But right now Ethan was their best bet. “So, what’s the plan?”
In clipped tones, Ethan told him, “First order of business is the OA. Then the bridge burning. I assume none of you have any objections.”
“We have no problem with you helping us, Ethan, and make no doubt about it, that’s how it is, at least from my point of view,” Dare started. “But if we’re burning bridges, why the fuck would we need you afterward?”
“You will,” Ethan said. “Trust me on that. What you’re about to accomplish, you need me for. Putting things back together once it’s done, making sure you’re not hunted and haunted? That’s what I do best. I’ll free you to keep you free to help the people you help.”
“So you’re coming with us?” Avery asked.
Ethan smiled. “Not normally. For this? I want in on the fun.”
“Avery’s in charge,” Gunner said seriously.
“Avery’s also willing to listen to experience,” she added.
Ethan nodded. “Then let’s get our plan together. I’ll tell you what I have in mind for the men who tried to screw Drea over.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Jem walked along the tall grasses of the bayou swamp behind the house. He’d needed to get out of there for a little while—too many voices and opinions, when really they all knew there was only one way out of this for Drea. For all of them.
The MC world was an insular one. Protective of their top men and their territory, violent beyond most people’s imagination. At least the one percenters. Most of the time, feuds were settled with killing or maiming members of rival clubs. For the MC men, keeping their women in their place was a fact of MC life, and one most of the women knew they signed on for.
Danny couldn’t keep Drea down, and Jem was thankful she’d managed to escape, even if it was simply from Danny’s bed. Because there was no doubt she was still attached to the MC, an invisible chain around her neck that threatened to choke her when she attempted to pull too far away.
In the beginning stages of her shock, it’d been so damned hard to hear her beg for Danny. Harder still for Key to stop himself from going out and killing Danny immediately. The only thing stopping him at the time had been Jem.
Key hadn’t understood, not until Jem explained, “What if Danny’s the only one who can ever make her happy again?”
“Then she’s in big fucking trouble,” Key had responded, but he’d respected Jem’s wishes.
Now Jem was faced with an altogether different crisis, this one stemming from the fact that he made Drea happy … but was he really any different from Danny in some regards? He’d dragged Drea straight into a criminal activity—in the eyes of the law, anyway, whether or not he was morally worried about it—and because of him, she was often in trouble.
What kind of life was that? Even if he took care of the MC for her, and she stayed with him, she couldn’t practice medicine. Not the way she should be, anyway. No, she’d be on a boat or a hotel room, waiting, hoping the rest of the team returned, patching up kidnapping vics.
Shit.
He shook that off and pushed forward—there was no choice in that for him. He dialed an old friend who was still in the CIA.
Dirk had connections to the FBI. Mainly because he was married to a top-notch FBI agent himself. Jem felt that Dirk’s wife, Carole, was too smart to be a fed, and he’d never had any problem telling her that.
She’d never had any problem telling Jem off either, which was why he liked her even more.
“What did ya do now?” Dirk asked, his voice clipped. There was traffic in the background and Dirk sounded out of breath.
“This is an informational call,” Jem informed him.
“Good. Then hang on.” More traffic. Cursing. A loud slam. And then, a few minutes later, Dirk was back. “Sorry—just had to catch that guy.”
They never called each other back if they could help it. It was a superstition among some agents that you never hung up on another agent for any reason … because you never goddamned knew. “I need some intel on a case Carole might know about.”
“Why not call Carole, then?”
“Because you can sweet-talk her better than I can.”
“Name.”
Jem obliged. Dirk grunted and hung up. Twenty minutes later, he was on the line again. “So, what do you want with Danny, the great MC overlord?”
“To cut him up into little pieces,” Jem drawled, knowing Dirk would realize he was serious. “But I’ll settle for an unexplained death that only the CIA can pull off.”
“Forget it.”
“You sure we’re talking about the same guy? Danny Roberts?” Jem persisted.
“Danny Roberts, head of the OA chapter in upstate New York. First charter. Just like his old man used to do, Danny’s giving up invaluable intel in exchange for not getting arrested, at least not during our investigation of the Heathens and the Kill Devils. So far, he’s helped to build an airtight RICO case to save his ass, but it’s a goddamned house of cards if we don’t keep him happy … and make sure the other MCs don’t get suspicious. And he’s got a lot of demands.”
“Like what?”
“Seems he’s got issues with some of the men in his chapter. Old-timers and their families. Wants them out. We refused to get involved. Last month, two of them showed up dead, shot execution-style. Danny claimed he had nothing to do with it, and the kill was very much like the Heathens’ style, but we think he paid the Heathens to do it.”
“Definitely playing both sides against the middle,” Jem muttered. “And his record?”
“Problem is, the guy’s smart. Nothing points back to him as being the source of any of the issues.”
Not yet. “Right. The OA really are angels,” Jem muttered.
“Just giving you the word on the street. Gotta run.”
“Thanks, Dirk,” Jem said distractedly. He stared out into the swamp as he clicked the recorder off. He was pretty sure Dirk knew he was being recorded anyway, which was why he didn’t give names or even say “FBI” … and why he gave Danny’s full name. This wasn’t supposed to stand up in a court of law. No, Jem would use the truth to lure the OA into turning against one another.
