“Where is he?” he questioned.
It was the thick accent that gave him away.
“Where is who?” I asked, calmly.
Another girl would’ve frozen. She may have even cried and begged for a pardon. I continued to pick up empty cans of soda. Collecting the trash and recovering lost toys the kids had left behind. I fluffed the pillows on the couch and straightened the picture frames on the end table.
“All clear,” the man upstairs called.
“One more time, where is he?”
Lifting my head, I narrowed my eyes as I tied the ends of the garbage bag.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” I deadpanned. There was not a hint of fear in my voice. I was calm, cool and collected. A seasoned member of the Satan’s Knights motorcycle club. I had seen men like him before. I had stood beside the graves of victims like his. I knew never to breach the code of brotherhood.
Death before dishonor.
“Where is Cain’s son?” the Russian sneered.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” the lie drifts past my lips like a rehearsed script.
Smooth and convincing.
On the outside, I was holding my own.
On the inside, I was dying.
A song played far in the distance.
Another tragic chord.
A pair of footsteps sounded behind Satan and again, my eyes drifted to the floor. Joining the shiny loafers was a pair of Jordan’s. Fresh out of the box, the laces tucked behind the tongue.
Nico.
“What the fuck is this?” he barked, staring into Satan’s eyes.
The control slipped.
My perfect mask fell from my face as the devil reached into his suit jacket.
My feet moved.
They didn’t fail me like the rest of my body.
Running toward him, I lifted the lamp from the end table as Yankovich produced his gun and aimed it at Nico.
The familiar sound of gunfire echoed off the walls of my uncle’s house. But, it wasn’t Yankovich’s gun that was smoking. The bullet flew from the top of the stairs, piercing Nico’s chest. The lamp fell from my hand, shattering against the floor as Nico’s eyes widened. Instinctively, he lifted his hands to his chest and stared at the blood staining his fingers.
“Grab her,” Yankovich ordered as my poor cousin fell to his knees.
My voice died as an arm wrapped around my neck and pulled my back against a hard chest. Expensive cologne assaulted my senses as the scream sat idle in the back of my throat—the script changed.
“What are we going to do with her, Igor?” the man choking me asked. “Vladimir wants the son.”
“And, the son he shall get,” Igor crooned, stepping closer to me. “Have you ever heard of Shakespeare?” he questioned, meeting the eyes of the man holding me. “It’s time to set the altar for Romeo and Juliet’s final act.”
The lights dimmed.
The curtain fell closed.
The last scene.
The final act.
The altar was set.
My tomb sat in the solarium of Vladimir Yankovich’s mansion.
Naked and bound to a diving board, I wait for my Romeo to arrive.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Wolf kneels before his son, touching a hand to his chest. The blood soaks into his palm as he begs our Heavenly Father to spare him. Cain’s son demands answers. A siren blares in the distance as the name inked onto my shoulder burns through my flesh like a brand.
“Jack,” Blackie calls, wearily.
Silently, he wonders if it’s too late. If that bitch of a maker has taken the reins.
“Where the fuck is he going?” Pipe demands.
Determination set in his features, unwilling to believe the end is near.
“Celeste says to apply pressure to the wound,” Cobra shouts, frantically.
One life saved, is one less body to bury.
“Nico, stay with me, boy,” Wolf cries.
Another boy pays for the sins of his father.
“What do you mean Kelly is gone?” Linc questions.
His voice crackles with desperation as the flame on the candle of hope burns out.
Stepping away from them, I follow the light. The soles of my boots touch the asphalt outside the garage and I look up to the clear blue sky, searching for the black crow. I listen for the music, for the broken hallelujah.
As a mentally deranged man, I’ve relied on these signs for most of my life. When my duties as a leader become overwhelming and I question my capabilities. When the truth bestowed on me is too much to bear and the betrayal cuts far too deep, I look for my little birdy. I listen for the hymn.
