Chapter 7 #2
That name landed too. “There was a prospect at Death’s Head called Graham. He was just a kid, barely eighteen.”
Dutch looked at me. “You know him?”
“He left right around the time Lilac did.” I stood up.
“When I got back from that run, everyone was talking about how Graham was about to get patched in—said he’d done something big for the club while I was gone.
But then he just… walked away. Told everyone the life wasn’t for him.
” I shook my head. “It never made sense. That kid wanted his patch more than anything. And now he shows up here with some woman and a lawyer—”
“He might have answers,” Glitch finished.
Dutch was already on his feet. “Let them in. Everyone stay. If they’ve got something to say about what happened to our brother’s wife, we’re all going to hear it.”
Five minutes later, the clubhouse doors opened and three people walked in.
The woman was older—late sixties, maybe seventies—with silver hair and the kind of steel in her spine that reminded me of my grandmother. She walked like someone who’d seen too much and was done being afraid of it.
Beside her was a man about the same age, tall and lean with wire-rimmed glasses and the bearing of someone used to courtrooms and cross-examinations. He carried a worn leather briefcase that looked like it had seen decades of use. Bernard Mischewski—the lawyer.
The third person, I recognized. Graham. He’d been barely eighteen when I’d known him, young and eager, desperate to patch in, willing to do anything for the club.
Now he was a man. Older, broader, and clearly pissed about something. “Colt.” Graham’s voice was rough. “I’ve been waiting seven years to have this conversation.”
“Then talk.” I planted myself in front of him, fists clenched. “Tell me where my wife has been. Tell me why she left. Tell me—”
“She didn’t leave.” Graham’s eyes met mine, haunted and tired. “She was nearly beaten to death at your clubhouse. While you were on a run, and your brothers covered it up.”
The words didn’t make sense. I heard them, processed them, but they refused to form into anything coherent.
“The fuck?”
Graham took a breath, steadying himself. “The night before you got back from Corpus Christi, something happened at the clubhouse. The prez—he was drugged, we found out later. Someone slipped him something that made him… violent. Unpredictable. He went on a rampage.”
“I never heard about any—”
“Because they covered it up.” Graham’s voice cracked.
“He hurt people, Colt. Badly. And Lilac was one of them. She’d come to the clubhouse to wait for you.
She had news—about the pregnancy. She wanted to tell you as soon as you walked in the door.
She wanted you to be the first to know but Doc had already announced it to the brothers. ”
The words didn’t make sense. Again. I was starting to think my brain had just stopped working.
“The officers found the bodies in the morning. Most of them were dead.” Graham swallowed hard.
“I was a prospect. They told me to dispose of the bodies. But when I checked Lilac, she was still breathing. Barely. I couldn’t—I couldn’t just leave her there.
So I loaded her into my truck and I drove. I drove until I got to Betty’s place.”
Betty stepped forward, her hand finding Graham’s arm.
“My late husband was Iron Wolves MC out of Oklahoma. When this boy showed up at my door with a dying woman in his arms, covered in blood, white as a sheet and shaking, I knew what it meant.” Her voice was steady, the voice of someone who’d seen the worst and survived it.
“I’m a retired nurse. I took one look at her and called in every favor I had.
Got her admitted to a hospital under a false name, paid for by the Iron Wolves’ community fund.
No questions asked. They understood if that girl was shipped back into Death’s Head territory, she was as good as dead. ”
“She was in a coma for a month,” Betty continued, her expression softening slightly.
“I sat with her every day. Watched her breathe, watched the machines keep her alive. When she finally woke up…” She paused.
“She didn’t remember anything. Not you, not the club, not even her own name.
Complete amnesia. The trauma had wiped everything clean. ”
The room was silent. Every brother was staring at me, at Graham, at Betty, at the lawyer who had yet to speak. I couldn’t read their expressions. Couldn’t read anything through the roar in my ears.
“My brothers told me she cheated.” My voice came out strangled. “They told me she emptied our bank account and ran off with another man.”
Bernard Mischewski had been silent until now, his eyes scanning the screens where Glitch’s evidence was still displayed. He walked closer to the big screen, studying the forged signatures, the bank records, the timeline. Then he turned to Glitch. “May I?” He gestured to the documents.
Glitch nodded, and Bernard pulled a folder from his briefcase, comparing his papers to what was on screen.
After a moment, he looked up, his voice carrying the weight of decades in courtrooms. “I’ll say this—I’m impressed.
” He glanced at Glitch, something sharp in his expression.
“I wouldn’t have known anyone was looking into this if it wasn’t for Graham’s call.
I have a tech man on the payroll. He has everything connected to Lilac flagged—legitimate inquiries, legal searches, anything that so much as brushes her name.
The moment anyone starts digging, he’s supposed to know about it.
