Chapter 30
thirty
DANE
My boots are tramping up the storefront’s entryway stairs when a loud, all too familiar voice screams, “Dane Bordelon, you better stop right there.”
From a few yards away, Mary Grant is shuffling toward me, hand waving in my direction, the ever present chihuahua in one hand, leash dangling toward the ground.
“You tell those no accounts not to block my driveway anymore,” she yells as she approaches.
I meet my former teacher halfway, assuring, “We’ve already moved Darcy out. We shouldn’t bother you anymore.”
“Hrmp. They were at the house this morning. Poor Manny couldn’t go to the dog park until they moved. Awfully rude young men you’re letting in these days.”
Not possible. Everyone involved with Darcy’s security was at the compound or garage. Maybe it was a random rider. “Mrs. Grant, did you see motorcycles?”
“Yes,” she says pertly. “Hondas. Oh, and a white van parked down the street.”
A chill runs down my spine. Not us, for sure, because the bylaws say Harleys only. Something feels off with this, and I have a sneaky suspicion my biggest worry is already coming true. Our only van is black. “Were they wearing a cut like mine, but with different patches?”
“Not that I saw, but some were inside the house.”
My heart starts to thump loudly in my ears, my mind racing. “Sorry they bothered you. If they come again, call the garage while they’re still there.”
Blood roars into my ears, drowning out any answer she may have given as I turn on my heels, running into the storefront. I stop only to send a text message:
Dane
Visitors at the Williams' house early this morning.
Folgers
No way. Everybody would have seen them riding through town.
Dane
Check the trail cameras on the old dirt roads and get in touch with Miami to bring Seth in.
Parran is a straight shot with only one road cutting through. Seth’s neighborhood is in the unincorporated part of town, making it accessible by old roads only farmers use if you were to try hard enough. Someone did their research, trying to get in and out before we discovered they were here. When valuable time is spent on something like that, it means it’s worth it to them.
Seth’s pissed someone off. The trick is figuring out who and why.
I pace back to Darcy’s office, ignoring the civilian employee demanding my attention over something trivial.
“Back already?” she answers. I lean down and nibble on her neck. She looks heavenward in exasperation, the mood lightening between us as I hope. “You don’t need to keep checking on me.”
I reach for her hand, and in a gentle voice say, “Private talk. Outside.”
Her face falls, so I lace our fingers together and bring them to my lips before leading us through the parking lot to the workshed. I look around the corners for any stragglers who may overhear, then shut the barn doors behind us, only the bike I’m working on for Flinch as our witness. She’s pale when I let go of her hand.
“Okay, now I’m worried.”
“Sugar, why did you leave Houston?” Until now, I assumed it was because they were broke and needed a place to come back to while Darcy recovered from having the baby.
“Why are you asking?”
“Men showed up at the Williams house today. Looks like they let themselves in.”
I know it’s going to be bad when Darcy moistens her lips with her tongue, her words hesitant. She looks like she’s ready to break down already. Every fear I’ve had about my former friend’s bullshit comes to life with one sentence. “Seth was hanging around a motorcycle club hoping to join. I kinda wonder if that’s why he chose for us to go to Houston. He knew someone in the life.”
I feel my eye twitch. “How far did he get?” He always said he wanted to prospect with us, even approached my father when we were out of high school, hoping for a second chance. It was too late, though, his character was already clear to us.
“They told him they wouldn’t let him prospect, that’s all I know. He was angry about it.”
“Did you leave town, or were you told to leave?”
“Oh, very much told. Seth went on one of his benders. There was this van parked in the fire lane almost the entire time. It disappears, and then a few hours later, they show up again and throw Seth out. When I ran outside to help him, a man on a maroon bike pulled up and told me we had twenty-four hours to get out of town.”
A tear drips down her face, brushed away quickly. “They were in an MC?”
“Yes. I didn’t get the same vibe from them as the Bayou Dogs, so I stayed away.”
“And that’s it?”
“I’m sure there’s more, but that’s all I know,” she says with a weak shrug.
I pull her to my chest and give her a reassuring kiss on the forehead. “Don’t worry about this, okay? It’s nothing to get upset over. I’ll handle it.”
As annoyed as she is at me, Darcy lets herself relax in my arms. “I know you will.”
“Stay in the building okay? I want two men with you until we figure things out.”
She nods her agreement. “I’m sorry I can’t remember anything else that might be important.”
“It was best you stayed out of all of that.”
And it’s for the best that she stays out of it now.
“You know, now that I’m thinking about it, there is one thing that was kinda weird…” she whispers once we reach the break room.
“And what is that?” I ask in a soothing voice, kissing the tip of her nose.
