by A. M. Myers
Fuck.
Pulling it out of my pocket, I check the screen and sigh. It’s our club president, Blaze, and I can’t send his call to voice mail.
“Yeah, boss, what’s up?” I answer as Smith and Moose stare up at me.
“I need your help with something,” he answers, slurring his words and my brows pull up. I can’t remember the last time I saw Blaze drunk but he sounds blitzed right now. “Can you come to the clubhouse?”
I nod, glancing down at my watch. “Yeah, give me fifteen.”
He hangs up without another word and I shake my head as I pull the phone away from my ear.
“Everything okay?” Smith asks and I nod.
“Yeah. Blaze just needs to talk to me. I’ll see you boys later.”
Moose smirks. “You better thank him for saving you from matrimonial bliss.”
“Fuck off, asshole,” I shoot back with a laugh as I back away from the table and flip them off. “Oh, and thanks for paying my tab.”
“Son of a bitch,” he hisses and I turn around, ducking out of the front door. Headlights illuminate the front of the bar as a car swings into the lot and I zip up my leather jacket to fight off the chill in the air. When I reach my bike, I swing my leg over and I smile as she rumbles to life beneath me. I’ve been all over this country and no place feels like home like the back of my bike.
My phone rings again and I glance at the screen, silencing it when I see that it’s Rowan, my baby sister. I’ll just have to call her back later. The streets are quiet as I make my way to the clubhouse and it provides me with an easy ride to clear my thoughts. As I get closer, I start to wonder what Blaze could need my help with and why the hell he’s drowning in a bottle tonight.
I first joined the Bayou Devils MC four years ago, right after I rolled into town. At that point, I’d been on the road for two years and I was tired of the nomadic lifestyle. The pain that had once driven me from my home was dulled and I was ready to build a life again somewhere. Blaze and the club had just undergone a major restructuring, getting out of guns and drugs after he was shot, and he didn’t have a whole lot of people in his corner but he was determined to make the club legitimate. When I heard of the work they were doing to help those in need, it struck a chord with me and I found a new home for myself.
The clubhouse parking lot is empty except for Blaze’s bike when I pull in and I park next to him, worry gnawing at me. We had a lot of drama go down with Ali and Carly, Storm and Chance’s girls, a while back but things have been quiet lately. Still, I can’t shake this feeling like something big is on the horizon. It’s like I’m constantly poised, ready for an attack from any angle and I wish I could figure out why.
When I walk into the clubhouse, my gaze is drawn to the bar where Blaze is posted on a stool, a glass filled with amber liquid in his hand. He downs the rest of it and sets it on the bar as he grabs the bottle of bourbon and pours himself some more.
“Thanks for coming,” he slurs, not meeting my eyes. I scan the room, looking for anyone else but it’s empty.
“Where’s everyone at?”
He turns, his bloodshot eyes flicking around the room like he’s just now realizing no one is here before he shrugs and falls off his stool, somehow staying upright. He grabs his glass off the bar. “Follow me. There’s something I need to show you.”
I do as instructed, following behind him as he stumbles into his office. He shuts the door and motions for me to sit down as he ambles over to the filing cabinet and grabs another bottle of bourbon out of the top drawer. He carries it, with his glass, over to the desk and sinks into the chair, hopelessness and pain contorting his face. This isn’t the same man that I’ve come to know over the past four years and I’m even more worried about why he’s called me here tonight.
“What’s going on, Blaze?”
He finishes off the liquor in his glass before tossing a thick file across the desk and it lands in front of me with a thump. “I need you to do something for me.”
I rip my gaze away from him as he pours more bourbon in his glass and glance down at the folder in front of me, flipping it open. A photo of a young woman with dark red hair, pale skin, and amber eyes that seem to shred right through me lays on top and I meet his gaze again.
“Who is she?”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to know that.”
What the fuck?
We’re a pretty tight club and we don’t keep secrets from each other, something that he insisted on when he turned everything around.
“What do you mean I don’t need to know?”
Blaze shakes his head, finishing off another glass and reaching for the bottle again. “Don’t worry about that. I just need you to follow her.”
“Follow her?” I ask, standing up and snatching the bottle out of his hand. “And how much of this have you had tonight?”
“Not enough,” he snarls, reaching for the bottle but I manage to keep it out of his grasp.
“I think you’ve had plenty.”
“No,” he moans, propping his elbows on the desk and dropping his head into his hands. “Just let me forget.”
“Jesus Christ, Blaze. Forget what?”
He grabs his glass and throws it across the room. I flinch as it hits the wall and shatters.
“Just do what I asked you to do!”
I stare down at the photo again, running through reasons why Blaze might need me to follow this woman. I flip through some more pictures of her, looking for any clue as to why he would ask me to do this. “Why?”
“Just do it, Kodiak. Follow her and report back to me every day. I want to know what she’s doing and who she’s seeing. Everything. Every little detail.”
I drop the photos and back away from the desk, shaking my head. The club has been dedicated to protecting people for the last five years and this doesn’t feel right.
