Chapter Thirty-Two
Aspen
“That’s why he left you alive,” Cash surmised. “If he killed you, he’d never find the money.”
“Yes,” I answered.
I sat quietly as King studied me. I knew he was reevaluating whether he could trust me.
I’d come to the clubhouse as a victim. A woman afraid of her own shadow.
A woman who said she was someone different from who she really was, knowing my connection to the biker world, to my father’s club, would require him to contact my father.
I’d lied to him for months.
“I’m sorry, King. I couldn’t tell you who I was. I couldn’t risk you calling my father. Or worse, calling my husband.”
I heard my father growl behind me, but I ignored him. I hadn’t completely forgiven him yet. Right now, his feelings didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting Banshee back.
“It could work,” Gunner said.
“It won’t fucking work. You know who he wants, and you know why,” King growled.
“If he wants me, he can have me.”
“The fuck he can,” my father shouted.
I turned around and glared at him. “You were willing to let me go for Diana.”
“Irene,” he warned.
I stood from my seat and stepped in front of my father. “My name is Aspen.”
“Your name is Irene. It was the name your mother and I gave you.”
“And her name? Gabriella? That was the name her parents gave her. But that’s not who she is. She has never been Gabriella. She has always been Rhea. Why does she get to change her name?”
“Because it was the only way to keep her safe.”
“Exactly. Changing my name to Aspen was what kept me safe. It’s who I’ve been for the past two years.”
“And now that son of a bitch is dead, you can be Irene again,” my father argued.
“And how long has her uncle been dead? How long has she been safe from him?”
“There are still people alive who want her dead,” my father hissed.
“Same!” I shouted. “Skinner is still alive. Vulture is still alive. You think they won’t blame me for Pepper’s death? Irene is dead; you need to accept that.”
“Lucas, she’s right,” my mother said, stepping between my father and me. “It’s her life now.”
“Bullshit,” he cursed.
I turned away from my father. “I’ll give myself to Skinner if he’ll let Banshee go.”
“It’s not you he wants, Aspen. He doesn’t even know you’re here.”
I looked around the table, my eyes landing on my nephew. He stood behind Indie, his hands on her shoulders, the same way Banshee had stood behind me.
“Why does he want you?”
Indie looked at King. He shook his head as she answered, “Vulture is my father.”
That wasn’t it. It might be true, but that wasn’t why he wanted her. But King wouldn’t reveal why, not with my father and his men in the room.
I sat back in my chair, my shoulders slumping in defeat. Mimic would never let her go. “What do we do?” I looked at King, my eyes pleading with him silently. “I need him back, King.” Diesel whined at my side.
“We’ll get him back, Aspen. But not by sacrificing you or anyone else. He would kick my ass for even thinking about it.”
King’s phone rang, and he took a deep breath before answering.
“Hello?”
His eyes held mine as he listened to whoever was on the other end. I watched as his eyes turned dark with a deadly rage I had never seen from him.
I’d seen King angry. A few months ago, his biological father had walked into the clubhouse as though he belonged there.
King’s family was fucked up. His brother, the sheriff, was actually his uncle.
King’s mother was an Irish girl from Massachusetts who’d given birth at sixteen, much like my mother.
But unlike my mother, Darcy Murphy had given her son to his grandmother to raise. King had been raised by his father’s mother and stepfather, only finding out just before Christmas that his biological father was the head of the Irish Mob in Boston.
Sal had walked in and brought Colleen, Maureen’s daughter.
He and King had words in church, and King hadn’t come out of that room the same.
That was the angriest I’d ever seen King.
Until today. King had a temper; I guess that was the Irish in him.
He did a better job of containing that temper than my father and brother did.
Zeus was doing quite well holding onto his temper. I’d never seen him outside the clubhouse; it seemed as though he was more level-headed, more diplomatic than our father was. I was glad my father had stepped down and made him president.
I turned back to King as he set his phone down and stared at it. His chest rose and fell quickly. I’d seen Zeus do that just before he exploded.
“What’d Skinner say?” Cash asked carefully.
“The Tumbleweed in Burns, two hours. Two people; one of them has to be Indie.”
“No goddamn way!” Mimic shouted.
King stood. He walked over and sat down next to Indie. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to go,” she said. There was no hesitation in her answer, and my hope soared.
“NO!” Mimic shouted. Indie looked over her shoulder at Mimic.
“How many times do I have to tell you this isn’t your decision?”
“Then I’m going with you,” my nephew countered.
