Highest Sins: Mountain Misfits MC Book 2

by Deja Voss

  Be home as soon as possible. You’re so fucking beautiful.

  I stand up and step outside of the tent, nearly tripping over Morgan’s passed out body. Clutch and Austin are still hanging out by the campfire, looking rough as ever, and everywhere I look there are bodies on the ground.

  “Did you sleep well, princess?” Austin teases.

  “You ready to get to work?” I ask him. He leans over the side of the stump he’s sitting on and starts projectile vomiting on the ground. Clutch just laughs at him and chugs his beer. “Looks like somebody’s going to be real useful today. Nice, guys.”

  I grab a kettle and start boiling water over the fire. Coffee might not cure him, but it’ll definitely make him more tolerable to me. Gavin steps out of his tent, stretching out, yawning.

  “Pretty much exactly what I expected,” he laughs. “Actually a lot less vomit, too.”

  “Give it time,” I growl. Austin hasn’t stopped dry heaving, and now Clutch is joining in. “They’re going to have a real good time bottling this shit today. Nothing like the smell of grain alcohol to make you regret last night’s decisions.”

  “There’s a pile of passed out bartenders on the ground, and I woke up in my tent by myself,” Red laughs, joining us by the fire, lighting up a cigarette. “I don’t know if I should feel regret or if I actually made a responsible life choice for once.”

  “Or your erectile dysfunction was just flaring up again,” Tank says from behind the tree he’s peeing on.

  “Fuck off,” he laughs.

  We might be a bunch of degenerates, but at least we get our shit done when it counts. I can’t say I never was in their shoes myself, but damn, it feels good to finally have my woman at home and not have to spend my days hungover and worrying about what kind of stupid shit I got into last night.

  “Alright, ladies,” Gavin booms, walking around pinching the girls on their arms as they whine and writhe, clutching their foreheads. “Either you’re working on stills or you’re getting the hell out of our way. Time to wake up.”

  I walk to the nearby stream with my cup of coffee and splash myself in the cool water. Morgan is hot on my heels and she sits on a rock nearby, just staring at me. I pretend like I don’t notice her, just going about my business, letting the coldness of the water wake my tired face.

  “Why are you ignoring me, Brooks?” she finally whines. “You’ve been acting so weird ever since our trip. You won’t even give me the time of day. I thought we had something, Brooks.”

  “We don’t,” I say, point-blank.

  “We did,” she says, walking down to the bank of the stream, toeing the water. “We always have.”

  “What are you even doing back here?” I ask her. “I thought you had a new life. I thought you were done being a dirty birdie.”

  “I’ll never abandon you guys. Maybe that life seemed fun for a little bit, but this is where I belong. With my men. With you.”

  “Morgan,” I say. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I was ever going to be with you. I’m with Esther now. I’m happy. I’m good.”

  She looks so old without any make-up on. Old and sad. She looks like she wants to punch me, but there’s something going on behind her blue eyes. Something almost devious.

  “You’re really committed to this act, aren’t you?” she asks. “You know Moses sees right through it; hell, we all do. You’re just using her to step over Gavin. You’re using her to step over Moses. You think she’s going to be your ticket to presidency, but you’re wrong, and you’re going to pay for it.”

  “The fuck did you say?” I ask, crouching down so I can get right in her face. Not only is she insulting my old lady, but she’s making some pretty bold statements about me and my loyalty to my club, and if I were a worse man, I’d be showing her her place right about now. “You don’t know anything about this club, Morgan, and you definitely don’t know me if you think that’s what’s happening here. Just because you spread your legs for anyone, hoping to earn yourself an old lady patch, doesn’t mean that we are all running around looking to fuck each other over to get some sort of higher rank.”

