by K. A. Ware
I shook the thought from my head, not wanting to delve down the rabbit hole of analyzing my sister’s every move. Trying to diagnose everyone around me was a hazard of having a masters in psychology. Hopefully, I’d learn to turn it off someday.
One thing at a time.
Turning on my heel, I made my way around the bar. Coffee first, then clean up. Pushing through the swinging door into the kitchen, I found Candy and Blondie.
“Was wonderin’ how long you’d put off gettin’ up,” Blondie said, pulling out the stool next to her for me to sit.
“You guys couldn’t sleep either?” I asked, coming to sit at the island next to them.
Candy lifted a joint to her lips, taking two short puffs before passing it to Blondie. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, she gave me a tired smile. “Never, no sense in trying.”
“Sign of a good ol’ lady. Never understood the bitches that could sleep like babies when their men are out handlin’ shit,” Blondie said, her voice tight as she held in her drag. She offered me the roll, and I took it. Pot wasn’t really my thing, but if it could help me relax and stop worrying for a little bit, I was willing to try.
Fire exploded in my throat as I sucked in a puff, burning a path straight to my lungs. Unable to hold it in, I coughed and sputtered, trying to draw in a fresh breath.
Blondie laughed, pounding at my back until I was able to breathe normally again. “Shoulda warned you, Chains’ been gettin’ the good stuff since he got diagnosed.”
I blinked up at her. “Diagnosed?”
Her eyes widened slightly, and then her features sank just a little, a deep sorrow radiating from her small half smile. “Guess Baz didn’t mention it?”
Shaking my head, I chanced a glance at Candy who was studying her friends face, worry etched in her features.
Blondie plucked the joint from my fingers and took two giant hits before passing it to Candy and turning her attention back to me. “Pancreatic cancer. We’ll be lucky if he makes it to Christmas.”
Her lips trembled a bit, and she looked away just before a sob escaped. Holding her head in her hands, she shook as she wept. Reaching a hand out, I rubbed circles on her back, offering what comfort I could.
“Fuck,” she said suddenly, sitting up and wiping at her tears. “Said I wasn’t gonna cry anymore, damn it.”
“It’s okay to cry, baby. Ain’t no shame in loving your man,” Candy said gently.
“Fuck that old bastard. I’m just sick of redoing my make up,” Blondie said, laughing off the rest of the heavy moment.
As terrible as I felt for Blondie, I was thankful for the shift in mood. I’d felt like an interloper trying to comfort a woman I barely knew, like the moment had been too intimate for me to bear witness.
Blondie nudged me with her elbow. “Since Baz didn’t tell you about Chains, I’m guessing he neglected to let you know he was up for the gavel?”
Gavel? Was Baz in line for President?
“Ah, no. He must’ve forgotten to mention that.”
Candy snubbed out the roll and waved away the lingering tendrils of smoke. “Don’t feel bad. We’re not supposed to know either, but the guys love their pillow talk.”
“Probably didn’t wanna scare ya off,” Blondie said, pulling a cigarette from the pack in front of her.
“Why would that scare me? It doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
Candy rolled her eyes. “Baby, for as long as you’re with Baz, it has everything to do with you. And from the way my son looks at you, I’d say you’re here to stay.”
Blondie snorted as she lit her cigarette. “No shit, I’m surprised you’re not wearing a property patch already.”
The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. Becoming Baz’s old lady was a huge step. It was practically a proposal. Were we there already? I hadn’t thought so, but the longer the idea sat on my mind, the more it started to feel like an eventuality. When I looked into my future, I saw Baz. I didn’t think that was going to change in the next few months or even years, so what was the point of waiting?
Reaching out, Candy took my hand. “When he gets the gavel, that means a whole new set of responsibilities for you, too. You ready for that?”
Was I? I’d seen firsthand how Candy and Blondie organized the other old ladies and kept the peace, all while stocking the fridge and making dinner for sixty people. Accepting a property patch meant you were accepting the entire club as your family and the responsibility that went along with keeping that family running smoothly.
