They’d hung him up by his arms, just preparing him. Getting him nervous and jumpy, but that wouldn’t work. You had to give a shit to be nervous about this.
He didn’t want to hurt. He wasn’t that brave, but the numbness that had thawed when he was beating Unger’s face into the lawn was back. His feet were bare on the concrete, his shirt was gone. There were goosebumps on his skin, but he felt no chill.
The man in front of him was one of the ones from the house, but not the one that had been right in his face. This one had scruff on his chin, but not enough to hide the burn scar on the left side of his face. It stretched from cheekbone to jawline, and his eyes had that dead stare Knuckles had seen millions of times before. He’d had the same look plenty of times.
This was another man who’d served.
Not that he was interested in swapping tales and comparing battle scars.
The man reached up and released the ropes that had been holding him up. Knuckles hit the ground in a pile, arms and legs too numb to catch him. He let his weight flop him onto his back, the concrete solid and cool—he could feel that now.
The Rat set a chair next to him, yanked him up by pins-and-needles arms, and dropped him on the chair. As he let go Knuckles took a swing, and the motion was deflected and returned with a quick jab to the chin. Holy shit, this Rat had some jam. A few more shots and he might be completely numb.
The unnerving thing was that the guy didn’t say a word. That was a neat trick, one Knuckles should file away to tell Jayce about—
But no, he wasn’t going to be seeing Jayce again.
Like nothing had happened, the Rat duct taped his ankles to the chair legs. Next, he produced two sets of handcuffs, and Knuckles’ wrists were tethered to the bars where the chair back plugged into the seat.
Then the man walked through a heavy metal door set in the concrete wall.
Left alone, Knuckles did a medical check. His head was throbbing, and the epicenter was at the back of the head. When he focussed on that point, his vision swam. Likely a touch of a concussion, which was no big deal to him. The jaw shot had rung his bell, but other than that he hadn’t been damaged.
Torture for information? He wasn’t sure what the reasoning behind that would be. If the Rats were in league with Guidinger, there wasn’t a lot about them they didn’t know. They were showing up at the guy’s house like they belonged on that upper-class street. And Unger? A plant in the Sheriff’s?
Fuck. If only he’d tried to make a call and warn the Rebels about Unger. If he and Turnbull had been working together to set them up for something—
The door opened, and he sat up straighter. The man that had breathed stale beer breath on him led two men in; one the guy that had trussed him up, the second one might have been outside Guidinger’s house. He couldn’t be sure. Ugly, fat, bearded, pieces of shit all looked the same to him.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” the loudmouth said, standing in front of him, close enough that his legs were against Knuckles’ knees.
Knuckles just looked up, tilting his neck to see the guy’s face over his beer gut. Unimpressed.
“You’re the one that cuts people’s fingers off, right? Joint by joint by joint?” He mimicked holding scissors, snipping them with each joint.
Knuckles didn’t even blink.
“Yeah, that’s you. That’s what those bones on your fingers are for. Each one a sanctioned kill. You ran out of room already?” Hands braced on knees, the fat fuck leaned in nose-to-nose. “Where’d they start with the new tats? On your toes? Not your arms. Or do you pull out your cock, let all your crew take a suck before they start inking the tally on that big swinging dick of yours?”
Knuckles smiled, reared back, then jolted forward and closed his teeth around the asshole’s nose, biting hard enough that his canines punctured skin and caught cartilage. After a scramble of footsteps, another shot to the jaw, Knuckles was pushed to his back, tearing skin with his teeth. As he hit the ground, one hand got caught under the chair with a horrible snap. But he was beyond hurting, and all he could do was let his mouth fall open and laugh, tasting the asshole’s blood in his mouth.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Mom, what’s going on?” Grace asked softly, pulling close so that they weren’t overheard.
She put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders, pulling her closer on the clubhouse sofa. “I don’t know honey, but they’re worried.”
