These Bastards. He shook his head as he removed his helmet and goggles, letting them dangle from the handlebars by their straps. After standing up off the bike, he took two steps towards Retro to meet him in the middle and wrapped tension-filled arms around his brother. God, this hurts. Why does it fucking hurt? “Thank you, Jerry. I didn’t—” He stuttered, voice cracking on every word. “Fuck, man, just thanks.”
“I got you, brother.” Retro’s hold on him tightened, then released. As Einstein stepped backwards, Retro lightly smacked him on the side of the head. The blow stung in a good way, the physical pain nearly welcome after so much emotional turmoil. “We will always have your back.”
“I know.” Einstein tipped his head to hide the wave of emotion crashing over him. Thumbnail against his brow, he pressed hard, then sniffed, and sighed heavily. “I know, brother. All I ever need to do is reach out my hand and the club will be there. All this is on me, and I get where I fell down. It’s just fuckin’ hard.” The flight portion of his panic was in full bloom, and he fought the urge to run, to climb back on the bike and go fast.
“Did you know my first old lady died in a drive-by? That’s how I’m tied to Petr Volkov. Did you know that bit of my past?”
The segue didn’t make sense, and still struggling to contain his emotions, Einstein simply shrugged, not certain how to respond. Forcing himself to pay attention, he offered, “Only pieces, brother. Stood in your house as you glared down Chulpayev. Heard the bits that were tossed around there.”
“She died because her father was ambitious, and it was common knowledge that he was working to hook me deep, even before I met his Clara.” Retro’s throat muscles worked, jaw clenching tightly. “My Clara.”
The declaration burst out on a rising tone, and Einstein paid attention as Retro lowered his shoulders, stretching out the fingers of each hand before continuing.
“My first love. I had to say goodbye to her in a fuckin’ ICU, denied my chance to be at her side when she passed.” Brow deeply furrowed, Retro leaned close, hand on Einstein’s shoulder as he gripped hard. “It is fuckin’ hard. Consuming. I don’t know your brand of hard, but if it’s anything like mine was, it’ll tear you up. Make you wish for peace. Any kind of peace, even one that’s fuckin’ final. Thing is, that peace you might find will surely leave scars behind for everyone else. So when I say we have you, brother, I mean we fuckin’ have you. Good or bad. You get fucked up in your head so bad you can’t breathe, and we’ll breathe for you. My hand to God on that, man. We’re here, and we’re not goin’ anywhere.”
“All right.” Pressing his lips together tightly, Einstein stared at the ground. Retro’s scarcely contained anger and pain resonated inside him. Even if he’d been toying with the idea of bailing and just going home, there was no way he could do so after Retro’s speech. Might as well get it all done in an evening. “All right,” he repeated. “Let’s go inside.” Swiping the back of a hand across his forehead, he cleared his throat and muttered, “Wanna get out of this heat.”
“Yeah.” Retro sounded surprised, as if he’d been ready for more of a fight. “Let’s head in there.” He hesitated. “You ready, brother?”
“Fuck no.” Einstein’s head wobbled from the force of his headshake. “Fuck no, I’m not ready for any of this. But I need it, and I know that now.”
“Yeah.” Now Retro’s tone was more sober, resigned. “Yeah, you fuckin’ do,” he said, and pulled open the door, gesturing for Einstein to precede him inside.
It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside, but by the time that had happened, he was surrounded. Mudd pulled him into an embrace, the shorter man cradling Einstein’s head in his hand, pulling him down for a whispered, “Well met, brother.” Then he was gone, and Marlin took his place with another tight hold around his shoulders and a pound against his back, and then Crazy Mike stood there, followed by another member, and another.
Few words were exchanged, no emotional sentiments delivered, but still the depths of shared pain these men held resonated deep inside him. Validation’s for parking, he thought, trying to distract his brain, and yet it circled back around. Understanding that these men realized what he’d lost, knew even if they had never experienced the same, told him that they wouldn’t hold his months-long silence against him. Maybe it’s just the support— He cut off that lying thought too. It wasn’t the way these men supported him that made the club special; it was the men themselves. Every one of them had a story, some that like Retro’s might be surprisingly similar to Einstein’s. Regardless of that story, the way each man cleaved to the club and their brothers was what made the Bama Bastards the best motorcycle club in the state. Hell, in the nation.
