Running Blind

by SE Jakes

  “You wouldn’t be here if you were,” Sweet agreed. “Jimmy was my everything. He wasn’t a Havoc member but he was active-duty military. Maybe when he got out he would’ve become Havoc or maybe he just would’ve stayed the way he was. It wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

  “How long?” Bram managed.

  “Five years. I was twenty-four and he was twenty-one when we first met.” Sweet glanced over at Jimmy’s picture. “We got into a fight before he shipped out for the last time. We actually broke up. Or at least, I broke up with him. I told him I wanted him out, and he signed up for six more years. He told me . . .” Sweet wore a pained expression. “That just because I was going to run Havoc didn’t mean I could run him and his life. So I told him that I couldn’t keep watching him go into battle and come back with all the scars, physical and mental. I told him I couldn’t and that if he walked out the door to never come back.” Sweet looked at the ceiling and laughed. “The fucker never did. Got KIA two months in. And even though he wrote and called, I fucking ignored him. I might as well have put the bullet—”

  “Stop,” Bram told him firmly. “He didn’t believe that. You can’t either. Stop fucking punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. You’re guilty of wanting someone you loved to be safe. That’s it.”

  Sweet stared at him. “I want to believe that.”

  “Then do it. Set yourself free. You don’t deserve it. And although I don’t know Jimmy, I’ve got to believe he would be pissed at you for blaming yourself.”

  “Yeah, he would. He’d call me a control freak.”

  Bram shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

  Sweet’s eyes narrowed. “Funny, but you don’t seem to mind it when you’re coming.”

  “Never said I minded it at all. From certain people.” Bram paused. “I’m really sorry about Jimmy. He sounds like a good guy.”

  Sweet nodded. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  “Right. Got it.” Bram closed off again.

  “Why do you do that?” Sweet demanded.

  “What?”

  “You shutter yourself up, like you’re keeping the world out. Keeping me out.”

  “Because I don’t need to keep banging my head against a wall. Okay? I get it. You don’t want to talk about Jimmy with me. There’ll never be anyone like him for you again.”

  “Bram—”

  “Don’t, okay? I’m just stating facts. I’ve been on my own for a long time. Long enough to know that I can pop in and out of places but not find a home there. I got that early on. I don’t expect anything. But dammit, don’t try to kid me into believing anything.”

  Sweet stood with him. Bram felt like a fucking fool and tried to push him away, but Sweet wouldn’t let go of him.

  “Sweet, I’m going to push you off me any way I can. Don’t corner me. Don’t.”

  Sweet let him go, stood back with his hands up. “I’m not trying to fool you or lead you on.”

  “But?”

  “Don’t you realize why this has been so hard for me? If I didn’t have feelings for you, the first ones I’ve had for anyone since Jimmy died, I wouldn’t be this fucked up.”

  Bram’s breath caught. “I didn’t come here for this.”

  “I didn’t bring you here for this. Not at first.”

  “Great. So neither of us wanted this. I’ll fucking pay you for Linc and go find him. You don’t have to do anything else for me. You’re digging yourself and your club deeper and deeper.”

  “And I don’t give a shit if it means not losing you. So how fucked do you think that makes me?” Sweet asked him in a low and dangerous voice. “You planning on screwing me?”

  “I’ve never done that. I have no plans to do it in the future.”

  “Anything else you’re not telling me?”

  Bram gave a dull laugh as exhaustion hit him hard again. He lay back against the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anyone in my fucking life. What more do you want from me?”

  Sweet stared at him but didn’t answer. And even though he didn’t want to admit it, that scared Bram a little more than anything else at the moment.

  It was time to check in with Dozer again. Bram called him, the phone on speaker so Sweet could listen in on the conversation.

  “How’re you feeling?” Dozer asked.

  Bram slid a glance over to Sweet. “Better now. Anything on Linc?”

  “Nothing. Sorry, man. It’s been quiet on Parisi’s end. I’ve been through all his files and his texts—no mention of your brother. Nothing in your files either.”