“I need to know why I’m doing this.”
Blaze lets out a sardonic laugh. “No, you don’t. I’m your president and I’ve given you an order.”
I tense and meet his hard stare. “You know I respect the hell out of you, Blaze, but if you think I’m going to stalk some poor innocent woman without knowing why, you’re out of your goddamn mind.”
“Just do it!” he roars and I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to keep talking. Finally, he sighs. “You’re not stalking her and I need you to trust that I have a damn good reason if I’m asking you to do this.”
After studying him for a moment, I nod. He’s right. I know what kind of man Blaze is so I don’t really believe that he means this woman any harm but it’s still weird for him to be so evasive.
“Are you in trouble, Blaze? Is she?”
“No more questions, Kodiak. I need your help. Will you do this for me?”
I glance down at the photos on the desk and sigh. “What am I looking for exactly?”
“Don’t worry about that yet. Just record everything.”
Without another word, he grabs the bottle of liquor out of my hand and storms out of the office. I stare down at the photo and wonder what the hell I’m getting myself into.
* * * *
Tatum Elizabeth Carter
Born on September 9, 1992 in Denver, Colorado, to Sarah Rose Carter.
Moved to Baton Rouge in 1998 when Tatum and her twin brother, Theodore, were six years old.
She works as a waitress in a diner and a gas station attendant on the rough side of town.
He’s a first class petty officer in the U.S. Navy
Their mother, Sarah, was killed in a car accident five days ago.
I read through the information a few more times, looking for any clue as to why Blaze asked me to do this but I’m still in the same spot I was three days ago when he first plopped this folder down in front of me. There are no answers here but I can’t stop reading, can’t stop searching. My phone starts beeping and I glance over at it, straightening in my seat when I see the alert from the tracker I put on Theodore’s car
a few days ago.
They pull into the parking lot and I slip my sunglasses on despite the clouds blanketing the sky in an attempt to remain unnoticed. I’m glad I thought to borrow Smith’s truck. Had I shown up in my matte black Camaro there’s no way I could remain anonymous. They slip into a spot six spaces down from me and I grab my phone, pretending to look at it as they climb out and Tate grabs a plain looking urn from the back seat. Theo offers his arm and she takes it as they start off down the path to the beach.
Memories from my own father’s funeral surface and tears burn my eyes. Back then, I believed everyone when they told me that time heals all wounds and that things would get easier. In some ways, I suppose they were right but grief is tricky. Something will remind me of my dad and out of the blue, I’m overcome with pain like I’m that kid again, saying good-bye to my old man over a radio. Or I’ll wake up one morning and I won’t be able to think of anything else. That feeling will hang over me like a dark cloud all day long, assaulting me with pain.
There’s so much in my life that my father missed out on and so much that I still needed him for but he was stolen from us. Watching Tate and Theo as they stop by the water, I know the anguish they’re feeling for the loss of their mother. I understand the ache overwhelming them and it makes me feel connected to them in a way that only someone who’s lost a parent can be. Especially her. I’m not sure what it is exactly – maybe the steely set of her amber gaze that tells the world she can handle herself or the broken look she’s been wearing lately that reveals the soft side I suspect she keeps hidden most of the time but she is different than any other girl I’ve ever seen.
Rolling down the truck window, I shiver as cold air rushes into the cab and glance down at the parabolic microphone Blaze insisted I bring with me because when he said he wanted to know everything, he literally meant everything. It’s also why I had to sneak cameras into their mother’s house. I wonder how many Hail Marys I’d need to say to not feel like a creepy stalker when this is all over. Not that I even have a clue when it will end.
Up ahead, Tate and Theo turn to face each other as he unscrews the urn’s lid. Even from two hundred yards away, I can still see her take a breath before she reaches in and pulls out a handful of ashes, sprinkling them in the water. A single tear slips down her cheek and I empathize with her even more. It doesn’t matter what age it happens, losing a parent is always hard. A loss like that shakes your whole damn foundation and it takes time to find your footing again. Her brother is stoic and I wonder if he’s trying to be strong for her or he’s still too overwhelmed with shock to feel anything else. For me, it took weeks before the full magnitude of the loss of my father hit me.
I reach across the truck and grab the folder out of the passenger seat, flipping it open to read everything Blaze has about Tate’s brother. I’ve been engrossed in this file for days, so fucking curious about all the damn holes in the story. Of course I can’t get anything else out of Blaze and it’s not the first time that I’ve wondered if this is really on the up and up. If this is really okay, why won’t he tell me anything else and why am I not allowed to tell any of my brothers?
It makes no goddamn sense.
Glancing up, I watch them as they step toward the waves and sprinkle more of Sarah’s ashes in the ocean before Tate discreetly wipes away another tear. I haven’t even officially met this girl yet and she already has me reeling. I don’t know if it’s because she reminds me so much of my past but even standing on that beach at her mother’s funeral, she has my full attention. She’s sad, broken, and yet, still so fierce and strong. Beautiful but guarded.
