“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he bellows. “What the fuck is in Philly?”
There is no way in hell I’m telling him we came here for a fucking cheesesteak.
“Never mind,” he shouts. “Give me the address to where you are and I’ll come and get you.”
“If Jack put the club on lockdown, you can’t leave. I’ll be there tomorrow,” I tell him, glancing at Kelly. Watching her lift an eyebrow and cock her head to the side, I think back to the first time Sin put the Raleigh charter on lockdown and how it was her who taught me the severity of banding together with the brotherhood in dire situations. It put less of a strain on the leader knowing all the people he needed to keep safe were together and here we were locked away in a cheap as shit motel, miles away from where we needed to be.
“Text me the fucking address, I’m coming to get you and your girl,” he says before ending the call.
“What’s going on?” Kelly asks as I hand her back her phone.
“Stryker’s coming to get us,” I tell her, climbing off the bed.
“Is it the Russian?” she whispers.
At the mention of Yankovich, I realize two things.
One, that son of a bitch is still silent.
Two, no one has heard from Rocco either.
“No,” I rasp. “Stryker’s coming to get us and bring us back to Brooklyn.”
“What about the car?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I mutter. “I’m going to go down to the lobby and get a pack of smokes. Do you want anything?”
She shakes her head and I bend down to kiss her.
“Lock the door behind me,” I order softly.
The moment I step outside the motel room my mind starts to race. A sense of dread washes over me and I can’t help but wonder if this is it. If this is the catalyst that sends our lives spiraling into chaos. It would be easy to rule out this Brantley mess having anything to do with Yankovich if we had a fucking handle on this guy but, he surprises us at every turn. Bas and Needles have been digging through those papers for weeks trying to pull something out of nothing and the only thing Riggs was able to uncover from those phone numbers was that they were once listed under Yankovich. However, tracing them to an address was impossible.
We don’t hear a peep out of this cocksucker since he smashed Deuce’s car and now, this happens. The dirty detective and the street cop have a face off. Pipe gets taken and Blackie goes off the grid. How much shit can happen to one fucking group of people without it all tying together?
Waiting for Stryker, I bounce every possible hypothetical situation in my head and by the time he arrives, I decide nothing makes sense. Giving up, me and Kelly get into the cage and Stryker fills us in on everything.
Pipe’s woman, Layla, witnessed the whole exchange between Pipe and Brantley. Thank God the woman had enough sense to call Jack. He ordered her to grab her kids and head into the city. It was a two-hour ride from Pipe’s cabin to Wolf’s house and Layla and her kids were already there when we arrived.
Everyone was there—men, women, and children. Wolf’s house was busting at the seams and Jack was losing his fucking mind. The two men who always reeled him in were missing and he had a house full of people he needed to keep safe. When the call came through with Pipe’s location, Jack went old school. Riding with his original crew, he left the rest of us behind.
It was crazy to meet Layla and her kids, all of which were great but, I never expected Pipe to settle down with a family. We took a chance a piece keeping everyone occupied, especially the kids. There was no clown, but Kelly and I taught Layla’s oldest how to play poker. My wheelchair came in handy for Deuce as he used it to occupy the girls, giving them rides around the house.
We were a band of misfits riding out yet another storm but as I looked around Wolf’s little house, I saw a group of people who were nothing more than family. We all like to bust Jack’s balls about being property of Parrish but, as much as it’s a curse it’s also an honor.
An honor, my own family will one day be part of.
Danger lurks but looking around at all these people. The women who faithfully stand by their men and the children that make everything worth it, it’s hard not to find hope.
It's hard not to believe we’ll win.
We’ve been beaten.
We’ve been tricked.
We’ve been killed.
We’ve been paralyzed.
But, we’re still breathing.
That’s gotta count for something.
Chapter Thirty-five
The next morning, after Pipe and Blackie were both home safe and sound, Jack took the club off lockdown and ordered us all to the garage for church. Wolf’s house cleared out and everyone except me, him and Kelly left. I barely had a chance to kiss Kelly goodbye much less worry about the car stuck on the side of a road in Philadelphia before Wolf dragged my ass out of the house.
