“Thanks, brother,” he told Busk, and waited as the man took in the image from their end of the call. Myron next to him, Justine in his lap. “There’ll be a marker in the cup next to where my coffeemaker sits. Brand-new. See if you can find it.”
Busk wordlessly pointed at the mug filled with pens, pencils, and markers, and Wildman nodded. Sure enough, there was a bright blue one he didn’t recognize sticking straight up out of the crowded mess. Busk grabbed a cloth, then picked up the pen, experimentally flicking a switch he found on the side.
Aiming the light at the baseboard of the wall where Anderson had crouched made scrawled words appear, incomplete letters flashing as Busk swept the area randomly. Hunkering down near the bottom of the wall, he started at the left and kept a steady movement of the light, revealing the message.
NOBODY LEAVES ME. NOT EVEN YOU, JUSTINE.
“What the actual fuck?”
Justine’s question seemed to sum up everything well, so Wildman didn’t bother responding.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wildman
Something tickled his nose, and he halfheartedly slapped at whatever bug it was, surprised when Justine giggled. Blinking up at her, he caught her hand as she went to bring in the lock of hair again, growling as he rolled them, pinning her underneath him.
“The fuck you doing, woman?”
They were in his room at the clubhouse, deciding to crash there last night after way too much to drink and the lingering uncertainty about the security of his house. Justine could have driven them home in her car, now covered in a thick layer of dust after being parked on the clubhouse lot for so many days, but he’d wanted to fuck, and the closest bed won out.
God. He brushed hair away from her face, curling one long strand behind an ear as he bent close to take her lips in a long, slow kiss. Fuckin’ mine, and don’t I know just how goddamned lucky I am.
“Waking you?” She lifted her chin, and he obliged, dropping a series of kisses at the corner of her mouth, trailing along the edge of her jaw. “It’s nearly noon already, and I wanted to make sure you had time to wake up and get ready.”
Grief landed in his gut like a lead balloon, and he dropped his forehead to rest against the side of her neck. “Thanks, Jussie.” He tightened his grip, stretching out over her as he registered her arms wrapping around his neck. “You take good care of me.”
“Kinda in the job description.” She sniffled, and he pulled back, staring down into her face. “I just want you happy, Lyle.”
“With you. I’m happy with you. That’s all it takes, baby.” Pursing his lips, he gave her a quick peck. “Just.” He kissed her again. “You.”
“You ready for today?”
Wildman smiled as he buried his face against her neck. “That’s my Jussie, tackle the hard shit head-on, in such a way there’re no surprises.” Nibbling along the tendons and corded muscle of her throat, he scrubbed his bristle-covered cheek against hers. “Yeah, baby. You beside me, my brothers behind me, I’m ready for anything.” He sighed. “Will be good to get it done with.”
They’d arrived back in Louisiana yesterday evening, and after being shocked as shit every bike was still present and accounted for next to the plane’s hangar, Wildman had watched as three boxes were loaded into two trucks. Einstein had walked a slow procession to climb into the front passenger seat of the vehicle headed to Alabama, and Wildman and Justine had ridden Tempest back to the compound, following the truck with Shelly inside.
Einstein’s family interment would be tomorrow, limited to close family and friends. Wildman knew even though the man had extended an invitation to every IMC member who’d been on the flight, none of them would take him up on it. Too close, too hard to see, and too much pain and uncertainty in watching a man bury his wife and child, freshly dead.
The Rebel contingent had split down the middle, Hoss taking a full dozen guys to back up his brother’s club and officer, and Mason sticking around Louisiana, with a couple of new faces showing up. Sparks and his Jailbreakers were angling their way back around the curve of the coast, headed home to Adken, and Wildman knew both Po’Boy and Wrench would likely make an appearance in the clubhouse today, if not for what came next.
“Kiss me, beautiful.” He lifted over Justine and settled a forearm on either side of her, fingers steepled over the crown of her head where it rested against a pillow. “Kiss me, and then let’s get a roll on shit.”
“Yes, Sir.” She smiled and rose to meet his mouth, tongue dancing across his bottom lip until he groaned and dove deeper, leaving her lips swollen and red at the end of the kiss.