  “You sure about that? I mean, it’s pretty much common knowledge that you’d do anything to hurt Moses, considering what he did to your daddy. Real shame. I’d want revenge too, if I were you. Everyone’s favorite little redhead prostitute is a perfect cover-up. She’s the perfect tool to fuck him over. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it sooner.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist again, holding back my urge to throw her in the stream. “Get the fuck out of my sight and stay there.”

  I storm up the bank, back to my tent.

  “I gotta go,” I tell Gavin, throwing my stuff in my backpack as quickly as possible. Something isn’t sitting right with me. I need to see her. I need to talk to her. I need to assure her that my love for her is deeper than the cut, that I have no intentions for her other than making her the happiest woman alive.

  “Everything ok?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. Morgan’s saying some weird shit, and I need to go straighten some things out with your sister.”

  “Let me guess. Old Moses is trying to pull some moves while we’re out of town.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, “but I need to get back to her.”

  “Do you want my help?” he asks.

  “No. This is between me and her.”

  “I got your back, and you know it,” he says. “We all do. You’re a good man, Brooks.”

  I like to think that. I like to think that I’m loyal, that I’m doing the right thing by her, but maybe us being together is just causing her pain, drama in her family, drama in our club. All the things that kept me from taking the leap all these years. I hop on the four-wheeler and make my way through the cobweb-draped trees that line the trails. I need to get back to her.

  35

  Esther:

  I wake up shivering. Every time I try to open my eyes, I see stars, little flashes of electric sparks. I grab for my temples, confused, disoriented. I know I wasn’t drinking last night, at least not enough to get me on this level. I don’t think I am coming down with anything. My arm is sore like I’ve been punched, and my comforter is nestled around my body, but the floor underneath me feels hard, cold, like concrete.

  Why am I even on the floor? Did I fall down our basement steps? I’m so confused. I try to scream but my mouth feels like it’s pasted shut. I try to sit up, but my head is spinning. It’s so dark, wherever I am, the only light a tiny flicker that looks like it’s a million miles away from me. Maybe I died. I feel like I’m dying. I can’t even lift my head up more than an inch or two before I have to rest it back down.

  My heart is racing and my chest feels tight. I try to roll over on my side as I feel vomit pooling in my throat. Just an inch or two, I chant to myself over and over again, but before I can accomplish my last wish, my simple goal, everything goes black again.

  Fifteen Years Ago

  “Esther, what the fuck happened to you?” Gavin asks me as he pulls me into his dorm room. He looks up and down the hall suspiciously, as if he knows these demons might be following me. Hell, they probably are. I know it wasn’t safe for me to hitchhike my way here. I know the receptionist at the front desk of the office of the school didn’t know what to do with me. I look like hell, my clothes ripped and torn, my eyes black. I tried to wash as much blood off of me as I could in a creek, but I’m on the run.

  I’m on the run and I have no idea where I’m supposed to be.

  “Who did this to you?” He’s screaming in my face and it’s making my ears hurt. It’s making my head pound. It’s not helping, but I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less. “We need to call Dad. We need to call the guys.”

  He’s pacing back and forth, in this tiny dorm room. Someone is trying to get in the door, and a cold chill runs through my body.

  “Please don’t,” I beg. “Don’t call anyone. I’m fine. I just needed t
o see you.”

  He opens the door and sticks his head out into the hallway. I hear him talking to a guy, and I back myself into the corner, making myself as small as possible. He grabs a backpack and hands it to whoever is in the hallway.

  “Esther, you’re shaking,” he says. I can’t look him in his dark eyes. I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed, and everything about him reminds me of my father, which makes me feel sick to my stomach. “It’s just my roommate. It’s ok. You need to go to the hospital,” he says. He grabs his blanket from his bed and wraps it around my shoulders.

  “No hospital,” I say. “We don’t do hospitals.”

  “Well then I need to get you back on the mountain so Patch can take care of you,” he insists. “I’m gonna call Brooks right now to come and get you.”

