Running Blind

by SE Jakes

  Obviously, that wasn’t happening here. His rep preceded him and that was a good thing, because he wasn’t sure he was ready to handle another group beatdown. But after Sweet had walked out of his house, Bram couldn’t stand staring at the walls wondering what the fuck had happened now. Ozzie hadn’t given him any trouble about coming to the gym, but now, Bram was starting to wonder if he’d been set up.

  “Need help?” One of the guys came over and held onto the bag so Bram could get some better hits off it.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Bram continued hitting the bag as the guy said, “I’m Boomer.”

  “Bram.”

  “Yeah, know that. Wanna spar?”

  Bram stopped and looked at him. The guy was around his age, in good shape. Was this a setup or a necessary evil of being here with Sweet? But he was already taped up so he said, “Sure,” and headed toward the ring in the middle of the gym.

  It was midday but still pretty crowded in here. Of course, guys stopped what they were doing when he and Boomer started throwing hits.

  Bram got into a rhythm quickly. Boomer was a good partner for this, and obviously talented. Although Bram could take the guy in hand-to-hand, boxing required a subtlety that not many MMA and street fighters could master and Boomer gave him a mix of both. “You’re pro?” Bram asked as he ducked from Boomer’s left.

  “Trying to distract me with compliments?”

  “No, but thanks for the idea.”

  Boomer swore as Bram blocked a sharp left hook and gave Boomer a good blow to the stomach and then hooked a leg around Boomer’s calf to take him down to the mat. “Fucker.”

  “Thanks,” Bram said with a smile.

  “Anytime,” Boomer groaned. “Sweet’s got my number if you want to do it again.”

  Bram wondered what the protocol was for that, if Boomer couldn’t just call Bram directly because he was “with” Sweet. If Bram was a chick, then yeah, that shit wouldn’t fly, but did the same rules apply to anyone the men were dating?

  And that was something he never thought he’d worry about—rules of dating someone in an MC. Christ, what the hell was happening to his life?

  By the time he went back to Sweet’s to shower, Sweet was there, waiting for him. “Heard you put on a show.”

  “I would’ve had it taped if I thought you’d be this interested.”

  “Watching you fight? Yeah, I’m interested.”

  “Even though it’s not with you?”

  Sweet shrugged. “Still a turn-on.”

  “Boomer’s not allowed to call me directly, I guess.”

  Sweet threw his head back and laughed. “Hey, at least they’re not discriminating.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not exactly your old lady on display.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Bram knew he’d left himself wide-open.

  Sweet came up behind him. “Is that what you want? Planning on letting me put you on display for the club?”

  Jesus. Bram shuddered at the thought. Not the actual doing, though, because no. But as a fantasy . . .

  “Yeah, baby likes that. Maybe I’ll lay you out in the ring, naked. Or take you in the showers there with everyone watching. You like to be cheered on?” Sweet nipped the skin on his shoulder, hard enough to make Bram even harder than he already was, at the same time his hand wrapped around Bram’s cock.

  “Fuck, Sweet . . .”

  Sweet chuckled and dragged him into the shower.

  Afterward, they got into bed and lay under the ceiling fan, until Bram started to shiver. Sweet grabbed him a blanket and they remained there, watching the sun set in comfortable silence.

  “I’m guessing no leads on Linc yet,” Bram asked. For the thousandth time since Sweet put out feelers.

  “Hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours,” Sweet reminded him. His answer varied depending on how much time had passed since Bram last asked.

  “I never said patience was my strong suit.”

  “Who am I kidding—not mine either. But I fake it better than you.” Sweet rolled onto his side. “You up for celebrating tonight?”

  “Celebrating what?”

  “How about just being alive?”

  Bram shrugged. “Since I am, doesn’t seem like a bad reason at all.”

  Sweet never heard back from Jethro. Not directly. But sometime in the predawn hours, Tug called him to say that there’d been a bag delivered—with a man inside, bound and gagged—at the end of the property.

  Sweet had no doubt who the present was.

  Parisi.

