Chapter Seventeen

 

Blood kept his back pressed to the wall. That sickly-sweet scent of a cherry cheroot—the same as he’d smelled in Black Jack’s courtyard—hit his nose. Big John was inside, guaranteed. He nodded to Sandman, who knocked twice and shouted something in Vietnamese.

Blood gave him a questioning look and whispered, “Since when do you know Vietnamese?”

Sandman grinned and whispered back, “I pick shit up.”

The door opened, and they pushed their way inside, catching a stunned Big John completely by surprise. The duffel sat on the coffee table.

“Blood,” Big John said as he took a step back from the two guns pointed at his face.

Blood’s eyes shifted to the bag. “Since when is Black Jack in the protection business? Or is this a little side business you’re running all on your own?”

Sandman grinned. “Maybe he’s supplementing his retirement fund.”

“What do you want?” Big John asked, ignoring their questions.

Blood grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Unfortunately for you, not the money.”

Big John’s chin came up. “Then what?”

Blood motioned for Sandman who stepped forward, dragged a dining chair over, and shoved Big John down into it. He pulled the duct tape out of his pocket and quickly had him secured to the chair.

Blood gave a jerk of his chin to Sandman who moved off to conduct a search of the place while Blood kept his gun trained on Big John. A couple of minutes later, Sandman returned, shaking his head.

“What’s this about?” Big John asked, his eyes moving between the two.

Blood pulled out the picture of Holly. “Where is she?”

Big John’s eyes slid from the picture to Blood. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

Blood punched him in the face.

Big John’s head snapped to the side, but he smiled, revealing teeth now stained red. “You think that’s gonna make me talk?”

Blood smiled as he pulled out his phone. “I think your loyalty is misplaced. You really think Black Jack gives a shit about you? You think he’ll cry over your grave?”

Big John’s jaw tightened, his eyes falling to the phone in Blood’s hand as his thumb moved over the screen, scrolling.

Blood looked to Sandman. “How many Prospects we got watching the house where I was held?”

“Two. Leroy and Pac Man.”

Blood nodded as he chose a contact, put the phone to his ear, and waited for the call to be answered. His eyes met Big John’s as he spoke. “Prospect. Got a job for you. I need you to get a hold of a van, one big enough to load a dining chair into. Once you make the pickup, I want you to take it out to the Five Mile Bridge at midnight tonight and throw the chair over the side. And heads-up, there’s gonna be something heavy attached to it.” He paused a moment, studying Big John as he listened to the voice on the other end. “I don’t know. Let me ask.” He spoke to Big John. “What do you weigh, big fella? I’m guessing 280, 290?”

The color drained from Big John’s face as the fate that awaited him became clear.

Blood listened to the voice in his ear, and then spoke. “You want to know if he’s going to be alive when he goes over? Hmm, good question. Let me ask.” He tucked the phone under his chin and asked Big John. “You want to go into the water dead or alive?”

Big John didn’t say anything.

Blood grinned and spoke into the phone. “He’s not feeling too well right now. Let me get back to you on that. Just get the van. I’ll text you the pickup address.” He disconnected the call and leaned over Big John. “Can you imagine it? As you’re sinking, the light from above fading away as you descend to the murky bottom, your lungs exploding with the need for oxygen, the screams that won’t ever be heard as your mouth fills with water. What a way to go, huh?”

Big John turned a shade of green.

“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll make sure you’re dead before you go over the rail.”

Big John stared at him.

“Nothing on this earth makes any difference to you anymore. Are you starting to comprehend that? You might want to do one good thing on your way out. Tell me where the girl is. Did he put her out on the street?”

The man grit his teeth, his eyes shifting to the side before he finally shook his head. “No. He has something special in mind for her.”

“And what’s that?”

“A buyer is flying in from Japan on Friday. She’s gonna bring in top dollar.”

“Where is she now?”

“Black Jack has her.”

“According to my sources, she’s not at the compound.”

Big John shook his head. “No. He had her moved after you showed up. Hasn’t even told me where he stashed her.”

