It’s the first real meeting we’ve had since I can remember, and already, it’s going south faster than shit. Eve’s hardly been gone an hour. Hell, they haven’t even left town yet, meaning I still have to see her. Again. And I don’t know how I feel about that yet.
“Where’s her mother?” I ask the men at the table when I finish pacing the length of the steeple. “Have the police questioned her?”
“They have. But, other than talking them through the assault and the scene of the crime again, she can’t really recall much. She was too busy getting the shit knocked out of her.” Philip curses in French before leaning back in his chair.
I cut my eyes towards him, follow his movements, and then bark in Dreads’s direction. “Dreads, I want you with Eve. Phil, you understand that shit? You set her up in a room, you set him up in one next to it. I don’t want the two of them with more than a wall between them. Is that understood?!” I shout, slowly pinning my eyes on each man's before moving to the next. “I want to know who the hell is writing these notes, threatening King’s daughter. I want to know why the No Color bastards are handing over their bikes with them attached like goddamn Christmas gifts. I want to fucking know! Something instead of fucking nothing!”
“I just don’t understand why my daughter had to pay a price no one will name. What’d she do wrong? Besides not say she was guilty!?” Clutch’s voice isn’t coming from a man who’s currently an MC member. It’s coming from a man who’s a father. And one currently having to sit aside while his daughter learns the most important lesson of all…
About procedure.
Respect.
And fucking protocol.
When “King” asked for her blood to wash away the sins my MC had caused his club—and his family—the vote was cast. And whether I voted yay or nay wouldn’t have mattered. My nay would've put us at twelve to one without Clutch’s vote. So I let it be a landslide instead.
And I realize what an asshole I am. With almost every passing day.
But...it’s difficult to think yourself a man worthy of any happy ending when all you seek is the bleak end itself. As hard as I’m sure it is for you to understand that, it is what it is.
“She didn’t have an alibi, brother. You understood that perfectly well when you cast your first vote and the reward was posted for Bentley's head on a platter. It’s the same difference with your daughter, old man.” I don’t know what to tell the man I’ve known my entire damn life.
Other than that I don’t agree with it, either, but when the club votes, it sticks. It’s fucking policy and procedure from that point on. And I can’t vote unless it’s a tie or extenuating circumstances, which there wasn’t any for Ben Cain, so why would there be for Roxy Bell? Ben’s just as dead as Rox is; he just hasn’t been caught yet. And, as much as I hate to admit it, it makes me fucking sick. But someone has to pay. And it ain’t gonna be the cops collecting. Not when it’s this deeply rooted into something this MC.
“Is it finished? Can I at least have the Butcher go take a look at her?”
I’m actually astonished by his request. Clutch has been a good father to Rox, considering the circumstances. Being a father to a daughter and then raising her the only way you know how because her ma was nothing but a piece of shit and never a permanent fixture in her life has gotta be hard. And it’s probably the reason Roxy’s in the position she’s in.
But she made her decision. She made her own bed, and now, she must lie in it.
She’s got no alibi. None. And, instead of providing one or at least trying to plead her case and explain her involvement—whatever it was—she decided to plead the Fifth. Well, the Fifth doesn’t go over as well in our club’s judicial system.
“Clutch, how many of my men do you still see walking around here with my blood running through their veins? Meaning how many of my family members do I have to lose to this chaos before it’s ceased?! Do you think I want my last living blood relative running around, ducking from his own MC club, with a target on his back?!” I look around the oblong table, making sure to spend a second or two glancing into each of the men’s eyes. “I didn’t want Roxy’s vote to land the way Ben’s did any more than you wanted it to, Clutch, but this is our club. The rules are still the same, and you can’t buck tradition. Without it, we might as well be the savages they claim we are. I’m sorry, Clutch.” I pin my gaze back on the oldest brother at the table. “I can’t let you down there. Not yet.”
Slim’s chair squeaks as he sits forward. “Dreads, King just pulled up. Time to hit the road.”
