GHOST (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Loveling, Daphne

  Since the accident happened in the middle of the day with no other traffic around, the police suspected drugs or alcohol as the cause at first. But the medical examiner found no trace of anything in her system. Unfortunately, neither did the mechanics who were called in to check the car for any evidence of a malfunction. The only clue as to what might have happened were a couple of sets of skid marks on the highway in the thousand feet or so before her car plunged off the road and down the cliff. Both sets of marks were determined to come from her tires. The most the police could determine was that something seemed to have alarmed her and caused her to begin driving erratically.

  About a week or so after her death, Gabriel happened to overhear my father on the phone in his home office. As Gabe stood outside the closed door, he heard Dad saying to someone that he thought the Iron Spiders were behind my mother’s death. That they had run her off the road on purpose, as payback to my dad.

  The Iron Spiders are a rival MC to the Lords of Carnage. Their territory butts up against the Lords’ territory to the south. Apparently my dad suspected the Spiders had targeted my mom as payback for him striking a deal with the Lords, instead of helping them to get a foothold in Tanner Springs. Of course, nothing could be proved either way. Whatever had happened on that road was a secret Mom took with her to her grave, and the Iron Spiders sure as hell weren’t talking. But my father, whether or not he was correct, would have to live with the knowledge that his shady business dealings may have killed my mother for the rest of his life.

  Hearing my father’s theory about Mom’s death changed Gabriel. Not long after, he started hanging around the Lords. He prospected for the club with a dedication and determination I’d never seen him display before — in part or in whole, I knew, out of a desire for revenge against the Iron Spiders.

  My brother got patched into the Lords of Carnage about a year later, and became “Angel” instead of Gabriel. But the truth about my mother’s killer or killers, if she was in fact murdered, has never come to light.

  For the thousandth time in six years, I force myself to stop thinking about my mother’s death — to stop wondering how different life might be today if she’d never been killed. What would have become of all of us, if Maria Abbott was still here to be my father’s wife, and Gabe’s and my mom.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm myself. Then I sit up, shake my head to clear it, and go back to my job search.

  Half an hour of scanning employment websites later, I see nothing I can reasonably apply to. Tanner Springs isn’t a very big town, and a lot of the jobs being advertised are for specialized jobs like a physical therapist, or a nurse’s aide, or an electrician. No jobs for a college dropout single mom whose only actual skill is pouring drinks.

  I’m starting to feel kind of depressed and hopeless, but just then the music of Noah’s childish laughter floats toward me from the living room, cutting into my black thoughts.

  I smile to myself at the sound, but then the reality that I have a young child to support starts a cold pit of worry forming in my stomach. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t find something to pay the bills, and quickly. The rent over this tattoo parlor is cheap, but cheap isn’t free.

  My mind starts to swirl with ever more dire “what if” scenarios. What if I can’t find a job at all? What if I have to swallow my pride and move in with my dad? What if I never manage to get back on my feet, and I end up being the town loser, the pathetic shut-in that everyone clucks about in sympathy whenever I walk by?

  Enough, I tell myself sternly, and stand up. The situation might be tough, but I’m not going to accomplish anything more by tying myself in knots. I run a distracted hand through my hair, and glance at myself in the small, cracked mirror above my dresser. Then I call to Noah to get ready to go to the park, determined to give him a few hours of uninterrupted attention — even as I wonder to myself what the hell to do next.

  6

  Cas

  Rocco “Rock” Anthony, the President of the Lords of Carnage, slams his gavel on the heavy oak table, announcing that the meeting is coming to order.

  “All right, you fuckin’ savages,” he calls above the din. “Settle the fuck down. It’s payday.”

  A chorus of loud cheers greets his announcement, and then Rock turns the meeting over to Geno, the club treasurer.

  Geno stands, his massive, barrel-chested body barely fitting in between the chairs and the wall behind us. Picking up a stack of white envelopes, he starts to hand out our earnings. One by one, he barks our names and slides one of the envelopes into our hands, each with our names written in his recognizable chicken-scratch.