“You see, John, he’s already cutting you out. So no need to protect him in your last hour on this earth.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“How did he get his hands on her?” Blood asked.

“The Death Heads MC brought her to him.”

“And why would they do that? They sell her to him?”

“Nope. She was a peace offering for a little fuckup. You see, he’s working with them.”

“What?” Blood asked stunned.

There was a knock at the door. Sandman quickly put his hand over Big John’s mouth to make sure he didn’t say anything. Blood stepped to the window and drew the curtain to the side an inch to peer out.

Cat. Damn it, she was supposed to stay put, like she’d been told. She was glancing all around like something was wrong. He quickly opened the door a crack. “Not now, babe. Go back to the bikes.”

“I can’t. Those men drove by,” she hissed in a whisper.

Blood opened the door, yanked her in, and slammed it. Her eyes got big when she saw Big John taped to the chair.

“Stand there and be quiet.” Blood got in her face, drawing that wide-eyed stare up to him. She nodded mutely, and he turned back to the job at hand, snapping, “The Death Heads. Explain.”

“It’s true,” Big John stated.

Sandman huffed out a laugh. “Black Jack, the man who hates the Evil Dead MC with every fiber in his being, is working with the Death Heads? Bullshit. No way.”

Big John glared at him. “I never said it was smart.”

“What was the fuck up?” Blood pressed.

“You.”

“Me?”

“They found out the man they’d shot was none other than Black Jack Boudreaux’s son.”

“What?” Cat whispered.

Blood turned to see her stunned eyes on him. He pointed to her. “Stay the fuck out of this, Cat.” He watched her mouth slam shut, the expression on her face filled with a new wariness. He turned back to Big John. “Explain.”

“I’m guessing that’s why they patched you up. They realized their mistake. Then the girl, well, she was…compensation for fucking things up.”

“The girl?” Cat took a step forward, her eyes moving between Big John and Blood. “He has my sister?”

Blood whirled on her. “Not one more word, do you understand?” He pointed to the couch. “Sit down!”

She sat.

Big John huffed out a laugh. “I’m guessing the little lady didn’t know you’re the son of the biggest crime boss in the city. Surprise, surprise.”

Blood whirled on him and punched him in the mouth again. “What was the deal?”

Big John spit a mouthful of blood out and laughed. “Why not? Might as well tell you all of it. He made a deal with them. They’re going to stock him in women.”

“And in return?”

“They want a foothold in Louisiana—New Orleans, specifically. But then, you knew that, right? They’ve wanted an ‘in’ for a long time. Black Jack’s giving them one. Six thousand oil rigs in the Gulf… That’s a lot of lonely men away from shore for weeks at a time. Then there’s the drug traffic in and out of the port. It could be a lucrative business for both parties. And I think he figures if it destroys your club in the process, you’ll come crawling back to him. You’d have no other choice.”

“No way in hell that’s ever happening.” Blood stared at the man. “Why now? After all these years.”

“Your father has always been pissed you turned your back on the family business. But with you having the Evil Dead at your back, there was little Black Jack could do, and that drove him crazy.

“When you started messing with his business, trying to save his girls, it pushed him over the edge. That’s when he made that deal. You see, the Death Heads and your ol’ man had the same goal—to push the Evil Dead MC out of New Orleans and out of Louisiana.”

Blood stared at him. “That son of a bitch. None of that will ever happen. I’ll see to it, personally.”

“As long as I’m making my last statement, there’s more. It’s time you knew.”

Blood noticed Cat’s reaction to the part about this being John’s last statement.

“Blood?” she whispered.

He pointed a finger at her, not even turning his head, his eyes staying on the man. But he got the intended effect. She shut up.

“Speak,” he ordered Big John.

“Your mother didn’t run off.”

That was the last thing Blood expected to come out of his mouth. Before he could even formulate a question, Big John continued.

“Black Jack killed her.”

Blood tried to jive this up with the story he’d always been told as a child—that his mother had abandoned him. Blood knew what kind of a man his father was, knew all too well just what the man was capable of, but he’d never once considered this possibility. His eyes drilled into the man. “Why?”

