by Carina Adams
“Then tell me what you know.”
“Rob’s worried about you.” Matt worked his jaw, the way he did when he was annoyed. “He wants you close. So, I’m keepin’ you close.”
“I could’ve stayed with Jeremy. That way you could be doing whatever it is you’d rather be doing.”
“Not an option. Rob wants Jerm far away from this shit.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“His dad’s a detective.”
I frowned. “The club has detectives?”
My brother snorted. “A police detective. For BPD.”
“What’s he doing that’s so bad he doesn’t want the police around?”
Matt just shook his head and looked away.
“Matthew!” I snapped in exasperation.
“Crissia.” He shrugged, and I knew he wasn’t going to say any more.
When the light finally turned green, I sighed. I didn’t see the guys anywhere. They hadn’t waited. “They’re gone.”
“It’s better this way. I know where I’m goin’.”
He didn’t say another word until he pulled into a spot on a quiet side street almost twenty minutes later. Unlike the industrial-style buildings and old mills where I now lived, here three-story houses lined the streets. At one time they may have been beautiful single-family homes, but over the years, they’d been turned into apartments. And now were completely run down.
It reminded me of Matty’s neighborhood; sketchy as hell. The paint was faded and peeling, porches and decks sagged, rusted cars sat in driveways without tires, and some yards had broken toys scattered about. Rob had told me to stay in the truck, but he didn’t have to worry; I wasn’t leaving the safety of the vehicle unless I had to.
I didn’t see him or anyone else I knew. Or a motorcycle of any sort.
“Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Yeah.” Matt nodded and pointed to a building where three giant metal numbers hung crooked. “This is it.”
“Who do you know who lives here?”
“Cris.” Matt shook his head condescendingly. He wasn’t going to tell me a damn thing.
“So, what do we do now?” The sun had started its descent a long time ago, the street lights slowly coming on.
“We wait.” He adjusted his legs and lifted the backpack I hadn’t realized Rob had left on the seat between us over the seat into the back.
I stared out my window at the closest house. The first floor had fleece blankets and colorful children’s sheets hanging over the windows. The second had newspapers over every single one. I slowly looked up at the third, surprised to find the windows bare, bright yellow light pouring out from them.
“For what?” I asked him as I locked my door and slid toward the middle seat, thankful he was with me. “To get robbed?”
I was only half joking.
My brother snorted. “Nah, little girl. You’re with the Bean Nighe. Most people’ll see the colors and run the other way. We’re waiting for trouble.”
“Fantastic.” I rolled my eyes at him. Of course, we were. “How will we know if there is any?”
“We’ll know.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, sounding so sure of himself.
“What do we do until this trouble finds us?”
“We talk.” He rolled his head sideways to look at me. “Why don’t you tell me what I’m going to read in those letters.”
I dropped my gaze, suddenly becoming very interested in my hands. “I gave them to you so you could read them.”
“Yeah, you did. But whatever is in there will be better coming from you.”
I bit my lip and shook my head. I couldn’t. Once he’d read them, he’d understand.
He sighed. “Fine. What did you want to talk about then?”
“Jessie.” I surprised myself with the answer. I had questions, but I hadn’t planned to ask Matty about them. “They’re not together, right?”
Matt’s eyebrow popped up. “Little late to ask that, ain’t it?” When I gave him the evil eye, he shook his head. “Never. Little sisters are off limits.”
“I’m a little sister,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, you are.” He adjusted again and rubbed his palms on his jeans the way he always did when he was dreading something.
If that move hadn’t given him away, the way he kept glancing out the windows and then looking at the clock only to stare out the window again would have. He was doing a piss-poor job of hiding his anxiety. He was making me nervous.
“So, your argument isn’t valid.”
Something had caught his eye and he’d tensed. I looked in the same direction he was glaring, but I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Okay.” I demanded, “What in the hell is going on?”
He ignored me.
