Chapter 20
Onyx
Day twenty-seven. Jasper stopped counting out loud sometime last week.
He didn’t need to say it anymore. We searched all over Sliverwood and haven’t managed to find any trace of the stupid fucker who burned my old lady’s house to the ground.
Granted, Sliverwood is a big place, and we haven’t gone there every single day, but it’s been exhausting.
We’ve followed up on a few leads in town, at several properties owned by his extended family, and even a ski lodge he favored growing up.
Coming up empty-handed is pissing me the fuck off.
The brothers are getting pissy and short-tempered about it too. No one thinks we’re wasting our time. But not finding him is bruising a few egos. They feel like we’re getting outsmarted at every turn by some rich asshole who likes publicly humiliating us.
Anyway, we’re back to looking around Sliverwood again.
Today, we’re making it a family affair. My old man and brothers are sticking close to me.
Jasper, Slate, Mica, our old man, and I have all been on our bikes since daybreak.
It’s cold as fuck out today, but my daddy didn’t raise no quitters.
That means we’re all sucking it up and getting the job done.
The only ones having fun today are Forge and Sable. They’re totally stinking happy anytime they get to ride in their sidecars. Seeing the dogs so happy cheers me up a bit.
Striker’s voice crackles through the radio midmorning. He’s holed up in his office back at the clubhouse, sifting through all the intel he can get his hands on for the Brennan family. Most of it has been dead ends. But today, he says, “I found a wildcard lead. It might be something or nothing.”
We pull off along the side of the road and huddle up.
Jasper asks, “What did you find?”
“I pulled the missing girl’s last few phone calls and cross-referenced it with all the properties the Brennan family owns.”
My old man grinds out, “Don’t fuckin’ leave us wondering, Striker. We’re standing in the freezing cold, for fuck’s sake.”
“I didn’t know you went out today, Rock. But to answer your question, the last known phone location was not on property owned by the Brennan family, but it was adjacent to their property. And get this. Charles Brennan once had a property dispute with the owner that ended up being settled in court.”
Jasper’s shocked voice interjects, “This is fuckin’ huge. What if the fucker is hiding out on the property his family fought over?”
Our old man adds, “More importantly, what if he’s holding that girlfriend of his hostage there?”
I tell them my feelings on the matter. “We all know he likes to hold women hostage. He tried that shit with my old lady. If we find a woman there, I’m fucking kicking his ass.”
Mica shoves me back with one hand. “You’ll have to fuckin’ stand in line, bro.”
Our old man shoves both of us apart. “Keep your mind on the job, not white-knighting for women you don’t even know.” Turning his attention back to Striker, he says, “Thanks for running down that intel. Text us the coordinates. We’ll let you know what we find.”
By the time our old man gets off the phone with Striker, Jasper has put his gloves back on, I’ve double-checked my pistol, and Mica has checked his hunting knife.
We’re all checkers, unlike Slate, who’s standing beside his bike as still as death.
He’s just waiting for the opportunity to drag Brennan’s ass out of whatever hiding hole he’s crawled into.
We mount up, with Jasper and our old man riding side by side in the lead position.
We’re heading north this time. As we ride, I realize this is much further north than we’ve searched before.
It’s about ten miles past Sliverwood proper and up into the hills that act as a scenic backdrop for the area.
When we arrive at the coordinates, I’m shocked at how truly in the middle of nowhere this property is.
This must have been the granddaddy of all land disputes if this property butts up against the Brennan family property.
The paved road turns into loose gravel, then dirt, then something that barely counts as a trail.
The trees are so tall and dense that I don’t think even satellite images could show what’s happening on the ground.
Meaning, this is the perfect fuckin’ place for that asshole to hide out.
Maybe even keep a woman locked up. This bastard is truly beyond redemption.
We park in the clearing at the top. It’s not exactly the coordinates Striker gave, but it’s the only place that can accommodate all our bikes. We get off our bikes and give the dogs water before letting them out of the sidecars.
Jasper complains, “We aren’t going to find shit out here.” Waving one hand around the clearing, he adds, “There are no buildings, caves, or any goddam place a man could be hiding here.”
I look up at him while smoothing Forge’s coat. Our club Prez ain’t wrong about that. But we sure as fuck need to investigate the area because this place gives me the fuckin’ creeps. For starters, it’s too fuckin’ quiet.
