46. Chapter 46
My hands shake as I read through the book that was in πατ?ρα (dads) safe. Well, more like journal. There are years of entries dating back ten years ago. Sometimes, they are days apart. Others are months and even years apart. At first, they are about my late grandma Esmeralda, but then it switches, and the rest of the entries all have two things in common.
Or I should say two someone’s in common.
Carmen and Eileen Vasquez.
My stomach is in knots and I’m nauseous. Grandpa is going to be so devastated when he reads this.
When I finally get to the end, there’s a name scrawled on the back.
Lucia Delgado.
Was this Lucia’s journal? Who was she? How did she know Esmeralda, Carmen, and Eileen?
And how, or why, did her journal end up in πατ?ρα (dads) safe?
I’m brought out of my thoughts when my phone vibrates next to me on the couch. Flipping it over, I frown when I realize it’s an unknown number.
That’s strange.
No one other than the club, my family, or the kids’ school and daycare should have this number. Setting my phone back down, I let it go to voicemail. If someone really wants me, they’ll leave a message.
Putting down the book, I look through the rest of the papers. There’s a copy of πατ?ρα (dads) will and power of attorney, which I set aside to go through in more detail later.
As I reach down to put them back into my backpack, the pages shift on my lap and a letter slips off the stack, falling to the ground. Picking it up, my stomach tightens when I recognize the Vasquez family crest in wax on the back of the envelope.
I also recognize the stationery.
Eileen had sets of stationary identical to this and I remember her using them many times while my parents were still married, but in the year before they divorced, I swear she used that stationery at least once a week, if not more. I always assumed she was writing to her family given that we were in Iowa at the time, and they were in Wisconsin. Then again, I very well could have been wrong. Whenever I asked if she was writing them, since I had wanted to write to my grandfather numerous times, she always told me it was none of my business in a clipped tone. If she was feeling particularly cruel, she would sometimes slap me as well. After a while, I stopped asking her and stopped writing those letters because I’d lost hope that she’d let me send them.
Shaking my head, I turn the envelope over in my fingers and frown when I realize it isn’t addressed to anyone. No markings. Nothing except the wax crest. Noticing that someone opened the letter at the top, I take it out, but pause as I recognize the handwriting. Or at least, I’m almost positive I know whose it is. It could be that someone else’s writing is extremely similar to her style, but I highly doubt it.
No, it’s hers.
I’d recognize that script anywhere.
My phone rings again, but when I look, it’s the same unknown number. Worry gnaws at me that it could be someone important trying to get a hold of me, but I don’t recognize the number. Once again, I let it ring and after a few moments, I hear a beep letting me know a voicemail was left.
But I don’t pick my phone up to check. My gaze goes back to the letter, and I stare at the familiar cursive handwriting.
Eileen’s handwriting.
However, the message has both confusion and nerves swirling throughout me.
You can try to keep me away from her, but you won’t be around forever to protect her. That worthless brat ruined everything for me, stole everything from me. It should have been mine, not hers. It was meant for me, not her.
I will get what’s mine.
No matter the cost.
What is Eileen talking about? Is she talking about me? Or someone else?
If she means me, I never took anything from her. Unless she wanted πατ?ρα? (dad) all to herself and to never have kids, which, after hearing some of the things Grandpa told me she’d said, it may very well could be that.
Was she talking to πατ?ρα? (dad) in this letter? Or someone else and πατ?ρα? (dad) just happened to find the letter? Did she write it to this Lucia person?
Ugh, this is so frustrating!
As I plop my hands down in my lap, the letter starts to fold around in my hands but as it does, my gaze snags on some numbers in black ink at the bottom of the letter. Fully opening it to get a better look, I pause.
This isn’t possible.
Eileen died a little over ten years ago. There’s no way she could have written the letter this past January, almost a year ago. And if she really has been alive all this time… How did this letter get into πατ?ρα (dads) safe?
Maybe someone else really does have handwriting similar to hers. But then, who could have written this?
