The Judah Black Novels: Boxed Set of books 1-3

by E. A. Copen

  “I don’t have school tomorrow,” Hunter protested. “Plus, I’ve got all weekend.”

  “Hunter,” I said in a warning tone.

  Sal stood and collected the cards. “Do as your mom says, kiddo. Give us some space. We have to do boring adult stuff. Unless you want to help with the dishes?”

  Hunter made a face and stood. “No thanks. I’d rather do my algebra.” He made a hasty retreat for his room.

  When I heard the door click shut, I turned to the two Kings in the room and crossed my arms. “What’s going on?”

  Bran, who was now the only one still seated at the table, leaned back in his chair. Sitting in it, he made it look like a children’s chair. “Istaqua spoke to you yesterday morning about whoever was behind what happened to your house.”

  I shot Sal a glare but his back was to me. He had conveniently decided to start loading the dishwasher. “I didn’t really want the Kings involved. It’s not your problem.”

  “On the contrary,” Bran said, finally standing. The top of his head almost brushed the ceiling. “You may think of us purely as outlaws, Judah, but we do our best to protect this place. We look after one another, and by extension, those our brothers in arms care about. You are family by your connection to Sal. We do not let that kind of thing stand in our back yard against people so close. So, you see, it is our problem. If we just let it go, these fools will think they’re free to do whatever they want.”

  “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt, Bran. The fact that they messed up my house is bad enough. I’d really just like to move on.”

  He nodded. “I understand. If it were up to me, I’d respect your wishes. Istaqua’s given an order. I must obey. I’m here as a courtesy. He does not know I’ve come.”

  Sal stopped scraping plates into the garbage and turned around. “It was the Vanguard, Judah. They’ve got a few of the guards at the prison on their payroll. Cornered Bran today while he was on shift.”

  Bran rolled up one of his sleeves and showed me a series of large, black bruises up one arm.

  “Jesus,” I muttered.

  “They gave me a message to bring back to the club,” Bran said. “These will heal. But these people, they know where I live as well, where all of us live. They have a list of my family. Pictures of my wife.” He rolled his sleeve down. “I cannot let that threat go unanswered.”

  I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “What are you going to do?”

  “A good leader takes matters into his own hands. A great leader knows how to delegate.” He glanced over at Sal.

  Sal crossed his arms but wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You know what we’re going to do. They can’t pull that shit. Not here. Not with us. Judah, what if they do something to Hunter? Or try to hurt you?”

  “I can take care of myself!”

  “But what about Hunter?” Bran asked. “What about the other wives and children?” He paced over to put a big hand on my shoulder. The weight of it almost made me lose my balance. “We are not going to kill anyone. I don’t expect the situation to escalate to that. I wanted you to be aware, even if Istaqua didn’t. After tonight, you may find yourself an even bigger target. I hope that won’t be the case. I pray these Vanguard are wise enough not to push things further. But we are going to confront them and let them know we won’t let this continue.”

  “I’m going with him,” Sal volunteered.

  I stared at him, mouth agape, and shook my head. “What kind of example is that for Hunter?”

  “I wasn’t asking for your permission, babe, just your understanding. I’m doing this. We’re doing this.” He came over once Bran withdrew his hand and leaned down to kiss me on the forehead. “Lock the doors while I’m gone. Don’t wait up.”

  And just like that, he went out the front door. Bran hesitated a moment, his bottom lip protruding. “Try to understand,” he said.

  I took his big hand in mine and squeezed it. “Just make sure he comes back to me, okay?”

  Bran bowed and touched my hand to his forehead. “I will always bring him back to you,” he said and then went out the door after Sal.

  I busied myself cleaning the kitchen and folding laundry. If I stayed busy, I wouldn’t have to think about how Bran, Sal, and the rest of the Kings were out there assaulting someone. Whoever they’d chosen to send their message back with probably deserved it. Hell, he was probably a racist asshole. I tried to imagine who it might be, but the only face I could call up was the guy handing out pamphlets in front of the Vanguard headquarters. He didn’t look like he’d put up much of a fight against a bunch of bikers. I hoped they wouldn’t kill him.