I expected him to give me a tongue lashing about our little rendezvous but, he barely uttered a word. He was off. In fact, he’s been off for weeks but, I think everyone has been otherwise occupied to really notice.
Pulling into the lot, he parks the SUV haphazardly alongside the line of bikes. I reach into the back and grab my cane before climbing out of the truck and following him into the garage. The first man that catches my eye is Pipe. Banged up isn’t an adequate word to describe his condition but, there he sits, on the other side of Blackie wearing his cut.
“Welcome back,” I greet him, extending my hand.
“Thank you, my brother,” he replies, giving it a firm shake. “You’re a hot commodity with Tommy. All the kid could talk about is you and how he beat you at poker,” he adds, quirking his lips.
“He’s a good, kid. Sharp,” I tell him.
Nodding, he agrees before glancing down at my legs.
“Glad to see you on your feet, again.”
“I could say the same to you,” I reply. Though he means the phrase literally and I mean it figuratively, it works. Like me, the bomb left him in a bad place. It left him raw and wounded and like me, he stands tall, rising from the ruins.
The sound of the meat mallet slamming against the wood draws my attention to the head of the table, to where Jack sits. His salt and pepper hair a mess and the dark circles shadowing his eyes match his irises.
Worn and ragged are words best to describe his appearance.
The room grows quiet as we all find our seats and give him our undivided attention.
“It’s been a long night for everyone,” he starts, turning to Blackie and Pipe. “Got our VP and our Sargent-at-Arms back at our table so, I’d call it a success.”
Drawing out a sigh, he places the mallet gently on the table before propping his elbows on the wood. Leaning forward, he remains quiet.
“We need God,” he says finally.
Riggs pulls his aviators from his face and eyes Wolf from across the table.
“I told you going to that place was a bad idea,” he hisses.
“Shut it, Riggs,” Wolf warns.
“What place?” Blackie questions.
“We went to church. Real church and not this thing,” Riggs supplies, waving his hand in the air. “There was a priest and chalice not Parrish and a mallet.”
Ignoring his outburst, Jack lifts his head.
“Enough,” he demands in a controlled voice. “I know what I mean.”
“Maybe you can explain it to the rest of us then,” Pipe suggests.
“Before any of you assholes ask me if I’ve taken my medication, the answer is yes,” Jack says, pulling the orange prescription bottle out of his cut as evidence. “But, the Lithium isn’t giving me the answers anymore.”
No one has a response for him and the silence is broken by a ringing phone.
“I’m sorry,” Stryker grunts, lifting the phone from his pocket. Without glancing at the screen, he turns it over and flips the switch on the volume.
“We shouldn’t have to do that,” Jack says. “Wha
t if it’s your fiancé? What if she needs something from you? None of you should have to turn your phones off to hear me preach, especially when the sermon hasn’t changed.”
“It’s fine,” Stryker replies carefully. “Continue with what you were saying. The Lithium isn’t working.”
“Maybe it’s time for a different dosage,” Blackie offers.
Jack stares at Stryker’s phone as it vibrates across the wood.
“Answer the phone, Stryker. Tell that girl you love her because you never know when the time might come that you can’t,” Jack orders methodically.
Sweeping his eyes around the table, Stryker looks for guidance.
“Do as your president says,” Blackie says finally.
Lifting the phone, Stryker takes a deep breath as he accepts the call.
“Gina,” he greets. The weary expression leaves his face as he turns to Jack with a grim look on his face. “Whoa, calm down,” he tells his girl. Moving it away from his ear, he points to the television in the far corner of the garage. “Turn the television on.”
As Cobra stands to turn the television on, I turn my attention to Jack. Closing his eyes, he bows his head and as the sound echoes from the speakers on the TV, he keeps them closed.
