Chapter Thirty-Eight
Dixon
Alexandra clings to my back like a spider monkey as my bike roars between my legs while we tear out of my driveway. My heart is on fire in my chest, my veins burn with anticipation and a spark of fear — the sight of every emotion that went through Alexandra’s eyes as I broke the news about Erik Marquez plays on repeat in my mind. Those same fears have lurked at the edges of my thoughts as well, like a sniper waiting for a clear shot. I want answers, but what will we find? What will happen to us when we finally have the truth about what happened to her brother? Will there even still be an us? I crank the accelerator to drown out my doubts beneath the deafening roar of my bike’s engine.
At Reid’s Repairs, we dismount. Ghost is waiting for us in the parking lot, holding a bottle of beer in a loose grip and with an exhausted look on his face. It makes the scar above his right eye stand out even more. As we approach, he holds up a warning hand.
“You got here quicker than I was figuring,” he says.
“What do you mean? You said he’s ready. Is he ready?”
“He’s at the breaking point. Crying, shaking, begging, pissing himself. He’s done it all. I just stepped out for a break. It’s tough work, Smokey. Tough, but gratifying. Plus, taking them to this point and letting them stew for a minute or two leads to a better result, I find. It makes the breaking more satisfying, and they also are more eager to cooperate, because they’ve had some time to dread what you’re going to do to them. Oh, that look in their eyes, when you come back into the room and they can sense that you’re about to take them places they never imagined in their darkest nightmares, it’s just so—”
“Ghost?” I say. He blinks, as if waking up. Beside me, I feel Alexandra fidget nervously. I don’t blame her. Sometimes Ghost gets really excited about his work in a way that creeps out even me.
“Yeah, Smokey?”
“We lost you there for a minute.”
He rubs his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry, I just really like what I do. It helps the club, helps my friends, and it feels good, you know? It’s simple and pure.”
“Sure, buddy. We appreciate it,” I say.
“Very much,” Alexandra says, nervously, as if trying to placate Ghost.
I put my arm around her to reassure her she has nothing to worry about. Ghost is just an excitable guy when it comes to interrogation.
“Like I said, he’s at the breaking point,” Ghost says. “One more nudge and he’ll do anything you ask. I was going to get him there myself, have him all ready for you, but you were both faster than I expected. You want to do the honors, Dixon?”
I smile. As creepy as he can be, Ghost can also be a good friend; he knows me so well.
“You mean, do I want to beat a confession out of him?”
“Hey, hey, hey, in the government, the way they train us, we don’t use those words,” he says, sharply, face serious. Then he grins. “But this is the real world and that Erik Marquez is a creepy fucker. Hell yes, get in there and do your thing.”
I crack my knuckles and then head toward the door. Beside me, Alexandra moves, too. I stop. “You should wait out here.”
She looks at me like I’ve just struck her. “What? Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to see what I’m going to do to him.”
“Dixon, I was ready to murder you. Do you really think I can’t handle a little blood?”
“It’s not just a little. It’s buckets,” Ghost says. “OK, not all of it is blood. There’s piss, there’s puke, there might even be a little shit, but damn, this guy, for being a hired killer, he was a bleeder, like—”
“Ghost, you’re not helping,” I say.
“Sorry, Smokey. Right.”
“Alexandra, I promise you, I’ll come get you when he’s talking. You’ll hear the truth right from his lips. I swear. But I don’t want you to see me do what I’m going to have to do to make him talk. Maybe you say it wouldn’t affect you, maybe it wouldn’t change things between us, but I don’t want to risk it.”
She sighs. Doubt flickers across her face. It’s fierce, but exists only for a moment. “Fine. I love you that much, Dixon. But the moment he talks, I want to face him. This man has the answers I need, and if I don’t get them…”
“You’ll get them. I promise.”
Nodding, she leans against the wall. “I’ll wait out here.”
