Blood & Ash (Saint’s Outlaws MC: Deadman’s Beach, AL #1)

5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

“Goose, you’re with me. Gotti, hold down the fort. I’ll be back before the wake.”

“What’s up?” Goose asks as we get on our bikes.

“Shelby and a bunch of bullshit,” I tell him, and we ride out to pay my old man’s lawyer a visit.

This is the last thing I want to do right now, but there’s no way Pop left everything to Shelby, of all people. I have to know that he didn’t fuck me and the club over.

We roll past the strip of motels and palm trees and further into town, away from the touristy coastline.

“What are we doing here?” Goose stares at the front of the fancy ass law office, looking every bit as confused as I feel.

My head is racing a hundred miles a minute with thoughts of what if. My heart is going to beat out of my damn chest. Nothing makes sense.

“You have no idea, man. Everything is sideways.”

Goose follows me inside with fifty questions hanging on the tip of his tongue as I storm past the front desk.

“He’s with a client. You can’t just go back there.”

We ignore the receptionist and show ourselves into Marty’s office.

“Blood. I was going to call you,” he says, standing up from behind his desk. Marty is a crooked piece of shit. Stubby, bald fuck who has always done decent by the club. “If you want to wait, I can speak to you when I finish with Mr. Stevens here.”

“Should I call the sheriff?” The old bitch who works his front desk questions.

“No.” he holds his hands up, waving her off. “Joe, give us a few minutes. This won’t take long.”

“Yeah, Joe. Give us a few,” Goose says, looming toward him menacingly. The guy nearly pisses his pants as he scrambles out of his seat and out the door.

I slam it behind him and stalk toward Marty. “Is it true? Did my old man change his Will?”

Goose stares between the two of us as Marty stutters around the question. “You know how th-these things work. There will be an official reading soon enough.”

“Don’t fuck with me. I’m in a real bad mood this morning,” I warn him.

“Look, about a month ago, he made an appointment.”

“Did he sign anything over to a little tart named Shelby?”

“What the fuck?” Goose mutters.

“I can’t answer that, but he did make changes.”

“Let me guess, that little cunt was sucking his cock and jerking yours off at the same time. What’d she promise you? A cut of the money when she sold the clubhouse out from under us?”

The guilty expression is written all over his pudgy and wrinkled face. I’m not stupid. Been many men try to get our property due to the location. We own a nice fucking slice of real estate when you factor the garage across the street into the mix.

“I tell you what? You hand over the paperwork and I do mean every fucking copy, and I might leave you breathing, you fucking slimy fat fuck. Anything comes up to fuck me and the club, Goose will come pay you a visit in your sleep at your cozy mansion and slice open your dick from tip to balls, skin it, fry it like slices of bacon, and feed it to your fat little wife one sliver at a time.”

His face turns visibly green at the threat.

“Anyone comes asking questions, you don’t know anything besides what is in that original Will.” Goose flashes one of his knives at him, waving it around before he stabs it into the desk.

“If you have any digital records, I expect those to be destroyed too.” He hands me some paperwork and I start flipping through it. “You piece of shit. This isn’t my Pop’s signature. It’s close, but not quite.”

The stupid fuck reaches into his desk and pulls out a handgun. “Don’t come any closer,” he threatens, pointing it back and forth between Goose and me with shaky hands.

I shake my head. “Do you even know how to use that peashooter?”

Goose grins wickedly and responds, “Looks like a toy, doesn’t it?” He steps closer to Marty, baring his teeth in a predatory smile.

I grab Goose’s arm and pull him back as the lawyer waves the gun around, seemingly lost in fear. “You won't be needing that,” I say, lowering his arm before he accidentally kills someone. I make my way towards the door, forged paperwork in hand.

Goose follows me out, slamming the door behind us. “You think we can trust him not to try anything else?” he asks, looking at the crumpled paper in my hand.

I shake my head. “Not a chance. We’ll have to take him out, but we’ve gotta do it quiet and smart. Make it look like an accident tonight during the wake.”

We get on our bikes, agreeing not to relay the news to our brothers. Not yet. The fewer people who know about the situation with Shelby, and the betrayal by Pop’s lawyer, the better.

If word gets out about this shit, the vultures will descend to pick us apart like roadkill.

Weaving through traffic, all I can think is I should have got shot of Shelby years ago. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t be in this mess. My Pops and Eightball would still be here. I can’t dwell on what ifs or coulda, shoulda, wouldas. Too much is riding on me.

We pass abandoned buildings and boarded-up houses, the remnants of a forgotten part of town where the low-income apartments used to be before a fire nearly took out two blocks. The sun glints off the chrome and metal of our bikes as we ride down Vincent Street to pay a visit to one of our stash houses.

