Sully (Henchmen MC: Next Generation #13)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sully

With all of the bomb experts gone and the most street-savvy of us out on the streets to see if any of the dealers had seen our suspect, I found myself puttering around the clubhouse. Restless, but with nothing to do with that energy.

“Come up with anyone?” Fallon asked, making me turn to find him watching me from where I was sitting at the bar, spinning the same beer I’d been nursing for nearly an hour.

I was supposed to be compiling a list of people I’d fucked over, ones who might be holding a grudge.

“I got nothing, man,” I said, shaking my head, suddenly bone-deep tired.

“I mean… Sutton hated your ass,” Fallon reminded me.

“Yeah, but that was childish shit. We’d been kids. I’d been a prick.”

“Yeah, but you were a kid for a long time. All over the country, thanks to your old man’s job. Could you have pissed off a bunch of other people who might be holding a grudge?”

“Oh, but who could hate me?” I asked, feigning a lightness I didn’t feel.

“Cut the shit. Get real with me for just one night, okay?”

“I’ve been racking my brain, Fallon. I can’t think of anyone that would be this unhinged. I mean, hating me is one thing. Wanting me dead, even. But involving some innocent woman? That’s some sick shit. I can’t think of anyone I know like that.”

“Fair enough. But keep thinking on it.”

“Don’t think I’ll be doing much of anything else.”

Fallon watched me for a minute, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “You good?” he asked. “This gotta be a lot.”

I shrugged at that.

What could I say? That this was digging up a lot of shit I wanted to stay buried? That I was struggling more than I had in years to keep up a somewhat easy-going outward demeanor? That I was having a harder time not falling into a hole?

“I’m dealing.”

“Do you want me or one of the girls to step in with Bonnie?”

“No.” Shit. That came out too fast, too eager. “She’s anxious. I don’t think it’s a good idea to try to change shit up on her right now.”

To that, he nodded.

“I get that. But if it gets too much, you can tap any of us in. And the girls are never far away either. Except Vi. Apparently, she’s MIA.”

“What do you mean MIA?”

“I mean, she’s on a job. Chasing a skip. But she’s been kind of off the grid, I guess.”

“Are we worried?”

“We’re… watching the situation,” Fallon said. “Her parents are ready to skip town if they don’t hear from her soon.”

Vi was a big girl. And she was a badass bounty hunter. But, you know, she was our girl. We all worried.

None of us would say the quiet part out loud. That as forward-thinking and feminist as we all were, there was always the fact that Vi was a woman. Who was often chasing men twice her size, twice her strength. Even though she was well-trained, sometimes pure strength won out.

If she didn’t check in by the morning, I was pretty sure we would all be thinking the worst.

But that was a problem for another time. Right now, I had a bomber to try to find. And a traumatized, fragile girl to take care of.

“Listen, I need you on the ball with this. But don’t go into a dark place. This goes without saying, but no parties or club girls until this is all cleared up. And we’re all hands on deck here now. Guard shifts day and night. Gates closed up. If you need to order food for the girl or the club, you gotta meet delivery outside the gates. No one is going out on the town. And if you’re hitting the streets to follow a lead, I want you to have backup.”

“Got it,” I agreed, nodding.

Sure, I was often a thorn in his—and mostly Brooks’s—side. I did everything I could to avoid responsibility or bow to authority. That said, I spent a lot of years in the service. I could take an order when I knew it was for the best for everyone involved.

“Did Hailstorm take the vest?” I asked.

“No. They made sure it was safe, but they left it for you to look over, see if there is any sort of hidden message on it.”

“Where is it?”

“Basement. Perish is up in the glass room. Voss, Dezi, and Nave are on guard around the grounds. You, me, and Rowe are inside right now. We’re going to have at least a five-man guard twenty-four seven.”

“Wherever you need me.”

“Well, we need you in here for the girl. But tomorrow, maybe, if we can finagle it, you should visit her place. See if there are any signs that the place has been messed with. I know you said you don’t know her, but just in case you’re mistaken.”

“Okay. She’s probably gonna want to get some of her stuff anyway.”

She was definitely a creature of comfort. She was going to want some clothes, at least.

“Good. But I want at least two people with you. One on the floor. One in the car.”

“Got it,” I agreed. “I’m gonna go look at the vest. If you hear Bonnie, give me a call.”

He gave me a nod, and I moved down the basement steps, adrenaline starting to surge through me.

This was all hinging on me.

Bonnie’s life.

The safety of all of my club brothers. Maybe even their wives or kids.

It was a lot on my back.

I hadn’t felt that kind of pressure in a long fucking time.

I had to figure this shit out.

I wasn’t sure that if all this shit blew up—literally or figuratively—that I could come out on the other side of this with the same lightness I’d found over the years with this club.

That, well, that wasn’t a good thought.

The suicide vest was laid out on a pop-up table under one of the bright lights. Janie and the crew from Hailstorm had opened up and emptied out all of the projectiles but left everything on the table. Likely in case anything could be some kind of clue for me.

“What were you here to tell me?” I asked.

Because, surely, the plan wasn’t to blow us up, not really. It was too easy to disable. So either he thought he was better than he was, and I was dumber than I am, or he knew I would figure it out.

Which meant it genuinely was just… some kind of message.

I had to assume that, given that it was a bomb, it had to do with my time in the service. And, sure, early on in my career, I’d seen a few suicide bombs. But that was ages ago. I really didn’t think it was anything linked to that.

Later on in my career, yeah, there were also many bombs, though not this kind. Could I have killed someone in the line of duty and now their friend, family, or partner was coming for me?

That was… insane.