“Good stuff?” Key asked, coming up behind him, the tall grass crunching under his feet.
“I heard you, you know.”
Key waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Didn’t think I needed a reason to be stealthy.”
“Always a reason to be, especially out here,” Jem said. Key nodded. Ran a hand through his hair that was getting blonder and lighter by the day. “How long did this take you?”
“The walk to the swamp?”
“Asshole. You knew I meant the house.”
Key grinned. “I had some help. But man, six months is a long time to sit around and do nothing.” He paused, ducked his head, asking, “Is it all right?”
Jem grabbed him in a gruff hug, pulling his brother close. “More than, Key. So much more than I ever thought.”
When they pulled apart, Key asked, “Are you talking about the house, or about Drea?”
“Maybe both,” Jem admitted.
“Then don’t pull any of your old running patterns. We’ll all call you on it. In case you hadn’t noticed, for the first time, you’re not the only one with a past.”
“Ah, fuck all of you for trying to outdo me,” he muttered. “Suppose she ends up hating me? It could still happen.”
“And dinosaurs could walk the earth again, right?” Key sighed. “She doesn’t hate us, Jem. And she couldn’t hate you. She didn’t resent what happened. You have to believe that.”
Jem would try, but fuck it, he wouldn’t make any promises.
*
Key had known he’d find Jem on the newly rebuilt small dock where Jem sat. It’d all but rotted away by the time Katrina hit, and it’d taken Key a full week to get this one built and back onto the water. But it’d been worth it, because Jem was looking out onto the bayou and smiling.
Now Key kicked off his sneakers and dangled his feet in the swamp, and for a while he and Jem just sat quietly, enjoying the soon-to-be-over downtime. There were two gators, sunning themselves across the way. Most bayou gators were lazy and took easy prey, and he’d learned to spot them young anyway. He used to sit here for hours, especially after Jem left, like he was waiting for some kind of sign, a message that he was supposed to follow his brother.
He did end up following in his footsteps by going into the Army, but he’d had to stick around this place much longer than he wanted to. It hadn’t been all bad … but it hadn’t been the greatest either. He’d never been beaten, but being completely ignored and uncared for by parents was just as heinous of an abuse.
“I think Ethan may be on the up-and-up.”
“Then we should all engage in a big group hug and sing ‘Kumbaya,’” Key muttered.
Jem snorted. Tapped the wood of the dock. “I still can’t believe you did all this.”
Key shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard.”
“Bullshit. This was enough work to keep contractors in business for years.”
“I didn’t have years. Contractors waste too much damned time,” Key said.
Jem’s voice went quiet. “I know you hated it here.”
“And I know you didn’t,” Key retaliated. “That in some weird way, you love this place, and you always wished it could be different.”
Jem signed heavily. “I connect here. Not with our family, but with this place. The earth—the swamp. Fucking crazy, right?”
“Right,” Key said, but with a smile. “Crazy’s served you well.”
“How did you escape?” Jem asked seriously. “I swear, you’re the only one I can think of on either side who did scot-free.”
“Who says I escaped?”
“You’re not crazy. Not like that. Fearless, yeah. Dangerous. But you’re not crazy, so what the fuck else is wrong with you? What’s your deep, dark secret?”
Jem stared at him hard and Key fought the urge to tell him, although he didn’t necessarily consider being bi a deep, dark secret at all. It was as much a part of him as his accent was when he drank, and he was always surprised how easily straight men looked right past his fluid sexuality … and how easily gay men homed in on it. “Not telling you will drive you crazier, so let’s keep going.”
Jem laughed. Shook his head. “Have you tried looking up Camille? Her family still up the road?”
“Haven’t gotten that far. Shit, Jem, that was a lifetime ago.”
“Never too late to be happy.”
“What? You got laid and now you’re spouting greeting card shit on a regular basis? Get fucked.”
“I will.” Jem’s smile was smug. “Your turn.”
“Let’s not worry about my sex life,” Key muttered, spotting Ethan over Jem’s shoulder and trying to ignore the timing. “We’ve got a shitload of trouble to get Drea out of so you two can ride off into the sunset, happily ever after.”
Jem frowned a little. “You like her, don’t you, Key?”
“What? Yeah, I like her a lot. She’s perfect for you.”
Jem relaxed visibly. “Good. That means a lot to me. I haven’t had family around in a long time, and I’m not going to let us grow apart for any reason.”
Great. Jem was like a dog with a bone when he got like this, which meant Key would be invited to every Sunday dinner or holiday that didn’t involve S8 (or did) until he was eighty. Fuck privacy, right?
Not with this entire crew.
Sooner or later, he’d come clean. Or else he’d hook back up with Camille and be happy and no one would know anything. “Go deal with Drea, all right? She’s not happy about this ‘burn it all down’ shit.”
Jem asked, “Are you?”
Key nodded. “I’m always happy to do that.”
