Shadow’s Surrender

by Wilder, Chiah

  “He comes from trash. His mom was a stripper who thought she could wash the dirt from her by trying to move into our world.” Bruce brought the glass to his mouth and threw back another shot of scotch.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know a lot of things.” His dad tilted his head back and stared vacantly at the ceiling.

  “I can’t believe you even know the asshole.” Warren crossed his legs then uncrossed them.

  After a few awkward minutes, his father said in a low voice, “I’ll take care of this, but you’re going to help.” Then his cold hazel eyes locked on Warren. “And this time, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you. Understand, boy?”

  Nodding, he pushed away the anger sizzling inside him.

  “Now fetch me the brandy, and I’ll tell you what I got in mind.”

  Warren pushed up from the chair and shuffled over to the wet bar to grab two snifters and the decanter. If only he had money of his own—a trust fund like Scarlett. That bitch is causing me all sorts of problems. Fuck her! He should be at the Lakeside Inn having a fun time with that floozy he’d picked up at the dive bar a couple of weeks ago. As long as he lavished compliments on her and a few bucks, she didn’t care that his face was still bruised.

  “Hurry it up—we got business to go over,” his dad barked.

  Gritting his teeth, Warren slowly walked over to his father.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shadow locked the door to the small warehouse he rented and slowly walked toward his motorcycle as he scanned the parking lot. Since the day before, he realized someone was following him. He hadn’t actually seen anyone, but he sensed it: eyes watching him, scoping him out, perhaps even measuring him as a target. But now, as his gaze focused on the oak and pine trees surrounding the building and asphalt lot, he saw nothing.

  Another person would chide himself for being paranoid, but Shadow had more than a decade’s worth of experience living as a one-percenter. Being an Insurgent, he’d learned to notice minutiae details—to be hyperaware of his surroundings at all times—and his gut had picked up on something that had triggered alarms in his head. He knew better than to ignore them.

  Without breaking his stride, Shadow put on his sunglasses, swung his leg over the bike, and turned on the engine. Not wanting to tip anyone off that he was on to them, he used his peripheral vision to check out any movement. Nothing. He gripped the handle bars, shifted, then took off, quickly blending into traffic on Main Street.

  Instead of taking his usual route home, Shadow weaved in and out of traffic, purposely staying on crowded streets, and then he caught a glimpse of a small black car with tinted windows—maybe a Corolla—darting between cars behind him. Three automobiles separated him from his pursuer. Gotcha, asshole. Shadow turned down a narrow side street and pulled into an alley behind Shave Time—a barbershop that sold electric and stick razors. He parked his bike, and instead of going into the shop, he crossed the small lot and hid in the adjacent doorway of a used book store and waited.

  Less than a minute passed when Shadow spotted the black car pass by the alley several times before it turned in slowly and cruised past the barbershop’s back lot. The Toyota Corolla pulled into the vacuum repair’s lot, which was four shops down, then a man wearing a pair of tan Dockers and a brown Polo shirt slid out. The guy looked to be in his mid-thirties and was of medium height, shaved head, and burly shoulders. He tugged at the waistband of his pants then quickly strode toward the barbershop.

  Reaching under his cut, Shadow pulled his gun from his back holster and slipped it into his waistband as he quietly stepped out from the doorway and waited for his prey. The man walked by without even a sidelong glance, his whole focus appeared to be on Shadow’s bike and the barbershop, where he seemed to think the biker was inside.

  As silent and agile as a cougar, Shadow fell in behind him, and the stalker hadn’t noticed until the biker’s arm wrapped around the man’s neck from his rear, and a startled cry rang out. Shadow kicked the back of the guy’s knees, knocking him off his feet and onto the hot, hard concrete. He slammed a boot on the back of the stalker’s neck, then crouched down low and pushed the gun into his back.

  “Why the fuck are you following me?” he growled.

  The man groaned.

  “You got less than a second to take, then I’m putting a bullet in you.” Shadow dug the gun further into the man’s lower back.

