Lazarus (The Henchmen MC Book 7)

by Jessica Gadziala

  Maybe Reign was right about him after all.

  I was a laid-back kind of guy.

  So was Edison.

  But both of us were tense. It was a palpable tension in the air around us, in the very stiffness of our stances.

  Meanwhile Pagan was calm as could be.

  He wasn't a dick. He would give a shit if Bethany overdosed. Underneath it all, he was a decent guy all said and done. But he was keeping his head on straight. He was refusing to worry until he knew there was something to worry about.

  It was a good quality for our line of work.

  "How'd you find this girl?" Edison asked suddenly, jerking me out of my thoughts- each worse than the last.

  "That last night I took a walk. I was short-cutting it back to the compound and I saw her OD'ing outside of Chaz's."

  Edison nodded but stayed silent.

  The same could almost never be said of Pagan.

  "So when you guys get married and she squeezes out a litter of brats for you, you're going to have to come up with a better meet-cute than that. I don't think the kids will want to hear that you held mommy's hair while she puked up pills. I'm no expert but I could see that scarring a kid. You know, maybe pep it up. You two locked eyes at a Blockbuster video and you were fucking done for. Then they'll ask what the fuck a Blockbuster is and you can move on to other subjects."

  "Frate," Edison said, brows raised like he thought the man was out of his fucking mind. Which he was, so it was a valid thought. "Who the fuck did you trade your balls into for the information about what a meet-cute is? First fucking Cyrus with his Michael Bublé, now this fuck with his rom-com comments? We're a sad excuse for bikers at this point."

  My phone rang, surprising me enough to almost drop it as I pulled it up and swiped the screen. "Reeve..."

  "She's not here."

  Maybe those words should have been a relief.

  They were infinitely better than hearing she was dead on the floor and cold and not savable.

  But they were no comfort.

  Because if she wasn't there, if she was out on the street somewhere, what were the chances of finding her if she was OD'ing?

  The answer was simple- slim to none.

  "Talk to me," I demanded through a jaw clenched so tight I could barely separate my teeth to get sounds out.

  "She made food. Got a pot soaking in the sink and... soup in the fridge. She has clothes piled in the bedroom and bathroom. Towel is wet. Bed is rumpled. NA book is on the table in the living room."

  "Is there a burner anywhere?"

  There was a pause then, "Yeah, on the nightstand."

  Fuck.

  "Maybe she got sick of your shitty apartment and went home," Pagan offered, making my head jerk to him, finding him shrugging.

  Maybe she did.

  Problem being, I didn't fucking know where home was for her.

  "Reeve, under the sink inside the mop bucket is her cell. Bring that to either Janie or Alex, whoever picks up their phone, and get them to give you an address. If they come up with one before I get back..."

  "I'll check in on her. No worries."

  He ended the call and I took a shaky breath, trying to keep calm until I had something genuine to worry about.

  She said she would stay.

  But she also had no idea what withdrawing was like completely alone.

  Maybe she needed some of her shit, some familiar stuff to comfort her when I wasn't around. Maybe she would even be going back once she grabbed them.

  I was probably being paranoid, but I figured it was better to make sure that was the case.

  In case it wasn't and she needed help.

  "Go," Edison said, shrugging.

  It was that simple for him.

  Edison was a loyal brother so far, but Edison was also the kind of man who followed his own set of rules most of his life. In the same situation, he would have been long gone already.

  Conflicted, knowing I was going to get my balls handed to me by Reign and Repo if I left, I looked to Pagan who gave me a head shake as well.

  "You gotta go."

  And when two brothers had your back, gave you the same advice, you took it.

  "Thanks," I mumbled, giving them a nod then tearing across the field toward the bikes, walking it out onto the street so I didn't wake anyone else turning it over.

  I kept one promise and broke another.

  I wore a helmet.

  But I drove fast enough for the damn speed limit signs to be nothing but a blur. It was more than half a day's journey even being a few over so I figured if I completely obliterated them, I could make it there in six or eight. It was too long, but it was as quick as I could reasonably ride.

  My chest was compressed under a heavy weight of uncertainty, my hand reaching to check my phone obsessively, knowing the rumble of the bike would make it impossible to hear the ring.

  But there were no calls.

  There were no texts.

  There were no goddamn updates, a fact that had my guts twisting painfully.

  Jstorm and Alex should have been able to find something by now. The sun was streaking yellow and orange through the dark sky, making a hopelessness settle like lead in my bones as I pulled into my apartment building, finding it especially stark and ugly as I raced up the stairs and down the hall, finding my door slightly ajar.

  I felt a swelling sensation in my chest.

  But as I pushed the door open, what I walked into was an apartment completely full of people. Reeve stood with his back against the front window overlooking the street, the sun behind him casting his face into deep shadows. At the dining room table was Janie and Alex. Lo was leaning against the wall drinking coffee out of one of my mugs.

  "So your girl doesn't work anywhere according to her history," Janie supplied, not bothering to look up as she typed with one hand and reached for an energy drink with the other.

  "She said..." I started.

  "Then she works off the books," Alex cut in.