  By the time he gets around to me, some of the men are already starting to grumble. “A little fuckin’ light again this month, isn’t it?” Brick, our enforcer, growls. He’s holding his slim envelope in his hand like he’s weighing it on a scale.

  “No shit,” Hawk agrees. “Christ, how the fuck much are we down this month? I was expecting…” — he peers into his envelope — “Shit, at least twice this much.”

  Geno hands me my pay, which barely weighs anything in my hand, then runs a thick hand over his bald pate. “Yeah, it ain’t quite what we expected, brothers. There’s a couple reasons…”

  “The protection deal for the new commercial development on the west side fell through,” Rock says flatly. “The developer got spooked.”

  “God damn it,” Skid explodes, his thick brows frowning in anger. “I got bills to fuckin’ pay. My kid needs goddamn braces, the old lady says. How the fuck are we supposed to make ends meet like this?”

  A few other voices join him, and a low murmur of dissatisfaction reverberates through the chapel. “Look,” Rock frowns, looking around at all of us. “I get it. I got stiffed this month, too. We’re all in this together. And know that if any of you are going through some tough financial times right now, the club’s got your back. I can dig into the reserves if necessary — though I’m gonna be honest with you, there ain’t much in it right now.”

  “We gotta figure out some other way of making money,” Gunner says, cutting through the grumbling. “What we got going right now isn’t working. We need something more stable. Recession-proof. What with a bunch of the local businesses closing to the larger retailers, the protection shit isn’t as lucrative as it used to be.”

  “Pussy,” Horse growls. “The pussy trade’s goddamn as recession-proof as they come.” He grins. “And you can’t go to a big box store to get it.”

  “Truth,” agrees Skid with a short bark of laughter.

  Rock’s voice rises above the others. “You seriously want to get balls deep, no pun intended, in running a whorehouse?” he counters. “Christ, the entire town of Tanner Springs would shit themselves. We’re trying to keep an amicable relationship with the esteemed citizens of our city here, brothers.”

  “The women of Tanner Springs would shit themselves,” Horse corrects him with a leer. “The men would be just goddamn fine with it, I wager. Besides, I ain’t talking about a whorehouse. I’m talking about a ‘gentlemen’s club.’” Raucous laughter and knowing jeers ensue. “What?” he says, feigning shock. “Are you implying that we don’t require our customers to wear a suit and tie? I intend to offer only the highest caliber of pussy to our esteemed clientele.”

  “The women of Tanner Springs should appreciate it, too,” Skid sneers. “The hot ones, anyway. We’d be providing employment. They wouldn’t have to work retail for barely minimum wage. Dancing is good tips.”

  “You know that from experience, pretty boy?” Hawk snorts.

  Brick pipes up then. “You know what? I’m all for this. Shit, we could use some new blood around here, too. The club whores are gettin’ a little stale for my tastes.”

  “If you guys wanna do this,” Horse says, turning to him, “I got an in. Buddy of mine down in Elk River’s got a place. Calls it Cherry Pie’s. The fucker’s making bank, too.” He shrugs. “We could ope
n up a Cherry Pie’s, Tanner Springs branch.”

  “Let’s do it,” Brick urges, looking around the table. “What do you fuckers think?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Rock says, spreading his hands. “It’s a little quick to go from ‘we need some extra income’ to ‘let’s start a pussy farm’ in five minutes, brothers.”

  “We gotta do something, Rock,” Tank challenges. “If this protection deal fell through, then where’s the money coming from next month? Or the month after that? Or the month after that?”

  “Look. I’m not saying no way. I’m saying that we’d be stupid to rush into something without thinking it through first, just because we need cash,” Rock bites out. “We have a stable situation with the people of Tanner Springs right now. We throw something together like this, it could upset a delicate balance here.”

  “Yeah,” snorts Brick. “It’s the people of Tanner Springs you’re worried about.”

  Rock cuts him a look of barely concealed anger. “You got something to say, you say it, brother.”

