Where Souls Spoil

by Jc Emery

  “Yeah.” I leave it at that.

  “Hey, since you’re up, grab me some food. Eileen called me in since Mindy didn’t show, so I have to get to the shop soon,” she says.

  “Fuck no. Do I look like your bitch?”

  The words fly out of my mouth before I can think about what I’m saying. When it was just me and Nic, we had an understanding. She kept food in the house, and I kept out of her way. She stepped on my toes, and I’d step on hers. It was just sibling shit mostly, but sometimes it got pretty fucking heated. She may be a foot shorter than me, but when she’s pissed, she fucking loses it. She would get to bitching about the dumbest shit. It bugged the crap out of me, but she never stayed mad long. It worked for us. But now that Duke’s here, everything is different. I can’t say a single fucking thing that he doesn’t approve of without getting my ass reamed for it. I raise an eyebrow at her. She and I get into a fight where she makes me yell at her, and I get hit for it.

  We have good times. It’s not all hitting and fighting, and Duke always takes time later to explain his bullshit reasons for doing what he does. He’s taking this whole daddy-practice thing too far, but it’s not like I can say that to him. I don’t want to go back to having to call him “sir” every time I see him.

  “If you’re not going to show your sister some respect, at least show that cut some respect and get the fucking mud off it,” Duke says as he untangles himself from my sister.

  It’s not the response I was expecting. Instead of questioning him like I’m prone to do, I just nod my head and back into the kitchen. Duke stands from the couch and follows behind me.

  I’ve never cleaned my cut before, so I don’t really know what I’m doing. I eye the dish soap before deciding to just use water. I don’t know why he’s bitching about my leather. I mean, Dad always says that a man’s cut tells his story. He never cleaned his cut, really. Maybe once or twice—for a wedding or a funeral—but other than that, he let it get dirty and gross. He said he earned the dirt and the wearing of the leather on behalf of his patch. It’s a source of pride. But if Duke wants my cut clean, I guess I’ll clean it.

  He strides in the room a minute later with his boots on. He’s pulling on a dark blue V-neck as he shakes his head at me. I turn the water on and reach for the nearest dish towel, but he points to the kitchen table. Instead of cleaning off the mud, I head where he’s pointing and sit down. He plops down across from me and rests his elbows on the table.

  His voice is low as he says, “Got a job for you.”

  “A job?” Not that I’m not grateful he’s not threatening to kick my ass for smarting off to my sister or anything, but he’s acting weird as all hell right now.

  “I need you to facilitate a meeting between Princess and Junior.”

  Shit. Alex gave me a brief rundown on the shit she caused during one of her visits to the house. She’s cute but not my type—not my type being the kind of pussy that comes with a hundred and eighty pounds of asshole attached at her side. I asked her what was with all the drama about her and Trigger hooking up. It was a short and weird conversation. I mean, what the fuck do you say when someone tells you they accidentally ratted their dad out, now their cousin wants to kill them, and they inadvertently started a war between Forsaken and the Italian mafia? I mean, fuck. Nic is clumsy, and she tends to break shit, but she’s never destroyed an informal, decades-old peace treaty between two outlaw entities. That kind of power is both terrifying and impressive—and I want none of it. So facilitating anything for Alex is above my pay grade, I’ve decided.

  “Why is something this important being passed down to me?”

  “Princess requested it. Trigger won’t even hear of letting her near him, and if I set the meeting up and he finds out, he’ll ride my ass like I’m a Lost Girl.”

  “And what the fuck do you think he’s going to do to me!” I mean, goddamn it. Even Duke doesn’t want to piss Trigger off about this shit, so why the fuck does he think it’s a good idea to send me in?

  “As far as Trigger knows, you don’t know shit. You’re just doing a favor for Ruby’s kid, so it’s like doing a favor for the Pres.”

  “You think he’s going to let me slide on that excuse?”

  “Probably not,” Duke says.

  “He’s going to fuck me up,” I whine. I’m not proud of whining, but facing off against Trigger when it comes to Princess—or Cub or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to call her—is a goddamn death wish.