“She was going to leave him.”

“Then why not just let her go?”

“Because she was going to take you with her. He wasn’t about to lose his son.” The corner of Big John’s split lip lifted in a smirk. “Guess he lost you anyway, huh? He wanted me to dump her body in the swamp.”

Oh my God. Blood thought he was going to be sick at the vivid image that flashed through his brain of his mother’s body disposed of in such a horrible way. His eyes burned into Big John’s. “You son of a bitch. You let him kill her.”

“I couldn’t stop him, but I made sure she had a decent burial. I couldn’t dump her like that. She was an innocent. She didn’t deserve any of the shit he did to her. She’s got a nice grave in Metairie Cemetery. Paid for it myself. I lay flowers on it every year on her birthday.”

“You think that makes it okay? You think that washes your sins away? You think any of that is going to save you?”

Big John shook his head. “No. I know I’ve got sins to pay for. I know I’ve got retribution due me. I feel like I’ve been running from it all these years. And I’m tired, Son. So, you do what you gotta do.”

“Black Jack know any of that?”

Big John shook his head. “No. He thinks I followed orders.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“She was a sweet girl. I… cared about her.”

“And yet after he killed her, you continue to work for him.”

Big John nodded. “I did. I shouldn’t have, but I did. If he had suspected I had feelings for her; I’d have been the next to die.”

“Anything else you want to confess?”

His eyes slid to Cat for a moment before shifting back to Blood. “I don’t know where the girl is, but there’s something you might be able to use to get Black Jack to bargain with you. Something your mother had.”

“What’s that?”

“A ring.”

“A ring?”

“Yeah, a stupid ring. That’s how it all came to a head—over a stupid ring. It was his father’s ring. He was sentimental about it. Only thing he ever gave a damn about. It infuriated him when she took it. I think she was going to use it as a bargaining chip to win her freedom and yours. Things just didn’t work out that way.”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell him, right to the end. I thought maybe you had it.”

Blood shook his head. “I don’t know shit about a ring. Maybe she didn’t have it.”

“He believed she did.” They studied each other. “You remember that last day? The last time you saw her?”

“Yeah. I remember.” It was burned in his brain, an image he’d never forget.

“Remember that strange thing she said to you? Maybe it was a clue. Maybe she was trying to tell you.”

“What thing?”

“About the poem. I thought it was an odd thing for her to bring up, considering… well, considering the circumstances.”

“She knew, didn’t she? She knew she was about to die.”

Big John nodded. “I thought maybe it was in that book of poetry she always carried around. Black Jack thought so, too. We went back to the old house, tore it apart, but we never did find it. You find that ring, you might be able to make a deal.”

Blood thought about the book of poetry. This was the second time in days he’d thought about it. Prior to that, it had been years. Black Jack and Big John hadn’t found it because they didn’t know the spot his mother always hid it in. But Blood knew.

He glanced back at Cat. If he could find that book, if it was still hidden behind the loose board where his mother kept anything she didn’t want his father to destroy in one of his rages, then maybe he had a shot at getting Cat’s sister back for her.

Big John interrupted his thoughts. “Think what you will, but I loved her.”

Blood’s eyes bore into the man. “You used her.”

“One wolf recognizes another,” Big John taunted, his eyes shifting to Cat as he did.

Blood’s eyes flared in rage, then strayed to the laptop sitting on the table, it’s power cord connected and charging. He jerked his chin at Sandman and ordered, “Take her outside.”

Sandman nodded, understanding exactly what was about to go down and the reason Blood didn’t want Cat to witness it.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go.” Sandman grabbed her by the upper arm and hustled her out the door.

When they were gone, Blood strolled over to the laptop and yanked the cord from the wall.

Big John began talking. “Your mother did love you, whatever you thought about her, Son. Emeline was—”

“Shut up. I ain’t your son, and you don’t get to say her name,” Blood growled. Then he calmly moved behind Big John, wrapped the length of the cord around each fist, and strangled the life out of him.