Unholy: The Unholys MC (14 page)

She handed me the keys and I pocketed them, not wanting to leave them in the car—I wanted it deposited back at the house, not stolen.

I escorted her back to my bike and handed her the spare helmet that was hers. She slipped it on and buckled it, but it was more of going through the motions for her than anything else.

Bringing the bike to life, I waited for her to slip on it, and when her arms made their way around my waist, I took off, heading for home.

The drive was quiet, filled with the silence of a city getting ready to call it a night and the deafening roar of the bike beneath us. The whole ride home, I kept thinking about what had happened that day. Specter, of all people. How was I ever going to trust him again? How was I going to trust any of my men when the one who was supposed to be the most loyal, was suddenly the one I had to be the most wary of?

I wanted to tell Charlotte what was going on. She was always a level head, and way smarter than anyone would have given her credit for. Her pretty face and her sexy body fooled a lot of guys into thinking that she was just some dumb bimbo, but she was smart. And it wasn’t just because she had a head for numbers. She understood things and had a head for problem solving.

But that was the old Charlotte. I had hope still that she’d come back to me, that she wasn’t just lost forever in a well of sorrow, but it was hard to remind myself of that sometimes. There were times when all I wanted to do was throw a fit and tell her to just snap out of it, that her father was dead and he was never coming back. Worse, that he’d
chosen
to die and it was damn time she chose to live.

It was a stupid plan, though, and I knew it. I’d lose her if I ever said anything like that. Besides, his death weighed heavily on everyone. How could I expect it to weigh the least on his own daughter?

By the time we arrived home, I made up my mind. I wouldn’t tell Charlotte about Specter, not yet. She was in a fragile state and it wasn’t her responsibility to deal with this. It was my job and I had to deal with it.

I helped her upstairs, helped her undress, and started the water for her. She took a hot shower and I’ll admit, I got in with her. My hands roamed her slick body and I kissed at her neck. I caressed her and fondled her and slipped my fingers between her legs until little breaths and moans began to escape her full lips. Maybe it was crass or maybe it was brilliant, but it was the only way I knew how to take her mind off of the things that were wearing her down.

By the time my cock was hard and pressing into her round, firm backside, she was ready for more. I took her there in the shower, pounding into her from behind as her hands were planted palms down on the tiled wall. She begged and pleaded and cried out my name until I spilled myself inside of her.

My fingers took care of what my cock didn’t, and she cried out again when her own release slammed into her. We finished showering and I tucked her into bed, even though it was still a little early.

I stroked her damp hair until she fell asleep, wondering if there was any way I could salvage what was happening.

I didn’t sleep much that night, but by morning I’d decided what I’d do about Specter. The next time I saw him at the clubhouse, I’d confront him. Whatever was going on, I’d take care of it, one way or another.

Chapter Sixteen

I would have called Specter the next morning to set up a meeting with him to confront him about the whole thing, but I had other business to attend to. The whole alliance thing with the Berserkers was causing a bit of a commotion and I needed some answers. This was the time to get some of those, before things were cemented officially and before anyone had a chance to argue with me.

Maybe it was going to be a fruitless endeavor, but something told me I had to try. My gut was reminding me that I couldn’t trust Stitches, and since seeing two of Stitches’ boys with Specter, I was beginning to think that my instincts were right.

Unfortunately, getting information was a tricky thing given the situation. I couldn’t ask my own guys without causing some mistrust between them and the Berserkers. Tensions were already high and if I didn’t watch it, I’d blow the whole thing out of the water before Stitches even got the chance to stab my back. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad if I knew for sure that Stitches was aiming to double cross me, but until then, I had to play it safe.

That being said, playing it safe didn’t mean I had no options.

“I’ll be back soon,” I told Charlotte. I had the saddle bags packed with a couple sets of clothes and some basic necessities. I didn’t plan to be gone that long, but I panned for a few days at the very minimum.

Charlotte stood on the door stoop, arms folded over herself, chewing on her lower lip. She was looking better than she had the day before when I’d found her at the cemetery, but not by much. That haunted look still lingered in her eyes and there was something about her, a vulnerability that I didn’t think I’d seen before.

Or maybe I had, and it had been so long that I didn’t recognize it on her.

“Are you sure you have to go?”

