Where Souls Spoil

by Jc Emery

  Some months back, Jim called in a marker he’d put in with the club decades ago. His Old Lady, had a couple of kids—twins—that were taken from her. Jim promised her that even though she didn’t have custody of the kids, should they ever need it, he’d keep them safe. It was one of those things he agreed to and then forgot about, but then just before summer, he had to call in that fucking marker. And as if rescuing a teenage girl from the Italian fucking mafia on their own turf isn’t stupid enough, we ended up rescuing a teenage girl who ratted her own father out. My word is my word, so I went and did my thing. It was a club vote, and the club voted that the girl is family, so I kept my mouth shut, played my part, and let it go. But then Ryan had to go and fall for the bitch, and now shit’s all fucked up again.

  “He’s of no use to us as long as he’s living in that shithole,” Duke says, leaning in toward Ryan. “I get that this is personal for you, but you gotta let it go, brother. Princess has.” Ryan’s head cocks to the side just slightly, and he narrows his eyes. Ryan has an itchy trigger finger because Junior beat the shit out of the girl, Alex, until she had her ribs busted up and she could barely see from her swollen eyes. Can’t say I’d let that shit go, either. If Layla had taken a beating like that, the motherfucker would be dead. Even if he was my own brother, I’d gut him and let him watch me tear his intestines out of his body.

  “Do I?” Ryan says.

  “Yeah,” Duke says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Like you let it go when Darren tried to rape Nic? Like you handled that? Is that what I should do?”

  “That’s different, brother,” Duke says. “That piece of shit fucking raped her more times than your dumb ass can count and then he tried to rape her with my baby inside of her. Mine. He hurt her, and he made her think she was shit. Princess took a couple of pops and walked away from it. Nic’s still trying to figure her shit out. Do not fucking compare the two.”

  “Hey!” Wyatt shouts. “Neither of those situations should have ever happened. The club failed both of them. The last thing I want to think about is how we let a member’s kid get raped…again and a-fucking-gain…and how we let a member of our family be kidnapped from under our noses. So let’s move the fuck on, already, shall we?”

  With that, the bickering comes to a halt and we take a vote. It comes back tied with 5-5, and it all starts up again. We’ve moved past the bitching about what Junior did to Alex, and now we’re onto figuring out where we would even put the kid if we did vote to move him.

  Heavy thuds sound at the solid wooden door. I peer up at the door, over my brothers’ heads, and try to bite back my anger. The prospects and the lost girls know better than to interrupt us during Church. Something better be on fire, or somebody's head is about to fucking roll.

  Fish jumps up and goes to the door. When he opens it, one of the prospects barges in. He’s got a cell phone to his ear and his face is pale white. He’s a short thing, and stocky, but he’s built as fuck. We call him Squat and, until about five seconds ago, he was one of the ones I thought we’d patch in. Stupid fuck.

  “Mancuso got to Miss Priss,” Squat shouts and turns around back out the door. My stomach sinks as my worst fears are realized. Miss Priss is the name Ruby gave Cheyenne when she was a toddler. Despite her raising, Chey’s always been a girly girl. My brothers waste no time getting on their feet and rushing out after him. I launch myself from my seat and push to the front of the crowd. Every thought I have vanishes as I go on auto-pilot.

  “She’s holed up at the high school in the office with one of the employees,” Squat says as he moves out of my way. My brothers and I grab our phones and guns from behind the bar in the main room and rush out the front door into the parking lot. Our bikes are all backed up in an orderly line against the side of the building. I’m two feet away from mine when a familiar white Jeep barrels into the parking lot, past the open gates. The vehicle comes skidding to a halt, and before it’s even fully stopped, the passenger side door swings open and Cheyenne jumps out.

  I’m stone still for a moment as I force myself to check back in. Chey’s here, and she’s safe as long as she’s within these gates. Her lips are parted, and her chest heaves with panic. Her eyes flash from the left to the right and back again before they settle on me. She lets out a deep breath and runs at me so fast that when she reaches me, I have to take a step back from the impact.

