Where Souls Spoil (63 page)

Nothing else on this planet can make all of the bad shit disappear like pussy can. And pussy like Elle is hard to come by. Gorgeous fucking light brown skin, dark eyes, dark hair, and a whole mess of attitude. But no drama, no expectations, no commitments. Perfect fucking pussy. I'm not as young as I used to be and the exertion of holding her up like this begins to wear on me. All the booze and bud through the years has taken its toll despite my time in the gym. I suck in a deep breath and, even though I wasn't all that close to coming, it's like my orgasm is fast tracked and I'm losing myself in the soapy, sweet air around me.

Only, it's not Elle. It's Holly that I’m picturing in all her perfect fucking infuriating glory.

Chapter 16

THE FLOOR CREAKS
beneath my feet as I make my way into the small cabin that we use as a safe-house. Junior’s been here for weeks, and at some point we’re going to have to see about moving him, but a few of the guys won’t sign off on it yet. It’s moved on from being a safety issue to a personal vendetta. I’m all for righting wrongs, but eventually something’s got to give. This is just one more thing that’s splintering the club from the inside out, and if I were the worrying kind, I’d fear for our future. We’re a brotherhood. If we don’t have each other’s backs, then we don’t got shit and these patches that I’d lay down my life for don’t mean a goddamn thing.

The cabin is long and narrow, reminiscent of a shotgun style house. The kitchen was long ago gutted, and the bathroom is nothing more than a half-working sink and toilet. Junior’s lucky that he’s family—even though we haven’t let him out of this shithole, he’s enjoyed daily home-cooked meals from Ruby. Like the one I have in my hands right now—fried chicken with mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob all wrapped up in aluminum foil and put inside a plastic Tupperware container that fits nicely in my saddlebags. I don’t usually play Meals-On-Wheels, but Duke’s been bugging me to give the kid a chance. He seems to think the intel the kid has is legit and that he really is interested in helping us.

In the corner of the room, Junior sits on the old stained mattress that we’ve used for interrogation more times than I can count. His legs are bent, and his arms are slung over his knees. His body jumps slightly at the sound of my entrance, but he keeps his head steady. After he recovered from the shit-kicking that Ian gave him, his entire demeanor changed. When I first caught sight of Ruby’s boy, he was fucking manic. He kept screaming, “He’ll kill her!” and fighting us at every turn. He wasn’t very cooperative during his recoup, either. But since then my brothers haven’t reported anything but cooperation. This could mean he either wants to help us, or, despite his declarations, he really does want his sister dead.

“Dinner,” I say and toss the closed Tupperware container at him. He responds quickly and catches it with little issue. His large hands tear away at the lid, and he dives right in. With the cob of corn in his hands and a mouth full of corn, he swallows then looks up at me. I grab the chair near the mattress and sit down.

“Who’s been making these meals?” he asks. To the best of my knowledge, he’s never asked where his food was coming from, so this is progress.

“Ruby,” I say and leave it at that. He doesn’t press. He just nods and goes back to eating. It’s not my place to tell him that she’s his mother—not that he’d even believe me anyway. Shit, if I hadn’t known about this kid from the beginning, I might be doubting it, too. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the day Jim told me about his woman’s fucked-up past and the babies she had to leave behind. Ruby had only been in town a few months and hadn’t let Jim in yet. He’d said his promise to protect her kids was the only reason she gave him a chance. That was back when Layla had just started fucking up again, and Chey was barely two years old. That night when I got home, I woke Chey up and held her for what seemed like hours. I had to remind myself of how fragile she was at that age so that I didn’t squish her.

“Heard you got some theories,” I say. He finishes off the corn and tosses the cob into the bag.

“Does this mean you’re willing to listen?”

“I’m listening, dude. Whether or not I think you’re full of shit is another thing. Start from the beginning,” I say.

“My dad didn’t send me out here, my cousin did. Tony’s taking this shit personally. I don’t think my dad even knows what’s going on,” he says. I’m more than a little surprised to hear that Mancuso is probably not involved yet. All Duke told me was that the kid has some intel that I need to hear and that he’s getting the vibe that it’s legit.