When those signs fail me, I turn to God. To the man who rejected my broken soul and tossed me into the hands of the Devil. I ask him for his hand. For his wisdom and for his guidance. I ask that he allows me to follow the footprints in the sand. I am not worthy, this I know but, I ask anyway. I ask on the behalf of my brothers and my sisters. On the behalf of the innocent children, we brought into the world. I remind him that they are still his children. That Satan has not touched their souls. They are pure and innocent and deserve the hand of God.
“Parrish,” Pipe calls beside me. “That kid is dying in there,” he says solemnly. “We need to get him to a doctor. Are you listening to me? Wolf’s going to lose his boy if we don’t do something.”
Cupping my hand over my eyes, I shield the blinding sun and purse my lips. Whistling, I call my little birdy.
Come to me.
Show me the way.
“Blackie,” Pipe shouts over my shoulder. “He’s gone.”
Again, I whistle.
“Don’t let me down, birdy,” I rasp. “Fly little birdy, fly. Come to Parrish.”
“Jesus, fuck,” Pipe growls.
Dropping my hand, I tear my eyes away from the sky and resolve my birdy isn’t showing up today. Taking another step, I tune out my brothers and strain to hear the familiar melody.
The fourth, the fifth.
The minor fall…
The major lift…
Nothing.
This time the baffled king doesn’t get to compose the hallelujah.
There she is.
Always faithful, the rancid bitch…my maker.
“Not today,” I sneer, lifting my hands to my head. Foolishly, I try to shake the crazy out of me and when that doesn’t work, I ball my fists and try to beat it out. Pounding my knuckles against my temples doesn’t work either. With nothing left to try, I close my eyes.
Open your eyes, Parrish.
It’s not my maker who makes the demand but, the voice is just as familiar. It’s the voice of a man who never turned his back on me. The man who I never needed to doubt. The one who offers his hand at my darkest hour. To some he was God, to others he was a gangster. To me, he was a friend. The epitome of a brother. So, he didn’t wear leather…Victor Pastore was born to wear silk.
“Vic?”
To your left.
Turning my head, I see him. Dressed in a custom tailored suit, his hair neatly combed and a gold crucifix hanging around his neck. He winks at me before glancing at the young boy beside him wearing a Yankee hat.
“Junior?” I croak.
Hi, dad.
“My son,” I rasp.
I’ve got him, Parrish.
Tearing my eyes away from the vision of my son’s face, I look at his hand and how it’s wrapped tightly around Victor’s.
I’ll keep him safe but, you need to do your part too. Don’t let anyone take away what is ours. We worked too hard at righting their wrongs to give up now. We sacrificed too much to allow them victory. Show them who rules these streets. Teach them that evil will never overshadow faith.
“I don’t know how,” I whisper.
Removing my son's hat, he tousles his hair and offers me a smile.
Cain killed Able with a rock so, you better show up with a boulder.
The stench
of gasoline wafts past my nose, causing me to turn my head. Spotting Linc, I look back to Victor and my son but, their backs are to me. Hand in hand, they walk away from me.
“Junior,” I shriek but, he keeps walking until he disappears into the light.
“Jack, I’m begging you, please we have to do something. I have to save her,” Linc pleads behind me. “I will do whatever you want, whatever you say.”
Red and blue flashing lights come into my peripheral vision as my phone rings in my pocket. Pulling it out, I turn around and watch as Cain’s son struggles to stand on his shaky legs. My eyes dart to the ambulance rolling through the gates and I lift the phone to my ear.
“Parrish,” I answer.
“Just the man I’ve been longing to hear,” a man replies, his Russian accent drifting through the line.
The ambulance comes to a stop, and the doors burst open. Two paramedics climb out, one grabs the medic bag before their black boots pound the pavement. My eyes follow them into the garage but, my legs carry me to the ambulance.
