Chapter 14

Present Day

“So you took her to Four Points?” I asked.

“‘Course I did,” Preacher mumbled, yawning. “I guess I felt…responsible for what happened to her.

“Hell,” he continued, “it ain’t like I had anything better to be doin’ anyway.” He yawned again.

“I think you just wanted to kiss her again,” I said softly.

Although his eyes were closed, he smiled. “That too, baby girl… that too…”

Seated on a hard plastic chair beside Preacher’s hospital bed, my chin resting on the bedrail, I watched his ashen features grow slack with sleep. He’d been talking animatedly for almost an hour, and then suddenly he’d gone quiet, staring off across the room. Maybe it was the reliving of his memories that had exhausted him, after keeping them locked away inside him for so long.

God knew I was feeling exhausted myself.

Getting to my feet, I leaned over the bedrail and drew the blanket up to his chin, tucking it tightly around his shoulders. Then I smoothed a few wisps of hair away from his forehead and placed a soft kiss there.

Turning, I found Deuce standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded over his chest. “You alright, darlin’?”

I nodded despite myself. Not only was I learning that everything I’d thought I’d known about my mother had been a lie, but the reality of how sick Preacher actually was, that I was indeed losing my father, was becoming more apparent with every passing moment in his presence.

If only I’d known how sick he’d been back when there would have been time to do something. Chemotherapy, radiation, something… anything! God, if only Preacher had just told me. If only someone had fucking told me.

“Did the boys leave?” I asked, peering around Deuce into the hall.

Deuce dipped his chin. “Most of ‘em. Joe’s around here somewhere. And Tiny, that fat fuck, is snoring up a storm in the waiting room, drooling all over himself, driving me fuckin’ crazy.”

Nodding, I shot a quick glance at my father and released a shaky sigh. When the time came, I knew Tiny would have to be dragged kicking and screaming from Preacher’s side. Despite Tiny’s less appealing tendencies, his loyalty and love for my father was unwavering.

“You know, she wasn’t a junkie,” I told Deuce. Shaking my head, I shrugged helplessly. “Did you hear what he said?” I gestured at my father. “She wasn’t a junkie.”

Suddenly awash with feelings, my eyes filled with tears. I’d hated my mother—a supposed teenage junkie who’d abandoned me—for my entire life, only to find out I’d been hating a lie.

“She was just a kid,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “And she was out there all alone…”

Guilt squeezed my chest. Guilt for hating her. Guilt for never questioning the lies I’d been told.

“Babe.” Deuce held out his arms to me. Feeling drained, both physically and emotionally, I crossed the room quickly and collapsed into them. He held me tightly, crushing me to him.

“If she was livin’ on the streets, she damn sure wasn’t a fuckin’ kid anymore. You know this shit. Ain’t no use in beatin’ yourself up for somethin’ that happened a fuck of a long time ago.” He pulled back just enough to peer down at me. “You feel me?”

I knew he was right, but it wasn’t as if I could help how I was feeling. This was all new information to me, and it was going to take time to process and come to terms with it. Then there was still the matter of what exactly had happened to my mother.

My father was acting as if it were imperative I know all the details leading up to the truth. And I didn’t want to rush him because I wanted to hear all those details, too. But at the same time, I also wanted to skip right to the end.

An overwhelming desire to see my children suddenly swept through me. To see their faces, hear their voices. Squeezing my eyes shut, my gathering tears slid free.

“We should have brought the kids,” I whispered, pressing my nose to Deuce’s shirt, breathing in the familiar, comforting smell of him. “They should be here to say goodbye.”

“There’s still time, darlin’.” He smoothed a work-roughened hand down the long length of my hair. “You say the word and I’ll get ‘em here.”

I tilted my head back and looked up into his eyes. Twin pools of icy blue stared back at me.

“Get them here,” I whispered. “Cage and Danny, they should be here. And Kami, too… she’ll never forgive herself if she doesn’t say goodbye.”

“Done. You thirsty? Hungry?”

“I should eat,” I said. Pulling out of Deuce’s embrace, I wiped my tears from my cheeks and glanced at my father. “But I’m afraid to leave him.”

 “I’ll bring somethin’ up for you.” Before I had a chance to respond, Deuce disappeared into the hallway.

