Sully (Henchmen MC: Next Generation #13)

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Sully

I expected to need to do a lot more convincing. Everything about this girl said she was timid, shy, and wary of strangers. And I was not only a stranger, but the reason she had a suicide vest strapped to her body.

That said, she’d mentioned having no friends or family, no partners. She was all alone in the world. No one, least of all a girl with a lot of anxiety, wanted to go through shit like this alone.

Especially since we didn’t know if this was random for her or targeted. Clearly, for me, someone had a grudge.

“So, do you want me to take you ho—no?” I asked when she immediately started to shake her head. “You wanna hang here tonight?”

“Yeah,” she said, brows scrunching at her own admission. Like she didn’t understand why she would make that decision. “I mean I… oh no,” she gasped, throwing off the blanket.

“Whoa. What’s up?”

“Work. I should be at work,” she said, but she wobbled the second she got to her feet.

“Honey, there’s no work today. I didn’t even clean up your head yet,” I reminded her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and pressing her back down on the chair. I didn’t like how pale she looked when she was on her feet. “How about I call you out of work, okay? Say you had an accident and hit your head. It’s not a lie.”

“But...”

“Hey, your boss did it without you before, right? She can handle it for a day or two. Let me just go see if your phone was in your—“ I said, but was cut off by a light knock at the door. “One sec,” I told her, moving out into the hall to find several of the guys standing around.

We’d decided that trying to interrogate her in a crowd would be too much for her. So Fallon and Brooks decided that listening outside of the door would have to be good enough.

“The car was where she said it would be,” Perish said when I closed the door. “Found this in it,” he went on, holding out a big crocheted bag done in a bunch of granny squares. I’d bet good money on her having made it herself. “Phone’s in it,” he added.

“Good. Anything else in the car?”

“Found the fake detonator,” Callow said. “But it was just a fucking piece of plastic with a damn pencil eraser glued to it. Guess to someone who doesn’t know better, it might look like the real thing.”

“Before you ask, I didn’t see any prints on it,” Nave said. “I mean, we will look closer. But it seems like he wore gloves.”

“We’ll have to look over every part of the vest, too,” Fallon said. “For any kind of trace evidence. If we find anything solid, we could try to have Junior hack into the NBPD to trace a print. Or have someone in our pockets run it.”

“Okay, sounds good,” I said, reaching into the bag to grab her phone, having to dig past two paperback books, a plastic baggy filled with paper garbage, two random paintbrushes, and a sewing kit. “Anything else you want me to ask her right now?”

“I’ll let you know if we think of anything,” Fallon said. “The OG guys are heading in,” he told me, nodding. Because you knew shit was feeling serious when the retired members of the club felt like it was necessary to get their hands on deck too.

“Probably a good thing. Have a lot of experts in that crew,” I said.

“And Chris is bringing two of her bomb experts in to check out that vest… see if they see something you didn’t.”

Maybe I should have been insulted at that. But at the end of the day, while I was what this club had as a bomb expert, I was by no means the best of the best. Chris up at Hailstorm had people on her crew who specialized in that shit for years before they left the service. She was who the club should be calling with something like this.

“And Aunt Janie,” Nave said. “I mean, she tinkers with bombs for fun. So…”

“Yeah, anyone who can offer some information,” Fallon agreed. “Might be able to shrug off a drive-by or something like that. But a bomb?”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“We’re gonna need to have a sit-down with you too,” Fallon told me. “See what skeletons you might have in your closet.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. Even if I’d been racking my mind to try to think of anyone who would want me dead. And in such a splashy way. “But I’m gonna call Bonnie out of work and clean up her head wound first, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah, take care of her. But when you can, come on out to talk to everyone.”

“Will do,” I agreed, moving back into my room to find Bonnie in her cocoon again, the hot chocolate gone, but she was now holding the tea mug.

“I could warm that up for you.”

“I’m used to lukewarm tea. I always make a cup, then get busy reading or doing a craft or something, and forget all about it.”

“Your purse was still in your car,” I told her, passing it over. “And I found your phone.” I held it out to her so she could plug in her code, then scrolled her contacts. But, well, ‘scrolled’ was maybe a nice way of putting it. She had four numbers programmed.

Her work phone.

Her boss’s number.

Her doctor.

And a dentist.

That was it.

There was alone, and then there was what this girl had going on.

“Should I call the work phone or her cell?”

“She always has her cell on her.”

With that, I hit the call button, listening to the ring until I was sure it was going to go to the machine.

“Girl, what the fuck?” Courtney answered. She didn’t sound angry, just flustered. “Yes, I know. You’re being a good boy,” she added, and I figured she was flustered because she was trying to groom and talk at the same time.

“Courtney, this is Sully,” I said.

“Sully?” she asked, and I had her full attention. “Who are you? Where’s Bonnie?”

