The Club Betrayal: #8 Sons of Lost Souls MC series

by R. Hunter, Ellie

  "You will. My patch doesn't just own my soul—it is my soul. The club is bigger than any one brother. We all have a duty to the patch, and this is mine."

  Sighing, he steps closer and wraps his fingers around the bars. “Pope, what you’re asking…”

  “I’m not asking for your permission, Cas. I’m telling you how this is going down. They’re talking about the death penalty, and it doesn’t scare me. I’m an old man. I’ve lived my life, and if I go out protecting the club, my life wouldn’t be for nothing.”

  He isn’t convinced, and we don’t have the time for me to make him see I’m doing the right thing. He knows deep down this makes sense, but his love for me won’t ever let him admit it.

  “The club needs this, Cas, you know it. Look after my family, and whatever you do, watch my boys.”

  “Times up, Dad. We need to go.”

  Over Cas’s shoulder, Luca hovers in the doorway. I have words for him when I’m done with his father.

  “Lead our club like you always have, and don’t dwell on me like a pussy. The club must not suffer. I have the utmost respect for you, brother, and it’s been my fucking pleasure following you.”

  Growling, he wags his finger at me, all the words he wants to spit out stuck in his throat.

  Backing away from the bars, he vows, “This isn’t goodbye, old man.”

  But it is, and I watch him walk through the door and out of sight. Before Luca can leave, I say, “Just because I won’t be around, doesn’t mean my boys won’t fuck you up if you continue to harass my Victoria. Leave her the fuck alone.”

  The little fucker huffs, and has the audacity to smirk at me. “I hear you, Pope.”

  And then he’s gone. Inhaling deeply, I rest my forehead against the bars and sigh heavily. Cas knows I’m right, and I trust him to look out for my family.

  Chapter Thirty

  Cas

  “Why’d you call me out like that yesterday?” Luca asks as I crush a cigarette between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Because you’re a prospect.”

  “You didn’t believe I could get you in to see him, did you?”

  “It wasn’t about that. Every prospect is given orders—some easy, others harder, just to see how far they’ll go for the club. You think you should be treated differently because you’re my son?”

  He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Truthfully, yeah. My bloodline runs through this club.”

  So this is it. He’s just a cocky son of a bitch.

  “Your bloodline has bled for this club. I always thought Leo was more like me, but I was wrong. You are. I hated every second of prospecting, hated that I was the grunt, hated I was at the brothers’ beck and call. I just wanted the patch, which stopped me from seeing the bigger picture.”

  He smirks. “We both know I’ll patch in.”

  I bite my tongue. You’re my karma, that’s for sure.

  My boy stands and looks down at me. “I’m not going to fuck up, Dad. I don’t know how.”

  Standing myself, I pull him in for a hug, and that’s when it hits me. He’s grown so much. He’s just as tall as me.

  Slapping him on the back, I release him. “From now on, you’re my prospect. Shit’s going to change. I know you’ll patch in, but you won’t until I believe you’ll keep yourself alive once you’re in. Call in the brothers and tell them I want them in the back room, then go and get some sleep.”

  He walks off, and I head for the back room, settling into my chair at the head of the table. Digging out the pain meds, I pop two into my mouth and swallow them down, just as Sparky walks in.

  The bags under his eyes are dark, I doubt he got much sleep last night. Luca spreads the word fast, and brothers are soon filtering in, leaving Slade to close the doors.

  “How was he?” Mason asks, speaking just after I slam the gavel down.

  “He’s determined. He took the rap to keep heat away from us. He’s going to confess this morning, knowing he faces the death penalty, and he wants us to adhere to his wishes.”

  “What fucking wishes?” Myles snaps.

  My cheeks balloon, exhaling heavily before I relay everything Pope had told me.

  “Outcast him? You’ve got to be joking!” Ricky roars, slamming his palm down on the table.

  The twins jump to their feet, both barking out, “That’s not happening. No way in Hell.”

  Ricky nods to his boys. “Agreed.”

  “We can set something in motion and bust him out,” Myles suggests, and then Mason opens his mouth, exclaiming, “Yeah, we can get him up to Mercy. No one will find him up the mountain. All we have to do is keep him out of sight.”

  Slamming the gavel on the table top, the twins reluctantly sit down, and silence falls over the room.

  “He’s doing this for the club. He doesn’t want to be busted out because he knows it’ll bring the cops back to our door. He’s doing this to keep the cops away. He’s doing this for the patch.”

  “It’s scrutiny we can’t afford, and Pope knows it better than anyone,” Sparky adds, leaning back in his chair.

  The mood is low, and rightfully so. There’s nothing I can say that’ll change it.

  “None of us want to see Pope go down, or be put down, for this. But every one of us knows our brother, and that he has his reasons. Until we dig deeper, we do as he’s asked. We distance ourselves from him, and we do nothing to bring attention to ourselves. Don’t let him do this for nothing.” I’m looking at the twins as I speak. When they both look away, I grit my teeth. I’m going to have to keep a close eye on them.