Her voice was pleading with me to stay, and for a long moment I considered it. Fuck the club, right? Charlotte
needed
me. But in the end, I knew that this was important, too. She did need me, and that was part of the reason that I had to go.

“Yeah, I do,” I told her, checking the straps on my saddle bags just for an excuse to not look her in the eyes. I hadn’t told her about Specter yet, and at this point I wasn’t sure if I was going to at all. She still didn’t look up to dealing with things and she had never cared much for Specter. “I have some business to take care of out of town and I just don’t think it can wait right now.”

I could hear the frown in her voice when she said, “Oh, okay.” There was a pause, then, “When do you think you’ll be back?”

I considered her question for a long moment and decided that I wasn’t entirely sure myself. Hopefully, I’d be home in only a day or two, but if things went sideways it could be longer. Finally, I told her, “No longer than a week. Hopefully just a day or two, but definitely no longer than a week.” I straightened myself up to look at her and smiled comfortingly. “I promise, Charlotte. I’ll be home soon.”

We embraced and she clung to me like she worried I might never come back. The weight of her father’s death was definitely taking its toll on her and now I knew that part of the consequence of that was the desire to leave. It made me wish I wasn’t going. I needed to be home with her, to remind her that I was worth staying for, at the very least. Part of me was almost scared she wouldn’t be there when I got back, but it was impossible to say.

“You’ll just be here for a bit by yourself,” I told her, worrying now that I might come back to find myself alone instead. “I called Emma. She’ll drop by to stay with you a couple of days and I’ll bet she’d stay longer if you asked her.”

“Hmm,” was all Charlotte siad, not committing to anything one way or the other.

We held each other like it was the end of the goddamned world, and when I let her go, I should have felt foolish, but all I felt was worried. I revved my bike and took off. Behind me, I saw that she stood outside the door until I dropped out of sight completely.

Wait for me, baby. I’ll be back.

***

The trip took longer than a day or two. It was the night of the sixth day that I’d been gone, and I knew that whether I found what I was looking for or not, I’d head home tomorrow. I’d promised Charlotte that it was no more than a week and that week was slipping by quickly.

I hadn’t found what I’d been looking for, unfortunately, but that didn’t really surprise me. What I was doing now relied on members of different clubs, and while we weren’t competing for the same territory, it didn’t mean we were exactly on friendly terms.

The first three people I talked to were a bust. I knew them tentatively, because they hadn’t been associated with a club at the time of our acquaintance. That had changed eventually and now we were tense friends at best. I talked to each of them individually, understanding that as a group they had a loyalty and solidarity that they had to conform to, whether they were friends with me or not. If I wanted to get any honesty from them, I’d have to do it one on one.

When I’d asked if they knew anything about Stitches, they’d all three told me the same thing: he was bad news. Everyone knew that. When I asked about the Berserkers, two of them laughed a little. They told me that the Berserkers were a sorry excuse for a club and I ought to just squash them with the heel of my boot. The third guy told me that I needed to watch my back, because Stitches pushed his guys harder than anyone else and the consequences of stepping out of line were pretty damn dire.

Finally, I’d asked about Specter. That question had surprised all three of them, and their answers had been pretty similar. Wasn’t he one of my guys? Hadn’t he been the right hand of the Reverend, god rest his soul? Was he still a member of the Unholys—or had the betrayal of being denied the spot of top dog finally stuck in his craw?

No one had said anything suggesting that Specter wasn’t the trustworthy man I had always known him to be, but unfortunately that didn’t mean much. All it meant was that he was good at keeping to himself when he wanted to be and he knew how to fly under the radar.

It was dumb luck I’d found him that day at all.

I had one more guy to meet with that night, an old man who once belonged to the D’Rangers, a wild group that was less about being a business or anything solid like that, and more interested in riding their motorcycles wherever they damn pleased.

It was a fluke that I knew him at all, and a bigger fluke still that he liked me. If things had gone differently that day, there was a solid chance he would have broken my jaw or something worse.

I was nineteen and thought I had all the damn answers in the world. Because I’d seen so much already and survived it, that meant that nothing could touch me. When the Reverend clapped a hand on my shoulder one day and told me that we were going for a ride, I was eager to go and fearless to boot.

Maybe that was why he was taking me in the first place.

