by Max Henry
King’s dad sighs and cups the coffee mug in his hands. “They’ve got a shuffle going on in the place since a couple of officers were killed.”
My eyes widen. “I never knew.”
“You aren’t supposed to,” he warns with a stern finger. It’s a subtle instruction to keep my mouth shut. “Anyway, he’s trying to get a position for himself, but he thinks that damn president of his is looking for ways to oust him before it could happen.”
It sounds like chaos, sure, but the one thing it doesn’t sound like is anything to do with Carlos. He truly did leave me just to deal with his club’s petty business. The rejection stings anew. No, I didn’t want him to get involved with Carlos, and yes, I was about to walk out the door to try and avoid that, but hearing he never had any intention of doing a thing for me? That burns.
“I need to go.”
King’s father watches me silently. “It’s wrong, denying him the birth of his first child.”
“How did you know I’d be gone that long?”
“The tone of your voice changed; your mannerisms closed off. You got annoyed when I told you what he was doing, and you shut off.”
Point taken. “He’ll forever put the needs of his men before me, and I can’t live with that.” I look down to my belly and shake my head. “More so, if it hurts me this bad every time he leaves me behind to run back to them, how do you think our child will feel, knowing daddy picks a bunch of bikers over his own blood?”
“You don’t know he’d do that,” King’s father snaps.
“Oh, but I do.” I smile sadly. “He’ll do it every time they call.”
“And what about your safety?” he asks. “Do you think that by leaving, this Carlos man you were involved with will just drop whatever vendetta he has against you two? He may not be able to locate you, but he’ll still hold a grudge against the man who stole his wife.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” I shout. “Don’t you think I’ve been lying awake all morning trying to decide what the best thing to do is?” The blood in my veins is on fire. “I’m not skipping off into the sunset, sir. I’m leaving with a heavy heart.”
“What the hell is going on?” The room is washed in bright fluorescent light as Addie switches the overheads on.
“Elena’s leaving. You may want to pack her something to eat,” King’s dad snaps. He stands from the table and downs the last of his drink. “I’ve got work to do.” He strides from the room, shooting me a final glower as he dumps the cup in the sink.
“Elena?” Addie asks as the back door slams in its enclosure behind him.
“I’m sorry.” I swipe the fucking tears from my face—what good will they do? “I can’t stay and play second fiddle to a club that’ll forever have our family in danger. I just can’t.”
“Where will you go?” she asks quietly, pulling the makings of a sandwich from the pantry.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” I slouch onto an empty stool at the large island.
“There are women’s shelters around if you ask the right people, but my thinking is that you won’t want to involve the law.”
I say nothing and watch her deft hands make light work of packing me a lunch and a few healthy snacks. She tucks the cling film over the homemade muffin and slips it all into a large clip-seal container.
“I don’t know how long you’ll be off the radar, so I hope this is enough.”
I can’t bring myself to take the food offered in her outstretched hands although I know I should. Leaving King is hard enough—accepting help from his mother in doing it seems like an even greater betrayal.
“Take it,” she whispers. “You’ll need the fuel with that wee one growing inside of you.”
I wrap my fingers around the cool, hard edges of the container and pull it toward me, clutching the offering to my chest. “Thank you.”
“Do you need money?”
Again, I choose silence over admitting I need her to basically lay the red carpet out for me to leave.
“How much do you think will be enough?” She sweeps across the room to where her purse sits on the counter and digs out a few bills. “This is all I have, but if you need more we can arrange a trip to the bank if you’re happy to wait until they open.” Addie lays three hundred dollars on the counter beside my hands and steps back.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.
“Because you have the right to choose, and if you think your life is better spent somewhere else where nobody knows who you are, rather than with my son, who am I to stop you?”
I lay my arms over the counter and my forehead hits the cash as I give in and let the anxiety wreak havoc with my body. Air is thick, hard to push into my lungs. The room seems to double in temperature. A million thoughts fire through my mind in a dozen different voices: angry Elena, sad Elena, nervous Elena, and worst of all, heartbroken Elena.