  Once I cleaned the kitchen, I decided the floor needed scrubbing. I changed the lightbulbs, even though only a few were burnt out, and arranged the DVDs on Sal’s entertainment stand by genre.

  ~

  It was two in the morning before I heard Sal pull up on his motorcycle. I’d turned off the lights in the front of the trailer except for the lamp in the living room and sat down on the sofa to take my gun apart and clean it. When I heard the engine cut out, I sighed with relief. He wasn’t dead. Maybe they’d just gone out to talk after all.

  That hope was dashed as soon as Sal stumbled in through the front door sporting two new black eyes. I knew they were new because, being a werewolf, he’d already healed the ones from the night before. He also had a cut on his lip and another on his cheek.

  I jumped up from the sofa and crossed the room to slide under his arm and prop him up. “Holy shit.”

  “You should see the other guys.”

  I reached up to touch his cheek.

  Sal made a hissing sound and jerked away. “It’s all right. I’ll heal. Just need to rest.”

  For the second night in a row, I helped Sal into his room and eased him onto the bed. He winced when I pulled the leather vest off and let out a small growl of pain as I helped him get his shirt off. His ribs were a rainbow of bruises and his arm was stiff and swollen. Maybe it was broken.

  “Let me get some ice.”

  “No,” he protested and eased back onto the pillows. “Just need to rest. I’ll be fine. Just sleep.”

  “Nobody’s dead, right?”

  “Nobody’s dead.” He closed his eyes.

  “Good.” I pulled the blankets up over him, and then carefully curled up next to him, hoping my body heat would at least ease some of the pain. There wasn’t much else I could do.

  His breathing slowed and I thought for sure he’d fallen asleep until he moved his head and whispered in a gravelly voice, “Hey, babe? Will you do me a favor?”

  “What do you need?” I thought maybe he’d ask for some pain pills or at least an extra pillow.

  “The charity thing tomorrow. I need you to take those cupcakes. I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

  I smiled at that. How could I not? Here he was, still healing from a fight with one or maybe more of the Vanguard, and all he could think about was getting those cupcakes to a charity event. I sat up and kissed his forehead. “You rest. I’ll take care of those cupcakes.” I owe Istaqua a piece of my mind anyway, I thought, though I didn’t say it out loud. It wouldn’t have done me any good. Sal was already asleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next morning, I roused Sal just enough to figure out that the charity raffle was supposed to be in front of the Dairy Queen in Eden. All the way there, Hunter and I chatted back and forth about school, about the pack, about life. It was the most he’d talked to me in months. It felt good to talk and laugh with him again. I’d been so worried how he would react when he found out about Sal and I. I should have given Hunter more credit. He was a smart kid. He needed to apply himself more as far as school went, but a good kid nonetheless.

  He quieted as we pulled up to the Dairy Queen. Dozens of motorcycles were on display. They’d been polished and touched up for the event, chrome and leather catching the sun. In the shade of the building, the Kings had erected an easy up and put a few tables under it. A paper
banner twitched in the light breeze, reading: CHARITY BAKE SALE AND RAFFLE. Another smaller, handwritten note below advertised that every purchase over five dollars came with a voucher for a free ice cream cone inside.

  The parking lot was already buzzing with people. Parents and kids

  milled around the table under the shade, eyeing a huge woven basket overflowing with goodies, some of which I recognized from Chanter’s pawn shop. I parked the car at the edge of the lot. Hunter opened his door and said, “Whoa, I’ve never seen so many motorcycles in one place.”

  This is nothing, kid, I thought. I’d seen a few biker rallies outside Cleveland when I worked there and helped work security for extra cash on the side once. I’d never take Hunter to one of those things. Even though the ones I’d seen were populated mostly by the well-behaved, I’d heard more than once that they could be rough places, but I didn’t bring that up with Hunter.

