by Jessica Joy
“I was just filling Spartan in on what's goin’ on around here since the shit hit the fan with the raid,” Tinker explains, sounding all business now.
“That's one way to put it,” I mumble.
“Oh yeah, how are you Brother? Healin’ up alright?” Tink asks, genuine concern showing on his face.
“I’m fine. Takes more than a pansy ass motherfucker to take me down,” I assure him.
“Can we get on with it?” Sawyer growls.
“Okay, okay, hold your horses! Can’t I ask after my poor, injured Brother in Arms that was fighting for his very life not so very long ago?” Tinker asks, laying on the dramatics as thick as possible, what with the hands clutching at his heart, eyelashes fluttering, and innocent look on his stupid face.
“No. Not when we had to jump through so many damn hoops just to get the call with you. Fill us in Tink, you and Gage can braid each other’s hair later,” he snaps.
“Right. Good point. So, Gage, to catch you up, shits gone sideways in a big way around here and because of that I honestly don’t know who to trust right now. Hence all the cloak and dagger stuff. Thankfully Spartan was able to get the phone from DiMarco so quickly, I didn’t want to contact you with anything that has ever been within 50 miles of the compound. On my end I installed a TOR browser to anonymize the traffic through the dark web. Don't worry, I also made sure to mask your IP on the connection to avoid any reverse proxy BS they might try.”
“TINK!” Sawyer snaps, cutting Tinker’s rant short. “Enough with the techno babble. Neither of us have a fuckin clue what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Fine you troglodytes. Well suffice it to say, we are secure talking like this. Though next time I’m going to go somewhere less… compound-y,” Tinker says, shifting his eyes around his room nervously.
“Fuckin’ hell Brother, it really that bad?” I ask. Tinker’s always a little off, the best tech geeks always are, but something about the way he doesn’t seem to trust being in his own skin right now sets me on edge. Hell, his office is usually the place he considers the safest place on the planet. Sawyer must feel it too because I see him clasp his hands in a fierce grip under the table next to me.
“Shit’s all wrong. Losing King, it’s like everyone lost their damn minds or somethin’. Roxy ain’t been around, and Kiki isn’t letting her come by when she tries; doesn’t want her hearing anything, and I can’t say I blame her based on what some of the crew is saying,” Tinker explains, looking off to the side lost in thought.
“Tink! Focus. Doesn’t want her hearing what? What the fuck is goin on around there?” Sawyer snaps again.
“Right. Well, Axel is Prez now; we all saw that comin’. But what isn’t sittin’ right is some of the things he’s sayin’. I don’t know who believes him or not, some of the men do, I have to believe there are more that don’t though,” Tinker is muttering, his words trailing off as he gets lost in thought.
“TINKER,” I yell, snapping his focus back to the screen.
“Sorry. Shits just wrong. But yeah, Axel’s been saying it was all a set up. Sayin’ King’s death was planned and that… well that…” he again looks away from the camera, clearly embarrassed by something.
“Spit it the fook out Brother!” I bellow.
“He’s sayin’ you two orchestrated the whole thing with DiMarco!” Tink shouts back, clearly upset. “He’s sayin’ you went behind our backs and ran off to your new daddy. Story is Spartan took out King, and Axel had to take you down, Gage, or else you woulda gotten to him. Sayin’ that’s why you ran off to Chicago, that you’re under the mob’s protection now,” Tinker explains.
“And why, pray tell, would we do something so utterly moronic as that?” Sawyer asks with an eerie sense of calm in his voice.
Tinker shrugs, “I dunno, the money I guess?” Tinker says lamely. “DiMarco wants the guns we run so you cut a deal to deliver him the Club and its resources and he gives you money and protection. Pretty standard mob stuff really.”
Rage and shock war within me but I quickly decide rage is the one I’d rather contend with at the moment. With as much agility as I can manage with my damn boot and sling, I surge up from the couch and make my way to the open space behind the massive piece of furniture, pacing through the anger. Sawyer’s overly calm voice cuts through the screaming in my mind and I slow just enough to hear what he has to say.
