by Jamie Magee
In the past, they had crossed more than a few twisted souls that had mocked signs, played a part to earn their way back into life, the kind of life Reveca’s magic could give them.
Daily the Sons were at war with not only those souls, but the everyday human ones that challenged them for territory among other things. Beyond those two wars, there were constant alliances being built or destroyed within both the living and dead worlds.
“A member of the Cartier family, a dear friend of mine, perished—let the fuck go, the house was burning, crows were present - and aimed me. I made the decision I had to. If she’s a turncoat, I’ll deal with it. She has to survive the transition first. And if she does she’s going to tell me exactly what the hell GranDee had planned for her.”
“What color?”
He meant the eyes. The color of the eyes that flashed when the soul first came back into the body usually hinted at what enhancements were set to come.
Some they brought back craved the essence of life. No, not blood, but energy. Shade was one of those. Sometimes they came back with an uncanny animal instinct. Thrash had that curse. Others could shift their appearance. Echo possessed that gift. There were even a few that surfaced as Phoenixes. Some had a mix of all the odd characteristics like Talon. It varied, based on who they were before.
“Gold.”
“A fucking shifter? One that obviously knows how to use magic?” Talon nearly bellowed.
The only reason Talon had an issue with those that could shift their appearance was because out of the rogue souls, they were the hardest to find, hardest to stop. Echo had the best luck with that hunt, and that was because he could sense them long before the other Sons.
Before Reveca could defend her actions they both heard a booming voice call out, “Dinner’s ready!”
That was not a call to go eat, that was a warning. Any time lawmen made their way to the Boneyard someone would yell out that a meal was ready—which one depended on the time of day—an obvious code that blended well enough to remain obscure.
“What did you do with the bodies?” Talon asked in a low voice as he moved closer to Reveca.
“Fire, nothing is left. There’s no way in hell they could have made it there, meddled through that burning debris, and gotten a warrant that fast.”
“No way if they were legit, and we both know they’re not.”
“Go out with the boys,” she ordered.
He gave her a lasting stare that clearly said this conversation along with whatever void there was between them was not over, before doing just as she said.
Reveca made a point to peek into the bath, check that Cashton still had that girl taken care of, before she made her way downstairs.
For good show, she made herself a tall glass of ice tea before casually strolling to her front porch. She only vaguely flashed a shocked smile when she saw Detective Blackwater making his way toward her front steps.
Reveca hated him. Hate wasn’t even a strong enough word. He was an old, sweaty, crooked, fat, backwoods wannabe-somebody lawman. Of course she’d also hated him decades ago when he was young, fit, and not so sweaty, when he was somewhat charming. But then he killed her, or at least he thought he did, forcing Reveca to reinvent herself once again.
The dumbass thought he was dealing with Maren Beauregard’s daughter, the next generation of Beauregards, not one in the same. He was spelled to believe that. Or rather pushed to believe that.
Thames, one of the Sons was known as the “Pusher” to those in the life. On weak-minded humans he could invade their mind and invent memories, ones that they believed to be fact.
Years back Blackwater woke up one morning clearly remembering that he had coldheartedly killed Maren, but he also remembered that she had a daughter, one that looked almost identical to her, one that had been living out of state with her father, one that would no doubt replace Maren.
The thing about Thames’s gift was he could also alter perception. So even though Reveca, Talon, all the boys, looked exactly the same year after year, in Backwater’s mind, and in the minds of the modern lawmen that tracked this gang, they looked older, more rugged. The kind of alterations that offered enough similarities that they were never questioned.
Of course, if Talon was around when Blackwater shot Reveca he wouldn’t be walking up to her porch now, Talon would have slaughtered him. Back then him and Thrash, the club’s VP, were setting up other chapters of the Pentacle Sons across the states, in-between their wars with Rogue’s.
When Maren’s ‘daughter’ arrived in town she brought her man with her, Talon, and took over—at least that’s what Blackwater believed. Idiot.
“The barbeque is that way,” Reveca said with a slow southern draw which reeked of elegance that was not openly found at the Beauregard Boneyard.
Blackwater pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his brow as he glanced to the yard before the garage. Loud music, the smell of good food, beer, and sex permeated the air. There were more bikers than Reveca could count with one glance, and just as many women, each wanting to score some kind of ride tonight. Whether it was flesh or roaring metal between their legs was not their focus. They wanted a rush and either would grant them that.
Reveca’s boys, the Sons that were deep in the life, were in that mix, too. More than a few had a girl hanging on them, and a beer in hand, but each of them were focused in some obscure way on Reveca. Judge, one that could see the path of a mortals mind, he was staring deep into Blackwater, but he made it seem so causal as his hand roamed over the girl in his arms, as his blue eyes glinted with a sinful intent.
Talon was the most obvious about where his attention was aimed as he lingered near his bike openly glaring at Blackwater.
“Not here for your shenanigans,” Blackwater said as his disgusting stare looked over Reveca nice and slow, pausing at her chest, then hips as he did so. “Official business.” He glanced to the yard, met Talon’s cold stare. “All your boys accounted for?”