  I knocked on the top of the car to get his attention. “How about helping me with these cupcakes, Hunter?”

  We were still pulling out the cupcake containers when Bran jogged over. “Agent Judah Black,” he said, his forehead creasing with concern. “Let me help you.”

  I was surprised he was there considering the beating Sal had taken. Bran didn’t look too bad. He had some fresh bruising on his knuckles. Otherwise, there was no sign he’d been in a fight.

  “You look just fine.” I shoved one of the containers at him and bent into the back of the car to get another.

  “I am smart enough not to pick a fight with a baseball bat. How is Sal this morning?”

  “Sleeping.” I glanced at Hunter. I hoped that would be enough to discourage Bran from pursuing the topic further.

  He seemed to get it and took all three of the cupcake containers from my hands. “Thanks,” I said, brushing some hair out of my face.

  “It’s my pleasure,” Bran mumbled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be feeling better later today.” He shifted all the containers into one arm, something only someone Bran’s size could have managed

  Hunter’s eyes got wide and he pointed to the katana on Bran’s back. “Is that a real sword?”

  Bran grinned and put his arm back under the stack of cupcake boxes. “Real enough, young Hunter. Come on now, let’s get these over to the table so we can see what price Flash wants to sell them for.”

  Hunter and I had to walk at a brisk pace to keep up with Bran’s stride on the way to the table. Chanter sat along with the red-haired and freckled guy I’d met at Diabla’s, who was presumably Flash. A cash register sat between them, and in front of that, there were whole homemade pies, cookies, brownies, doughnuts, and more. I was glad I hadn’t stuck around to ice cupcakes with Sal. Everything on that table looked like it was set up for a photo op. Istaqua stood beside the table, arms crossed, sunglasses down, his lips drawn into a straight line. I had no doubt his unhappy glare was directed at me.

  Chanter got up and came around the table when we came close, pulling me into a hug. “We need to talk,” I whispered to him.

  “Later,” he promised and extended a hand to Hunter. “And how are you, boy? Keeping your mother busy?”

  I glanced back to the road. A white box van rounded the corner, moving at a sluggish pace. I noticed too late that it was slowing. The back door slid aside. Black hoods, black hands, and black guns extended out from the darkness inside. In a series of deafening cracks, three submachine guns opened fire on the crowd. Everyone who could threw themselves to the ground. Parents grabbed their children and tried to pull them to safety. In an instant, the table behind me tipped over, the sound of the cash register crashing to the pavement barely audible over the crack of gunfire.

  It felt like I was moving in slow motion as I turned and reached for Hunter. Chanter got to him first. He grabbed my son by the arm and pulled him close, throwing himself between Hunter and the open air between us and the gunmen. That move was the only thing that saved him. Bullets thumped into Chanter’s back and rained down all around me. Something stung the outside of my outstretched arm, but I knew I wasn’t hit.

  The assault lasted three, maybe four seconds before tires squealed and the van sped off down highway eighty-seven at full speed.

  I screamed Hunter’s name and knelt frantically in the expanding pool of blood at my feet. Chanter was a mess with blood spreading out from three different holes in the back of his jacket. That wasn’t the worst of it. He was hit in the back of the head. When I put a hand on his shoulder to shift him and check on Hunter, he didn’t respond. Hunter made a choking, gasping sound and blood dripped from his bottom lip.

  Behind me, two motorcycles roared to life. Bran roared out of the parking lot on his bike after the van. The anguished cries of other parents and the shrill shrieks of children filled the block. Somewhere distant, a siren cried.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next few hours were the worst in my life. Three ambulances arrived to set up triage. Later, I would learn that three people were pronounced dead at the scene, two of them children. At the moment, I was too absorbed in getting Hunter help to notice.

  They took us back to the hospital in Eden and rushed Hunter into emergency surgery. All the wires and tubes coming out of my boy as they took him away from me made him look like he was more mechanical than human. I remember that much. I also remember standing outside the magnetically locked double doors going back to surgery and pounding on the doors. I didn’t want them to take him from me without letting me tell him I loved him. I might never see him again.

