Chapter Two #2
Chaos steps into Malice’s space, braver than all of us, apparently.
To face off with Malice when he’s in this state is the equivalent of cornering a rabid wolf.
“You think I don’t know that, Mal? You think I don’t see it?
You think I don’t carry that fucking guilt with me every single goddamn day?
It’s like a fucking shadow, hovering over me every goddamn minute.
The Devil himself walks with me, and I never know when he’s going to claim one of my brothers.
He already took Ace from me!” Chaos pounds on his chest with his fist as he enunciates each word.
“I! Fucking! Know!” Ace is Chaos’ brother who was brutally beaten and left hanging from the rafters and burned alive.
One of our road sergeants, Rogue, his sister was there that night, too, and didn’t make it out.
We’ll never know whose fate was worse that night, Ace or Lena.
It was a bloodbath that shrouded both of them in darkness until they found their light.
Their old ladies. It seems the only thing that can heal a Heathen is a queen.
“This shouldn’t have happened. I won’t sleep until we find this motherfucker. No one had better touch him but me,” Malice demands, his tone lethal.
“Get him out of here,” Chaos says, looking at Sin, then turns to face me. “This is too public, and we have Morgan to think about. We can’t handle this one on our own. Call Deputy Evans, explain the situation, and let’s get this cleaned up.”
Sin and Malice fall back down to their knees at Rolo’s side as Chaos and Noose stalk off.
I watch for a moment as they work together in silence to remove Rolo’s cut from his body before I’ve had enough, the guilt creeping in.
I push it at bay, focusing on the task at hand.
One day I’m going to need to tell Malice the truth; I’m going to need to pay for my sins here today. Something I doubt he’ll forgive me for.
I pull out my phone, quickly bringing up Deputy Evans’ phone number and explaining that we need the police involved in this one.
The town of Amberwood knows we like to handle things ourselves, and we always clean up our messes.
They turn a blind eye because they know we’re only taking out the trash.
We love this town, and we do everything we can to protect it.
But sometimes, certain things are out of our hands. This is one of them.
The next few days are rough, a volatile mix of grief and rage.
Seeing Morgan fall apart because of Rolo’s death further solidified my desire to never have an old lady.
It’s not fair to her to feel this pain. Morgan has been with us for as long as I can remember, she knows every day is a risk, but she loved him anyway.
She’s stronger and braver than all of us.
I just won’t put anyone through that. I’m not built to be that selfish.
I don’t understand how Rolo, Rogue, and Sin brought their women into it.
Saige is a different story; she’s got more blood on her hands than some of the bikers here, and she’s a ruthless serial killer.
Even if she hates that term. It’s hard for me to look at Morgan, knowing that I had a choice to make that morning and I chose wrong.
Had it been me, Morgan wouldn’t be alone.
Malice has barely been seen, coming home late into the evening drenched in blood and then retreating into his dungeon. We aren’t asking questions. It’s probably safer that way.
Chaos called church, and when I walk in, I’m surprised to see Malice actually listened, sitting there in a pair of ripped-up denim jeans, no shirt, his leather cut, and boots.
Everyone’s in their respective seats, and I take mine, choosing not to pick a fight with Mal by looking him in the eyes right now.
The air is thick with grief and fury. It’s so palpable you could choke on it.
I drum my tattooed fingers across the hardwood table and wait for the updates.
“Rolo had a life insurance policy we didn’t know about.
So, his death is public record. Instead of Deputy Evans bringing his body here, he’s at the Amberwood Mortuary.
They’re going to handle stuff for us, and then we’ll do our final ride, bringing him down to the cemetery for a burial.
We need to handle the funeral arrangements.
Morgan said she can’t bear to do it, so one of us needs to.
” That’s not common for us. The majority of members who have passed are buried right here on Heathen property, including Rogue’s sister, Lena.
Things can get messy when you involve others, especially when you’ve got bodies with bullet holes and stab wounds.
Malice speaks up before anyone else can, to no one’s surprise. “I’ll do it.”
“No offense, Mal, I don’t think you’re in the right space to handle all that.
Bristol and I can take care of it,” Sin adds, and I brace myself for Malice’s reaction.