It doesn’t take much sniffing around before Forge picks up a scent. I’m fuckin’ thrilled when she freezes in place with her nose on the ground and tail held high. Suddenly her head jerks up, and she pulls in a lungful of air.
I barely get out the words, “Forge is onto something,” before she lopes off with a growl.
Sable joins her, clearly picking up the same scent. We enthusiastically rush after the dogs. Although the terrain turns to shit fast, we don’t slow down for anything. Nothing is gonna keep us from finally nailing that fucker to the ground. We surge forward and when we’re close, we draw our weapons.
The dogs are barking their heads off as we break into a clearing. The smell hits before anything else. It’s the stench of wet, rotting soil with a hint of death.
Forge starts sniffing at a long sunken spot in the damp earth. Her snarl cuts through the stillness.
I shout over my shoulder, “She’s definitely found somethin’.”
When Forge begins digging, I quickly re-holster my gun and lunge for her. It takes all my strength to pull her back. Low growls vibrate through her chest as she strains to get back to her digging spot. So much for her being well-trained, I think to myself.
Mica curses under his breath and rushes forward to haul Sable back and get her leashed. Her whining becomes sharp and she starts pacing in front of him.
We move closer together with a tight hold on the dogs’ leashes to see what they found. My stomach turns in an instant when I see what appears to be a shallow grave. We’re pretty much too shocked to speak. This is the last thing in the world we expected to see.
The ground is uneven, disturbed in a way that tells me Forge wasn’t the first animal to dig into the soil here. It’s sunken maybe five or six inches.
Mica squats beside it, one hand braced on his knee.
Jasper and the others spread around the edges.
Finally, my old man runs one gloved hand around the area Forge was digging up.
He pulls his hand out. It takes us a minute to figure out what we’re looking at—a decaying human hand.
If we weren’t all prior military and lifetime members of an MC, this might be a lot more traumatizing than it actually is.
“This isn’t old,” he says. “Three months.” Then second-guessing himself, he corrects, “Maybe four, at the most.”
No one argues the point because when it comes to dead bodies, our old man knows what he’s talking about.
He brushes the dirt off the fingers revealing red nail polish.
Jasper comes to his feet with his arms crossed over his chest and his expression grim.
“That’s her,” he says. “Has to be.”
“The fuck are you talking about?” I ask, not grasping his meaning. My eyes go back to the disembodied hand.
“Brennan’s missing girlfriend, asshole,” he shoots back.
Slate shoots me a stern look. “You know, the one he told Detective Morgan ran off to the city. The one whose face was splashed across missing person’s bulletins all across the state for the last several months. It’s gotta be that fuckin’ girl.”
I keep my eyes on the dirt. I know all the way down to my bones that my brothers are right.
Even though my old man covered the hand with dirt again to keep the dogs from going after it, the long, narrow, human-sized sunken area gives it away.
The time frame fits. I can’t not see that dirty, chipped red nail polish in my mind’s eye.
My fists clench before I register it happening.
This could have been my Emily if I hadn’t protected her.
Jinx wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve and glances towards Jasper. “We’re calling Morgan, right?”
Jasper nods, glancing up at Jinx. “You bet your sweet ass we are. This is the big break he’s been hoping for. In fact, we probably should preserve the crime scene as much as we can. Detective Morgan is gonna want to bring the crime lab in on this one.”
The others are all staring at the grave, some with their weapons still in their hands.
I take a step back, just needing a minute to clear my head.
Forge strains against the shortened leash I put her on.
And I don’t like where this whole situation is headed.
I turn and scan the direction she’s straining towards.
At first, I don’t see anything except the tree line.
But then I drop my gaze to the ground again.
Twenty feet to the left, partially hidden behind a patch of brambles, something catches my eye. It’s a slight indentation in the ground that doesn’t match the natural slope of the terrain.
I move closer, praying that it isn’t what I think it is. The dirt here is firmer, packed down and weathered, but the shape is familiar. It isn’t as obvious, just that I can clearly see that same long, oval outline. My stomach sinks.
“Hey! I think there’s two graves,” I call out, my voice rough. “Looks like it might be older.”