  "What about an apartment?"

  "Again, wherever she's living, there isn't history of it. Her DMV records, which aren't fun to get into anymore I might add," Janie went on, looking up with those big blue eyes of hers and lifting a brow that seemed to say: you are going to owe me for this, "still have her listed at her old family address. Which was sold a couple months back."

  "So you're nowhere." My tone was clipped and agitated and borderline unappreciative. Luckily for me, they were all used to the drama, to the small life-or-death emergencies over the years and the high energy and swirling emotions attached to them. No one seemed the least bit phased by my tone as Lo pushed off the wall, walked behind me, and reached for the coffee pot.

  "Here," she said, pressing a hot mug into my hands, the steam swirling in the somewhat chilly apartment. "Drink. Shower. By the time you get out, we should at least have a direction to send you in."

  Knowing there was nothing I could do but annoy them with my presence and sour attitude, I walked through to my bedroom and into my bathroom, putting the coffee down, stripping, and climbing under the cold spray, hoping it would both wash away the sweat and dirt of the road and maybe settle my frazzled nerves.

  Fifteen minutes later, clean, redressed, caffeinated, I took a deep breath and forced my heavy limbs to carry me back into my living room.

  No one took notice of me for a long moment, each occupied by their own task. "Gotcha," Janie declared loudly, making everyone start. She looked up at me, excitement sparking off of her skin. "You know that new fixer firm bullshit they are opening across the street?"

  They had been renovating a building for fucking ever. The building got bought out at least eight months before and ever since then, all I had seen was working crews in and out. Granted, the building was old as hell and likely needed a fair amount of structural work along with the aesthetics. So far, I didn't even know the damn place was a 'fixer firm', just bought out and under construction.

  "Sure," I said, shoulder shr
ugging casually.

  "That Quin guy is no slouch about security. They put up cameras around every inch of that building. But since they're not open yet, they haven't doubled down on the security on the cameras so they are basically barely even secure at all. I caught this," she said, swiveling her laptop quickly. Alex's hand flew out to save the energy drink from spilling everywhere as she did so. "See this BMW coming into the lot?" she asked, finger stabbing the screen, making the image of a late-model silver sedan warp slightly for a second. "I can't get the plates, but there's three guys in it. Three guys in a BMW coming to this building? For what? To visit the snake milker?"

  "You're saying..."

  "About an hour after they came in, they pulled back out and took off. And about ten minutes after that," she went on, speeding up the security footage, "here comes who can only be Bethany, wearing your hoodie it looks like."

  It was mine- an old gray one of mine, the hood pulled up and blocking her face completely, her head ducked down as she walked.

  I felt my stomach twist again, knowing to my bones that whoever those guys were- they were the reason she left. Things were good. We were working out well together. We... fit. She said she would be there for me when I got back.

  There was no reason to go.

  Unless someone made her.

  No fucking wonder she hadn't called into work to say she was sick or some shit like she said she would.

  Because she worked for the fuckheads in the BMW.

  Every ounce of me was screaming that whoever they were, were bad fucking news.

  And she was wrapped up with them.

  Great.

  "Any chance you can catch her on other cameras? Get a general direction we can start knocking on doors around?"

  "Unfortunately, you live in the shitty part of town and no one is investing in goddamn security cameras here." My heart started to sink. "That being said, you know who also likes security cameras? Sawyer Anderson. And she walked right past his place and then down the next side street. Which..." her voice trailed off as her hand waved toward Alex.

  Alex's hand swiped across her screen before she turned it, more carefully than Janie had, and showed me an aerial view of the street in question. "Which has two small apartment buildings on it along with about... six duplexes. We can cover two small apartment buildings and six duplexes."

  Thank fuck.

  "Let's move," Lo declared, used to being in charge, in calling shots. And in lieu of Reign being around to do so, Reeve and I fell into step along with Janie and Alex who each slammed their laptops in unison and tucked them under their arms.

  Reeve got in his car. I climbed on my bike. And the girls piled into one of Hailstorm's giant SUVs.

  As I drove past, I noticed perhaps for the first time that the building across the street really had made a lot of progress. It was easy, amongst the daily drudgery of seeing nothing but tarp and construction crews, to not be able to see past them. But where there had been crumbling mortar and dilapidated stairs and shattered windows, the front had been skimmed and finished in a deep slate gray. The stairs were rebuilt and black. The windows were new and, from the looks of it, thick.

  A fixer firm.

  A man named Quin.

  I couldn't help but wonder what that would mean for the future for a split second before the worry came rushing back, oppressive and heavy, blocking out everything else.

  True, it might have been good if she was home.

  But home was a place she had been using for months.

  Home likely had a giant stash of pills for her to reach for if whatever those men said when they showed up at my mother fucking apartment building upset her.

  Which, well, of-fucking-course whatever they said must have upset her. Enough to make her leave my apartment, leave me.

  I hadn't realized before how careful she was when she spoke of her past- always focusing on things that had roots- her mother, father, sister. Never speaking of the more recent developments.

  Was she keeping me out of the loop because she was embarrassed, ashamed? Was it perhaps something worse, something more dangerous.