Jem clapped a hand on his shoulder and Key watched him walk back up toward the house and disappear behind the jungle of grasses that still obscured the back porch. Only then did Key turn and acknowledge Ethan. He began to walk off the dock and away from the house where Ethan waited in the vacant area where a neighbor’s house had once been.
Driving here with Ethan had been weird and fucking tense, but not simply because he’d been with Ethan. As they’d made that final descent into the bayou road that led to this, his childhood home, he actively had to resist just diving out of the damned car.
It was one thing to have shared these memories with Jem and S8 … but to share them with an outsider like that? It wasn’t sitting well with him.
And yeah, he’d been here many times over the past months, fixing the fuck out of the dilapidated memories sandwiched between old floorboards, held up by sagging doorframes and barely concealed by layers of dirt and neglect.
Little by little, he’d stripped those memories—good, bad, indifferent—ghosts of memories that weren’t even his, until what was left was what he’d wanted.
Clean. Fresh. Clear.
He could breathe easily in the house now. He’d hoped Jem would be able to as well and apparently, that wish had come true. But he knew no one could ever count on Jem’s emotions to follow any semblance of rules at any given time under any circumstances. Jem appeared easygoing, but inside, he was more changeable than the weather.
Key used to think his brother did it on purpose, until he’d stumbled onto the realization that Jem genuinely didn’t set out to make his own rules. He just followed the beat of his own brain. And honestly, Drea seemed to have a leveling effect on his brother.
He was behind Ethan now. “Taking in the view? Looking to build a vacation home? I gotta swamp I can sell you.”
“I’ll just bet.” Ethan didn’t turn around. “How long did you live here?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” he muttered.
In response, Ethan turned fast, and Key immediately went into warrior mode, looking around for the enemy.
Turned out, Ethan was looking at him like he was one. As soon as he stepped forward, Key barely got out, “What’s wrong?” when Ethan slammed him with hands to his shoulders and then his chest, like open-palm boxing.
Key managed to rebound, but not before Ethan tackled him to the ground and they were rolling in the deep grasses. Key got in a few punches to Ethan’s ribs, but the man was more intent on pinning Key than punching him. When he finally did, he was holding Key’s shoulders to the ground, his knees on the inside of Key’s elbows.
Key’s legs were bent and he was predicting if he’d break his pelvis by lifting them in an attempt to wrap them around Ethan’s neck and choke the shit out of him.
“You done?” Ethan asked.
“I’m not done. And you started it, asshole. So no, I’m not done.”
Ethan rolled his eyes and made no move to … move.
“Not scared of snakes?” Key challenged. “They’re all around here, just waiting to grab a nice, tasty agency man.”
Ethan snorted. Shifted his body over Key’s and stared down at him. “You need to cut the shit, man. That’s all I’m going to say.”
Key wanted to reply, “Or what?” mainly because that was something Jem would say and being this close to the house always seemed to bring the Jem-ness out in him. “Get the fuck off me, Ethan. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“But I do,” Ethan promised, not moving. “Don’t fuck this up for your team.”
“How about I just leave my team, then? Would that work for you, since I seem to be the lone dissenter?”
“From where I’m lying, I don’t see you dissenting at all,” Ethan commented casually, like he wasn’t pinning Key down in the middle of the fucking bayou.
Like they both didn’t know Key was letting it happen.
Finally, Ethan rolled off him. Key slowly pushed his way to his feet and began to walk up the road to the house. Ethan didn’t call to him, and Key heard the truck rumble to a start.
Ethan pulled up next to him. Without a word, Key opened the door and got in.
“Shitty memories?” Ethan said as they pulled into the driveway.
“You have no idea,” Key muttered.
“Maybe someday you’ll tell me.”
“Maybe someday pigs will fly.”
Ethan shot him a glance that made Key think that he’d find pigs on the next private jet S8 took.
Fucker. “Just tell me one thing. Was that first meeting on purpose?”
Ethan looked at him, dark eyes bottomless and straightforward. “No.”
“But you can lie well.”
“So can you, when you have to. That first night? Didn’t seem like either of us had a reason to.”
Fuck him for being right.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Drea was actually more than a little worried as to what this bridge burning would entail. When the others were cooking dinner and making plans, she went upstairs and called Carolina.
Aiden answered, “Drea, honey, how are things?”
“Put her on speaker!” Carolina called out in the background.
“She’s already there, woman.”
Drea sighed. The two of them were really so damned perfect for each other, it was scary. “Hey, Carolina.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong.”
Carolina sighed. “You don’t have to. Is it something with Ethan?”
Of course, Drea had filled her in on what had been happening until this point. “Yes. He’s here. Talking about burning bridges and everyone’s agreeing.”
“What the fuck’s going on over there?” Aiden demanded. Carolina hushed him, told him to calm himself, and it seemed to work like magic.
Then again, Aiden didn’t seem to mind anything Carolina did.
“Ethan told the CIA—and the FBI—to go fuck themselves,” Drea explained.
“Which means less cooperation. More danger,” Carolina mused.
“Right up your alley,” Aiden murmured.
“Ethan’s finally getting it,” Carolina agreed. “Although I think he’s known this all along. It was a good way to prove himself to you.”
Fragmented Page 19