Once I’ve stalked back to the head of the table, I snatch up the wooden-handled gavel before slamming it twice on the old oak table. “Meeting’s adjourned. Slim, you and Nails finish up downstairs. But give me about thirty minutes first. I still want to question her one last time.” I nod towards the three newest prospects: Tuck, Johnson, and Screw. “When Nails is done, I want the three of you to call the Butcher. Let him know she’s ready. I want her to at least have a proper burial.”
I toss the gavel somewhere towards the middle of the long table where my ma’s crucifix, or a much larger, grander replica of it, is carved into the dark mahogany surface. But I never see the gavel hit the table. I don’t even hear it before the door slams behind me and I head in the direction of the basement downstairs.
I knew that the shit with Ben was going to go down. I fully expected that. I did. But, when the topic of Roxy came up and it was decided that that too would go to vote... I don’t think anyone could be prepared for that. The older members did as I’d asked and brought King into the steeple. He made the call, and it went to vote. I don’t think I’ve ever lost someone so fast and unexpectedly. Especially someone I thought I could trust.
Roxy was like a goddamn sister to me…
But my thoughts are cut short when I slide the metal doors open and I’m met with the sight of her in front of me.
I’m not a fan of this part. Never have been, but then again, none of us really are. Not when the brand of revenge is like this. This sweet doesn’t even apologize for the bitter. It doesn’t even feel worth it.
Roxy’s arms are tied together above her head by a rope and pulled pretty damn taut. She’s bruised and more than busted up a bit, but other than a spot here and a spot there, I don’t see much blood.
Then I see the water board. Ahh…
That I’m not surprised to see. My men have always had a hard time torturing the pretty ones. Especially when it comes to drawing blood.
I don’t even announce my presence. I just begin speaking to her. Straight from the motherfucking heart.
“You know my pops had to torture my ma for twenty-four hours straight once? Her life was never really on the line, but her loyalty sure as shit was being questioned. Ben’s father, my uncle Chase, got his tighty-whiteys in a bunch because she chose Arch over him. No matter how clear he made his intentions that he wanted to marry her. Chase always claimed he saw her first...but that was never the story. Not to hear my ma tell it.” I chuckle, trying to recall the details of the story as my ma told me them as a child.
When I turn around, putting Roxy back in my line a vision for the first time since I began speaking, I realize every word I’ve spoken over the last few minutes has strung her a little bit tighter than she was when I first walked into the room. The muscles that were loosely hanging around bones are now rigid where they’re tied to different surfaces.
Her short, cropped pixie haircut now just looks like a mess of blond matted with blood, and as I step closer to her, I have to stop from reaching out.
“I’m sorry, Rox. I didn’t want shit to end like this. All you had to do was talk…” I allow myself to scan her make-up and dirt-smeared face now that I’m less than two feet away from where her ankles are cable-tied to the hooks on the floor. And, when I see the telltale sign of duct tape strapped around her midsection, it dawns on me…My brother’s preferred method of murder in acceptance of Roxy’s crime.
After quickly doing the calculations in my head, I conclude I’m finished taunting her. Too much time has already been wasted. I seriously doubt she has the energy, much less the lung capacity to breathe let alone participate in my little last-minute interrogation. There’s no way in hell I’m getting a single response from her when her lungs are plugged full of holes and duct-taped back up. Especially if they’ve been making her dunk for apples too.
After stepping from the cell in the center of the basement, I close it behind me. Then I slide into a nook off a side wall and sink into the first chair I spot.
I settle in for the long run. If this shit’s gonna go down, the least I can do is man up and witness it.
After my thumb hits the button to turn the monitor on, the live feed of where one of my oldest friends sits shackled and strung in a cell becomes clear on the screen. I swallow around the lump lodged in my throat and hit the volume button, making sure, if she does decide to speak, I’ll at least be able to hear her.
As I watch the rope slowly turn in a circle beneath her weight, I think back to this morning with Vagabond. She left one of her bags beside the doorway between her room and mine. I gotta make sure she remembers it before she leaves. I tucked a little gift in there for her too.
“I-I’m sorry for every time I’ve ever failed you,” Roxy whispers.