Einstein followed Retro farther into the room. “Thanks, Retro.” For getting my ass out of the house, for the ride, for giving a shit, and for forcing me to take off my blinders and see my brothers clearly. Grinning knowingly, Retro flipped a hand at him in dismissal, then lifted two fingers to his mouth and blew out with a piercing whistle.
“Need to unass and get me a fuckin’ beer, prospect. Points to whoever makes it to me first.” Mouth snapping closed after his verbal challenge, Retro stared at him with a grin, one hand stretched out to the side, waiting. By Einstein’s count, it was less than a minute before a bottle pressed to Retro’s palm, but his president still shook his head. “New boys never gonna live up to your brand of hustle, brother.” Einstein accepted a bottle from the same unfamiliar prospect, nodding his thanks. “Let’s get settled. Got some shit you’re gonna be interested in, no doubt.”
Aiming for a cluster of seating along the wall, Retro led the way across the wide room, but even while traipsing through the middle of the crowd, Einstein didn’t feel like he was on display, something he’d been worried about. After the greetings near the door, the other members had scattered, going back to their interrupted activities as conversations slowly returned to normal levels. Mudd trailed along with them, a step behind Einstein, his presence and location a familiar comfort.
Got my back. He knew that was the silent message and appreciated how each of the men had handled his abrupt reentry into their lives. Settling into an overstuffed chair, Einstein propped one boot against the table placed in the center of the furniture, watching as Retro and Mudd took their own seats. “What am I going to be interested in?” Might as well lead with the teaser Retro had thrown out at him. “And why exactly do you think I’d be interested?”
“We got a line on Scar.”
Einstein’s lungs quit working, and he struggled to blow out the breath he’d just sucked down. Throat burning as he choked, head buzzing, he bent double, chin to his chest, and forced out a tiny stream of air.
Scar was also known as Lou, also known as Dominic Scarloucci.
Scar, president of the Monster Devils MC, out of Philadelphia. Einstein’s old club, the one he’d taken a beatout from to move his family to Birmingham.
Scar was a man Einstein had last seen months ago. Eight, to be exact. The man’s mouth had been forming broken words of regret that had meant nothing as he’d placed Lauren’s dead body next to a bound and gagged Einstein. Helpless on the floor of a van, Einstein could only watch as that was followed by Makayla’s tiny form. Both of his girls’ faces had been flushed pink, almost as if they’d been too long under the summer sun, something Lauren never allowed, always slathering sunscreen on their daughter’s delicate skin.
At some point before the funerals, he’d found out his girls had succumbed to unintentional carbon monoxide poisoning. They’d been transported to Florida separate from Einstein, so he’d only seen the rusted-out car once, but the memory was enough for him to assume a faulty exhaust system. Parked inside a building or somewhere out of view and reach from the wind, however it had happened—and no matter the men holding them captive hadn’t intended it—his wife and daughter had died.
Lauren’s lips had been bright red. He remembered that in his dreams. His dead wife’s voice issued fro
m between lips that looked like she was ready to go out on the town. “Why?” And damn him, but he had no answer.
Scar was the reason for their deaths. He might not have pulled a trigger or slashed across their throats, but if he had just left Einstein and his family alone, nothing would have happened.
After the funerals, Einstein had asked Retro one thing: “Any news?” The answer had been a slow headshake, nothing more or less than he’d expected. Scar had always been notorious for beating the odds, and the fact he hadn’t been present when the Bama Bastards, along with four other MCs, had engineered Einstein’s rescue meant he’d had foreknowledge they were coming.
Salt water dripped off Einstein’s nose, and he clenched his jaw until the creaking of his teeth echoed inside his skull. Head down, Einstein stared at the chair cushion darkening from his streaming tears. Fingers like pinchers latched onto the outside of his legs in a search for enough physical pain to push past this, not finding it. Trying to retain any semblance of control, he was losing the fight to get through a series of wracking sobs that threatened to tear him in half. Right in the middle of the fucking clubhouse.
A hand landed on his shoulder, and he shrugged it off violently, not able to stand the touch. It’s better if I’m alone. At least then, there wouldn’t be anyone to blindside him like this.
