Unholy: The Unholys MC (15 page)

“I don’t,” I told him boldly, staring him right in the eyes. I noticed one of them was kind of milky white. “I don’t have any right to her at all. In fact, I think the only dumb thing she’s ever done in her entire life was decide to stick with me.”

Dogwood’s eyebrows rose in surprise at my answer.

I continued before he said anything in response. “But I hope to god that she never wises up. ’Cause I love that damn girl and I’ll put my life on the line to make sure she’s got everything she wants.”

Dogwood held my gaze for what felt like forever. I could feel a prickle at my side indicating that the Reverend was looking at me now, too, a burning sensation that made me want to itch or run or at least look at him. But I held my gaze steady to match Dogwood’s.

After a moment that could have been an hour, Dogwood laughed.

It was a booming sound that filled the little house and immediately broke the tension. The Reverend didn’t join in with it, but his gaze left me and he sat back more comfortably in his seat.

Turning to the Reverend, Dogwood told him, “You know, I like him. He’s a moron, but maybe he’ll grow out of some of it anyway.”

I thought back on that day and wondered if things would have gone differently if my answer had been different. What if I’d said that I deserved her? What if I’d said that she chose me, so it was none of his damn business? I didn’t know. It was too late in the game to know one way or the other, but I could guess that it wouldn’t have been as favorable of an outcome.

I’d won Dogwood over that day and the Reverend told me that friends were important. I was counting on that now.

That night, I met Dogwood at a local restaurant that had seen better days. It had barely two people besides the two of us there and even the waitress looked like she was bored out of her damn mind.

Dogwood sat at a booth with nothing but a cup of coffee in front of him. I joined him, sliding onto the bench seat across from him. The waitress perked up at the idea of another customer, and she scurried over to me quickly, pad and pen in hand.

“What can I get you, sir?” she asked eagerly.

“Just coffee, please. And a refill for my friend.”

She looked a little disappointed that I wasn’t ordering anything else and said, “Are you sure? We’ve got some of the best damn pie in town.”

She looked so desperate, that I smiled at her and nodded. “Pie would be good, too. Bring us each a piece, please.”

Nodding with a grateful smile, she hurried off to fill our order. We didn’t say anything until she came back with the coffee carafe and two plates, each with a large slice of what looked like apple pie. It smelled good at least, and she’d warmed it and added a lump of ice cream, too. No charge. I thanked her, and she disappeared again.

Finally, I turned to Dogwood. “How’ve you been?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Some old dogs never die, you know?” He took a sip of his refreshed coffee, then asked, “How’s Charlie doing these days?”

The question was more meaningful given the death of the Reverend, but I wasn’t going to get into it. She was in bad shape, no question, but she was tough. She would pull through. It was something I had to tell myself over and over again until I believed it, which meant there wasn’t much room for sharing my worries with someone else. “She’s hanging in there. Got her chin up.”

“Good. You give her my best. Closest thing I ever had to a kid.”

I nodded. “Listen, I gotta cut to the chase here. I didn’t stop by just to catch up.”

“I figured. What is it I can help you with, Johnny boy?”

Only Dogwood and the Reverend had ever called me that. “I need to know if you’ve heard of a club called the Berserkers. Their leader’s name is—”

“Stitches. I know. Bastard if god ever made one.”

“So you’ve heard of him?”

Dogwood nodded grimly, telling me right off the bat that he didn’t like the guy, “Yeah. He’s not the kind of guy you wanna be messing with, Johnny. Is he calling you trouble?”

I shook my head, frowning. “The opposite, actually, which is what’s got me worried. We’re talking peace and he’s keeping up his end, but it doesn’t sit well with me. I wish I could say why, but—”

“Instinct,” Dogwood interrupted. “Instinct is why and that’s a damn good reason to trust it.”

I hesitated, because there was something else I wanted to bring up. Something more important. Something that I wasn’t sure I wanted answered, but I wasn’t sure there was anyone else to ask about this. “You remember Specter, right?”

Dogwood sat back, nodding his head. His features smoothed at the mention of the familiar name and he looked a lot more comfortable than he had talking about Stitches. “Yeah, sure. The Rev’s right hand. Good man.”

I frowned. “Good man, yeah. So you trust him?”

Dogwood raised a single eyebrow in question. “Of course. Never had a reason not to. Not for one damn second. Why do you ask?”

Hesitating for just a second longer, I spilled the thing that had been really bugging me. “I saw him the other day. He was meeting with some guys. I’d called him, but he wouldn’t answer. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except that the guys he was meeting with were Berserkers.”

Dogwood stilled instantly. “Well, in that case, I think you’d better have a conversation with your lieutenant.”

***

When I got back, Charlotte was relieved. I thought she honestly considered the idea that I wouldn’t come back. We fucked until the night was over and at three a.m., I left the bed and a sleeping Charlotte to make a call. I got his answering machine, but I didn’t care. I’d leave a message and he’d get it or he wouldn’t, but if he didn’t show, things would go hard on him.

“Specter. It’s Johnny. Meet me tomorrow. Bastion’s at six. Don’t be late.”