“Reputed mob boss, Rocco Spinelli was shot last night, outside Lincoln Center. There is no word on his condition and we are uncertain what hospital he was brought to. Witnesses say the mobster was leaving the ballet, when shots rang out. One witness claims, Mr. Spinelli suffered several gunshot wounds to the chest. Judging by the blood on the street, I think it’s safe to say he isn’t wrong.”
Standing up, Stryker steps outside with the phone attached to his ear as the rest of the club stares at the screen and the image of Rocco’s blood staining the concrete.
“Jesus Christ,” Wolf mutters. “How is that we’re just hearing about this?”
“Has anyone tried to call Bianci?” Blackie questions.
“I haven’t heard from Anthony in two days. Nor have I heard from Rocco,” Jack says, opening his eyes and lifting his head. “Riggs?”
“I’ve got nothing,” he says. “But, if something was wrong with Anthony, Adrianna wouldn’t hesitate in coming to me.”
“Adrianna doesn’t know her husband has found his way into the mob again,” Jack reminds him. “She thinks her husband is teaching troubled kids how to box and the trips he’s been taking back and forth to Chicago are business trips,” he adds, rubbing his temples.
“Jack,” Wolf starts.
“Not now, Wolf,” Jack interjects. “We need to locate Bianci,” he says turning to Riggs. “And as his brother-in-law, I’m expecting you to fucking find him.”
“Yeah,” Riggs mutters, pushing out his chair. “I’m on it.”
Before he can take another step, Stryker emerges.
“No one knows where Rocco is,” he says solemnly. “Gina and Celeste have called every hospital in the city and he wasn’t admitted to any of them.”
“He was shot in front of Lincoln Center, how does no one know where he is?” Pipe shouts.
“Are we assuming this is Yankovich or do we think this is mob thing?” Bas questions.
“We can’t assume anything because we don’t know where the fuck Yankovich is!” Jack roars, slamming his fists against the table.
“Actually,” Needles begins. “We finally got a hit on those addresses. One of them is an abandoned warehouse, and another was an apartment complex in Danbury Connecticut.”
“I thought the addresses were linked to a zip code in New York,” I say.
“Only one,” Bas reveals, meeting my gaze. “A mansion that we believe belongs to Yankovich himself.”
“Why are we just hearing about this?” Blackie sneers.
That seems to be the question of the hour.
“You didn’t hear anything because you were missing and the fucking lunatic cop took Pipe before we got the chance to tell anyone.”
“We need God,” Jack repeats.
“What makes you think it’s Yankovich’s house?” Cobra questions. His eyes narrow into tiny slits as he stares at Bas.
“Well for starters, it’s surrounded like Fort Knox,” he answers. “There’s no getting past those front gates. However, we parked down the road from the house and followed his Bentley for days, hoping we’d find something that linked him to the house. At first, we weren’t sure if it was his place or Igor’s. Then, the pediatrician came.”
“He’s got two kids,” Needles reveals. “A boy and a girl.”
“You’re sure they belong to him?” Pipe questions.
“Do we really think that Yankovich is going to pull a pediatrician from his bed and take him to a mansion to care for children that aren’t his? I’m going with they’re his kids and if they’re not, they mean a fuck of a lot to him,” Bas replies.
“What are you getting at?” Blackie asks.
“I’m just putting it on the table,” Bas defends. “You’ve been looking for an in, I’m giving it to you. It’s cheap and not what we’re about but, with Rocco AWOL it’s all you got.”
“You said yourself, the mansion is guarded. What you’re suggesting only works if we can get to the kids. Do you know their schedules? Do they leave the house? What school do they go to? Is there a wife?”
“We’re not going after anyone’s kids,” Jack growls.
“I’m with Jack on this,” Cobra interjects. “We both know what it’s like to have your kid become a victim. I ain’t about that life.”
“Well, then this is club is going to be divided,” Deuce fires back. “Because, he’s right. Rocco and Anthony are both MIA, which means the deal with Chicago is off the table. Don’t think about Skylar, think about your sister.”
