Where Souls Spoil

by Jc Emery

  “Too far, brother,” Ian says from his position behind Grady. Moving just slightly to my right, I see that Ian’s gun is pointed at Grady’s shoulder blade. Doesn’t matter how quiet and disturbed the guy seems, he’s really a pacifist at heart. “Put down the gun and Grady’s going to let this shit go.”

  “The fuck I am,” Grady says. “Got out-voted on the trip to Brooklyn, but this shit I ain’t cool with. I don’t like this bitch in Pres’s house. I don’t like her this close to the club. She’s a fucking security risk, and I’m not willing to risk my freedom just because she’s Ruby’s long lost kid.” Shaking his head he asks, “You really trust this bitch?”

  His words come out as a bark, but his eyes are pleading with Trigger to understand. It looks like he just wants him to ‘get it’ already, but Trigger’s one dense fucker. He won’t say it out loud, but he pretty much thinks Princess shits rainbows. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be making a trip to the house every day just to walk around the fucking place and avoid Alex while he’s at it.

  “Yeah,” Trigger says. “I do, and so does Ma. I’m taking responsibility for her.”

  The room goes dead silent. I don’t realize that I’ve lowered my gun until my arms drops and the weight of the .38 is apparent in my limp arm. The rest of the room all blends together like I have a bad fucking case of tunnel vision. All I can see is Ryan—not Trigger, the guy he’s become—and, for a moment, it takes me back to before either of us were patched.

  Back in the day when we were just dumb fucking kids with a dream and no goddamn clue as to what the reality of being patched means. I wouldn’t trade a single fucking second of the time I’ve spent in this club and all that it’s given me—family, brothers, loyalty, and even pride—but there’s a price for all of those things. My choices aren’t my own. The club says jump, and I don’t ask how high. I just fucking do it and wait to be told I’m doing it wrong. That’s how this life goes, and, for the first time since I patched in, I realize there may be a downside to that kind of loyalty.

  “How well do you know her?” Grady shouts. The hand that holds his gun shakes with fury. Something about this situation is really fucking him up, and it’s more than just not trusting Princess. Something about this irks him on a much more personal level than I expect for it to. “You really standing here and telling us you’re going to take responsibility for her? If that mouth of hers gets her ass busted? You’re going to bet your life on her silence?”

  Everything about this is fucked in a way I’ve never seen before. Ryan isn’t an idiot. He knows what it means to take responsibility for Princess. It means that if she talks, it’s his ass on the line. Taking responsibility for your woman is what we do when we ask the club to vote her in. Trigger’s not stupid enough to push for that yet, but taking responsibility for Princess is a big fucking deal. Looks like Grady’s about to have a serious fucking fight on his hands because I know damn well the next thing Trigger proposes to the club is going to be to vote Princess in—and then she’s everyone’s responsibility.

  Looking around the room, I find that a few of the other members have also lowered their guns. We’re witness to something pretty big happening right now. Ryan’s always been a selfish fuck, so for him to be willing to make that sacrifice must mean that he’s serious about Princess. I can’t quite figure it out though. He avoids her like the plague, and when he is around her he’s all moody and shit. Not that he’s Mr. Smiles around anybody or anything, but he’s always so tense in her presence. I didn’t see it before, but now I do. I see a selfish, bastard of a man falling in love.

  And it fucking kills me.

  I never thought I’d see the day when Trigger was a better man than me. He’s always been the bastard between the two of us, but the way he’s taking it to the wall for his girl? Fuck if I don’t feel like a goddamn tool for not doing more for my girl. She won’t ever admit it, but she needs me, and she needs the club. She’s got Forsaken in her bones and in her heart. Nic’s not a civilian. Like me, she couldn’t make it in her perfectly bland fucking world filled with cubicles and nine to five paper pushing. We need the edge, and the grit, and we need to feel alive. I just have to show her that I can be the man she needs me to be.

  “Enough,” I say. I bring my gun back up and point it at Grady’s arm. “This isn’t a fight you’re going to win, Bro.” Grady’s eyes slip over to mine. His features turn downward at the corners, as if he’s in physical pain from what’s going on.