“No one, not even King, had contact with DiMarco for years until I called him from Seattle, Tink. You of all people know who calls whom,” Sawyer lays out trying to get the Brainiac to think a little bit more about the whole thing. “Fuck, the slimy piece of pepperoni didn’t even know who the fuck I was when I called. Had to send him a picture of Gage all hooked up in the hospital bed as proof before he’d even talk to me.”
“Yeah well, remember the last run you went on before shit went down with Tessa and Evan?” Tinker asks.
“Fuck,” Sawyer growls under his breath. Right, another thing that is before my yawning chasm of blankness. The last run was near Chicago. Never mind the fact that we were technically in Joliet and never set foot inside Chicago proper but nonetheless, we were within spitting distance and a call wouldn’t be needed.
Fuck is right.
“Exactly,” Tink agrees. “So, the story is that you made contact while you were there and worked with DiMarco to stage the whole thing.”
“And what, I volunteered to take a bullet and go into a coma?” I snap.
“Like I said, shit doesn’t add up. I don’t know what exactly is going on, or what is wrong with it all, but something in my gut won't let go of how… sideways it all is,” Tink admits, resting his arms on his desk and leaning toward the screen.
“Do we have to explain that we had nothin’ to do with King’s murder?” I say as gently as I can, but there is no mistaking the bite behind my words as I glare down at the screen from my place behind Sawyer.
“Honestly, right now? Yes, I have to ask, and I’ll only ask once. Did you?” Tinker asks, his features set in a hard line. He doesn’t want to be asking this any more than we want to be asked, but we all know it’s no less than anyone one of us would be expected to do. I gotta give it to the guy, he may not be a field work kind of operator but he’s certainly got a pair on him to just ask it right out; respect Brother.
Sawyer straightens a bit from his hunched posture and faces the screen head on. “No. None of us had anything to do with King’s murder. None of us talked to DiMarco or anyone else for that matter before the raid. The first time I knew about King’s death was when I saw his brains blasted all over that fuckin’ warehouse. I swear on my Patch.”
Tinker nods quickly and relaxes back into his seat. “Thank God. I know Brother. I never questioned if it was really you two but Axel’s story is the only side right now. There was just no way though that you would do all that, I like you two too much for you to be that dastardly.”
“So, what do we do now?” Sawyer asks, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at Tinker’s words.
“Well for starters, don’t come home. Not yet, anyway. Everyone might not believe him, but he and his group are loud enough that it won't be pretty.”
I growl at the thought of having to spend even one more hour under DiMarco’s benevolent ‘care.’
“Fine. We stay here for now. What do we do about the club?” Sawyer continues, all business in his tone. He’s clearly frustrated at the distance and the lack of something to shoot, but he knows that Tinker is the best chance we have to find out what is happening back home so he’s trying to keep it cool and not upset him too much.
“I need to work a few angles here. Get a couple other Brothers into the circle of trust and pull at a couple of the loose threads to see where they lead,” Tinker explains, shuffling a few things around on his desk.
“Cryptic much?” I ask, my bitterness at being stuck here betraying my tone.
“Gage, dude, chill. You aren’t here, you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. The
Axel pack beat the shit out of Cotton last week when he got a little too drunk and a little too mouthy about not believing Axel’s story. Trust me man, I will get in contact again once I know more. I will do what digging I can here and keep you posted. For now, focus on getting back to normal Brother,” Tink directs toward me.
“Be safe Tink,” Sawyer says with a nod before Tinker clicks off the connection. Sawyer flops back against the cushions again, his hands going over his face.
“That was quick,” I joke.
“He was at the Compound; I don’t blame him for cutting off as soon as he said what he needed to say.”
