“No.” I’m not surprised to be dismissed, Beth and Patsy need to grieve together, and not in front of someone they barely know. I might not want to stay, but feel I’ll be remiss if I don’t offer my brother’s woman support. “Oh, this is the funeral home where he is. If you need help with the arrangements, just let me or Demon know.”
“The Devils will help?” she says, scornfully. “Connor and I have put Ink in jail, I doubt your club wants anything to do with us. You’d probably rather dance on his grave if Ink gets the maximum sentence.”
At that moment I wish I could come clean to her. To explain what we’re doing and why. But as her brother is essentially dead to her, and has to remain so to stay alive, there’s nothing else to say.
“Just go, Mace.”
I might not have wanted to come. Might not have had a lot of time for the two women. Didn’t know what I expected, thanks for coming out of my way to give them the news? That sounds ridiculous.
But something doesn’t sit right with me as I ride away from that house. I’ve a feeling I’ve somehow failed Ink.
Chapter Thirty
Beth
“Dirt. Can you give us some space?”
“Sure. Look, I overheard, okay? I’m fuckin’ sorry for your loss. Of course, you want to grieve without a virtual stranger hanging around.”
After having him staying in the house for a couple of days now, a stranger isn’t exactly what I’d call him. But he keeps himself to himself, and most of the time, we don’t know he’s there. But I need him out of the way. I don’t want the prospect-hopeful to report back any of the discussion I’m about to have with my mom.
Dirt walks off and I wait until I’ve heard his footsteps clear the stairs and the door of the guest room where he’s staying close.
“Why did you dismiss Mace so abruptly, Beth? He may have had more answers to give us.” Mom stuffs her fist into her mouth as though to stop more sobs coming out. I’m angry, she shouldn’t be made to feel this upset.
“Because Connor’s not dead. Or not yet,” I tell her, starting to pace.
“What?” Mom shrieks. “What are you talking about, Bethany? Why the hell did that man come and tell us all that if it’s not the truth?” She picks up the paperwork Mace had handed to her and holds it up. “What’s this if it’s not proof that he’s dead?”
“Doctors can be bought, Mom.” I roll my eyes. “And we got details about how, who and where, and basically instructions to arrange a funeral.”
“So, what more do you want to be told? Bethany, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but bad as it is, I’m certain it’s true. Connor’s gone…”
“No, he hasn’t,” I hiss, coming over to sit next to her on the couch. “I don’t know why, or what good it will do, but I think the Devils have got him. Maybe to use as a bargaining chip to get Ink out of jail or something.”
Mom stills. Her brow creases. Then she reminds me as if talking to herself, “They did take the eight kilos of drugs. Maybe it’s too tempting. Would they use Connor to get more? Maybe they deserve their reputation. Just who are we dealing with, Bethany? Do you really think he could be alive?” There’s a spark of interest showing through her grief. God, I pray I’m not making her hope for nothing. “The Devils aren’t known for running drugs, but I suppose that much falling into their laps could be hard to resist,” she continues.
“No, Mom. Do you think Mel would stay with Pyro if they got into that type of business?” I watch as she blots at her eyes, but only to mop up what leaked out previously. There’re no fresh tears falling now, so that’s a start. “I think it’s more likely they’ve got a plan to use Connor to get Ink released.” From what I’ve seen of the Devils, they’d do anything to protect or help one of their own.
“How?” she reasonably asks.
“I don’t know.” I hadn’t thought that far. “What if they forced him to say he was the one delivering the drugs, not Ink?”
“But Ink was caught with the drugs on him. What difference would that make? And why make us believe he’s dead and ask us to arrange a funeral?”
“I don’t know,” I repeat, almost as a wail. “But there must be something.”
Mom just looks more confused.
“He’s alive, Mom, I feel it. Why else would Mace suggest we wouldn’t want to view the body?”
