by Heather West
Wait for me, baby. I’ll be back.
# # #
The trip took longer than a day or two. It was the night of the sixth day that I’d been gone, and I knew whether I found what I was looking for or not, I’d head home tomorrow. I’d promised Lucy it was no more than a week and that week was slipping by quickly.
I hadn’t found what I’d been looking for, unfortunately, but that didn’t really surprise me. What I was doing now relied on members of different clubs, and while we weren’t competing for the same territory, it didn’t mean we were exactly on friendly terms.
The first three people I talked to were a bust. I knew them tentatively, because they hadn’t been associated with a club at the time of our acquaintance. That had changed eventually and now we were tense friends at best. I talked to each of them individually, understanding that, as a group, they had a loyalty and solidarity that they had to conform to, whether they were friends with me or not. If I wanted to get any honesty from them, I’d have to do it one on one.
When I’d asked if they knew anything about Blade, they’d all three told me the same thing: he was bad news. Everyone knew. When I asked about the Slayers, two of them laughed a little. They told me the Slayers were a sorry excuse for a club and I ought to just squash them with the heel of my boot. The third guy told me I needed to watch my back, because Blade pushed his guys harder than anyone else and the consequences of stepping out of line were pretty damn dire.
Finally, I’d asked about Bills. That question had surprised all three of them, and their answers had been pretty similar. Wasn’t he one of my guys? Hadn’t he been the right hand of the Preacher, god rest his soul? Was he still a member of the Sin Reapers—or had the betrayal of being denied the spot of top dog finally stuck in his craw?
No one had said anything suggesting Bills wasn’t the trustworthy man I had always known him to be, but, unfortunately, that didn’t mean much. All it meant was that he was good at keeping to himself when he wanted to be and he knew how to fly under the radar.
It was dumb luck I’d found him that day at all.
I had one more guy to meet with that night, an old man who once belonged to the Vultures, a wild group that was less about being a business or anything solid like that, and more interested in riding their motorcycles wherever they damn pleased.
It was a fluke that I knew him at all, and a bigger fluke still that he liked me. If things had gone differently that day, there was a solid chance he would have broken my jaw or something worse.
I was nineteen and thought I had all the damn answers in the world. Because I’d seen so much already and survived it, that meant nothing could touch me. When the Preacher clapped a hand on my shoulder one day and told me we were going for a ride, I was eager to go and fearless to boot.
Maybe that was why he was taking me in the first place.
I had thought it was just a ride, not that we were necessarily going anywhere, but just that it was part of being in the club, and I was all about that. There was a freedom that came with motorcycles that people didn’t understand. I embraced it.
He took point and I thought it was odd Bills wasn’t there with us; he was the Preacher’s right hand and he went wherever the boss went. But it was just the two of us, and I’ll admit I liked that a lot.
We ended up going out of town. Not quite a day’s drive, but there was little question that we’d likely end up staying the night.
The Preacher led us to a small, modest home with a yard and a chain-link fence surrounding it. When we pulled up, the garage that was attached—nearly as big as the actual house—opened, the door lifting slowly to reveal an older man with graying hair and wrinkles that spoke of the life he’d lived. He was wiping his hands on a dirty shop rag, his eyes staring out at us with an expression that might as well have been disinterest.
We stopped our bikes right before the garage, and turned them off. I stayed put, waiting to see what the Preacher did before I moved.
“You sorry sack of shit,” the old man said with a sneer on his lips. “The fuck are you doing on my property?”
The Preacher took a step towards him, preparing to answer, but before he could I reacted. I was off my bike in a second, striding the short distance to the man, and reaching for him before I’d even registered what I was doing. “No one talks to the Preacher like that,” I said like I was some kind of tough guy. My hands went for the collar of his grease stained shirt. I barely touched the fabric before he had my wrist pinned behind my back, twisting it until tears burned at my eyes.
I heard the man laugh. “Well, now, Marcus, I see you’ve got a live one.”
I didn’t know who the hell Marcus was; I’d only ever heard him called the Preacher before.
“He’s a little young, a little stupid, but little Lucy likes him, so I thought I’d give him a test run,” the Preacher said conversationally.
“How is little Lucy?”
I wondered who this man was that he wasn’t reprimanded for asking about her.
“She’s good,” the Preacher answered mildly. “Tough as nails, my girl. Just like her momma.”
“Mary’s a good woman. Doesn’t surprise me that Lucy’s shaping up to be one, too.”
I thought maybe they’d forgotten me, but after a moment, I felt his grip loosen. The man held me just a second longer than he needed to, a reminder of how stupid I’d been, then I felt him let go of my wrist. The relief was instantaneous and I straightened up, feeling embarrassed, but otherwise unharmed. I rubbed at my wrist, my gaze darting between the two men.
