From the Ruins

by Janine Infante Bosco

  “Easy for someone to say who hasn’t been around,” Riggs mutters. “It’s not exactly the best fucking time for Blackie to go AWOL on the club. In case you forgot, we’ve got a Russian phantom hunting for us, Deuce bleeding all over this schmucks couch and we’re trying to condition Linc for the biggest fucking score of his life. We’re a bit fucking tied up at the moment.”

  “What the fuck is your problem?” I growl.

  “My problem is that all you fucks keep taking off before I can put tracking devices on you.”

  “He’s lost his mind,” Wolf mutters under his breath. “He gets this way whenever Kitten is pregnant.”

  “Look, I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Jack continues. “He’s made a lot of changes in his life and I want to believe he’s not willing to throw away everything he’s got for a fucking fix. It’s a lot to digest. He needs time to get his head straight,” he says, turning his head. Everything he said is geared to his daughter. Sure, he wants Blackie to stay clean for himself but he needs him to be clean for his daughter. He needs to believe Lacey is reason enough to keep Blackie on the straight and narrow.

  Butcher runs into the garage with my vest in hand and points to the old television in the corner of the garage.

  “Does that thing work?” he shouts the question, tossing my leathers onto the table.

  “Now isn’t the time for Family Guy reruns,” Wolf grunts as we all watch Butcher turn on the television. As the television comes to life, Jack’s phone starts to ring. Glancing at the screen I see it’s his daughter. He turns the volume down and focuses on the television.

  This just in, NYPD Officer Robert Jones has been shot and killed in a stand-off with Detective Greg Brantley who has recently been accused by his former partner of stealing police evidence. He has also pointed a finger, claiming Brantley had a hand in the death of Christine Petra, the late wife of convicted felon, Dominic ‘Blackie’ Petra. Mr. Petra is the vice president of the outlaw motorcycle club, the Satan’s Knights.

  At this time it is unknown why Jones and Brantley were meeting or if it was in relation to the recent events. Authorities have confirmed Detective Greg Brantley is armed and dangerous and they’ve issued an APB.

  “Shut it off,” Jack shouts.

  Butcher powers off the television and the garage grows eerily silent except for the constant vibration of Jack’s phone.

  “What’re we doing, Jack?” Wolf speaks up. “We can’t ignore it now.”

  “We have to find Blackie,” Stryker says. “Does anyone have a list of his old dealers?”

  “We shouldn’t assume he’s using. Maybe he’s at a meeting,” Cobra suggests.

  “What about the cemetery?” Riggs adds.

  “I was there before I came here,” I reply. “He left flowers on Oksana’s grave.”

  “Stop,” Jack hollers, slamming his palm against the table. “All of you just stop. From this moment forward the club is on lockdown,” he says calmly as his eyes dart around to each and every face seated at the table.

  “Go get your wives, your children, whoever the fuck you care about.”

  “Where are we taking them? Here?” Stryker asks.

  “No,” Wolf shakes his head. “You take them to my house,” he says, turning to Jack. “I’ve got the room and should we need to roll out, Linc is over at my place. Cobra, grab Ally and Deuce and bring them over too. Then at least we have the two of them and the prospects keeping everyone safe.”

  Jack turns to me.

  “Go get your family, Pipe.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Before the others even push back their chairs I’m in the lot straddling my bike and wondering how I’m going to explain this to Layla. My first day back with my club and I have to pull her and the kids out of the house and subject them to their first taste of Satan.

  The ride home seems to never end as my mind works overtime, worrying about both aspects of my life, my family and my brothers. I struggle not to think how hopeless the situation is and how foolish I have been for believing I could have both worlds. Heaven and hell aren’t meant to bleed into one another, and here I am trying to merge the two.

  An accident on the thruway delays me hours and by the time I reach my street I instantly notice Layla’s car is missing. Forcing myself not to panic, I charge up the steps and into the house.

  “Layla?”

  “Yo,” Tommy greets me. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  “Where’s your mother?”