Jayce had sent Rusty in the club van to collect Annie, Grace, and Adeel from school at the end of the day. As the afternoon rolled on, the women—or, old ladies—also began to populate the room, and the tension was getting harder to ignore.
Something was going on. Something was very wrong here.
Adeel and Annie were at a table with their homework spread out. Annie was bossing Adeel a bit on how to figure out his math, which made her smile shakily.
“Is Knuckles okay?”
Danielle’s inhale was shaky. “I don’t know. They can’t find him, baby.”
Grace’s head came to rest on her shoulder.
“Here we go,” Sharon said, setting a glass of lemonade on the low table in front of them. “Lemonade as the baby momma asked.”
Grace laughed, reaching for the glass. “Thank you.”
“No problem. And what about you, Dani? Something a bit stronger?”
“No, I better not,” she said, waving it off.
“Are you sure? Might help to settle the nerves a bit.”
Danielle shook her head again, and Sharon nodded to them then moved away.
“You can have one, Mom. At least a beer or something.”
Danielle met her daughter’s eyes, which she could only do after tucking some hair out of the way behind her ear. With a sigh, she evaluated the team she had; her and her two girls, against the world, together forever. Honesty before all else. “Can I tell you something? You have to promise to keep it quiet until I decide to tell more people.”
Grace turned on the seat, bringing her knee up, instantly in gossip mode. “What? I won’t tell anyone, promise.”
“I went to the doctor today. I’m pregnant.”
Grace covered her mouth, eyes huge. “What?” she squealed.
Danielle shushed her and slapped her knee. “Quiet!”
“Oh my God, Mom.” Then her hands dropped. “I mean, gross. I’m sorry. You’re my mom. But are you okay? Are you happy?”
“At the moment, I’m terrified. But, with everything that happened before today, I’m only worried about them finding Knuckles. And him being okay.”
Grace reached out for her, and Danielle looked down at their joined hands. Her own starting show age, beginning to get that paper-skin look. Grace’s hands were still young, the nails painted a funky color, the majority of her fingers sporting cheap, costume jewelry rings. She used to wear that much crap on her hands, she remembered. Back when she’d been young.
She’d felt young lately, too. And that wasn’t the new home, the new job. That was Knuckles.
“God, I hope them find him,” she whispered, feeling the prickle of tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Mom,” Grace got up on one knee and leaned in to hug her. She let her do it, tucking her face in her daughter’s shoulder.
The door at the back of the clubhouse opened, and at once all noise stopped. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as Jayce, Tank, Buck, and Fritter led the club out of their conference room. Sharon approached Fritter, and he took her elbow while they spoke quietly. Tank and Buck headed for the door, but Jayce headed for her and Grace.
He sat on the table next to Grace’s lemonade, elbows on his knees. “We’re going to go meet some people. We have an idea of where he might have gone, but it’s bad news. So, if you could, we’d like to keep you and the girls here until we’re back. Or at least until we know more. If we’re right about what’s happened, there could be some blowback. If we’re all together, we can protect each other better.”
At the mention of protection,
she felt the urge to cry rise again, and Grace squeezed her hand. She must have given something away.
“We’ll stay here,” Danielle assured him. “And thank you.”
-oOo-
Those four men were gone most of the afternoon and evening. Sharon and Gertie put on movies for the kids to watch once homework was done, and pizza was brought in for supper. Danielle drank many glasses of water just to keep something in her hands. Anxiety was clawing up her stomach from the inside, and she could only pace. Sitting still was not possible.
“Come outside for a bit,” a gruff voice invited her, and she realized she was pacing right in front of a man that was slumped in a beat-up leather arm chair. He was wearing a kutte, but he was much older than the rest of the club members.
“Oh, sorry. I’m blocking your view of the TV,” she muttered, and he got to his feet. He was only a bit taller than her, but his presence was large.
He chuckled, producing a cigar. “Come outside for a bit. I’ve already seen this one. They find the fish’s father.”
