by SE Jakes
“You’ve got to deal with this now,” Gypsy told him, his tone even despite the anger in his eyes.
“I know. But I’m not turning anyone over to Heathens.”
“Even if he’s one of them?”
“We’ll take care of him on our own,” Sweet reminded him.
“A lot of ways to take that.”
“I mean if anything shakes out.” Because if Bram was spying for Heathens, he’d have zero issue taking him out. No, he’d enjoy it for all the torture the Heathens had inflicted on Havoc and Shades Run over the years.
Sweet fisted his hands, hardened his heart, and prepared for the beginning of the end.
They must’ve called in Sweet’s sister again—the doctor—because when Bram woke, he was in a bed and hazy in that happy, drug-fueled way that made him not give a shit how bad his life was at the moment.
He rolled over, wincing. He remembered slamming himself against the bars of the cell because he’d needed to get the fuck out of there.
“You okay?” Misha asked, handing him water and holding it for him so he didn’t spill it. His hands were still shaking.
“The claustrophobia’s new.”
“Hell of a way to discover it.”
“Tell me about it.” Bram gingerly tested out sitting up and found himself less than successful at it. So he lay there on the pillow, trapped and sore. “The DTs . . .”
“Are better than they’ve been. You need time to get off all this shit.”
“I don’t have time.”
“You seem to have plenty of it now,” she told him, not unkindly.
He nodded. “Thanks for your help.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m not done yet. Anything else I can get you?”
He hadn’t checked in with Dozer—and it was a necessity. “My phone—”
“Forget it,” Sweet barked from the corner, and how the hell long had he been there?
Bram focused on him. “Gotta call Doz and check in before he calls in the cavalry. You can call him. But he’ll want to hear from me.”
Sweet narrowed his eyes. “Quick call. On speaker.” He pulled Bram’s phone out of his own pocket and flipped through the numbers. He confirmed that he’d found the right one before he dialed and then he held it out toward Bram.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Dozer demanded.
“With Sweet—at Havoc. Detoxing.”
Dozer blew out a hard breath. “You’re all right then?”
“I’m alive and not with the Heathens. Best I can ask for right now.”
“Right. Hey Sweet,” Dozer called.
“Hey Dozer. Any surprises coming our way?” Sweet asked.
“I’ve managed to bury this, but Parisi’s going to get suspicious soon—like when the Heathens’ reports start coming in,” Dozer admitted. “And Sweet? If you hurt him—”
“I know,” Sweet said. “He’s here. He’s fine. He’s not happy but he’s fine. I’ll have him call you again within twelve hours, but anything else comes up? You call me.” Sweet rattled off a new number and Bram closed his eyes.
When Sweet ended the call, Bram opened them, and Sweet shook his head slowly and told him, “You need therapy.”
“You provide that here under the Havoc protection plan?”
“Fuck you, Bram.” Sweet pocketed Bram’s phone.
“You need to call Heathens and demand to talk to Linc. If you won’t, I will,” Bram told him.
“Funny thing, you giving me orders.”
“I’m not part of your MC.”
“Bite the hand that feeds you a little more,” Sweet warned.
“Why are you doing this, Sweet? I don’t fucking get why you’re putting all this at risk for me. You could’ve killed me. Handed me over. You probably should’ve done either of those things, but you brought me back here to what? Torture me? Save me? I can endure the first and I definitely don’t need your help with the second.” Bram pushed his luck, and no doubt Sweet’s patience and all the biker’s buttons.
Sweet yanked him up out of bed and slammed him against the wall. “You want to die, Bram. I get it. But you kill yourself on your own time.”
“Let me go, Sweet.” He heard the pleading in his voice and he hated it, hated that his words were both literal and not.
Sweet gave him the smallest of wry smiles. “I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
“Same thing.”
“Why?”
“Same reason you kept me safe. Same reason you let me go.”
With that, Bram’s resistance left all at one, leaving him to lean his forehead against Sweet’s. “It’s all too much,” he murmured.