But wasn’t I already there? After I made sure Baz wasn’t going to crawl out of his skin, I’d jumped right in, rolling up my sleeves and helping get food on the table and families settled into their rooms.
“You don’t need to answer now, just think about it. Baz is going to need someone at his side that isn’t going to make him choose. Someone who takes the good with the bad and loves the club as much as they love him,” Candy said gently. She meant well, but it was a big ask. I’d trusted a club once, and it had turned into a grotesque caricature of what it’d been before. Could I risk it again?
“Run while ya still can,” Blondie stage-whispered, breaking the sudden tension.
We all broke into a fit of giggles, the stress of the night and day to come sliding off our shoulders. Chains indeed had the good shit, because everything was starting to get fuzzy around the edges and I wasn’t worried about Baz anymore.
Twenty-Five
FINLEY
My phone buzzed in my purse as I climbed out of my car. It was probably Baz again. He’d been on edge since he got back from his run, checking in more than usual. It felt like he was overcompensating to avoid thinking about Rooster.
When he explained what happened, how Rooster had ratted out the club to the Sinners to try to help his sister, I couldn’t help but draw parallels between his situation and mine. The only difference was that in my case, the club I turned on had betrayed me first. That knowledge didn’t make the brutal reality any easier to swallow.
Baz hadn’t gone into detail, but I could connect the dots. Rooster hadn’t come back with them, and neither did his body. He’d died a traitor and was probably laid to rest in a shallow unmarked grave.
Thankfully, my situation with the Sinners didn’t seem to have an effect on Baz’s trust in me. When I finally opened up and told him why I was so afraid of retaliation, I thought for sure he’d hold it against me. He had every right to. I’d broken the carnal rule of club life by going to the cops. If he was worried that I could do it again, to his club, he didn’t show it.
Digging into my black hole of a purse, I retrieved my phone, but the call had already gone to voicemail. Shoving the obnoxious thing in my hoodie pocket, I hoisted my dance bag over my shoulder and decided to call Baz back once I got inside. It was piss pouring rain and windy as fuck. He could wait until I was warm and dry.
What if it’s about Butcher?
The question slammed into me like a freight train. When he’d come back from Tacoma, Baz had told me they hit all the chapters simultaneously wiping out every brother inside, making sure to take out the president from each charter. He mentioned there were probably stragglers who weren’t at the clubhouses, but the way he talked about it was final, like the patch was as good as dead.
When I’d asked about Butcher though, he didn’t have an answer for me. While I’d explained my connection to the Sinners and what they did to Stella, I hadn’t told him about Butcher specifically. It wasn’t intentional. I just felt like it was Stella’s story to tell and hadn’t given details because I didn’t think they mattered.
He had to tell the club at that point. Once he had the full story, he realized the risk of keeping them in the dark was too great. I made him promise not to give details though. Stella didn’t need her business hanging out there for a bunch of gossiping bikers to see.
Apparently, the guy Risa had been arguing with at the cookout, Frogger, was some sort of hacker. Baz had him working on getting IDs from the co
roner’s office. Since they’d burned the clubhouse before they left, it was taking longer than expected to find out if Butcher was among the dead. According to Frogger, there hadn’t been any activity on Butcher’s credit or debit cards, which went a long way to soothing my nerves while we waited.
Baz had told me they had gotten Vinny, and Butcher was never far from his big brother. The two of them had always been attached at the hip. It was hard to believe that had changed over the years. He was probably just calling to tell me the coroner had finally identified his body.
Pulling open The Doll House’s heavy back door, I hurried inside. Passing the dressing room, I hooked a left into the bathroom for a little privacy. My hands trembled as I pressed the callback button and lifted the phone to my ear.
Baz picked up on the first ring. “Rabbit, where are you?”
I didn’t like the way his voice sounded panicked. “I just got to work, what’s wrong?”
“Frogger got IDs on the last three, Butcher wasn’t one of ‘em,” he grunted. I could just see him now, rubbing a hand over his head. It was his tell, whenever he was nervous or stressed, he’d run a hand over his buzzed head as he worked it out.