The Preacher spoke again. “Max boy, this is Clarence Blackbird.”
Blackbird, grinned at me, his eyes crinkling at the sides with barely restrained laughter. He offered his hand to me and I hesitated, glancing between them before ultimately shaking it with my own.
I cleared my throat. “You know this guy?”
The Preacher nodded his head. “We got back a long way, Max. Friends are important; you remember that.”
I frowned, but for once didn’t say anything stupid, instead choosing to keep my mouth shut. I couldn’t help but notice that this Blackbird guy wasn’t one of ours, but the bike in the garage behind him and the leather jacket with an emblem on it made it pretty clear he belonged to someone.
I learned much later that he was a lieutenant for the Vultures, the club that ruled the territory we had traveled to that day. If I’d known what we were doing then, I’d have thought we were crazy.
Blackbird led us inside. I put myself between him and the Preacher deliberately, though both men chose to ignore it rather than make a thing out of it. I felt like it was my job to protect him since Bills wasn’t around, though it was clear he was actually protecting me.
Blackbird let us into his living room, which attached to the kitchen and what looked to be a bedroom that had no door or wall separating it. In fact, the only doors in the place led to the bathroom or outside.
It really was a tiny piece of shit.
We sat on the couch while Blackbird sat across from us in the chair. He was eyeing me, even as the two older men spoke congenially. Finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, he addressed me. “So, you’re little Lucy’s boy toy, are you? What makes you think you got any right to her at all?”
The Preacher leaned forward as though to tell Blackbird he had overstepped his bounds—or hell, maybe he was going to tell Blackbird I was just a dumb kid and didn’t know my ass from my elbow yet—but I answered before they could exchange any words.
“I don’t,” I told him boldly, staring him right in the eyes. I noticed one of them was kind of milky white. “I don’t have any right to her at all. In fact, I think the only dumb thing she’s ever done in her entire life was decide to stick with me.”
Blackbird’s eyebrows rose in surprise at my answer.
I continued before he said anything in response. “But I hope to god she never wises up. ’Cause I love that damn girl and I’ll put my life on the line to m
ake sure she’s got everything she wants.”
Blackbird held my gaze for what felt like forever. I could feel a prickle at my side indicating that the Preacher was looking at me now, too, a burning sensation that made me want to itch or run or at least look at him. But I held my gaze steady to match Blackbird’s.
After a moment that could have been an hour, Blackbird laughed. It was a booming sound that filled the little house and immediately broke the tension.
The Preacher didn’t join in with it, but his gaze left me and he sat back more comfortably in his seat.
Turning to the Preacher, Blackbird told him, “You know, I like him. He’s a moron, but maybe he’ll grow out of some of it anyway.”
I thought back on that day and wondered if things would have gone differently if my answer had been different. What if I’d said I deserved her? What if I’d said she chose me, so it was none of his damn business? I didn’t know. It was too late in the game to know one way or the other, but I could guess it wouldn’t have been as favorable of an outcome.
I’d won Blackbird over that day and the Preacher told me friends were important. I was counting on that now.
That night, I met Blackbird at a local restaurant that had seen better days. It had barely two people besides the two of us there and even the waitress looked like she was bored out of her damn mind.
Blackbird sat at a booth with nothing but a cup of coffee in front of him. I joined him, sliding onto the bench seat across from him. The waitress perked up at the idea of another customer, and she scurried over to me quickly, pad and pen in hand.
“What can I get you, sir?” she asked eagerly.
“Just coffee, please. And a refill for my friend.”
She looked a little disappointed that I wasn’t ordering anything else and said, “Are you sure? We’ve got some of the best damn pie in town.”
She looked so desperate, that I smiled at her and nodded. “Pie would be good, too. Bring us each a piece, please.”
Nodding with a grateful smile, she hurried off to fill our order. We didn’t say anything until she came back with the coffee carafe and two plates, each with a large slice of what looked like apple pie. It smelled good, at least, and she’d warmed it and added a lump of ice cream, too. No charge. I thanked her, and she disappeared again.
Finally, I turned to Blackbird. “How’ve you been?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Some old dogs never die, you know?” He took a sip of his refreshed coffee, then asked, “How’s Lucy doing these days?”
The question was more meaningful given the death of the Preacher, but I wasn’t going to get into it. She was in bad shape, no question, but she was tough. She would pull through. It was something I had to tell myself over and over again until I believed it, which meant there wasn’t much room for sharing my worries with someone else. “She’s hanging in there. Got her chin up.”
“Good. You give her my best. Closest thing I ever had to a kid.”
I nodded. “Listen, I gotta cut to the chase here. I didn’t stop by just to catch up.”
“I figured. What is it I can help you with, Max boy?”
Only Blackbird and the Preacher had ever called me that. “I need to know if you’ve heard of a club called the Slayers. Their leader’s name is—”
“Blade. I know. Bastard if god ever made one.”