  “So don’t get caught,” Nic says, startling me. She’s leaning against the doorjamb. Her arms are folded over her chest, pulling up her shirt and—thankfully—revealing a small pair of cotton shorts. Decency—I guess she has some of it. “Look, Jer, this is important to Alex. She asked me to talk to Duke.”

  And suddenly it all makes sense. My sister is the mastermind behind this little plan. If it was Duke’s idea, he’d just do it himself and fuck Trigger if he didn’t like it. But this is Nic being Nic and trying to protect the people she loves—and she loves Alex like the sister she never had. Apparently she loves Duke enough to spare him Trigger’s wrath. I’m her fucking brother, and she can’t spare me? If I sent Christmas cards, my bitch sister would be off my list.

  Duke silently watches Nic push off the doorjamb and shuffle over to the fridge. I watch his eyes travel from hers down to her protruding stomach and then slide down her legs to her bare feet. Duke looks at Nic in a way I’ve never seen a man look at a woman before. I mean, people say they’re in love all the time. They say they care about people, but then shit happens. They leave, or they get sent away. But none of them ever look at the person they say they love the way Duke looks at Nic. It’s like he’s making sure she’s okay and she’s got all her limbs.

  Duke told me the last time we were changing the oil in her car that he needs help painting the spare bedroom for the baby. He doesn’t need help, and I called him on that, but then he told me that being a man means being involved. It means sometimes doing lame shit like painting a room and putting together baby furniture, and that as the kid’s uncle, I have a responsibility to make sure he or she is taken care of. It kind of freaked me out—made the whole baby thing that much more real. Everything is changing, and I don’t know how to deal with half of it. Like now, being told to set up a meet between Alex and her brother. It’s heavy shit that I worry I’m going to seriously fuck up.

  “Neither of you want to take the heat,” I mumble.

  “No,” Nic says. She opens the fridge and pulls out the peanut butter and jelly, then sets them on the counter and turns back toward me. She turns her attention to Duke and nods her head. “Tell him, baby.”

  “What you’re about to hear stays between us, got it?” he says, and I nod my head. I know better than to run my mouth—usually—about shit a member tells me. It’s been months, and I haven’t told anyone about the bitch Ian had me get rid of. I can keep my mouth shut when it matters.

  “We put it to a vote—moving Junior to a more permanent location—and Trigger lost his shit. As far as the club’s concerned, whether or not Princess and Junior see each other again is up to her old man. She’s not voted in and likely won’t be unless she can win Grady over, so it’s not a club problem. But it becomes a club problem if a member interferes with another member’s personal life. We can’t have tension among the brothers.”

  “Yeah, that policy is bullshit. You all are always up each other’s asses. This is going to cost me my patch.”

  “Not if you didn’t know you weren’t supposed to do it,” Duke says.

  Bullshit. These assholes talk about their policies and codes, and they never fucking follow them. It’s just a convenient excuse to avoid getting their hands dirty.

  Nic sighs loudly from her spot and taps her foot on the floor. She opens her mouth but waits a moment before speaking.

  “The club can’t handle any more stress, Jer. We lost Chief, and with this Italian in town, everybody is on edge. The guys are all on security detail every sin
gle day, and Ian is still looking for Darren’s parents. Duke isn’t going to be able to focus and keep us safe if he’s distracted with thinking that Ryan is going to go off on him at any moment.” Nic puts a hand on her stomach, and it’s fucking unfair because she knows using my niece or nephew against me works every time. The way I see it, motherhood doesn’t really run in her genes, and I don’t want to do anything to make being a mom more difficult on her. Growing up without a mom sucks, and I don’t want that for my niece or nephew.

  “Fine. Fucking fine,” I say. Pushing back from the table, I glare at Duke whose expression is as flat as it has been for the last several minutes. He doesn’t like to talk about all the shit that’s fucked in our world right now, and I don’t blame him, but hell. Why couldn’t either of them tell Alex that she’s just going to have to deal with Trigger over this shit? Pussies, the both of them.