“It seems that way. Break it down, it’s not that bad.”
“Right. Not until we get to the part about you telling Heathens I’m ATF.”
“They won’t find out from me,” Sweet said tightly.
“You’ll lie to your whole MC—”
“Never said that. I said Heathens won’t find out. Havoc? They need to know.”
Bram put his head back against the wall, his body suddenly too heavy again. Goddamned drugs. “I can’t beg for acceptance. I won’t.”
“No one’s asking you to.”
“Yes, you are. You’re asking me to prove myself. Again. And I’m tired of having to do that. I’m not fucking perfect but I’ve tried to make things better.”
For Linc and Linnea. Mom. The town the Heathens lived in. Villages in the military. Himself even, at times.
And look where that’s gotten you.
“Don’t make a decision you’ll regret,” Sweet told him. “Because I’ve been there. Wish I could take it back. I’m trying to save you that trouble.”
“What decision did you make that you regret?” Bram asked. Because if Sweet was going to ask him hard shit, he was going to force him to answer shit in kind.
Sweet stared at him, and when he spoke, there was an edge to his voice that shot up Bram’s spine. “I killed the man I loved. That good enough for you?”
Yes, Bram supposed it was. “And you say I’m hard on myself. Takes one to know one, I guess.”
“Don’t push it.”
“Fine. Let’s go back to Linc. The Heathens have him.”
Sweet narrowed his eyes. “You know that for sure?”
“Who the fuck else should we suspect? You didn’t tell me anything about what Ozzie found out, but I’m not stupid.”
“No, you’re not,” Sweet told him. “But you’re the law, remember?”
“If you’re not doing anything illegal, what’s the problem?” Bram challenged.
“This isn’t the time for your smart mouth.”
Bram knew that, couldn’t help himself. Whatever Sweet decided to do with him now, the one thing Bram could make sure of was that Sweet—or Havoc—didn’t break him.
Never going to happen.
While Bram slept, Sweet made the call he’d been hesitant to. Bothering Ryker and Rush was risky. Putting anything personal into a man’s head when he had a job to do could fuck him over. But Havoc might be in danger, so Sweet took the chance.
“Ryker, how’s it going?” Sweet asked his trusted XO. Ryker had been away with Sean Rush, his partner and new recruit for Havoc, for the past several months working on a few things in the motor vehicle industry. Havoc loved its bikes but Rush loved his classic cars—faster the better—and using his expertise had so far proven invaluable.
It was through Ryker that Rush—and ultimately Linc—had come into their lives.
“We’re good here. Job’s looking to end a little later than we anticipated, but only because there’s extra merchandise Sean’s testing.” Ryker sounded good—happy—and relaxed. Love would do that to a man.
“Good. Rush’s okay, then?”
Ryker’s voice immediately went to code red suspicious. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve got to talk to him about Linc. He’s been missing for a month.”
“No shit?”
“And his brother’s here. But I want to talk to Rush cold about that—just tell him I need to talk to him about Linc’s disappearance.”
“You’ve got it. I’ll put it on speaker. ” There was a rustling and then, “Sweet, it’s Rush. What’s happening with Linc?”
“He’s gone.”
“Gone? Noah and I haven’t heard shit from him, but I figured he was busy with Gypsy. Why the hell didn’t you—”
“Hey Sweet,” Ryker broke back in smoothly, stopping Rush’s tirade. “That’s not going to end well.”
No, it wouldn’t. And Rush was too new of a Havoc member to pull that shit. “Ask him about Linc’s family and tell him to calm the fuck down or I’ll pull him from the job,” Sweet instructed. He heard some murmuring in the background and then Ryker said, “He’s got an older sister and an older brother.”
Sweet nodded, a sense of relief that his gut was still to be trusted. “Tell me about the brother.”
But all Rush would say was, “Bram’s a good guy,” which led Sweet to believe that Rush knew what Bram did for a living.
“What’s he do for a living?” Sweet pressed.
