Chapter Eighteen
Jill
“Gage isn’t here” are the first words out of Stevie’s mouth when I step foot inside Stained Heart Tattoos. It’s like she saw me coming from a mile away.
“Why do you assume that’s why I’m here?” I play dumb, but she sees right through me.
“Give me some credit,” she laughs. Letting out a deep breath, I relent.
“Okay, fine, that’s why I’m here,” I admit, making her grin in triumph. “Where is he?”
“He’s on a ride with the Saints. A voicemail or text is your best bet if you want to tell him something. He doesn’t check his phone when he’s on the road.”
“The Saints?” I ask, confused. “As in, the Chained Saints?” Since when is Gage part of the most notorious motorcycle gang in Chicago? How has that neve come up before.
Stevie nods, reading the question written all over my face. “His parents are brother are members, so he likes to ride with them when he can.”
His parents? His brother?
Her response has me realizing I don’t actually know that much about Gage. He seems to know every detail about me, always desperate to learn more. But what do I actually know about him? His history, family—all secrets to me.
Normally I wouldn’t care—I don’t usually bother to get to know my fuck buddies that well. It usually ruins it for me. But something about this revelation doesn’t sit well with me. I want to know the answers to the questions swirling in my head right now.
I want to know Gage.
I don’t have time for this right now.
Forcing myself back into the present, I smile at the woman in front of me.
“Ok, thanks, Stevie.” Walking out of Stained Heart Tattoos, I pull out my phone and pull up Gage’s number. Buttering him up in person was plan A, but since he’s not here, I’ll have to make do with the alternative.
The phone rings three times, and I’m expecting to leave a voicemail when the line picks up. The sound of rumbling engines coming through the phone does nothing to drown out Gage’s deep voice. “I like seeing your name show up on my phone.”
“Stevie said you’re on a ride.”
“I am.” A motorcycle engine revs as if to prove his point. “We pulled over.”
“You had the entire Chained Saints Motorcycle Club pull over on the highway so you could answer the phone?”
“You called, so I answered,” he says, making my heart flutter. “Are you missing me, little devil? You wanted to hear my voice, didn’t you? Or is there something else you miss?”
“You’re right, there is something I’m missing,” I say seductively, toying with him. “My shift today. I won’t be at work.”
“Why’s that?” His tone sobers.
“I have something else to do,” I add a little false sweetness to my voice. “Enjoy your ride.” With that, I hang up.
The drive over to the Medical Examiner building is torture and not the fun kind. Every mile I get closer adds to the ball of lead in my stomach. Pulling into the parking lot of the drab industrial building, my GPS announces that I’ve arrived at my destination. I park in a spot and slump back against my seat with a heavy breath.
The Medical Examiner’s office is a large, daunting concrete atrocity. The idea of walking in there is depressing in itself, but the potential of what I might find once I’m in there has my stomach in knots.
Tommy.
Not knowing what happened to my brother feels like Chinese water torture—a constant picking in the back of my mind that’s slowly tearing a hole through my psyche. I force myself to suck in a deep breath and let it out heavily as I pull myself together.
Ready or not, here I fucking go.
Pushing open the door, I climb out of the vehicle, ready for war. I’m mentally bracing myself for any outcome, but I’m not sure it’s actually working.
“What are we doing here? You have a fetish for men with tags on their toes?” The deep voice that speaks just over my shoulder sends a shiver down my spine. I turn to look at Gage, where he stands leaning against my car.
Damn, I must really be in my own head if I didn’t notice him walk up.
I roll my eyes, but the look I flash him doesn’t carry its usual lethal sharpness. “I’m here because I got a call from the Medical Examiner. There’s a John Doe that matches my brother’s description. They want me to see if I can identify him.”
The chances of this unidentified man being my missing brother are basically zero, but knowing that doesn’t diminish the gut-wrenching fact that there’s still a sliver of a chance that it is him.
“Is that so?” Gage’s tone sounds as skeptical as I feel. He gazes at me for a moment, reading the nerves written all over my face, then gives a short nod. “Alright, let’s go see a body.”
The fact that I allow him to take me by the hand and lead me toward the building without protest or retort tells him just how rattled I am. He gazes down at me intently when I check in at reception, his eyes burning a hole through my already cracking psyche while we stand in the bleak waiting room.
