Chapter 5 Rock
ROCK
“Knock, knock, bitch,” I said.
“You really can’t come over to a person’s place and act normal, can you?” Brewer said as he opened Makenna’s front door.
“When the fuck have you ever considered me normal?” I asked.
I walked into Makenna’s home and began looking around.
“I forced her out the door to work and Ana’s at school,” he said.
“Good. Then we can talk about that fucking bomb you dropped on me at the hospital.”
“And you don’t have to edit yourself on my account,” Brewer said with a grin.
“Cut the bullshit,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
“Good right now. Just took my pills.”
“Yep. That’ll do it,” I said.
“I’ve taken up permanent residency on the couch. Come on.”
“You mean you and Makenna aren’t-?”
“Not yet. She doesn't want to confuse Ana and I don’t blame her. Plus, I get a massive television to fall asleep to,” he said.
“Versus lying next to a naked woman?” I asked. “You’ve always been the fucking weirdo of the two of us.”
“Whatever. Come on. We need to talk.”
I followed Brewer over to the couch, but it was more than just a couch. It was one of those fancy-ass pull-out beds that turned into a king-size fucking palace bed. There was no way in hell he was sleeping in that thing alone all the damn time and I wasn't about to crawl into bed with the man.
So, I took up space in a chair in the corner while Brewer laid back down.
“You good?” I asked.
“Oh yeah. I need to get me one of these,” Brewer said.
“You sound like an old man.”
“I feel like one. This shoulder shit’s no joke.”
“Trust me. Been shot twice. Not in the shoulder, but in the arms. Recuperation’s no damn joke. I’m glad she’s got you drugged and sleeping,” I said.
“Boring as hell though,” he said.
“Okay, so back to the hospital,” I said.
“How did church go?”
“You’re really going to put this off, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Because I’m monitoring my heart, asshole. I don’t want to go back into cardiac arrest when I tell you I’m pretty sure the rat is someone in our crew.”
“Didn’t we already fucking know that?”
“I think it’s Mick.”
I furrowed my brow as I leaned forward in the chair.
“You think it’s who?” I asked.
“Not only that, I think Mick was the one that tried to kill me in my own house,” Brewer said.
“You can’t be fucking serious. That man just stood up for your ass in church.”
“What?”
“Yeah. He was your prime defender when Diesel still wanted to go through with the damn plan. It was a whole big old fight. Everyone’s taking some cool down time.
But the gist of church was that the plan is scrapped and Mick kept fucking repeating how you getting shot up should be a warning to all of us. ”
“Because he did the fucking shooting up,” he said.
“Why do you think the rat is Mick?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I think you’re drugged and still worked up from being attacked in your own fucking home. Anyone would be. Walk me through what happened.”
“You know those damn boots he always wears? Black with the fucking navy-blue laces?”
“Drives me insane to look at,” I said.
“Those same boots were in my house that day. The man was wearing a mask.”
“So that’s why you kept asking about the man in the mask.”
“Yeah. After I got out of the closet in my bedroom, I ran over and hunkered down behind my guest bed. I kept my eyes on the lookout by peering underneath the damn bed frame. And a pair of black boots with navy shoelaces came walking around the corner. The man had a fucking mask on, and when he shot at me he missed even though he was only fucking seven feet away from me. And you know Mick’s a shit shot. ”
“But that doesn’t mean it was Mick. What you’re saying is serious. He’s a brother, Brewer.”
“Yeah. I know. Which was why it sent me into fucking cardiac arrest, Rock. He’s limping on his left leg. The same damn leg I shot up on that asshole before he managed to get out of my fucking house. Which I still don’t know how that happened.”
“Mick could be limping for any reason.”
“I shot that asshole in the left ankle and the left thigh. When Mick got up and left the hospital room before you came in, I caught a glimpse of his pant leg. He had a small dark splotch by his ankle and on his thigh. In the same places where I got him. Are you going to tell me all this shit’s coincidence? ”
“Even if it isn’t, he’s a fucking brother, Brewer. And we have to tread lightly with this. Especially once we take it to Diesel”
“That asshole tried to kill me. I know it was Mick in my house that night. I’m not treading lightly on anything once I get my arm out of this damn sling,” he said through gritted teeth.
“And until you do, let me handle it,” I said. “This has to be handled delicately. It has to be dealt with, but not with the anger in your fucking eyes, man.”
Brewer drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
Fuck. I was still trying to wrap my mind around what he’d told me in the first damn place.
Was it possible the rat was Mick? Did he have those kinds of balls on him?
I didn’t think he did. What Brewer was suggesting took a cunning spirit and a serious amount of planning and sneaking around.
Mick was a pussy, though he had his moments.
He was the clean-up guy. The numbers guy. The behind-the-scenes guy.
He didn’t barge into people’s homes with a want to shoot and fucking kill.
Did he?
“Brewer? You good?” I asked.
I watched his eyes flutter closed as he laid down onto the bed.
“Brewer. You’re not spinning out on me, are you?” I asked.
“Tired,” he said with a grunt.
I got up and placed my fingers to his carotid just to fucking make sure he didn’t need another damn ambulance. But when I found his heartbeat steady, a grin crossed my face.
“Then sleep, asshole. I’ll be back later to check on you.”
“Uh huh,” he said.
And the man was snoring before I locked the knob of the front door and closed it behind me.
I looked over at Brewer’s house and my blood began to pump faster.
If Mick was the rat, then he had cleaned up whatever evidence of him had been in his home.
Because Mick was our clean-up guy. Our go-to when shit needed to be fixed or bodies needed to be disposed of.
Mick had a lot of shit on us to dump to people.
He might not be pulling the damn trigger or formulating the plans, but he cleaned up our trails so no one could get anything back to us.
Which meant he’d cleaned up his shit while cleaning up Brewer’s house.
Fuck.
I struck up my bike and rode off. I needed to blow off some damn steam.
I revved the engine of my motorcycle and sped through town, taking back roads through the place I knew weren’t heavily policed.
Long, fast rides always calmed me down if the bars weren’t open yet.
And with it being only four in the afternoon, there was no way in hell any of the bars I frequented were even thinking about opening.
I raced down the roads, throttling it at ninety miles an hour.
Wind whipped through my hair and dust kicked up, settling the trembling frustration in my muscles.
Brewer was convinced Mick was our rat.
And I didn’t have any reason not to believe him.
I whipped my bike around in the middle of the road and started back to my place.
My dingy old apartment that pumped more electricity through it than the city power pump some fucking days.
Cheap rent, very few windows, and just enough space for all my computer shit.
I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, feeling the rolling of the tires underneath my body.
My bike was an extension of myself. Worn.
Used. But still rode like a dream. Rough and ragged and not always appealing to the eye, but could beat the shit out of any other bike on the fucking road.
I’d fix that damn thing up until Hell itself swallowed me whole.
I opened my eyes and saw a car coming straight for me.
My eyes bulged as I swerved out of the way, trying to avoid an oncoming collision.
But I could’ve sworn that damn car followed me all the way to the edge of the fucking road.
My tires began to wobble and I lost control of my steering.
I laid on my horn as the car squealed its tires, finding its way back onto the road as my front tire hit a damn ditch.
It tossed me over the handlebars and sent my back careening into the inner edge of the ditch.
And then, darkness took me under.