Demolition: Twisted Mayhem, Book Three

by Cat Mason

  “Great.” Pulling back, I take a pull straight from the bottle. “I’d kill for a sandwich.”

  “You’re serious?” she asks, earning a nod from me. The lust filling her eyes quickly turns to disbelief, then disgust. “Sure,” she grounds out, clearly offended I didn’t jump at the offer to get my dick wet. “I’ll get right on that.”

  “Go get cleaned up,” Stone says, dismissing Laura with a wave of his hand. “Need all bodies at the table when we lay this out. Schrader and Torch sent proxy votes with Doc.”

  Nodding in agreement, I take another pull of whiskey, welcoming the burn as it slides down my throat. Heading downstairs to my room, I sit down the bottle on the dresser and empty my pockets. Kicking off my boots, I strip off my blood and dirt stained clothes and head into my bathroom.

  I’m sore as fuck, the alcohol barely taking the edge off. I managed a nasty gash on my right hip, along with a good dozen cuts and burns on my thighs and left shin. Not too bad considering I managed to walk away from that shit without catching a bullet.

  I’ll take this shit over a goddamn gunshot wound any day.

  Switching on the shower, I step into the spray. The hot water helps loosen some of the tension in my shoulders, but it stings like a bitch running down over my burns. None of that pain compares to the ache in my chest.

  Guilt. Regret. Helplessness.

  Fuck me.

  Visions of Henley flash in my mind while I wash up. The sway of her hips and that smart-ass mouth quickly beaten out by flashes of her battered body on the ground in front of me. Her sexy smile replaced with her wheezing for breath in my arms.

  My chest tightens.

  Closing my eyes tightly, I press my forehead to the cool tile and let the spray pound against my back. Any other time this would calm me down so I can go into this table vote with a clear head. It doesn’t. The rage that has been building inside me has nowhere to go. I have no one to take it out on since those bastards managed to get away from me on the highway.

  I don’t know shit. Not who they were, not why they went after Henley. Nothing. That only makes me angrier.

  Wracking my brain, I start stripping down the entire situation. Drying off, I throw on a t-shirt and a pair of gray basketball shorts while going over everything I actually know about Henley Wolfe. If this wasn’t random, there has to be reason those bastards targeted her. Which only leaves me with more questions than I started out with.

  Grabbing my bottle of black label pain killer, I head back upstairs to find Doc sitting at the table, waiting to patch me up. “Shoulda done this before you showered, jackass,” he mutters, checking the gash on my hip. “Needs stitches.”

  “Super glue the damn thing,” I mutter around a gulp of whiskey. “I’ll deal.”

  “The gash or your mouth,” he mutters, digging through his bag before getting to work on my hip. “They’re both flappin’ at me.”

  “Someone’s a grouchy old bastard tonight,” Huck chuckles, coming to stand beside me. Grabbing the bottle from my hand, he takes a swig. “Miss your nap, Pappy?”

  Looking up, Doc’s face hardens. “You’re older than me.”

  “I am.” Scratching his nearly all white beard, Huck nods thoughtfully. “Older, wiser, and--.”

  “Uglier,” Doc fires back.

  “Funny fucker, aren’t ya?” Huck grumbles, flipping him off.

  “Got my moments.”

  Stone and Roanne walk out from the kitchen, concern filling her eyes the moment she sees me. “Colt,” she starts, only to stop.

  “It’s all good, Ro,” I say, hoping to set her mind at ease a little after all this shit tonight. “Bike took the brunt of it,” I add, still mad as hell I laid her down.

  Roanne nods slowly, her body visibly relaxing. I’ll give it to her, she’s tough. After everything that’s been thrown at her since she came back into Stone’s life, she hasn’t let it keep her down.

  “Yeah. Jace said it looked rough.” Pressing a kiss to Ro’s temple, Stone faces me. “He and Benny from the shop are on their way back with it now.”

  “Any word from Torch?” I ask, looking between him and Ro.

  “Nothing yet,” Stone answers as Doc finishes up and pushes to his feet. Releasing his hold on his girl, Stone jerks his chin toward the closed double doors with the Mayhem logo on them that lead to our chapel.