  “This ain’t right,” he says much more quietly than I expect. It’s not exactly defeat that shows on his face, but it’s a temporary concession. “We’re a brotherhood. We live and die by a code. If we don’t got that, we don’t got shit. If that doesn’t mean something to the rest of you then I don’t even know who we are anymore.”

  Grady lowers his gun and shoves it back into the waistband of his jeans then stalks out of the room. The heavy wooden door wooshes at his exit then slams in his wake. We lower our guns, but don’t move to sit back down. The room is far too charged with energy. We’re just going to have to table the discussion for another time.

  “You see what’s happening here?” Diesel says as he places the palms of his hands on the table and rests his weight on them. First, his eyes meet Ryan’s, and then mine. “We’re falling apart over pussy, and it’s bullshit.”

  Trigger twists, turning toward Diesel, and he’s back to being the bastard that Forsaken’s made him into. His cold gray eyes look hard as steel, and his shoulders are set in that near permanent raised position. Diesel raises an eyebrow at him and gives him a slow, almost mocking shake of his head.

  “Then don’t let it,” Trigger says lowly. And there it is. My brothers might not see it, but I do. Trigger’s picked his side, and it’s not with us. The anger that radiates over him is a quiet fury. He’s mad all right, but he’s holding back from trying to fuck someone up for a change. Maybe he sees what’s happening, or maybe he just doesn’t give a fuck anymore. He stalks out of the room, and when he goes he’s far quieter than Grady was. I barely turn to watch his exit. My brain is consumed with the situation probably as much as his is. I don’t know how real this thing with Princess is for him, but I do know that he’s never acted like this before. We’ve never had to address something like this, and, of all my brothers, I never imagined it’d be Ryan to risk his patch over pussy, but he is, and I can’t decide if I want to fuck him up or slap him on the back for finally feeling something more for someone else than he does for himself.

  But I get it.

  Fuck, do I get it.

  And it terrifies me.

  Chapter 13

  The clubhouse was in a fucking uproar when I left. The brothers were all bitching about that shit with Grady and Trigger, and a few of them tried to drag me into the conversation. Fuck that. I was not about to stand around and shoot the shit after I just had a gun trained on my best friend’s skull. Sometimes I wonder if some of these guys really understand how serious this shit is.

  I rode for a good hour, just up and down the coast, before I’d cleared my head enough to head back to the house I share with Trigger. It’s more of a crash pad, but that’s not uncommon for single Forsaken members. The small house is Forsaken property—thank God—and the standard rules of renting don’t apply to us. Otherwise the owner might take Trigger’s dirty ass to court over the holes in his walls and piss on the carpet in the living room. He did try to clean it after he sobered up, but still. I’m not picky or nothing, but even I think the place is pretty fucking gross, and that’s why I’m packing a bag. Nic doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to be staying with her. Her house is much cleaner than this one, and I’m pretty sure with the right tactic, I’ll be able to get her to cook for me.

  The walls shake with the intense boom that sounds in the other room. I stand from my sitting position and draw my gun from the back of my waistband. Clicking off the safety and slowly crossing the room with my .38 out in front of me, I take a deep breath and swing my bedroom do
or open. The hallway is silent save for the low buzzing sound of the light about to short out over head.

  With my back to the wall, I enter the living room and train my gun on the front door. In the shadows of the covered window stands Trigger. He’s resting his back against the closed front door, and his eyes are closed. For a brief second, I think he looks peaceful, but then I notice the drawn gun in his right hand and the knife in his left. Trigger’s always been temperamental, but ever since Princess arrived, he’s downright maniacal.

  “What the fuck, Bitch?” I ask, lowering my gun and clicking the safety back on. It’s the second time today that I’ve had to pull a gun on him, and if he doesn’t knock this shit off, I might be tempted to give him a flesh wound just for the stress he’s causing me. His eyes open slowly as he pushes off the door and hangs a right into the kitchen. I follow, if only to score a cold beer from the fridge.