  Taking a deep breath, Dex blows it out slowly. “Pope’s a motherfucker.”

  “Yes, he is, but he’s seen everything through this club, and we have to trust him to know what he’s doing.”

  “Trust him? With him confessing, that means no trial. He’ll be shipped off and sent straight to prison. He has nothing to prove to anyone here, brothers know his reputation. But on the inside, he’ll just be another old man, someone for them to prey on. He’ll be easy fucking pickings,” Mason argues.

  Like I haven’t thought this myself.

  “I should let him know you think he’s a little bitch. He can still whoop your ass,” Sparky quips.

  “How’s he going to whoop my ass if he isn’t here?”

  I look down to the end of the table to Pope’s empty chair. I imagine him sitting there, listening to the fighting going on around the table, and smile when I picture him shaking his head, disapproving of us arguing between ourselves, especially over him.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Pope

  “Thomas Flynn, you are charged with first degree murder.”

  “It’s about damn time,” I huff.

  “What’s your rush? Has your club got something planned maybe?”

  Agent Cuntface adds, “Perhaps they’re plotting up somewhere, ready to spring you once we transport you?”

  I don’t break a habit of a lifetime, and keep my mouth shut.

  “Nah. Maybe he’s just old and thinks the needle is a better way to go, ’cause that’s what you’re facing.”

  Taking myself mentally away from these assholes, I seek out my Sally.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cas

  He’s been charged. Pope is now the second brother to be charged within the club’s history, Ricky being the first. He was determined to do this for the club, and under the guilt, under everything that forces me to step back because he made me promise not to step in and form a plan to free him, I can’t live with myself if I do nothing. It doesn’t feel right, yet it’s going to have to be something I can live with, because Pope is doing what he has to do to keep the club in one piece.

  “Cas! We’ve got company!” JJ calls out. I open my eyes to him seated at the bar, watching the camera screens.

  Taking my time getting up, I breathe through the pain in my side as I stand straight. Not that it does shit to help.

  Joining JJ, I look to the screen he’s
pointing to, and see a cop cruiser has parked up along the curb across the road from the club.

  “Nothing came over the scanner.”

  “They’re not getting out, so they must be here to watch us. Spread the word that no one is to approach them.”

  No sooner have I finished giving him the order, Slade is handing me my phone.

  “Banksy.”

  Pressing it to my ear, I prepare to hear the worst.

  “It’s Cas.”

  “Pope’s fired me. I’ll send you my invoice.”

  “I’m rehiring you. See this through. I don’t care what he says.”

  Damn, Pope.

  “He confessed, Cas, and now he’s not saying a word. He’s got FBI here, and they’re planning to move him tomorrow.”

  The call ends, and I relay the information to Slade and JJ.

  “Explains why we have company,” JJ points out.

  “They’re making sure we don’t intercede.”

  “So what now?” Slade asks.

  My phone rings again, and another cop car pulls up behind the first. Looking at who’s calling, Jamie Boy’s name flashes across the screen.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Jamie Boy. I’m calling to make sure we’re still good for next week?”

  “We’ll be a man down, but we’re good.”

  “Very well. This deal will feed your club for the next six months, so make sure you don’t lose any more men.”

  “Yeah, I’m working on that,” I retort sarcastically.

  “Besides that, one of my men will be with you in a few minutes. I understand you’re being watched, so he’s a delivery man. Let him in.”

  The line goes dead and I walk outside, watching the gate. As Jamie Boy said, a florist truck approaches the gate, and the prospect talks with the driver before letting him through. The cops have only just showed up, so how the fuck would Jamie Boy know we’re being watched?

  Slade and Sparky flank me as I wait for the guy to walk over.

  Collecting a box from the passenger seat, he shoves a clipboard under his arm.

  Brothers around us take notice, and pause in what they’re doing.

  “The Kings heard Pope’s granddaughter has a love for rare flowers.”

  He’s British.

  Holding out the box for me to take, it’s Sparky who steps forward and accepts it.

  “Where’d they hear that?” I ask.

  “They hear everything, from whispers to screams. They have advised you to have a gathering here tomorrow, and that none of you leave your compound.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just the messenger. They also said you won’t hear from them for a while, so don’t be alarmed.”

  Sparky opens the box as the guy walks off, and I pop my head over to see a single purple flower sitting inside.

  I have no idea what it’s called, or just how rare it is, but from what I’ve seen of the brothers so far, they have money, and the reach to acquire the rarest.

  “Prospect!”

  Luca comes over, and Sparky hands him the box. “Take this to Victoria.”

  “What is it?”

  “A gift from the Kings, also a rouse for him to get past the cops without suspicion, I’m guessing.”

  “Why the fuck are they sending her…”—he flips open the box and looks inside—“a flower?”

  “Calm your tits, baby Jackson, and do as your president has asked.” Luca rolls his eyes before making his way toward the main house.

  “Should we be worried they know Tori loves her flowers?” Sparky asks, his voice low.

  “I have no idea.”