Mom stands, her hand pressing down on the arm of the sofa to provide leverage. Mace’s visit had caused her to age twenty years in the same number of minutes. She crosses the room unsteadily to get to her purse and takes out her phone. When I go to ask her who she’s calling, she waves me down.
She taps on the screen for a moment, scrolls up and down, and then selects a number.
“Phil?”
Oh my God. She’s ringing my sperm donor.
“Yeah, it’s Patsy… Yeah. A long time… Cut the crap. I’ve just been told my son is dead…”
“What do you mean you heard that as well?”
“His body was taken by persons unknown? So his mom and sister could bury him?”
My eyes widen throughout what I can hear of her side of the conversation. It sounds like someone’s told exactly the same story to my dad.
“How did he get hurt? Alder’s name was mentioned…”
“He’s gone rogue? What the hell does that mean?”
Mom turns her eyes on me. “Could always tell when you were lying, Phil. So, tell me straight. Did you tell Connor to leave drugs in my house?” She pulls the phone away from her ear and even from the other side of the room I can hear a voice blustering. “No, they’re not here now. No, I don’t know where they are or who’s got them…. I’m ending this call now.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t turn up to the funeral…”
“Well of course I fucking am. I’m off to the funeral home tomorrow morning.”
“No, I won’t tell you which one. I’m burying a son because he became involved with you and your business.”
Determinedly, her finger hits the button to end the call.
She stands, staring off into space. A minute, then another passes, before she turns to face me. “You could be right, Bethany. Or you could be wrong. Your dad’s been given the same story, and I can tell he doesn’t believe it. He’s as angry as I’ve ever heard him.”
My brow becomes creased. “So why all that crap about the funeral?”
“Because, it wasn’t remorse and grief that I heard in his voice. Because if Connor is alive, I’m frightened for him.”
My eyes widen. “You think Phil would hurt his own son?”
My question gives her pause. “Phil left and didn’t look back.” Her face twists. “Look, you were young when he left, I don’t know how much you remember of him?”
“Not a lot,” I admit. “He wasn’t exactly involved in my life.” As a kid I used to try to get his attention, pitiful looking back. I couldn’t remember ever being successful.
“I married him when I got pregnant and he stepped up and accepted his responsibilities. It wasn’t long before I realised my mistake, but stayed with him for the sake of you, and then when Connor came along, him too. But your dad had problems. He found it hard to relate to other people, empathy was something he was lacking. He could be cruel without intending it. I had a comfortable life, he wasn’t overly demanding, and I could mostly turn a blind eye to his behaviour. Until he discovered there was easy money to be made and I could no longer deny he was the only one that mattered in his world, a true narcissist.”
It starts to come together. “Crime was okay because he didn’t care who he was hurting?”
She raises and lowers her chin. “Exactly. That’s why I didn’t give a damn that he forgot he had children.”
“And why you were so concerned about Connor going to him.”
“Phil’s got an overblown view of his own intelligence and abilities. A confidence which he uses to make other people believe him. He would have seemed a good role model to an impressionable boy. He was w
ell able to lay on the charm when he needed to.” Her eyes close as if in pain. “I couldn’t stop Connor when he became an adult. But I always expected—hoped—eventually Connor would see through him and realise Phil wouldn’t care who he hurt if someone stood in the way between him and making a profit.”
Her eyes meet mine. They signal something that chills me.
“You believe he’d hurt Connor?”
“I know Phil. Well, knew him. In that phone call just now, he wasn’t upset Connor was dead, he was upset he’s lost him. If he believes Connor’s dead, he’ll stop looking for him and he can’t hurt him.” She waves her hand as I go to speak. “He blustered about the heroin, I don’t think Connor had told him that here was where it was hidden.”