“I guess,” I concede, coming back around the end of the couch and sitting back against the arm. The two of us are silent for a long while before I can’t keep it in any longer. I try to keep my tone as light as possible. “So, ye realize ye handed Axel his story on a silver platter when ye made that call, dontcha’?”
Sawyer heaves a heavy sigh and hangs his head, coming back to brace his elbows on his knees and shove his fingers into the mess of his hair. “Yeah. I know. He never would have made the connection if we hadn’t come here.”
“There it is. First thing we’ve agreed on since I woke up,” I say with a forced laugh.
“I get you have your panties in a twist over this whole thing, but with what Tink just said do you really blame me? What the fuck else should we have done?” he asks.
“Anything else! Anything other than calling on the one family with the power to take us down, every last one of us,” I growl.
“He’s a thug. A thug who has been friends with King for years. Better to be with the enemy we know than the one we don’t. We couldn’t stay in Seattle and we couldn’t go home,” Sawyer reasons, but I have no interest in reason at the moment.
“Ye don’t get it, do ye. DiMarco and King weren’t friends. DiMarco is the one man King ever truly feared,” I state. That finally gives him pause and makes him look up at me. “Yeah, let that sink in Brother.”
“You ever going to tell me what happened?” he asks.
“Just… Trust me on this one, okay?” I hedge. Now that King is gone, someone else should know the story, I know that, but I’m not ready to tell it. Not yet. Sawyer is closer than a Brother to me but there is a lot he doesn’t know and honestly, I’m okay with leaving some pieces of my past exactly where they belong. Behind me and dead.
“Fine,” Sawyer acquiesces, “But if you don’t want to share with me then you can’t expect me to do what you want,” he grumps.
Needing to change the topic away from me, I try to keep the conversation on task. “So, what do we do while we wait for Tinker to work whatever magic he has planned?”
“Honestly, there isn’t a whole lot we can do from here, at least for now,” he sighs, leaning back against the couch again.
“Ah lovely. So, the sit and spin approach. Aye that should be fun,” I say with a rueful chuckle.
“Just focus on gettin’ your shit together Brother. I ain’t draggin’ no cripple all the way home and into a fight.” He says with a laugh, slapping my good shoulder as he stands and passes me.
“Aye, I’ll get right on that,” I say with a grimace. Before I can even think of dealing with my shit, I need to sort things out with Lexi. The thought of trying to face her again right now makes me cringe. Sawyer must notice and shoots me a look before glancing toward our wing of the flat. He knows. He always knows. Cheeky bastard.
“Good luck with that one,” he laughs, “Speaking of the psycho sisters, I’m gonna go see how mine is faring on getting E-Buddy down,” he says before making his way toward the wing he, Tessa, and Evan have taken over.
“See ye later Daddy!” I call after him in a ridiculous sing-song falsetto, earning me a one finger salute over his shoulder before he disappears around the corner.
Looking around the empty common space for a moment I decide it's time to try and make things right with the firecracker in the other room. Fuck if I know how though. Yet again, the fact that I can’t remember fuck all about the last few months is just a giant hole in the entire operation. Fucking fuck. If today proved anything, it’s that I’m missing more than I thought I had been.
I’m missing her.
The feeling of her in my arms keeps springing to mind and keeps distracting me from any productive thoughts. I may not be able to remember what we had but maybe I have a chance to make something new. Before I can think about that, I need to do some major sucking up. With a healthy dose of ass kissing. I have to fix this. I have to try to make it right and find what I’m missing. I need to find her again.
Chapter 10
Lexi
Coffee. Oh so very much coffee. I don’t know if there is enough of the life-giving elixir inside the city limits to keep me functioning today. I didn’t sleep a wink last night. After the disastrous encounter with Gage yesterday afternoon, I did the very mature and well-adjusted thing that every normal, functional adult would do; I locked myself in my room and hid. Yeah, not my proudest moment, but honestly, I stand by it as a sound solution to my problems since I can’t fucking do anything else in this godforsaken predicament.