I enter Reid’s Repairs. The shop itself is how we usually leave it. There’s a car upon a lift, having its transmission redone; there’s an oil stain the size of an adult, and in the shape of one, too, from yesterday when Thunder and Bullet got into an argument about whether the Rams had a chance at the Super Bowl, and there’s a set of tools spread out on a workbench for a serious engine job we have scheduled for the coming evening with a customer. The tools are Rook’s. They’re set out exactly how he’d line them up — neat, organized, everything in its exact place and the order he’d expect to use it. They even glisten like he’s cleaned and even polished them recently, which it wouldn’t surprise me if he had, because that hardass keeps a lot of his old military habits.
I grab a few of his tools. Then I head to the back room. To our customers or any other visitors we have, they’d see us go through this door and figure we’re just heading back to where we keep the spare parts. They’d think it’s benign. Unless they actually touched this particular door, then they’d notice that it’s heavier than most doors, that it’s reinforced, that there’s more than one lock on it, and the room it leads into is pretty barren, with nothing but a grim fluorescent light overhead and an ominous drain in the concrete floor. I see the second that I enter the room that Ghost has put that floor drain to use. A sniff tells me he was right about Marquez messing himself. I suppress the urge to gag. It’s an old stench, and must’ve happened early on. Sometimes they do that when you hit them in the right spot at the right time — the body just lets go.
“Hi Erik,” I say.
Erik lifts his head slowly to meet my gaze. His face is a mess of dark bruises and dried blood. One eye is swollen completely shut. He tries to speak but only manages a weak groan through his split lips. He reeks of sweat, urine, and fear.
As I approach, his eyes widen. He strains against his bonds and whimpers through the gag in his mouth. I set Rook”s tools down on a metal tray with a deliberate clang that makes Erik flinch.
”Sounds like you”ve had a rough time with my pal Ghost. He”s enthusiastic about his work. Me, I”m usually the good cop in this scenario. Well, as good as I can get. Which ain’t much, but it’s a fucking fair bit nicer than Ghost. Not today, though, Erik. Not with you.”
I pick up a wrench, feeling its weight in my hand.
”See, you”ve upset some people I care about very much. And while I may not relish causing pain the way Ghost does, I will relish hurting you. I want the truth about what happened with Lucas Reyes, of course, but I want to wreck your body and your soul nearly as much.”
Erik makes a gurgling sound, blood bubbling on his lips as he tries to protest.
I ignore it.
”Ghost says you”re close to breaking. That you want to confess. Because you know what”s coming to you. Isn”t that right, Erik?”
He shakes his head weakly, sending spatters of blood across the concrete. Defiant to the last. He’s about to learn just how fucking stupid that is.
I lean in, dangle the wrench just inches from his face.
”This is your last chance to do this the easy way. Tell me what happened with Lucas Reyes. Tell me why he died. Tell me everything you know. Or I will rip off every one of your digits with this fucking wrench and shove each one down your throat. I’ll make you fucking eat your trigger finger first. Then the rest of your fingers. And, if you won’t chew them, I’ll shove them in your mouth and fucking jam your jaw together until you gnaw them to the bone. Then I’ll move on to your toes, one by one. Rip them off and make you swallow. After that, well, things will get nasty. Maybe I’ll make you dance for me, or give you a chance to run for it. See how far you get with no toes.”
I press the cold metal of the wrench against Erik”s cheek, let him feel its weight. He shudders and whimpers, tries to jerk his head away. But there”s nowhere to go.
”You see, Erik, I will not kill you. No matter how much you might wish for that sweet release. Death is too good for scum like you. I”m going to keep you alive and make you suffer in ways you can”t even imagine. Because you hurt someone that I love, which means you are going to pay, and pay, and pay until I’m fucking satisfied that there is no more fear or pain to be ripped from your broken body.”
I grab his jaw roughly, forcing him to look me in the eye. They’re dilated, they twitch and squirm in their sockets, unable to lock gaze with me.
”Unless you talk. That’s your only fucking out. You give me what I want, right fucking now, and I give you what you want. What do you know about Lucas Reyes’s murder?”
Erik makes a choking sound, blood and spittle dripping down his chin as he tries to form words. I rip the gag out of his mouth.