“Yankovich,” I acknowledge, lifting myself into the driver’s seat of the ambulance. “It’s about time you found your balls,” I growl, turning the sirens off on top of the vehicle.
“Touche, Parrish,” he replies. “I have the girl,” he announces.
“Keep her,” I tell him, snatching the keys to the ambulance before climbing out of it and slamming the door. “She’s of no use to me. Add her to your collection,” I add.
“That’s not how this works,” he informs. “I have men positioned all over Brooklyn and Staten Island waiting for my command, ready to take yours. Your wife, your daughter, every woman that belongs to your club,” he says calling my bluff.
Bypassing, Linc, Blackie and Pipe, I make my way toward the garage.
“What do you want?”
“Now, you are understanding my language,” he says gleefully. There’s a pause before he unleashes his demands. “I want Cain’s son.”
“Do you, now?” I question, using my shoulder to hold the phone to my ear, I reach behind me for my gun.
“Deliver me Cain’s son and I will let the girl go. Your wife, daughter and the others will remain unharmed.”
“If all you wanted was Lincoln, why didn’t you take him yourself?”
“I didn’t say that’s all I wanted. A man’s supper is divided into courses. Cain’s son is simply an appetizer.”
Drawing back the safety on my gun, I wrap my finger around the trigger and pull. The gun goes off with a pop and the bullet pierces one of the paramedics in the back of the head.
“Jack!” Riggs shouts, charging for me.
“I will call you in an hour with a location. In the meantime, your wife looks wonderful holding that little boy.”
The line goes dead as I crouch down beside the surviving paramedic. Her body trembles as she lifts her head. Staring up at me with fear, tears roll down her cheeks.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask her, aiming the gun between her eyes.
“Yes,” she hiccups.
“Then, you also know what I’m capable of.”
She nods.
“Please don’t kill me,” she begs.
Touching my free hand to her cheek, I offer her a smile.
“Save his life and you’ll get to keep yours,” I say.
“I’m not a doctor,” she argues.
“You are now,” I tell her.
Show up with a boulder.
Don’t you worry, Vic.
I’m going to tear the motherfucking house down.
Chapter Thirty-nine
My pulse pounds violently in my ears as I stare at the dead paramedic. Suddenly, I’m not a twenty-six-year-old man standing in Pipe’s garage, begging his club to help him save the girl he loves. I’m the young boy standing in the butcher shop, watching the mayhem unfold. Like Sally flipped the switch on the grinder, Jack’s flipped the switch when he pulled the trigger.
Rising to his full height, he turns his dark eyes onto Cobra.
“Have your woman walk the good doctor through whatever it is she needs to do to keep Nico breathing,” he orders calmly.
Cobra stares at him silently with wonderment.
Trying to calculate his next move, itching for a glimpse into his tortured mind.
What will he do and say next?
There is a method to crazy and only Jack knows it.
“Did I stutter?” he asks.
Quickly, Cobra snaps out of his trance and speaks into the phone he’s holding against his ear. Kneeling next to the frightened paramedic, he starts to ramble off instructions. Satisfied, Jack turns his attention to the rest of us.
The transformation from lunatic to dictator, is uncanny and one might wonder how this same man was bird watching ten minutes ago.
“That was Yankovich,” he says. His eyes sweep the perimeter of the room before settling on me. “He’s got your girl.”
I swallow the lump in my throat as I stare back at him, waiting for a plan of action—praying he’ll grant one.
“Says he’ll give her up as long as I bring him you,” he reveals, taking a step closer to me. “He wants Cain’s son.”
Lifting a hand to my cheek, he studies me. His eyes bore so deeply into mine, I wonder what he sees.
“Take me to him,” I say. It’s not much of a demand and more like a plea.
“Oh, believe me you’re going,” he says, giving my cheek a firm pat. Glancing over his shoulder, he eyes the band of brothers behind him. “The question is, who’s coming with us?”
“We go wherever you go,” Blackie replies instantly.