In that moment, seeing the look of confusion and hurt on his face, it broke through the last little bit of protection I had. It’s one thing to know he doesn’t remember, to know he isn’t the man that haunts my dreams every single night, but it’s another thing entirely to see it reflected so clearly in his eyes. So I ran to 10 Things I Hate About You to console myself along with the bottle of wine I stashed earlier in the week.
After 10 Things I Hate About You finished I realized that I was being totally unreasonable. Of course he wouldn’t remember what we had and how much I miss his kiss; that’s literally the point of all of this. Of course it wasn’t going to be the way it was, of course he was going to be confused when I got so upset at a little kiss. That little train of thought set off another round of self-pity and progressed me into How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days and the bottle of rum I had also stashed for emergency use. Apparently I had a thing for the number 10 last night. After Rom-Com’ing myself to sleep, I woke up to the honest realization that all this mess with Gage is not going to turn out like the movies. There isn’t going to be a sudden moment where he just remembers everything and it all falls back to normal.
Staggering my exhausted and completely hung over ass out into the kitchen, I fumble with the coffee maker, distantly wondering how no one has done this yet today. Resting my head against the cabinet above the coffee maker, I wait for the percolator to finish brewing my cup while taking a moment to enjoy the silence. I can’t remember the last time it was truly quiet both in sound and space. Between living at the Sons Compound, and then staying here with four adults and a toddler, not to mention Leo dropping by to check in, the cleaning service, delivery guys… there has always been some level of noise or movement at all times of the day. It’s almost eerie how still it is, I love it. When my coffee finishes, I pour my mug and walk over to the window, looking out over the sleepy skyline. The sun is barely up, the city just starting to wake.
Well that explains why it’s so quiet; everyone must still be asleep. You would think after my self-imposed isolation last night, I would have had plenty of time to think about my next move, to decide how I want to move forward and handle things with Gage; but of course I am no closer to figuring out what to do to fix the mess from yesterday. I need to clear my head. Need to get away from it all for a bit and see if some distance helps, clearly wallowing and wailing did me no good last night other than to drain my hidden alcohol reserves. I guess it’s time for pants.
* * *
Thirty minutes later I’m walking through an indoor farmers market a couple blocks from our building, aimlessly wandering the stalls while trying to sort through my feelings about it all. I know I miss him, I miss what we had, but dwelling on that and constantly railing against it isn’t getting me anywhere. It doesn’t help anyone, Gage least of all, for me to stay stuck in the past only ma
kes it that much harder to move forward and find out what we can build now. As much as I want him to remember, and will always hope that he regains that piece of himself, I need to move forward; need to focus on helping him in whatever way I possibly can. It isn’t his fault that he doesn’t remember, he hasn’t done anything to hurt me, to make me believe he would ever hurt me. I can see it in his eyes that he wants to remember, he knows he’s missing something, and with each passing day I get more of a sense that he knows we were… more.
Lost in thought, I find myself outside a flower stall and the smell of fresh cut flowers draws me in. The bright colors and fresh scents are a welcome change from all the black, gray, and white of the loft. Amidst the riot of roses, peonies, and all manner of flowers in every shade, there is a small display of honeysuckle blooms tucked into the far corner. Seeing the delicate little white flowers my heart clenches at the memory that jumps into my mind.
I rip open the door of my room at the compound and snarl a “What?!” before I even look to see who has been trying to bang down the door for the last five minutes, not needing to see his stupid face to know it’s the Irish bane of my existence.
“Well now lass, is that any way to greet yer dearest mate?” the idiot asks, a teasing sparkle in his eyes that makes me want to smack that smirk from his face.
“Dearest mate, huh? That’s funny, I don’t remember my best friend being a giant Irish oaf who doesn’t know when to shut up, and must take great pleasure from sticking his foot in his mouth from the frequency with which he does it,” I snark, settling against the doorjamb in an attempt to keep him from entering.