“Brother. Jesus, man.” Retro’s voice was close, right in his ear, and he was tempted, so fucking tempted, to haul off and slug the man. Elbows to his knees, he folded in on himself, yanking on his hair in a painful cadence of repetitive movement.
“Brought me here for this, Jerry? I can’t fucking do this. God, I hate you right now.” Low and rough, his voice scratched across the air separating them. “You couldn’t do this at my fuckin’ house?”
“No, I couldn’t, man. The man I chased out of that wrecked house this morning wasn’t ready to hear anything to do with the tragedy that had split his heart in two. That man couldn’t have stood to listen to me about anything.” Retro’s hand rested on his shoulder again, fingers digging into the leather, holding on against Einstein’s repeated shrugs. “The man in front of me can handle it. I’ve got faith, brother. I got news and wanted to give it here, where you’ve got nothing but support. Every goddamned man in this room, in this club, only wants good for you. The best. That’s what we can offer. You can and you will, man.”
Fighting through the tears, swallowing only about half of the sobs twisting their way up his throat, he remained in his hunched position. And Retro stayed with him, unmoving, crouched next to the chair, hand on Einstein’s shoulder, mouth next to his ear as he continued the litany of encouragement and chiding, alternating by turns as Einstein worked through the wreckage of his emotions. Of my life. He clenched his fingers in the fabric of his jeans, clamping hard enough each finger warped the fabric, seams stretched to the max as individual threads popped and snapped.
Something poked his ribs and he jerked sideways, deflecting hand flying up to slip inside his vest, straightening as he stroked over the toothbrush in the interior pocket. He moved it to a better position and rolled his back upright, his chin the last thing to lift as he sniffed and choked. I hear ya, baby. Lauren had been a fan of pinching his side, sometimes leaving bruises if he hadn’t wanted to listen to her. Like she’s here.
“What do you know?” Voice cracking on the final word, Einstein cleared his throat and reached for his beer, not surprised to find it warm. He grimaced and left it sitting on the table, glancing around as he reclaimed his seat. Mudd’s expression was bland, showing neither annoyance nor sympathy, and Einstein nodded his thanks. Between Mudd’s easy acceptance, and the realization no one was crowded close and staring, Einstein’s next breath pushed out more steadily in a question, “That bastard raise his head somewhere?”
“We got word of a guy who saw him. I’m tracing it now.” Retro lifted a finger, and a few seconds later, the same prospect who’d served them earlier was there with replacement bottles, gathering up the nearly full ones without comment. “Only problem is we got a second sighting that would put him in two places on the same weekend. El Paso and Philly aren’t within waving distance of each other, which means one of these is bullshit.”
“Home turf and that of the Silent Deaths?” Einstein sniffed and cleared his throat, pushing away the last vestiges of the grief that had nearly overwhelmed him. Ever present, but in this headspace it was manageable. He shook his head before he took a long swallow of the cold beer. “Given how things sit, neither is a healthy choice for Scar.”
“True words,” Mudd interjected. “We don’t really believe either of them, which leaves us wondering where the man might really be headed. We are getting traces on that, too, best we can.”
“If he’s throwing down fake trails…” Einstein shook his head, surprised at how fuzzy his brain felt. Fucking exhausted. “Any thoughts on what that might mean?”
“Means he knows we’re payin’ good money for any lookie-loo reports of his ass, and he’s just trying to give himself more time while costing us moola.” Retro sipped his beer. “The question is for what reasons?”
“Stay out ahead of retribution?” Einstein tipped up the bottle, surprised at the enjoyment he was getting from this quiet back-and-forth with his friends. “Has he run through all his landing spots yet?”
“And then some.” Mudd shifted in his seat. “Past few months it’s been a cat-and-mouse game with him.”
“Yeah,” Retro agreed. “He pops up his head and we take a whack at him. Then the man disappears for a couple of days or weeks until we catch wind of some other lead. Few leads as specific as these two recent ones, though, even if only one of the sumbitches can be right.”