  “I said what I had to say.” Brick’s voice rises a notch. For a couple of beats, there’s complete silence in the room. To my right, I can hear Gunner’s breathing.

  “I say we put it to a vote,” Angel finally says in a loud voice, cutting through the silence. Rock flicks his eyes away from Brick, but says nothing.

  “Second,” Horse nods.

  Rocky’s face turns dark. “Okay. We vote. All in favor of going forward with starting up a pussy business, raise your hands.”

  Hands go up, and a chorus of ayes, with Brick’s voice the loudest. I’ve seen him argue with Rock before, but it’s unusual to see our Enforcer clash so openly with the President.

  “All those opposed,” Rock growls, raising his hand. He looks around the room.

  The rest of the hands go up, including Geno’s, Gunner’s, and mine. It’s not that I’m opposed to the idea, but I’ve never been the type to rush into a room without knowing where the exits are. Angel’s been sitting motionless, lost in thought, during the vote. Finally, he slowly raises his hand as well.

  “The nays have it, by two votes,” Rock barks, a glint in his eye. A low grumble of anger is the only response. “We’ll revisit this later, brothers. I hear you that we need to find some alternative sources of income. Anyone with any good ideas that we should look into, come see me.”

  Church continues, with a couple other items of business that are less charged in nature, but the mood in the room stays tense. Eventually, we’ve run through everything that needs to be dealt with, and Rock looks around the room. “Any other new business? Hearing none…”

  “Move to adjourn,” Brick says, his tone flat. He barely waits until Hawk seconds him before he’s out the door and heading toward the bar.

  “Well, that fuckin’ went well,” Gunner mutters next to me as we stand to leave.

  7

  Cas

  Back out in the bar, the welcome home party I had been anticipating has pretty much soured. Around the room, a lot of pissed off brothers throw back shots and drain their beers, faces tense. I take a step toward Brick and Hawk, ignoring the warning look Brick shoots me.

  “Hey, brother, no hard feelings,” I say to him, lifting my chin. “I just think we need to think things through a little before we go jumping feet first into a whole other type of business venture.”

  “That’s the fuckin’ problem with this club under Rock,” Brick mutters. “We sit around and think. Meanwhile, we’re letting all sorts of opportunities pass us by, and getting paid shit for it.”

  Whoa. These words are damn near mutinous, coming from Brick. I’ve never heard him express such open dissatisfaction with our Prez.

  “It isn’t like we don’t know what’s really driving him on this,” Hawk agrees, his eyes hard and dark. “God fuckin’ forbid that anything happens in this town that hurts Abe fuckin’ Abbott’s chances of getting reelected.”

  Oh, so that’s what it is. I knew there were a few members of the Lords who are less than thrilled with what they see as Rock’s tying the club’s fortunes to the mayoral campaign of Abe Abbott. And frankly, I can’t completely say I blame them. Abe’s been promising the Lords all sorts of perks if he gets reelected for a while now. Rock’s been keeping our less legitimate business out of sight and using the club’s manpower to make sure things in Tanner Springs run smooth as a top to help the campaign. But so far the club hasn’t seen shit in return, as far as I can tell.

  As we stand there, Skid comes over, a look of disgust on his face. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” he spits, waving his thin envelope with a sneer. “This shit barely pays my rent for the month.”

  “Yeah,” Hawk nods glumly. “There’s gonna be more than one guy looking for ways to supplement his income, if this continues.”

  Taking on side gigs without club approval is a no-go. But if things continue like they’re going, I’m not sure how Rock will be able to say no to it.

  Skid shakes his head. “No shit. Next thing you know, I’ll be working as a fucking mall cop to make ends meet.”

  I grin and try to lighten the mood a little. “No offense, brother, but you are not getting a job as a mall cop,” I say, nodding toward the wall of tattoos running up and down both of his arms and up his neck.

  As Skid opens his mouth to reply, a shout erupts from the other side of the room. I look up just in time to see Angel stand up from his bar stool, fists clenching angrily. Facing him is Horse, his shoulders squared like he’s looking for a fight.