  So Sweet went to the clubhouse to wait for their new prisoner to be transported up the hill, leaving Bram sleeping. Between the sex and the pain pill (Misha-approved), he was out, emotionally and physically. Sweet hated watching how it killed him not to ask about Linc every five minutes, but if Bram wasn’t cleared, and soon, he wasn’t going to do Linc much good at all. Wherever he was.

  Tug and Ozzie must’ve alerted Gypsy too, because he was in the clubhouse ahead of Sweet. He anticipated a fight, a warning that holding an ATF agent was enough to take the entire Havoc MC down.

  But nothing. Which meant that Gypsy believed Parisi was dirty.

  “Are you going to tape a confession?” Gypsy asked.

  “Smart thing to do, right?” Sweet said.

  Gypsy shrugged. “If you were going to let him live, I guess. We can always destroy the tape.”

  Sweet nodded slowly and watched Tug and Ozzie carry the man wrapped in burlap in and down the stairs. Parisi was struggling a little but was tied too tightly to do much at all.

  “Does Bram know he’s here?” Gypsy asked.

  “Not yet. Maybe never. Figured it was better to hear Parisi out first.”

  “And if you find out Bram’s lying?”

  “Then we turn Bram over to Parisi.” Sweet sounded more confident than he felt.

  “I’m sorry, Sweet. That’s not what I want but . . .”

  “You have to check on me, right?”

  Gypsy shrugged again. “It’s what I do. We’re checks and balances, me and you, right?”

  “Always were,” Sweet agreed. “God, he’s fucked up, Gypsy.”

  Gypsy nodded. “Yep.”

  “Worse than Linc.”

  “Yep.”

  Sweet glanced at him. “No words of wisdom?”

  “I seem to recall another guy who came here completely fucked up.”

  Sweet blinked at his friend—one of his best friends—and nodded. “Coming here saved you.”

  “You know it did. So what’s the problem?” Gypsy asked. When Sweet didn’t—couldn’t—answer, Gypsy continued, “Because you’re afraid you can’t save him. And you want to, so badly, but you’re willing to send him away rather than risk hurting him.”

  “Wow. Didn’t realize you’d gone to shrink school.”

  “Don’t ask shit you already know the answer to,” was all Gypsy told him.

  “Hey Bram? Bram.”

  Bram flailed and went to hit out, hard—when a strong hand grabbed his wrist. He opened his eyes and saw that his fist was inches away from Sweet’s jaw. “Shit. Sorry.”

  “I came prepared.”

  He sat up as Sweet let go of his arm. “What time is it?” Because it still looked pitch-black out to him.

  “Sun’s almost up. Come on—get dressed. You need to check out something in the clubhouse.”

  Bram eyed him warily but Sweet just said, “It’s okay.”

  “Is it about Linc?”

  “We still don’t know where he is. But we’ve cleared up some other stuff.” Sweet paused. “I fucking hate how wary you are around me at times like this.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “No.”

  Bram nodded, went into the bathroom to piss, wash up, and brush his teeth. He dressed quickly, heart pounding, and followed Sweet the short distance from his cabin to the clubhouse.

  Gypsy was there, and so were Tug and Ozzie and Boomer. They were sitting around the main table, waiting for
him.

  “Come sit,” Sweet urged and Bram did so stiffly, wishing he had a knife . . . any kind of weapon.

  As if reading his mind, Ozzie pulled a knife out of his pocket and slid it across the table to Bram. “That help?”

  Bram wanted to laugh but he didn’t. Instead, he took the knife and held it in his hand as Sweet started, “We think the best thing to do from here on out is to tell the Heathens that you’re patching in here.”

  “I didn’t— I don’t think that’s how it works,” Bram said.

  Sweet was honest with him. “Typically, it’s not. But you’re not a typical case. We’re trying not to get into a war with the Heathens, and as long as you’re here without being an MC member, the harder it gets to justify, even though they’re not exactly our friends.”

  “I understand,” Bram started, squeezing the handle of the folding hunting knife in his hand. “And that might work if Havoc takes me in as an abandoned Heathen probie. But once they find out I’m ATF, there’s no deal.”

  “Good thing they’ll never find out, then,” Sweet told him.