  “Where in the hell have you been?” I ask as I retrieve two beers and slide one down the counter to him. He shoves the knife back into his boot strap and places the gun on the counter. Barely paying attention, he reaches out and grabs the bottle. We use the bottle cap openers we have attached to our keys at our waists. He tosses his head back and chugs the entire beer at once then slams the bottle on the counter.

  “House,” is all he says. I take a swig of my beer and nod my head. There’s something I need to talk to him about, but I’ve been avoiding it for as long as I can. After that shit in Church though, I don’t think I can keep putting it off.

  “You see Princess?”

  “Cub,” he corrects me with a snap in his tone. He leans forward and places his hands on the edge of the counter. “Let me ask you something—you got a thing for Nic?”

  My jaw locks up, and I grip the neck of the beer bottle tighter than I should, but without knowing where he’s going with this, I don’t trust why he’s bringing Nic into the conversation, especially when he knows how I feel about her. The entire club knows how I feel about her after Diesel pulled that shit just to prove a point to Nic. Can’t say I like it, but he’d do most anything for my girl, including slamming my skull into the pavement a few times. Fucker.

  “I’m gonna hold a meet to talk about voting her in,” I say. His body tenses even worse, and he shakes his head, but a tiny smile forms at the corner of his mouth. It’s just for a second, and then it’s gone.

  “The club told you to back off—what would you do?”

  “Depends on the reason,” I say. We rarely ever discuss anything as deep as this. I mean, why the fuck would we? Typically, we’re both perfectly fine just fucking around. But then everything started to change. Finally getting Nic into bed after all these years meant something more than finally fucking my high school crush. Then this shit with Princess, and my head’s not been right in a damn long time.

  “Say Nic did what Cub did,” he says. His knuckles are gripping the counter so tight I think he might crack the fucking thing off.

  “Shit like that ain’t easy to forget. Bitches in this life—they snort shit, suck dicks, and fuck around, and we don’t give a fuck about that shit as long as they keep their mouths shut about club business. Princess was miserable, sure. I get that, dude. But she broke the one fucking rule we got—the only fucking thing that makes this work: our silence.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” His voice booms, and his head shoots up. His gray eyes shoot daggers at me. “You really think I ain’t thought about this—that my dick’s the only thing that matters?”

  “Then what does matter?” I ask quietly. In all the years I’ve known this mother fucker he’s never opened up like this. Even when we were kids and he’d get hurt, all he’d do is start kicking the ground and throwing a fit. Didn’t matter if he’d fucked up his knee or broke his arm—he was pissed and kicking the dirt. “What is it about this chick that’s got your dick in knots?”

  “She thanked me,” he says lowly. “The trip back from Brooklyn, we’re all standing around listening to Pop ramble the fuck on. She’s got to be scared as fuck, but she looks at me and fucking thanks me. Nobody ever thanks me.”

  “You’re ready to lose your patch because Princess has manners?” I ask, almost incredulous.

  “Fuck,” he shouts in frustration. He lifts the empty beer bottle from the counter, and throws it against the back wall. I force myself to keep a steady eye as he kicks at the floor three times and then slams his fist into the counter.

  “Say you go against Grady and the club votes you down. He’s barely tolerating her being in Pop’s house as it is. You lose your patch for her and that crazy bitch is gonna follow you wherever you go.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He’s taking a chance by talking to me. I know that shit’s not easy.

  “Problem is, Bro—you lose your patch and ride off into the sunset, and what happens when Mancuso finds you? Way I see it, the only thing keeping her alive is this club. You can’t do that shit on your own.”

  “Tell me what to do,” he says in a plea. I bite my tongue to stop myself from cracking a joke. Trigger’s not one to give up control easily, and he pretty much never asks for help. I consider ribbing him about it, but if I tried that, he’d probably self-destruct from trying to sort this shit out on his own. I love the dude, but he’s not really a thinker.

  “Let her go,” I say and take another pull of my beer. “You care way too much about her to let her get hurt, so the only thing you can do is to just let her go. At least then she’ll be safe.”

