by Jc Emery
I know a little about what’s going on with the club. Enough to know that shit ain’t right around town right now, but not enough to feel like I have my footing. Grady and Duke have both given me the rundown about the Italian who showed up at my school and gave Chey and Holly some shit about the club, but I have a funny feeling that I don’t have a clue how real shit is about to get. But this? Holly means something to Grady, which means she means something to the club—whether she likes it or not. It’s bad news—bad fucking news—for any of our women to be this vulnerable. That’s one thing Dad always made sure I understood—we protect our women. Always.
Through the dirty window pane, I can see Nic. Stupid woman directly disobeyed her old man’s orders. Fucking A. She’s wearing one of her tight strappy tank tops that shows off Duke’s good work. She started showing a while ago, and it seems like she’s just getting bigger every week. I don’t really know how pregnancy works. I mean, I know how it happens. I’m not that stupid. But as for how this shit works while the kid is baking, I’m at a loss. All I know is that she’s not fitting into her clothes anymore, but she wears them anyway. Her face is relaxed as she rings up a customer at the register and then gets to work on their coffee. I don’t want to fuck up her day, but I don’t have any more time to waste.
Just as a customer opens the front door and the overhead bells chimes, I slide in, completely ignoring the customer who is next in line. I lean against the counter, still struggling for air and say, “You seen Sweets or Bean?”
Nic’s eyes travel over to mine, and she purses her lips. She narrows her gaze as she works on the drink at hand, and it’s only when she’s done that she looks my way. Irritation radiates off her as she says, “No. Miss Perky Face never showed up for her shift. I’m fucking tired, and I think I’m going to barf at some point. I wasn’t even supposed to be here today.”
And just like that, the bitchy sister I don’t miss and kind of fear makes her return. I knew the last few months were too good to be true. She was all in love and shit and acting happy. I was almost worried this baby business had resulted in a personality lobotomy. But nope. She-Demon is apparently alive and well.
“Speaking of that—your old man told you to stay home,” I say loudly and hope she knows I’m using my Forsaken voice—the one where I talk a little deeper and with more purpose.
“That’s not what I heard,” she says and shifts her eyes across the counter with a raised brow and a dismissive tone. She knows damn well what he meant, but fucking typical Nic. She don’t care.
The customer at the counter clears his throat behind me and grumbles, “Can I get some help, please?”
Nic takes a deep breath and puffs her cheeks out, like a squirrel who’s hoarding for winter, and then blows it out. I’m getting antsy with every wasted second. My neck cranes in the customer’s direction. He’s a middle-aged man with a distended gut and a button-up that doesn’t stretch well enough to fit his midsection. He taps his leather wallet on the counter top impatiently like he’s the most important fucking person in the room.
He’s not.
“Hang on a minute, buddy,” Nic snaps at him. Her eyes flit to mine. “And for the record, I can’t abandon Eileen, because somebody made me leave work so many times I’m on thin ice as it is.”
“Don’t blame me because you’re unprepared for motherhood,” I gripe. Her left nostril lifts in irritation. “But seriously, I need to find them. Like now. It’s important.”
“Come on. I’m running late to a meeting,” he says. He pauses before continuing, but he doesn’t get the rest of his complaint out.
“Step off,” I yell as I close the distance between him and me. I’m not looking for a scene any bigger than we’re already making, so I do him a favor and give him a foot of space. “You think you’re late now? Keep fucking talking.”
He backs up from me, his eyes flicking to my leather vest, and heads for the door. I don’t bother discouraging his exit. I’ve wasted enough goddamn time in here.
“Shit.” Nic walks around the counter, gets close, and whispers, “What’s wrong?”
“That visitor from New York?” I say in a whisper-shout. “In town. Had some trouble. Jim’s got reason to think that’s why nobody can find Bean or Sweets.”
“Great,” she grumbles. Her bitchy mood is slowly sinking into a quiet fear. I’m not a fan of Bitchy Nic, but I’m even less excited to see Sad Nic. “Tell me if you find Minds, ’kay?”
“Sure,” I say and head for the door.