  Security came and escorted me to registration where I had to shuffle numbly through pages and pages of insurance paperwork and pre-authorization forms. Words and phrases like ‘advance directive’, ‘DNR’, ‘next of kin’, and ‘organ donation’ floated in front of me in meaningless order. I signed beside the X. The police came. I gave a statement. They went away.

  I sat alone in the waiting room with no answers.

  “Judah?”

  I picked my head up out of my hands long enough to see Daphne standing there. Her normally pink cheeks were pale, her sure steps shaky as she came closer.

  “Chanter is in surgery,” I told her. I’d had enough mind to inquire about him, at least. He was somehow still alive when EMS showed up, despite the bullet in his head. I held onto the hope that the shooters hadn’t used silver bullets.

  She sank down into the chair beside me and pulled me into a hug. Her sobbing shook my whole body. I couldn’t help but shed a few tears in return.

  The rest of the pack filed in shortly afterwards. Shauna came wearing a mask of pale worry and sat far off from the rest. Ed just looked dazed. Nina burst in, already in the process of falling apart. She hadn’t even bothered to put on makeup. Valentino came hand in hand with Leo, who sniffled and toddled along beside his dad, staring at the floor. Within a half hour of Daphne’s arrival, everyone but Sal was sitting in the surgery waiting room.

  Another one of the Kings I didn’t know slid in with Flash on his heels and stood by the door. Phil, I thought his name was, but I couldn’t be sure. He spoke quietly into his cell and paced back and forth. I couldn’t make out the specifics of what he was saying, but it sounded like an argument.

  Flash removed his hat and approached where I was sitting at the edge of a circle of werewolves. Valentino growled at him when he got too close and Flash dropped his head. “Judah,” he said sheepishly, “Istaqua wanted me to tell you he and Bran were tracking the van.” He meant it to be reassuring, that they were looking for the people responsible. As if I could think about vengeance while my little boy was fighting for his life.

  “You tell your prez I want to know when they find the fuckers who did this,” Valentino snapped. “He doesn’t get to keep them to himself this time.”

  Flash nodded. “I’ll pass it along.” He looked back to me. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to contain the rage quaking through my body. “If I find out this had anything t
o do with the Kings...”

  “We’re going to do all we can to make it right.” Flash nodded and made a quick retreat.

  There was a loud crash in the hall and everyone’s attention snapped to the door as Sal came barreling through, half dressed, wild-eyed, and wearing a scowl. He still looked pretty banged up from the night before, but he barely seemed to notice. “What happened?”

  Valentino’s hand came down hard on Sal’s shoulder. A moment of panic worked through me. With the mood Sal was in, and the heavy scent of anger, fear and worry in the room, I knew he wouldn’t react well to being touched. He spun, snarling at Valentino, and tried to throw a punch. Valentino blocked it as if it were nothing and then gave a growl back that made the whole room vibrate. Beside me, Ed let out a low whine and sank down almost flat to the floor. Every head in the room lowered. Except for Sal and Valentino’s.

  “Why don’t we step out and talk?” Valentino was very careful to phrase it as a request and not an order.

  By Sal’s posture, he didn’t like it but he went. The two of them stepped out into the hallway and closed the doors to the waiting room behind them.

  Nina’s eyes met mine. Her brown eyes were red and puffy, her beautiful face pale and splotchy. Other than grief, I couldn’t read anything else on her face.

  I don’t know where Valentino and Sal went, but they didn’t come back for a very long time. The next time the door opened, a doctor in bright blue scrubs came through with one of those paper head wraps on. He paused in the doorway as the werewolves turned to regard him, hope and interest in their eyes.

  “Mrs. Black?” he said, wiping his hands on a paper towel.

  “Miss,” I corrected and stood to navigate past the pack and meet the doctor. “How is he?”

  “I’m Doctor Alberts, one of the pediatric surgeons here. First, let me say Hunter is out of surgery and has been moved to recovery.”