“But those men…”
“Might not have been Phil’s. Maybe there were working for Alder. Alder could have tortured the truth out of him.” Mom closes her eyes as though it’s too painful even to think of that, but it’s the truth. I’d heard Connor in pain. “I have difficulty believing the Devils wish us harm. Look how they’ve left Dirt and Nails here to protect us. Look how proud Mel is of her man. And you, are you such a poor judge of character to get mixed up with a man who’d kill someone for gain?”
“Ink took the heroin off of me, Mom. He knew the cops were there. Only a good man would do that.” Or a foolish one. I’ll never forget what he did, or the debt I owe him. “If Connor’s alive and the Devils are keeping him that way, I don’t think they’d harm him.” I drop my head into my hands. “Nothing about any of this makes sense!” I almost scream.
Mom rushes over and puts her arms up. Leaning down, I hug her as best I can. We stand, like that, for a moment.
“If Connor’s alive and the Devils are lying, then, maybe they’re doing it to save him. If Phil’s bad, Alder’s worse, Bethany. If Connor’s crossed them, he won’t be safe.”
“We need to know the truth, Mom.” I know neither of us will rest easy until we do. I may be wrong to hope that my brother’s still breathing, if he’s gone, I need proof.
“Whatever they’re telling us, I want to view who’s inside the casket,” Mom says with determination. “If it’s Connor, I want to know.”
Suddenly I have doubts that I’m right to give my mom hope. Maybe I’m wrong, and my refusal to believe it, simply that. “It could be bad, Mom. What if it is him? What if the last memory we have of him is seeing him so hurt?”
“I said me, not you, Bethany,” she says firmly. “You remember Connor how he was. I’m his mother. It’s my job.” That’s when she starts weeping again. I might have given her hope, but even after everything we’ve said, when the funeral home opens tomorrow, I could find out Mace had told us the truth.
Is this feeling that the enforcer is lying simply my denial that I’ve seen my brother for the last time?
No, no, no, and no.
I sink to the floor and wrap my arms around myself. I’ve tried to stay strong for my mom, but the odds are Connor is gone.
When will I stop making mistakes? If I’d called the police as soon as Connor had said he was being hurt, would he still be alive? Would I have spared him death in such a horrific way? And would Ink be laughing and drinking with his brothers?
Everything’s my fault. I made the wrong choices and look where they’ve led.
Mom’s crying on the couch, I’m weeping on the floor. After a while, we gravitate together, and hold each other. There’s no more to be said. We’re both determined to find out the truth in the morning, and while the hope we’ve been told a lie is so tempting to believe, both of us are trying to deal with the notion what we’ve been told may be true. Connor’s no longer alive.
“Can I get you anything?” Dirt’s voice sounds hesitant, unsure of his welcome.
I raise my head. “No, it’s alright.”
“I lost my squad.” Dirt sits on the armchair opposite. “I watched them die. Only survivors were Nails and me. I know how hard grief is to deal with.”
I hadn’t realised they’d served together. No wonder the two share a bond.
Talking about someone else’s pain is easier than dealing with mine. “What happened?”
“IED took out the jeep we were in. We were returning to camp at the time. Even had a dog with us, he was trained to sniff out bombs. If we’d been walking, he could have warned us, but in the vehicle he couldn’t have known.”
“What happened to the dog?” Stupid question, I know.
“He lost a leg but survived. We brought him back, well, he was part of the team. He lives with us.”
“You and Nails live together?”
“Yup. Me, him and the fuckin’ dog.”
I wonder if they’re gay, then realise it’s unimportant. They’re three survivors, moving on as best they know how.
“How many died?”
“Five. Including our squad leader. Two others came through the initial blast, one died shortly after in my arms before help could get to us. The other lost his leg, then died of a fuckin’ infection. Nails and I only had minor injuries from the shrapnel. We turned in our papers after that. It wasn’t fearful on our own behalf, it was watching our brothers die. Just couldn’t take the chance of going through that again.”
“That’s why you want to join the MC?”