“I’ll tell you,” he spits, a thick gob of blood landing on my shoe. “I was ready to tell that other guy, but he kept drawing this shit out. Wouldn’t let me talk. Said I had to just work through the pain and wait for someone else to get here. Fuck, man, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Just don’t make me fucking eat myself.”
I chuckle. That Ghost. Erik Marquez wasn’t about to break. He was already broken. My buddy just saved him for me so I could have a little fun. I smile, and not wanting to turn down Ghost’s good deed, I ram the wrench into Erik’s midsection, feel the satisfying crunch of ribs. He howls, wrenches against his bonds and ejects a stream of bloody vomit onto the floor.
“You’d better talk, then,” I say.
“I was hired to be at the meeting. To watch it from a distance. I have sniper experience, and Rafael and Lucas both didn’t fully trust the Road Kings not to try something. So I was going to be there as insurance. Oversight. At least, that’s what they told me when Lucas was around,” he says. Then he laughs.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
“When Lucas wasn’t around, Rafael gave me the actual job. He’s one cold motherfucker. Oh, let me tell you…”
Something in the man’s voice makes me bring the wrench down hard on his leg, silencing his words with a brutal scream. He’s broken, he’s talking — I know I should get Alexandra so she can hear the truth about her father straight from the horse’s mouth, but something in the way he says it makes me want to brutalize him. Punish him. Because I have to make sure he’s telling the truth before I bring Alexandra in here. I can’t let Erik Marquez’s fucking mind games hurt the woman I love.
“I swear to fucking god, if you are lying, I will keep you alive for days while Ghost and I fucking disassemble you like a fucking LEGO set. Every piece of you, bit by bit, until you’re nothing but a bloody mess of parts.”
“It’s true. Fuck!”
He screams as I hit him again. Thank fuck, this room is soundproofed.
“Convince me,” I say, then I hit him again.
He babbles as blood leaks from his broken mouth. “Rafael hired me to kill his son. Lucas found out that he was the one behind all the drugs. Rafael had some side deal with a group of dealers and a cartel connection for a sizable piece of their action. It was outside the MC, and Rafael and his guys were fucking good at diversion, at making the Road Kings think it was the Crimson Fury, and making the Crimson Fury think it was the Road Kings. But Lucas found out the truth. He’d had suspicions, and he tailed his dad, saw him meet with some dealers. Made his dad promise to stop. Once Lucas arranged for peace with the Road Kings, he was going to force his dad to unwind the drug business or else he was going to remove him from the MC. But Rafael has other plans.”
“His own son? He murdered his own fucking son?”
“He liked the money. And there was a lot. When the meeting between your clubs went down, I was watching. Waiting. My job was to time it right, and then fire the opening shot. Then one of Rafael’s other guys — some fucker whose name I can’t recall; it started with an ‘M’ I think, like Matt or Mark, whatever — would start shooting, too, and say you all provoked it. Man, that sure was some wonderful chaos, wasn’t it?”
My eyes shut, my ears thunder with the memories that play out behind my eyelids; the torrent of blood and bullets that ripped my life to pieces and threw Alexandra into brokenhearted despair. With Erik Marquez’s words ringing in my ears, I stay deep in that memory, seeing things clearer than I did even in the moment; I hear the voices screaming in surprise and pain; I feel the heft of my gun in my hands; I see the look of surprise on Lucas’s face as I raise my weapon to return fire at what I thought was their betrayal; I hear, I see, I feel the concussive force of my gun firing and witness the puff of smoke that preludes the explosion of Lucas’s head.
Then I see something new.
Something I didn’t see before in the haze of bloody combat.
A wide shot.
Mywide shot.
I missed.
My eyes open.
To see Erik Marquez standing, blood dripping, eyes wild, a feral grin splitting the bloody mess of his face. His look and his words hold me entranced for a moment.
“Now you remember. I was proud of that shot. Timed it well. Almost synced it up perfectly with yours. My orders were to make sure Lucas died, and I never leave anything to chance, so when I saw you reach for your gun, oh fuck, I was in the zone. Popped one in just the right spot in his skull so it cracked open like a fucking ripe watermelon.”
Then his cuffs clatter to the floor and Erik Marquez launches himself at me with murder in his eyes.