Danielle laughed despite everything. “Damn. You just blew the ending.”
“Come outside for a bit. Get some air.”
“Air with you smoking a cigar?”
He wedged it in his mouth and his hard eyes narrowed at her. “You’re a smart ass.”
“Sorry. I’m anxious.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing. Come on. Come sit with me.”
She didn’t have any excuses so she followed, but she wasn’t at ease to be leaving the clubhouse with this man.
He sat on the top of a picnic table, boots on the bench. She sat the same way, squeezing her hands between her knees.
“You’re a coroner?”
“I am.”
“I’d expect someone that looked more like Morticia Adams.”
She laughed. “Does McTavish remind you of Herman Munster?”
He dipped his head. “Point taken.”
“People expect women to be freaks in this job. I honestly saw it as a way to great job security. I’ve never been squeamish, but I wasn’t really prepared for what would be required of me. I just got used to it, and then I found the purpose in it.”
The man nodded, exhaling a plume of smoke. She’d always found she liked that smell, and something about how this man’s eyes shone had her relaxing. A bit.
“Knuckles served in Iraq, which you know. I did time in Vietnam myself.”
She hadn’t thought he was that old, but the snowy white hair should have tipped her off. Everything else about him spoke of vitality.
“And your old man, your ex-husband, he served too?”
She nodded. “He did. On an air craft carrier. Flight crew.”
He nodded, too. “Us Army guys...we were close up. To all the shit. Right in our faces, stepping through it and over it. They teach you to kill, they do a good job of that. But, and I know it’s cheesy as fuck, they don’t teach us to turn that off.”
She breathed in, like she’d been hit. But she had no idea why that would actually hurt to hear.
“The club is an outlet for Knuckles.”
“Are you saying he’s killed people?”
Another burst of smoke. “You know the patch under his name on his kutte? Says ‘Rouser?’”
“Yeah.”
“That means he’s the one that kills for the club. We take a vote, and if we decide someone has to die, he does it. The other one was Tiny, but he’s gone now.”
“Harlon Gray,” she whispered.
“Did you know him?”
“Not at all, and yet...I feel like I did.”
The man frowned.
“I helped McTavish with his autopsy.”
Leather creaked as he shifted his position next to her. “Thank you for that.”
Now it was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?”
“I can only imagine it’s a hard job. But you provide a final service to people who’ve passed.”
That’s how she’d seen it, too. “Thank you.”
Again, a shrug. “Just so you know, that boy is fucked up. Doesn’t mean he can’t take care and love.” He stared at the burning end of his cigar. “And he’s actually smart enough to see a good woman for what she is. A woman who can take care and protect, just as well as he does.”
-oOo-
At bedtime, one of the motel rooms was made up for the three of them. They all cuddled into the queen-sized bed, one of her girls on each side. Annie dropped off quickly, and Grace turned to her side to read for a while.
Danielle stared at the ceiling. Her conversation with that man—Jayce’s father, she found out later—had her head spinning.
He hadn’t been warning her off Knuckles. It was more like he’d been giving her his blessing, bestowing approval. Why that made her feel all warm and cozy, she had no idea.
But instead of being concerned about the bikers milling around, or how any of this would affect her life—baby and job included—she was trying to think of Knuckles, like she could call him up telepathically and get a clue to where he was.
He had to be in trouble. He’d walk away from her, but never this club. She could see the tightness of the club bond, and thinking of him, she knew he had to hold that more dear than his own life. Wherever he’d gone, it was for the good of club. Whatever he was doing, he believed it would take care of them all.
Her hand went to her lower stomach. If he’d known about their own little jellybean, he never would have left. Not in a million years. The certainty washed over her like a warm blanket. He hadn’t left her. He thought he was doing right by her by taking off.