Then I hung up and spent the rest of the very early morning checking my piece over and over again, worried that I’d have cause to use it later that day.

***

Normally, I’d sit at the bar, but tonight I wanted room. The bar was more public, but I wanted a place where I could not only talk, but where I could push back and make a break for cover if I had to. Specter wasn’t the kind of man to mess with and not be prepared. It had never been a problem before, since he’d always been on my side, but I couldn’t help the sinking suspicion that things were different now.

Everything was different now.

I picked a table off to the side along the wall, but not tucked away in the corner. We’d be able to talk freely, but I could make it to the door easily and if he wanted to get to me, there were other people he’d have to climb over to do it.

It was five ’til six when Specter walked into the room. He looked bad tonight, pale and nervous, his shaved head shiny with sweat. His eyes scanned the bar first, then the dining room, finally spotting me at the table. Swiping his hand over his head, he made his way over to me.

“Boss,” he said, his voice strained. Up close, he looked worse. Nervous, yes, fidgeting and sweaty, but also tired. There were deep bruise-colored bags beneath his eyes and his skin was a pale, sickly color.

He knew what was coming. He sensed something from the tone of my voice, the tenor of that message, that I knew something was wrong. We were sitting here about to approach a subject that both of us knew was coming and now it terrified him.

I gave him credit where credit was due: at least he had the guts to show.

I motioned for him to take the seat across from me. He took a deep breath and did so.

“I think it’s time we had a conversation, don’t you?” I asked him. There was a beer warming in my hand. I spun the glass just a little, leaving behind wet semi circles behind on the wood table, but I didn’t take a drink. I wanted to be sober and ready for this.

Specter let out a whoosh of air. He nodded. “You’re right. I thought I could handle this, but you’re right. It’s time we talked.”

I frowned a little. Handle this? “I saw you last week,” I told him bluntly. “At the railyard. With the Berserker boys.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat and let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not sure you’re going to believe this, boss, but I never wanted any of this to go down like it has.”

“What the fuck did you think would happen when you went behind my back to work for Stitches?” I demanded, working hard to keep my anger contained and my voice even. It sounded easier than it was.

He shook his head. “You don’t understand, I didn’t have a choice! Stitches—Stitches had something on me. Something…I couldn’t let it get out.”

“What? He
had
something on you? Are you trying to say he blackmailed you into betraying me?”

Specter hung his head and for the first time I realized that the man in front of me was a hollow shell of his former self. And I realized that he wasn’t the piece of shit I’d worked him out to be. “What did he have?”

Specter shook his head, but after a moment he answered. “I fucked up. It was years ago, but I fucked up. I was just a kid and I was running scared, too stupid to know the difference between a firm hand and a lick of anger that ate you up inside. I killed a man, boss. I didn’t mean to, but I killed him. Not ’cause he did anything to me, but because I was a dumb kid and I didn’t know what to do with the rage inside. The man had a family. The man had kids.

“I took off, but the cops weren’t going to let it go. Maybe they never would have, but the Reverend found me. He made it disappear. I still don’t know how he did it. I’ve done a lot of things, boss, bad things. I’ve killed people since then, but that first one…That man should be alive right now. He deserved to be, and I took that away. The Reverend taught me that there are righteous kills and then there are murders. I don’t ever want to be a murderer again.”

For a long moment, we were both silence, his story filling the space between us. It wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting, but the sincerity in his eyes, that same haunted look I found in Charlotte’s these days, told me that it was truth.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded once. “Alright. Fine. What’s Stitches up to?”

Relieved to change the topic, Specter answered, “Not the kind of stuff we need to be into, boss.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Shaking his head, Specter said, “He’s stealing girls, boss. Don’t care much about their ages or where they’re from. He snags them off the street or steals them outright if the catch is worth it.”

I frowned, trying to understand what he was saying. “Stealing girls? For what?” I asked, but as soon as the question was out of my mouth I knew the answer. I winced as I heard Specter confirm it.

“Prostitution, porn. Twisted fucking stuff, boss. The kind of shit that—” Specter shuddered, looking away. “He hasn’t picked up any lately. At least, he hasn’t told me if he has, but I’ve seen some of the footage. They cry, Johnny. They cry and fight back and struggle, but they never win. Sometimes they’re drugged; sometimes they’re awake. And they’re young. So fucking young. If they’re eighteen, I’m fucking ancient.”

A cold rush of fear washed through me. His words painted a picture so grotesque that all I wanted to do was pour bleach across my mind and scrape away the memories. But I knew that wasn’t possible. The thoughts would be there forever.

Anger surged through me and I wanted suddenly to destroy something. Preferably Stitches’ face, but I’d take just about anything at that point. It took everything I had in me to shove the urge down and continue to look at Specter.

This was the one thing I never wanted to do. Fuck the rest. Gun running, drug dealing, boosting cars. All of it was minor things compared to this one great evil. Human trafficking. I’d suspected the Berserkers of it, heard the rumors, but I’d never really let myself think about it. I told myself that this wasn’t the thing that I’d get involved with, but I’d been lying. I’d convinced myself that it was them, not me, but there was no damn difference.