“When I was unpacking I found a belt buckle. The type that’s a souvenir or a prize. It probably belonged to one of the bikers in Houston.”
“And where is it now?”
“In a reusable shopping bag on top of the master bedroom closet. It’s a serpent, I think, coiled up.”
“I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry about this anymore.”
Her softly whispered, “I know,” reassures me that maybe, just maybe I’m doing this whole “old lady” thing right.
* * *
I loathe using Linc’s old office at White Dog. The gray walls remind me of a prison cell. It’s the best place to be as a headquarters until I figure out what exactly is going on. We keep trail cameras up on the old farmers roads, the only possible route that our visitors took to Seth’s house.
As my ass hits the leather chair too small for my large frame, Folgers emails me a cleaned up picture of our uninvited guests. As Mrs. Grant mentioned, they’re Hondas, and their cuts left off. None of the riders are anyone I recognize. Four—enough to handle any shit if it goes down, but few enough to try to sneak in and out if needed.
Dane
Zoom in on the bike on the front left. There’s a logo on the tank
Folgers
Already working on it.
My email updates, a new pic appears on the screen with two clicks. A snake ready to pounce, the logo of the Sons of Perdition.
We’ve never had any beef with them. They’re a newer club, less than ten years old. We aren’t friends, but we're friendly, I guess. I only know of them because I was introduced to their president, Tripwire, on a cross country ride two years ago.
Riding on our turf to pick up Seth is an insult and one I can’t let slide. With decent interactions with the club before, there’s only one reason they didn’t ask for Seth. They thought we wouldn’t hand him over.
I mean, I’m not, but they didn’t know that. The Sons know Seth has a history with our club. Did he brag about growing up with us, hungry for the perception of power by association?
Mudbug unceremoniously struts into the office, a piece of silver metal in his hands. He holds it up between two fingers. “Might as well tell you before you get pissed. It was mixed in with a bag of her bras.”
“And you dared to touch them?” I growl. Laughing at my tightened jaw, he ignores my enraged glare and saunters forward.
I start to rise from my chair, ready to punch the smirk right off of his cocky face when he says, “I felt the underwires when I grabbed it. I dumped the contents on the bed without touching or daring to look at anything. The buckle fell right on top.”
I give him a challenging glare. “You expect me to believe that?”
He tosses the buckle on the desk. “Not stupid enough to do otherwise. I might not know a lot in life, but I’m pretty familiar with lingerie..”
I sit back down, yanking the chair toward the desk with angry movements. “You should have brought the entire bag to me,” I snap.
He scoffs. “That would piss you off somehow too.”
I should have retrieved it myself but I don’t want to be more than a few seconds away from Darcy until I know what’s going on. After shooting Mudbug a warning glare, I slide the trophy closer to me for inspection.
It’s old as fuck, the type given out as a trophy. In small writing, underneath their logo are the words “Sons of Perdition.” I let out a relieved sigh and sit back in my chair.
I stare at the serpent, running my fingers across the stainless steel as if it will somehow give me answers.
Nobody leaves something like this hanging around, and there’s no way the Sons would have given this to anyone not patched in. Which leaves one other answer.
Seth’s little habit. I should have fucking known. Seth’s had klepto tendencies since I’ve known him. Loose candy from the store, or a cool pencil from the book fair. “I can’t believe Seth was stupid enough to take this,” I say incredulously. Who steals something so trivial from an MC? All you’re going to do is piss them off. For Seth though, it’s about compulsion, the thrill.
“He’s never going to go away completely,” Mudbug mutters, as if to himself. It’s true, and my exact thought as well. As long as Seth is walking this earth, he’s going to bring shit down on everyone, including Darcy.
I remember the final straw, the moment when we collectively decided to stop hanging out with Seth. It was only a week or two before we started high school. We’d been inseparable, Mudbug, Seth, Folgers, and I, for years. We were still a year too young for our licenses, but we’d all been driving on the farmland and dirt bikes for years. He was grounded, so his mother refused to give him a ride to hang out. He’d shown up anyway in a hotwired car owned by the sheriff’s side piece. GPS led the cops to the car before we could get rid of it. All four of us were picked up and given a slap on the wrist.
It’s always been like that with him. Everyone in his path goes down with him.
Not anymore.
He stole.
He put Darcy and Owen in danger.
And he’ll be the one to pay.
“I’m sending you and Folgers to meet with the Sons of Perdition tomorrow on neutral turf. Make it clear we expect restitution, due immediately. Bring the buckle, but make it clear they’re lucky it was returned.”
“And if they want Seth?”
With an indifferent shrug of the shoulders, I say, “Tell them we’ve already taken care of the problem. I’ll have Miami pick him up and bring him here.”