For Your Sake (2 page)

              The answer to his question emerged from hallway, dressed in a suit which no doubt ran four figures.  Dark hair and a smooth olive complexion put him in his early thirties as matching black eyes looked unaffected by the circumstances.  His hand went to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from his sleeve. “My apologies, Mr. Sinclair,” the suited figure said.  “But there wasn’t an easy way to do this.”

              Michael’s eyes flitted between his wife’s non-contrite face and the hallway which led to his daughter’s bedroom.  “Apologies for what?  Who the fuck are you?”  He then regarded his wife with insane eyes.  “Carol, what is this?  What’s wrong?  Where’s Eva?”

              “Your daughter is safe, Mr. Sinclair,” the suited man replied.

              “I wasn’t talking to you!”  His rage was overriding any possible danger this man may possess.  This was his house.  His wife.  His daughter.  The former was infiltrated by a stranger, the latter was missing and the middle looked as if she carried the guilt of the world upon her shoulders.  “Carol.”  His voice was insistent and panicked.  “What’s going on?  Where’s Eva?”

              “As Tony stated, she’s safe, Michael,” his wife finally spoke up.

             
Tony?
  She spoke the name as if she knew him personally.  “Where?”

              “I put her in a daycare facility until five.”  She lifted her own suited arm to check an equally expensive watch.  What was this?  This morning he left his wife sleeping in a cotton nightgown – now she was dressed in clothes and accessories equal to a month’s pay.  “It’s fifteen minutes of,” she announced without a hint of emotion in her voice.  “You should go pick her up as soon as we leave.”

She moved towards the fully packed roller luggage he hadn’t noticed before.  Maybe it was the stupor of two beers.  Maybe he climbed one too many electric poles today.  Maybe he got a jolt of juice which spun him into a dimension he was now trying to navigate.  All he wanted was answers as he stepped toward the strange man who had invaded his home and family.  “Leave?  Leave where?  Carol, what…..the….?”  But instead he switched targets and descended upon Tony.  “Who the fuck are you and where are you taking my wife?”

              The man adjusted his tie, a gold and diamond watch visible from where his sleeve hitched up.  “As your wife said, my name is Tony.  That’s all you need to know.”  He casually retrieved a gun from a holster hidden under his jacket.  “Your wife is leaving with me.  She’s going to serve you divorce papers as well as grant you full custody of your daughter.  You will sign them – no questions asked.  You will forget she ever existed.  You try to contact her or make any attempt to track her down, well, let’s just say we know where your precious Eva goes to school.”

              “No,” Carol choked out, only for Tony shake his head at her.

              Blind rage was the only thing which could overcome fear and Michael was filled to the brim with it.  “Son of a bitch!”  His voice bit out as he lunged towards Tony, only to have Carol pull him back.

              “Michael, don’t.  Please.  Just…….I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

              He was dumbfounded.  Absolutely dumbfounded.  “You mean……..you’re going willingly?   This isn’t a……..?”  What was he going to say – a kidnapping?  “Carol.”  His voice had now been reduced to desperate pleading.  “Please.  Tell me what’s going on?”

              She tried to switch from guilt to comfort, but to no avail.  “I’m leaving, Michael.  And I’m not coming back.  I can’t.  Ever.  I don’t know how you want to break it to Eva someday, but…..”her voice cracked, her head bowed as emotion took over.”

              “Carol, sweetheart,” Tony warned.  “What did I say?”

              “This isn’t easy,” she shot back at him.

              Michael’s eyes flitted back and forth between the both of them before they landed on Carol.  “You’ve been having an affair – with him?”

              She shook her head. “It’s more than that.  More than I can explain.”

              “You expect me to accept throwing away seven years of marriage without an explanation, you better think again, Carol.”

              Before he could advance on his wife, Michael heard the click of metal, looking up to see Tony pointing the gun at his head.  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Mr. Sinclair.  Considering this nice, beige carpet, I suggest the easy way.  Now, say goodbye, back away and let us leave so you can pick up your daughter.  Wait as long as you want before bringing her home.  And if you so much as entertain the thought of dialing 9-1-1, that sweet princess of yours will never see second grade.”