“Wait!” I cried, rushing after him. Deuce stopped short and swiveled on his boot heel, causing a passing nurse to nearly trip trying to avoid crashing into him. The young man’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Deuce, a veritable wall of a man, and he hurried off down the hall.

Grabbing Deuce’s hand, I tugged him back inside Preacher’s room.

“The Four Points Rally upstate,” I said. “Did you ever go?”

Deuce scrubbed a hand over his grizzled jaw. “Yeah, I think—yeah, I went a few times back when I was a kid.”

“She was there,” I hurriedly told him. “At Four Points. My dad and my mom were there together the summer before I was born—were you there that year?”

“Darlin’, slow down.” Deuce shook his head. “That was a long-ass time ago, and your old man always had more than one piece of ass hangin’ off him.”

Internally I groaned. Of course he had. I’d never known Preacher without at least one leggy blonde on his arm.

“I know, I know,” I muttered. “But I’m talking specifically about the year before I was born. Think back to that summer. Were you there?”

“Eva… back then I was—” Deuce cut himself off and glanced to where Preacher lay sleeping. “The summer before you were born?” His eyes narrowed and then flicked to me, his expression turning grave. He shook his head. “Wasn’t that the summer The Judge was…”

When he didn’t finish his thought, I felt my stomach flip-flop. “What?” I demanded. “Wasn’t that the summer The Judge was what?”

Looking bewildered, he shook his head. “Eva, what the fuck? Don’t you know what happened that summer?”

Confused, I shook my head. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“You motherfucker.” Deuce sent a seething glare in Preacher’s direction. “You dirty, lyin’ motherfucker—”

“Deuce! Focus!” I grabbed his arm and shook it. “What the hell happened that summer?”

Nostrils flaring, Deuce finally faced me. His jaw was clenched tight, making his cheekbones more pronounced. Angry grooves lined his forehead. “That was the last year they held the rally in Four Points,” he bit out, “because that was the summer The Judge and his old lady were put to ground.”

“What?” I whispered, backing away from him. I shook my head. “No. No. The Judge and Ginny… they died in a car accident.”

Deuce cursed several times. “No, Eva, they fuckin’ didn’t. I thought you knew this shit. They’re your fuckin’ grandparents.”

Shock zinging through my body like mini electrical surges, I fell silent. The Judge and Ginny were about as familiar to me as my mother was. They were almost never discussed, and on the rare occasions I had asked about them, nobody had ever had much to say. Eventually I’d stopped asking.

“God, they were…murdered? At the rally?” Feeling disordered and overwhelmed, I continued shaking my head.

“Everyone was questioned,” Deuce said. “I don’t remember much, just that no one seemed to know jack shit.”

“They never… they never figured out who did it?”

Deuce took a deep breath, his chest rising noticeably, then blew it out slowly. “Wish I knew, darlin’. But all I remember from back then is after the boys in blue told us we were free to go, we got the fuck outta Dodge.”

• • •

Wanting answers, Deuce left Eva sitting by her father’s bedside, googling Four Points on her cell phone. He marched past the elevators and into the small waiting room, finding Tiny exactly where he’d left him—stretched out over a loveseat, sound asleep and snoring.

Deuce sent the toe of his boot into Tiny’s shin. “Wake up,” he growled. Nothing. Tiny continued to sleep, his large head lolling side to side with every earth-shattering snore.

Deuce kicked him harder. “Wake the fuck up!”

Tiny jerked, blinked twice, and then started snoring again.

Muttering curses, Deuce gathered the collar of Tiny’s sweat-stained T-shirt in his fist and yanked him upright. “Wake the fuck up, you useless piece of shit!”

Tiny’s eyes flew open. “What? Where?” Breathless, Tiny frantically scanned the waiting room.

Deuce released him with a light shove. “Who killed The Judge and his old lady?” he demanded.

There was no sense in beating around the bush. The Hells Horsemen and the Silver Demons were more than just business partners. While still technically two clubs, they both operated under one umbrella and functioned as one unit—a unit both Deuce and Preacher presided over. Soon though, all of that power would be going to Deuce’s eldest son, Cage, and who-the-fuck-ever the Demons chose to replace Preacher. Long story short, Demon business was Horsemen business and vice versa, and so Deuce figured he had every goddamn right to know who the fuck killed the former president of the Silver Demons.

