“What if they come back?”
“They do, they’ll find the full force of the club facing them. Hurtin’ Momma was a big mistake. Big fucking mistake. The brothers are seeing blood. I can barely hold ‘em back as it is. All they need is one good excuse.”
The house is quiet when I walk in. I disarm the alarm and kick my boots off by the door. Part of me is exhausted, another part still wired while my brain processes this whole night. I open the fridge for a beer, and instead find a plate holding a thick sandwich, covered in plastic wrap, with a note on it.
Thought you might be hungry. Xoxo
I grin at the X’s and O’s in Jaimie’s neat handwriting. Balancing the plate and a beer in my hand, I take a seat on the couch. Flipping the TV on, the volume low, I watch some news while chowing down my sandwich in record time.
I’m about to put my feet up and lay my head back when I hear a cry from upstairs.
River is excited to see me. The kid is good medicine as he smiles wide when I walk in. I quickly turn the monitor off, so we don’t disturb Jaimie, before lifting him from his bed. I’ve discovered with only one usable hand, it’s safest to lay him on the floor for his diaper change.
He’s babbling away while I try to wrestle him in his diaper, when I see movement from the corner of my eye.
“Hey, kid.”
Ezrah, who still looks pretty sleepy, shuffles inside. “That River?”
“Yup. He likes to start his day early.”
“He a white boy.” He sits down on the floor beside me.
I tilt my head. “So’s his mama.”
“You ain’t,” he states, looking at me.
“I’m not his daddy.”
“Oh.”
I grab the easy pull-on pants, which are not really that easy when you have only one hand to get them onto a baby who keeps trying to roll around.
“Boy’s like an eel in a bucket of snot. Give me a hand, kid?”
Ezrah hesitates for a moment, but then he shrugs and grabs the pants from my hands. With surprisingly sure hands he lifts River off the floor and sets him on his butt between his legs, the baby’s back to his front. With sure, practiced movements, he worms River’s feet in the legs, puts him on his feet, and pulls the pants up the rest of the way. The baby is dressed in seconds.
“You’re good at that.”
“Looked after Kiara when Nana worked,” he says without even thinking, providing me with another snippet of information.
“Bet you did a great job. Bet your gramma was proud.”
The tough little street kid suddenly turns into a little boy when his eyes fill with tears. He tries to turn away, but River slaps his hands on Ezrah’s cheeks and shakes his little head.
“Bah!”
“What is this?” Jaimie’s voice sounds from the door. “All my guys having fun without me?”
Ezrah ducks his head as River makes a beeline for his mother, who scoops him up in her arms, blowing a raspberry kiss in his neck.
“Wouldn’t mind some of that myself.”
I get to my feet and wrap my good arm around her, River squeezed between us as I kiss her mouth.
“Morning, Little Mama.”
“Morning, honey.”
She turns to look at Ezrah, who is sitting at our feet, staring up. She reaches out a hand and ruffles his short dreads.
“Morning, buddy.” He grunts something unintelligible. “How about you and me take this little guy downstairs so Trunk can get some sleep? Maybe you can help me make some waffles?”
That seems to catch the kid’s interest and he’s on his feet in a flash. It’s the most animated I’ve seen him so far.
“Bed’s still warm,” she says over her shoulder at me.
“Won’t have you though.”
“That would not be conducive to sleep. You look about to drop. Get some rest, I’ll come wake you in a few hours.” With a wink she walks out the door, Ezrah sticking close behind her.
“Make sure you come alone,” I call after her, grinning when I catch her eye roll.
CHAPTER 23
Jaimie
“HELLO?”
“Jaimie? It’s Special Agent Jasper Greene. Do not open the door.”
“Sorry?”
The word is barely out of my mouth when the doorbell rings. Mom, who was folding laundry on the kitchen table gets up.
“I’m Luna’s FBI partner. Do not open that door.”
I swing around to see Mom reaching for the doorknob.
“Don’t answer the door, Mom. Don’t!”