  Bram rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. Dozer was good enough not to get caught and besides that, the heat must be on Parisi at this point. If he couldn’t turn Bram into the Heathens, Parisi could be screwed from both ends. “There’s still the matter of the drugging. Gypsy’s credit check might’ve let Parisi know I was in town. From there, he obviously tied me to Havoc.”

  “So who drugged you? Would someone from Havoc have been turned?” Dozer asked.

  “By Heathens? No. By the law? Definitely not.”

  “Unless Parisi was holding something over them,” Dozer said. “Or else there are non-Havoc people on the compound.”

  For the party, there might’ve been. Also, there were other operations happening and all the people involved weren’t MC members. He’d been paranoid about bikers. Would he have noticed a really good tail from another agent? He went from freezing cold to angry as fire. “I’m taking Parisi down.”

  “Easy, tiger. Right now, it’s open season and you’re top billing on the kill list.”

  Right. Hidden at Havoc. Sold out. “You think the tail’s here?”

  “Maybe they’re undercover on the compound. Like you.”

  Bram fought the urge to correct Dozer, because technically, the man was correct. “Are there any new guys around, or is it just me?”

  Sweet’s eyes narrowed. “Wait here.”

  Oh shit. The look on Sweet’s face was seriously scary and turned Bram the fuck on at the same time. To Dozer, he said, “I think Sweet’s got someone in mind.”

  “Call me when you’ve got him and I’ll run him. Meantime, you’re safest at Havoc.” Dozer paused, then laughed. “Said no one ever.”

  “Yeah,” Bram sighed, signed off and stared after Sweet’s retreating back.

  “What’s up?” Tug asked as Sweet marched into the clubhouse with a purpose.

  “I need to check out the new people on board for the films.”

  Films meant the porn that got shot on Havoc land. The actors were heavily supervised and bodyguarded and off-limits, the sets restricted to necessary crew only. It was all on the up-and-up, willing and consensual, and made Havoc a fuck-load of money. It also kept the feds away. Havoc paid their share of taxes.

  More than.

  “Anyone in particular?” Tug asked.

  “Newest hires. Maybe not actors,” Sweet told him. Together, they walked into the main office, where one of the brothers who managed the books for the place sat, watching the monitor.

  “Working hard, JohnO?” Sweet asked.

  “Perks of the job.” JohnO glanced over at Sweet. “How can I help, brother?”

  “Need a list of new hires. Pictures too.”

  “You got it.” JohnO went into a file cabinet that looked like hell on wheels and pulled the records out immediately. “We only hired two new ones in the past couple of months. Everyone else has been here at least a year or more. Both these guys were vetted thoroughly.”

  Sweet paged through quickly, pulled out forms on the two men and stared at the pictures. One of them boasted a military background. He held the paper out to Tug. “Bring him to me.”

  “Any place in particular?”

  “Basement of the clubhouse. Don’t get him comfortable,” Sweet ordered.

  “Works for me,” Tug said. “JohnO, looks like you’ll be needing a new hire.”

  “Tell me about
it. Sorry, boss. Thought he seemed like he’d work out. I like to give vets a hand.”

  Sweet nodded. “I get it. This one’s a special case—don’t let it stop you from doing it again.”

  With the man JohnO flagged secured in the cell in the basement of the clubhouse, Sweet pulled in Gypsy, Tug, and Ozzie.

  Sweet got Gypsy and Ozzie up-to-date about the traitor.

  “You think he’s the one who drugged Bram?” Ozzie asked. “Because if that’s true, he’s been in contact with the ATF.”

  “Or the Heathens,” Tug said. “I’m not sure which is fucking worse at this point.”

  “Bram is worse,” Gypsy muttered.

  Sweet stiffened but kept his cool, reminding them all, “Bram was betrayed.”

  “He was betraying another MC.” Tug crossed his arms for emphasis, mind made up.

  Ozzie shrugged unapologetically. “Heathens though.”

  “Still an MC,” Tug insisted.

  Sweet knew they could go on all day. “We hate them and everything they represent. Bram was attempting to stop their meth trade. Plus, they treat their women like shit,” he reasoned. Gypsy remained silent, Tug crossed his arms, and Ozzie nodded at Sweet. “Bram wasn’t trying to shut them down because they were one-percenters. Plus, it was his job. He didn’t randomly go there. It’s not like he’s trying to hurt our MC.”