The uneasy feeling I’d had earlier had come back in full force. Before I could explain it to him, Matt swore.
“Fuck.” He pushed open his door and got out. “Stay here,” he seethed. “Lock the damn door. Don’t open it for anyone other than me or Rob. You hear me?”
My mouth fell open. He couldn’t leave me alone. Before I could object, he’d slammed it shut and was sprinting across the dark road. He ducked behind a parked car, and I lost sight of him.
The creepiness factor escalated once he was gone, the streetlamps casting weird shadows over everything around me. It felt like I had a thousand eyes watching me.
I stared at the homes, trying to figure out which one they were in and what Matty had seen that was so important he had to run for it. The blood-curdling scream that broke the silence was enough to make my palms sweat and my stomach cramp. I told myself it was an animal and rolled my window down a bit to see if I could hear it again.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked incessantly. Raised voices drifted on the breeze. Children laughed. Yet no more screams.
I collapsed back against the seat and chuckled at myself. I’d let my imagination get the best of me. It had probably been tires screeching on the pavement.
The humor disappeared instantly when I saw him. At first, it was a shadow that looked like it might be moving. Then, as it got closer, I realized it was moving. When he stepped into the streetlight, I jumped from the truck, not caring what my brother had said.
“Oh, my God!” I gasped, my hands shaking, and I started to run.
23
Rocker
I pulled my bike up behind Tiny’s and cut the engine as Tank parked next to me, Preach and Wiz right behind us. No kids played in the streets. No old ladies strolled down the sidewalks. No men worked on their cars in their yards. It was a ghost town.
That was rare in any Boston neighborhood, especially on a warm spring day. It was unsettling as hell. Part of me wondered if the information was wrong – if the original address hadn’t been a setup, but this was.
I stepped next to Wiz as I surveyed the area, looking for anything else that was out of place. “You sure this is the right place?”
“Yeah.” He pointed toward a dilapidated house, two driveways down. “Third floor.”
I had a nagging feeling that time was running out, that I needed to rid the world of Hansen before it did. I strode toward his building, knowing they’d follow. My friends were there to support me, but they wouldn’t step in unless I needed them to.
This wasn’t about the club. It wasn’t about business. It was about Hannah.
A middle-aged woman sat in her first-floor window smoking but dropped the cigarette as soon as she saw me, pulling down the shade quickly. The front door hung crooked, its top hinge rusted off a long time ago. The reek of urine hit me as soon as I stepped inside. I couldn’t imagine how much worse it would’ve been if the door had closed tight.
The stairs were cluttered with trash, my boots sticking to God only knew what every few steps. The slum wasn’t fit for anyone to live in, let alone a child. I hoped that Wiz was wrong and that Hansen lived alone.
I’d only made it halfway up the
first flight of stairs before sounds of a domestic dispute reached me. I tried to ignore it and focus on the task at hand. There were other people in the building who could step in and help. I needed to remind myself that Hansen was my only concern.
Somewhere above me, a man screamed as a woman sobbed and begged him to stop. The unmistakable sound of flesh pounding flesh only got louder as I rounded the landing and started toward the third floor. My blood began to boil; the rage I barely contained threatened to overflow, with each step I took.
There were two apartments on the third floor. I should have hesitated, waited to ask Wiz which one Hansen was in, but I couldn’t stop my feet as they headed toward the door closest to me. The one that wasn’t thick enough to contain the horrific sounds coming from within. I couldn’t walk away without trying to help.
I drove the memories of my childhood from my mind, not willing to let that time and place have any control over the man I was. Instead, I focused on the anger I felt, the white-hot hatred. I didn’t bother to knock. Instead, I lifted my boot and kicked the fucking thing in.
The apartment was in complete disarray and looked more like the scene of a vicious murder than a home. Furniture was turned over. Dishes broken, and glass littered the floor. The walls were splattered with blood and other substances.