  “By the way,” I say, “Miss Priss was asking about the Italian.”

  “Don’t tell her shit,” Duke says. “Club business.”

  “I know that. Just letting you know. She was pushy.”

  Nic’s back is to me as she works at making her sandwich. She turns around mid-bite and says, “Tell her it’s being taken care of and she doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Club business, Nic,” Duke says with a harsh tone. “He doesn’t have to tell her a fucking thing.”

  “Yeah, because that line has worked so well for you boys in the past,” she mumbles and takes another bite of her sandwich. She has a point. The guys are all about living by the code, but the second their old lady denies them some pussy, they become a bunch of chatty bitches. Doesn’t matter, though. Duke gave me my orders.

  “Speaking of club business,” I say a little quieter and lean in, “Ian still doesn’t have a lead on where Darren’s parents went?”

  “Nothing,” he says and eyes Nic, who isn’t even trying to pretend she’s not paying attention. “It’s like they’ve fucking disappeared off the face of the earth.” I do the same, and while she doesn’t appear terribly concerned, that doesn’t mean shit. She’s fucking tough as nails. She got that from our dad.

  A chirping noise sounds from across the table. Turning my head back to Duke, I see him pull his cell out of his jeans pocket and read the screen. A few seconds later and he’s staring at me with narrowed eyes. “Safe house—now.”

  “Wait. I’m supposed to set up this meeting now?” I ask. The safe house is where we’re keeping Michael for the time being. I’m not supposed to know that, or where it is, but the brothers aren’t so great at keeping their mouths shut outside of Church. The more I walk around with a confused look on my face, the more they think I’m either too distracted or too stupid to be listening in. Assholes.

  Duke hops to his feet, strides over to Nic, and kisses her cheek. “Don’t wait up, babe. Shit’s going down. Tell Eileen to run her own goddamn shop.” Then he turns to me and jerks his chin at the front door. Understanding the order, I make my way outside.

  Once he’s shut the door behind him, he turns to me with a serious expression. “We’re about to do some shit. Mancuso’s guys showed up at the safe house, so it’s probably going to get ugly. Grady’s called the full table, but Mancuso’s guy wants Jim alone.”

  I nod my head like I know what the hell he’s talking about before I realize that bullshitting could be dangerous. So instead of doing what I normally do and acting like I get it, I just ask him. “What does the full table mean?”

  “It means that Jim needs everybody to the safe house fully armed, so let’s go.”

  “We should probably leave the bikes at the clubhouse, then. Take one of the vans or the SUV.”

  Duke slaps my face lightly and forces a tight smile to his face. “Good. You do pay attention. I need you fully armed.”

  “I got my piece,” I say and reach behind my back, lightly patting the holster that the gun Trigger gave me rests in.

  “No, I mean serious fire power, not that piece of shit.” He just shakes his head and starts walking to his bike but stops when my cell starts ringing.

  Quickly, I yank it out of my pocket and check the caller ID. It reads PRES. My thumb slides over the answer button on the screen, and I bring the phone to my ear.

  “Prospect,” I say. It’s stupid, but Trigger gave me the order to answer my phone that way, and I’m not inclined to piss him off any more than I already do.

  “We got trouble. Need you to check on Sweets and Bean,” Jim says solemnly on the other end of the line. “They’re MIA.”

  “Apartment, coffee shop, and high school. Anywhere else?”

  “Not unless you get a lead. See what you find out and then call Knuck.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m on it.” The line goes dead, and before I shove the phone back in my pocket, I check the time. It’s well after four, so I doubt Holly will still be at work. Walking up to Duke, I lower my voice so that I’m not broadcasting club business to my nosy fucking neighbors.

  “Change of plans. Pres says Sweets and Bean are MIA.”

  “Fuck,” he shouts. Angry veins pop out of the sides of his neck as he stomps his heavy boot into the ground in a move that tells me he and Ryan have known one another far too long. “What the fuck is wrong with this fucking club that we can’t keep track of a few goddamn women in a town this fucking small!”

