Unrequited (Fallen Aces MC #1) (10 page)

“What could I do?” the guy asks, taking tentative steps toward her. “What could I have done different?”

“All of this happened because of
you
.” Spittle flies from her lips with the force of the last word. “I fucking hate you!” Her vocal cords crack with the intensity of her words.

He kneels down before her, Apex letting the woman’s arms go as her husband reaches out.

She recoils and collides with Prez, moving around him to get away. “Don’t fucking touch me, you liar. You keep your filthy fucking hands off me.” Her palms flat on the path, she pushes off to run toward the children’s heads.

My stomach cramps as I watch the way she carefully picks them up and lays them side-by-side, muttering the whole time as tears stream her face. “Oh, my babies . . .”

“Wendy . . .” The man stands and turns to her. “Listen to me, please.” His voice builds to a groan with each word.

“I think we should probably go,” Twig murmurs to my right.

Apex has already returned to his bike and sits astride it as he casually sucks on a cigarette. He stares off down the street as though nothing is going on, like these people aren’t falling apart before our eyes. I guess it’s his way of dealing?

Twig steps toward the man and says something about us leaving, when the guy whirls around. He grips Twig by the wrist and bends around him to snatch the revolver from his waistband.

“Oh, fuck no.” I pull my Glock out and train it on the guy’s head. I haven’t killed a man, but I’m picking now’s as good a time as any to start.

Turns out I never had a thing to worry about. The man had no intention of hurting Twig, or the woman. The guy looks his wife square in the eye and utters a few final words, “I’m sorry for everything,” before turning the barrel on himself and blowing his head half off.

Jesus.
What the fuck kind of sideshow did we ride up to?

Twig dives to the left to try and avoid the mess, but he may as well have been trying to avoid a downpour in the middle of the rainforest. He ends up with blood and brain matter across the side of his face and left shoulder.

My heart’s going a hundred clicks a minute; seeing people get shot in the movies? It has nothing,
nothing
on real life.

The guy’s wife screams where she’s sitting in the entrance to their house, her hands still on the top of her children’s heads. She just stares at her husband’s lifeless body, catatonic, and screams.

“Come on!” Apex yells from where he’s dismounted amidst the chaos. “We’re fuckin’ out before this shit gets any crazier.”

I re-holster my weapon and give the man’s body one last look. He’s sprawled half on the path, half on the lawn, advertising to anyone and everyone that shit most certainly ain’t right around here.
What did these people do?
What the fuck could a man do that means his children are killed and he feels guilty enough to commit suicide as a consequence?

Twig gives me a pat on the shoulder after he retrieves his gun, and turns to head down toward the bikes. I watch him, lost in the gravity of the moment, trying to make sense of what I’ve just witnessed, while he picks up his ride and mine.

Apex lifts an apologetic hand to the woman—not that she notices. She’s still screaming.

The confusion on Twig’s face when I mount my bike is as palpable as my own.

“What the fuck are we doing here?” I ask him before he fires his engine. “This isn’t what we do. This isn’t us.”

“I wish I knew.” He lifts his gaze to Apex. “I really wish I could give you an answer there, brother. But I’m still tryin’ to work it out for myself.”

TWELVE

King

The clink of pool balls mingles with the chime of glass on glass as we step through the entrance to a roadhouse just outside the city. It’s busy, but not crowded, giving us options when it comes to a table far enough away from curious ears to talk. We were given instruction to meet Carlos here after the run, as long as it went successfully. I’m not really sure I call that successful.

Twig sets us up against the back wall at a table that’s seen better days, and heads to the bathrooms to clean the remainder of the dried filth from his face and cut. He did his best in the parking lot to wipe the gore off with his T-shirt, before throwing it in the skip at the side of the building, but there’s only so much a man can do without a bit of water.

Eyes are on us from all directions. Rough characters aren’t unusual in a place like this, hell, bikers probably aren’t, but what
is
out of place are our patches. Fallen Aces. We’re sitting in Devil’s Enforcers MC territory.

“Nosy fuckers, ain’t they?” Apex grumbles beside me. He spins on his seat to give them his back and looks me square in the eye. “You holdin’ up after that?”

“Yeah.” It’s the best answer I can give the guy. I think I am, but I’ve also never seen anything so macabre, so brutal. How long does shock take to set in? I’d like to think I’m not that soft, but fuck, that was some sick shit. Even sicker when I picture the asshole we received the box from. To think his face was the last one those kids got to see . . . it’s the kind of shit that can make a man seek blood, that’s for sure.

Twig emerges from the men’s looking albeit wetter, a darn sight cleaner. He stops at the bar, and then returns to the table and places three bottles of beer before us.

As though mirroring my previous thought, Apex turns to Twig and asks, “You rung ahead and let the Enforcers know we’d be passing through, right?”

“You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” He dishes out dog-eared cardboard coasters as if they’re playing cards. “Of course I did.”