” Bernard paused, letting that land. “Your man here didn’t trigger a single alert.
Not one.” He looked back at Glitch with respect then made a short, dismissive sound.
“Not that Death’s Head’s technical capabilities were ever particularly sophisticated. ”
Dutch’s voice came from across the room, flat and certain. “Glitch is top three in the MC world at what he does. He doesn’t trip wires. He ghosts right through them.”
“Given the situation,” Bernard continued, setting the folder on the table, “I decided it was worth making the trip to be here today.” He opened the folder wider, revealing documents.
“Because what you’re looking at isn’t just a cover-up.
It’s a criminal conspiracy involving at least six members of Death’s Head’s leadership. ”
He pulled out a legal pad covered in notes.
“Your club’s lawyer notarized forged documents.
That’s a felony. Doc French falsified medical records and lied about Lilac’s whereabouts.
The VP and Sergeant at Arms both signed off on fraudulent insurance claims for the families impacted that night.
Others were given cash and forced to sign NDAs under the threat of death.
And your president…” He paused. “Now, had he come forward immediately—had he gone to law enforcement and said he’d been drugged, that he had no memory of what happened—a competent defense attorney could have made a credible case.
Involuntary intoxication is a recognized defense.
It doesn’t guarantee an acquittal, but it’s defensible.
It’s arguable.” Bernard set the legal pad down.
“But that’s not what happened. Instead, someone made the decision to bury it.
To forge documents, falsify records, threaten witnesses, and let an innocent woman be left for dead.
The moment that decision was made, the drugging ceased to matter.
You cannot defend a conspiracy. Everyone who helped him cover it up is an accessory to murder and attempted murder. Multiple counts.”
The room tilted. I grabbed the back of the nearest chair and focused on breathing through my nose.
Accessory to murder. Attempted murder. The words kept coming, each one landing somewhere new.
I was going to be sick, or I was going to pass out, and I couldn’t do either of those things in front of my brothers.
Dutch’s hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and steady. “Breathe,” he said, close to my ear. Just that. Just the one word.
I took in several deep breaths.
“I’ve documented everything,” Bernard continued, his voice hard with professional anger.
“Dates, names, paper trails. If you want to pursue this legally, you can. If you want to bring the entire Death’s Head leadership down, this will help you do it.
The question is whether you want to do this through me—” he tapped the folder “—or through other means.”
Graham met my eyes. “I left Death’s Head after that.
I couldn’t stay, couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what they’d done.
But I couldn’t tell you either—they would have killed me.
Hell, maybe they would have killed you.” His eyes hardened.
“Hunted Lilac. Your boys. Betty. I didn’t know how far they would go, given what they’d already done.
So I just… watched. Made sure she was safe.
Made sure they never found her. I’ve been checking on her for years.
Making sure Death’s Head never realized she was alive. ”
I turned away, my hands gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood creaked. My mind was racing, trying to process everything I’d just heard.
Lilac hadn’t left me.
Lilac had been beaten nearly to death.
Lilac had lost her memory—lost me, lost everything—because my own club had covered up a crime.
And those boys—my boys—had grown up without a father because I’d believed a lie.
“Colt.” Dutch’s voice was gentle, which made it worse somehow. “Brother—”
“Don’t.” I held up a hand. “Just… don’t.”
Betty stepped closer, her voice softening.
“I know this is a lot to take in. But there’s more you need to understand.
” She waited until I turned to face her.
“Lilac never regained her memories. Even now, she doesn’t remember you.
She doesn’t remember being married, doesn’t remember being in love.
To her, you’re a stranger who’s been terrorizing her for the past week. ”
Terrorizing her. That’s what I’d been doing. Cornering her at the grocery store, confronting her on the street, letting my brothers call her names.
And she didn’t even know why.
“Those boys,” Betty continued, her eyes never leaving mine, “have spent their entire lives without a father. They’ve watched their mother struggle. They’re protective of her because she’s all they’ve ever had. She’s built a life for them—a good life—but it’s been hard. Every day has been hard.”
“I didn’t know.” The words were barely a whisper. “I didn’t know.”
“No. You didn’t.” Betty’s expression was unreadable. “But now you do. The question is what are you going to do about it?”
I looked at Graham, his haunted eyes holding the weight of seven years of watching over a woman he’d saved.
At Betty, who’d risked everything to protect a stranger.
At Bernard, who’d gathered the evidence to prove what had been done.
At my brothers, who were watching me with varying degrees of shock and anger.
Then I looked at the screen where Glitch had pulled up those forged divorce papers. Where my wife’s fake signature stared back at me.
Seven years. I’d spent seven years hating an innocent woman. Seven years missing my sons’ lives. Seven years believing a story that had been fabricated to protect monsters.
Those monsters were going to pay.