Chapter 10
Ten
I’m a little early, so I grab my helmet from the saddle and take a seat. My only thoughts are about how her body was pressed against mine during the night. When I put my helmet between my legs and grab my cigarettes, my little brother startles me.
“Dad’s pissed.” Pax takes a seat on his own Indian next to me.
I shrug as I put my hands on the handlebars. “Dad’s always pissed when we do anything else but execute an order,” I tell him. “He knows I’m right.”
“Bullshit. Since when does Dad tell you you’re right when it’s concerning Layne, huh?” He looks at me from his peripheral, puts his feet on the supports.
I throw him a bored look. “I played the Elias card.”
“Shit.” He pauses briefly, then resumes speaking. “What did he say?” Pax puts a hand through his long hair and leans forward onto the tank.
“'Elias is dead and no longer a member.' I told him he would turn in his grave if he knew Dad would turn his back on Layne. That pretty much gave me a free pass.”
“A free pass?”
I nod.
With his eyebrows raised he asks: “He literally told you, you could do anything? I call bullshit.”
“No, he didn’t, but he didn’t argue anymore.” I put my helmet on and start the engine.
“Where are you going?” With a groan, my brother’s leaning backward.
I push my Indian backward with my feet. “I gotta meet Brooks.”
“To do what?” He narrows his eyes on me and grabs his helmet.
“None of your fucking business; stay here. If you pull those stitches, we’ve got a problem.” In the meantime, I turn my bike. I quickly accelerate, lift my feet, and speed off before Pax can start his bike. It’s for the best if he stays out of this. For as long as possible.
I meet Brooks at a warehouse, two blocks from where the Knights of Mayhem are hiding out.
“What’s the plan?” Those ice-blue eyes of his take me in before he lights his cig and hands me his lighter.
I do the same. After I inhale the smoke and exhale circles, I shrug. “I wanna know who orchestrated Connor’s murder and why.”
“And ya think they’re gonna spill? With no resistance?” One skeptical brow lifts as he taps off the ashes of his cigarette with his thumb. Brooks is leaning forward on the fuel tank of his bike in the same way Pax did earlier.
“Nope. Probably not, but if I don’t poke the bear…”
“Dude, if we don’t watch it, we end up somewhere in an unmarked grave as well.” Brooks laughs a fake laugh.
I rub my face with both hands, then let my hands drop to my sides. “I know.”
“Maybe we should put the bar just a bit lower?” His smoke ends up on the ground and Brooks puts the heel of his boot on it.
“How low exactly?” I inhale one last time and put the stub out as I exhale the last smoke.
Brooks puts his helmet back on. “Make sure Layne and Rebel are safe and left alone.”
I nod, start the engine and nod my head toward the warehouse. Slowly, we drive toward it.
When I dismount, I check the mag of my gun, which was in the back of my pants, before I put it back. Brooks does the same before we stroll toward the door, on which he knocks politely.
It takes a while before it opens. Some scrawny dude is standing in the opening. He wears a cut with Prospect on it. As fast as he can, he grabs his gun and points it at us.
Brooks rolls his eyes at me before nodding with a huge-ass grin at Scrawny Pants.
“Can we speak to Long or Torres?” The prospect reminds me of a rat. Probably because of the shape of his face.
Without another word, he closes the door on us. I raise a brow and look at Brooks.
“The fuck? Is he going to get them or not?” He puts his hand on his weapon.
After a while, Ballistic raises his fist to pound on the door again, just as it opens. Brooks almost hits the VP in the face, but stops the movement just in time.
Torres looks at him with a blank expression. “Hello to you too, Ballistic.”
“I was just about to knock,” my bud says and grimaces.
“What are you doing here?” Torres puts a hand through his black, gelled-back hair and his gaze turns to me.
I spread my legs, roll back on my heels. “Talk. We’ve got questions.”
With a nod, he opens the door to let us in.
The empty warehouse smells like oil, which is probably because of the bikes in for repair. It’s loud too. The background music on the radio is unrecognizable because of the noisy workplace.
We follow Torres to his office at the back of the property. Eyes are burning my back, right through my patch. It makes me stand just a little taller.
The office contains a mahogany desk with a huge, weathered leather seat behind it. Torres takes a seat, gestures with an open hand to two similar chairs at the other side of the table. His dark-brown eyes penetrate my gray ones.