“I’m not their keeper.”
Blackwater smirked. “We both know that you are. Spitting image of your momma, that’s what you are. Pretty girl in the wrong crowd.”
“Just like my mother, I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Blackwater propped one foot up on the steps that led to the porch, leaned into the rail, and stared up at Reveca. “This life got her killed, you know that, right?”
The fact that he said it sincerely, that he said it as if he was offering a comforting hand to Reveca made her hate him all the more.
“In every crowd there is a bad egg, obviously she crossed one of those,” Reveca said playing into this scene. “Is that why you’re here? You’ve finally found the spineless son of a bitch that killed my mother in cold blood?”
Without missing a beat, Blackwater let a withered look of grief come to him. “The case is still open. I assure you it will remain open and active until the day I die.”
It took all she had not to smirk, not to lunge forward and kill this ass. It wasn’t the witnesses that stopped her, it was the fact that she liked her revenge cold, well served.
On Blackwater’s dying day, she would be there, and she would let him know that the bullet he put between her eyes to cover his own ass years back might as well have been a slap in the face. He’d know that he never killed her, that he had been fooled into thinking that Reveca was someone she wasn’t, a grieving daughter. That in fact, with each word he spoke to Reveca he further sealed his fate of a gruesome death.
Blackwater was a testimony to how vile humanity had become.
He climbed one more step. “You know, Reveca, your mother and I were close. We worked together. We kept each other in good company, good business, and out of trouble. You and I could have the same. I’m not the enemy here.”
Back then, when Reveca went by Maren in the public eye, she did in some ways work with Blackwater. Not because she needed to but because she was curious, wanted to know how deep the corruption around her wen
t in the living world. It was just as deep as she thought it was.
You see, not every neighborhood around the Pentacle Sons territory had the benefit of lawmen and those that did, well let’s just say the lawmen only worked if they were paid twice.
The Sons put a hurt on that double paycheck. The good citizens paid the Sons for protection, not the lawmen. Paid them to protect them from the criminals and the law. To do that though, more than once the Sons had to break a law here and there— well, more often than not that’s what it lead to.
Blackwater wanted the Sons to pay him to look the other way, to warn them when they were crossing a line, or even better, warn them when someone was preparing to double cross them.
The Reveca Blackwater knew today hadn’t agreed to crawl in bed with the devil, so to speak. No, for years Reveca played dumb when he would drop hints like this, played into that innocent girl that he thought she was.
When he became more forward, more obvious about what he wanted, she outright told him that she didn’t trust or need the law in her pocket, not one that couldn’t solve one single murder. It was a cat and mouse game. She would throw lines like that at Blackwater, and he’d leave in a rage. Within days one of the Sons would be arrested for something.
That van, which was once again parked off in the brush down the road, was a result of those confrontations.
“I’ve told you before. This is a garage, a Boneyard of old parts. We ride bikes, throw parties. That’s it. I have nothing to tell you, and there is nothing you know that I care to know.”
He narrowed his stare. “There was a murder tonight.”
“That a fact?”
“That doesn’t concern you?”
“Should it? Are you here to tell me one of my friends perished this balmy night? I’m all out of family, so it must be a friend.”
He moved his sweaty balding head side to side slowly. “You are far more stubborn than your mother ever was.”
“I doubt that.”
“I don’t know if he was a friend or a foe, but he was a fan of yours.”
She offered no response.
“Oddly he died in a neighborhood that the Sons are known to protect.”
“Which one would that be?”
“Little ol’ house in the thirteenth ward. You see,” he said as he wiped his brow, “it’s a bona fide mystery as to how he died.”
Reveca sipped the glass of tea that was in her hand.
“You’re not going to ask me who he was? That right there makes me far too curious about you or the Sons’ possible involvement.”
“I’m not in the mood to play tonight, Blackwater. Your police force is well aware of where the Sons were, along with me. If you do not trust your own men, walk out into that crowd and question any of them as to where we have been or what hell we’ve raised.” She jutted her chin up. “As far as the mystery, this is New Orleans. I’ve heard every tale there is to be told, but if you feel inclined to tell me another, I’ll listen, add it to ghost stories that are told around the fire pits.”
He let out a shuddering sigh full of anger, hate maybe. “Newberry is the vic’s name. It appears the cause of his death is unknown at this time. Don’t get me wrong, the coroner is going to have a hay day trying to unravel the how, but as it stands now, every bone in his body is broken, yet his flesh showed no signs of an altercation. His heart stopped instantly, or so they assume. There one minute, a bag of broken bones the next.”
“Sounds like a heart attack, not murder.”
Blackwater narrowed his eyes. “Maybe so, but hours after his death someone decided they wanted to make sure he was dead. They put a bullet between his eyes.” A sick chuckle left him. “Someone intended to kill him, no room for doubt there.”
“That’s interesting,” Reveca said with a bored sigh. “So tell me, how did you link this back to me, my Club?”
“You mean beyond that signature mark?”