“Hey.” A warm hand rests between my shoulders briefly before pulling away again. “It’s not too late to change your mind. If we thought this was too big of a problem for farmers like us to handle, we would have told Lloyd so. But we didn’t. You’re welcome to stay and figure out how to solve this.” She pauses and draws a deep breath above my cradled head. “Although if your answer is asking him to walk away from his life with the club, I think you’d better admit defeat.”
TWENTY-FOUR
King
“I’m exorcising my right to instruct you to stand down until such time as the officers can meet to decide the future of your position.” Beefy laces his hands over his belly, as close as the big guy can get to crossing his arm over his chest. “Meeting’s in two days, Apex. You shouldn’t have any issue followin’ orders.”
“And who the fuck is goin’ to run the show, Beef?” He strides back and forth behind his desk, stopping every so often to shove at something on the top. “We’ve got no God-damned VP.”
“We haven’t got a fuckin’ president, either,” Beefy roars back. “You’ve been actin’ selfishly for the past few months now, brother. What else did you think we’d do when it got this far?”
“What have you got against me, huh?” He smirks at the two of us, Mighty having left to get himself a drink shortly after Fingers took Abbey. “What you bringin’ to the table? Any hard evidence, or is it all li’l bitch’s hearsay?” He glares across the room at me, sending my pulse thrumming in my neck.
“I don’t have to do a thing,” I spit at the asshole. “You’re diggin’ a mighty fine hole on your own, prospect.”
His eyes narrow as he looks me over, clearly trying to work out how I know the connection. “Who you been talkin’ to?”
“An old friend,” Beefy fills in. “Step out, Apex. I don’t want to see you in here until it’s been cleared by the board.”
“You aren’t takin’ jack fuckin’ squat away from me.” Apex’s eyes dart around the room, as though he searches for a clue to help him out. “This is mutiny. You realize that? You could be done for this too, Beefy. How does treason sound? Turnin’ against your brothers?”
“Sounds to me like you’re readin’ your own rap sheet,” I muse, running a finger over the dusty cabinet and tsk-ing. “You should take better care of your things. Never know what we might find once we dust the filth off .”
Apex growls at the double innuendo in my words. The man needs a walk-in robe to house all the skeletons he has in his closet. “It’s a dangerous thing to do, backin’ a man into a corner like this,” he threatens, his finger pointing at me then Beefy. “Hope you fuckers are ready to take whatever comes your way when I’m done explainin’ this to the officers.”
Beefy opens his mouth to speak when an almighty crash out in the common room halts our heated discussion square in its tracks. The three of us push through the door to see what the source of the commotion is as yelling echoes about the open space.
“Pres!” One of the younger prospects jogs across the open floor, his hand clutched to his ear, which bleeds in rivers down his arm and over his T-shirt
. “We’ve got unwelcome company.”
Apex shoulders between Beefy and myself, but stops dead as Beefy’s hand slaps down on his collar.
“Not your job anymore,” our sergeant at arms warns.
“Whose then?” Apex growls, his eyes dicing holes in the hand that rests on his shirt.
“Mine.” Beefy steps forward and nods out front as he approaches the prospect. “Who we got?”
“He wants him.” The prospect points a red-streaked finger towards Apex. “We tried keepin’ them out, but the fuckers shot Abel. I thought I was a goner for sure, too.”
“Who’s after me,” Apex asks. “What’s his name, son?”
“Carlos.”
Fuck. The front door slams against the entrance, two of his minions visible with a steel battering ram. Fucker came prepared.
“Honey, I’m home!” Carlos roars down the hallway.
I glance across at our suspended president and blanch at the fear in his eyes. He’s certain this won’t end well too.
“Time to face fate,” I mutter, speaking as much about his situation as mine.