He nods. “Want men at my back again, and me to be at theirs. Nails and I have felt adrift since we’ve been out. Started our business, but something was missing, you know?” He leans forward, his hands clasped between his legs. “You’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’d been laughing that day. On our way back after a successful mission. I’d just been handed a picture of Tinman’s baby, I was staring at it when the world exploded. Tinman was killed immediately. Makes no fuckin’ sense.”
“That’s awful,” says Mom, her voice dripping sympathy.
Her tone suggests that his pain, his sharing, somehow helps us with ours. A reminder that loss happens all the time. That what we’re feeling happens everywhere, every day. I’m just about to tell him, when for the second time in two days, the front door crashes in.
“Look everywhere,” a voice barks.
“Phil?” Mom’s on her feet as I set my eyes on a man I barely recognise.
His hair, thinning now, is more grey than black. I get the blond from my mom. His face is etched with lines, and his cheeks are reddened. He’s got a gun in his hands and so have the men who’ve come in with him. He must have set off from Denver immediately after Mom called.
“Stay right where you are. Search him.”
Dirt’s standing. He sends a look of apology my way and holds out his arms to his sides. He needn’t feel sorry. What can one man do against five? Nothing other than die if he tried to be a hero. Soon he’s disarmed, and, for good measure, has his arms tied behind him.
“You the boyfriend?” Phil demands.
“Yes,” I reply fast, my own look of contrition toward Dirt. Don’t want to admit he’s here as an ineffective, as it’s turned out, bodyguard.
“What are your men doing?” Mom asks, her own face reddening with rage as now Dirt has been secured, four of the men have fanned out, and are opening drawers and cupboards and throwing the contents on the ground.
“Looking for my fucking stash,” he rasps. He approaches and grabs hold of Mom’s chin. “Where did Connor hide it?”
“The drugs are not here anymore. I told you that.”
“Who took them?”
“And I told you that too,” she replies steadily. “I don’t know.”
“Where’s Connor?”
“Connor’s dead,” I cry out.
It gets his attention on me. He looks up into my face. “You’re a fucking freak. Give you a thrill does it? Fucking a bitch like her?” The last is thrown over his shoulder to Dirt.
Dirt’s face goes apoplectic. If he was my boyfriend, he couldn’t be angrier.
“I’d give her a try.” One of Phil’s men stops what he’s doing long enough to leer at me.
“Where’s Connor?” he repeats.
“In the morgue,” I say, sharply. He must see my reddened eyes; must know we’ve spent the evening crying at the loss of my brother. I know it’s imperative he doesn’t suspect we don’t believe it’s true for one second.
“You believe that?”
“Why should this lie?” Picking it up from where Mom had set it down, I throw the death certificate at him.
He peruses it while frowning and doesn’t look as certain as he did before.
“Nothing in the garage, boss.”
“Nothing upstairs, either.”
One by one the four men return, presumably from searching every area of the house. Empty handed, of course.
“Where’s my shit?” Phil demands once again of my mom.
“I don’t know,” she replies.
“Who took it?”
“I don’t know. They broke in. Seemed to know exactly what they were looking for. Shifty looking men, like yours.” Mom’s getting annoyed.
“Describe them.”
I take over. “There were two men. One was tall, dark hair, angular features. One was Hispanic.” I shrug, making it all up, hoping I’m not describing a pair that he’d pick up and question for no reason. “They went straight to Connor’s old room and took the stuff.”
He eyes me carefully as though trying to assess whether I’m telling the truth.
“No one would fucking cross me,” he declares at last. “Connor must have had a side deal going on. And you,” he swings around and his narrowing eyes land on Dirt, “there’s something about you I don’t like.”
“Phil,” I snap, wanting to get his attention back to me. “You know we don’t have what you want or know who has. I suspect you might get a thrill out of terrorising women, but other than that, there’s no point in you being here.”
“Mouthy bitch aren’t you?”
Ink's Devil: Satan's Devils MC Colorado Chapter #5 Page 32