Satan's Revenge (13 page)

Marcus is grinning widely up at the camera, clearly a little goofball. I realize I’m smiling back at him instinctively, and frown. I can’t believe this cute little kid stole my mom’s ring.

“Finding everything you need?”

I jump as I hear Marcus behind me. I look up into the mirror to see him watching me from the doorway, an angry smirk across his lips. I drop the photo back into the drawer and shut it with my hips as I turn to face him.

“Just doing a little cleaning,” I say overly politely. I know he knows I’m lying, and I don’t care. Though I do wish he hadn’t caught me in this position.

“Scott really won’t like hearing that you’re rifling through my stuff,” he says, shaking his head at me.

“I guess your luck at the tables has changed. I thought it was ‘just for fun,’” I retort, taking a shot in the dark. If Marcus stole my ring, he must need the money, he seemed so flush before. The dark expression that flits across his face confirms my suspicions. Now that I think of it, he looks more tired too, and thinner. Must’ve been a really bad streak.

“Scott never has to hear about this,” he says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Suppose you’re right…suppose I am in the hole…you help me out, Scott won’t find out about this. Seems like you two are already on the rocks, wouldn’t want to make it any worse.”

His insinuation about my relationship drives my anger over the edge.

“Blackmail?” I hiss at him, taking a couple steps across the room toward him. He draws back a little in surprise. “You
dare
to try to blackmail me after you steal my dead mother’s ring?”

The smirk resumes its place across his lips.

“Drifter was right, you are crazy. Your ex-husband really must have fucked you up.”

I draw a sharp breath in. He might as well have slapped me across the face. He sees he’s hit a nerve and keeps going.

“And what was the name of that ghost you saw? Ace? I’ll have to say hi to him next time I’m there.”

“I know what I saw,” I finally whisper, before walking quickly out of the room.

I want to just go back into the bedroom and hide, but I see the dogs scratching at the back door. I wish I had let them in earlier so they could have warned me that Marcus was home. As I open the door, they sniff me happily for a moment, then run past me toward the front door.

I turn and am surprised to see Drifter standing in the doorway. He’s wearing his work clothes, and looks tired. I run my hand through my hair awkwardly; it’s the first time we’ve seen each other during the daylight hours for several days.

“Hey,” he says, turning his palms out to the dogs so they can sniff and lick him.

“Hey,” I reply. I want to say something more, but I can’t read his expression.

“What’s for dinner?” Marcus calls out, striding in from the hallway. He grabs the remote as he walks by the couch and turns on the TV, tossing it back down as he continues to the fridge.

“There are leftovers. From last night,” I add, without looking at Drifter. Marcus starts rummaging through the fridge and Drifter follows him. I go sit in the armchair in the living room until they’re done filling their plates, and then we switch places. They park themselves on the couch while I fix a plate for myself and pour some kibble out for the dogs.

After I microwave my food, I pick my plate up and look hesitantly into the living room. The two brothers are seated on the couch, looking at the TV. I guess it would be too weird if I sat in the dining room or in the kitchen. I walk slowly back into the living room and sit on the armchair. We eat in what feels to me like painfully awkward silence. I want to scream, but we all just keep our gazes trained on SportsCenter.

I know I can’t tell Drifter about the ring, because I don’t have any proof that Marcus took it. It’s like Marcus has some power over his brother that I can’t shake. I frown down in frustration at my reheated chicken.

Drifter and Marcus finish their food faster than I do, though they both probably ate twice as much. Marcus puts his dirty plate on the coffee table and jumps up.

“I’m refueled and ready to go! You changing?” he asks Drifter.

“Nah,” he replies with a shrug.

“Fuck, I wish I could get as much attention from the ladies as you do lookin’ like that.”

I pause, my fork halfway up to my mouth. It has honestly never occurred to me that Drifter could be cheating on me during all these nights out. Until now. It seems like I should have thought of it a long time ago.