I swallow hard as the wolf makes his advance. He steps lightly as he edges down the hallway, foot soldiers in front and behind. Running a mental inventory, I focus in on the familiar feel of my gun at the small of my back and the knife sheathed in my boot. Judging by the semi-automatic weapons in Carlos’s guard’s hands, I’m grossly under-prepared. But fate is what I make of it. The ability of the determined against that of the opportune is nothing to be underestimated.
I slink backward toward the garage and out of plain sight as Carlos crosses the threshold into the common room.
“There you are, you fucking rat.” Carlos’s sharp eyes zero in on Apex, who settles his hand over the butt of his gun. “Do you have any idea how much of an inconvenience it is to have to fucking come down here to your filthy back yard to get fucking answers for myself?” His growled words end on a roar. His rage builds with every step he takes towards our ex-president.
Apex ages ten years in the minute it takes Carlos to reach him. “Care to tell me what the problem is?” The moron plays it dumb. He clearly hasn’t studied Carlos that well in all the interactions they’ve had if he thinks insulting the man’s intelligence will gain him any brownie points.
“Are you fucking serious?” Carlos shouts with a laugh. “You think you can pretend like you have noooo fucking idea what the hell you’ve been up to?” Carlos crowds Apex, his tall and lean frame towering over the shorter stocky man’s. “Do you think I’m that stupid?”
“How about we sit down and discuss what’s going on here civilly?” Beefy asks, his palms held out before him.
“How about you shut the fuck up and stay out of this?” Carlos sneers.
Beefy holds his ground, yet drops his hands to his sides. “If you took the time to discuss the issue, you might find that we’re not all on the same side here.” He waves a fat hand between Apex and himself. “We could possibly come to a mutual decision.”
Carlos chuckles and fists Apex’s shirt at the neck as he addresses Beefy. “Like what? Offering your boss up for the slaughter, are you?”
I edge around the room, my hand behind my back to pull the pistol from my waistband. Perhaps if I can get in position behind the sofa, or use the pool table as a partial shield . . .
“And don’t think I haven’t noticed you.” His back is turned to me, but Carlos holds his gold-ringed pointer finger squarely in my direction.
Fuck.
I run a quick calculation of who’s in the room and what collateral damage there’d be if I opened fire, right here, right now. I wanted the sick fucker to suffer, to break under my hand, but sometimes a man has to take the opportunity afforded to him and do the best he can.
Beefy hangs off to the left of Carlos and Apex, watching the interaction with thin restraint. Behind him stands the bleeding prospect. A flash of black and pink catches my eye as two of the property girls disappear up the staircase to more than likely barricade themselves in a bedroom. The bar is empty, save for one of the old boys whose head is on the sticky counter as he sleeps through the whole thing in an alcohol-induced coma.
By all accounts, we’re fucking lucky Carlos showed up now, and not earlier when the regular partiers were still here. Whatever he’s got planned, I’m sure it’s not something I could stomach innocent families being involved in.
“Come join us,” Carlos coos in my direction. “Don’t be shy.”
Beefy catches my eye and shakes his head minutely, warning me off doing anything stupid. The room is silent save for the clink of my boot buckles as I cross over to where the action is.
Carlos drinks the sight of me in with the blood-thirst of a killer on the scent of wounded prey. “Don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to have her here too?”
I lift my lips on one side in answer.
“Didn’t think you were that idiotic,” Carlos says, almost praising me. He regards Apex and leans across to talk to me, his eyes still on the guy. “What do you think we should do with this two-timer?”
“Hear him out.” I narrow my gaze on Apex, keen to use the time it takes to come up with a plan to my advantage. “I want to hear him say it.”
“Oooh.” Carlos rubs his hands together. “This looks interesting.”
“Don’t know what the fuck you think I’m going to say, kid,” Apex sneers.
“Tell us why there was no comeback in ’97.” I try to gauge what kind of response time Carlos would have if I lifted a knee and pulled out my knife. Too hard to tell.