  “I’m a private investigator,” the man said, his voice strained.

  “So-the-fuck-what,” Shadow gritted out.

  “I was hired to get information on you—that’s all.” Another groan escaped through his swelling lips.

  Shadow patted him down in the back then yanked him around and checked to see if he was carrying a weapon. Nothing. He pulled the guy up by the front of his shirt and dragged him into a narrow passageway between the two stores, and then slammed him against the wall.

  “Who hired you, and you don’t wanna give me that privacy bullshit because I’m ready to end your life here and now.”

  Beads of perspiration trickled down the man’s face, mixing in with dirt, gravel, and blood.

  “Please … I just stake out people for my clients. I usually do affairs for divorces and stuff.”

  “Stop stalling, fucker! Who the hell hired you?” Shadow pulled him forward then slammed him back against the wall so his head thumped dully against the bricks. “Last chance.”

  “Pamela and George Mansfield. I met with Mrs. Mansfield because her husband was too busy, but they wanted to know about you.”

  “Like what?” His grip tightened on the man’s shirt.

  “Who you are, where you come from, if you’re married, how many women you have … just the usual stuff. They said they were looking out for their daughter.”

  Yeah … I bet they are. Fuckin’ sonsofbitches. “You started yesterday, right?”

  “Yes. I really didn’t want to do it, especially after I found out you were a member of the Insurgents, but the money was real good. I got a wife, two kids, and another one on the way.”

  “I don’t give a fuck about your life.”

  “It’s nothing personal—just business.”

  “I know.” Shadow rifled through the man’s pockets with his free hand and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open and saw a picture of two small girls in frilly dresses, beaming and sitting on either side of a woman with long brown hair. The other side of the wallet carried a badge that read Private Investigator on the top and Charlie Bowen under it. He held it in front of Bowen’s face. “These badges are illegal,” he said. “Did you get this shit online?”

  “Yeah … it helps with my ordinary cases.”

  “I bet it does.” Shadow shoved it back in Charlie’s pocket. “What shit did you dig up on me?”

  “Not too much. I just started yesterday. I got your real name—Steve Basson—and that you’ve been in the Insurgents for a while—it’s damn near impossible to get any intel on your club.”

  “It fuckin’ better be or we’re screwing up big time.”

  A small smile ghosted the investigator’s lips. “I just found out basic things like your age, where you went to high school, if you had any arrests—that sort of stuff.”

  “And my parents, right?” Tightness spread through his body and his jaw clenched.

  “Yes. That stuff’s in the records.”

  “Did you turn over that shit to the Mansfields?”

  “Not yet—they already know you’re in the Insurgents, but that’s all they know.” Sweat dripped into his eyes and he blinked.

  Shadow let go of Bowen and he watched as the PI wiped his face with the front of his shirt.

  “You’re not gonna give them shit, got it?”

  Bowen looked up at him. “They gave me a thousand-dollar retainer that my wife and I have pretty much used up.”

  “How much for the whole job?” Shadow kept his gun on the private investigator.

  “Another thousand—so two
in total.”

  “Fuckin’ cheapskates,” Shadow muttered under his breath.

  “Everything that I have is in the public records. You’re from here, so learning your real name wasn’t hard. There’s no way I can pay them back.”

  Shadow watched the man with the broad shoulders crumple before him. “Just give them the record shit, but nothing about my mom, you got that? If they wanna find out more about me, they can check the fuckin’ records themselves. Rich sonsofbitches.”

  “I remember when your mother was killed. Awful stuff,” Charlie said in a low voice. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  Shadow narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think I won’t hesitate to put a bullet through you or slit your throat.”

  The private eye sighed. “I don’t.”

  “Forget about me and I’ll forget about you.” Shadow placed the gun near Bowen’s head. “And you definitely want me to forget-the-fuck about you.”

  “I’ll tell them it’s gotten too dangerous with you being in the club.” Charlie looked down at the ground. “I wouldn’t be lying.”