“He was in the military at one point . . . and then . . . you know,” Rush hedged, then sighed. “I can’t tell you what his job is now. Satisfied?”
“For now.”
“Is Bram all right?” Rush asked Sweet. “Linc takes care of him, you know.”
Sweet closed his eyes, the bond of the brothers weighing heavily on him. Not your problem, or Havoc’s. But Rush was. Gypsy was.
Bram could bring the ATF, DEA, FBI all down on them, not to mention the local police and the DA. Rush could get arrested. Sweet wanted to believe that Bram wouldn’t let that happen, but Bram couldn’t be trusted. Linc could be working for him.
Then again, Bram hadn’t given himself those scars. He hadn’t drugged himself, and he’d tried to lead the Heathens away from Havoc.
Sweet had been the one bringing Bram, and the Heathens who followed, into Havoc. “Bram’s in trouble, yes. Linc might be too.”
“Because of Bram?” Rush asked tentatively.
“I know he’s ATF,” Sweet said quietly. Rush blew out a harsh breath, and Ryker cursed in the background. “Didn’t you think it might be relevant to tell us?”
“No,” Rush said firmly. “He’s known me a long time. His jobs are big and complicated.”
“How complicated?” Sweet demanded. “Because right now, I’m trying to decide if Bram walks away with his life.”
“If he doesn’t, Sweet . . .”
“You’ll do what, Rush?”
Ryker knew better than to say a word.
“Leave Bram alone. He’s a good guy. He takes down white supremacists who hurt women and children. He took down a chunk of the Heathens’ meth business—tried to cripple it. It’s about the meth part, not the MC part.” Rush paused. “Linc’s as much of a criminal as I am. Same with Bram—he just happened to channel it legally. I’m coming home and I’m going to find Linc. I’ll take responsibility for Bram.”
“Not your place,” Sweet warned.
“Not yours either.”
“Hang up now,” Sweet told him and after a scuffle on the other end, with Ryker no doubt persuading him, Rush finally did just that.
Sweet went back into the room where Bram was. Misha was setting up another IV, but Bram was looking much better than he had a mere twenty-four hours earlier. Better than even an hour ago, which meant he was more dangerous. “Misha, I need a minute.”
“No exertion,” she warned.
“Misha,” he growled and Bram snorted.
She wagged a finger at him and told Bram, “You heard me too. Stay in bed. Alone.”
Bram smiled at her and waved, looking innocent as fuck. When Misha shut the door, the smile faded and he stared at Sweet like he was enemy number one.
“I made a call to Rush,” Sweet told him. “He verified that you exist and that you are who you say you are.”
“Wonderful. Always nice to have a car thief as my reference. So, am I allowed to live as per Havoc’s good graces?” Bram asked, as unconcerned as he’d been earlier. An act—and a damned fine one at that—but an act nonetheless.
Sweet walked over to the bed even as Bram sat up as though ready for a fight. “You think Linc’s been with the Heathens since your beatdown?”
“Maybe. Why though? Why not use him to get me back and let me know it? Send a message?” Bram shook his head. “Just let me hand myself to them if they have him. Trade me for Linc. Problem solved and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Jesus Christ. Bram said it like he was asking to go to the store for milk. The loyalty—the bond, the willingness to offer up his life for Linc’s . . .
Sweet hadn’t been wrong at all about him. Bram was exactly like a Havoc man. “We don’t just hand over men to Heathens.”
“You don’t hand over your own,” Bram corrected. “I’m not part of the Havoc family.”
“Did you want to be?”
Bram shook his head tightly.
“Trying to be a goddamned hero.”
“No,” Bram said quietly. And that’s when Sweet got it.
“You were trying to keep Havoc safe.” And when Bram didn’t answer, a muscle in his jaw jumped. “Bram, we protect ourselves.”
“You shouldn’t have to—at least not from my mistakes.”
“It wasn’t a mistake. You had a job. You should’ve been able to trust your boss.”