  Bram frowned. “How can you be sure?”

  “Come with me,” Sweet told him and brought him down into another section of the basement with more cells. Inside one of them was Parisi, bound and gagged, and Bram just stopped and stared . . . and then turned to look at Sweet to explain.

  Which he did. “He admitted everything. He made a side deal with the Heathens. They have no idea either of you are ATF. And you were right—that account number? Ties Parisi to the Heathens.”

  “He confessed all that shit?” Bram asked.

  “Got it on tape. Not sure we’ll use it though,” Sweet said meaningfully before letting Bram into the cell, advising, “Take your time with him, because once you’re done? He’s done.”

  Then he shut the door that led to the cells behind him.

  For one brief, shining moment, Bram felt bad for Parisi . . . until he remembered how badly Parisi had set him up. “I want to hear what you told them,” he said steadily, taking out Parisi’s gag and giving him water to drink. “Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

  “Of course. Bram, you have to understand—”

  “I’ll understand more when you start talking.”

  “Okay.” Parisi took a breath and explained it all, how the Heathens presented a monetary opportunity Parisi couldn’t pass up. That the money was free and clear. That it wouldn’t have compromised the ATF mission.

  That he deserved it after all those years with the ATF and zero glory. “Nothing, Bram. Nothing but ‘Work harder.’”

  “Yeah, nothing harder than sitting behind a desk listening to me getting beaten.”

  “It wasn’t like that—”

  “But it was. You sold me out so I wouldn’t catch you.”

  Parisi sighed. “I got spooked. I admit it. But let me make it right.”

  “Tell me where Linc is.”

  “Linc? Your brother? I have no idea.” Parisi looked genuinely confused.

  Why wouldn’t Parisi admit it? Use it as a bargaining chip if he knew? “I think the Heathens have him.”

  “They never said a word to me about that. They have no intel on you beyond thinking you’re a probie who tried to bail. Your brother and sister aren’t even in your classified file,” Parisi reminded him.

  “But you know about them.”

  Parisi sat back. “At this point, why wouldn’t I share this with you? Let me talk to the Heathens though—if they do have him, I can—”

  “No.” Bram shook his head. He’d let it all sink in already and had no further use for listening. “Hey Sweet? I’m done here.”

  When Sweet came to the cell to let him out, Parisi begged, “Bram, you can’t do this. It isn’t you—this isn’t who you are.”

  “Maybe I’ve turned into what you wanted me to be,” was all Bram told him before brushing past Sweet and leaving Parisi . . . and probably the ATF behind for good. “Don’t tell me anything more.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” Sweet assured him.

  “What now, Sweet?” Bram asked as he watched the sun rise from Sweet’s porch. He’d left the clubhouse before Sweet had, and now he didn’t ask a damned question about Parisi or the asset.

  Smart move. Smart man. “We’ve got a call to make. After we get some food.”

  An hour later, Bram was with Sweet in his office as he dialed the Heathen’s clubhouse. The phone was on speaker and when Bones answered, Bram stiffened.

  Sweet turned away and said, “Bones, it’s Sweet. We need to talk.”

  When he heard the twangy drawl of, “Never thought we’d hear from you, Sweet. I’m guessing this is an apology for letting our probie hurt our MC the other night. If so, you should be down on your goddamned knees.”

  Bones had, very recently, gone from XO to the newly appointed president of the Heathens, a mean-as-all-fuck son of a bitch that Sweet had always wanted to kill with his bare hands for the sheer joy in watching himself do so.

  Now, more than ever.

  Sweet clamped down on his utter hatred and ground out, “Where is Linc?”

  Bones gave a low, chilling laugh. “I didn’t think he mattered much to you. Maybe to Geoff though . . .”

  “Bones—”

  “I’m still waiting on your apology. I’ll get you on your knees sooner than later. Just like Geoff’s little friend.” Bones cut the connection, and Sweet pounded his hands on the desk at the black screen.

  “Sweet, who the fuck is Geoff?” Bram was asking him, and Christ, he did not want to tell Bram any of this. Because he didn’t want any of it to be true.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed it tight, and thought about dying. He could easily say to Bram, He’s no longer here and it’s an old grudge—nothing to do with you, and he wouldn’t be (technically) lying.