My phone vibrates again and I set down the papers to check it, but it’s just reminding me of the voicemail. Hitting play, I frown as I hear heavy breathing come over the line. I’m about to delete it when the person finally speaks, but the voice is slightly distorted.
As the person continues to speak, my muscles tighten and my body starts to shake at the vile things the woman rants about. What she says she’s going to do to me if I don’t give her back what’s rightfully hers. My gaze snaps to the letter that’s sticking out of the book I was reading.
It can’t be.
But there are too many coincidences and the things she’s saying, it has to be. Too many—
A hand lands on my shoulder, making me jump, but it’s only Sasha.
“Hey, are you okay, Mary? You’re clutching the phone so hard your knuckles are white. You’re also really pale and shaking like a leaf.”
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Swallowing a few times, I try again. “While reading through some of πατ?ρα things, I found some stuff that I think I need to show the guys and my grandpa. I also,” I pause as I lick my dry lips and stare down at the phone in my hand. “I also just got a voicemail.” Opening my mouth, I’m about to repeat what she said, but then I snap it shut. I can’t bring myself to repeat what the person said.
Sasha’s face hardens as she nods. “Okay, wait here for a moment.”
She walks over to the bar and talks quietly with Ethan. After a few moments, he gives her a chin lift, and she turns on her heel before walking over and knocking on the door to Church. I’m so focused on her, while also trying not to break down, that I don’t notice Ethan approaching me until he takes the papers and book out of my hands causing me to jump. He gives me a small smile.
“Let’s get you into Church.”
I nod because right now, I really need Patch.
I vaguely hear Sasha and Timber talking, and the next thing I know, I’m in Patch’s arms. They tighten around me as he walks and then he settles me on his lap.
“What’s going on, Siren?”
Still not trusting my voice, I clutch the bag in my lap and hand him my phone. He presses play, and as soon as I realize he’s put it on speakerphone, I shrink in on myself. I hadn’t wanted everyone to hear what she’d said about me.
Listen, you fat fucking bitch. You need to return what you’ve stolen from me. I know you have it because that fat fuck never gave it back to me when he sent me my things. It was given to me when I came of age. It should have never of been in his possession, let alone yours. Without it, I can’t take what’s rightfully mine. Not to mention YOU should not have inherited everything, it’s all rightfully MINE! You have until the end of the week to return everything to me. If you don’t, you and your precious leeches will pay.
Patch tosses the phone down on the table and wraps me in his arms.
“It’s her, Patch. I don’t know how, but it’s her .”
“How do you know it’s her, Siren? She died over ten years ago.”
I shake my head as I pull back and reach into the bag, pulling everything out except for πατ?ρα will and power of attorney paperwork. I pull out the letter that I believe she wrote and hand it to him.
“Partially because of this and what’s in here,” I say as I first hold up a letter and then also gesture to the journal.
He opens the letter and his jaw ticks as he reads it.
“I know her handwriting. It’s her. But the confusing part is the date at the bottom. She wrote this in January of this year. And if it really is her, I have no idea how it got into πατ?ρα safe.”
“Can I see the letter, Mary?”
I startle at hearing Brady’s voice, but then I remember them getting here not too long ago along with Sam, but I was so engrossed in reading the journal that I barely paid them any mind.
I hand him the letter and frown as he takes it over by Sam and Ryder. My frown deepens when he puts some dust over the letter. What is he doing?
“Seems stupidity is a continuing trait,” Ryder mutters.
“They’re looking for fingerprints,” Patch whispers in my ear.
“Oh.”
Patch chuckles and leans in closer. “Close that mouth, Siren, this isn’t the time for me to be thinking those kind of thoughts.”
I feel my cheeks heat and I snap my mouth closed. Then I notice the box on the table.
“Is that the package Drae mentioned arrived today?” I ask as I point at it.
Patch’s fingers tighten around my waist and thigh. “Yeah, but you aren’t looking inside, Mary. We’ll tell you the message and what it is, but I don’t want you to see that.”
Swallowing thickly, I look between Patch and the box a few times before I sit up straighter.
“Tell me.”