In the past three days, I’ve spent most of my time parked outside of her house watching her on the video feed Streak, the club’s resident tech expert, was able to hack into for me. I was surprised when I broke into her house and noticed the discreet cameras hiding throughout each room but add that to my growing list of questions. Besides, I’m secretly glad for them since they give me a whole new insight into this girl. Somehow, she’s worming her way under my skin and I don’t like it. Tossing the folder back to the passenger seat, I grab the microphone again and slip the headphones on before holding it out of the open window.
“When did Mom bring us down here for that vacation?” Tate asks, staring out at the ocean as the wind blows her hair all around her face.
“I don’t know. It was shortly after we moved here.”
She nods, pulling her sweater tighter and I barely resist the urge to climb out of the car and offer her my damn jacket. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?
“Do you think we’ll ever get any answers?” she asks and there’s vulnerability in her voice but if Theo notices, he doesn’t let on.
“No. I think Mom had more secrets than we can ever imagine.”
Tate wipes away another tear and I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her that it will get easier. “It feels like I didn’t even know her.”
“I don’t think we really did, T,” he replies, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.
“You have to promise that you’ll never keep secrets from me, Theo.”
He turns to her and wraps her up in a hug. “I promise. Besides, you’d know if I tried.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” she agrees with a smile as she pulls away. “You ready to get out of here?”
He nods and they turn, disappearing behind one of the dunes as I pull the headphones off and toss the microphone in the passenger seat with a sigh. Pulling her photo from the folder, I let out an annoyed growl because despite the fact that I’ve never even met this girl, I’m eager to see her again.
Chapter Three
Tatum
Standing at the entrance of the living room, I look around the space with a cup of coffee in my hand, memories flooding my mind. Mom’s house is a classic southern cottage and one of the basic criteria of the design is its homey feel but Mom took it a step further. The light teal blue walls are welcoming but not overbearing or too bright and she managed to find white couches that don’t feel sterile or untouchable. She coupled that with the wicker chairs that give it a coastal flair and two teal ottomans that are more like beanbags. Large windows allow the sunlight to flood the room and you can’t take a step without the old hardwood floors creaking but, for me, that’s always added to the charm of the place.
If I close my eyes, I can almost hear Mom moving around the kitchen, making dinner for Theo and me as a cool summer breeze blows through the house. Everything is exactly as she left it six days ago and it makes it so much harder to cope with the fact that she’s gone. But she is. Her ashes are currently floating around in the Gulf of Mexico right now, seeing the rest of the world like she always wanted to.
Theo comes bounding down the stairs behind me and I quickly wipe a stray tear away and sniffle as I raise my coffee mug to my lips. He steps into the living room from the archway in the kitchen and I glance in his direction as he sips his own coffee.
“What are we going to do with this place?”
He peeks over at me before glancing around the room and shrugging. “I don’t know. I suppose you could move in here.”
Theo and I were born in Denver but as soon as we were released from the hospital, Mama loaded us up and hit the road. We always stayed in cheap, roadside hotels and we never stayed longer than three months before she would pack us up again and move to some other part of the country. First it was Arizona, then Iowa, North Carolina, North Dakota, Maine, Texas… We’d visited almost every state in the country before we landed in Baton Rouge when Theo and I were six. I have no idea what changed for her here but she decided to finally put down some roots and this place has been my home ever since. There isn’t a single part of me that wants to lose it but I know I can’t afford to keep it.
“And take over her mortgage payment?” I ask, shaking my head as tears build in my eyes. “I can’t afford that, Theo.”
Compassion fills his eyes. “I’ll help you. I can send you money e
very month.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
Setting his coffee down on the table, he walks over to me and wraps me up in a hug. “You didn’t ask, I offered and I don’t want to lose this place either. This is our house, the only one we’ve ever had.”
Biting my bottom lip, I look up at him and mull it over. “Be honest with me. Can you really afford to send me money for the house?”
The moment of hesitation is all I need to see to know that as much as he wants to help, he’s not in a much better position than I am.
“We have to sell it,” I say before he can answer me and he shakes his head.
“Don’t be stubborn,” he growls. “This is our home.”
“We can’t afford it.”
“I’ll find a way, T. You need a better, safer place to live and Mom wouldn’t want us to lose the house.”
“Mom wouldn’t want us to kill ourselves to keep it, either.”
As he sighs again, I know that he’s on the same page as me. Neither one of us wants to lose it but there’s only so much we can do. Some things are just out of our control.
“If we’re going to sell it, we need to start sorting through her things,” Theo points out and I nod, gazing around the room.
“Where do we even start?”
He peeks over my shoulder to the storage closet in the hall. “There, I suppose.”
I let out a groan. The last time I peeked in that particular closet, I was almost buried under a mountain of boxes.
“Oh, goody.”
“Come on.” He laughs, slinging his arm over my shoulder. “Let’s finish our coffee and then we can get to work.”
We sit across from each other at the kitchen table and start sharing memories of Mom as we finish off our coffee.
“Do you remember that hotel in Kansas City?” Theo asks and I start laughing.