But people did insane shit all of the time.

And grief could really fuck you up in the head. Especially if it was some kind of mistake.

I didn’t like to think about that. But, yeah, in war… there were sometimes mistakes. Bad intel, bad choices. Sometimes people died who never did anything wrong.

It was something that, in the moment, it was somewhat easy to compartmentalize things. You were always on the way to the next fiasco.

It wasn’t until it was all over that you really got to start processing that shit.

But the end of my military career included, well, a different kind of shitstorm that buried everything that came before.

Processing that…

Well, I hadn’t really processed that, had I?

I’d been too busy seeking the fun, leaning into the light, filling myself up with other, better, shit.

If I stopped, I was sure I’d have no choice but to process. Which was why I never stopped, why I was always leaping from one new fun project to the next.

“Enough,” I grumbled to myself, flipping the vest over.

“Talking to yourself?” a voice asked, making me turn to find that Nave had made his way down the steps to join me. “Not usually a good sign,” he added, passing me a beer.

“Can’t get my mind straight on this,” I admitted. “Makes no sense.”

Nave moved closer, staring down at the vest.

“Don’t know shit about bombs,” he said. “But I do know a thing or two about batshit crazy people.”

Nave said shit like that sometimes. Hinting at a past he refused to tell anyone about. The kid of one of the OG members, Nave was a legacy. He was always going to get in the club. But instead of joining immediately after he aged up, he skipped town. Then was gone for years. Doing fuck-knew what. Except we did know it meant his knuckles were covered in scars. And he had a bullet wound scar on his stomach.

I guess the only people who knew what his life was like before the club were Fallon and Brooks, who didn’t let us have many secrets, and maybe his parents.

Oh, and Dezi, who he knew from those old days. But neither would ever fess up to it for some reason.

“Yeah?” I asked. “And what do you think this says about this particular crazy person?” I asked, waving to the vest.

“That he’s not done,” Nave concluded. “That he plans to mentally torture you before he finally offs you.”

I nodded at that as I took a sip of the beer.

“Sounds about right.”

“Who would hate you that much?” Nave asked. “I mean, you’re a pretty likable guy. With an annoying habit of beating my ass at poker. And a fucking awful sense of style…”

“Pretty sure the fashion police aren’t out to kill me,” I said, shooting him a smirk.

“Know bombs tend to be women’s work,” Nave said. “But what about a girl you hooked up with being behind all this?”

“It was a man who did it,” I reminded him.

“Sure. But pretty girls—and you are a connoisseur of pretty—always have jealous exes, situationships, or creepy stalkers who would take issue with you putting your hands on his girl.”

“That’s… an angle,” I agreed.

“Any chance you actually keep track of the women you fuck?” he asked. “Club girls, aside.”

“I know names. Sometimes addresses.”

“Maybe that’s an angle to go in. You can at least ask them if they have an ex who fits the description. Maybe one who is a little unhinged or has been threatening her? I know you likely have a past I don’t know dick about to consider too, but it’s another angle to consider.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. Though, I had to admit, that was a very large fucking pool of women. I know ‘drowning in pussy’ was just a saying. But in this case, it was possible.

“If you need—“ Nave started, only to get cut off by a loud cry. “What’s—“ he started.

“Bonnie,” I said.

Then I was running, tearing up the stairs and running down the hall.

I didn’t pause to knock or ask if I could go in. I could hear her gasping from the other side of the door, Bonnie’s frantic, uneven breaths.

“Heya honey,” I said, tone a lot calmer than I felt. Her panic was getting my heart slamming.

She was sitting up against the headboard, knees to chest, arms circling her legs, breathing heavy.

“Bad dream?” I asked.

“Except it was just a memory,” she admitted, pressing a hand to her chest. “I can’t breathe,” she panted.

“Sure you can,” I countered. “Want to breathe with me?” I asked, sitting down at her feet.

Her tight nod was her only answer, but she tried to take deep breaths with me, holding when I held. But it only lasted a minute or two, before the panic was back just as strong as before.

“Alright. What else do you do when you’re anxious?” I asked, rubbing a hand up and down one of her legs, slow and steady, trying to offer her something else to focus on.

“I… do puzzles or… color…” she said, her hand creeping up from her heart to her throat.

“Color, huh?” I asked, popping up. “Give me one second,” I said, rushing out of the room and into the common area.

“What are you looking for?” Brooks asked, brows pinched, as I dug around in the box we stored shit for the kids in.

“This,” I declared, finding and waving the box of washable markers at him.

With that, I turned and made my way back to my bedroom, moving in and closing the door.

“Let’s color,” I said, placing the markers next to Bonnie on the bed.

“Paper,” she said, exhaling hard.

“That, I didn’t grab. But no worries. I have a canvas for you.”

Then I turned and pulled off my shirt, showing her the tattoo that covered almost my entire back. Just the outline. I’d never gotten around to filling in the color.

Now, that suddenly felt like the best decision I’d ever made.

“Work your magic on me, Monet,” I said, dropping down across the end of the bed on my stomach.

I could have found paper.

There were probably even coloring books in the same box as the markers.

But I figured that maybe having an unconventional canvas might help pull her out of her panic better than something she was accustomed to.

I was seriously starting to wonder if I’d fucked up as a minute or two passed without her moving.

Then, little by little, she unfolded from herself.

The lid of the cardboard box slid open.

A marker cap popped.

Then she was leaning over me.

One of her hands moved to press against my shoulder as the marker tip kissed my skin.

And I realized a little too late that maybe this wasn’t a great idea after all as desire fucking soared through my body.

But there was no going back now.