“I didn’t hear you say anything about a pentacle,” Reveca said with a lifted brow.
Not once, ever, had any member of her MC been accused, arrested, or convicted on the grounds of murder. Of course that didn’t mean that it never occurred, it just meant that there was no way the lawmen could link that mortal wound to the Sons.
Blackwater moved his head side to side in dismay. “Well then, without a ‘signature’ mark I suppose what tickles my curious bone is that the man had extensive knowledge of your Club. It seems that things that he found…” Blackwater tilted his head, “curious, always seemed to link to a member of your Club, or at the very least you were in the area.”
“Small town,” Reveca offered.
“Perhaps. The man was a stark raving lunatic but he had some good points, ones he aimed to share with the upstanding law enforcement in this parish. Of course he died before we could get him to tell us all that he knew.”
“I don’t know a Newberry. You’re welcome to ask anyone if they do. It’s a free country.”
“You’re going to vouch for all these boys? State that they were in your presence this afternoon, earlier this evening?”
“The ones that are present currently, yes. I don’t recall anyone leaving the pack after we left for the dicing.”
“So you admit to public racing?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Yes, I admit to infractions we have already been cited for tonight. We were asked to go home and we did.”
Reveca sensed a surge of energy slide through the air. Her glance moved to the ground just behind Blackwater but she didn’t say a word, offer one expression. If she did her outright fury would have made itself known.
“Who left before the dicing?”
“Holden.”
“And where is he now?”
“He’s a wolf, not mine.”
“He’s been with you for years.”
“He’s a grungy old wannabe somebody. He’d be the last person I’d track or care if he left.”
“And you’ve never seen this man before?” Blackwater said as he lifted his phone into her view. There she saw an image of a man that was just as disgusting as Blackwater, and yes she had seen him before.
His death. GranDee’s. That was the reason she was no doubt receiving an invitation at this very moment.
The yellow boa constrictor that she had spotted in the yard a second ago, right as that surge of energy came to life, was slithering its way to the porch and had made it to the step that Blackwater was on.
“I haven’t,” Reveca said just as Blackwater noticed the snake and belted out a curse as he jarred backwards. The snake eased its way up the stairs looped where Reveca was standing ensuring its body brushed up against her boots as it did so.
“You have a permit for that animal?” Blackwater belted.
“It’s not mine, wild I suppose. You’re free to take him with you,” Reveca said as the large snake eased its way down the steps, causing Blackwater to backtrack, even reach for his gun.
Reveca sat her glass down on the rail.
Talon had not let his eyes leave Reveca or their unwanted guest. He’d seen the snake, knew what it meant. He lit his fire, roared his bike to life, and was rumbling in Reveca’s direction.
“And just where are you going?” Blackwater asked as he watched the snake vanish into the brush.
“Church. You’re welcome to come,” Reveca said just as Talon rolled up in front of her.
Carefully she mounted the bike, wrapped her arms around Talon like the lover he was, and they peeled away into the night.
Chapter Three
Reveca had her thighs molded to Talon, her arms were reached around him looping up to cling to his shoulders, her head was laid against his back, and her eyes were closed. The vibration of the bike, the feel of him, it was easing her. It had been one hell of a night, and now its course promised that it was going to get worse.
Her life was by no means boring, but in most cases her dramas, causes for alarm, came one by one. At the very least she sensed them coming lo
ng before they arrived. She kept seeing GranDee’s body, kept trying to tell herself that it was a nightmare, not a truth she’d witnessed.
It had been a long time since she had felt grief like this. Coming face-to-face with her sister always made her remember the first time she tasted that emotion, made her remember that to this day she wasn’t over it.
When she told Blackwater she was going to church, she meant that. There were many churches in her life; her own personal one that was deep within, the meetings the Club had, and the one she was racing toward on the back of a bike.
This church was a mutual meeting ground. A place where different sides of worlds could meet, discuss the issues at hand. It was meant to be safe, meaning no physical or spiritual harm could be inflicted. For the most part it was, but words, memories—they were more dangerous than any weapon in existences.
Talon slowed the bike as they approached the small white church. The lights within gleamed in the darkness. You could hear the sound of a powerful choir, praising the name of their God.
She moved off the bike and had made solid strides to the steps of the church when she felt Talon’s arm move around her. She looked up in question, but all he did was nod to the shadows as he pulled her there.
He leaned her against the base of a tree as the moss that was dangling from above grew longer, creating a canopy of privacy.
She lifted her eyes to his, saw the dark pools reverently searching hers. Carefully, with a shaky hand, she reached for his jaw, to the dark stubble there. Talon was a beautiful man, carried every element a lover could ever want. When he wanted to be, he was funny, he was strong, and his temper was always directed appropriately. He had the body of a God. He cared. He cared about his Club, and he cared about Reveca.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but you can’t face her without us.”
“I told you. GranDee was murdered by a wolf that we have broken bread with. Blackwater just told me there was another murder tonight…it was the man my sister had issues with before. The lawmen are going to try and connect us to that. I’m sure that’s why she summoned me.”