Gage’s dark eyes don’t stray from me for a single second—even when the medical examiner, Dr. Maynard, comes to show me back to the post-mortem examination room. The white-haired British gentleman glances nervously at the man looming behind me like he’s death himself, finally come to claim his soul.
The exam room is depressing and sterile—with sad linoleum floors, harsh fluorescent lighting, and cold steel equipment. There’s a large metal table in the center of the room where a body lies covered in a white sheet. The knot of dread in my stomach tightens with every step I take until I’m standing right beside the table.
“He was found in a ditch along the highway, we suspect a hit-and-run. There’s a lot of swelling, especially in the face, which might make him hard to identify. Dental and DNA have been collected, but the labs are always backed up, so those results could take a while,” Dr. Maynard says, his posh accent softening his delivery. “John Doe is a white male, early to mid-thirties, six feet tall, dark brown hair, green eyes.”
Anxiety wraps around me like a noose when he reaches for the top of the sheet, my heart threatening to pound right out of my chest as I struggle to remember to breathe. The doctor pauses for a moment to look at me, and my entire body tenses. “Ready?”
Am I ready? What kind of question is that?
What if it’s him? My brother—my older screw-up brother who constantly let me down—could be lying dead under this sheet. His cold, lifeless body could be lying on this table. Alone and unclaimed. He was a bastard, but he didn’t deserve to be mowed down, run over, and left for dead.
This could be Tommy.
Then, at least, I’ll finally know what happened to him. That’s what I want, right? Answers? If I have to walk out of this godforsaken dump without some sort of closure, I’m going to lose my shit.
I hesitate.
It’s only for a moment, but the silence rings through the room, making the seconds feel like minutes. A strong hand at my side reaches for mine, intertwining our fingers with a reassuring squeeze. I don’t have to look at the tattooed hand giving me comfort to know it belongs to the man at my back, his gaze burning a hole through my temple. I’m tempted to look at him, but if I meet his all-seeing eyes, I might not be able to hold it together. I’m barely keeping my shit together as it is.
“I’m ready,” I say finally, the steadiness in my voice belying the turmoil wracking through my entire being. The older man lifts the sheet and folds it down, revealing the disfigured remains of a man to his collarbone.
A toxic cocktail of relief and disappointment washes over me at the sight of the man—a complete stranger. His hair is about the right length and color, and the damage to his face should make it impossible to know for sure. But something in my gut tells me I’m not looking at Tommy.
“It’s not him,” Gage says, too quietly to be talking to anyone but me.
“Do you have his personal effects?” I ask, dragging my eyes away from the body to address the Medical Examiner. Dr. Maynard nods and walks over to a bin sitting on the desk against the back wall. Pulling out a large plastic bag, he walks over to give me a better look.
My eyes scan the contents of the clear evidence bag, my focus bouncing from each of the personal items. A handful of change, a tarnished gold ring, a used tissue, and a pair of broken sunglasses.
“It’s not him,” I state, certain.
“Are you sure?” Dr. Maynard asks, encouraging me to take another look. But I nod.
“I’m sure. This isn’t my brother.”
There’s no paperwork to sign, and I don’t bother with pleasantries before I’m charging out of the godforsaken room in search of air.
I need oxygen.
Walking out of the suffocating building and stepping outside, I feel like I can finally breathe again. My feet carry me purposefully through the door and towards my car, my body needing to be in motion with all of the emotions I’m keeping barely contained.
Gage keeps pace with me easily, I can feel him right behind me. His presence is both intrusive and annoyingly comforting, which grates on my already fraying nerves.
My head is spinning with so many unanswered questions and so many what-ifs.
Another dead end, another useless lead. I know law enforcement’s interest in my brother’s case is going to dry up, and probably soon. This failed experiment just used up some of my goodwill with the city, and I’m leaving empty-handed. No death certificate, no body.
No hope.
It’s fucking maddening.
“It wasn’t Tommy,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head.
“No, it wasn’t.” Gage’s deep voice has me halting mid-step to look at him. His dark gaze clashes with mine, holding me captive.
“How did you know?” I think back to what he said back in the exam room. He’d never met Tommy before, so how would he know it wasn’t him?