Jack smiles as he turns around.
“Always quick to lay it on the line,” he comments. “While I appreciate that, there are some things I should make clear.”
“We’re listening, Parrish,” Pipe says.
“Yankovich is watching every woman associated with the club. His parting words to me were that Reina looks good holding my son. That means right now there is a strong possibility he has a man parked in front of my house. It also means, there’s likely one parked in front of each of yours as well,” he turns to Blackie. “It means, if Lacey is showering, he’s watching.” His gaze settles over Pipe. “It means, when Layla serves her children supper, he’s watching.” He looks at Riggs. “When Lauren pushes that boy of yours on a swing, there’s a man watching them.” Next, he turns to Deuce. “He’s watching Ally too, probably picturing reminiscing about his time with her.”
Deuce’s jaw clenches and Stryker fists the back of his cut.
“Now, if you’re riding with me, we round them all up and put them on lockdown at my house. Someone needs to stay behind and watch over them.”
“I’ll stay,” Needles offers.
“I will to if you need a second but, I want this motherfucker too,” Bas says.
“Needles, you stay. Bas, I’m going to need you to direct me,” Jack replies.
“I’ll stay with the woman,” Bianci offers.
Sighing, Artie crosses his arms.
“My men and I are at your disposal. We’ll protect your family.”
Jack nods his head in appreciation before turning back to the club.
“If any of you want to walk, now would be the time to do so. If you have a shred of doubt, if you think I’m too crazy to fulfill my duty as the leader of this club, now is the time for you to leave. Take your fucking cut off and go. I won’t hunt you. I won’t kill you. This is your pardon but, it’s the only one you’re ever going to get so use it wisely.”
My eyes drift over the faces of the men I’ve come to call my brothers. It’s hard to believe that I’ve seen every one of them smile at one point. That they are capable of jokes. It’s hard to fathom that they aren’t natural born killers fueled by the ice in their veins. And, as they all step forward it’s inconceivable that they’re all not fucking crazy like Jack.
“We’re doing this my way,” Jack announces, sweeping his eyes around the room. “Y
ou don’t ask questions, you just do as you’re fucking told.”
“The Bulldog is coming out, aye?” Pipe questions.
“He’s hungry,” Jack responds before continuing. “No bikes.”
“What are we going to do? Fly?” Riggs questions, pulling the sunglasses from his face.
“You ever drive a bus before?”
“Do I look like Ralph fucking Cramden?”
“Saddle up Ralphie boy, today’s your lucky day. Now, go pull them off the lot. We’re going to need two. Maybe, three.”
Riggs rolls his eyes but walks over to the peg board and grabs the key ring for the buses before jogging toward the lot.
Jack turns to Pipe.
“How deep did you bury those pipe bombs?”
Lifting an eyebrow, Pipe crosses his arms against his chest.
“What’re you asking me, Parrish?”
“Would it be quicker for you to craft some more or are the ones you took out of here accessible?”
“Jesus, fuck, what are we doing?”
“Answer the question, Pipe,” Jack growls.
“If I got three guys digging, we’ll get them out in under an hour but, they’re in Staten Island.”
“Then, I guess you better get your ass over the Verrazano,” Jack mutters, pointing to Stryker and Cobra. “You two go with him.”
Next, he turns to Deuce.
“A couple of weeks ago, you and I had a talk,” he starts. “You get what I asked of you?”
“I’ve been carrying it around in my back pocket waiting for this day to come,” he replies. Jack smiles at the response.
“Very good,” he praises. “Now, grab every fucking weapon you can find and load those buses.”
“Where do you want me?” Blackie questions.
“Riggs can’t drive two buses, you drive the other one.”
“I belong with you,” he argues.
“No, you don’t. If something happens to the both of us where does that leave the club? You drive the bus.”
“What are you driving?”
He juts his finger toward the ambulance.
Loner (The Nomad Series Book 4) Page 28