“Boy,” a voice shouts from behind me. I turn around to find an old dude who’s staring at me from a nearby table. He’s got a newspaper opened up before him and a mostly empty mug of coffee in his right hand. Giving me a slight nod, he says, “You looking for the Mercer girls?”
“Yeah,” I say. This guy is clearly a local with how he’s made himself at home in the shop and the way he’s addressed me. Tourists are usually pretty easy to spot. “Who are you?”
“He’s kidding, right?” he asks. The old man’s look transforms into disbelief as he redirects his attention to my sister.
“He’s an idiot,” she states.
“I own the hardware store your dad used to take you to all the time. Every time you left, my store was a candy bar lighter than when you came in.”
“Oh, hey.” Now I remember him. Dad was always taking me to get shit for the house. It was either paint or new cabinet door knobs or other shit Mom wanted for her showplace. Dad would get to buying stuff for the house, and I’d get to deciding which candy bar I wanted to shove in my back pocket on the way out. “Huh, thought I didn’t get caught.”
“Your father’s a good man. He always paid for the candy you thought you were stealing.”
What a dick. Makes me want to go in there now and lift something and see what the fuck he does about it.
“Listen. I get that you want to walk down memory lane while you still can, but I ain’t got time for this shit. You know where Holly and Mindy are or not?”
He narrows his eyes and studies me for a moment before pursing his lips and saying, “About an hour ago I was closing the shop for the night when I saw them getting into a black sedan outside their apartment. Fancy car.”
“Goddamn it,” I yell and cover my eyes with my hand. Mancuso’s guy has them for sure. Given the threat Grady got from the Italian, I got no doubt. “Nic, I need to get you to Jim’s.”
“I’m in the middle of a shift.” Stubborn Nic is making an appearance, which makes me want to toss her ass in a trunk. Darren was surprisingly easy to move, so Nic can’t be any harder. “I’m fine here.”
“No, you’re not protected,” I say.
“She’s fine, son,” the old man says. The more I look at him, the more I remember about him. I dropped a hammer on this dude’s toe when I was a kid. Dad calls him Old Man Hill, if I remember right. He nods slowly and pats the front pocket of his khakis. He pulls out a handgun just enough to show me the butt of it and then slides it back in. “I’m old, but I know when something’s wrong. I’ll keep an eye on your sister until her old man shows up to take her home.”
“You even know how to use that thing, Grandpa?”
“Forsaken aren’t the only ones who know how to take care of their shit,” he says and lifts his chin.
“Need your help, sis,” I say and stride up beside her. Leaning down just slightly, I whisper into her ear. “Knuck told me to stay at the apartment.”
“Call Duke,” she says with a nod of her head. “Grady will be pissed you disobeyed his order for a little while, but the guys might need you at the safe house.”
I lean in and place a kiss on her forehead and then dart out the door. Outside on the street, I call Duke.
“Where the fuck are you, boy?”
“Girls are MIA, and Knuck gave me orders to stay put,” I say as quickly as I can.
“Fuck that,” he says. “Get up here. I know your nosy ass knows how to get here. Get Nic’s car from the house and park far
enough away that I can’t hear you pull up. I’m about a mile up from the highway. You’ll spot Fish by Ruby’s Suburban.”
I had a feeling he knew I’d figured out where the safe house is. Shit, but now’s not the time to think over what that means.
“Yes, sir,” I say automatically. Before I think better of it, the words fly out of my mouth. “Nic went in to the shop after all. Claims she didn’t hear the order to stay home. Old Man Hill’s got a piece, and he’s keeping an eye on her.”
“Fucking hell. She never fucking listens. Good that she’s with him, though,” is all Duke says before he hangs up the phone. I guess he knows something about the guy that I don’t.
Back inside the shop, I cut off another customer—this one a woman—and level Nic with a glare. “Need your keys.”
“Why?”
“Duke’s orders,” I say. She gives them up easily, but detaches the small ring with her house keys before tossing them my way. On my way out the door I shout, “Stay with Old Man Hill, or it’ll be your hide.”