  “How do we know?” Gypsy finally demanded. “Right now, the game he’s running has been pretty effective. Pretend your hiding from your other undercover job. In effect, he’s been here undercover, right? How’s that different? He’s still with the ATF, am I right?”

  “He’s learned nothing that could compromise us,” Sweet said.

  “I know that you believe that, Sweet. I really do,” Gypsy said. “But we’ve got to be fuckin’ careful.”

  It took Bram all of three seconds to make the guy as an ATF asset, which was way different than an actual ATF agent. Parisi had threatened to expose the asset named Mike to the drug dealers he’d been working over for the ATF, forcing him to get a job on Havoc’s porn set. It was a smart move, because the only non-Havoc members who worked there were the porn stars themselves. Bram couldn’t decide if it was the best—or the shittiest—undercover job ever, but right about now he’d bet the guy would say the latter. Because he was tied up, and he’d been interrogated by Havoc before Bram had gotten to him.

  Not that Bram would’ve been any kinder. The ATF’s tenet on most low-level assets was, “If you’re caught and we don’t know, you’re completely on your own.”

  Obviously, this asset hadn’t gotten the memo, because he bit out, “You can’t kill me,” to Bram.

  “Actually, I can. Because I know you as a porn star who tried to kill me. The agency’s not going to give itself away for you. They’ll let you take the blame, no harm, no foul.”

  Mike went pale. “I didn’t have any choice.”

  Bram knew all about following orders. He could even drum up some sympathy for the poor bastard.

  “He said he was told to kill you and frame us or the Heathens,” Tug confirmed, and he didn’t seem happy about it. At least it wasn’t Bram he was unhappy with this time.

  “So what now?” Gypsy was asking Sweet when Bram walked out of the basement and into the office. It was the first time he and Gypsy had come face-to-face with one another while Bram was conscious since their fight. Since Bram admitted to being ATF. Gypsy narrowed his eyes and looked between the men, but continued to only address Sweet. “Because we can’t keep anyone with ATF ties shackled in our basement forever.”

  Bram stared at Gypsy and said, “He’s not an agent. He’s an asset. Disposable. But I’d keep him in play for a little longer.”

  “If by ‘in play’ you mean in that cell, I’m fine with that,” Sweet told him. “Parisi is the far bigger problem.”

  “But the question is why?” Gypsy asked. “Why go to the trouble of planting Bram as undercover and letting him figuratively deflate the shit out of the Heathens . . . only to turn him in? The ATF got what they wanted.”

  “Maybe Bram did too good a job,” Sweet said slowly, pinning his full attention to Bram. “Maybe your sup sent you in to get evidence. Then Parisi goes to the Heathens and says, ‘I’ll bury your MC unless you cut me in on the deal.’”

  “And the only way that would work is if their witness—me—ended up dead,” Bram said slowly.

  “Not necessarily. You could get out clean and never be the wiser . . . so why would Parisi sell you out?”

  Bram swallowed hard before admitting, “I’ve got a bank account number—and the records that tie it to Parisi, although I didn’t know it at the time. It’s for my own protection. When I told Parisi about it . . . that was the night before I was attacked. I told him I thought the account number would be enough to get the heroin dealer, that I wouldn’t have to patch in. So I’m supposed to come back from my vacation and do my final report. Then the heat will go back on the Heathens so they can’t connect the two timelines.”

  “Looks like Parisi wants to ensure that you didn’t make it that far.”

  “What if the evidence you have ties Parisi in?” Sweet asked. “What if he’s covering enough for the Heathens? Enough to make money. He can’t stop the investigation completely, but he says ‘I’ll look into it. I have resources. I’ll find your missing member.’ They don’t have to know he’s ATF.”

  Gypsy nodded slowly. “Parisi is the enemy. Right now, they think Bram’s a probie with too much information. Imagine what would happen if they knew the truth about who he really was? And I’m not seeing a way around that if it’s between Parisi getting himself fucked or Bram getting dead.”