“Well, he hasn’t used any of his cards, he could’ve been at one of the other clubs, right?” I was grasping at straws, but I was desperate to keep a hold of what little comfort I still had.
Baz sighed. “Maybe, but until we find out, I want you at the club.”
“Okay, I’ll go home and grab Stella, she should be back from therapy soon,” I said, already picking up my bag.
“I think Gunner’s out picking up parts in that area. I’ll have him meet you there. I’m headed to the clubhouse now, had some business to take care of downtown.”
“Shit!” I said, just as I pushed through the back door to the parking lot. “Amanda’s still at the house. I’ll have to bring her with me.”
“It’s fine. We’ll figure it out when you get to the club. Just get there.” The way he just accepted my need to keep Amanda safe amazed me. He didn’t even blink at extending his protection to someone I cared about.
“Baz?” I asked before he could hang up.
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to find him, right?” I hated that I depended on him to clean up my mess, but it couldn’t be avoided. I was no match for Butcher. Baz and his club were my only hope of being rid of him forever.
“Can’t let my woman live a life of lookin’ over her shoulder, can I?”
I’d stopped correcting him a while ago, deciding I liked the way he called me his woman. “No?”
“Damn straight. We’ll figure this out. It’ll just be a hell of a lot easier to focus on when I know you’re safe.”
My heart melted, and I suddenly wanted to cry. Even in the face of uncertainty, Baz found a way to make me feel untouchable.
“Okay, I’m headed home now,” I said, tossing my dance bag in the back seat before climbing into my car.
“See you soon.”
“Bye, love you,” I said and almost choked on the words. I hadn’t meant to say that, it just slipped out like some sort of reflex.
There was silence on the other end of the line. Maybe I’d gotten lucky, and he’d hung up before he heard me? A whoosh of breath crackling over the line told me that was unlikely.
“Yeah, babe,” he said, before the distinct beep of the call disconnecting sounded in my ear.
I blinked at my phone, replaying the last few seconds in my mind and trying to figure out what had just happened. I’d told Baz I loved him, even if it was an accident, I said the words. And all he had to say back was yeah, babe?
I don’t fucking think so.
Peeling out of the parking lot, I headed home. The sooner I got the girls and my shit, the sooner I could get to the club and yell at Baz for being such an insensitive prick.
Amanda’s Honda was parked in front of the house when I pulled into the driveway, but Stella’s car was nowhere in sight. I must’ve beat Gunner as well because I didn’t see his truck either. The clock on my dash read 7:45 p.m. I tried to remember her schedule as I rushed to the house, taking the porch steps two at a time. Wednesdays, she had group therapy with Dr. Osmus until seven thirty; she should be getting home any minute.
Finally getting my key to cooperate, I pushed open the front door and flew inside, only stopping to punch in the alarm code and dump my purse on the side table before bounding up the stairs.
“Amanda?” I called out, reaching the second floor. “Pack a bag. We gotta go!” I shouted over my shoulder as I ran into my room. I grabbed an empty duffle from the closet and started shoving clothes inside. Rushing into my bathroom, I gathered the essentials and dumped them into the bag, zipping it closed.
Darting across the hall, I knocked on Amanda’s door. “Amanda, you packing?”
I heard the door open downstairs, and my stomach dropped. In my panic to hurry, I hadn’t locked the front door or reengaged the alarm.
“Fin, darlin’?” Gunner’s wheezy old man voice called out.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. “Upstairs, I’ll be right down!” I shouted.
Turning back to the task at hand, I realized Amanda hadn’t responded. “Amanda?” I called out again, reaching down to twist the knob.
I expected to find her sleeping, but her bed was empty. Stepping more fully into the room, I looked around, but she wasn’t in her closet or bathroom. A thump sounded downstairs, and I spun around heart racing. Something wasn’t right. Amanda’s car was outside, and I hadn’t seen her when I came in the door. If she wasn’t in her room, and she wasn’t responding to me, where the hell was she?