  Instantly, I wrap my arms around her and crush her to me. The rush of fear, and then the gratitude of having her here and safe, is practically unbearable. I squeeze her small body until I feel her tapping out on my lower back. It’s something she’s done since she was in grade school, which is apparently when my hugs got too tight and started to smother her. I can’t help it. The more independent she becomes, the tighter I want to hold on to the little girl she once was.

  “Can’t,” she whispers and takes in a shaky breath, “breathe.” I loosen my grip and let her go.

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” I say. I give her a moment to calm down before I find out what’s going on. My eyes lift to the Jeep just as the driver climbs out. It’s Holly Mercer, and she looks more than a little uncomfortable being here. As she should.

  “You,” I shout and point at Holly. Her jaw slacks, and she lifts a finger, pointing at her own chest. I nod and crook my finger to order her over to me. She tightens her jaw back up, and straightens her back as she walks over. Finally, it seems she’s learned to follow a fucking order when she hears one. It’s about damn time I found something that knocks her off her game. She’s one hard-headed bitch.

  She goes to open her mouth, but I shake my head. “Don’t.”

  Yanking my cell out of my pocket, I dial Ruby’s cell and wait for her to pick up. She answers on the second ring. “That was quick.”

  “Chey’s at the clubhouse,” I say, hoping to give her some peace of mind.

  “Are you shittin’ me?” she says in disbelief. “I told her to keep her ass at the school.”

  My eyes cut to Holly. Guess I gave her too much credit for following orders. I say a quick thanks to Ruby then hang up the phone and shove it back in to my pocket. “What happened, Chey?” I ask.

  “This scary dude was leaning on my car when I left football practice. He said he had a message for you,” she says. She waits a beat before saying, “I ran into the office and told Holly.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” I ask as gently as I can.

  “I did. You didn’t answer,” she says quietly. That sinking feeling returns. We don’t bring phones or guns into the chapel – with rare exception, –so of course, I wouldn’t know she called. Doesn’t matter though. My kid needed me and I wasn’t there. Nothing else can make me feel as low as being unable to help Chey does.

  “What did Holly do?” I ask Cheyenne. Holly’s mouth opens, and I put my finger in the air to silence her. I’ll hear from her in a minute. I want to hear from Cheyenne right now.

  “She ran outside and told the guy to leave,” Chey says with her eyes sliding over to Holly. I take my eyes off my daughter and scan the parking lot. My brothers are all standing around and listening. They’re smoking and keeping an eye on the open clubhouse gates. I catch Wyatt’s gaze and nod toward Chey. He’s at her side in a minute, leading her inside for a soda and to chill out. Once she’s out of earshot, I look to Holly and signal her to follow me as I walk into the clubhouse. She follows close behind as we walk through the main room and down the hallway, and practically bumps into me when I pause at the door to my room. I doubt she’ll talk openly in front of the club, but maybe if I get her alone I can get a few things out of her besides insults.

  I open the door and let her in first. She walks in cautiously, her eyes everywhere but on me. She’s different from how she normally is around me—mean and bitter. Right now, she’s quiet and compliant. It’s good to know she’s not a raging nut case all the time— not that the raging nut case doesn’t get my dick hard. She starts going off and gets me torqued up and acting
irrational and shit, and that’s good for no one. I haven’t met anyone who could piss me off as bad as Holly Mercer can, and that’s saying something considering the assholes I share a patch with. Every time we’re in the same space shit gets explosive. We’re all trying to keep a low profile on behalf of the club right now.

  As it is, I’ve got Detective Gonzales all over my ass to come down to the station to answer a few questions about the recent assault on a local named Darren Jennings. Apparently someone saw a van that looks similar to one the club owns in the neighborhood the night Jennings’s body was dumped in his dad’s driveway. As if we don’t have enough shit to deal with, now we get to deal with the cops crawling up our asses because Duke had to be a prick. Not that Darren didn’t deserve what he got.

