He nodded and glanced away.
The light changed and Maggie accelerated under it, the trailer grabbing at the hitch in back as it bumped along.
She was surprised to hear him speak up again. “I grew up here,” he said, quietly to the window. “The club was always there, in the background. Guys going by on bikes, guys in cuts at the restaurants. It didn’t ever scare me. I didn’t – I mean, I wasn’t one of those kids whose parents told them the Lean Dogs were the monsters under the bed or anything. I just…” Heavy sigh. “I didn’t think my life would go this way.”
Her heart squeezed for him. “I know,” she said. “I think anyone who hasn’t said that is lying to himself.”
She saw one corner of his mouth pluck in a tiny smile.
“I wish I could promise you it would be easy and safe,” she said. “But I can’t. It’ll be hard, it’ll be dangerous sometimes, stressful. But Carter, if you can hang in here, you’ll have a family, honey. A real family. Brothers. And they’ll love you. Love you like Mason Stephens never did.”
He was silent, but his expression had softened, become thoughtful. He’d heard her. He’d heard everything, and absorbed it.
Maggie sighed when they reached downtown, and saw all the civilian signs that had been put up along the roadside, and in the medians. “Can you believe this shit? Buncha mindless fucking robots,” she muttered. “Mason Stephens runs around this town his whole life, killing babies and molesting all the cheerleaders, but it’s us they want to burn at the stake. Makes so much sense.”
“Mason looked the part,” Carter mused. “And looks are all that matter to most people.”
“Unfortunately, I’ll have to ‘amen’ you on that one.”
Carter sat up straight against his seat belt. “What’s that?”
“Where?”
“In front of the courthouse.”
They got the chance to look, because traffic had ground to a halt. They were maybe fifteen yards from the courthouse lawn, and Maggie buzzed down the windows, leaning out into the sunlight so she could hear.
A crowd had gathered, milling around beneath a woman who stood on an overturned plastic crate. Maggie recognized her: Tina Shaw. She was a secretary at the courthouse, like Jackie, and she brought her minivan to Dartmoor for all its oil changes and tire rotations. She had three kids, all under the age of ten. And most of the time, her small round face was flushed with good humor. Today, though, she wore a fierce scowl, and she lifted a bullhorn to her mouth. Maggie noticed the big poster-board sign the same moment Tina started speaking.
Knoxville Moms Against Violence.
“Oh, no,” Maggie whispered.
The bullhorn crackled and the crowd quieted, giving Tina their attention.
“Knoxville Moms!” she shouted into the bullhorn. There were other drivers hanging out of their windows, listening. “We’ve got a big problem in this city. You know what it is?”
From the crowd, the rousing chorus of, “Lean Dogs!”
“What are we going to do with them?” Tina asked.
“Push ‘em out!”
“It’s your responsibility, all of you, as citizens of Knoxville, to sign this petition.” She held up a clipboard. “Mayor Stephens wants to keep Knoxville safe, and we can all help by sending this to our Tennessee senators…”
Maggie rolled up the windows.
Carter was watching her. “I’m guessing Stephens figured out his kid was missing.”
“Yeah.”
“You wanted to see me?” Michael asked, appearing in the door of the chapel like a wraith materializing from the shadows around him. Ghost relied upon and trusted the man, even liked him, for what he brought to the table – but even Ghost got spooked sometimes. Maybe the man really was an archangel, earthbound only when necessary, dropping from the sky when summoned.
Ghost nodded. “Yeah. Shut the door.”
The chair didn’t even creak when Michael sat in it.
Ghost pulled a crumpled slip of paper from his cut pocket and slid it across the table. “These are the names of every Carpathian.”
Michael unfolded it, scanned it, then tucked it away. He nodded.
Ghost said, “We’ve got this charity gig coming up, and Collier’s still AWOL. Some of the boys and I need to be really visible on the streets right now, reminding the city we aren’t the problem around here, and all that shit.”
Another nod.