I saw it all as I barged into the room, but my brain didn’t register. My focus immediately on the man across the room. It wasn’t a woman he was hurting. It was a kid. A defenseless little boy.
And the cunt with him wasn’t crying in pain or begging him to stop. She was screaming at the broken child as if he was the cause for everything that had gone wrong in her life. My fists curled in rage as the man threw the little bundle of skin and bones against the wall. And she smiled.
The roar of pure misery that erupted into the room made us all pause. The man turned to me as he swiped a hand across his face and left a bloody trail. I thought I’d known what hatred was the day I’d found out Hannah had been murdered. Yet, it wasn’t until Cody Hansen’s eyes met mine that I understood the true meaning of the word.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded as he rushed toward me, thinking he was some big shot. “Get the fuck out.”
He didn’t know who I was. And the stupid prick had no fear of a stranger in an MC vest standing in his kitchen. Or the four men who had come in behind me. I didn’t know if he was stupid enough to think he could take us all on, or if he was too fucking high to care.
I’d planned on taking my time with him, to hurt him in all the sadistic ways I’d learned since joining the Bean Nighe. I’d wanted to demand answers about Ali, find out if she was alive or dead. I longed to hear him scream in pain as I ripped his life away slowly.
My eyes locked on the little boy in the corner. The one who still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Neither of them had cared enough to check.
For a heartbeat, I was back in Southie, staring at my dad and praying to God I could get my little sisters and brother out before he hurt them. Then I pictured Hannah, with her dark curls, chubby cheeks, and lopsided grin that reminded me so much of my little sister Elizabeth. I’d have given anything to have her with me. No one had protected her.
I took a step deeper into the room, desperate to check on the boy, when Hansen blocked my way. Stupid son of a bitch actually thought he could challenge me.
“She ain’t workin’ tonight,” he informed me, getting too close, lifting a hand to shove my shoulder.
I grabbed his shirt, turned us, and slammed him into the wall. Fucker actually thought I’d show up to catch a trick from his strung-out skeezah whore and not care about what I’d seen. The fact that other men probably had come for that reason alone made me hate people even more than I had.
The idiot didn’t even blink an eye as his hands tried weakly to push me back. “Get the fuck outta my house. You have no idea who you’re messing with.”
I laughed, no humor in the sound. “Don’t recognize me, Hansen?” I sneered. “That’s a shame. I think about you every single day.”
“Fuck off.” His eyes narrowed as he fought against me again. My fist connected with his stomach just hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs.
I could hear one of my brothers rush across the room to check on the boy, but I couldn’t look away from the prick in front of me.
“Hannah Jean Doyle.”
His eyes widened and he tried to say more, but I braced my forearm against his neck and pushed until the only sound he made was a gurgle. His face turned a deep shade of red. He brought up a leg, trying to connect his knee with my body.
I backed up a step, avoiding him. If he wanted to fight like a little bitch, we could. I threw a punch before he could move, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone. Hansen lunged, wrapping his arms around my shoulders, trying to use his body weight to push us to the floor.
He wasn’t strong enough. I spun, knocking him off me. I kicked him, over and over as he struggled to get up. The woman screamed behind me, but I didn’t hear her words. Then her hands were on me, tugging at me, trying to stop me.
I turned, shoving her to the side like an annoying fly. One of the boys grabbed her, lifted her, and carried her away. It gave Hansen a chance to get to his feet. When I turned back to him, I was almost amused to find his fists raised in the air, his body jumping back and forth as if he thought he was a UFC contender.
Stupid fucking asshole.
“You came to the wrong house, dickhead.”
“Hannah was my daughter,” I ground out before I attacked him again. Within seconds, he was on the floor again, me kneeling over him, pummeling him until my knuckles split.
Someone called my name. Someone else grabbed me and hauled me backward, away from Hansen. I struggled against them, not done, wanting nothing more than to hit him again.