He’s like a hand grenade on a good day, and this has pushed him right over the edge and into unknown territory . . . which is saying something.
“I said I’ll fucking do it, and that’s the end of the conversation. I know how to reel myself in, Sin, so fuck off. Now, where do we start looking for Garrett? Any leads on why the fuck he turned on us? Turned on Rolo?”
Everyone freezes from Malice’s outburst, waiting to see what he’ll do. But then Chaos breaks the silence. “None yet. Wrath and Noose, clear out his shit at the bunkhouse, don’t leave an inch untouched.”
“You think he was working for someone?” I ask. Garrett could have been a rogue player, but something in my gut tells me he wasn’t, and this goes deeper than any of us could imagine.
“I don’t trust a fuckin’ soul, you all know that. But I dunno. This seems personal, almost.” I agree.
“But why Rolo?” Garrett had access to any one of us. He could have taken out a few more if he wanted. Why Rolo?
“Did he have beef with anyone that we didn’t know of? Wasn’t he the one who sponsored Garrett? There’s too many fuckin’ prospects right now,” Malice huffs.
“We had to. We took too many hits after the Widowmakers attacked us here,” Sin adds in frustration and in defense of his decision to bring in more men.
“We need a deep dive, pull all the prospects in. Time to test their knowledge. We aren’t a herd of sheep, we’re fucking Heathens. And it’s time to remind them all what that means.”
That I’m down for. If there’s one rat, there’s probably more, and we need to weed them the fuck out.
Our boots are heavy on the ground as we all leave church and filter into the common area of the clubhouse.
Malice bounces on his feet like he’s about to enter a cage match.
He’s barely hanging onto reality, and I don’t know how much longer before he snaps completely and goes off the rails.
Sin and I walk next door to the bunkhouse, barging right in and rounding up every person in there before returning to the clubhouse.
Members and prospects fill the large open space of the common room, lining up in front of the bar, including Luca, who’s still healing from his bullshit gunshot wounds.
He’ll survive. At least for right now. Time will tell.
Silence occupies the space, an uncomfortable silence, as ranked members stand across from everyone else.
“One of our men was murdered in cold blood. A prospect—one of you—was shot and almost died. Who knows Garrett?” Chaos announces.
I do what I always do: observe the reactions of each person in the room who’s not a ranked member, watching for any slight shift, any minute tell that might give us something to go off of.
“He kept to himself. Didn’t talk to us much, just grunts and head nods.” My head snaps to the source of the voice, a kid who looks about Otto’s age, holding himself well.
Chaos doesn’t look amused. “That doesn’t tell us anything we need to know in order to find him.”
Sin stands next to me, his fists clenching at his sides as he looks over each man, looking for something we all missed. We all felt that something was off, but none of us looked into it. This is what happens when we let our guard down. We get too lax, and shit hits the fan. Time and time again.
“You,” Sin says, his voice deep and angry.
He points to one of the larger dudes, standing in a pair of black joggers and a charcoal grey hoodie.
His lips are pursed, and he doesn’t seem shocked that Sin is calling on him.
I grab a chair from one of the tables, dragging it across the hard floor, the sound of metal scraping across wood piercing the air.
“Take a seat, buddy. Let’s have a chat, yeah?
” Sin suggests as he grips the man’s shoulder, guiding him and pressing him firmly into the seat.
I take a step back, joining Malice in the ranks, scanning the men in front of us.
It feels like shit to accept the realization that a rat was in our home.
That someone we let in, shared a roof with, shared food with, turned on us.
But now my eyes are wide open, and I’m not going to let that shit happen again.
I take my time, roaming over each and every man, looking for any tiny detail that might give them away.
That’s when I see one glaring fucking sign that we all missed, the one thing these two fuckers have in common.
There’s another man behind the one in the chair, similar build, slightly shorter, but his hair is growing back from being somewhat recently shaved.
Malice studies him, as if our eyes zoned in at the same time, cocking his head to the side before leaning into my space to whisper.
“Get me a razor.” What the fuck? My eyes scan the common room quickly, realizing where we are.
Malice is unhinged as fuck, and while he is the most skilled at torture, he makes a huge fucking mess.
Chaos recently found a severed ear in the corner of one of the basement rooms.