The boys who are playing on the floor—Ezrah turns out to be amazing with River—both look up at my loud voice. Luckily Mom backs away.
“What on earth, Jaimie Lynn?”
“We’re on our way, Jaimie. Hang tight,” the agent says in my ear.
“Just come here, okay, Mom? Get the boys?” I smile my fakest smile for the benefit of Ezrah, who is not buying it for one minute. He darts worried looks at the door. “Hey, buddy, could you do something important for me? Would you go upstairs and wake Trunk?”
He nods in response and darts up the stairs.
“Good idea,” Agent Greene says in my ear, just as the doorbell rings again. “You know we monitor the security cameras, right?”
“Yes.”
“We noticed a courier van stopping along the curb outside your house. He got out with a package. Did you order anything?”
“No.” My body starts to shake as I turn to Mom. “Did you order anything? Are you expecting a package?”
She shakes her head, tightening her hold on River, who is squirming to get down. Upstairs I can hear Trunk’s deep voice. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but just the sound calms me down. Footsteps come down the stairs and my eyes focus there until I see him appear. He doesn’t hesitate and comes right over, his concerned eyes scanning my face.
The doorbell rings again.
“Don’t answer it,” I tell him softly. “The FBI is on their way.”
“That them?” he asks, pointing at the phone.
“Agent Greene.”
He takes the phone from my hand. “Jasper. Talk to me.” His eyes dart to the front door as he listens. “Where’s Joe?...Gotcha. Yeah, see you shortly.” Then he ends the call.
“They’re around the corner,” he explains, tucking me under his arm. “Joe is stuck up at the clubhouse.”
“This is crazy,” I mumble, and he squeezes my shoulder.
“Why don’t you get some coffee going?” he says calmly. “This could take a while.” He brushes his lips over mine before letting me go.
I’m actually surprised at his calm, if not for the muscle ticking in his jaw, I might’ve thought he’s not that concerned. Even River has stopped fidgeting in Mom’s arms, for once not calling for his favorite person. His thumb has found its way to his mouth, his head has dropped to Mom’s shoulder, and he observes us with wide eyes.
“Sit down, Mom,” I suggest, indicating the kitchen table. “I’ll get a pot going.” Our eyes meet, and although I see concern in hers, she nods and pulls out a chair.
I turn to see Trunk has moved to Ezrah, who stopped on the bottom step of the stairs, a worried expression on his face. Once again Trunk’s soft, deep rumble seems to calm the anxiety in the room, and it helps me focus on my task.
“You hungry?” I ask Ezrah when Trunk leads him into the kitchen, sitting him down at the table with Mom. I’m rewarded with a light shake of his head.
I’m about to join them when there’s a knock at the side door. We all freeze, except for Trunk, who takes large strides and whips the blinds aside. Instinctively, I step behind Ezrah’s chair and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t even seem to notice, he’s so focused on the door.
Trunk shows in a tall man with dirty blond hair, wearing a navy jacket with FBI printed on his chest. The guy’s eyes touch on everyone in the kitchen before settling on Trunk.
“Jasper.”
So this is Agent
Greene. Trunk steps aside to let him in.
“Hey, folks,” the man says easily, addressing everyone. “Just wanted to let you know what’s happening. My partner is asking the delivery guy a few questions, and then we’re going to have a look at the package. It doesn’t appear there’s anything to be worried about, but we’ll need a few minutes to make sure. Hang tight, okay?”
“How about an early lunch?” I suggest when the agent closes the door behind him. I give Ezrah’s shoulder a little squeeze before moving to the fridge.
Twenty minutes later, the knock is on the front door and Trunk goes to answer.
“Could I borrow you for a minute?” Agent Greene zooms in on me.
I nod and get up. Trunk steps out behind me and closes the door. “What’s going on?” he wants to know.
Greene hands me a Ziploc baggie with a note.
FINAL WARNING.