“Tony’s still recovering. He took a shot to the stomach that had him in the hospital for a few weeks. That’s his bullshit excuse for not dealing with this himself. So anyway, I’d been hit in the shoulder, so when they arrested me, I went to the hospital. Some dick from the feds came in and told me that my dad and uncle were going away for life. He said my cousin was half-dead and my father’s organization was done for.”

“Name?” I ask.

“Agent Wilks,” he says. “He was with a scumbag pig who’d pretended to play dirty and butted up to my dad. Officer Adam Davis. That’s when they told me how they’d found the warehouse they arrested me in.”

“What warehouse?”

“A warehouse full of meth. Tony had a beef with the guy who ran it. That’s how he ended up with a bullet hole in his stomach. He was giving the guy shit about missing product or something. I’d been trying to control the situation when Al came from out of nowhere. Davis was smug as fuck when he told me that Alex gave up the warehouse. I didn’t believe it until I got out on bond.” His words are definitive, not like he’s confused or trying to make shit up on the spot. It’s also consistent with the little bits we got from Gloria, Mancuso’s sister, when she called about Alex. Gloria didn’t give us much. It was little more than telling us that Alex had ratted her dad out to the feds and that Tony, Gloria’s son, knew. So, obviously, Alex wasn’t safe there.

She shouldn’t be safe here, either—on principle alone—but she’s Ruby’s kid. No matter how much I hate it, she and Ryan are together right now, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to end any time soon. The asshole was raised better than to bed a rat.

“You were surprised?” I ask. Now that he’s mentioned it, the opportunity has presented itself to get a little intel on Alex. Ruby’s kid or not, she’s living in Jim’s house, and she’s got my brother under her thumb. She’s too close to this club and, until a few months ago, none of us had even met her. They all think she’s just a scared kid who’s making the best of a bad situation, but I’m not sure that’s true.

“About my sister?” he asks. His eyebrows raise like he didn’t expect the question. I nod and wait for an answer. I can’t say that his vouching for her means shit to me, but if he confirms my fears then that’s reason enough to urge Ryan to back off.

“Your friends tell me she’s happy here,” he says. “Tell me she’s okay, that she’s being taken care of.” For some reason, we’re breaking ground today. We might be able to use him to get a leg up on Mancuso’s plans. Still, his questions unsettle me. I want to ask him why he’s so concerned for a bitch who got him arrested, and how he can do a total one-eighty, going from beating the crap out of her to playing the concerned brother.

“Didn’t think you’d care,” I say honestly. Maybe I can get some insight into what I’m working with. He shakes his head and looks at the plastic container in his lap. When he lifts his head and meets my eyes again, there’s an emotion behind his face that he’s fighting to mask. It can’t be easy, whatever it is that he’s feeling.

“I lost my temper,” he says quietly. “I totally lost it. I put so much on the line, and she wouldn’t let me help her. I still don’t get it. She should want to get away from you people.” I choose not to take offense to the comment. He looks lost in thought and like he’s given up every ounce of fight he ever had.

“And where would she go, if not with us?” I ask. “Because from where I’m sitting, she’s a rat who fell into a pretty good situation.”

“She’s not a rat,” he hisses. His words come out cold as ice, and his eyes are narrowed. The apathy is gone, and in its place is what looks to be flat-out hatred. “You don’t know shit about my sister.”

“Enlighten me,” I say. His anger doesn’t vex me, nor does it put me on edge. If anything, it comforts me. It’s something, but it’s not quite enough. I want more before we get back to Mancuso.

“First, tell me if she’s happy. Tell me that she’s okay,” he demands. Maybe I overplayed my hand, because he looks confident now, like he’s convinced I’m going to give him what he wants.

“She’s settling in,” I say. The first thing that pops into my head is that Alex is with Ryan. And while I’m half-tempted to put that shit out there, it’s none of his business. I’m pretty certain that Ryan loves her, and I don’t doubt that she loves him. When Junior kidnapped her and she wouldn’t give the club up, he beat the shit out of her. Blow after blow, she refused to tell him where the club house is. It didn’t matter where he hit her or how hard. She didn’t back down. I don’t worry about her opening her big fucking mouth as long as she and Ryan are doing well. It’s when he fucks up and she gets pissed that I worry about. If she could send her own father away, then what’s to stop her from doing the same to me and my brothers? Nothing, that’s what. “You don’t need to worry about her. Your sister ever do anything like that before?" I ask. I got shit to do, and it's starting to get late. Despite the fact that he's being chatty, I don't want to be here all night.