  “She’s fucking relentless,” he says.

  “Then make her understand that this isn’t going to happen and why,” I say.

  “Yeah,” is all he says as he walks slow and defeated to his room, slamming the door behind him.

  I can’t really be happy for Trigger right now. It’s not like he’s got his shit sorted and everything’s gravy. Still, seeing him this fucked up over a broad—and Princess of all people—makes this shit almost worth it. Trigger isn’t the kind of guy who gives a damn about women or how they feel, so whatever he feels for Princess must fucking mean something. And I don’t think it’s going to go away. He’s always been a company man, and going against the club to keep her close is news that’s bothering even the Nevada charter. With any luck, he’ll figure out how to turn her off enough to put an end to this shit.

  I’m done, I think. I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. I need food and a comfortable bed to pass the fuck out on. Without thinking twice about it, I pull my phone from my pocket and hit the number nine, then wait for her to answer. But she doesn’t. It’s fucking typical. The phone rings and rings until the voice mail message picks up.

  “This is Nic, leave a message,” her voice sounds through the phone in a surprisingly pleasant tone. Maybe the fact that she rarely answers her phone is a good thing. At least leaving a message ensures I’m gonna hear something nice out of her mouth.

  I wait for the beep and say, “Come on, Nicole. Answer my calls. We both know you got a house full of food, and I’m hungry. I’ll be by in a bit so we can have dinner. I’m thinking you could get those steaks going.” I don’t know if she’s eaten yet, but I haven’t, and I’m fucking starved. Plus, eating a second dinner isn’t going to hurt to put some pounds on that stick figure of hers. I head back to my room to grab my bag and head over to Nic’s house, but stop halfway there. Trigger’s door swings open, and he stands in the doorway. His head is bent. and he’s looking down at his phone in his hand.

  “Got a text from Cub,” he says without looking up. “Got to pick her up.”

  “Where is she?” I ask, giving him a nervous glance. He keeps sucking air in through his nose and blowing out heavy breaths. He lifts his hand and wipes white powder away from his nose then lifts his head. His eyes are pinned and unfocused.

  “House party. Downtown,” he says. “You’re gonna want to follow me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she left the house with Nic,” he says and pinch
es the end of his nostrils together, sucks in a deep breath, and shakes his head. “Fuck.”

  “If you’re not good to ride, I can take Ruby’s Suburban to pick them up,” I say. Irritation tickles the back of my neck as he sniffles and shoves his phone back into his pocket. No wonder she didn’t answer my call. “What the fuck are they doing at a house party downtown? Those places are fucking skeezy.”

  “And the clubhouse isn’t?” he asks, smirking and grabbing his dick.

  “At least we know the fucked up shit that goes down at the clubhouse,” I mumble and turn around to head back down the hall and out the door. Trigger’s behind me when we pull out of the driveway, but then he takes lead. The house is a short drive from downtown, but we take our time riding slowly up and down every street in between. It isn’t long before Trigger signals with his left arm that he thinks he’s found the house.

  The house in question is jam-packed with people, and the music is blaring. I recognize this house and fucking pray this isn’t where they are. Fort Bragg’s small, but there has to be another house party going on tonight. At least, I hope. This place is owned by a couple of meth heads who used to cook the shit here a couple years back before the club had to shut them down. We only found out about it because Layla was buying her shit here.

  Trigger pulls up to the house in front of the fire hydrant, makes a sharp right and then backs the bike up to the curb. I follow his direction. When I dismount, I look for a guy to watch the bikes. People in this town know not to fuck with us, but some of these losers need reminding and my bike already has one fucking scratch in it. I’m not about to let her get another.

  Scanning the crowd, I find a kid who can’t even be out of high school yet. He’s young enough to be Nic’s brother, and he’s standing on the sidewalk holding a forty in his right hand. His eyes widen as I point at him and say loudly, “You. Come here.”

  The kid walks over all wobbly-like and nods. He obviously knows who we are, and he’s been raised right if he looks like he’s going to piss himself like he does.