  “Uncle Joey cut his finger and Aunt Krystle needed to take him to the hospital so they called Mom into work. She said you would be home hours ago. Dude, I was supposed to meet Brianne at the movies.”

  “Get your sisters, let’s go,” I order, opening the hall closet.

  “What? Where are we going?”

  “To pick up your mother,” I say, pulling out a baseball bat. “Where are the keys to my truck?”

  “Mom keeps them in the junk drawer next to brass knuckles,” he replies, staring at the bat. “Little late to go to the batting cages, isn’t it?”

  “Lexi, Jenna,” I shout up the stairs, ignoring him.

  “Lexi is sleeping,” he says.

  Handing him the bat, I charge up the stairs. Jenna is already up and I order her to get her shoes and meet me in the car. Not wanting to scare Lexi, I let her sleep and lift her into my arms. Carrying her down the stairs, she stirs a little but I urge her to go back down. Once the girls are in the back seat and Tommy is in the passenger seat holding the bat, I take off to the bar.

  Knowing Brantley has been sniffing around Layla, I fear the worst and I defy the speed limits with the kids in the car, praying that my angel is riding with me.

  “Lee, what’s going on?” Tommy whispers beside me.

  “Nothing, kid,” I say immediately.

  “You’re driving like a mad man in the middle of the night while I hold a baseball bat between my legs and my sisters sleep in the back seat.”

  What a fucking sight we are.

  “Everything is fine,” I assure him.

  Nothing and no one will ever touch them. We’re going to grab Layla and the five of us are going to go back to Wolf’s house and ride out the latest storm testing the longevity of the Satan’s Knights.

  Fear no evil.

  See no evil.

  Truth?

  That’s all bullshit.

  Turning into the desolate parking lot, I spot two cars. One of them is Layla’s the other one I’ve never seen before. Slowing down, I drive around to the back of the bar and park in the first available spot. Reaching into my cut, I take out my phone and hand it to Tommy.

  “If your mother or I don’t come out of the bar in five minutes, look for Jack Parrish’s number. You call him, tell him who you are and where you are.”

  “Come on, Lee, you’re scaring the shit out of me.”

  “Lock the doors and if anyone fucks with you, give them your best swing,” I tell him, gesturing to the bat.

  “Lee—”

  “Just remember what I said,” I tell him.

  I lean forward and tousle his hair before placing a kiss to the top of his head.

  “Love you, kid,” I mutter hoarsely, turning to the two girls in the back. “Love them too,” I rasp.

  Clearing my throat, I step out of the truck. I wait until I’m out of Tommy’s sight before I pull the gun from my holster and take off running around the building.

  Reaching the front, my pulse picks up as dread churns deep inside of me.

  My heart races.

  My gut screams.

  I see Layla through the window.

  I see Brantley.

  I see the gun pointed at her head.

  I see red.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  For a moment, I let my demons get the best of me and stood paralyzed in front of the bar fearing Layla would suffer the same fate as every other woman in my life. Then I turned that shit off.

  Fear can go
fuck itself.

  So can Brantley.

  I never got the opportunity to save my mother or Oksana for that matter, but Layla, God gave me her for a reason and I need to believe he isn’t ready to take her from me. I need to believe the man upstairs aligned everything just right so I could keep her safe.

  “Games over, Brantley,” I call, storming through the bar. Prepared to blow his brains all over the walls, I keep my arm steady and my gun pointed directly at him.

  “Lee,” Layla yells, her voice shaking with the single syllable.

  Turning my attention to her, I see the fear and uncertainty drain the beauty from her face and it tears me up. Giving her a wink and praying it’s enough assurance, I hope that she knows I’d lay down and die before I let anyone touch her. I’d fucking sell my soul for her and those three kids.

  Brantley spins around, his gun still on Layla but his eyes meet mine. The last time he came around here I thought he looked disheveled but now he’s a fucking mess. Strung out on something, his pupils are the size of flying saucers and his jaw clenches and twitches.