"The running in to break up a fight? Nah, not since we were little. The talking the cops? Never," he says. "She thought she was saving me, you know? She's always had this thing about the family. There is no gray area with my sister. For her, I'm either a part of her family or I'm part of my father's family. One of the last good days we had together, we talked about where she wanted to go with her life. She had all these big dreams of college and stuff. It was like she was in total denial or something. When I told her that I was going to get my gold gun before the end of the year, she freaked out on me. She knows, having grown up in the life, that once I take my oath, that's it. There's no turning back. So whatever she did, she did it to save me."

"Clean or not, she talked to a cop. How can you be so sure she didn't hate your daddy enough to put him in prison?"

"Because I know her," he says. "She might not like that the family demands there be no divided loyalties, but that's her blood. Gold gun or not, I'm her brother, and she wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

"You hurt her once, how do I know you won't hurt her again?" I asked. Since the club has put themselves between this bitch and harm's way, I need reassurances that he won't turn on her again.

"I'm going to have to live with that until the day I die. I can't make that right, but I can try to help your club figure out a way to stop Tony before this crap gets out of hand and my dad finds out and gets involved. When I came here, I thought if I could make it look like we died in a fire, and let you people think so too, you would get word back to my aunt Gloria. By then, she and I would be long gone. We could have run if only she had told me where you guys have your meetings. I needed a few bodies to make it look like there was a struggle. I didn't want to hurt her."

My limbs lock in place. I give myself a minute so I don't say something that's going to put us two steps back. It's a good thing this little prick is laying all of his confessions at my feet and not someone else's. It's no secret that I'm not a fan of his sister, but so far he and I don't have any problems. I want to keep it that way. Unlike some of my younger brothers, I know how to keep myself in check—most of the time.

"This uh, cousin of yours—he's got to be looking for you. Who is he sending?" I ask.

"Only one person I can think of who Tony might be able to manipulate into doing the job. Guy's name is Leo Scavo. Tony doesn't have the rank, and he isn't likable enough for my father's men to be doing him any favors. Only reason he could get Leo is if he didn't tell him the real reason he wants my sister back."

"You know how this guy operates? His tics?"

"My father calls him the peacemaker. He's always reasoning with people, ironing issues out before they blow up, and he's a team player. Leo shows up, we're lucky. I don't think he would take a kill order from Tony, and even if he did, I want to think he wouldn't kill my sister. He and Tony are both just soldiers, so neither of them have their own crew."

"There something I should know about Leo and your sister?" I ask.

"Dad likes Leo. Started talking to him about giving him his own crew. My father is something of a traditionalist, so when Leo makes Capo, he was going to give Leo his blessing to marry Alex. That's what he calls it, his blessing. It's not his blessing, though, it's a goddamn order. As far back as Sicily, with my great-grandmother, the men in our family have been arranging marriages for the women. It's old-school Italian. The problem is, Alex didn't want any of it. She didn't want to be married off, and she didn't want to be part of the life.”

With a nod, I stand and stretch my back out. It feels like we've been sitting here and talking forever. I point at the food in his hands and tell him that it's getting cold. I leave the small, decrepit cabin, exchanging a few words with the guys we pulled in from down south to keep an eye on Junior. It’s darker out now than I expect it to be for early evening.

I didn't like having to pull from other charters, but I had no choice. Every time I turn around, I got one more fucking person I have to protect. We used to be a ten-man charter, but that was before Junior blew into town and one of his guys took out Chief. Now, being down to nine, and needing a detail on the safe house—and after last week, Cheyenne, too—I don't have any more bodies to keep on everybody.

I’m halfway to my bike when the sound of gravel crunching under tires alerts me to an approaching vehicle. I pull my .44 out from the back of my jeans, unlock the safety, and whistle at the guards on duty. Their heads pop up, and they ready their guns—long-range rifles—toward the narrow gravel stretch that leads down to Highway 101. From between the trees appears a slick, black Mercedes. Nobody should know this place is here. The drive up from the highway is long and windy for a reason.