  “Ruby told you to stay put,” I say. It’s the first thing that comes to mind. Not the most important thing to be focusing on, but I want to know what the fuck she was thinking when she drove my kid through town while one of Mancuso’s men is here. And at Chey’s fuckin’ school no less.

  “That was terrifying,” she says as she folds her arms over her chest. She’s seething mad. Her eyes are narrowed, and everything her gaze lands on receives a dirty fucking look if I’ve ever seen one. That natural pretty shines through even her pissed face. She sucks in deep breaths that go in steady and blow out unsteadily. My eyes catch sight of her chest rising and falling and I’m back to thinking about bending her over shit.

  “I don’t even know what that was about, but I never want to be sucked into your club’s crap like that again.”

  Now I’m glad I brought her in here. I can deal with a little sass behind a closed door, but in front of my brothers? We’d have a real big problem. I should consider it a problem even in here without any witnesses, but there’s something about this woman that just makes me not give a shit that she’s throwing me attitude. I haven’t had anything new in a while and might as well see what I can do. I haven’t been fucked proper in a while and even an uptight bitch with a smart mouth and a nice ass has me forgiving shit I shouldn’t. Going soft is one of the reasons Ruby wants us all settled at home. You don’t got a steady woman, you go soft on all of them, she says. I guess she’s right.

  Women like Holly are nothing but trouble, and trouble is the last fucking thing I need. Still, she’s hot and fiery and God help me, but I like it. Still, I’m chalking up my interest in her to a temporary bout of insanity. I was all emotion last week, but as much as I enjoyed having my hands all over her like that, I really shouldn’t entertain the idea of letting this shit spiral out any further than it already has. I lock my shit down and focus in on what I need to take care of for right now.

  “Tell me what happened,” I say and lean against the door. She paces for a moment with her thumb in her mouth. She bites down hard enough to wince and then pulls it out. When she swings around, her eyes are wild and her hands shake at her sides.

  “I don’t even know,” she says. “I was at my desk. Cheyenne came running in saying there was a weird man at her car who had a message for you.” Her words come out quickly, but the last one has a bit more punch than the rest. Yeah, she’s real unhappy with me right now. “I went outside and told him he couldn’t be on campus, and I told him to leave Cheyenne alone. He didn’t like that much, and he told me that Mr. Man—Mancini, I think—his business partners are here and they need to meet with you.”

  “You mean Mancuso?” I ask. Before I can get the word out, she’s snapping her fingers and nodding.

  “That’s it,” she says then starts pacing again. “Anyway, he said they need to talk about an acquisition and something about a hostile takeover, and then it was weird. He said something about the club not wanting to give up some assets. It didn’t make much sense, but then he said something about aggressive tactics. I just, I can’t do that again. Look at me, I’m shaking,” she says and lifts a shaking hand up to my face.

  Shit.

  “Anything else?”

  “I asked him why he couldn’t go to you himself, and he said he wanted to check on Cheyenne,” she says and trails off. She places her hand over her mouth and gasps. Whatever she’s thinking about is frightening her, which is putting me on edge.

  She rushes up to me, places her hands on my chest and says, “He threatened her. He said he’d hate to see anything happen to her, and when I started to freak out, he asked me to not make him hurt me.”

  Everything in the room comes into focus. Even the tiny imperfections in the paint job where the wall meets the ceiling are crystal clear. I can hear everything around me. Forcing myself to be hyper aware is the only way I can shut down the straight-up panic attack I’m about to have. It’s rare that I find myself losing control and turning into a madman, but fucking with my kid is sure to do it every time. Cheyenne is the only good thing that came of my marriage to Layla, and she’s worth every goddamn headache and heartache I’ve had over her bitch mother. I can’t live in a world where my kid doesn’t, and even the faintest suggestion of losing her is enough to make me shut down entirely. But I can’t go there and let that happen. People depend on me. Letting them down can get them killed. My brothers deserve better than that. So instead, I let myself slip into autopilot where I can just take care of shit without thinking too much about what I’m doing.