  Cocaine, man, it’ll keep you going for days, but fuck, it’ll make you one ugly motherfucker.

  “The game isn’t over until I say it’s over,” he growls, reaching for Layla’s arm.

  “Your mug is all over the news. You fucked up, man, killing Jones like you did,” I tell him, taking another step closer. “And you fucked up big time making this your next pit stop. You’ve got ten seconds to let Layla go. If you don’t, so help me God I’ll show her how unworthy of her I am by murdering you in front of her.”

  “I’m a police officer, you kill me and you’re done. They’ll lock you up and throw away the key,” he shrieks.

  “I kill you and the fucking city will give me a medal for taking down the piece of shit who killed a fellow officer,” I correct him.

  “Fucking Jones,” Brantley cries, grabbing Layla and pulling her forward. “Him and that other rat are the reason all of this is happening.”

  It’s always someone else’s fault.

  “Well, it’s obviously true,” I counter, stepping closer. I figure if I get him talking, I can grab the gun from him and send Layla out of the bar. “You killed Christine.”

  “You shut the fuck up,” he sneers, taking the gun off Layla to aim it at my head. Pulling the safety back, he advances toward me as I drop my gun to the floor and kick it across the room. It lands in front of Layla and I turn my gaze to her.

  “Take it and run,” I shout. “The kids are in the truck out back.”

  She makes me proud when she doesn’t hesitate. Tears fall from her eyes as she bends to pick up the gun. As much as I want to take a second to memorize everything about her, there isn’t time for that. The time we had, the memories we made, it will have to be enough.

  “The kids,” I remind her when she pauses at the door.

  “No, no, no,” Brantley cries, keeping the gun aimed at me as he runs his fingers through his messy hair. “This isn’t supposed to be how it goes.” His eyes dart back to Layla and I watch as he struggles to choose who he points his gun at.

  “Tell me how it’s supposed to end,” I urge, trying to pull his attention back to me. My words fall upon deaf ears as he aims the gun at Layla.

  “Go, Layla! Now,” I holler. She finally finds the courage to run out the door as he pulls the trigger and I lunge for him. Praying the bullet missed her and she got out before the gun went off, I tackle him to the ground. However, I underestimated the crazy fuck’s strength and quickly find myself on my back, staring up at him.

  “Change in plans,” he mutters as I make a move to knock the gun from his hand. Rearing his hand back, he slams the heel of the gun into the side of my head.

  He hits me again in the same spot.

  And again.

  The next blow is the most forceful and knocks me back. The back of my head hits the tile floor and I groan in pain.

  One more shot is all it takes before I check out.

  As everything fades to black I can’t help but think.

  It was a good run.

  It was a real good run while it lasted.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  I fall to my knees when I reach the parking lot and sob hysterically. My hands shake as I hold the gun, terrified I’ll do something wrong and it’ll go off by mistake. Breaking someone’s jaw with a pair of brass knuckles is one thing, shooting someone by accident is a whole different ball game.

  Expecting the door to open and for Lee to emerge like some cloak and dagger hero, I glance over my shoulder but it never happens. I should have taken the gun and shot Brantley but I was too scared I’d miss. Too scared I’d shoot Lee by accident or myself for that matter. I’ve got kids who need me, kids I thought about the entire time I had a gun pointed to my head.

  Remembering Lee’s parting words, I scramble to my feet and wipe my eyes in an attempt to compose myself. I jet through the parking lot as fast as my legs will carry me and round the building, spotting Lee’s truck.

  A sigh of relief pours from my mouth as I fight to control myself and I pull open the driver’s door with the gun still in my hand. Tommy looks absolutely petrified as he lunges forward. I shake my head and hold out my hand.