  Bram winced, but Gypsy was only laying out the truth, and it was one Bram already knew.

  “I need to see Jethro,” Bram told them.

  “You know Jethro?” Sweet asked carefully.

  “Yeah, I know Jethro.”

  “I didn’t think he hung around with Heathens,” Gypsy pointed out.

  “How well do you know him?” Sweet pressed Bram.

  “How well do you know him?” Bram shot back.

  Sweet growled at the game of chicken happening. “I’ll talk to Jethro. You’re staying here.”

  “You should’ve let me kill him when I had the chance,” Gypsy said.

  “Which one?” Sweet asked.

  “Both of them.”

  Sweet sent Bram over to the diner. Bram left easily, like he didn’t want to be involved in anything that might happen to the asset.

  But Tug had things on his mind. “Okay, Sweet, you’re proving your point about Bram. He was set up. I heard it firsthand from Mike. But what now? Are we covering for Bram with the Heathens? Because I say yes.”

  “I second that,” Ozzie said.

  Sweet turned his attention to Gypsy to see what he thought about it.

  “We could tell the Heathens that we know Bram was their probie but that we patched him into Havoc,” Gypsy reasoned. “Because technically, there’s nothing on the bylaws about patching in another club’s probie.”

  Sweet played devil’s advocate. “And if Bram’s supervisor decides to spill what Bram’s real job is?”

  “We say we didn’t know. We send him away and tell Heathens we killed him,” Gypsy said.

  It wasn’t a bad plan, but Sweet didn’t like loose ends. Parisi was one of them. “It’s time to call Jethro.”

  Jethro was an undercover ATF agent with the Hangmen MC. Casey, the club’s president, knew who and what Jethro was. Sweet didn’t ask too much more about it, but he figured that it had to be a mutually beneficial relationship for both the MC and the ATF. Which was odd, considering the Hangmen stole high-end cars, like Havoc.

  The one thing the clubs did have in common was the zero tolerance for drugs policy—selling for sure was a major no, and taking? No hard drugs, recreational only—and mainly pot. Both MCs had too much to lose to get caught up in the drug race.

  Sweet figured Jethro helped k
eep the Colombians off the Hangmen’s backs—oftentimes, MCs were pressured into helping drug lords with their businesses in return for money . . . and protection.

  That’s not why the Heathens sold meth, though.

  Two hours after they left Havoc, Bram was in Ozzie’s care at Havoc and Sweet was at the Hangmen’s compound with Tug, telling Jethro, “I need a lead on a guy named Parisi.”

  Jethro leaned back, a booted foot on the desk. “I’m not for fucking hire, Sweet.”

  Casey stared between the two of them. “Sweet, I owe you, man, and you owe me. This one? Between you two.”

  Sweet nodded and Casey left him and Jethro alone. “It’s for Linc’s brother. Bram.”

  If Jethro knew who Bram was or what he’d been doing, he didn’t give anything away. “Again, I’m not in the habit of selling out my brothers. Just like you.”

  Sweet passed him Dozer’s number. “Call him. I told him you’d be asking him questions. See for yourself how good a brother Parisi is. Maybe there’s a medal in it for you.”

  Jethro snorted but he took the number.

  “He’s a strong motherfucker. A group of Heathens beat the shit out of him. He’s like fucking bionic or something. I won’t fuck with him.”

  “Sweet doesn’t seem to mind. Then again, he hasn’t been with anyone like this since Jimmy-Boy.

  “Hope this guy doesn’t screw with him.”

  “Any more than he already has.”

  “You don’t trust Sweet’s judgment?”

  “Always. But that doesn’t mean I can’t watch his back at the same time.”

  The Havoc members were glancing over to where Bram was punching the bag, talking freely since he appeared oblivious to their conversation.

  In reality, he heard every goddamned word, which contributed to the ferocity of his workout. It had been months since he’d been able to stretch his muscles like this, and he worked through the pain and the burn, not caring how much he’d hurt afterwards.

  It was either take it out on the bag or the men around him, and that wouldn’t fly. Like Linc, he had impulse issues but he didn’t have Linc’s charm. He was more the brute force or the quiet one often underestimated.