“That’s my good girl, Jussie.” And fuck him, but the sigh she gave out at his words had him harder than the kiss had left him. “Baby girl, you’re gonna be the death of me. You slay me, baby.”
Rolling off her and off the bed, he bent and grabbed his jeans from the floor, then stepped into them commando, turning around as he adjusted his half-hard cock along his thigh. Tangled in the sheets, Justine stared at him with a hot hunger in her gaze. “I’ve got a surprise for you when we get home, baby.” That should pique her interest enough to get through the next bit. He had no illusions it would be easy for her, no matter the words of support she’d given him about bringing Shelly back here.
He’d been right how time and the natural order of things had made their mark on the body. The only surprise had been the change in the scenery around the gravesite. The last time he’d made his way to south Florida and stopped to see her, the dirt was dead, a sunken-in oval, looking exactly like an abandoned grave did in the movies. Yesterday, however, the vegetation growth had taken over, lush and green in the Florida humidity, turning the whole scene into a surreal explosion of life.
Digging her up had been hard. The plastic sheeting was tattered, weakened with age, pierced through by beetle jaws and roots. Her clothing was gone, the few leathery patches of skin over her joints the only place remaining covered. Then there’d been a tiny pile of dust in her low pelvis to mark what had been the beginning of a new life. Mason and Hoss had been methodical about the excavation, Po’Boy and Wrench gathering the remains and placing them gently into a box Justine had prepared, lining it with a brand-new shower curtain and sheet. Shelly’s necklace had tangled around her neckbones, and he’d stared at it for a long time, finally leaning over to snap the chain with a slight jerk, shoving the medallion deep into his pocket.
His brothers, his friends, these people he loved more than breath, hadn’t let him lift a finger. They’d let him watch and take it in, let him see each bone as it was uncovered, gave him the gift of their care for him and his, and he’d taken it. Like a greedy bastard, he’d taken it and sucked it down, savoring the goodness of the support and loyalty he felt rolling off the men.
Justine’s hand hadn’t moved from the middle of his back, just under the angry eagle that was the IMC patch. She’d opened water bottles with her other hand, wedging them under an arm to break the seal, and passed them out, but that left hand had stayed in place. A promise he intended to make bank on soon, locking her to him even more than emotions allowed.
“What kind of surprise?” Justine’s question pulled him out of his memories, and he grinned easily at her.
“Somethin’ you’ll like. Let me just say, we’re gonna re-create a scene I want to play out, again and again, only this time, better.” He bent close and kissed her again, hard, quick, closed-mouthed, then pulled back. “See you downstairs in a minute, baby. Get up and get movin’.” He smiled and gave her a slice of truth pie she needed. “I’m gonna need you with me today.”
“Then I’ll be there beside you.” She sat up, letting the covers fall to her waist, and he groaned at the sight of her bare breasts, nipples pebbling in the chilly air, globes swaying with her giggle.
“Fuckin’ minx, woman.” He opened the door, turned and tapped the doorframe, and grinned. “Mine.”
Through the closed door, he heard her response, “You better believe you’
re mine.”
Wildman grinned a little wider, then took the steps down two at a time.
Twisted stood in the kitchen, and Wildman wasn’t sure why he was surprised to see him there, but he was.
Then the man turned and revealed what he held, and the adoring expression on his face was worth anything—everything.
“Come meet my little man.” Twisted’s slanted grin over the baby’s head was filled with joy and pleasure; it took everything in Wildman to keep walking, keep closing the distance. Gaze aimed down, focused intently on the infant, Twisted adjusted positions, letting the baby recline in his arms. With his upper body rocking slightly, he looked so natural and at peace with this change in roles—all Wildman could do was grin, hoping he didn’t come across as crazy. There was such a stark contrast of heavily scarred, tattooed hands cradling new life with such grace and tenderness, the darkness of the skin and history of the man set against the pale perfection of this infant child, that Wildman was a little sorry Hoss wasn’t there to see it, because he suspected it would have made a perfect sketch. “GTL, meet your uncle Wildman. He’s your daddy’s newest chapter president and is gonna make daddy’s life a lot easier. We like this one, boy. So take note.”
“GTL?”