  “Goddamn it, not again,” Skid mutters.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Shit’s been pretty tense since you’ve been gone,” he tells me. “This is the third fight in as many weeks. Brothers are just pissed. Feeling the money squeeze, I guess. Needing to blow off steam.”

  Ah. Well, that explains the bruises I saw on some of the brothers in church.

  “What the fuck do you care, man?” Horse is shouting at Angel. “Of course you fucking voted no. Your daddy can always float you the cash, as long as he’s still the goddamn mayor.”

  “Are you fucking questioning my loyalty to this club?” Angel shouts. He’s so fucking furious that veins are popping out of his neck.

  “Oh, shit,” I murmur, and set down my beer to stride toward them.

  Before I can get there, though, all hell breaks loose. Horse, already half in the bag, throws a wild punch at Angel, catching him in the shoulder. The only reason it connects at all is because there’s a table in the way so Angel can’t duck. Angel roars with anger and launches himself at Horse, knocking him to the ground with a crash of splintering wood.

  Sarge moves in, and tries to pull Angel off Horse. But before he can, Beast, who’s the biggest of us all, throws himself into the fray and throws Sarge backwards like he’s no heavier than a sack of potatoes. As he does, Jewel, who’s carrying a bottle of whiskey and trying to get out of the way, is slammed hard against the counter before anyone can stop her.

  The sound of shattering glass and Jewel’s piercing cry slice through the brawl like a knife. In a heartbeat, Angel scrambles up and stands, leaving Horse sprawled on the ground. “Fuck, Jewel,” he says as he stares at her hand. “Shit.”

  We all look. Her wrist and the meat of her palm are cut deeply, blood pulsing out of the wound rhythmically. It looks like she might have hit a vein. Jewels stands there for a second, staring dumbly at her hand as though it belongs to someone else. The, just as one of the men yells for a towel, her legs buckle under her. Angel catches her, lowering her gently to the ground, and then Sarge is there, wrapping her wrist tightly to stanch the flow of blood.

  “Jesus Christ. Let’s get her to a goddamn hospital,” Rock’s voice comes from behind me. I turn. “Beast. Gunner. Help me load her into the van.” His face is a mask of anger. “The rest of you, settle your bullshit while I’m gone.”

  Beast bends down and lifts Jewel in his arms, then carries her out the door as the
rest of us look on. I glance over at Angel, who swears softly and looks down.

  “Shit, I feel bad about that,” he murmurs. “Jewel’s one of the good ones, you know? She pours a mean drink, and she keeps her mouth shut.”

  “She’ll be okay, brother,” I half-laugh. “She’s not gonna die. The docs at the hospital will patch her up, and she’ll be back to work. And you know the club will make sure she’s got enough to live on until then.”

  “Yeah,” Angel nods. “I suppose.” He looks up at me, and gives me a rueful smile. “Meantime, looks like we’ll be pouring our own drinks for a while. We’re not gonna find another girl like that so easily.”

  8

  Jenna

  It’s the fifth of the month.

  I still don’t have a damn job.

  I know it’s the fifth of the month because the landlord, whose unfortunate name is Charlie Hurt, comes by specially today to inform me of this.

  And to remind me that rent was due on the first.

  As if I didn’t know.

  Charlie Hurt is somewhere between forty-five and sixty-five years old. It’s almost impossible to tell because he has the kind of fat, flaccid body that comes from years of sitting motionless in front of a television screen with a beer in his hand. It’s the end of summer, but his skin is as pale as if we were in Minnesota in February. His sparse, mud-colored hair sticks up from his shiny head in patches. His faded Hawaiian shirt is wrinkled and worn. There’s a suspicious stain on his ill-fitting Bermuda shorts.

  He’s standing at the top of the rickety outdoor stairway that leads to my apartment, on the small landing. I’m blocking the doorway, so he won’t come in, because truth be told, he kind of creeps me out. He is not happy about this. As we speak, he keeps casting his eyes inside with a suspicious frown, as though he thinks I’m cooking meth in here or something.