Nav’s phone went off, and he picked it up and looked at it, then looked at Eros. “I’ll go.”
“No,” King said.
“King, Indie isn’t the only trade Skinner is making,” Nav said.
“Who?” I asked. Who else did Skinner have? Who else did he want? King looked at Eros before looking back at Nav.
“Skinner has Firestride’s old lady,” Nav explained.
“The Brotherhood doesn’t have old ladies,” my mother declared.
“They do now.” Nav smiled. “Skinner is trading her for Firestride.”
I looked over at Eros; his face was a mask of calm, but the corner of his mouth hitched the tiniest amount.
“What are we missing?”
Nav leaned back in his chair. “Skinner is a fucking moron. Firestride took an old lady, and Skinner took her from him. This fucking war is over today.”
Nav continued to shake his head as he chuckled and worked on his computer. The screen at the front of the room turned on and showed a picture of a roadhouse.
“This is the Tumbleweed. It’s a biker dive in Burns.
Run by a man named Cecil Turner. It’s a neutral bar.
Bikers are welcome, but no colors.” Nav turned to look at Mimic.
“She doesn’t even have to go, brother. It’s a small bar, so they won’t send the whole club.
Not sure what Skinner is thinking, but no way is he leaving that bar with Firestride. ”
“You think I’m letting you walk in there alone?” King snapped.
“I’ll go with him,” Eros stated. He pulled his gun and checked the clip. “How many?” he asked Nav.
“A dozen, maybe two.”
Eros nodded, slamming the clip back into his gun before re-holstering it. “I’m ready.”
“The two of you are not going alone, goddammit!” my father shouted. “You’re not walking into the fucking lion’s den for that son of a bitch!”
“Lucas!” my mother hissed.
“Dad, sit your ass down and shut the fuck up,” Zeus ordered. When my father opened his mouth, my brother stood. “That’s a fucking order from your goddamn president!”
“Boy...”
“Poseidon, if Kronos doesn’t sit down in the next ten seconds, put him on the fucking ground,” my brother said, his eyes burning with a controlled rage as he stared at my father.
“Daddy, please,” I whispered. I jumped up and walked to my father. “I love him, Daddy. I’ve loved him for a long time. Please bring him back for me.”
“Why him, Sugar?”
“Why her, Daddy?” I pointed at my mother.
My father looked over at my mother, who smiled at him. My father rubbed his hand over his face and groaned, “Fine.” Then he sat down next to my mother.
“They aren’t going alone,” King stated.
“King, I’d like to come with you and bring a few of my men,” Zeus said.
“We can handle it, Prez,” Eros, who didn’t speak much, assured my brother. Zeus turned on him, and Eros quoted, “The gods envy us.”
To which my brother responded, “They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last,” then smiled at Eros. “I’m still coming with you.”
“Let’s go then,” King said, standing from his seat. “Cash, you’ll stay here. I need Patch. There’s no telling what shape Banshee will be in.”
I gasped, a tear slipping down my cheek. “He’ll be alive. Skinner may be foolish, but he isn’t stupid enough to kill him and still expect a trade.”
I followed the men out into the main room. I watched as those who were going readied their weapons. King barked out orders, and men and prospects rushed to obey them.
When my father kissed my mother and walked toward the door, my brother stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going, old man?”
“Son,” my father warned.
“You’re staying here with my mother and my sisters. That’s a fucking order from your president.”
“Johnny, follow us in the SUV,” King called from the corner of the room where he stood talking to Grace. I watched them as they spoke harsh words to each other. I couldn’t hear them, but by the look on their faces, those harsh words were said out of love, not anger.
I knew what Grace was feeling right now, even if she refused to admit it. King and his men were putting their lives on the line for their brother. For Banshee.
King kissed her forehead and walked away. I moved across the room quickly and put my arms around Grace. “He’ll come back,” I whispered.
Time seemed to stand still while we waited for the men to return. I sat up straight when I heard the roar of motorcycles. A moment later, an alarm blared.
“FUCK!” Cash yelled. “Get the women upstairs.”
But there wasn’t time. The front door slammed open as men stormed through, guns raised and bullets flying. Screams rang out amidst the gunshots.
Bodies scrambled for cover. Grace and I dove behind the bar, our arms over our heads as glass and alcohol rained down on us. The gunfight went on for what felt like hours. Then finally, the room fell quiet.
I was afraid to move. Afraid to see what death and destruction lay on the other side of the bar. It had been a trap. And we had walked right into it.