“This was in the box. We’ve been monitoring your ex-husband closely, as you know, but there’s nothing we can find to connect him to this. He’s had no communication with the outside world at all. Is there anybody else you can think of?”
“I have no idea,” I tell him honestly.
“Any friends? Associates?”
“None that I know.”
I hear Trunk make a sound as he leans over to look inside the box. I take a peek as well.
At first I don’t quite know what I’m looking at. It appears to be some kind of tarp, and another plastic bag holding pieces of plastic. Actually, not just random pieces, but parts of what looks to have been a doll. A dark-skinned doll.
“Jesus. What is that?”
“It was an African American Ken,” the second agent, a younger guy, dark hair, volunteers. “Now it’s a bag of body parts.”
Without looking away, my hand blindly searches for Trunk’s, and I blow out a breath when I feel his fingers slip between mine.
“And the tarp?”
“Actually, that’s not a tarp, it’s a body bag.” My mouth falls open. “I’m sorry to say you can apparently buy these on Amazon nowadays.” Greene looks appropriately disgusted.
I pull my hand free and turn to Trunk. “You need to leave.”
“James…”
“I’m dead serious. You need to go. Stay with your sister or something.”
His hand snags mine and he yanks me close. “Not happening.”
“But what if—”
“Empty threats, Little Mama. They can’t touch me.”
I twist out of his hold, immediately poking a finger in his chest. “Oh no? Have you forgotten they already did? Jesus, Trunk, you already got beaten within an inch of your life once. Do you really wanna tempt fate again? You have to leave.”
“Not happening,” I hear him, as I barge inside the house.
The only person there is Ezrah, who is still sitting at the kitchen table.
“What’s in it?” he asks when I stomp into the kitchen looking for coffee. He startles me with the question. He hasn’t exactly been chatty and this is probably the first time he initiates conversation. “The box, what’s in it?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. Just a childish prank,” I brush him off while I pour myself a refill. No way in hell I’m gonna tell the kid.
“Nana been sayin’ that.” I almost choke on my sip of coffee at his words, but quickly collect myself.
“Saying what?” I gently prompt him.
“Not to worry. She ‘swrong too. I already know they here. I seen em. They hate us.”
Trunk
I just catch Ezrah’s words when I walk in the door.
“Who hates you?” I hear Jaimie ask, but his eyes are on me as I approach.
“Who’s here, Ezrah?”
Jaimie’s head swings around at my voice, but I keep eye contact with the boy. I can almost see him disappear into silence.
“Don’t matter,” he mumbles before averting his eyes.
“Matters to me,” I tell him, sitting down across from him at the table. “Matters to me a lot. I care, boy. About you, Jaimie and River, and about Sandra. Don’t wanna see anything happen to any of ya. But I can’t make sure’a that if I don’t know who to watch for.”
“Can’t. They gonna hurt them,” he says with regret all over his face as he glances at Jaimie.
I suppress the urge to slam my fist on the table in frustration, but that’s not going to do any good.
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Jaimie says, reaching out a hand to play through his hair. “We’ll figure it out.”
Sandra comes down the stairs without River. “Nap,” she says by way of explanation.
I look at the clock and see it’s already past noon. I’m gonna have to get one of the guys to pick me up for the meeting, because there’s no way I want Jaimie out there right now. I quickly pull out my phone to see if Kaga can swing by when I notice a few messages from Ouray I missed. One to tell me Momma is hanging in—which is really fucking good to know—and the second one letting me know one of the guys will be by to pick me up. Saves me a phone call.
When Sandra asks Ezrah if he wants to help her bake cookies, I get up and grab Jaimie’s hand.
“Be right back,” I tell her mom as I lead us to the stairs.
“Oh my God,” Jaimie says twenty minutes later, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Poor Momma. Those poor boys, they must be so scared. What is going on, Trunk? I thought last year I ended up in some alternate universe when I found out about Rob, but this is…it’s like the world’s gone nuts overnight. And then this thing with Ezrah…I can’t wrap my head around any of it.”