Apex’s under-eye twitches. “Officers voted against it. Didn’t want to put our members at risk like that.”
“Bullshit,” I sneer, the weight of Carlos’s curious gaze bearing down on me. “How’s the wife?”
I could have heard a mouse sneeze. All eyes are trained on the two of us as we enter into a verbal sparring match.
“How’s his?” Apex asks me, jerking his head towards Carlos.
“Fucking dead after we sort this little issue out,” Carlos mutters dismissively.
My finger longs for the feel of a trigger, but what chance would I have against the guards behind me with their weapons trained on my every move? “Not if I have the last word, asshole.” I keep my sight squarely on Apex as I answer Carlos.
“I highly doubt that,” the bastard mutters. “Anyway,” he asks Apex, “what does your wife have to do with all of this?” Carlos circles him, dusting invisible dirt from the man’s shoulders. “See, we sat down and shared a drink to discuss how I could help you get the information you sought that would confirm the Blood Eagles’ guilt in regards to that little spat in ’97. Here I thought you were trying to get what you needed to take the prosecution through legal channels. Why else would you need hard evidence on what they did and who called the hit? Gentlemen that criminals like us are, if you wanted to settle this the respectable way, you would have gone after the man who sent his lackeys out to shoot up your boys, would you not? Paid him a visit in the dead of night perhaps?” He stops in front of Apex and takes hold of both sides of his cut, pretending to straighten it out. Apex has slowly turned the color of a beet over the course of Carlos’s inquisition. “But,” he continues, “why would you need a name from me when you already knew who it was that called the shots?” He turns to Beefy and smiles. “Pardon the pun.”
“If you know the answers,” Apex grits out, “then why waste your time grandstanding here and now? Why didn’t you just shoot me when you walked through the door, you fuckin’ coward? Bet you’re afraid it’ll dirty your over-priced suit, huh?”
Carlos clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Au contraire. I thought about doing that the whole way here, but then I realized, what’s more detrimental to the wolf when he turns against his pack?”
The pack deals the punishment. The asshole’s going to get us to do his dirty work. “Nice,” I chuff. “You’re going to get us to deal to our own so your record stays clean
—no involvement, no evidence if investigated.”
Carlos spins around, a grin a mile wide across his face as he reaches out and ruffles my hair. “See, you’re a clever wee thing, aren’t you?”
I punch his bicep, forcing the fucker to pull his arm back in haste as no doubt the whole limb goes numb.
“Careful,” he grumbles. “That kind of disrespect gets a man’s kneecaps shot.”
I glance behind me at his hired help and note two of the guns raised and trained on me, the other pair on Apex and Beefy. The bloodied prospect stands between us and them, penned in with nowhere to go unless he fancies adding to his injury checklist.
Our old boy at the bar rumbles incoherent words in his sleep, drawing one of the weapons from me to him. Carlos’s man shakes his head when he realizes the old bastard is no threat and re-trains his sight on me.
“As I was saying,” Carlos addresses Apex, yet rolls his eyes at me, “I figured you played me all along, saying you were interested in what I have—which, by the way, I don’t.” He inspects his fingers, waggling them before himself. “I lied about that.” His smug attitude grates on me. “I indulged, once I realized you were up to something else, and paid your friends a little visit. Boy, did they have a story for me.” Carlos leans in toward Apex, his nose barely an inch from our ex-president’s. “How’s your son?”
Apex’s eyes dart between Beefy and myself.
“We already know about what happened,” I say. “You don’t need to keep up the lie.”
His nose twitches as he looks over the prospect behind me and sighs. “What would you have done?” Apex appears not to address any one of us in particular; he throws the question out there for public consumption.
Our circumstance may have all varied, but we’d be hard pressed to find any one of us who would have reacted any differently when they realized a loved one was at risk.
“You denied me the right to ask my brothers for help,” I mutter at Apex. “For a situation almost identical to yours.” He stays silent, as though he really listens to me for the first time. “You know how it felt.”