              A man without a choice, trapped in his home without recourse, forced to give up his wife.  Or was she going willingly?  “You……you just expect me to back away and let you walk out the door with my wife – no questions asked?”

              “Considering your wife’s…….indescretions, you could say I’m doing you a favor, Mr. Sinclair.  My boss became quite taken with Carol several years ago.”  Tony chuckled and looked at Carol.  “Where was it again, sweetheart?  Oh, yes, one of those
insurance conventions
.  And you know no one goes to those things for the free drinks and cheap hospitality gifts.

              It was barely a year after they were married when Carol was asked to attend an insurance convention in New York.  She had returned with a spring in her step and the lights of the big city in her eyes.  From there she went through bouts of mood swings, crying jags, lashing out and depression.  Remembering it was better to leave a woman alone with her hormones, Michael let her be to work it out.  The drama eventually stopped, but something was still off about Carol.  He faulted himself with not being able to give her a better life, perhaps getting out of this small town and move towards the city.  But then Eva came along and Carol threw herself into being a mother, which made it hard to fathom how she could just walk away.

              The emotion was too much as he approached his wife, mindless to the gun pointed at him.  “Carol.”  His voice was the hoarse whisper of a broken man.  “I forgive you.  Please……don’t leave.  Don’t do this.”

              The gun in Tony’s hand reached further.  “You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Sinclair. There isn’t a choice here.  For you at least.”

              No choice for him, which meant Carol had one.  And she was leaving - willingly.  His wife was leaving him and their daughter willingly.  For years she had put up a façade while all the while she was pining for a one time fling, one which could get her out of Tippitt and give her the kind of life which, no doubt, purchased that ensemble she was wearing.  The clock inside his head ticked as he his mind swept to Eva and his need to get to her as soon as possible. 

              And bring her back to a motherless home.

              “Go.”  His voice this time was cold, lifeless and blank.  It had to be.  He had to shut down his entire being in order to process the complete one eighty his life took since leaving the house this morning.  And a gun trained at his temple and a threat to his daughter was all that kept him from reacting in a rash manner.  “Get out.  Get out of my house.  Both of you.”  His dead eyes looked at Carol one last time.  “I have to go get
my
daughter.”

              Tony re-holstered his gun. “Wise choice, Mr. Sinclair.”  He took Carol by the arm and led her to the door.  “Let’s go.”

              Before leaving, Carol turned to utter the last words she would ever speak to him.  “Watch over her, Michael.  For her sake, watch over her.

              The impact of those words would hit hard years later

Chapter One

September - Present Day

Two men, brutally gunned down.  And someone was about to pay.

              Two brothers, two gunshot riddled bodies, two quiet funerals and two families to console.  It was an ambush, which wasn’t factored into to their perfectly appointed plan.  There was no way – no fucking way – those tweaker hillbillies knew they were coming for them.  The club kept it close to the vest like they did everything else.  In a town as small as Tippitt where their presence reigned since the late eighties, they had to.  If so much as a pin dropped in their direction, they were there to throw a cushion down to prevent it from making a noise so no fingers would point in their direction. 

But something went awry here.  The location was far away from the prying eyes and sharp ears of town, their plan of attack detailed down to the minute.  But somehow, it leaked.

              Or, in this case, got leaked.

              Vic Connors never liked these votes.  They were responsible for the strands of gray lacing his jet-black hair which was slicked back tight, ala Steven Seagall, into a curly ponytail poking the collar of his cut.  There had to be no doubt whatsoever.  I’s had to be dotted and T’s had to be crossed.  And they were, with the consensus pointing back to the person responsible.  It had to be dealt with, but as president of the Mountain Skulls Motorcycle Club, Vic knew protocol had to precede, no matter the accuracy of the evidence.  And considering there was also personal vestment present at the table, this wasn’t going to be easy. 