Circling the block before pulling over gives me peace of mind that no one is following us.

“This shit is seriously fucked up, man,” Goose says as we pull up under the carport. “I can’t believe Shelby would do that shit. Do you really think she killed them on purpose?”

“Wouldn’t put anything past that bitch. Not after this shit with the fake Will.”

I get off my bike, doing another perimeter check. Never can be too fucking careful. Not with whoever was behind this still out there. We could all have targets on our backs.

“Need to act fast,” I say, my voice echoing in the quiet, dark house. “We can’t risk losing our club and our land to some gold-digging cunt. How did I not see it? Did everyone know they were fucking?” The silence that stretches between us gives me my answer. The whole fucking club knew they were going behind my back and didn’t say a damn word. There’s no time to be pissed about it right now. There’s too much at stake.

Too much to prove.

“What are you going to do about Shelby?”

I rake a palm over my head. “Fuck if I know. She swears she’s having his kid. Taking out a pregnant woman.” I shake my head. The thought of it makes me sick. Bile churns in the pit of my stomach.

“Let me do it.”

“I can’t put that shit on you.”

“She took out my father, too. Bitch earned my retribution and figure I owe you for not saying shit, but you gotta understand the position I was in. Stuck between betraying my Prez and my best friend. I’ve always had your back, and that hasn’t and won’t ever change.”

I nod. He has. All my life it’s been me and Goose.

And right now, I need his support more than ever.

Yeah, this whole situation sucks, and it’d be easy to blame him as much as I’m blaming myself. However, that’s not going to make our problems go away. The last thing we need is to turn on each other.

“Now we need to make sure we’ve got everything we need before the wake tonight.”

Together we run down our list of options while going through our cache of supplies: rope, cable ties, a tarp, gloves, masks, a couple Glocks with the serial numbers etched off and a van that’s untraceable. Buford makes a lot of exceptions for the club, but not with this. Shelby’s a woman and pregnant. This is different than taking out some low life. This can’t be traced back to the club.

If this comes back on us, we’re cooked.

We go over our plan one last time, making sure we’re in sync. I can see the worry etched around Goose’s eyes, but we both know this is necessary to protect the club.

There’s no other option.

Neither of us wants to do what’s needed, but what choice do we have? We’re in the thick of it. Backs to the wall. Only one way forward.

Shelby has to go.

Marty too.

Goose holds my gaze, and I know he wants to ask if I’m sure about this.

Revenge never makes a man feel better, but it’s them or us, and I choose us.

I choose the club.

I always will.

Loyal to the day I die.

“It’s better to go into this fully prepared than be caught off guard,” I remind him, answering his unspoken question, mirroring the words my father has spoken to us a thousand times. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Fuck, I miss him even if I am so angry with him.

As we finish packing our gear up, my heart is heavy with the responsibility now weighing on my shoulders. Goose follows close behind, his movements unhurried but focused. I’ll handle Marty and he’ll deal with our Shelby problem.

It’s fucked that despite all that she’s guilty of, there’s a small dark space deep inside me that still cares about her. I should be the one to take her out. Not Goose. I invited her into our lives.

It should be me, but Goose knows me well enough to realize I can’t be the one that snuffs out the light in her eyes and live with myself after.

Despite the tough guy attitude I live by, deep down I loved her. I never admitted it to her or even to myself. But though she’s still currently breathing, I’ve lost her as well.

Part of me always thought maybe she loved me, too.

Really fucking read her all wrong.

The way she played me–I’ll never make that mistake twice.

What made her go this far? Blackmail and murder? What happened to the girl I fell for all those years ago? The one with so many hopes and dreams of leaving this place for better.

Shelby is dead to me.

She’s got to be.

No amount of explanations will change that.

Whatever her reason was, what she did was inexcusable.

Unforgivable.

She could have come to me if someone was threatening her.

Emotions clog my throat. The bitterness of reality settles on my tongue.

The timing with Randy being taken out isn’t adding up. This goes much deeper than greed. Something else is at play.

There’s no way this is all Shelby.

It hits me.

The stupid bitch is a pawn in a much bigger game.

A puppet.

A distraction.

I look at Goose. “Change of plans. We need to get Shelby and find Randy’s boys. Put them in lockdown and get some answers.”

He raises his brow. “And Marty?”

“That bastard too.”

He nods. “It’ll take more than the two of us.”

“I know. Fuck.” I take out my phone and send out a message.

Church.

We ride toward the clubhouse, not another word exchanged between us. The path that lays ahead of us is nothing but a long stretch of pavement, cold and daunting, leading us towards a future that holds no guarantees.

Everything we’ve bled for is at risk.

We do this tonight or we end up with nothing.

Everything is on the line.

The club.

Our lives.

The legacy our father’s built.

We do this for them.

For the club.