete four stories below.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  AJ opened her door, a smile tugging at her mouth as she took in the sight of Derek. It had been almost a week since she’d seen him, and she’d missed him. They’d texted every day, but he hadn’t asked to see her, and she’d been too proud to ask him. She folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Well, hey good-lookin’. Haven’t heard from you in a while. I was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

  He leaned on the outside of the same doorframe, his face inches from hers. “Sorry, babe. Something came up, and I had to go out of town for a few days. But I’m here to make it up to you. Take a ride with me.” He jerked his head toward his
bike.

  Her neck craned, her gaze going over his shoulder to the motorcycle that sat in her driveway. She’d missed seeing it there, as she’d missed him.

  He took her for a long ride; they drove across the bridge spanning Lake Ponchartrain and rode all through the French Quarter, then up through the Garden District and back again. It was exhilarating being on the bike, with the wind in her face. It felt freeing, and she relaxed, letting all her cares fall away.

  Being with Derek was easy. It felt right. It felt good. She never wanted the ride to end. But of course it had to.

  He got a call. Club business and had to drop her off at her place, apologizing. She was growing more and more attached to him every day and hated to see him ride away.

  ***

  The next day she was back in her office, daydreaming about their ride when her receptionist buzzed her on the intercom.

  “Yes, Coralee?”

  “There’s a Detective Williams here to see you.”

  AJ frowned. Williams had been one of the detectives who had worked her husband’s murder. He’d become a friend to her through the long months of the investigation and trial, even stopping in to check on her in the weeks and months after. But she hadn’t heard from him in years and wondered why he’d be coming by now, unless he was just stopping in to say hello. “Send him in, please.”

  The door opened, and he walked in. Joseph Williams was a tall black man with a big warm smile. If he hadn’t been a detective, he could have been a linebacker. He was a big teddy bear until it came to dealing with criminals. Then the scary came out.

  “Joe! How are you?” AJ came around her desk, holding her arms out for a hug. She was soon enfolded in his embrace.

  “I’m doing well, AJ. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been doing better lately.” She beamed.

  “You look happy,” he replied, seeing her expression.

  “I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time.” She watched him nod in response, but before he could get maudlin on her, she changed the subject. “How are Tracy and the kids?”

  “She’s good. Terrence has been accepted to Tulane next year, and Mayelle just got her driver’s license, so watch out.”