The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC) (13 page)

On his left
arm, beginning at the back of his hand there is a dragon. The head begins on
his hand and the tail wraps around his shoulder. It’s an amazing red golden
dragon with its mouth open and a pearl just out of reach. When I asked him
about this he said that a dragon chasing a pearl signifies that the beast isn’t
content; that he hasn’t found what he’s looking for in life. I’m guessing the
dragon signifies Cade. On his back is the exact replica of the Iron Disciples
patch and rockers. On his right pectoral is the 1%’ers diamond patch. There are
a few more random Celtic designs scattered about. He has an amazing tattoo
artist.

Not only are
the designs phenomenal but they interlock perfectly with one another so they’re
not just random, thoughtlessly placed patches of art work. The only tat I don’t
know about is the name Ethan on his left forearm. I asked if that was his dad’s
name and he did say it wasn’t. I was hoping for an explanation but he refused
to elaborate. Obviously he’s got some baggage we don’t know about.

As I’m lying
here I’m wondering why I even have an interest in the guy. Yeah he’s smokin’
hot, but so are a lot of guys! Yeah he can fight and probably shoot and he’s
educated; so are a lot of guys. So why the hell am I so into this guy? The
first thought that comes to mind is totally nuts. If he is like all the other
hot bad boys, the only difference is he’s a killer. So that must be what I like
about him that sets him apart; he’s a fucking killer. That’s what is different.
But I know that can’t be it. Maybe the key is in his body art. Most people
don’t get tattoos just because they look cool. Most get designs or names that
have significance. I’m convinced that the name Ethan is the key to unlocking
Mr. Grubby.

Finally I must
have drifted off because I’m sleeping when I hear the door and the kitchen
light turns on. I roll over onto my back and look towards the kitchen. I see
him. Just a quick look as he goes from the kitchen to the hall and then
disappears on his way to the bathroom I guess on account of the blood! He had a
lot of blood on his white tee shirt and some splattered on his face. I feel
like I should ask him if he’s alright but I get the idea that would be too
intrusive right now. Something serious went down tonight and I’m not sure I
even want to know. A few minutes later I hear the shower running. I’ll just
stay up watching and when he comes back into the kitchen I’ll say hi.

That was the
plan at least. I fall asleep almost immediately. I wake when I feel the
cushions on the couch sink down. I open my eyes and he’s staring back at me.
He’s wearing a damp towel and nothing else. His hair is still wet and he still
has beads of water dripping down his cheeks from his temples. He smells good.
He smells clean, fresh, and all together wholesome.

This time I
need some answers. I’ll have to put my purring motor in neutral and draw him
out. Unless I get some straight answers to my questions, this ends tomorrow. I
reach out and place the tip of my finger on the letter E on his arm and slowly
trace the name.

“Who is Ethan?”
I ask.

Almost
immediately his face hardens. His eyes grow cold and he physically pulls away
from me slightly.

“Who?” I ask
again. “I need to know who you are or this, whatever we have ends tonight.”

“Ultimatums…This
is not a good night for putting demands on me Morgan.”

“Really?”

“Don’t tell me
you didn’t see the blood.” He says.

I nod. “Yeah…I
saw it. And that’s even more reason you open up to me or I’m calling my brother
and I’m leaving tonight.”

“Bye then.”

“What the fuck?
Are you fucking serious Cade? I ask you one damn question and you’re gonna be a
pussy about it. Tell me who the fuck Ethan is/was.”

“You got no
right even speaking that name. You need to leave!”

“Damn right I’m
leaving. I’m not staying one more night with a murderer! I bet you killed
someone tonight. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not
wrong.”

“I fuckin’ knew
it! How many people did you kill tonight? More than one? I guess that makes you
a serial killer then.”

Okay that was
uncalled for but I’m fucking pissed. People say things they don’t mean when
they’re mad so I can be forgiven for calling him a serial killer.