“Who do you have chasing the reports?” He loved that he didn’t have to question whether the club was committed to finding and wreaking chaos and destruction on the asshole who had cost Einstein so much. Even for the weeks and months he’d been sidelined by his own grief, it never crossed his mind to wonder if the search continued—because he knew it would. “Anything I can do, Retro?”
“Buzzkill’s routed through Texas right now. He should rock up at the SDMC clubhouse tomorrow. We’re doing an uninvited, unannounced visit.” Retro grinned, the expression lacking any humor. “So to speak.”
“And the Philly rumor?” He glanced around, looking for faces he recognized. Einstein was shocked to see three men he didn’t know. One of them turned to face away, and instead of a probation bar across the top of his shoulders, the man had a full patch, only lacking the location rocker at the bottom. Einstein kept his surprised gaze on the man, who stood and chatted easily with Marlin.
“Nugget headed out this morning. About the time I rolled into your driveway.” Retro’s tone pulled Einstein’s attention back to him. “And you don’t know him any more than you know Dadwarc over there. Or Throttle. Or Wings. Changes happen, man.” His tone was conciliatory but firm. “Things don’t stop for anything or anyone.”
“In eight months you patched four new members? They rounded through their prospect period and made it to patched member in that time? What the hell?” Einstein knew his tone was abrasive, even recognized he was too loud. Don’t give a shit. “Who’s the new probie, then? When’s he patchin’ in? Tomorrow?”
“Alex is in month three of his scrub period, so don’t give him too much shit. He’s doin’ well, given the situation under which he raised his hand.” Retro stared at him, not showing any frustration or anger at Einstein’s questioning. “Nugget is a patchover, and there’s been a few of those in the region. We picked him up from a Michigan club, but he’s got close ties to the Rebel Wayfarers, good ones, which is never a bad thing. Throttle is over by Crazy Mike, mostly because he’s just as much of a numbnut as Mike ever thought to be. Nugget, Throttle, Dadwarc, and Wings are members, but can’t vote yet. I took a page out of the CoBos book with how they dealt with Po’Boy. They’ve got too much time and energy already spent in the life to prospect with grace, but for politic
al reasons, they’re also not yet enough of a known quantity to give them a voice.” Now Retro’s voice held a tiny edge of anger, but Einstein didn’t know if it was the act of him questioning or if the need for answers was reminding Retro that Einstein hadn’t been here to take part in any of the decisions. “I’m not stupid, Einstein, as much as you might think so.”
Shit. He stared at the beer bottle in his hands, thumbnail raking up one edge of the label before he smoothed it down. Now if I can just smooth this as easily.
“I know you’re not stupid. I didn’t mean to imply anything like that, bossman. Just took me by surprise.” He chanced a glance at Retro’s face, finding only patience there. “Shit. I wasn’t thinking. Tied up like I was for as long as I was? Gone deep down into my own shit. Shouldn’t be a shocker that things change. I just need to learn to shut my trap until I wrap my head around it all.”
“Brother, if you can’t talk to us, then we’ve got problems.” Mudd shrugged and winked at Einstein as he swung his gaze from Retro’s carefully controlled face. “I for one am real glad to see your ugly mug in the house again. We’ve fuckin’ missed you, man.”
“I missed you too.” Einstein leaned back as he realized the truth of that statement. Deep in the throes of grief, he might not have recognized the feeling. Now, removed at least slightly from the events, he realized losing his wife and child might have started his tip into the unstable field of agony—but losing the club at the same time had only added to it in great shovelfuls of pain. Didn’t matter he’d done it to himself. Pushing his brothers away had been a mistake. “I’ve been struggling. Didn’t even know how much.” Blinking fast, he willed the heat at the back of his eyes away as best he could, clearing his throat painfully. “Feels really good to be home.”
“And we’re happy to have you.” Retro leaned forwards, elbows on his knees as he stared at Einstein over the tips of his steepled fingers. “Gonna need you to listen to me for a minute. Just listen before you react. Seeing you like I got to today, I really don’t think you’ll do well if you go back to that house right now. I’ve taken the liberty of having a few of your things transferred to my old suite upstairs. School just started up again, so it’ll be a rare day me and Trina have the luxury of a night away from the kiddos. Much rather use the space than have it stay empty.”
Tangled Threats on the Nomad Highway Page 2