“Jack, there’s something I need to say,” Wolf bellows. The strangled tone of his voice causes me to tear my eyes away from Deuce and Cobra. His head hangs and his shoulders slump. Slowly, he lifts his head and stares across the table at me.
“We’ve got company,” Stryker announces, pulling his gun from the waistband of his pants. Aiming the barrel toward the lot, he glances over his shoulder. “You all might want to do the same,” he shouts.
Turning around, my eyes widen as three sleek town cars come to a screeching halt in front of the garage. Thinking quick, everyone pushes back their chairs and bounces into action, drawing their weapons toward the intruders.
Locked and loaded, we stand united as the doors open.
“We need God,” Jack rasps as he steps forward.
A body is thrown from the back of one of the cars and the heels of Artie’s Italian loafers click against the pavement as he lifts, Anthony’s battered body from the ground. Struggling against the gangster, Anthony stands tall. His hands are bound behind his back and his mouth is gagged. Blood seeps from the gashes on his face as he lifts his chin and his blue eyes meet Jack’s.
“What the fuck is this?” Jack shouts, pointing his gun at Artie.
Surrounded by ten men, Artie lifts the barrel of his own gun to Bianci’s temple.
“You motherfuckers played the wrong man,” Artie sneers.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jack roars.
“You got ten seconds to tell me why you were using my organization as a pawn in this game you’re playing with Yankovich or I’m going to splatter this motherfucker’s brains across your garage.”
Anthony tries to shout something, but it’s incoherent.
“We told you what Yankovich did, how he’s been fucking with us and you agreed to be the mule,” Blackie shouts.
“You left out your involvement in his organization and I want to know why!”
“What the fuck is this clown talking about?” Riggs shouts, keeping his gun trained on Artie.
“Stop playing me,” Artie demands. “I know you’ve been partnering with Yankovich for over twenty years! All those crimes you told me he committed, your fucking club had a hand in and I want to know why you were trying to set me up with
that sick fuck. Were you after my kids? Did you think you could take my daughters and sell them on the black market like you sold all the others you mentioned?! Answer me Parrish!”
Silently, Jack stares at Artie before lowering his gun.
“Jack, what the fuck are you doing?” Blackie shouts.
“Maybe he’s confusing us with Rush and the Albany charter,” Stryker suggests, taunting one of Artie’s men with the barrel of his gun.
“Artie,” Jack advances, lowering his gun to the floor. Kicking it toward him, he raises his hands in mock surrender. “I swear to you, on my dead son’s soul, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Whatever it is you think you know, I don’t, so the best way for either of us to get answers is talk without guns pointed in one another’s face. Me and you. Man to man. Now, Stryker is right. It came to light that a Satan’s Knights charter up in Albany was involved with Yankovich.”
“Fuck that,” Bas argues. “Not the whole charter was involved, just fucking Rush.”
“Stand down,” Blackie commands Bas.
“Rush took Cobra’s sister. He bought her from Yankovich. That’s the girl we rescued.”
“I’m no fool, Parrish,” Artie argues. “I’m not talking about Rush,” he growls. “I’m talking about this charter. I’m talking about Cain.”
“Parrish,” Wolf calls.
“Not now, Wolf,” Jack sneers.
Turning my gaze to Wolf, I watch as he lowers his gun and steps around Jack. Standing in front of him with his back turned to Artie, Wolf stares into Jack’s dark eyes.
“What’re you doing?” Jack grinds out.
“I need to talk you,” Wolf says adamantly.
Pushing him out of the way, Jack steps around Wolf and narrows his eyes at Artie.
“What about Cain?”
“Parrish, listen to me goddamnit!”
“Oh, I see what you’re doing,” Artie starts, laughing sarcastically. “You’re going to blame it on the crazy and pretend you didn’t know your president was wheeling and dealing with Yankovich, right? You’re going to tell me you were having a mental breakdown at the time and don’t remember Cain taking the little girls off the street. That your pockets didn’t get fat on the drugs he was selling overseas. Is that how you’re going to play it? You sick fuck.”
Loner (The Nomad Series Book 4) Page 26