  “If you get into my business again, I’ll kill your picture-perfect family, and I won’t blink an eye in doing so.” Shadow watched as surprise and fear inched across the investigator’s face. “Just remember that. You want to stay under the radar with me and my club.”

  “I … uh … I don’t want any trouble from you guys.”

  “Then stay smart.” Shadow placed his gun in his waist then grabbed Bowen’s shirt and threw him down on the ground, kicking him sharply in the side. The private eye let out a low groan, and Shadow landed another blow to the guy before walking back to his Harley.

  The bike roared to life, and a moment later, Shadow sped away like a bullet from a gun. Anger burned through him—a molten rage threatening to overflow. He gripped the handlebars tightly, his knuckles white with strain. It took all of his steely discipline to keep from going to the Mansfield house and confronting Scarlett’s fucking parents. Instead, he took a sharp left and headed to Grove Valley—a ride that always helped to clear his head and calm the rage.

  An hour later, Shadow sauntered into the clubhouse and noticed the badges, McCue and Ibuado, seated at a table. Several members leaned against the bar, their lips pressed into a thin line, their faces taut, giving the two badges the evil eye while the club girls gaped at them from the sectional sofa on the other side of the room.

  Shadow lifted his chin at McCue when the detective rose to his feet.

  “How are you?” the badge asked.

  “Good.” Shadow motioned to Skinless to bring him a beer. In less than a second, the prospect handed him a bottle and hurried back to the bar.

  “Is there somewhere we can go to talk?” McCue asked as he watched Shadow take a swig of beer.

  “I’m good here.” Shadow pulled the chair out from the table, then raised one leg and placed his foot on the seat.

  McCue glanced around the room, then shrugged. “Okay,” he said as he took out a notepad and pen from an inner pocket of his jacket and eased his body back into the chair.

  Shadow put the empty beer bottle on the table, then leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs to meet the badge’s eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Do you know Florence Karas?” McCue asked.

  A slight pause—Shadow wasn’t expecting that question. “Yeah … why?”

  “How do you know her?” The fuckin’ badge scribbled something in his damn notebook.

  “She lived in our shithole trailer park. What’s this all about?” Someone offed her. McCue wouldn’t be asking me these shit questions if he knew who. Fuck, these damn badges are incompetent.

  “How well did your mom know her?”

  “What the fuck is this all about? Quit playing this damn cat-and-mouse game. She worked at the same strip joint as my mom. They were friends. End of fuckin’ story.” Shadow straightened up and pushed the chair over.

  Ibuado’s hand flew inside his jacket, and McCue sat motionless, staring at the biker.

  “Just spit it out. Fuck!”

  “When’s the last time you saw Florence Karas?” McCue asked in an even tone.

  “I haven’t seen her in years. Not since the murder.” This fucker found something that links me to that greedy bitch. “She called me up out of the fuckin’ blue a couple of weeks ago and said she wanted to see me. We made plans to meet at her condo, but she never showed up. Are you gonna tell me why she didn’t keep the appointment, or am I supposed to guess?” His eyes narrowed.

  “She’s been murdered.”

  “It’s time you left,” Hawk said as he slipped beside Shadow. “This shit’s over. Now.”

  Shadow shook his head. “It’s cool, bro.”

  “You accusing him?” Hawk’s voice dripped ice.

  The badge slowly stood up. “Just asking questions, that’s all.”

  Ibuado cleared his throat. “We got a dead woman and we need to talk to everyone who knew her. Basic investigating—the same shit you’d do if you were in our place.”

  Tension crackled in the air, and both McCue and Ibuado, one hand resting on their side holsters, stepped back from Hawk and Shadow.

  “Did she tell you why she wanted to meet up with you?” McCue asked.

  Shadow could feel the anger emanating from Hawk. “No.”

  “You didn’t ask?” Ibuado said.

  “No.”