Drifter lets out a dry laugh and stands up. They head toward the front door and I hear Marcus say, “You can spot me, right? I think I left my wallet at that place last night.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Drifter replies. The door clicks shut.

So Marcus is trying to keep Drifter in the dark about his money troubles. Interesting.

I stand up, piling my half-full plates on top of their empty ones before bringing them into the kitchen. The thought of Drifter with another women is stuck in my brain, and I’ve lost my appetite.

Chapter Thirteen

“I’d ask you to try to get them under control, but it’s clear they don’t have control over themselves,” Liz says, narrowing her eyes at Marcus and Drifter. “What do you think they’re on?”

“I’d say coke, and of course liquor. I don’t know what else,” I reply resignedly.

Marcus and Drifter have managed to co-opt the Speed Pitch game at the Foundation for Muscular Dystrophy charity fair we organized. The crowd has given them a wide berth, and the man whose game it is doesn’t dare approach the two large men running all over his tent.

“Where the fuck is Flint?” Liz asks, looking around. “Fuck it,” she mutters, and walks over to them. I walk a little closer to hear what she says.

“I’m all for partying, but it is three in the afternoon and we are at a fucking charity event. Jesus Christ, look at the two of you,” she hisses. “Nat,” she calls out, turning over her shoulder and beckoning one of the prospects, “drive them back to the clubhouse.”

Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and comes back over to me. Marcus and Drifter laugh like two teenagers caught in a prank, but they follow Nat to the parking lot.

“Sorry,” I say to her, as we watch the vendor clean up after them.

“Oh, I’m not holding you responsible for those…two grown men.” She shakes her head. “I don’t expect this kind of shit from Drifter, though.”

“Me neither. He’s been acting strange ever since Marcus showed up, though.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…it’s like whatever Marcus wants, Marcus gets. And heaven forbid I question him.”

“Huh,” Liz replies. “Well, makes sense. Marcus reminds me of an entitled little kid, you know? Thinks the world
owes
him something.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agree. “I see that.”

“Come on, let’s help this poor guy out,” she suggests, indicating the Speed Pitch vendor. We play a couple rounds so that people get re-interested in the game. Liz just manages to beat me, but I put up a pretty good fight.

Plus, I’m distracted. So far, Drifter’s behavior seems to have been limited to his interactions with me. Now he’s being a jerk around the Sons. I hope his circle of asshole-ness stops expanding soon.

With Drifter and Marcus stowed safely back at the clubhouse, the rest of the fair goes smoothly. We rented out a public park space that borders on the main drag of restaurants and bars. Station House and the Avery are just down the street, and the fair is crowded. The food vendors that Cherish and I chose are doing well, though admittedly we didn’t really take a risk by booking a cart that serves fried dough and Oreos. I can tell Cherish is keeping an eye on me after what I told her about Drifter, but she’s discreet.

As the lights start to dim and the park begins to clear out, we get an idea of how much money we’ve raised. It looks like it’s an all-time record for the club, and the representative from the Foundation for Muscular Dystrophy is ecstatic. Apparently it was hard for Liz to convince the people from the foundation that an MC with a wild reputation was a good fit for raising funds, but when they saw how serious and dedicated Liz is, and learned about her personal connection to the cause, they agreed. And now they’re glad they did.

I’m exhausted by the time we see all the vendors packed up and on their way. The maintenance crew we hired is cleaning up the park. We’ll get fined if we don’t leave it in pristine condition, and Liz always wants the club to have a shining reputation in the community anyway. I’m considering going straight home and blowing off the after-party at the clubhouse, but the girls are insistent that I go. They guilt me hard, reminding me that I’m an old lady now and that it’s been a while since I’ve shown my face. With a groan of recognition at the truth of their claims, I acquiesce, and follow them back to the clubhouse in my car, part of a mini-caravan of old ladies.