CHAPTER 4
November
17 months to Mancuso’s downfall
The drive to the safe house is no more than fifteen minutes on my bike—not that I’ve timed it—but it takes over twenty in Nic’s car. There aren’t many speed traps in town, but once you get to the outskirts, along the highway, the highway patrol sits around with donuts around their dicks just waiting for some asshole to fly by. They can’t see my cut from inside the sedan, and getting pulled over would take time I don’t have. So I suffer.
Soon enough, the SUVs come into view. They’re parked on the side of the narrow highway, seemingly unattended at first sight. I pull off to the side about fifty yards away and kill the engine. On foot, I approach the SUVs with caution, retrieving my gun from the back of my jeans, unlocking the safety, and rounding the back of Ruby’s Suburban.
The crunching of a pinecone surprises me, redirecting my attention to the other side of the Suburban. Fish stands just off the side of the road, with an AR-15 in his hands, the business end pointed right between my eyes. It takes him a moment to relax before he lowers the gun and narrows his eyes in frustration. His chest heaves from the shock of being snuck up on. My own gun is still at my side, having not reacted quickly enough to draw it. Fuck. This is the shit that Duke is talking about when he says that I need to pay better attention or I’m going to get my ass killed.
“Scared me, man,” he complains.
I shake off the fear of being done-in by friendly fire, and blow out a heavy breath. “You’re fucking telling me.” Nodding my head to the woods and raising my brows, I say, “Duke wants me with him. Where is he?”
“About two miles in, straight ahead. But you can’t go in like that,” Fish says.
“Right.” Sneaking up on a bunch of guys with military-grade firepower and a life or death situation is a sure way to turn myself a pair of shish keballs. “Better tell him I’m coming.”
“That, too, but I need to debrief you first,” he says. Resting the large weapon on its strap over his shoulder, Fish casts a suspicious glance down each side of the highway before he rounds the SUV and unlocks the back passenger door. He pulls out another semi with a scope attached and hands it to me. Then he grabs two smart phones and eyes them before deciding they’re what he’s looking for.
I grab the rifle by the barrel, and my arm sags with its weight. I haven’t shot an AR-15 since Dad was around and he used to take me shooting on Jim and Ruby’s property for practice. Since then, the only thing I’ve practiced on are some of Dad’s old handguns Nic has hidden around the house. My sister doesn’t dislike guns—she just thinks I’m going to blow my foot off because she’s convinced I’m nothing more than a stupid fucking kid.
Fish raises an eyebrow. “You got any idea what you’re walking into?”
No, not really. I mean, on some level I guess I got an idea. But I ain’t ever done this shit before, so how am I supposed to know what I’m walking into? All I know is that they decided to let me start earning my top rocker during a really fucking dangerous time—not that I’m complaining. The pride that comes with the patch is worth the risk.
“Didn’t think so.” He shakes his head and points me to the tree line. “W formation. Two in front, three in back, a mile up. Duke’s front right by himself. Ian took off to find Sweets.” As he talks, he turns the phones on and brings up two different apps. Wyatt’s voice sounds from one of the phones before Fish turns the volume down. On the other phone, he messes with the screen. Jim’s voice booms on the line before he turns that phone down, too.
“She okay?” I ask, still half-focused on the phones as he hands them over. I awkwardly place the strap of the semi over my shoulder and hold the phones, not sure what to do with them.
“For this asshole’s sake, she fucking better be,” he says. “Knuck will skin him alive. Now listen up. This one is a one-way radio so you can hear Jim and the Italian. This is the most important tool you have right now. Priority is keeping Pops whole, got it?” he says as he points at one of the phones.
I nod my head and focus in on the phones. I don’t recognize either app, but they seem awesome as fuck. Who knew Forsaken had such cool toys?
“On the other phone, you can press the button on the screen at any time to talk to the guys. It’s like a conference call. We can all communicate as need be. It’s not a toy, and this isn’t time to shoot the shit, got it?” He pulls out a wireless earbud. “The earbud is synced to Pops, so if you have trouble hearing him over the other phone, just turn its volume down.”
“Serious business,” I say and pop the earbud into my ear. “Got it.”