  “So, a friend of your mom’s who you haven’t spoken to in fifteen years calls you out of the blue, and you don’t even ask her why she wants to get together with you?”

  “That’s right.” Shadow stood with his feet planted wide, arms crossed over his chest, and his brow furrowed.

  “You’re done,” Hawk growled to the two badges.

  McCue nodded and snapped shut that damn notebook. Shadow didn’t break eye contact with him. “You know,” the detective said, “Florence Karas’ murder may be linked to your mother’s death. Whether you believe it or not, I want to bring your mother’s killer to justice.” He slipped the notepad and pen inside his jacket. “We’re on the same side with this one, Shadow … We always have been.”

  The two badges walked backward until they hit the front door, then they turned around and left the room.

  Hawk clasped his hand on Shadow’s shoulder. “Did that woman know something about your mom’s murder?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.

  “Yeah, but she wouldn’t tell me shit. I found a ledger in her place, showing years of deposits into her bank account. The bitch made money off my mom’s murder.” A streak of white-hot anger shot through him.

  “Fuck, dude. That’s tough. Sounds like the bitch got what she deserved,” Hawk said.

  “When she called me, she was running scared.” Shadow slammed his fist on the table then kicked over another chair. “I was so fuckin’ close to finding out who killed my mom. Dammit!”

  “Give me the ledger—I’ll see what I can find out,” Hawk said.

  “We’ll do what we can, bro,” Animal said as he approached them.

  “Count me in too,” Helm added.

  “And me.” Bones walked up to Shadow and bumped fists with him.

  “I got your back, bro—you know that.” Smokey pulled him into a bear hug. “You’ve been denied justice far too long, and now we got something to go on.”

  Banger walked over and locked eyes with Shadow. “Rock told me what’s going on. You know we’ll fight and stand by you, no matter what, brother.”

  Shadow nodded, then bumped fists with his president and his other brothers. Pride swelled inside him and a deep sense of comfort spread through him. For years people had pitied him because he’d lost both his parents. They’d tell him what a shame it was to have lost his family. McCue had been telling him that for years, but what citizens didn’t understand was that he had the best family in the world—the Insurgents. And those people who said that a person couldn’t choose his family didn’t have a fucking clue what th
e meaning of brotherhood meant.

  “You need a good blowjob, dude, and a shot of Jack,” Bones said. “Rusty, Skinless, get the drinks flowing, and Brandi … get your ass over here—my brother needs some attention.”

  Shadow accepted the shots gladly, but the only lips he wanted wrapped around his cock were those of his sweet Scarlett, so he steered Brandi in Blade’s direction while he and several of the other members talked about motorcycles.

  The phone vibrated in his back pocket and he snatched it out and looked at the screen. His face broke into a grin when he saw the number.

  “Hey, babe,” he said.

  “How are you?” Her voice lilted through the phone.

  “Good. How was work?” Music and loud voices filled the room, and Shadow squeezed the cell hard against his ear.

  “Great—I really love my job!”

  He smiled at her exuberance. “That’s good, babe.”

  “Are you busy tonight?”

  “With you.”

  A small giggle. “I was hoping you were coming over. What time?”

  He threw back the rest of his whiskey. “What works for you?”

  “Now?”

  Her answer made his dick twitch. “I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” she whispered.

  Shadow pushed away from the bar, telling his buddies that he had something to do, then he raced outside and hopped on his bike.

  On his way to Scarlett’s building, he turned onto Larkspur Lane and slowed down when he passed the Lanai Towers and the Belvedere. A thread of sadness and regret wove through him as he thought of Flo. His mother had really liked that boisterous, gaudy woman, and Shadow had to admit that he’d loved seeing the two of them together, laughing and talking into the late hours of the night. When Flo had called, a part of him wanted to see her because she was a direct link to his mother, but he was angry that she betrayed his mother by keeping the identity of the killer a secret just so she could profit from it. In any case, he hadn’t wanted Flo to die, and her murder angered and saddened him.