As we pull up to the gates of the clubhouse, I’m greeted with the familiar mixed wave of emotions that I always have when I return here. It’s the place I met Drifter, and found a strength I didn’t know I had, but it’s also the place that the Devil’s Army attacked, where I saw Twitch, a prospect, bleed out, and Rooster and his replacement old lady killed in front of me.

We park our cars on the thin grass by the separate garage building, and then gather together as we walk up the hill to the clubhouse. The music is loud even from here, and when we open the side door, I can see that the main room is as packed as I’ve ever seen it. I scan the room for Drifter and Marcus, and spot them playing pool with a couple sweet butts.

I’m quickly waved over by Flint and Bean, who want to know how much money we raised at the fair. I used to be intimidated by Bean in particular, but now I know not to take his sourpuss attitude personally. The crowd shifts and moves, and I say hi to Tag and some prospects that I know. The bar looks slammed, so I decide to hop back there with a couple of sweet butts and help out. It’s always easier for me to be doing something at a party rather than just talking. Or maybe I’m just resuming my familiar role at the clubhouse.

Either way, the sweet butts are glad for the help. I already know Tammy, but the other one, Alyssa, is new. I rush around, forgetting my anxiety over Drifter and Marcus with the focus that comes with work. I look up from filling a beer at the tap to see Cherish looking at me with her eyebrows raised.

“You know, one of the benefits of being an old lady is that you don’t have to do that!” she reminds me with a smile, her voice raised over the music. She looks super cute in a low cut, cobalt top that sets off her platinum blonde hair, and I find myself wishing I brought a change of clothes, too.

“I know, but I like it,” I reply, grinning sheepishly.

“Come on, I’m not letting you hide behind there all night!” she says, waving me around the side of the bar. I slide the beer in my hand to its recipient and obey, walking back out into the crowd. “Let’s get you some lip gloss,” she adds, looking over my bare face.

I laugh, and follow her upstairs to the hallway bathroom. We walk in and I perch on the sink. She gets out some makeup from her bag and we hear female voices coming from the stalls. The music is quieter up here, and it’s impossible not to hear them.

“I just wish he would keep his hands to himself. I mean, his brother is fine, but fuck,” one of them says as she pees.

I know immediately that they’re talking about Drifter and Marcus, and hold my breath hoping that they’re talking about the latter specifically.

“He’s not even a brother here! He told me he’s gonna become a prospect soon, but he’s not yet, so stop grabbing my ass!” the other one replies.

Cherish glances at me, and I shrug back at her. It’s not like I disagree with what they’re saying, but, man, I hope Marcus is just blowing smoke about becoming a prospect. That would mean he’s sticking around.

“Now if
Drifter
grabbed my ass, that I wouldn’t mind!” the second one continues. I freeze. “He’s acting pretty wild tonight, so who knows!”

They laugh together and I hear the toilets flush. Their jaws drop as they walk out of the stalls and see Cherish and I staring at them. I’m tongue-tied. I wish I had some great comeback for them, but Drifter’s behavior is embarrassing me, and I feel all off-balance.

Cherish sees I’m not in the right mood to say anything, so she steps forward.

“If I ever hear either of you bitches disrespecting one of the old ladies like that again, you will be
gone.
You got me?” They nod fearfully. “Get the fuck out of here,” she orders.

“I’m glad I’m on your good side now,” I whisper as the door closes behind them. Cherish is super loyal if she likes you, but if she doesn’t, watch out.

“You gotta stand up for yourself, Violet! Come on!” she says, turning to me. “Where’s the girl who beat all the brothers in a shooting contest, the girl who ran down Ace?”

“I know, I know! I just…fuck! The way Drifter’s acting…”

“Oh, I get it, you only get your self-esteem through him?” she asks sarcastically.

“Oof.” I consider her words. They certainly sting, but I know that in some way I needed the slap in the face. She’s right. I have to find a way to feel good about myself that’s separate from my relationship with Drifter. “Alright, fair enough,” I finally reply, nodding. “Hand me that mascara.”