  Stealing back my bottle from Huck, I follow behind Stone and Doc to take my seat at the table. It is weird to sit at this table and not see anyone sitting across from me. With Schrader at the hospital with Shy and their new baby, and Torch rushing to be at Henley’s side, the table feels empty.

  “How’s it hangin’, assholes?” Jinks asks, closing the doors behind him.

  “Fair and square,” Huck huffs, sitting down beside me. “How’s your pair?”

  “Long, loose, and full of juice,” Jinks fire back, taking his seat between him and Doc.

  “You nasty fuck.” Reaching over, Doc slaps him in the back of the head. “No one came in here wantin’ to know that shit.”

  “Ow. Fuckin’ hell,” Jinks yelps, his hands flying up to shield his bald ass head from another whack. “Stop beatin’ me, you violent bastard.”

  Stone clears his throat, turning the attention of the room to the head of the table. “It’s been quiet here the last few months. We worked hard for that peace. Paid for it. Spilled a lot of blood.” Leaning up, he laces his fingers and places his hands on the table, his gaze shifting between all of us. “What happened tonight shouldn’t go unanswered, but we all know what that means.” Grunts and nods of understanding come from everyone around the table. “Torch fought beside us for that peace. His sister, Henley, stepped in to help this club without hesitation when Colt and Schrader were shot. That means something.”

  “She means somethin’,” I add without hesitation, earning me knowing looks from everyone in the room. Sitting down the bottle, I scan my brother’s faces. “I say we find the fuckers and make ‘em pay. No way this was an accident. Wasn’t random. That car was in and out of the lot in under two minutes. Never even tapped their brakes.”

  “Motherfuckers,” Huck says, slapping the table. “I’m in.”

  “Anyone opposed?” Stone asks, scanning the room. When no one speaks, he blows out a breath. “Okay. What’ve we got to go on, Colt? Black Ford?”

  I nod. “Two door. Tennessee plates. Hardin County.” I rattle off the part of the plate I did manage to see before I went down. “Guy who took a shot at me was white. Blonde, maybe.”

  “Hardin County?” Huck asks, scratching his beard. “Merc’s territory.”

  “Yep,” I reply, nodding my head.

  “I’ll make a call.” My eyes move to Stone when he speaks. “See if he’s heard anything.”

  “That car’s gone to ground by now,” Doc blurts, stating the obvious. “Won’t be findin’ it under a tarp in someone’s driveway.”

  “Exactly.” Stone nods, his expression calm. “What about County law? See any issues there?”

  “Lazy bastards never bothered chasin’ the car,” I bite out. “Too worried about nailin’ down my ass the moment they saw my leather. As for Dobbs, he’d rather be watchin’ Sports Center or gamblin’ away his retirement account than deal with what happened on the highway.”

  “It’s in Dobbs’s best interest to play things our way,” Huck blurts. “Too much past there to cross us.”

  “Colt’s right,” Stone says, shaking his head. “Dobbs won’t be a problem.”

  I can see the wheels in Stone’s head running at full speed. Being club president has the guy constantly working angles. He plays every step we make like moves on a chessboard, only reacting when necessary. When he took on the gavel and asked me to sit as his left, I never hesitated. Stone has a way of building relationships for the club based on trust and loyalty, while methodically taking out anyone who crosses us. In his opinion, our goal is to deliver the most amount of impact with the least amount of possibility for blowback.
/>   You are either for this club, or against it. With Stone, there is no in-between.

  “Okay,” he says, clearing his throat. “First, let’s put in a call to Ashmead. See what’s tricklin’ down. Jinks, need you to get me everything on Henley and see what you can pull from the hospital security feed.”

  Lacing his fingers, Jinks cracks his knuckles. “Consider it done.”

  “We’re gonna need to know the direction County’s plannin’ to run with their investigation on Henley’s accident,” Doc mumbles, lighting a cigarette. The word accident rubs me the wrong way. Not that that’s his fault. “Makes our end of things a lot easier if we can avoid those felony trip wires.”

  “I’ll know more when Torch checks in,” Stone responds.