“You. I saw it in your eyes,” he replies. “What were you looking for in his belongings?”
I turn back around to continue my stomp back to my car. I have to keep moving, or I’ll go crazy. “My brother wears a gold bracelet. It’s this tacky Cuban link monstrosity that he never takes off. It has a pair-of-aces charm on it. Tommy’s convinced it’s good luck, he calls it ‘the ace up his sleeve.’ He hasn’t been without it since he won the damn thing in his first real poker game.” I let out a humorless laugh. “On his very few good days, it was the reason for his winning streak. On all the other days, it was his ticket out of a slump.”
“You didn’t get answers today, but you will someday.” I whirl on him, all but colliding with his chest from his proximity. All of the emotions building inside me have come to a head, my eyes blazing like a volcano on the brink of eruption.
“Those are just words, Gage. Not everyone gets pretty answers tied up in a bow. In fact, most of the time, you’re left with nothing but the possibilities of what should’ve been while living with everything that isn’t.” I push on his solid chest, only to find him movable as a mountain. He takes a small step back to give me some room, his eyes never leaving mine. “The reality is, this is all I’ll ever get—maybes and some days.”
I’m not going to keep getting my hopes up just to be let down over and over again. I can’t. It’s like my brother is still in my life with the way I’m being jerked around. Nothing but disappointments and frauds—like father like son.
“I have to get out of here.” I reach for my car door but pause before I get in. “I’m going to Lana’s. Since I know you’re gonna be following me.” Sliding behind the wheel, I peel out of the parking lot and make my way through the city to the one person I really need right now.
My best friend.
“I know, baby. I was looking forward to seeing you tonight, too, but my friend really needs me. We can go out another night.” Lana coos into the phone, looking at me and rolling her eyes at the needy man on the other end of the phone. She smiles at whatever he says next. “Yes, it’s Jill. You remember Jill, right? She’s having a family emergency, and I need to be here for her right now.”
She’s already been here for several hours with me. I arrived at her apartment a complete mess. We talked about what happened at the Medical Examiner’s office today, and I cried. By the time we moved on to other, less dark and twisty, topics Lana decided to cancel the date she had planned with a music producer we met a few weeks ago. I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted. And not so secretly, I’m happy about that decision. We’re gonna make tonight a full-on girl’s night sleepover.
“Oh, thank you, baby. Are you sure? You’re so sweet.” She flashes me a wink, making a smile tug at my lips. “Yes, I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye, handsome.” Lana ends the call and drops her phone on the counter before pulling me into another hug.
“He’s having Carbone delivered to us,” she says, making me laugh. If anyone can get a guy to send food from one of the nicest restaurants in the city after canceling a date last minute, it’s Lana. “Okay, now that that’s done—let’s get comfy and open a bottle of wine.”
I follow her into her bedroom and head straight to her dresser. Pulling out a pair of her cozy pajama sets, I start to change. “What, no Christos tonight?” I ask, pulling the little shorts up. Lana reaches into her drawer, pulls out some silk pajamas, and starts to undress.
“Nope.” When she doesn’t explain, I flash her a look that says I can read her like a book.
“Care to elaborate?” I ask knowingly. Lana tries to shrug it off, but she knows me better than that.
“He’s been on edge about some business deals and has to sort out a few things for the next couple of days. I figured it was better to give him some space and stay out of it.”
“Is he putting you in danger?” I ask, scooping my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head.
“No,” she says none too convincingly. I narrow my eyes at her.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Please, Jill. With the guys we date, are we ever not in a little danger?” She has a point. “I’m not with Christos, so his mess won’t touch me. Besides, with your guy around, it’s like we have our own security detail. He’s probably parked outside right now, watching the building.”
That’s also true. He followed me all the way here, the sound of his sexy motorcycle echoing in the distance at every turn. If he’s not still outside right now, chances are he has eyes on me somehow. He’s always watching.
When did that become a comfort?
“Okay, the only talk of boys we’re gonna be doing for the rest of the night is when we send in our dinner order,” Lana declares, pushing her hair out of her face with a headband. I follow her back out into the kitchen, where she opens a bottle of wine. “Now, what do we want to eat?”