  They’ve made it clear they make it their business to know everything, yet it doesn’t sit well with me they’re sending her a gift when they could’ve had the delivery guy relay the message.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Pope

  “I thought clubs like yours were about brotherhood and loyalty?”

  I heard Agent Cuntface approach my cell three minutes ago. If this is the only bullshit he has, he’s in for a long wait if he thinks goading will get a reaction from me.

  “Clubs I’ve worked on before have been known to camp outside the station for one of their brothers, yet there’s no one out there for you.”

  I keep my back to him, focusing on the chipped paint.

  “It seems while you’re about to be shipped off out of state, your brothers are partying it up.”

  Again, I don’t give him a reaction.

  When he realises he’s not getting anything out of me, he huffs in annoyance. “We leave in five minutes.”

  The minutes drag by, and I continue to shut down. Nothing will get to me, and it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let a fed be the one who does. I know the system. You never win against it, and trying to only gets you forced down even deeper.

  The sound of the iron bars opening has me inhaling deeply. Standing, I hold my hands behind my back. They go through the motions of cuffing my wrists to the chain attached to cuffs around my ankles. I’m an old man chained up like an animal, but two cops still take an arm each as I shuffle out behind the agents as if they believe I’m going to attempt an escape.

  The cop van is parked as close to the back door as is possible, and I breathe in the fresh air before I’m shoved into the back. Climbing in behind me, a cop connects my chain to the lock welded into the van’s floorboard.

  “Make yourself comfortable. You’re in for a long ride.”

  I watch him take a seat on the other side of the van. The fucker isn’t getting shit from me, not even sarcasm.

  No fucker will ever know what I don’t what them to know.

  * * *

  Three hours into the journey, and I could do with a piss. I won’t ask for a piss stop, though, knowing the assholes would carry on driving just to fuck with me.

  Every now and then, one of the agents looks back at me, sees I’m still here, and goes back to their conversation.

  Mentally preparing for the next stage of my life, the feds conversation is cut off when the roar of a high-powered engine grows louder the closer it gets to us.

  “Oh shit!” Agent Fuckhead gasps.

  I can’t see shit from back here. I have no idea what’s going on, but whatever it is, it’s got the feds full attention.

  “Pull over to the side!” Agent Cuntface barks.

  “What side? We’ll crash into the trees!”

  Before I can think too much about it, I’m jolted along the bench, the cuffs biting into my wrists. Someone’s fucking rammed into us. Another crash into us has my head banging against the metal side of the van as it rolls off the road. I’m tossed around like a rag doll, battered by the confines of the small space and the chains not letting me go far. I roar in pain when my shoulder pops out of its socket.

  Everything around me is hazy, and I struggle to blink to clear my sight. Gunfire pops off around me, and then the back doors are opening. I can’t see them clearly, but figures dressed in black, their faces covered in ski masks, crawl into the van, one reaching back for something. Not a word is said, but even hidden, I know these men aren’t my brothers. After being in the club all these years, I can tell my brothers apart from just how they move.

  “Don’t make a move, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  While the masked man to my side uses the bolt cutters to free me from the shackles, another masked man is holding a gun to the driver’s head.

  “He pays for the crimes against my employer first. If there’s anything left of him, we’ll let you know where to find the pieces.”

  What the fuck?

  His employer?

  My crimes against him?

  The snap of metal brings everything into focus around me, and then someone is dragging me by my ankle while another masked man holds the door open. Once I’m hauled to my feet, I barely have time to bow my head before stepping out onto the road.

  “Move. Move. Move!”

  Whoever these guys are,
they’re a well-oiled machine, each of them connecting as one. It reminds me of the club.

  “Come on, old man, we haven’t got time to dawdle.” Whoever it is grabs me by my arm and yanks me roughly to the sleek black van waiting for us. Climbing in, I’m forced to sit in the middle of the bench, similar to the cop wagon, only I have no chains in here. Rotating my wrists, I squash the aches, and I’m sharply reminded of my dislocated shoulder now that the adrenaline has begun to subside.

  Hissing through the pain as I’m thrown to the side from the van making a U-turn, I hold myself, eyeing the four masked men sitting opposite of me.

  “I know I’m old, but I still remember I didn’t order no grab ‘n’ go,” I mutter through the pain.

  One guy lifts his mask, but I have no idea who he is. Then, one by one, the other three rip theirs off, and still, I recognise not one of them.

  “The Kings send their regards,” the leader of the pack says.

  I told Cas not to arrange a bust out, yet here I fucking am. What’s he playing at? Having me jumped from custody will bring even more heat to the club now.

  “What’s the plan, then?”

  “The Kings believe you’ll be better off out of the picture.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, just because you’re free from the FBI, doesn’t mean it works out better for you.”

  So when they say “out of the picture,” they mean gone without a trace, as in dead.

  “Did Cas agree to this?”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about. We have orders, and until we’ve completed our mission, I don’t care to know who he is.”

  These military types don’t fuck about, but I believe him when he says he hasn’t heard of Cas, which means the club has no idea where I am, and that’s not good. The Kings wouldn’t want anything coming between their deal, and by the looks of it, they’re taking out the trash.