  I don’t bother telling them that my ass is heading back down there as soon as I can get away. Though my reason has nothing to do with finding out the direction of the police investigation, or getting access to the security camera footage. I need to see Henley with my own eyes.

  Three

  Colt

  The sun is rising and I am on fucking edge. Torch’s texts have been spotty bits of bullshit here and there. Nothing like I need to hear in order to settle the unease churning in my gut.

  I need to see her.

  With a new phone, thanks to Jinks and his stockpile of electronics, I grab my shit and head out. “Mornin’, Grunt,” I say, spotting Jace leaning back against the side of the garage.

  “Hey.” Dropping his cigarette to the ground, he crushes it with his boot. “You know, that bike’s a lost cause.”

  “Could say the same about you, kid,” I taunt, fucking with him. “My girl went down. She’s not out.”

  “We’ll see,” he shrugs. “Heard anything on Henley?”

  “Headin’ down there now,” I reply, heading his way. “You comin’ or goin’?”

  “Headin’ out for a bit.” Blowing out a breath, he shoves his hands into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt. “Need to head up the mountain and check on shit,” he says, and I know he really means he needs to make sure his old man hasn’t died in the middle of the night from alcohol poisoning. Jace may not refer to it as home anymore, but his conscience won’t let him write the bastard off completely. I can’t say I could do the same.

  “Sonsabitches,” Huck grumbles staggering around the side of the building. “Goddamned ‘coons are in the trash again.” Patting down his pockets, he fishes out a lighter and a pack of firecrackers. “Today, they take the dumpster. Tomorrow, it’s the whole goddamn lot.”

  “Take your drunk ass back inside.” Shaking my head, I yank the package from his fingers. “Last thing we need is the cops showin’ up here for your early fireworks display.”

  “Crazy old bastard,” Jace laughs, shaking his head. “You don’t use firecrackers on trash pandas. Gotta use bottle rockets.”

  “Listen up, Grunt.” Looking between the two of them, I narrow my eyes at Jace. “Don’t add to the shit show,” I warn. “If Stone calls me up and says you and the old man were shootin’ the lot up with Roman Candles or some shit, I’m puttin’ one up your ass.” Taking a step forward, I stare down at Jace and wink. “Lit.”

  “Right.” Swallowing hard, he holds up his hands and takes a step back. “No fireworks. Got it.”

  “Smart kid,” I tease, ruffling his hair, knowing it pisses him off. He may be a punk, still working for his patch, but Jace Kennedy has come a long way. A lot of that had to do with the little come to Jesus moment when Stone and some of the guys beat his ass when he nearly ran down some kids getting off the school bus.

  My eyes shift to Huck. “Don’t give me that look,” he warns, matching my stare. “I’m not too old to put you on your ass.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Clapping him on the back, I head for the garage. “I’m pissin’ down both legs.”

  Walking down to end of the building, I raise the garage door. Grabbing the keys off the hook, I head for my 1967 Pontiac Firebird Convertible. Not taking the time I usually do to admire the beautiful bitch’s black and red paint job, I take down the top and slide behind the wheel.

  When I found this car, it was a goddamn worthless junker, left to rot at the back of the lot. Huck and Vic swore I’d never get the old She-Devil started, let alone road worthy. After throwing all my extra cash at her, and rebuilding her from the ground up, they ate their words when I burned off half the tread on my tires in front of the clubhouse. Took a lot of patience and work on my part, but Trent Morrison doesn’t run from a challenge.

  I love this bad bitch almost as much as my Harley.

  Starting her up, I rev the engine, giving it time to wake up before laying on the gas and letting her run.

  There is something about the long stretches of winding road. It is impossible not to feel the power in each curve, or the way the wind feels at eighty-miles an hour. When I hit an open stretch of highway, and the roar of the engine silences the whole world around me, it feels like everything is right in the world. It takes away all distractions around me, giving me room to think. I live for this shit. In this life, those moments of silent reflection can be what makes or breaks a man. This is where I get myself right, where I find the voice in the wind that drives me. It also gives my mind time to process the shit thrown our way. And when needed, the ability to shut off and just enjoy the ride.

  Something I count on, especially in times like this.