  Navesink Bank was a big fucking town. And while it was certainly full of its own unique criminal underbelly, there were thousands of other people who called it home. Whoever the men were could have been anyone- normal or criminal alike.

  That being said, I couldn't think of a single goddamn criminal who drove a mid-range BMW. Henchmen had bikes and SUVs. Hailstorm had SUVs exclusively. Third Street had whatever clunkers they could afford. Lyon drove something that cost more than most earned in a year. So did the Grassis. Breaker had a truck. Shooter had some expensive as all shit sports car. The Mallicks all had trucks, bikes, SUVs.

  Suit guys drove BMWs.

  Doctors and lawyers and dentists.

  Stiffs.

  Not criminals.

  But what kind of trouble could she possibly find herself in with some businessman of some sort?

  I didn't have the slightest idea.

  But I intended to find out.

  The street off of where Sawyer Investigations was located looked nothing like you'd expect from one street behind mostly modern and upkept businesses. It was a small one and a half lane road with cars lining one side so the other could be used for traffic. It ended abruptly in front of a shingled two floor apartment building that couldn't have had more than eight units total. The other apartment building was on the same lot as the first, like it was part of the same but set back and at a corner. The duplexes that lined both sides were falling into disrepair with broken gutters, chipping paint, and piles of crap piled around.

  We filed out of our respective vehicles, sharing a look then, without even a discussion, split on either side of the street and started knocking.

  I didn't expect much of the duplexes, something deep inside me saying that she was in one of the apartment buildings. So when we reached them, Lo, Janie, and Alex moved toward the first one and Reeve and I walked the short distance to the second.

  "I know you're worried about your girl," Reeve said, the first words out of his mouth since the phone call in the early hours of the morning, "but you have considered the world of shit you might be getting into, right?" My leg muscles seized, refusing to move forward until I turned back to him, taking a threatening step toward him. "Not saying you shouldn't involve yourself in it." His hands lifted in a peace gesture. "I'm saying you need to keep your head on straight and realize what this could mean. And," he added, brow lifting, "let Reign and the rest of the club in on it or else you might save your girl and cause yourself a world of trouble."

  He wasn't wrong.

  "I'll fill them in when I know what I am up against and that she's okay."

  "We." I had turned away again, only to turn back, brows lowered.

  "We?"

  "Not what you're up against," he explained. "What we are up against. That's how this works, remember?"

  It was easy, honest to God, at times to forget.

  I never had that kind of support system in my life. Sure, I had my mom and there was no fiercer champion to be had, no one who wanted my success and happiness as much as I wanted it. But she was all I had. No one else was close. My father barely existed. Once she was gone, I had who? Ransom? Someone who kept me high and used me like a meat waved in the face of a tiger to get it to do what you want.

  In Navesink Bank, in my new life, I had Ross Ward- a friendship that grew out of necessity a bit on both our parts then became something with roots, something I knew I could rely on. That being said, I wouldn't call Ross if shit hit the fan with my girl and I needed to handle a situation.

  I wouldn't expect him to fall into step beside me.

  But The Henchmen didn't operate that way.

  Their loyalty came with conditions. Namely, the understanding that nothing was just about you anymore. Everything was about the collective well-being. If one brother had a problem, if it was affecting him, then the whole organization had a problem and wa
s affected by it.

  That was just how it was.

  But it had only been a few months compared to years of not having that.

  "Just a reminder."

  "One I needed," I agreed with a nod.

  Then, accepting the heart-to-heart was over, we both turned away and got to work knocking on doors- him on the first floor, me on the second.

  I stepped out of the elevator into the upstairs hall, the yellow and brown wallpaper peeling in spots, but the floor cleaner than the halls in my building. There were two muddy brown colored doors on each side with copper letters, each hanging haphazardly, one completely missing. The overhead lighting was all out.

  Every one of them but the one at the end of the hall in front of the door to the left.

  And I swear to fuck it was a sign.

  I ignored the other three doors, hearing televisions talking, music blaring, smelling food cooking- something spicy, making my nose crinkle up and my stomach let out a bellow at its forgotten emptiness.

  But all that faded to the background as I came to stop in front of the door, the copper number eight hanging loosely by the bottom nail, making the whole thing upside down.

  My breath pulled in through my nose, expanding my chest to the point where it was almost painful as my arm lifted and my fist knocked four times, hard enough to make the eight jump ominously.

  There was nothing for a long minute, not a single sound other than the aforementioned TVs and music and the low hum of male voices across the hall.

  But then I heard something slam followed by a muffled curse.

  The chain slid.

  The door pulled.

  And there she was.

  I thought I understood anger before.

  I thought I had felt it on and off over the years, most especially at the universe for the shit it had done to good people, people who didn't deserve it.

  But I had no idea.

  Not a single clue.

  Because the way my blood instantly heated, so scalding that I was sure if a match was lit anywhere within a mile radius, I would explode from the inside out; the way my stomach contracted and didn't ease up; the way my hands instinctively curled into fists; the way my teeth clenched together hard enough to shoot pain down my jaw.