My head shoots up. Her eyes are pinned on the camera, and from the angle, it feels like she’s damn near looking straight into my soul.
“Especially this one,” she mutters, causing me to sit forward.
I don’t know the measure of time that passes before she speaks again. I just know that it feels like forever. Then she finally speaks, but this time, her head is hanging down. The original surge of strength my presence and words caused must have waned, because her next words are muttered through labored, uneven breaths.
“Ben said he was going to marry her. Eden. I did everything in my power to stop him. I couldn’t let that inbred child be born. It would've ruined his life. He didn’t know what I knew. He wouldn’t listen to me when I told him the similarities between his dad and his child bride. But I loved you, and I couldn’t let his mistakes ruin your name like that. Ruin your MC.”
Before she’s gathered enough energy to stagger in another full breath, I stand and make my way towards the cell. But I don’t even bother to open the door. I just spit the words at her through the bars, looking down at her in disgust.
“Eden’s not Unc’s fucking kid! She has a fucking daddy! A rich one, too. Ilsa’s no Virgin Mary. I can promise you that. She wasn’t keeping it in the club. Never. Ilsa’s a rich bitch through and through. How do you even think she ever hooked up with King in the first place? Even his whores make six figures. He’s not gonna shack up with some skank from across the tracks! And money stays with money. It may play with trash on the weekend. Ilsa may have been fucking Pops and Unc on the side, but Monday through Friday, she was in Jersey while Ma was in and out of the hospital, fucking dying!”
Her soft sobs barely echo off the bare walls, and they grate against my nerves like a motherfucker.
“I know that now, Jacques. But I didn’t at the time! And I tried to save her life. I took her back to the clinic! But I had to leave. I needed to get back to you. You needed me! I couldn’t stay behind!”
“And Ben? The No Colors?” I growl. I’m done, I want my answers. Then I want her out of her misery. I’m fucking done. “What about them? Who tried to fucking kill me on I-95 while I was driving to your fucking house?! Who, Roxy?! Tell me!”
“I don’t know, Jacques! I don’t know.” She sniffles and glances up at me.
If I had a heart left, I’m sure I’d feel something besides absolutely nothing when she speaks, her eyes pleading with mine.
“We were supposed to grow old together. Once you finished your wild ways and decided to settle down, you were supposed to pick me. I’ve always been the oldest. I’ve always been more mature.” She sniffs again and then sadly smiles. “You were my soul mate. Did you know that? I told your ma that once when I four and she was babysitting me. You were still just a baby, barely able to crawl.”
“Roxy, don't. You're insane. I mean that in the most literal sense too, and I’m the motherfucker who’s let it get this bad. I think it's time to call this what it is: the end. You made your choices, and I’m sorry, but the club’s made theirs. Goddammit, Rox. I wish you would've chosen differently.” After shaking my head, I turn to leave.
“I just wanted us to grow old together…” she whispers. “I wasn’t like the others. I didn’t act like a childish whore. What we had was real!”
But I can’t listen anymore. So I slide the metal door shut behind me.
Knowing she can’t hear me, I whisper, “No, it wasn’t Rox. We were never real.” Then I take the stairs two at a time.
Roxy was buried as planned, and it was nice and formal. Or about as formal as a group of fifty men could get with the help of the few last old ladies who still hang out at the club. I made sure it was kept simple. A few flower arrangements were brought in from our brothers in other states as well as Roxy’s few friends and family members outside of the MC. But that was about it. It was quiet, not much was said, and what was said celebrated her life instead of the sins she trespassed right there at the end of it.
I hate that shit with Rox had to end this way, I think as I slide my sunglasses up my nose and nod before ducking into the passenger’s side of the truck. After sliding in, I close the door behind me. Then I buckle my seat belt and lean back in the seat. I let out a sigh and glance over to Dreads.
“Hey, bro. Didn’t expect you’d make it. How’s it going in NOLA? With our little Pipsqueak?” I chuckle, thinking of the conversations he and I have had, where he’s briefly filled me in on how well she’s fitting into the MC lifestyle down there with her daddy. And, by well, I mean not at fucking all. “She still bitching about the naked women and cigarette smoke, or has she become one with it yet?”