“I’m curious about the questions,” he says.
I skip the formalities. “Hayes. Who killed him?”
His black brows rise. “Hayes? The accountant you’re researching?”
I don’t react, just keep my eyes on him.
“What do you want from the numbers guy? Did he work for that porn business of yours?” The Knights VP leans with an elbow on the armrest and puts his chin in his hand. An amused smile graces his face.
“None of your fucking business what he is to me, or why we’re interested.” I put my ankle on my knee and lean backward. My fingers form a tent.
“Just as it’s none of your business if we know anything about his death.”
Goddamn it. That motherfucker. I clench my fists, work my jaw and breath out in a controlled way. “How much did they pay you?”
A snort. “Dumbass signed a contract with Nick Vanderberg. With that, he signed his own death sentence, Young.”
“Since when does Vanderberg kill all his employees? Doesn’t seem very productive.” I shake my head.
Torres imitates me. “Accountants know shit. Too much shit. Stuff that could land Vanderberg in jail.” Sighing, he presses his forearms on the desk and bends toward us.
“Isn’t that what confidentiality clauses are for?” I know I pretend to be stupid, but Torres doesn’t need to know my IQ.
“Even I know you’re not that stupid, Young. Those clauses don’t mean shit when you’re doing time.” He laughs humorlessly.
“How much?” I lean a little further back in the chair. Brooks does the opposite and turns a menacing look at Torres while leaning forward.
Torres rolls his eyes, which makes Brooks clench his fists.
“How much?” I repeat louder.
“Fuck off, Young.”
That’s the moment Brooks rises and grabs Torres shirt to pick him up from his seat.
“Fuck, seriously?” His eyes are trained on Brooks, as they come face to face, and Brooks moves his hand to his neck.
I put my elbow on the armrest and rest my cheek against my fist. The image of total disinterest.
“Young, come on. I’m not telling—”
Brooks slowly closes his hand around his windpipe, and a squeak resounds. Torres widens his eyes, puts his hands up in resignation. Not that Brooks cares, he just tightens his grip further. Torres squirms.
“Ballistic,” I say softly after a few seconds, my voice bored. “I kinda want to hear if he has something to say.”
Brooks turns to me, narrows his eyes and softens the grip.
Torres coughs. “What the fuck?” he says, voice hoarse. “Why all this effort for a goddamn nobody?”
I shrug. “None of your fucking business. It’s mine.”
“Ten K, okay? It’s not worth my life. What do you think Vanderberg is going to do when you meddle?” He takes three steps away from Brooks, who rolls his eyes, chuckles, and cracks his neck.
“Also not your problem, Torres. Thanks for the intel.” I rise from the leather chair, which has my ass plastered to it because of the temperature in this fucking hellhole, and nod to the exit.
Under the canopy of the bar, I smoke a cigarette. At that moment, Brooks comes driving into the compound on his dark-blue metallic Indian, with Rebel on the back. That engine’s familiar roar made me close my eyes for a sec. The second Brooks sets her down and takes off her helmet, she runs to me.
“Kyler, can I join Brooks and Miss Paisley for dinner tonight?”
Open-mouthed, I stare at her and gasp for air for a moment, like a fish out of water. “Eh, you’ll have to ask your mom, Shorts.”
“But I want to see Brandon,” she whines. “Brooks says he thinks girls are dirty and I want to show him that girls aren’t dirty. Look.” She points to herself. “There’s nothing dirty about me, is there?”
I laugh. “Definitely not. You’re a super-clean girl.” In the distance, I see Layne coming down the stairs. I nod to her. “There’s your mom.”
At those words, her whole face lights up. “Really?” She jumps up and her little arms wrap around my neck. She presses a kiss to my cheek, then lets go and lands back on her feet with a thud. “You really are the best.” Immediately she turns and runs toward Layne.
“I didn’t know you were a pedophile, Young.” Brooks sits down on the small wall behind me.
With raised eyebrows, I turn toward him. “The fuck, dude?”
“You didn’t see the grin on your face after that kiss. Like you totally fell for her.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket with a blank face.
“I don’t understand what Jen sees in you.” I shake my head and slap him on the shoulder. “If that girl hasn’t captured your heart yet, I seriously wonder how Jen did it.” I sit down next to him.
“If this keeps up, she has your heart, mine, and my son’s.” A grin plays on his lips and then he walks away from me.