“That’s why I’m calling,” I said, hyperaware of Bonnie’s gaze on me, her gray eyes worried. “I’m Sully. Bonnie’s… boyfriend,” I said, watching Bonnie’s eyes go wide and her cheeks look a little pink.

“Her boyfriend? How come she’s never mentioned you? Put Bonnie on the phone.”

“Bonnie had an accident last night,” I told her. “She banged her head pretty bad. That’s why she didn’t come in today. She’s been… getting it taken care of,” I said, only half lying. I would be taking care of it eventually.

“Oh my God. Is she okay?”

“Yeah. Just not feeling one hundred yet. A little out of it. That’s why she forgot until now to have me call.”

“Okay. I need to talk to Bonnie. Now.”

I knew too many women like Courtney to think she was going to give in about this.

I held out the phone to Bonnie.

“Hey, Court. I’m so so—“

“Did you know Pickles was on the schedule today?” I heard Court ask, making my brows pinch. Who the fuck cared what dog was on the schedule when the woman had a head injury?

“No, I’m not under duress,” Bonnie said with a little smile.

So it was some sort of code between them.

That was smart.

“But you hit your head?”

“Hard,” Bonnie agreed.

“And you have a boyfriend named Sully you haven’t told me about?”

“Court…”

“No. No. I won’t pester you now. Go let that man take care of your head. You know, orgasms are really good for pain—“

“Thanks, Courtney. Bye!” Bonnie was quick to talk over her boss before hanging up the phone. “My boyfriend?” she asked, not quite making eye contact.

“Figured we are gonna need an explanation for why I am suddenly around all the time,” I told her. “This is the easiest way to brush it off.”

“But what if she doesn’t…”

“Doesn’t what? Believe it? Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because you’re…” she said, then gestured vaguely at me.

“I’m what?”

“You’re not someone she would expect to see me with,” she said, talking to her lap, her voice a small squeak.

She was feeling… insecure?

Seriously?

Did she not have a mirror?

I was pretty sure I was the ugly one in our dynamic.

But I’d spent a fuckuva lot of time with women in my life. And I knew that some of those insecurity wounds ran deep. No hollow reassurances were going to change her mind.

“Then maybe we will just really have to sell it,” I suggested, watching the color rise in her cheeks again. “Okay. How about you come in the bathroom with me, so I can clean that head of yours?”

She followed without saying anything, closing the toilet lid, then sitting down with her back to me.

“So, are you one of the people who want a blow-by-blow about what is going to happen, so you can mentally prepare, or do you prefer to be in the dark?”

“Leave me in the dark,” she said, her hands curling into fists on her legs as I dug out the first aid kit.

Under the mercilessly bright bathroom light, it was easier to see the damage. She’d gotten whacked really good, but the bleeding was from a relatively cosmetic cut. It wasn’t going to need any sort of closing, just to be cleaned up.

“Out of curiosity,” I said, wetting some gauze with saline solution and starting to dab at the wound and the blood in her hair around it, “when was the last time you had a tetanus booster? Since we don’t know what you were hit with,” I explained.

“Less than a year ago. Courtney wanted me to get one just to make sure if I got scratched or bit, I didn’t have anything to worry about. The dogs all have updated boosters for rabies and whatnot, but tetanus is always a concern.”

“Then we have nothing to worry about,” I said, setting the gauze down when I’d gotten most of the blood out of her hair. “As for the concussion… are you feeling dizzy?”

“Well, when I stood up. But I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday,” she explained.

“Any blurred vision? Ringing in the ears? Memory loss? Confusion?”

“No.”

“Sensitivity to sound or light?”

“The light in here feels like ice picks to the eyes,” she said, dragging a surprised chuckle out of me.

“I think one of the prospects put that in to fuck with me, knowing I wouldn’t get my ass up there to change it. But the light in the bedroom was alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I think you’re alright. But I might check in here and there with the same questions. And you should tell me if you’re feeling any of them.”

“I will,” she said as I swiped a little triple antibiotic on the cut before reaching to separate her hair into thirds. “What are you doing?”

“Braiding your hair, so it doesn’t keep brushing against the cut,” I told her, starting a few inches below the wound.

“Are you French braiding it?” she asked.

“I am. Handy skill to know.”

“You… braid a lot of women’s hair?”

“If you’re asking that literally… not really. If that is figuratively asking if I fuck a lot of women, the answer is more of a yes on that.”

“Oh, um, I meant it, you know, literally,” she stammered as I finished the end of the braid, then reached into one of the drawers. “Oh, I have some ties in my bag.”

“No need,” I said, finding the little jar full of them, popping it off, and grabbing an elastic.

“You have hair ties?” she asked, glancing back. Where she found the second drawer of my cabinet. Full of all the shit overnight guests of the female persuasion could find themselves needing: hair ties, tampons, pads, mini deodorant, spare toothbrushes, makeup wipes, lip balm, and dry shampoo. “Wow,” she said with an airy little laugh.