I had thought it was just a ride, not that we were necessarily going anywhere, but just that it was part of being in the club, and I was all about that. There was a freedom that came with motorcycles that people didn’t understand. I embraced it.

He took point and I thought it was odd that Specter wasn’t there with us; he was the Reverend’s right hand and he went wherever the boss went. But it was just the two of us, and I’ll admit I liked that a lot.

We ended up going out of town. Not quite a day’s drive, but there was little question that we’d likely end up staying the night.

The Reverend led us to a small, modest home that at least had a yard and a chain link fence surrounding it. When we pulled up, the garage that was attached—nearly as big as the actual house—opened up, the door lifting slowly to reveal an older man with graying hair and wrinkles that spoke of the life he’d lived. He was wiping his hands on a dirty shop rag, his eyes staring out at us with an expression that might as well have been disinterest.

We stopped our bikes right before the garage, and turned them off. I stayed put, waiting to see what the Reverend did before I moved.

“You sorry sack of shit,” the old man said with a sneer on his lips. “The fuck are you doing on my property?”

The Reverend took a step towards him, preparing to answer, but before he could I reacted. I was off my bike in a second, striding the short distance to the man, and reaching for him before I’d even registered what I was doing.

“No one talks to the Reverend like that,” I said like I was some kind of tough guy.

My hands went for the collar of his grease stained shirt. I barely touched the fabric before he had my wrist pinned behind my back, twisting it until tears burned at my eyes.

I heard the man laugh. “Well, now, Adam, I see you’ve got a live one.”

I didn’t know who the hell Adam was; I’d only ever heard him called the Reverend before.

“He’s a little young, a little stupid, but little Charlie likes him, so I thought I’d give him a test run,” the Reverend said conversationally.

“How is little Charlie?”

Charlie was Charlotte, though only her father had ever been able to get away with calling her that. Some of the kids at school tried and several of the club members, too, but it had never gotten past the first time they tried the nickname out.

I wondered who this man was that he wasn’t reprimanded for calling the Reverend’s daughter that.

“She’s good,” the Reverend answered mildly. “Tough as nails, my girl. Just like her momma.”

“Jan’s a good woman. Doesn’t surprise me that Charlie’s shaping up to be one, too.”

I thought maybe they’d forgotten me, but after a moment, I felt his grip loosen. The man held me just a second longer than he needed to, a reminder of how stupid I’d been, then I felt him let go of my wrist. The relief was instantaneous and I straightened up, feeling embarrassed, but otherwise unharmed. I rubbed at my wrist, my gaze darting between the two men.

The Reverend spoke again. “Johnny boy, this is Michael Dogwood. In the club, they just call him Dog.”

Dogwood, grinned at me, his eyes crinkling at the sides with barely restrained laughter. He offered his hand to me and I hesitated, glancing between them before ultimately shaking it with my own.

I cleared my throat. “You know this guy?”

The Reverend nodded his head. “We got back a long way, Johnny. Friends are important; you remember that.”

I frowned, but for once didn’t say anything stupid, instead choosing to keep my mouth shut. I couldn’t help but notice that this Dogwood guy wasn’t one of ours, but the bike in the garage behind him and the leather jacket with an emblem on it made it pretty clear that he belonged to someone.

I learned much later that he was a lieutenant for the D’Rangers, the club that ruled the territory we had traveled to that day. If I’d known what we were doing then, I’d have thought we were crazy.

Dogwood led us inside. I put myself between him and the Reverend deliberately, though both men chose to ignore it rather than make a thing out of it. I felt like it was my job to protect him since Specter wasn’t around, though it was clear he was actually protecting me.

Dogwood let us into his living room which attached to the kitchen and what looked to be a bedroom that had no door or wall separating it. In fact, the only doors in the place led to the bathroom or outside.

It really was a tiny piece of shit.

We sat on the couch while Dogwood sat across from us in the chair. He was eyeing me, even as the two older men spoke congenially. Finally, when there was a lull in the conversation, he addressed me.

“So, you’re little Charlie’s boy toy, are you? What makes you think you got any right to her at all?”

The Reverend leaned forward as though to tell Dogwood that he had overstepped his bounds—or hell, maybe he was going to tell Dogwood that I was just a dumb kid and didn’t know my ass from my elbow yet—but I answered before they could exchange any words.