“I don’t have the time I need to devote to these wannabe assholes.”
“I understand,” Michael said.
Ghost sighed. “I was hoping you’d have Mercy around to help…”
“Don’t need him.”
Ghost gave him a measuring look, and even if he didn’t agree with the sentiment, he was forced to believe the man. He nodded. “I want everyone on that list dead. And I don’t want it to blow back on the club.”
“It won’t.”
Ghost’s phone trilled, and his pulse accelerated when he saw Rottie’s number on the screen. The tracker wouldn’t have called just to say he had nothing. “Rottie found Collier.”
Michael slid from his chair. “I’ll leave you to it then. Call me if you need me. Otherwise…”
He’d be slitting throats.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
The cattle property. Of course. Ghost wanted to kick himself for not thinking of it sooner. He and Collier had spent time up there as boys, when Ghost’s father had still been an unforgiving force of nature.
Of the two Teague brothers, Duane had been the outlaw…and the gentleman. Richard had been the son of a bitch, the hardass, the heartless hitter of wives and children. The walk-the-line man who’d driven his son to a future that didn’t involve cattle ownership or Sunday churchgoing.
But Ghost’s little brother had been eight when the semi swerved into the oncoming lane and took little Cal and their mother, on the side of a two-lane in the rain. So there’d been no one to leave the old farmstead to, save Ghost. His old man had cursed Ghost’s existence the night he died in a hospital bed, and the lawyer had presented Ghost with the deed to the cattle property north of the city. He’d never bothered to maintain the place. Its earth had accepted the burden of murder at least two dozen times, holding the bones in a quiet, deep place where they’d never be disturbed.
Of course Collier was there. It had been on the porch overlooking the rolling hills dotted with Hereford cows that their lifelong friendship had been formed.
Ghost took one of the club trucks, leaving the main road for the gravel drive that switched up and back as it climbed toward the highest point of the property, the old barn, now only a jagged echo of its former self.
Collier’s truck was parked beside the gaping front doors. Collier was up in the loft, jean-clad legs dangling over the edge of the window, staring off across the acres of waving, unkempt grass. He didn’t acknowledge the sound of Ghost’s truck door closing.
Ghost sighed, and entered the main doors. It was cool and shady inside, dirt rising in thick puffs with each step he took across the sawdust floor. Most of the wood was still in good shape, the stalls forlorn and empty, everything dusted in cobwebs. Doves cooed and rustled in their nests up in the high corners.
Up the ladder, thick clumps of dust pulling off into his hands, he climbed through the trap door into the loft. There was some old hay up here that had half-rotted, and it smelled of mildew. Massive fire hazard. Through the window, he could see clear across the farm. Beautiful view, one that would always be tainted by the memory of Richard.
Over against one wall, there was a sleeping bag, some takeout containers and beer bottles.
“It took you longer than I thought,” Collier said as Ghost moved up to stand beside him.
“Yeah, well.” Ghost smirked toward the field that lay before them. “Kinda got a lot on my plate these days.”
“Guess I didn’t help with that.”
“Guess not.”
Collier’s face was placid, the skin dry and lined, l
ike the stress and guilt and total exhaustion had finally just forced all the life out of him. He couldn’t react anymore. He couldn’t be afraid anymore.
He said, “I guess that little rat of Aidan’s told you he saw me that night.”
Ghost nodded. “Greg. Yeah. Said he saw your face, plain as day, right after you stabbed Andre.”
“Hm. I Shoulda known he’d come to you. Shoulda taken care of that loose end.”
“So you did stab Andre.”
Slow nod. “Couldn’t use a gun; everyone would have heard that.”
Ghost was having trouble rectifying this version of his friend with the man he’d promoted to vice president. Collier had always been composed, level-headed, logical, all traits he was exhibiting now – but it was all wrong. Controlled, sure, but he had a deep love for his club and his brothers. This was a cold, defeated man sitting at Ghost’s feet.
“Explain it to me,” Ghost said. “ ‘Cause I just don’t understand.”