“I know, baby.” I pull her to my side. “I’ve got a meeting at the club shortly. Maybe we’ll find out more. In the meantime, please don’t go anywhere. Stay inside; keep the alarm on. Jasper was gonna talk to Benedetti, see if he can get a patrol car at the curb and if not, he knows some security guys he can call in.”
“What if something happens to you? Again,” she adds, her eyes shiny.
“It won’t.”
“How do you know that?” She sounds annoyed and I bite off a grin. I’d rather see her annoyed than scared or sad.
I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck and use my thumb to tilt up her chin.
“Because there’s no fucking way I’d let anyone get in the way of collecting on that wake-up call you promised me this morning.”
_______________
I’m surprised to see a group of guys already working on the clubhouse when we drive up. Even more so when I recognize my brother-in-law is one of them. I’ve only seen my sister a couple of times: once when I was still in the hospital, and then when she dropped by with Hanna and Joan at Jaimie’s place last week. I never had a chance to call her about the latest, but I guess news travels fast.
“Showed up this morning,” Kaga says beside me, as he pulls his truck beside the empty warehouse. There are already a good number of vehicles parked here. “Even got the boys into it. They’re inside cleaning.”
“Not a bad idea,” I admit, getting out of the truck. “Meeting in here?”
“Yeah. More room.”
I understand why when I walk in. Except for Nosh, Yuma and Tse—who are still at the hospital—all the brothers are assembled, along with Police Chief Benedetti, Detectives Blackfoot and Ramirez, as well as an FBI contingent of Damian Gomez, the young agent who was with Greene this morning, and of course Luna.
It’s unconventional, to see law enforcement present at one of these meetings, but when Ouray invites Gomez to speak, I get why.
“Last year our office was alerted to an organization called the American Nationalist League. ANL for short. An anti-government militant group with a predominantly racist doctrine. They’re affiliated with well-known white supremacy groups, and like to call themselves ‘the chosen army.’”
The name is not unfamiliar to me, since my sister was a target of one of their leaders: Rob Sutherland—Jaimie’s ex-husband—who is currently in jail. What does surprise me is what thi
s has to do with the club.
“We’ve been looking into this group, in depth,” Gomez continues, “into their dealings, into their membership, and into their affiliations. One name in particular has come up a few times in relation to the supply of weapons; Bradley Fanshaw.”
I look around for any recognition on the others’ faces, because I sure as hell don’t know who he’s talking about.
“Never heard ‘a him,” Honon grumbles.
“You probably know him better as Chains.”
“The fuck?”
Similar sentiments ripple through the cavernous space until Ouray calls for quiet.
“Let the man finish.”
“Last night I found out the club had something of a disagreement with the Moab Reds. Or Chains. It’s all the same, since he seems to be in charge at the moment. We’ve been sifting through the evidence we collected overnight to see if we could connect them to anything. One interesting thing jumped out. A tire print we found just west of your driveway actually matches the print recovered after the attack on Trunk.” He stops, making sure he has everyone’s attention before he continues. “Same tire, same flaw. We also have a witness account seeing a dark-colored F250 speed from Ms. Belcamp’s house after her place was vandalized. Here is the kicker; Bradley Fanshaw purchased a black, 2018 Ford F250 crew cab last October with brand new tires the same make and model as the prints.”
More shouting, but I shut it all out, letting the information tumble through my head.
Chains working with the ANL. I wonder if Sutherland still holds any power from jail. According to Jasper, he is being monitored closely, but people smuggle fucking guns and drugs into prison, sneaking out a message without detection shouldn’t be all that hard.
It’s possible.
“Hold on!” Gomez shouts, silencing my irate brothers. “Reason I’ve been forthcoming with information is so you can keep an eye out, as well as to stop you from going rogue; seeking some kind of revenge or justice on your own. Don’t fucking make me regret it. We’re gonna need time to put the pieces together. If you take down one man, you’re just fighting one symptom, instead of the disease.”
EDGE OF REASON Page 18