“Wh-what?” Sputtering and wide-eyed, Tiny glanced nervously around the room.

“You heard me,” Deuce growled, his irritation mounting. “Who killed The Judge?”

Tiny pushed himself into as much of an upright position as his overly round body would allow. “Ain’t nobody ever figured that shit out, and why the fuck you bringin’ this up now? Ain’t it bad enough my Prez is—”

“Your Prez is on his fuckin’ deathbed spillin’ his guts to Eva. Tellin’ her all about Debbie and the summer he met her.”

Placing his hands on the loveseat’s armrests, Deuce leaned down into Tiny’s personal space. His next words were spoken softly, but with deadly intonation. “I’m guessin’ you remember that summer, yeah?”

Tiny’s eyes grew rounder, wider, and he began to shake his head, his heavy mass of gray curls bouncing riotously around his shoulders. “You’re lyin’!” he shouted, and Deuce quickly straightened in order to avoid the mist of spittle flying from Tiny’s mouth.

“You’re lyin’!” Tiny repeated as he attempted to stand.

It took him three tries to gain enough momentum to lift his giant body from the couch. Panting with exertion, Tiny glared angrily at Deuce. “Ain’t nobody talks about Debbie, you hear me? Ain’t nobody talks about The Judge and Ginny, or that summer! Those are Preacher’s rules and he wouldn’t be breakin’ ‘em!”

“His rules, genius,” Deuce said flatly. “And he’s dyin’, remember? So I’m guessin’ he doesn’t give two fucks about breakin’ ‘em.”

Tiny, his face a mass of angry red blotches, went still. The rage in his expression quickly shifted to shock. “Shit,” he muttered, wiping his brow. “Eva’s gonna know. She’s gonna know we all lied to her. She’s gonna know I lied to her.”

Deuce felt a pang of pity for Tiny, and for all the Silver Demons that had been around long enough to have been wrapped up in Preacher’s web of lies. Eva wasn’t just the love of Deuce’s life; she had an entire club full of old men who’d watched her grow up, who’d helped raise her. Men who’d rather shoot their own faces off than ever see her hurt.

“The Judge,” Deuce pressed. “Who killed him?”

 Tiny’s features pinched and twisted. “You don’t understand—it ain’t as easy as all that. Things weren’t never black and white. Preacher, he was different back then, and this was…”

Tiny threw his hands up in the air helplessly. “You don’t know how bad he beat himself up for so many things. But he didn’t know! He didn’t know until later, until it was too fuckin’ late and everybody was already long gone.”

As Deuce tried to make sense of his nonsensical declaration, Tiny collapsed back onto the sofa and dropped his head into his hands. His next words were muffled and full of grief.

“He never forgave himself.”

“Who did it?” Deuce slammed his fist on the arm of the sofa and Tiny’s head shot up, his eyes filled with tears.

“Did the club vote?” Deuce demanded. “Did the fuckin’ gavel go down? That means whatever went down was club business, and seein’ as how our clubs are—”

“West.”

One-Eyed Joe’s boots pounded an agitated rhythm as he crossed the room. And damn, the man could still glare. Even with only one eye. In fact, it was the eye patch that made him look even more menacing—like an angry old pirate.

“Leave him be,” Joe snarled. “It ain’t his story to tell.”

“Yeah? Whose fuckin’ story is it then?” Deuce straightened to his full height and folded his arms over his chest. He matched Joe’s one-eyed glare with a two-eyed scowl that usually sent his own boys running for cover. Joe, however, didn’t bat an eye. He wouldn’t though, not with a man like Preacher for a brother and boss.

The stare-down dragged on for several more tense seconds until Tiny let out a nervous laugh. “You two ain’t gonna fight, are you? ‘Cause I don’t wanna get kicked out of the hospital.”

Stone-faced, Deuce turned to Tiny and stared him down until Tiny had enough smarts to look away. How the rest of the Demons could stand the blubbering idiot, Deuce had no idea.

“They were my parents, too.” Some of the anger faded from Joe’s expression. “So I’m thinkin’ it’s my story to tell.” Joe gestured with his chin. “Walk with me.”