  We all have our past bullshit, those inner demons we struggle with. Instead of letting them eat at me, I push through all that shit and use those bastards like fuel to get me off my ass and into action. Shit happens and we are forced to react. Most times it requires us to change. Every move we make has a way of affecting the path we are on. Both the good and the bad have equal footing in changing our direction in life. It’s how we turn it around that makes the real difference.

  Without the club, my brothers, and long rides on winding stretches of road, I would have either been in prison or dead years ago. My mother having worked for the club, giving me men in my life like Huck, Vic and Doc, helped me find who I was meant to be. She had no idea what she was giving me. Hell, neither did I. But I’m grateful.

  Pulling into the lot, I park in the empty space next to Henley’s SUV. Climbing out, my eyes drift to the spot where her battered body landed. The blood-stained concrete is now surrounded by police tape and a couple orange hazard cones. My chest seizes tightly at the memory of her unmoving and helpless. Women weren’t made to be broken by violence. Shit like that will fuck with your head. The venom it leaves behind is ugly, leaving you branded with that darkness for the rest of your life. If it’s left to fester, it rots you from the inside out.

  I don’t want that for her.

  Walking inside, I head for the elevators. At the front desk, an old woman sits chatting like a hyperactive parrot. Phone pinned between her ear and shoulder, she types away on her computer. “Of course, Sir. I’ll see to it personally. My name is Phyllis and I’m the director of patient relations.” She stops, clearly listening as the guy on the other end talks. “Absolutely, Mr. Hammon. Have a wonderful day and give my best to your father. Buh-bye.” Hanging up the phone, she looks up, her bright smile fading the moment her eyes land on me. She clears her throat. “Good morning, Sir. Welcome to Johnston Memorial Medical Center. How may I assist you?”

  “Visiting.” I jab the button for the elevator, thankful as hell that Torch gave us the floor and room number when he talked to Stone. “Don’t trouble yourself, sweetheart, I know where I’m goin’.” The last thing I want is this nosy old bat telling me what to do. Or keeping me from Henley a minute longer than it takes for me to find her room because she is the Walmart greeter of the fucking hospital.

  “Sir.” Clearing her throat, she pushes to her feet. “You’ll need to sign in before you—”

  Her words are cut off by the ding of the elevator. Stepping inside, I press three. Nodding, I give her a wave as the doors start to close. “Have a wonderful day,” I s
ay mocking her tone from her phone call. “Buh-bye.”

  When the elevator doors open again, I spot the cop from last night talking to a woman at the nurse’s station. Shit. I should’ve expected he would be kicking over rocks around here to see what turns up.

  Looking up, he doesn’t even bother ending the conversation before heading my way. “Mr. Morrison,” he mutters, puffing out his chest.

  “Sheriff,” I grunt, with a jerk of my chin.

  “Sheriff Levi Fowler,” he corrects me. “It’s been brought to my attention that you were a witness here last night to what happened to Henley Wolfe.”

  “That so?”

  “It is.” Blocking my path, he clears his throat. “What can you tell me about the accident?”

  Accident. The word digs at me like nails on a chalkboard. “Now you wanna hear what I have to say?” I ask, invading his space.

  “I don’t have time for bullshit.” Taking a step back, he glances at the closed door to the room I know Henley’s in. “The way I see it, you should’ve been locked up for that stunt you pulled last night. But yes, if it helps my investigation, I’m interested in what you have to say.”

  “I think we both know,” I growl, glaring down at him. “If it were you callin’ the shots, you would’ve put two in my chest and watched me bleed out.”

  He doesn’t respond, not that I need him to. I know how this shit works. He sees me as a threat, as the villain he needs to take out. Like I need something else to deal with.

  “Yo!” Looking over, I see Torch standing in the partially opened doorway.

  “That’s my cue.” Clapping Fowler on the shoulder, I pass him. “Gotta see about my girl.”

  “Your girl?” Fowler says, whipping around. “Funny. Henley’s never mentioned you to me.”

  “Pretty sure my sister ain’t swapin’ secrets with a badge,” Torch bites out, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him. “Take a walk.”

  “I won’t be leaving until I’ve spoken with Henley,” Fowler fires back, coming up behind me. “Be sure and let her know I’m waiting.”