Twisted angled an amused glance at Wildman before settling his gaze back on his son. “Sure as fuck not callin’ him Georgie. I lived that nightmare. Tyler’s a hard nope from me, and while my Penny’s not against settling on Lewis as a nickname, for now, I’m just goin’ with initials.”
“You can’t call that boy GTL.” Wildman tore his eyes away from the sleepily blinking baby to see the RWMC officer Gunny walking into the kitchen. “That’s like a hundred shades of wrong, brother.” Gunny grabbed a mug off the countertop, flipped it over, and placed it under the coffee urn, leaning his thumb on the lever to begin dispensing the dark liquid. “GTL. Gimme that lovin’. Man, you cannot call your kid that. Nicknames matter, and he’ll be stuck with them for a long fuckin’ time.”
“Then what the fuck do you think I should call him? This him that’s my boy, just so you’re aware.” Twisted tucked the baby’s flailing fist back into the blankets with an absentminded movement, as if he’d done it a thousand times already. “I am not callin’ him Georgie.”
“I don’t know, but you hung that on him, so you need to find a way to fix it, man.” Gunny slipped another mug under the flow of coffee, angling the first to Wildman, who accepted it with surprise. “You shoulda known better, brother. In fact, if you had a nickel for every time you shoulda known better, maybe you’d have enough sense to not do this shit.”
“Nickel.” Twisted shook his head, moving his lips close to the baby’s forehead and brushing a soft kiss there that made Wildman’s chest clench with pain. “Nickel to my Shiny Penny. There we go.”
“What?”
Wildman looked between Gunny’s confused expression and Twisted’s serene one and busted out laughing, quickly lowering the volume when Twisted fired a frown his way. “Gunny, I’ve heard a lotta shit about you. Shit I liked, some I didn’t, but mostly good shit.” Wildman reached out and clapped a hand against the man’s shoulder, fingers biting down in a hard squeeze. “Mostly I heard things like ‘if I had a nickel for every time that asshole rubbed me the wrong way, I’d have a sock full of nickels to hit him with,’ so this actually makes perfect sense.”
“What?” The dark scowl on Gunny’s face deepened, and Wildman caught Twisted shooting him an amused glance.
“Don’t matter. Matters you’re here for me today, and I appreciate the fuck out of that.” Wildman squeezed again, then backed away, lifting his mug. “Helluva thing, gettin’ a road name when only days old. But I like it. Twisted, you like it?”
“Fuck yeah. Names matter, and this one’ll stand the test of time. The moment in my life when I developed enough sense to know a good thing when I’m holdin’ it in my arms.” Twisted started swaying again, looking down. “My boy, my boy, my boy. You’ve got smart uncles, loyal ones who’ll do anything for you. My boy.” His gaze caught Wildman’s, and his expression grew somber. “Fuckin’ honored you wanted to bring your family home to Mother, man. Got the call yesterday and couldn’t say yes fast enough. If nothing good comes out of this whole shitstorm, you’ve got this at least.”
Pressing his lips together, Wildman hid behind his mug until he could trust his voice. Low, guttural, moved beyond measure, he finally told Twisted, “Thank you, brother.” Clearing his throat, he made a show of looking around. “Where’s Penny?”
“Some shit in the bathroom. She’s tryin’ to not let me know she’s hurtin’, but my boy ain’t exactly a peanut, so I know there’s pain. I’ll let her run with it for a while, then rope her back in and force her to accept some help.” He shrugged, that subtle weaving back and forth never faltering. “Doin’ all I can with our boy, and somehow that’s not helpful. Calls me a baby hog, if you can believe the audacity.”
Wildman set his mug down and held out his arms. “Come to Uncle Wildman.”
Twisted took two steps backwards, suspicious eyes on Wildman as he shook his head. “Nu-huh, we’re good, just like we are. He’s fine. Right where he is, Nickel is just fine.”
Gunny laughed, drained his coffee, and turned the mug upside down in the sink. “Baby hog,” he confirmed before walking out.
Wildman laughed at the expression on Twisted’s face, then shook his head. “Baby hog, brother. But I don’t blame you. Hold onto that tiny slip of sweetness and never let go. You and Penny, you’ve been through enough. Came out the other end, and here you are. You hold that boy long as you want. Ain’t nobody gonna blame you even a little bit.”