Patting my pockets, I silently cursed. I’d left my phone in my purse which I’d abandoned next to the front door. Creeping back into my bedroom, I grabbed the little revolver I kept loaded in my bedside table.
Keeping the gun pointed to the floor, I slowly made my way to the top of the stairs. Looking down over the railing, I could see the front door, but no Gunner or Amanda. “Gunner?” I called out, slowly descending the stairs.
No answer.
Raising the barrel of the revolver as I got to the bottom of the stairs, I turned, facing the entrance to the kitchen and living room. Nothing looked out of place, but there was still no sign of Gunner. I hadn’t imagined him, so where the fuck was he and why wasn’t he answering me?
I could grab my keys and run out the door, call Baz and wait for the cavalry to arrive, but I couldn’t leave without knowing Amanda was okay. Keeping my gun trained ahead, I reached out and pulled my phone from my purse. Hitting Baz’s contact information, I tucked the phone into my bra before moving forward. He was probably still on his bike, so whatever happened next would make for a hell of a voicemail.
“Gunner?” I yelled again, inching closer to the kitchen.
My shoe made a squelching sound with my next step. Lifting my foot, I saw the sole of my converse was stained red. The black runner had done a good job of hiding most of it, but when I looked down, I could see where drops of blood had fallen to the dark wood floor around the carpet. I hadn’t noticed before, but the walls had little specks of blood sprayed across them, too.
Fuck. I can’t do this.
Holding my breath, I started to back up. I’d get in my car, drive down the street, and wait for Baz. No more playing hero.
“Fin!” Amanda’s whimper echoed through the empty house. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen, but I still couldn’t’ see her.
“Amanda? Where are you? Are you hurt?” I asked, reluctantly taking another step closer to the sound of her voice.
“Help me, please!” she cried, and I heard shoes squeak against the tile in the kitchen.
Carefully, I inched forward, eyes searching every corner. I noticed a booted foot as I approached the hallway that led to the bathroom. Another step and I reared back at the sight of Gunner’s obviously dead body slumped against the wall.
My hand flew to my mouth
as I tried not to scream. His throat had been slit and blood coated his front, staining the patches on his cut a grizzly red.
“FINLEY!” Amanda shrieked, pulling my attention away from the gore.
I couldn’t help Gunner now, but Amanda was still alive. Taking a deep breath, I cleared the last few feet to the kitchen. When I turned the corner, my stomach dropped. Butcher was standing to the side of the island, holding Amanda from behind with a knife pressed beneath her chin.
“Put down the fuckin’ gun, or I’ll slit her fuckin’ throat,” he barked out, eyes darting all over the place.
“Please, Finley, please! Do what he says, please!” Amanda pleaded as she tried to catch her breath. Tears spilled from her eyes carrying mascara down her cheeks.
“Okay,” I said, pointing the gun up, and slowly lowering my hands. “I’ll put the gun down, just don’t hurt her. She doesn’t have anything to do with this. You came here for me, just let her go.”
Butcher sneered. “You don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do, bitch. Put it on the ground and kick it to me.”
I did as I was told, sliding the gun across the tiled floor toward Amanda’s feet. I wasn’t sure how the hell this was going to play out, but if the gun was within her reach, maybe she’d be able to use it.
“Here,” Butcher said, reaching into his back pocket and tossing a couple of zip ties onto the counter. “Secure your ankles and wrists. Tight, if you try to leave room to slip out, I’ll fuckin’ kill her.”
My hand shook as I reached for the plastic restraints. Taking a few steps back, I sat on the floor and secured my ankles first. I had dragged Stella to a self-defense class at the Y a couple years ago, but the zip ties they’d taught us how to break free of were a lot smaller than the thick plastic ones Butcher had given me.
Stella.
How long had I been home? I hadn’t warned Stella. She didn’t even know Butcher was still a threat. I hadn’t told her anything. She’d be home soon. What would he do to her?