  “You and Chey are both safe,” I tell her and reach up and awkwardly place my hand on her shoulder. She’s not calling me an asshole or screaming at me, so I try to do what I can to keep shit calm. Her eyes drift to my hand and, very slowly, she removes her hands from my chest. Something doesn’t sit right with me with the way she removes her hands, but instead of thinking on it, I file it away for later. I’m never going to figure this woman out, and there’s no reason I should want to. When I take my hand off her shoulder, she backs up. I push off the door and then open it with every intention of walking out without saying anything else. But the look on Holly’s face is so pathetic that it stabs at something in me, and I find myself trying to comfort her. “You trust that I’m going to keep you safe?”

  She gives little more than a non-committal murmur that I don’t understand, but as I stride out of the room she whispers so low I shouldn’t even be able to hear it, “I want to.”

  On my way down the hall and into the main room where my brothers are all sitting around and talking strategy, I let that tiny bit of confidence Holly has in me push me to make good on my promise. My kid is safe as long as she’s with us—which is where she’s going to stay—but I have no clue what I’m going to do with Holly. I doubt she’ll be gung-ho about staying with me until this shit blows over, and I can’t lock her up in the basement for her own safety. Although, it would serve her right for being so fucking difficult. Regardless of what I end up doing with her, right now I need to get Ian and one of our prospects to take her and Chey to the house to be with my mother, who should be home right about now. I need them safe with a few of my brothers so I can focus on finding this asshole and demonstrating why his little stunt is the last mistake he will ever make.

  Chapter 13

  Grady

  “WE DON’T HAVE any fucking clue where this guy is, let alone who he is!” Duke shouts from across the table. We’re in Church—again. I’m starting to think I should just move into this fucking room with how many club meetings we’ve had lately. This shit is necessary, and I need to keep my head in the game, but I can’t stop my foot from tapping on the floor in a show of impatience. I just want to get home to Chey and make sure she’s okay. I still need to figure out what to do with Holly, and I need to calm my mother down. No doubt she’s half past crazy right now.

  “That prick isn’t going to help us. He’s just going to lead us around by our dicks,” Diesel gripes from the far end corner of the table. Beside him is Chief’s empty seat. If he were here, he’d know what to do. Having to sit and stare at that vacant space makes it hard to trust in what we’re doing.

  We’re back at it about Michael. Especially now that this Italian coc
ksucker has shown up and targeted my girl, it’s even more important that we get better intel. When we got back to the clubhouse half an hour ago, every one of us looked totally defeated and mentally wiped. We rode around looking for that asshole for a good hour before giving up.

  Fort Bragg isn’t big enough to spend any longer than that looking for the guy. He sticks out enough that when we asked local business owners if they’d seen him, a few of them were able to confirm that they had. The last time we had some asshole walking around in a two thousand dollar suit it was when Junior swung into town and tried to kill his sister for information on the club. So far we got Mr. Hill from the hardware store on the look-out. That old man is nosey as fuck and one of the best locals to have on your side if you need anything. Loyal as he is stubborn.

  “Anybody think to run this by Lank?” Bear says from beside Diesel. Lank is Thomas Lankershim, a dirty cop who’s had his mouth on our dicks for the better part of a decade. I shake my head and lean forward.

  “Lank is out of touch right now, got it?” I say. Diesel and Bear exchange a confused look, and Fish shakes his head. Only Duke seems to fucking get it. “Not to beat a dead horse or nothing, but we got the FBPD inspecting our balls right now over that Darren shit. For some reason, they have witnesses that place our van at the scene.”

  “We got it, Knuck,” Wyatt says, using part of my club nickname. “Let that horse die.”

  “I’m just saying,” I say, completely unable to let it go. “We have to be more careful about the shit we’re pulling out there. We got too much going on to make mistakes.”

  “For the last goddamn time, that was not a mistake,” Duke snaps. I go to open my mouth when Jim slams his gavel down and screams. His face is bright red, veins stick out at his temples, and he is shaking with anger.