Just as I’m heading in what I think is the right direction, he pulls a phone out of his pocket and presses the button on the screen. “Baby Boy is heading your way, boys. Try not to shoot him.”
“Got it,” Duke barks back, his voice echoing in not only the phone in my hand but on Fish’s as well. In my ear, I’m hearing bits and pieces of Jim’s conversation with this guy. It’s mostly filled with huffs and few words, none of which I can understand.
“Bring my bitch forth,” Ryan says with a chuckle. The sick fuck. I can actually hear the smile in his voice.
“Gave the kid one of our signatures,” Fish says, referring to the AR-15 that Forsaken’s been fond of ever since I can remember. Dad once told me the club’s got over a hundred of these babies floating around town in various places.
“Bet ya haven’t handled anything that powerful since I let you deep throat my dick, huh?” Ryan says.
I want to just keep my mouth shut and walk toward the woods, but I also want to know how this thing works. So I bring the conference phone to my mouth, press the button, and say, “No, sir, Duke’s is bigger.”
“Damn straight. Now shut up unless it’s business,” Duke says. The chatter on the conference stops immediately.
I’ve made it about a half mile or so before I finally think I see something in the distance, but it turns out to be a wayward branch. It’s all trees and a few birds here and there. I can’t find anybody. Little River is a tiny as fuck place that has like no population at all. The safe house sits far enough back from the highway—a few miles, I think—that I didn’t even know it was here until I took it upon myself to follow Ryan one day when he made it down this way to have a little “talk” with Michael. Nobody told me to follow him, but with how pissed off he was, I didn’t think it was a good idea to let them kill Ruby’s son. Thankfully I didn’t have to do shit because he hopped off his bike before turning off the highway and kicked the shit out of a poor fucking redwood that did nothing but grow in the wrong damn spot. After he calmed his shit about being pissed that I followed him, he wrapped his hand around my shoulder really fucking tight and gave me a nod. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to saying thank you. As much as he’s hating on Michael right now, he doesn’t really want to hurt Ruby.
Trying to walk through woods and not make any noise is probably the s
tupidest fucking goal ever. If it’s not a pinecone I’m stepping on, then it’s a fallen branch that cracks beneath my boots or a pile of leaves that aren’t wet enough to not make crunching sounds. Sure, let’s hide in the woods. Because that shit makes sense.
Since I’m just a prospect, they don’t tell me shit. But I’m starting to pick up on a few things. The guys who are the best shots are always in the front. That includes Duke, Ryan, and Ian. Ryan tries to take the lead a lot because he’s a cocky motherfucker, but it is actually Ian who consistently has the most accuracy.
“I think I’m lost,” I say into the conference. I feel like I’ve been walking forever and can’t find anybody. Pretty soon I’m going to panic that I’m going to be found and get a bullet to my skull.
“Pull up your pants, shithead,” Wyatt says over the line.
I pause in place and slowly look around but don’t see anything. I take another step before pulling my pants up a little and adjusting my belt so they stay up with my hand that’s not holding the gun.
“Where are you guys?” I ask. I’m fucking failing at this shit. Bad.
“Another twenty feet forward, Jer. And don’t fucking trip on me,” Duke says.
Without arguing, I keep moving forward and don’t see Duke lying in the grass and leaves until I’m almost tripping over him. Shit. He told me not to trip on him. Fuck this noise. I can’t go on these missions—I’m going to get my ass capped.
As I approach Duke, he seems to notice my presence but does not turn around. Instead, he lifts his left arm in the air and raises his closed fist, telling me to stop what I’m doing, and says, “Show yourselves, boys,”
I slowly turn around to find Ryan, Wyatt, and Bear taking a step away from three separate redwoods, each about twenty to thirty feet apart. I walked right between Wyatt and Bear without noticing them. They’re all wearing their own clothes and their cuts—no fancy uniforms or camouflage. Just as quickly as they’ve stepped forward, they’ve stepped back into the shadows of their trees and have completely disappeared from view again. Shit. How long do these assholes train for this shit? I thought I was joining a club, not signing up for special ops or something.