“That’s right,
I’m serial killer. You got me pegged. Brilliant deduction Sherlock.” He says
bitterly.

Somewhere in my
head a voice is telling me to dial it back before this ends even worse. I don’t
really want to never see Cade again but I am so freaking pissed I can’t control
what’s coming out of my mouth.

A sudden
thought strikes me. “Did you kill Cade? I bet you did. He was your first wasn’t
he? It’s like a trophy isn’t it.”

Suddenly his
whole body tenses and his eyes literally shoot sparks. At that very second I am
sure he’s going to kill me too. I clearly leaped over the line here and there’s
no going back from here I suspect.

“You wanna know
who Cade was? Fine, I’ll tell you and them I’m kicking your ass out the door
immediately!”

“Cade was my
son who died when he was six years old. Now if you have an ounce of respect for
the dead, get your fucking ass out of my damn house!”

I am stunned! I
am completely fucking over the top dumbfounded. I am also seriously fucking
sorry too. I can’t believe this. It’s like I’ve just spat on his son’s grave
and that is the last thing in the world I ever wanted to do. I have to make
this right, even if he never speaks to me again I have to make it right and I’m
not leaving until I do. As furious as Cade is, I’m not afraid; funny as it
sounds. I just have this feeling that he would never hurt me…or any woman
despite the current focus of his rage. There must be a way to reel him in. Most
women would start crying right about now and while that might work, I haven’t
been able to cry since my mother died when I was thirteen. I couldn’t even cry
when my father died not long afterwards. There’s no way in hell I’m gonna be
able to summon up tears now. On the other hand, I am pretty good at talking
down angry people.

I remember when
I was a new stockbroker and I convinced this guy to spend $130,000 of his
$500,000 401k on a tech stock for a quick trade. Unfortunately the company
missed their earnings for the quarter and the stock plummeted before the open.
By the time he had the chance to sell he had already lost over $110,000! Of
course I had to call him and tell him the news. That was the worst call I have
ever had to make in this business and I was fucking scared. I was sure he would
take me to arbitration to reclaim some or all of his losses. A move like that
could easily end my career before it even got started.

He answered on
the first ring and the first words out of his mouth were, “What the fuck
happened?” And the next fifty words weren’t any better; mostly a long string of
fucks, son of a bitch, dammit, with a few creative ones thrown in for good
measure. I let him vent for five minutes then when he finally had blown off the
major part of his steam we talked strategy and by the end of the call he was
apologizing for going off on me and gave me reassurances that he knew I would
make back for him what had been lost and much more. Less than a year later I
traded his account up to just over a million dollars and he was a very happy
guy. That morning I had pulled a major fucking rabbit out of my hat and
tonight, if I’m going to salvage the situation I’m gonna have to pull another
giant fucking rabbit out of my ass or it’s over between us.

I had no idea
where to start so I started with: “I’m sorry Cade.”

That little
statement right there took a lot of wind out of his sails. I could see from his
expression that it was about the last thing he expected from me. Time to build
on it.

“I fucked up!”
A giant understatement. “I…I like you Cade. I
really
like you; you
understand? But I have no experience with your world. I don’t know what kind of
person you are. I wanted to believe you’re a good person because how could I
have these strong feelings for someone who kills people. What’s that say about
me? It didn’t enter in my mind that you could have very good, valid reasons for
every time you have killed. When I look at it I just see it in black and white.
Killing bad. For me there’s no gray in the color spectrum. But you have
challenged my beliefs. You’re making me see that…that I need to understand
before I judge and I am so very sorry for judging first.”

My heart is
hammering away painfully in my chest. I can feel my body quaking inside with
fear. Not fear of him hurting me, but fear that this is the last night I’ll
ever see him and I can’t have that. I have to win him over tonight. That’s the
only acceptable outcome. I can tell my talk is having an effect on him. The
hard line that was his mouth is beginning to soften. The narrow slits of his
eyes are opening and his steely gaze is softening.