  “Don’t,” I plead. “Don’t ever tell him you saw me. I don’t want to ever see him again.” He can’t see me like this, not after what I’ve done, not after who I’ve become. Seeing him right now would kill me. This is not his pain. He doesn’t need to clean up this mess. He needs to live a happy life without me. I feel like I’m going to pass out. I feel queasy. “Please,” I beg him. “Just let me rest.” I sit down on the floor, my eyelids fluttering, fighting back the sleep I so need.

  “Esther, what happened to you?” he asks. “Where did you come from?”

  “It’s club business,” I whisper. “It doesn’t involve you. Everything is going to be ok now.”

  That’s all I have to say, and he gets it. He knows where my loyalty is, and where his needs to be. I don’t remember anything else but waking up in his bed, the only light in the tiny dorm room coming from a slat in the window blinds. I’m cleaned up, I’m wearing clothes I’ve never seen before, and there’s an envelope of cash next to my head on the pillow. It’s time for me to make my trip back up to the mountain. It’s time for me to be reborn into the life I was always meant to live.

  36

  Brooks:

  I park my bike in the driveway behind my black pickup truck. Everything seems normal here. I’m probably just psyching myself out, but better safe than sorry. If the story of Esther and I has taught me anything, it’s that lack of communication doesn’t work for us, and right this second I feel like I need to talk to her, or, at the very least, see her safe and sound asleep in our bed.

  As I step up on the front porch, her damn cat starts weaving in and out of my ankles, purring furiously as he rubs himself all over my legs.

  “What are you doing outside, old man?” I ask him. If she knew he was out here right now, she’d be flipping out. I scoop the orange ball of fur up in my arms and head to the front door. It’s unlocked, which is nothing unusual. Nobody messes with us out here, and if they do, that’s why we have guns.

  “Jesus, Gingerbread, you had a fucking day, didn’t you, dude?” I ask, setting him down on the floor. He has the garbage knocked over, and the kitchen floor is covered in trash. Usually, the only time he throws tantrums like this is when he’s hungry. She must be sleeping really hard. Maybe she got into the liquor last night. That would explain the random sexts, which, although highly appreciated, were definitely unexpected. I slide my boots off in the doorway.

  I open up a can of food for Gingerbread, gagging a little bit while I shovel it into his bowl. I sweep up the mess he’s made all over the floor. If this isn’t true love, tending to her nasty, geriatric, toothless cat, then I don’t know what is. I just know I don’t want her to wake up to all this.

  I climb the steps, our bedroom door slightly cracked open. It smells like a Yankee Candle shop grand opening up here, and I assume she must’ve passed out hard, because I’m surprised our house isn’t burned down the way she goes at it with these candles.

  “Esther,” I whisper in the doorway, not wanting to sneak up on her. “Babe, I’m home.”

  Something definitely isn’t right. As I push the door the rest of the way open, I notice the comforter missing from the bed, and she’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Esther!” I shout, throwing open the door to the master bathroom. I tear back the shower curtain. I barnstorm the entire house, opening doors, looking in closets, even going down in the basement and checking every corner of the dark concrete-walled room. She won’t set foot in here, something about it makes her completely freak out, but right now nothing is making sense.

  I double-check the garage; her bike is parked right where it always is. I walk out into the driveway, making sure I didn’t just hallucinate seeing my truck parked there when I got home. If she went anywhere at all, it was by foot.

  “Esther!” I call out, to nowhere in particular. I know she likes to walk sometimes in the morning. It doesn’t explain the rest of the scene I came home to, but a man can hope. I might as well try calling her just in case.

  Her phone is ringing, but she’s not answering. Cold chills run down my spine. In this instance, my mind starts going to the worst places. She’s not safe; I can just feel it in my bones. I go back inside to put my boots on, calling her phone over and over again, hoping that maybe there’s a chance she just isn’t hearing it. Maybe it’s on silent in her pocket.

  It is not.