That certainty meant she fell asleep, only to be woken in the dark by soft knocking on the door. Both girls were sleeping, so she climbed over her dead-to-the-world Annie and answered, opening the door partially.
Jayce was at the door, and she wasn’t sure if that was a relief or cause for concern.
“He needs you,” he said, voice hoarse.
She partially leaned on the door. “What?”
“We found him. And he needs you.”
Jayce led her down to the ground level floor of the motel to Knuckles room, only pausing long enough to let her grab a sweater. Her heart was racing, and her mind couldn’t settle on any one thought other than We found him. And he needs you.
Even knowing he had to be hurt, she still wasn’t ready. Tank opened the door for them, and walking in she pushed through the tall, kutte-wearing crowd to the bed.
He needs you.
“Oh, fuck,” she whispered, stopping at the bed’s edge. “What the hell did this?”
She said what for a good reason. With the wounds she was seeing, she’d think he’d been mauled by an animal. Besides that, she didn’t recognize him at all. Just the suggestion of his ink confirmed that this was Knuckles.
“Please. Tell us what you need, we can get it. Our doctor is in Barbados right now, otherwise we’d call him.”
She turned to Jayce, incredulous. “He needs to go to the hospital.”
Jayce shook his head. “Can’t do that.”
“He’s going to die.”
“Not if you help him.”
She started like he’d swung at her. “What? Me? I’m not a doctor.”
“You took anatomy. You know what all the parts do, right?”
She shook her head now. “I can’t. I don’t know how to do this. I determine what killed people—”
“Then stop whatever it is that might kill him.” His tone was cool but firm. Then his eyes softened. “You can do this. Plus, he needs you.”
“Jayce, he needs a hospital.”
“We can’t take him to one. They’ll want to know what happened, we won’t be able to say, the Sheriff’s will want to investigate. And we can’t have that. Knuckles certainly can’t have that.”
His words settled an icy chunk in her stomach. “He did something? That’s why someone did this to him?”
“Yeah. But we got him back, and now
we need you to fix him up. I don’t know if he ever told you what a tough son of a bitch he actually is, but he fell off a fucking train bridge and lived to tell the tale.”
“He’s losing time here.” This from the older man that had talked to her earlier, the one she’d found out was Jayce’s father. “You got this, girlie. Let’s get him fixed up so he can rest and heal up.”
That popped something in place. They were all waiting for her. Knuckles was waiting for her. And if they wouldn’t take him to a hospital, she could hardly pick him up and carry him. So she pushed past Jayce’s father and the young Spaz to sit in the edge of the bed. He looked dead, but she could detect some color to his skin, and his chest was rising and falling but his breathing was shallow.
But the rest of him. Jesus Christ, the animals had been at him. But they probably walked on two legs.
His bare torso was criss-crossed with cuts, deep ones that gaped open and showed tissue below. Pieces of skin were missing, and she knew that portions of his ink had been removed. His face was swollen, both eyelids so inflamed that he wouldn’t have been able to open them if he’d been inclined to. His entire body was coated with dirt, and he smelled of urine.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, reaching out and touching two fingers to his throat. His pulse was weak, but somehow steady as well. Not dead. No absence of animation here. Maybe she could pull this off. “We have to clean him up. He’s filthy. All these wounds are probably infected already.”
Spaz used scissors to cut his jeans off. Then Spaz, Jayce, his father, and Fritter carried Knuckles to the bathroom where Buck already had the tub running. Not to fill it, though. Just to get the bath and water warmed up. The tub was fitted with one of those handheld showerheads, so once Knuckles was in the tub they could rinse the dirt off and see better what was going on.
The bruises made her want to weep. The pinkness in his skin tone was a lie. He was fighting infection, and he’d be developing a fever soon.
“I need antibiotics,” she told Spaz when he asked.
“I can get that.”
“Surgical thread. A needle. Rubbing alcohol. Lots of gauze and bandages.”
Shelter (Red Rebels MC Book 5) Page 38