“I am sorry
about your son. The very thought breaks my heart. But you can talk to me Cade.
I am no stranger to loss. I lost my mother on her birthday. She was 42 years
old. I was just thirteen. On my fourteenth birthday my father died in a car crash
and I went to live with my mom’s sister and her husband. It was fine and we got
along pretty well but they weren’t my mom and dad and I never felt more alone.
Sadly that feeling of loneliness I felt that day never goes away. I can’t
drink, snort, smoke, or fuck it away; it just stays there. Believe me I have
tried.”

I’m finished
talking. If he remains unmoved after what I just said then maybe I
have
misjudged him after all. At first he just stands there silent and watching. He
has now adopted a poker face and it unreadable. Just at the point where I am
sure he’s never going to open up, he starts talking.

“I married at a
very young age after my girlfriend got pregnant. I was 18 and she was four
months shy of her 18
^th
birthday when we finally went to the store to
get a pregnancy test. Then we kept if for 3 weeks before having the courage to
do the test. When we found out we were going to have a baby we were both very
excited. But as the reality set in about how much our lives were going to
change forever, we began to wonder if keeping the baby would be a disaster. We
talked about it and decided, even though we wanted to have a child and start a
family, this was way too soon. We were too young to raise a child we thought.
Unfortunately in our state and at that time, you couldn’t have an abortion
unless your parents signed the permission slip for under age mothers. That
pretty much tied our hands. If we waited until she turned 18 it would have been
too late for the procedure; we were going to have a baby like it or not.

Once we
accepted the fact that we’re having a child together, giving it up for adoption
was just not something either of us could stomach. My biggest fear was that
when she had the baby I wouldn’t love it or even grow to love it. That really
scared me. Despite what anyone said, I was sure I wouldn’t love him in the
beginning. I could not have been more wrong! I was there for the 24 hours of
labor and there when he came out. He was so beautiful and I felt so much love
for him I just started crying. I barely remember cutting the umbilical cord and
the doctor putting him in my arms. I just cried and cried. In fact after a bit
the doctor asked if I was okay. I was more than okay Morgan, I was in love! I
couldn’t get enough of him. I just wanted to hold him all the time. It was the
best experience of my life and when he died it was the worst.

From day one
Ethan was like a miniature athlete. He rolled over earlier than most babies,
focused and smiled earlier, stood at a very early age and learned to walk way
before he was a year old. He was three when I took the training wheels off his
bike. When he was five he was racing and beating kids several years older than
he was. He was tall, coordinated, and very driven to win. Where he got that
I’ll never know. I’m a big strong guy but not an athlete. One afternoon he was
racing his best friend around the driveway. They’d done it a million times but
on the million and oneth time…well he lost control and went off our driveway,
between the rose bushes and out in the roadway where a car…where a car…a car
h-hit him.”

In the dim
light I can see tracks of tears running down his face, and down his neck. The
poker face has been replaced with one that is pure, unfiltered and non-diluted
anguish. I have this feeling that I was wearing that exact same expression the
day my mother died. They say a picture says a thousand words, but his face
right now says them all. I have never seen someone in pain like this… Suddenly
it hits me. I have seen this. When my mom died I remember seeing my dad
completely lose it. He was trying to keep it together for us kids but one day
it was too much and it all came out. And the expression on his face was exactly
like the one on Cade’s and now I understand him. I feel terrible for accusing
him of killing his own child. No wonder he reacted the way he did; he had every
right to.

“I’ll never
forget running out of the house and down to the street where my little boy lay
bleeding on the pavement. There were several people gathered around him but no
one was doing anything. He wasn’t moving and his neck…his neck was at an
awkward angle. There was a pool of blood around his head. I remember scooping
him up in my arms. I remember the helpless feeling. I knew he was gone. I could
just tell there was no life left in him.”