Collier took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. His eyes closed for a long moment, and then he opened them. “Andre was a rat.”
“What?”
Collier nodded. “We had him over for dinner, ‘bout a month ago. He wasn’t acting right. When he stepped out for a smoke, I went after him, walked up on him telling someone over the phone about a hundred little secrets about the club.” His eyes slid over to Ghost, straining at the corners. “About all of us. Who’d been arrested for what, who’d done time. He talked about Mercy and Ava, before Ava was legal, and Aidan and Tango getting picked up that time for shoplifting.
“I came right up behind him, scared the shit out of him. He made some lame excuse, and tore outta there. A few days after that, I managed to get his phone off him when he was passed out. It was all there: the text messages, the emails, voicemails. He was offering to be a CI for the cops.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ghost said.
“I knew what that meant, what had to happen.” He swallowed, throat working. “With the change coming, James stepping down, I knew it wasn’t the right time for a buncha bullshit. Carpathians back in town and all that…He was my prospect, and I was the sergeant at arms. I decided to just take care of it.” His smile was false and wry. “I didn’t think it’d get blamed on the Carpathians.”
“Just like you didn’t think you ought to come clean at some point?”
Collier turned to him for the first time. He looked both younger and older at once, completely lost. “I didn’t know how. Five, ten, fifteen years ago – yeah, I woulda known then. But now – now you’re nothing but Ghost. Kenny’s all gone. And I didn’t figure Ghost would want to hear this.”
Ghost sighed and let the window frame catch his weight. “This has nothing to do with me. Which, by the way, I can be both. I’m Kenny, and Ghost. Don’t fucking separate the two.” He folded his arms and glared at his VP. “You’re not gonna give me a sad face and get off scot free ‘cause you’ve got twisted-up feelings. You killed a member of this club, Collier. And you lied about it. That’s a big fucking deal.” He heard the fatherly note to his voice, and didn’t care. This felt like the sort of conversation he ought to be having with Aidan, not his most-trusted brother.
“We have rules in this club. Laws. And we have them for a reason,” he continued. “You broke so many of them…” He made a face. “And you didn’t even have the balls to come tell me. You ran off to hide and let your wife defend you.”
“I didn’t say I was proud.”
“Then what are you?” Ghost snapped.
Collier stared up at him evenly. “I’m worried we’ve got another rat in our ranks.”
There was a large warehouse space at Moor Fleet, the club trucking business, with enough room to bring the box trucks and tractors in to be worked on, and that was where Maggie was collecting and cataloguing all of the yard sale contributions.
“We had so much old baby stuff,” Mina said, climbing from behind the wheel of her Tahoe and walking around to lift the rear hatch. “Strollers and car seats and high chairs.” Her sweet face was tweaked with a quick sadness. “I was having trouble getting rid of it, but Rottie said we don’t need it; it’s just taking up attic space.” She shrugged. “He’s right. But it still got me a little choked up. My boys are getting so big.”
Maggie smiled. “Wait till they’re going off to college. That’s when the pain really starts.”
“Ha,” Nell said. “Wait till they’re getting divorced. That’s the worst.”
Mina put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear any of it.”
Maggie glanced up from her list-making and saw Aidan and Tango coming in through the high roll-top door. “Oh, good. Did you guys bring me your stuff?”
Tango made a face. “Haven’t gotten to that yet. Sorry.”
Aidan came to stand beside her, looped an arm around her shoulders and rested his chin in her hair, wordless and troubled.
“Rough night?” she guessed.
He sighed and it ruffled her hair. “Nothing a plate of spaghetti wouldn’t fix.”
She reached up to pat his hand where it rested against the base of her throat. “I keep telling you to come by for dinner. Tear yourself away from the marathon of beer and pussy and come be part of the family again, you brat.”
He chuckled.
When Tango grinned, she said, “You too. You’re too skinny, Kev.”
“What are you making tonight?” Aidan asked.