“Gotta be prepared,” I told her, putting my hands on both of her shoulders to signal I was done. The move made her instantly tense. But instead of pulling right away, I went ahead and let my fingers sink in a bit, pressing into the tightened muscles of her neck and shoulders. “Honey, when is the last time you had a massage?” I asked, not sure how she didn’t have a constant headache with as many knots as she had.

“Oh, I don’t like having strangers touch me, you know, without my clothes on. I don’t know why they don’t offer a clothed option.”

I had a feeling that even if they did, she wouldn’t go anyway.

“Want me to stop?” I asked.

“No, it’s… okay,” she said, voice small again.

And, fuck, if I was getting permission, she was getting the best back rub I’d ever given. She’d had a bomb strapped to her chest for me, for fuck’s sake; it was the least I could do.

I moved across her shoulders, then up her neck, before moving downward.

Once the knots—and the pain associated with them—were worked out, I could have stopped. But I didn’t. There was something intoxicating about the way she relaxed, inch by inch, about how her breathing went slow and deep, her head lolling a bit to the side.

When my thumbs pressed up the sides of her neck, though, a little mewling sound escaped her.

I felt that shit in my stomach.

Fine, lower.

But given the situation, and this woman’s clear discomfort around… any and everyone, admitting even to myself that my cock was stirring to life felt wrong as fuck.

I went ahead and ignored it, pretended it didn’t happen. What I didn’t do, though, was stop. Neither did she. And those little sounds were conjuring up all sorts of fantasies about what other sounds she might make if I was touching her somewhere…

No.

Nope.

“What can I get you to eat?” I asked, resting my hands on her—much looser—shoulders again.

“What?” she asked, sounding all dreamy, like she’d been half-asleep.

“You said you haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. What can I order you? Got just about everything in town.”

“Oh, no. It’s okay. I’m fine,” she said, not wanting to be any sort of inconvenience.

“It’s not. So, what do you want, love?”

“If you guys just have, like, a snack in the cabinets or something, that would work.”

“Okay,” I said, walking around her to sit my ass down on the edge of the tub, a move that made our knees touch. “Let’s try this again, honey. I am going to order you food. What are you in the mood for? Something sweet like waffles or French toast? A sub? Italian? Chinese? Sushi? I’m gonna keep naming things until you pick something,” I added with a smile.

“Italian,” she finally decided. “I can literally always go for pasta or potatoes.”

I sussed out what kind of pasta she wanted, then talked her into getting on the bed instead of the chair, hooked her up with my remote and a charger for her phone, then left her to ‘go get the food.’

In reality, I was having someone else grab the food. I just needed some time to talk to Chris, Janie, and the other bomb experts.

“How’s she doing?” Layna asked, unfolding her long body from the couch as I emerged.

“She’s alright, considering. She’s kind of… shy. I figured she might want some women around. But I think, for right now, she just needs a few minutes to decompress.”

“Look at you, being all protective,” Layna said, her eyes brightening. “Is she pretty? She’s gotta be pretty.”

“What? I wouldn’t be protective if she wasn’t?” I asked, a little offended.

“Of course you would,” she said, moving close, then pressing a hand to my chest as she leaned in, “but don’t think I didn’t see you adjusting when you walked out of that room.”

With that, and nothing more—as was often Layna’s style—she walked off.

I followed the crowd I saw gathered out back by the picnic table. As I approached, there it was, sitting on the surface, being inspected by no fewer than five experts.

“Chris,” I said, nodding toward the blonde-haired leader of Hailstorm—a survivalist-type compound that consisted mostly of ex-military and hackers who used their particular skills to do jobs that brought money into their group.

“Sully. First impressions are you were right in thinking it looks a lot more complicated than it actually is.”

“Honestly, it’s probably the most amateur bomb I’ve ever seen,” Janie, one of the wives of the retired members, said, shrugging one of her dainty shoulders. “He probably found some super basic plans online and followed them without doing any further research.”

“It’s live, though?” I asked, pointing toward the little pockets full of what should be explosive material.

“Yeah, it’s live,” one of the guys from Hailstorm said, carefully opening one and dumping the contents onto the top of the table. “We already removed the tubes with the nitro. Got that shit out of here. These are just the projectiles left.”

“See? Basic shit,” Janie said, waving toward the nails and ball bearings. “Honestly, they’re not even very full.”

“What about the timer and detonator?”

“Standard,” the Hailstorm guy said. “There was no secondary trigger or anything. So long as you figured out the wire leading from the battery, this thing wasn’t going to explode. Most of this shit was for show,” he added, waving toward the wires.

“So, I guess the question is,” Reign, the former club president, Fallon’s father, said as he approached, his keen eyes on me, “who the fuck wants you dead?”