We slide the coasters under the drinks like the well-raised men we are. A shave might be few and far between for most of us, and after a few days on the road our jeans become what we call ‘slicks’ from all the dirt and grease embedded in the weave, but we aren’t mongrels. We still have manners.

“Just checking.” Apex stares across the bar at a guy in a trucker cap whose gut is about as large as the keg of beer he probably consumes each day. “Not in the fuckin’ mood for any more shit today.”

The three of us fidget with whatever we can lay our hands on as silence cloaks the table: coasters, bottle labels, even the hem of our sleeves. A thousand questions stream through my mind, but none of them will be voiced. Asking Apex what the fuck he was thinking accepting an unknown load would be the ultimate form of disrespect—I’m not going there, not when I’m dying to get my patch stitched on.

“I’m headin’ to the men’s.” The others nod at my statement, and Twig makes room for me to get out from my seat against the wall.

Posters on posters line the right-hand wall down to the bathrooms. Concerts, rallies, car shows, and the odd tattoo convention thrown in for variety. I duck left through the door that looks as though it’s had a boot through it on one of the more eventful nights, and do what I came in for before catching my hazy reflection on the way out. Hesitating, I back up a step and turn to face that jaded looking son-of-a-bitch.

My father’s eyes stare back at me in a face hardened by years of working out in the fields with him as a kid after school. I’ve still got a fair run to go before I have the leather look he does, though. My mother’s full lips are set in a grim line amidst my unkempt beard. I probably should have given it a trim yesterday, but yesterday I thought I’d be at the clubhouse today. The run was spontaneous, at least for me. I knew it was coming, not when. My eyes track the light blue ‘prospect’ tag that adorns the right panel of my cut. A mirroring rocker fills the lower back of my vest stating Lincoln as our location—the Aces’ mother chapter. But the center patch and top rocker will come when the officers decide, not before. As will the right to be made aware of runs in advance, and of the intentions behind them.

I don’t know exactly how bad the club financials are, but it has to be near on critical if Prez is accepting unchecked runs. The guy we picked up from? Unknown to us. The people we dropped off to? Strangers. And the guy we’re doing it for? I wish he was.

I splash water over my face in an effort to snap out of the daze I’ve been in since leaving that woman screaming in her doorway. What is she doing now? Did she call the cops? Did the neighbors?

The water from the tap smells stale, coppery, and tastes much the same. Spitting out the drops that get caught in my mouth, I wipe a sleeve over my face, run a hand through my Mohawk to catch the stragglers, and head back out to the table to chase the shitty taste of council wine with a beer. I’ve gotta get what went down out of my head.

Twig talks firmly to Apex, his shoulders hunched and one finger angrily tapping the screen of his phone as I approach. “He fuckin’ laughed when I told him their reaction. What the fuck is this guy’s deal? What the hell kind of background has he got?”

“Ex-cop,” Apex fills us in as I take my seat. “He worked for the detective’s office in Kansas City for a while before retiring on medical grounds.”

“Clinically insane?” Twig asks, one eyebrow raised.

“Gunshot to the leg. Apparently blew out his knee and left him too fuckin’ slow for the fitness test.”

Twig spins his coaster between his fingers, the beer idle on the tabletop. “How much did he pay us for this shit?”

“Enough,” Apex barks. “He comin’ here?”

Twig nods. “Said he’d be ten at the most, but he’ll be here.”

“Good. I want to measure up the guy with my own two eyes, not on Judas’s advice.”

Carlos is coming here.
Jesus. My head goes crazy trying to work out the possibility of him bringing Elena. Is she still at her dad’s? Will he bring her to something like this if she’s not?
Fuck me . . .

“I ain’t never seen anything like it,” Twig muses, snapping me out of my daydream.

“Hope we’re never going to carry anythin’ like it again,” I say.

Apex leans to the side and pulls his billfold out. Tossing me a couple of notes, he tips his head toward the bar. “Go order us some wings or something, yeah?”

Dismissal at its finest. I snatch up the cash and rise from my seat again. The crown-shaped buckles on my boots clink as I walk across the floor space, and I’m definitely not oblivious to the patrons watching me as I go. Two old-timers give me their backs as I approach the bar. No skin off my nose. I’d rather be ignored than assaulted, be it verbally or physically—I’ve had both.

“What can I get you?” The barmaid glares at me from black-rimmed eyes, her fingers gripping the serving side of the counter with more than a little tenacity. Either she’s just had one hell of a customer, or this woman walks through life with a fuckin’ huge chip on her shoulder. She wears angry like it’s a comfortable sweater.

“You have a menu?”

She reaches under the lip of the counter and produces a laminated sheet that’s seen better days. “We’re out of shrimp.” She has to be pushing sixty, and if her figure is anything to go by, I get the feeling she was a knockout in her day.

“I’ll grab the wings and a basket of nachos.”

She holds her hand out for the menu.

“Actually, make that two nachos.” They’re one of the few things in life Twig removes the toothpick in his mouth that gave him his name for.