Neither Deuce nor Joe spoke as they headed down the hall. The elevator ride to the main floor was tense and silent, punctuated by Joe’s irritating tendency to suck loudly on his teeth. By the time they’d reached the first floor, Deuce pushed ahead of Joe and practically burst outside—only to be greeted by stale, pungent air and the obnoxious sounds of too much traffic.

“I know my niece has got you on a tight leash, God love her.” Smiling and shaking his head, Joe offered him a cigarette. “But brother, you’re gonna need this.”

Eyeing the cigarette, Deuce hesitated. His cravings had never really gone away entirely. And now, stuck in this concrete hellhole, dealing with Preacher’s bullshit, they’d doubled.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and lit what was undoubtedly going to be his very last cigarette in life after Eva smelled it on him—and promptly killed him.

“How much do you remember of that summer?” Joe asked.

Deuce shook his head. “Not a whole fuck of a lot.”

He’d racked his brain, trying to remember anything else other than what he’d already told Eva, but it was half a lifetime ago. The older he got, the more everything began to blur together—murders included.

Joe stared out across the street, smoke filtering slowly through his nostrils. “Some of us thought it might have been Reaper,” he said quietly.

“He didn’t kill women,” Deuce replied tonelessly, hoping he didn’t sound as if he were defending his father—a man he’d hated all his life, a man he’d personally paid someone to kill. He was simply speaking the truth. Reaper West had treated the fairer sex like shit on a shoe, but had only ever killed people he’d considered a problem. Seeing as how Reaper hadn’t thought much of women to begin with, hadn’t had a use for them other than to fuck them, he wouldn’t have thought they were worth the trouble or the resources.

“They were good people.” Joe faced Deuce. “My old man started the club to help vets get back on their feet, you know? And my mom, hell, she woulda given you the shirt off her back and whatever else you needed. That woman had a heart of gold.”

Deuce scarcely remembered them. He’d met The Judge way back when, but it had been during a time in his life when his main concern had been trying to survive having Reaper as a father. That unlucky lot in life had included incessant name calling, and dodging punches or taking them so his little brother didn’t have to.

Joe flicked his cigarette away, earning him a nasty look from a passer-by—a young man wearing skinny jeans with thin red suspenders and a matching red bow tie.

Jesus Christ. Deuce really, really hated New York City.

“Did anyone ever tell you how it went down?” Joe asked.

“Heard some shit through the grapevine, nothin’ solid.”

“It was some real sick shit.” Joe tapped another cigarette out of his pack and lit it up. “They were mutilated. Sliced and diced. Blood everywhere. My old man… a few of his fingers had been cut off. And my mom… she… she…”

Joe’s mouth snapped shut and his lips pressed together, and Deuce turned away and got busy enjoying his cigarette.

Growing up, Deuce didn’t have the sort of close-knit family Joe had, but he’d improvised well enough. Once upon a time he’d had a little brother he’d loved fiercely, and other men he’d looked up to and depended upon. He knew what it felt like to give a fuck about someone and then to lose them one day unexpectedly.

Loss didn’t care how much time had passed. It didn’t care that you were getting on in years, half staring down the barrel of a gun yourself. Loss like that stuck with you, all the way to the bitter fucking end.

Eventually Joe let out a long, hard sigh and scrubbed a grease-stained hand over his face. “Preacher always thought it was the Italians. That was their thing back then—cuttin’ off the fingers from any poor son of a bitch who took somethin’ that didn’t belong to ‘em.

“But for me… man, that shit didn’t ever add up. Back then the Demons were good business for the syndicate. We did all their grunt work, got our hands dirty so they didn’t have to. Didn’t make sense for them to cut ties. And The Judge? He woulda never bit the hand that fed him. He didn’t work that way.”

A sad smile twisting his lips, Joe nodded to himself. “My old man was loyal to a fuckin’ fault.”

Letting out another hard sigh, Joe looked at Deuce. “Truth of the matter was, none of us knew who the fuck did it… or why.”

“But you found out, didn’t you?”

“Preacher did.”

“And?”

Joe smiled cruelly, his one eye gleaming with renewed retribution. “You know my brother.”

Snorting, Deuce shook his head. He sure as shit did. Preacher was a shoot-first, ask-questions-later kind of guy.

And Deuce had two bullet wounds to prove it.