Patch motions to Brady and he picks up a piece of paper that’s in a plastic baggie. Walking over toward us, I can tell by the look in Brady’s eyes that he’s pissed and is probably a hair trigger from going on a rampage.
“What was in the box?”
The muscle in his jaw ticks as he holds out the baggie. “A dead mama bird and three dead babies.”
My anger rises at what that asshole sent, because I’d bet it was Stephan who did it. I take the baggie from him and feel my anger rising even more as I read it again to make sure I didn’t misread anything the first time.
You took what’s mine. What belongs to me. Things do not go well for those who steal my belongings. I’m going to ruin you. Take everyone you love from you and enjoy watching them suffer before snuffing out their pathetic, worthless lives. Times a ticking. Can you save them all?
There is a way to prevent all of this pain and suffering. Return what’s rightfully mine and drop all the charges.
“That fucking piece of shit!” Raising my head, I force my body to remain still even though my anger has me wanting to inflict serious pain on Stephan for this and so much more. My gaze goes to Sam, then Brady, and then to Patch. “We need to warn everyone. He’s hurt innocents before; he won’t hesitate to do it again.”
“Got a hit,” Ryder calls out and gaze snaps up his. Brady walks back over to him, as do Sam and Thor.
“Who?”
Thor, Brady, Sam, and Ryder all share a look.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Fuck, even I can hear my voice shaking. But it’s not from fear, it’s from anger.
Brady comes over and squats down in front of me. “I’m sorry, Mary, but it’s her.”
Lightheadedness instantly hits me as I stare at him. Then, a different anger lights inside me. Why did she do it? What was she trying to accomplish by doing that? What does she want? And what does she think I have? Why does she hate me so much?
“If she didn’t die, then who did we bury?”
Brady frowns and shares a look with Sam. “We’ll look into who was in that casket, and I’m sure you and possibly Antonio, will have to approve us to dig up the casket but it’s starting to look like she faked her death.”
Taking a few deep breaths, I try to calm my racing heart.
“Was there anything else you found, Mary?” Patch asks and I nod.
“I think we need to get Grandpa here, because this,” I say as I hold up the journal, “has information he needs to know about. I also need to talk to you about some stuff, Patch, but I don’t know who all it will affect.”
“I can arrange to get Antonio here,” someone says, and I look up, trying to figure out who spoke when Smoke tilts his head toward me. “I was already trying to get a secure line with him, but if you think he needs to be here, then we can get him here. The problem will be that we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that a Don and his goon squad are coming to our clubhouse. If anyone’s watching us, they’ll know.”
Chewing on my lip, I look down at the journal in my hands and my fingers tighten around the edges. “I don’t trust sending it to him because it’ll probably get snatched and be lost forever. I also don’t want to scan the information and email it to him. This needs to stay as is. He’s going to want to deal with this person himself, and I will not provide breadcrumbs that will incriminate him if anyone else catches wind of what he’s done after reading this.”
I’m not sure what it was I said, but the air in the room changes after I’m done with my little rant, and every single club member gives me a chin lift. There’s a look in their eyes that I can’t quite identify. Even in Patch’s eyes. I’m going to have to ask him what’s going on, but I’ll wait until we’re alone. Hopefully, they aren’t mad at anything I’ve said.
A phone rings and everyone quiets down.
“Smoke.”
I gnaw on my lip as I watch Smoke. Every now and then, he nods at whatever’s being said over the phone. Wait, I thought only Thor and Phoenix could have their phones in here? Or did Smoke get his back when he was trying to set up the secure call? Then I nod as Patch whispers in my ear, confirming my suspicions about his phone.
“I’ll let Drae at the gate know. Keep it as low-key as possible and don’t bring a fucking army. We don’t want to wave a fucking red flag at these assholes.”
He nods again and then hangs up. “Antonio will be here as soon as he can. Let’s fucking hope he listens and doesn’t bring a fucking army with him. I’ll arrange for Haris to come here too, so we don’t have to repeat everything.”
I take a couple of deep breaths as I try to calm down. Patch pulls me closer to him and, once again, I thank my lucky stars that he’s by my side again.
Especially with everything going to hell in a handbasket.