“Table?” She tugs the menu from my grasp.

I gesture with my thumb to where the others are. If a single look alone could bring down the wrath of hell, she would have incinerated those assholes where they sat.

“You got a problem with us?” I ask, as I slap the notes on the counter. I don’t take to disrespect lightly.

“I got a problem with everyone.” She snatches the bills from between us. Her bleached hair whips around in an arc as she turns heel and stalks over to the small window that connects the bar area to the kitchen and passes over the order.

Looks like she’s taken her tip then.

I coast my gaze over the walls while I wait. I could return to the table, but what for? Apex clearly doesn’t want my input, and to be honest, it’s fucking depressing, rehashing what we just saw. Nothing’s going to change the fact that there’s a woman out there who’s life just got shredded with one fucking box delivered by our hands.

“King!”

I turn away from the bar and lift my chin at Twig.

“You ordered?” he asks.

I nod.

“Got any change for a round?” It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t really care if I do or not. It’s his subtle way of letting me know I shouldn’t return to the table dry.

Pulling my wallet out of the breast pocket of my work shirt, I slap it down on the counter loud enough for our lovely barmaid to hear. She casts a sideways glance my way, and then shifts between her feet, fussing with a row of sauce bottles.
Damn woman.

I clear my throat, noticing the two old-timers have shifted slightly so they can watch the interaction. Bets are this woman does this to ’most everyone, and I’m now playing the leading role in some nightly spectacular.

“Bit of service?” I state loudly.

“I’ll have your damn order in a minute,” she barks.

“Woman,” I say, frustrated by more shit on what seems to be shaping up for a day of it. “You trying to bankrupt this place?”

The look she lances me with sends my balls scrambling back inside for refuge.
Fuck me.
I take a step back, fully intent on rounding to her side and giving her a lesson in customer service when a thick hand slams down on my shoulder.

“You fuckin’ deaf, bitch?” Apex’s booming voice shakes me where I stand; I didn’t hear the asshole approach.
“My boy here wants to get us another fuckin’ drink. You got a problem with serving our club?”

That gets her attention. With an arch of her back, she straightens up and stalks towards us.
Great
. Nothing makes a man feel more inadequate than A, being ignored by a woman, and B, having his boss come through to sort things out for him.

“Thanks, but I got this,” I say, holding a hand up before Apex.

The barmaid reaches the spot opposite us.

“Don’t look like you do, King.” Apex places both palms on the bar and leans across so his face is mere inches from hers. “This round’s on you.”

She laughs. Fucking full-on snorts in his face.
She’s dead . . .

“I ain’t kiddin’ around, woman.”

I take a step back as Apex pushes off and lunges across the counter to take a hold of her by the front of her ridiculously tight tank top.
Mutton dressed as lamb, much?
Her eyes go as wide as saucers for a mere fraction of a second before that jaded, angry glower returns. The two old-timers to my left casually raise their drinks for another swig.

“Take your fucking hands off me.” She grips Apex about the wrist and digs her nails in.

“Come on, Prez,” I urge. “She’s no use if she can’t even get the drinks.”

He spits in her face and then lets go, stalking back to the table with an angry finger pointed her way. “It’s on you, bitch. This round is free.”

“Hey, I’m sorry about that.” I hold out a napkin off the counter for her to wipe her face with. “We’ve had a rough day.”
To say the least.

She rips the napkin so violently from my grasp that I’m left holding the corner. “Don’t.”

“What? Apologize?”

“Patronize me,” she snarls. “You’re young enough to be my fucking grandson.”

“Hey.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m genuine. Don’t believe in violence towards women.”

“Then why are you setting yourself up to be a part of a group who do?” She nods toward my ‘prospect’ badge.

“Because there’s more to who they are than what people like you choose to see.”

“People like me?” She shakes her head as she bins the napkin. “And who exactly are people like me?” The glass clangs loudly as she rips fresh bottles from the fridge.

“People who have a ‘problem with everyone.’”

She pushes the bottles towards me and then places both hands on the counter, hanging her head between her arms. A sigh causes her body to heave. “It’s been a long week, okay?” Her words are spoken to the floor between her feet, muffled by the bar’s hum that’s slowly returned since the altercation.

“You gotta treat each day as a fresh start.” I bundle the drinks up ready to go when she lifts her face up to meet my gaze. “Makes the day’s problems easier to deal with when you’re not still worrying about yesterday’s.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Try to.” And after what I’ve seen tonight, I’ll be trying a hell of a lot more.

I leave her with a smile and return to the table, placing the drinks down before the brothers.

The next five or so minutes go quickly, as do our drinks. Carlos better not keep us waiting too long. The three of us keep this pace up, we’ll be asking the barmaid if she knows of a motel in walking distance. Twig makes a remark about one of the brothers in the Cali chapter that has Apex chuckling. The alcohol must be doing its job, considering the mood we came in here with.