Tank stepped in front of me, a hand in the middle of my chest forcing me back. “He’s not breathing!” he yelled. “He’s not fucking breathing!”
I blinked.
It had only been a few minutes since I’d forced my way into the apartment, but it felt like time had stopped. I ran a hand through my hair and looked around. Hansen was on the floor moaning, covered in blood. The bitch was on the other side of the kitchen, struggling against the hold Wiz had on her as she tried to get to her deadbeat boyfriend. But the boy was still in the corner, Tiny kneeling over him.
I blinked at Tank again, not understanding, as I pushed away from Preach. “What?” I demanded.
My friend’s eyes dropped. “There’s no fucking pulse!”
I whirled; the sight of Tiny’s large body searching for signs of life on the minute child destroyed the last bit of humanity I had. I turned back to Hansen, shoving Tank out of my way as if he weighed nothing. All my plans disappeared as instinct took over.
Words rushed from my mouth, but I had no clue what they were. I kicked him, over and over, stomping on his arms, chest, and face until he’d stopped trying to defend himself. I pulled out my Glock and pointed, not bothering to aim, and emptied the clip into the prick on the floor.
The woman screeched, an ear-splitting sound. She broke from Wiz’s grip and flew at me, fingernails ready to connect with my face. Tank intercepted her right before she reached me, sending her into the wall.
She dropped to the floor and crawled to Hansen, her sobs wracking her entire body. “Baby, wake up,” she cried. “Baby!” She shook the piece of garbage as if it would make him open his eyes.
She looked up at me, tears streaming down her cheeks, and started to scream, “Murderer! I’m going to watch you burn!”
She’d cry over the worthless piece of shit that Hansen was, but hadn’t bothered to check on her own flesh and blood. I shoved my empty weapon back into the waist of my jeans and rushed to the boy. I fell to my knees next to Tiny. He shook his head sadly.
I couldn’t accept it. Sliding my hands under him as gently as I could, I lifted him. He couldn’t have weighed more than forty pounds soaki
ng, sopping wet.
“Rob,” Tiny’s voice was thick with warning. “What are you doin’?”
“I’m not leaving him here.”
“He’s gone.” The older man looked at me with a sadness I hadn’t seen on his face before. “There’s nothin’ you can do now.”
Now. But there had been. I hadn’t stopped Hansen. That fucker had killed another baby. I’d let him. This was my fault.
I tugged the little bundle closer, whispering the prayers I’d said for Hannah, begging God to open the gates and let this innocent soul enter. The hole in my chest grew wider as I looked down at his sweet little face, all swollen and black and blue. His last few minutes on this earth had been filled with terror, instead of love and understanding.
Tears I hadn’t felt form leaked down my face, but I didn’t care. This child deserved to have someone cry over him. I dropped my head to his, the need to hold on for just a moment longer too strong to ignore.
If I hadn’t been so close, I never would’ve heard him groan. It was small and filled with pain, and I knew he was barely hanging on. But it meant he was still alive.
“He’s breathing!” I yelled, my eyes wide as I looked at Tiny. “He’s breathing!”
“Call 911,” Wiz insisted, searching the mess for a phone.
“We need to leave him and go. Now!” Tiny insisted.
“I’m not leaving him alone.” I shook my head. “Get outta here before the place is crawling heat.”
I turned for the door. Emergency services in this part of the city was a joke. They’d never get here in time. I knew I couldn’t take him on my bike, but if I got him outside, I might be able to flag down a car. If I couldn’t, I’d hijack a fucking ride.
Matty burst through right before I reached it. “We got trouble,” he announced. “Renegades.”
“Slasher,” Tank snarled. “Fuck!”
“Where?” Tiny demanded.
“Just rode down Pleasant.”
Pleasant was the street at the end of this. It could’ve been a coincidence. Or they were searching for us.
“I knew they’d come!” Hansen’s girlfriend screamed. “They’re going to butcher you! Cut you up in little pieces, and I’m gonna watch.”