Bram sagged a little, hanging his head. He was no doubt exhausted, more mentally than physically. Sweet sat next to him and caught him, pulled Bram against him until Bram put his head against his chest. “You’re safe,” Sweet told him. “You don’t leave us behind. We won’t desert you.”
“I want to believe that.”
“Then believe it.”
“You don’t have to protect me.”
“I consider it protecting our investment.”
“Right. Always comes back to business.”
Sweet leaned in close. “Not always, love,” Sweet murmured in his ear and felt Bram shudder with his next words. “Gonna end your pity party fast and hard, and then we’ll set to figuring out what to do next.”
After another half a day on Misha-approved IVs, Bram was feeling better than he’d felt in a while. She’d given him pain pills that had far less of a narcotic effect than he’d been taking and instructed him to take ibuprofen and Tylenol round the clock in order to avoid the major aches and pains that led him into taking the pain pills in the first place.
“Most of all, take it easy,” Misha told him sternly. “You need to rest.”
Bram nodded, wanted to tell her that wasn’t really up to him but Sweet broke in. “We’ve got this. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”
“I’ll be by later to check,” Misha told him sweetly. “Where will I find him?”
Sweet didn’t hesitate. “My place.”
Bram frowned and Misha quirked her lip at her brother but didn’t say anything to him. To Bram, she said, “Remember what I said. And here’s a card with my number. Feel free to call me if you’re feeling too much pain.” She stuck the card into his hand and then she left without looking back at either of them.
Bram looked at Sweet, half expecting him to take the card, but Sweet just motioned for Bram to follow him. Bram tucked the card into his pocket and went with Sweet into his truck and stared out at the winding roads until they pulled in front of Sweet’s house. Sweet got out of the truck without saying anything and Bram, after a moment of hesitation, did the same, walking into the house with more than a slight feeling of dread.
“I’ve got church in a few minutes. I need you to stay put, all right?”
“Got it,” Bram muttered. “I’m sure most MC members want me still locked up.”
“Probably.”
“If they touch me, I’ll fuck them all up. I’m not joking, Sweet.”
He wasn’t, because Sweet knew Bram could take on a hell of a lot of
guys and, more than likely, come out the victor. Cuffs wouldn’t hold him. Not for long. This sitting here almost free? This was a lot fucking harder.
He and Linc weren’t brothers for nothing.
“Christ, you’re an angry motherfucker.”
“And you like it.” Bram’s eyes shot fire. He noted that Sweet didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. But Sweet did shake his head, like he’d known this was coming.
Hell, Bram had known it too, had ever since Sweet used the demonstrative love and then jacked him off.
“I can take your anger,” Sweet told him, right before he walked out the door. “Just don’t expect me to match it. I don’t make decisions anymore when I’m angry. I did it once, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
Sweet couldn’t deny it that he liked Bram’s anger. Bram’s fight. Because he’d denied himself for so long, to lead the MC with zero distraction post Jimmy-Boy.
Jimmy-Boy had been the biggest distraction of all, and at the time, Sweet thought he’d had it all under control. And maybe nobody noticed how out of control he’d been except Sweet himself.
And now, he was threatening to end up in the same situation. Using love as a demonstrative had been natural. Sincere.
And tonight Sweet had . . . watched Bram close off right before his eyes, which wasn’t unexpected. But he knew Bram would stay. There was no way he’d risk Linc’s life, and right now, Bram’s own conscience was stronger than any chains. The only reason he’d risked Sweet’s was because Sweet had backed him into a corner.
Bram had that same wary, cornered look in his eyes tonight. It was like dealing with a wild animal. Thankfully, Sweet had a lot of practice in talking down men like Bram . . . and thanks to several nights spent making Bram come, he had enough insight into the ATF agent to break him down . . . and maybe build him right back up.
Predictably, Bram couldn’t sleep. Truthfully he didn’t really try—mainly paced the house like an angry lion before finally going out onto the deck off Sweet’s bedroom and sitting under the moonlight with a bottle of scotch he’d snagged earlier from downstairs.