  But Bram wasn’t the person Sweet was most worried about telling the truth to at the moment. “Geoff is Gypsy.”

  Bram frowned, and then, after a second, his eyes looked haunted. “It’s . . . it’s not me?” When Sweet shook his head, Bram whispered, “And Linc is his little friend . . . on his knees?”

  Sweet didn’t have to answer that. He put a hand on Bram’s shoulder. “We’ll get him back. He’s alive, Bram.”

  “He’s alive,” Bram repeated, like he was trying to push away all the other horrible things he was picturing. After several seconds, he said, “This is going to kill Gypsy.”

  Sweet nodded. “I know.” He put a hand on Bram’s shoulder. “You have to know that Gypsy would never put Linc in the line of fire. Not with the Heathens. It’s one thing to go after Linc for jumping bail, but he’d never . . .” Sweet felt his throat tightened. “It’s such an old grudge—long forgotten. There’ve been other opportunities for them to . . .” He trailed off, because none of those opportunities had been as perfectly cutting as this one had proven to be.

  But the upshot was, Linc was in trouble with the Heathens because of Havoc.

  And Havoc could be in trouble with the Heathens because of Bram.

  Fuck.

  As if he knew exactly what Sweet was thinking—no doubt because he was thinking the same thing—Bram reached out and grabbed his biceps. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

  “We’re getting Linc back.”

  “I don’t think we should tell Gypsy that Linc might be in there because of him,” Bram said. “I’ll shoulder the blame. After what Havoc’s done for me, this should even us out.”

  Because Bram didn’t want to owe Havoc—or anyone—anything. It angered Sweet and made him sad but at a level he understood. “That’s not going to work, Bram. We both know that. Gypsy deserves to know the truth. He’ll find out either way.”

  “So Gypsy was once a Heathen?”

  Sweet stared at him. “Gypsy and Bones? They’re brothers.”

  “Brothers or brothers?” Bram asked.

  “At one time, both. Gypsy grew up in the Heathens.”


  Bram said quietly, looking stunned, “How’s he been safe until now?”

  “Havoc,” Sweet said simply.

  “So Heathens won’t touch him because of that.”

  “Heathens are many things, but stupid when it comes to Havoc’s ways? They don’t fuck with that.”

  “Until now,” Bram said quietly.

  Sweet nodded. “Fuckers found a loophole.”

  “Why did Gypsy come here?”

  “He didn’t. At the time, he wanted no part of us at all. Some days, I believe he still doesn’t.” Sweet looked at him hard. “He reminds me a lot of you.”

  Ten minutes after Sweet had talked to Bones, Gypsy walked into Sweet’s office, a wary look in his eyes. “Ozzie said you needed me.”

  “Yeah.” Sweet’s drawl was low and raw and made Gypsy stiffen. Bram wondered if he knew instinctively what Sweet was about to tell him, or had he suspected this all along on some level?

  Bram fought jumping to conclusions as Gypsy asked, “It’s about Linc, isn’t it?”

  “Heathens have him,” Sweet said without fanfare. “Bones hasn’t admitted it, but he used your name. I wanted you to listen in when we called back.”

  “Skype him,” Gypsy instructed, his voice hollow. “If he has Linc, he’ll want to show him off.”

  “Gypsy—”

  Gypsy cut Sweet off. “We both know what he’ll want for a trade. But I want to hear him say it. I want proof of life.”

  Bram had watched the interaction silently until now. “You’re going to trade me.”

  Sweet shook his head and Gypsy said, “He needs to stay out of this,” acting like Bram wasn’t in the room.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Bram said.

  “Bram, they don’t know you and Linc are brothers,” Sweet reasoned.

  “They also know that you have me here. They know you have Monk, their ex-probie. That’s a trade they’ll want. Trust me,” Bram assured them.

  “I can’t let you do that, Bram,” Gypsy said, finally addressing him.

  “You’re not letting me do anything. He’s my brother.”

  “And this is my fault.”