Forearms weathered from almost two decades of riding the open road and covered in ink rested at the end of a long, oval table made out of solid oak - a gift years ago from Owen’s Mill.  It was already covered in cigarette burns, gouges, water marks and spittle.  But never tears. Not in this room.  Not by these men.  Not at this time.  Men in this life died living it.  That was an honor, the way to go other than Harley’s blazing off the side of the road.  But these two deaths were in vain and, after two weeks making sure any lingering chatter around Tippitt and surrounding towns had died hadn’t sparked, the piper had to be paid.

              “Convince me this intel’s solid, young brother.” 

              Huddled in a corner seat, Wes nervously chewed what was left of a fingernail while his president questioned him.  A brand, new patch, he packed an array of data inside his twenty four year old brain which made him a shoe-in for intelligence officer, a position recently vacated by Stash who was now forever resting in a grave.  “Calls to and from the burner we took off the boyfriend not only trace to her phone, but also from the motel she was stayin’ at.  Last incomin’ call on the burner was from the cell, right before we all rode out that night.”

              No one had to guess where Vic’s eyes landed after that.  Especially Ben Lawson, the very recipient of that look.  The clubs number one enforcer was alert even with his eyes closed.  Putting one over on Big Ben was not an easy thing to do and the consequences for doing so resulted in meetings such as this.  But in this case, the reason for a table full of men hell-bent on revenge was because those highly-trained senses of his had failed.

              He wasn’t at fault for shit going south, but might as well have been.  All it took was a sob story and a shred of hope for reconnection to pull that well-honed guard of his down and let someone back in.  In doing so, he compromised the safety of his club.  He needed to redeem the destruction that failure wrought.  And there was only one way to do it.

              By doing his job.

              “Anything you want to add, Big Ben?”

              What could he say?  The evidence was as plain as the
Three Deadly Sins
patch on his chest, earned because of outcomes like this one would have. He may not have stood behind the sawed-off shotguns which blasted Stash and Batso to bits, but was a catalyst.  Only one thing remained which was his to do and his alone.  At a loss for words, he found the only answer which could suffice.  “Just yes or no, Vic.”  His voice was deep and tired.   Loyalty to his club family was expected of him.  No hesitation.  No question.  No emotion for blood family which destroyed the seating arrangement around this table. 

              Leaning back in his chair, Vic’s thumb worked the back of a chunky, silver skull ring.  The initial process was in motion.  Recon was done, intel gathered and course of action decided.  All that was left was to seal the deal. “Let’s do this then.”  Vic took one final visual sweep around the table of men anxious to settle a blood debt.  He raised his hand first.  “Yea.”

              To Vic’s right, Doug hoisted his hand up without a blip of hesitation.  The club’s Sergeant At Arms had no filter when it came to letting everyone know exactly what he thought and had little tolerance for personal feelings.  “Absolutely.  No mercy.  Do it.”

              “Yea.”  A quick answer from the chattiest of the bunch, Taz Morrell stroked his short beard, triangularly cut to a jet-black point like the devil he was since his mother Janice coined his nickname.  Now was not the time for additional words.  Multiple piercings across both eyebrows shined above a pair of empty black eyes which spoke volumes. 

              A quiet fell over the seat next to Taz which belonged to Batso.  Everyone’s eyes went there out of respect, as if to silently proxy his vote before it passed to Tanner.  Thick, ringed fingers – the tips of his left index and middle one missing from an accident at Owen’s long ago– tapped hard against the table he had helped build.  “Yea.”

Young Wesley was next.  It was his first vote since being patched in three months ago and it was quite a way to baptize him.  Majority ruled here.  The kid’s brain was working hard to do the right thing.  All it took was a flash of his brother’s blood-soaked bodies to seal the deal.  “Um, yeah.  Uh, I mean, yea.”

              Ben knotted his fists to keep his emotions in check.  He never had to worry about them before.  For what he was called on to do for the club, he’d become a pro at shutting down.  As always, he had to step outside himself as all eyes were on him for two reasons.  One, he’d be carrying out the result of the vote.  Two, was the target.  The cause.  And it all stemmed from him. “Yes.”  He bit that word out with a chilling tone.