“How can something I never knew I wanted mean so much?” The frown on Twisted’s face faded as he stared down into the again-sleeping baby’s face. “In isolation, it seemed like an idea. A thing people do with someone they love. Then Penny got pregnant, and it was real, we were buildin’ a family, and I chased how good it felt. Now? Watchin’ her with our boy, seeing him suckle or sleep, hell, even his I’m-pissing yell makes me grin. Means everything.”
“As it should.” Wildman refilled his coffee mug. “Gonna go outside, see how things are set up.”
“Better be as you requested, or these motherfuckers are gonna have to answer to me. Yes they will. These old assholes will answer to Daddy. You better believe it.” Twisted’s voice had taken on a singsong that made Wildman bust out in laughter, closing the door behind him on a continuing litany of imagined slights Nickel’s daddy had taken on himself.
“Brother,” Busk called, gesturing with a come-here movement. “Got something for you to look at, man.”
Wildman made his way across the lot, approaching the open back gate leading out into the wild area nearer the back edge of the property. As he got closer, he saw a stand had been erected, with a small wooden box resting on the risers. “Check out what Ruger made, brother. I think it’s fitting for her to be so recognized.”
Not a coffin, the container was smaller and thinner, made to hold exactly the remains they’d retrieved. He could only assume they’d already transferred Shelly, and he was ashamed of how glad he was to have missed the process. He had no doubt they’d done it with respect, but he could go the rest of his life without seeing the bones again. Burned into the top of the box was her name, birth year, and death year. No mention of the babe, which was fine, he guessed, since it wasn’t more than a promise at the time. But…
“Can we add something?” He slipped his fingertips along the curving letters, coming to a rest in the center of the box. “Ruger around?”
“Right here, brother.” Ruger’s hand landed on his arm with a squeeze, then fell away. “What’d you want to add?”
“I was Ogre then. Her PO read that.” He spoke of her “property of” vest, the patch and pieces of leather the club had assigned to her. She’d worn it proudly, pleased to be his. “It’d be nice to see her belonging.”
“How about Ogre’s OL?” Ruger
traced a line above where Shelly’s name rode the surface of the wood. “I got room just here.”
“Yeah, I’d like it. Nod to the past, because the man I was isn’t who I am now. But still, it’s about her belonging.”
“You got it, brother.”
He stood and watched Ruger work, acknowledging every man who came up to pay respects, nodding and shaking hands without speaking. Justine came outside and pulled up to stand nearby, but out of reach, which nearly pissed him off before he realized he needed to cut her a break. She was attending the funeral of his wife, and this was her being respectful. Wildman leaned sideways and lunged, clamping a hand around Justine’s wrist. He gave it a healthy tug, sending her flying into his body. “It’s been twenty years, baby. Stand with me.” Then he wrapped his arm around her, settling and taking in a deep breath when she rested her weight against him, proving once again that she was perfect.
Eight men took shovels in hand, turning sod made of sand and clay, grass roots tearing free as they lifted the first bladefuls out of the small hole. The entire proceeding took less than an hour, from first thump of the blade into the earth until the last deliberate thud of the back of the shovel against the reset sod.
The next breath Wildman took in was somehow easier, lighter, and the next came easier yet, until he turned his head to look down at Justine, not surprised to see her staring up at him, shining tracks glistening along both cheeks.
“Let’s go home,” he suggested, pleased when she wordlessly turned with him to walk away.
***
Wildman
“Climb off, baby.” Balancing the bike between his thighs, he held up a hand to steady her and drew her knuckles to his lips once she had both feet on the ground, brushing a kiss across the backs. “Been a couple of days, yeah?”
“Hard couple of days.” She handed him the helmet he now thought of as hers, and he fastened it to the lock on the frame. “You okay, Lyle?” Her arms came around his waist with a squeeze; then she was wiggling underneath his arm, angling around so he could look down at her. Concern drew her brows together, and he cupped her jaw in his hand, lifting as he pulled her close for a kiss.
Tarnished Lies and Dead Ends Page 29