“So you’ve heard of him?”
Blackbird nodded grimly. “Yeah. He’s not the kind of guy you wanna be messing with, Max. Is he calling you trouble?”
I shook my head, frowning. “The opposite, actually, which is what’s got me worried. We’re talking peace and he’s keeping up his end, but it doesn’t sit well with me. I wish I could say why, but—”
“Instinct,” Blackbird interrupted. “Instinct is why and that’s a damn good reason to trust it.”
I hesitated, because there was something else I wanted to bring up. Something more important. Something I wasn’t sure I wanted answered, but I wasn’t sure there was anyone else to ask about this. “You remember Bills, right?”
Blackbird sat back, nodding his head. His features smoothed at the mention of the familiar name and he looked a lot more comfortable than he had talking about Blade. “Yeah, sure. The Preacher’s right hand. Good man.”
I frowned. “Good man, yeah. So you trust him?”
Blackbird raised a single eyebrow in question. “Of course. Never had a reason not to. Not for one damn second. Why do you ask?”
Hesitating for just a second longer, I spilled the thing that had been really bugging me. “I saw him the other day. He was meeting with some guys. I’d called him, but he wouldn’t answer. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except the guys he was meeting with were Slayers.”
Blackbird stilled instantly. “Well, in that case, I think you’d better have a conversation with your lieutenant.”
# # #
When I got back, Lucy was relieved. I thought she honestly considered the idea that I wouldn’t come back. We fucked until the night was over and, at three a.m., I left the bed and a sleeping Lucy to make a call. I got his answering machine, but I didn’t care. I’d leave a message and he’d get it or he wouldn’t, but if he didn’t show, things would go hard on him.
“Bills. It’s Max. Meet me tomorrow. Bastion’s at six. Don’t be late.”
Then I hung up and spent the rest of the very early morning checking my piece over and over again, worried I’d have cause to use it later that day.
# # #
Normally, I’d sit at the bar, but tonight I wanted room. The bar was more public, but I wanted a place where I could not only talk, but where I could push back and make a break for cover if I had to. Bills wasn’t the kind of man to mess with and not be prepared. It had never been a problem before, since he’d always been on my side, but I couldn’t help the sinking suspicion that things were different now.
Everything was different now.
I picked a table off to the side along the wall, but not tucked away in the corner. We’d be able to talk freely, but I could make it to the door easily and if he wanted to get to me, there were other people he’d have to climb over to do it.
It was five ’til six when Bills walked into the room. He looked bad tonight, pale and nervous, his shaved head shiny with sweat. His eyes scanned the bar first, then the dining room, finally spotting me at the table. Swiping his hand over his head, he made his way over to me.
“Boss,” he said, his voice strained. Up close, he looked worse. Nervous, yes, fidgeting and sweaty, but also tired. There were deep bruise-colored bags beneath his eyes and his skin was a pale, sickly color.
He knew what was coming. He sensed something from the tone of my voice, the tenor of that message, that I knew something was wrong. We were sitting here about to approach a subject that both of us knew was coming and now it terrified him.
I gave him credit where credit was due: at least he had the guts to show.
I motioned for him to take the seat across from me. He took a deep breath and did so.
“I think it’s time we had a conversation, don’t you?” I asked him. There was a beer warming in my hand. I spun the glass just a little, leaving behind wet semi circles behind on the wood table, but I didn’t take a drink. I wanted to be sober and ready for this.
Bills let out a whoosh of air. He nodded. “You’re right. I thought I could handle this, but you’re right. It’s time we talked.”
I frowned a little. Handle this? “I saw you last week,” I told him bluntly. “At the railyard. With the Slayer boys.”
He swallowed a lump in his throat and let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not sure you’re going to believe this, boss, but I never wanted any of this to go down like it has.”
“What the fuck did you think would happen when you went behind my back to work for Blade?” I demanded, working hard to keep my anger contained and my voice even. It sounded easier than it was.
He shook his head. “You don’t understand, I didn�
�t have a choice! Blade—Blade had something on me. Something…I couldn’t let it get out.”
“What? He had something on you? Are you trying to say he blackmailed you into betraying me?”
Bills hung his head and, for the first time, I realized the man in front of me was a hollow shell of his former self. And I realized he wasn’t the piece of shit I’d worked him out to be. “What did he have?”
Bills shook his head, but after a moment he answered. “I fucked up. It was years ago, but I fucked up. I was just a kid and I was running scared, too stupid to know the difference between a firm hand and a lick of anger that ate you up inside. I killed a man, boss. I didn’t mean to, but I killed him. Not ’cause he did anything to me, but because I was a dumb kid and I didn’t know what to do with the rage inside. The man had a family. The man had kids.