He shakes his head in my peripheral, earning my attention. After he’s cranked the ignition, he blows out a loud breath between his pursed lips. Then he slyly nods. “She’s a little fucking louder than a pipsqueak, dude. Where the fuck did that nickname come from? She’s gotta be the loudest, most mouthiest bitch I’ve ever met in my entire life. Are you sure you were in love with her? That it wasn’t just some crazy infatuation? Pfft.” He scoffs before muttering, “Never mind. I remember quite well the way she fucked with your head. Awake and while you slept. You still fucking dreaming about her all the time, man? You remember that shit used to piss Mandy off so damn bad?” He chuckles as a migraine begins slicing its way through the frontal lobes of my brain.
“My dreams? About who? Mandy?” I ask around the pain, knowing full well I haven’t fucking dreamed of Mandy. If I have ever dreamed of any one fucking woman, I’m sure it’s the exact same one I’ve been fucking dreaming about over the last six goddamn months. Vagabond. “Fuck. Another headache, man. You got something to drink in this bitch? I can’t do this graveside. Not with a fucking headache like this. This one came out of nowhere, too.” I grab another pain pill from my pocket and toss it back before chewing it.
He hands me a bottle of water from the door of the truck. “It’s not cold, but it’s not hot, either. And no, not Mandy, you damn numb nut. Eve. Eve O’Malley. All you ever used to do was mutter her name in your sleep. Every time you passed out downstairs. At least until I could get one of the prospects to drag your ass off whatever surface you’d passed out on and make you go to bed.” He laughs again as he flips the blinker on and changes lanes. “Long time ago, bro. Almost a lifetime ago. It’s fucking amazing what that amount of time will do to somebody.” After he shakes his head, he turns the volume on the radio down a bit. “Found out anything on the No Colors and the riddles they keep sending in with their bikes?”
“Fuck no,” I bark as my anger flares. “Not any more than we already know. They know she’s pregnant. They want her life and her child’s. Told me to give O’Malley a heads-up. They were coming.” I shake my head before bringing my hand to my face and shoving my forefinger and my thumb into my eye sockets until I see spots.
His high whistle reverberates through the cab of the truck. “And? You do that shit yet, bro?”
It’s quiet for a few beats.
Then I answer. “No. That’s your fucking job. You do it. Now, start talking more about Eve. I want to know what her daily routine is and shit. I need to get an idea of her schedule if I’m going to get some more guys down there and set up a tighter security. At least until Ben is found.”
“And O’Malley? Am I supposed to inform him of this extra security that you’re planning to move onto his turf?”
As he pulls the shiny, new truck behind the limousine Roxy’s mother and Clutch rode in to follow her hearse, I fumble with my lighter for a second. Then I light my cigarette and re-cuff my sleeves, which I rolled up unconsciously on the ride over.
After both wrists are buttoned, I button my cut and slam the passenger’s side door open. “I don’t give a fuck what you tell O’Malley. I’m sure he’ll notice the motherfuckers snooping around his club—so if he asks for an explanation, fuck it. Give it to him. I don’t give a fuck if he knows.” I point to the spot in the graveyard where a mound of fresh dirt is piled up beside a grave marker with lilac and white roses, Roxy’s favorite. “Let’s go get this fucking shit over with. I’m ready to lay this one to rest. Hell, I’m almost ready to lay it all fucking down to rest, myself included. But, first, we got this technical, formal shit to do.” I push my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose before stepping from the truck and shutting the door.
When Dreads comes to stand beside me, his right hand lands on my left shoulder. “We ain’t laying shit to rest, brother. Not for a long fucking time. And not with me around. You’ll get your memory back. Soon. I don’t know when, but the docs say every day is another day closer to the day you remember. You’ll get your head straight. You’ll see. Maybe you need to pray about it. It’s been a few weeks since you went to Mass.” He winks as we step closer to the gathering of people standing around in the sun in fucking black. “This is so ridiculous, by the way.”
“No. It’s not, Dreads. It’s respect and protocol, brother. You know that.”