“Spaghetti, if it’ll get both your butts in chairs.”
They both agreed.
Then she turned, Aidan’s arm dropping away as she faced him. She lowered her voice, so only he could hear. “There was some kind of rally at the courthouse when I passed it earlier. Things are escalating.”
He nodded, face grim. “Yeah, I know. You had the prospect and the jock with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Keep them with you.” He kissed her forehead and stepped away. “Make plenty of dinner,” he said as he joined Tango and they headed for the door. “We’ll be there.”
“Jasmine wasn’t kidding,” Aidan said as they pulled off their helmets and glanced up at the apartment building above them. “Skank-ass.”
The siding was rotting away in big patches, unpainted, pulpy wood showing through in large chunks. If the roof didn’t leak, it was a miracle. Sad, four-paned windows sagged in their frames. Some lawn care company had thrown in the towel long ago: shaggy unclipped shrubs, tufted half-dead grass, thick cracks spidering through the sidewalk. Every car in the lot looked held together with duct tape and scrap yard parts.
“And I thought our place was bad,” Tango said, shuddering. “Let’s make this quick and get outta here before the depression sets in.”
Aidan agreed.
They headed up the walk toward the staircase, and a flash of something shiny – so alien in this parking lot – caught Aidan’s eye. “Check that out,” he said, gesturing to the Harley parked at the curb. They hadn’t been able to see if before, with it between two cars.
“Probably stolen,” Tango said, and then he frowned. “Wait…” He stepped down off the curb. “Look at this.”
But Aidan could see it from where he stood: the faint edging of red paint along the black fuel tank, a subtle embellishment to the otherwise very-downplayed Wide Glide.
“That’s Jace’s bike,” Aidan said.
Tango glanced up at the building. “But he was just at the clubhouse…”
“That was almost an hour ago. I didn’t see him after he went for coffee. He coulda gone anywhere. Scratch that – he came here.”
“Well who the hell comes to visit a chick who isn’t…” He made a gesture, not wanting to say it. He didn’t have to; they both remembered what Jasmine had said about this girl.
“Let’s go find out,” Aidan said.
Serena lived, according to Jasmine, on the first floor, apartment three. The number had been brass, once, and was a nice shade of tarnish now, most of the red paint on th
e door flaked off, what remained nothing but tattered oil-based strips. Aidan heard a flurry of movement on the other side when he knocked.
Snatch of a voice. Something overturning, clattering on the linoleum. Footsteps. A thump, a click, a door closing.
Tango had the more pleasant voice of the two of them, so he called, “Rena?” through the door. “It’s Aidan and Tango, from Dartmoor. Jasmine said we could find you here. You got a minute?”
“Shit,” a female voice said from inside, then muttered something they couldn’t make out. Then: “Yeah. Just a sec.” Small feet came pattering up to the door. It opened a crack, but the chain was engaged.
Aidan caught a glimpse of the girl’s face, her overdone eyeliner, the dark circle under her eye that makeup couldn’t quite cover. He could just see half her face, but in it, he saw naked fear.
He put on the charm. Slow smile, the ladykiller sleepy-eyed look that got him invited into so many bedrooms. “It’s Rena, right? Hey, gorgeous, I’ve been looking for you since the other night. I wanted to make sure you’re okay. You were pretty shook up about what happened to Andre.”
She wasn’t buying it. “I’m fine.” She started to shut the door, and he caught it with a hand, pushing against the safety chain, wishing it was as old as the rest of the building and could be broken.
“Serena, calm down. We just want to talk to you.”
She gritted her teeth as she struggled against the door, unable to push him back.
He’d been suspicious before; now he was sure. This chick knew something about Andre the rest of them didn’t.
He gave the door a hard smack that sent her yelping and jumping back. “Where’s Jace, Rena? We know that’s his bike outside. Is he in there with you?”
“Shit,” Tango said behind him. “Ground floor apartment. She’s distracting us–” He tore off at a run, heading back toward the parking lot.
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