  I hear it ringing from the bedroom, the sound of wind chimes in a thunderstorm, and run back upstairs to look for it. It lays there on the floor, behind the door, tossed into the corner.

  Her pistol is sitting on the nightstand, right where she always keeps it. I sit down on the bed with my head in my hands, my mind racing in a million directions, all of them taking me to the worst-case scenario. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s scared? How did I not try harder to keep her safe? How was I supposed to know she was in danger to begin with? I can’t help but blame myself for this. I think about the way she was trying to get me to stay yesterday, trying to get all of us to stay for breakfast, and we just brushed her off, business as usual. Maybe she was trying to tell me something.

  I spot the piece of paper under the pistol on the nightstand. I go to reach for it, and something sharp pokes my hand from under her pillow.

  It’s an empty syringe.

  I’ve never known Esther to stick needles in her body, even when we were younger and wilder. I grab the piece of paper. Scrawled in pretty pink writing, loopy cursive with lots of swirls, are the ugliest words I’ve ever read.

  “I might have lived as your old lady, but I will die a Misfit. I am nothing without my loyalty, and I let you strip that from me. See you in hell, E”

  I feel like I’m being stabbed in the chest repeatedly. I just don’t get it.

  I thought I was doing her a favor by getting her out of the prostitution game. I thought I was making her life better.

  More importantly, I thought she loved me as much as I love her. That this wasn’t some club loyalty power move. Her father has her so brainwashed, she can’t even see beyond her function to the MC?

  Now she’s missing. It might be too late. But she’s right about one thing, I’m not going to stop looking for her until I see her again, even if it is in hell. I’ll go wherever she is. Once I find her, I’m never letting her out of my sight again. Right this second, I need to find her, though.

  I make sure my pistol is loaded as I run from the house. I text Gavin as I start up my bike, Clubhouse ASAP, Esther is gone, and I start down the road to the clubhouse. I have questions, and I have a feeling only one person has some answers for me.

  The man who has always owned Esther. The man who has always owned all of us.

  37

  Esther:

  “Oh honey; I told you before, red is so not your color.” I hear a woman’s voice from across the dark room, and blink my eyes open, trying to make sense of where I am. The last time I woke up, I thought maybe I was in some sort of strange nightmare, or that I had sleepwalked to the basement of the house, but now that I can move my fingers and toes, now that I can actually sit up on the cold floor, I realize this isn’t a nightmare. This is reality, and it’s worse than anything I could’ve dreamed up in my twisted mind.
“You really should be more careful, Esther. You’re bleeding all over your comforter.”

  My face is throbbing. I reach up and touch my jaw, and when I pull my hand away, it’s covered in blood. My lips feel swollen.

  “Morgan, where am I?” I ask her. The more I look, the more I realize I’m confined in a tiny space, steel bars all around me, like some sort of cage. Nothing looks familiar to me, except for the blonde standing in front of me, looking at me like she’s both disgusted and delighted.

  “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” she asks.

  I think I already did at some point in my hazy coma, but maybe if I can get her to let me out of here, I can figure out where I am at the very least.

  “Sure,” I say.

  She slides a coffee canister through the bars. “Put the lid on it when you’re done. I’m not trying to touch your shit.”

  Apparently that’s not going to work.

  “Do you mind at least telling me what’s going on?” I ask her. “And also, I refuse to pee in a can in front of you.”

  She just giggles.

  “Morgan! Come on.”

  “It feels pretty good, ya know? As much as I’ve spent the last ten years dreaming about hurting you, dreaming about making you feel as terrible as you make me feel, I never thought I could actually go through with it. I even tried to talk your dad out of it. But now that I’m standing here, looking at you all pathetic and relying on me for everything, it feels kind of great. I feel kind of powerful. Like a goddess or something.”

  It’s all coming back to me now. The pain in my arm, the comforter, my father’s face hovering over me when I thought I was safe in my bed. I’ve been abducted, but I have no idea why or where I am.