  “I don’t know if the safety is on,” I cry, laying it gently on the seat. Tommy’s eyes widen as he stares at the gun and I quickly remove my jacket. Like I’ve seen in a million movies, I use my jacket to wipe the gun clean of fingerprints and toss it in the dumpster behind the bar. As soon as it’s out of my hands I feel calmer and I get back in the truck. Locking the doors, I grip the steering wheel and stare out the windshield, taking deep breaths.

  In and out.

  In and out.

  “Mom?”

  “Everything is going to be okay,” I say automatically.

  “Where is Lee?”

  Everything is going to be okay.

  Everything is going to be okay.

  He will be okay.

  “Oh God,” I cry, lifting a hand to my mouth as the severity of what’s going on hits me like a ton of bricks. I don’t know what to do. How do I leave him in there with a deranged man holding a gun to his head? Am I supposed to sit here and wait? What if there is a gunshot? Do I stay here and let my kids listen to that?

  Putting the key in the ignition, I start the engine and throw the truck into reverse. In the rearview mirror, I check on the girls who are both sound asleep before diverting my eyes to Tommy. Not sure what might wait for us in front of the bar, I brake before we round the building. It’s one thing for me to witness horror but it’s another for my son to.

  “Close your eyes,” I demand.

  “What?”

  “Just close your eyes,” I snap as I watch him finally oblige. I throw the truck into drive and turn the corner. Slamming on the brakes, I watch as Brantley drags Lee’s body out of the bar. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from screaming as I watch him struggling to push Lee into the back seat of his car. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as my teeth dig deeper and Brantley slams the door shut. As he hurries to the driver side of the car, my eyes dart to the license plate.

  EKK 5889

  I repeat the number over and over until the car peels out of the lot and out of my sight.

  “Mom, you’re freaking me out! Lee said to use his phone to call Jack if he didn’t come back. Should we call him?”

  Out of all the things he says, only one thing registers with me.

  “Jack,” I repeat, turning my attention to him. “Give me the phone.”

  Opening his eyes, he hands me the phone. I see that Tommy had already pulled the contact up and was planning on calling him himself just like Lee told him to do. Leaning over the console I kiss his cheek and press send.

  “I love you,” I rasp. “And I’m so fucking proud of you,” I add, feeling emotional as I lift the phone to my ear and listen to it ring.

  “Pipe, man, where the fuck are you?”

  �
�It’s Layla,” I cry.

  He pauses for a moment and I think I’ve lost him.

  “Hello? Jack?”

  “What happened?” he replies.

  “The cop took him. He took Lee,” I whimper. My nerves get the best of me and I close my eyes as I begin to ramble all the things I think he might need to know.

  “He came to the bar just as I was closing it down. He wasn’t making any sense. He told me I needed to go with him. He said as long as Pipe thought Blackie took me then everything would go according to his plan. I don’t know what any of that means but that’s when Lee showed up. He distracted him, gave me his gun and told me to run. Jack, I just watched Brantley drag Lee out of the bar,” I sob the final sentence.

  I don’t tell Jack I’m not sure if Lee is dead or alive because I don’t want to scare Tommy any more than he already is.

  “Okay, listen to me, sweetheart. Where are you now?” he asks calmly.

  “I’m still in front of the bar.”

  “Where are the kids?”

  “With me.”

  “Jesus, fuck.”

  “Tell me what to do, Jack,” I plead. “Tell me it’s going to be okay.”

  “It’s going to be okay, darlin’. I swear to you everything is going to be okay,” he assures.

  I don’t know why I felt I needed those words to come from him, especially since I barely knew him. However, I believed him wholeheartedly.

  Everything would be okay.

  “You there?” he asks.

  “I’m here,” I respond.

  “I know this is your first rodeo but I need you to pull yourself together. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Pipe?”

  Yes.

  The way I rise up for my kids, I will rise up for him because he’s part of that same circle of love. There are four chambers of the heart and one of them belongs to the man who sacrificed himself for me and my children. The man who takes care of us. The man who loves us. It doesn’t matter that he hasn’t actually said the words.

  I feel it.

  I feel his love.

  So yes, I can do that for Pipe.