  I stay silent for a moment before I realize he’s still grunting and screeching so loud that our neighbors are starting to take notice. It might be a bad idea, but I lean in and whisper-shout, “Dude. I get it, but we have an audience.”

  “Fuck you,” he yells. His narrowed eyes travel from my face to the grass. He takes a few deep breaths, still obviously seething, and stomps off to his bike.

  I don’t wait for my orders and head for my bike as well. He takes off toward the club house, and I head the opposite direction toward the girls’ apartment. The coffee shop is closer, but the way Knuck feels about Holly, she takes priority. My hands shake the closer I get to the apartment, and my palms make my grip on my handlebars almost too slick to ride without eating dirt. But I can’t slow down. Knuck needs Holly, and I need my patch—and if I fuck this up, ain’t nobody getting what they need.

  CHAPTER 3

  November

  17 months to Mancuso’s downfall

  Standing in the middle of Holly and Mindy’s living room with pieces of splintered wood around me, I’m suddenly nervous that Grady’s order to “stay put” didn’t mean busting into the place. When I called him a few minutes ago to give him the bad news that I can’t find the girls anywhere, he hung up before I could clarify what his order meant. So really this is his fault.

  I step over the shards of what used to be part of the front door and its frame and head into the small kitchen. Everything looks normal in here, and until I broke in, the place was secure. So, at the very least, there wasn’t anything violent going on here from what I can tell.

  Leaving the kitchen and heading down the hallway, I first check out Holly’s room. Her bed is messy, and clothes are piled in the corners, but it’s not too bad. A beige bra sits on the edge of her bed, distracting me. It’s nothing really sexy, but I’ve been thinking about motorboating her tits for a while now.

  Before I find something else to check out, I dart out of the room and into the bathroom, then Mindy’s room. Nothing appears out of place until I notice the tipped-over nail polish bottle on her nightstand. The bright pink polish is half-dried on the wooden surface and has dripped down the side, creating a colorful blob on the carpet.

  Shit.

  I have no fucking clue what I’m doing anymore. I pull out my phone and try to dial Grady again, but he doesn’t answer. Calling Jim turns out to be useless, and so does calling Duke. Finally I decide to check the shop once more and hope to find Mindy there and totally clueless as to why I’m freaking out.

  My boots scrape at the concrete curb as I rush across the street and up onto the sidewalk at the corner of Main and Laurel on my way to
Universal Grounds for the second time this afternoon. The first time I was here, Nic’s bitch boss was at the counter. With Bean nowhere in sight, I hopped back on my bike and rushed to the high school. On my way, I found Sweets’s and Bean’s cars in the drug store parking lot just a few blocks from their apartment. The doors were all unlocked, and there was nothing in Mindy’s trunk or the back of Holly’s Jeep. Not a single sign of struggle and, thankfully, no fucking blood. The spilled nail polish in the apartment tells me the cars were dumped there. I sent Duke a quick text about the cars and then was back on my way to the high school. I didn’t find shit there.

  Only Margot was in the office, and she went off, bitching at me about missing classes and this apparent problem people have with my attitude, which is total bullshit. I’m a fucking peach to be around. But whatever. After she shut the fuck up, I got it out of her that Holly got a call and then ran out to take her lunch and hadn’t returned since. She was supposed to be off half an hour ago. The fucking busybody wanted to know if she was in trouble—or causing trouble—and if I saw her first that I could let her know she’s on thin ice at work. I can’t be concerned with whether or not Sweets has a job after today. It’s not like the club is going to let her get fired. But so what if she does? Grady can keep her comfortable. But again, none of this shit matters if I don’t fucking find her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  In a matter of seconds, I’m in front of the coffee house. My lungs strain for breath that’s not coming as easily as I need it to. Getting that call from Jim has fucked me up big time. Out of all the guys and the prospects, he called me. And it’s not like he called me for some bullshit errand.