Where Souls Spoil (37 page)

But I get it.

Fuck, do I get it.

And it terrifies me.

Chapter 13

The clubhouse was
in a fucking uproar when I left. The brothers were all bitching about that shit with Grady and Trigger, and a few of them tried to drag me into the conversation. Fuck that. I was not about to stand around and shoot the shit after I just had a gun trained on my best friend’s skull. Sometimes I wonder if some of these guys really understand how serious this shit is.

I rode for a good hour, just up and down the coast, before I’d cleared my head enough to head back to the house I share with Trigger. It’s more of a crash pad, but that’s not uncommon for single Forsaken members. The small house is Forsaken property—thank God—and the standard rules of renting don’t apply to us. Otherwise the owner might take Trigger’s dirty ass to court over the holes in his walls and piss on the carpet in the living room. He did try to clean it after he sobered up, but still. I’m not picky or nothing, but even I think the place is pretty fucking gross, and that’s why I’m packing a bag. Nic doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to be staying with her. Her house is much cleaner than this one, and I’m pretty sure with the right tactic, I’ll be able to get her to cook for me.

The walls shake with the intense boom that sounds in the other room. I stand from my sitting position and draw my gun from the back of my waistband. Clicking off the safety and slowly crossing the room with my .38 out in front of me, I take a deep breath and swing my bedroom door open. The hallway is silent save for the low buzzing sound of the light about to short out over head.

With my back to the wall, I enter the living room and train my gun on the front door. In the shadows of the covered window stands Trigger. He’s resting his back against the closed front door, and his eyes are closed. For a brief second, I think he looks peaceful, but then I notice the drawn gun in his right hand and the knife in his left. Trigger’s always been temperamental, but ever since Princess arrived, he’s downright maniacal.

“What the fuck, Bitch?” I ask, lowering my gun and clicking the safety back on. It’s the second time today that I’ve had to pull a gun on him, and if he doesn’t knock this shit off, I might be tempted to give him a flesh wound just for the stress he’s causing me. His eyes open slowly as he pushes off the door and hangs a right into the kitchen. I follow, if only to score a cold beer from the fridge.

“Where in the hell have you been?” I ask as I retrieve two beers and slide one down the counter to him. He shoves the knife back into his boot strap and places the gun on the counter. Barely paying attention, he reaches out and grabs the bottle. We use the bottle cap openers we have attached to our keys at our waists. He tosses his head back and chugs the entire beer at once then slams the bottle on the counter.

“House,” is all he says. I take a swig of my beer and nod my head. There’s something I need to talk to him about, but I’ve been avoiding it for as long as I can. After that shit in Church though, I don’t think I can keep putting it off.

“You see Princess?”

“Cub,” he corrects me with a snap in his tone. He leans forward and places his hands on the edge of the counter. “Let me ask you something—you got a thing for Nic?”

My jaw locks up, and I grip the neck of the beer bottle tighter than I should, but without knowing where he’s going with this, I don’t trust why he’s bringing Nic into the conversation, especially when he knows how I feel about her. The entire club knows how I feel about her after Diesel pulled that shit just to prove a point to Nic. Can’t say I like it, but he’d do most anything for my girl, including slamming my skull into the pavement a few times. Fucker.

“I’m gonna hold a meet to talk about voting her in,” I say. His body tenses even worse, and he shakes his head, but a tiny smile forms at the corner of his mouth. It’s just for a second, and then it’s gone.

“The club told you to back off—what would you do?”

“Depends on the reason,” I say. We rarely ever discuss anything as deep as this. I mean, why the fuck would we? Typically, we’re both perfectly fine just fucking around. But then everything started to change. Finally getting Nic into bed after all these years meant something more than finally fucking my high school crush. Then this shit with Princess, and my head’s not been right in a damn long time.

“Say Nic did what Cub did,” he says. His knuckles are gripping the counter so tight I think he might crack the fucking thing off.

“Shit like that ain’t easy to forget. Bitches in this life—they snort shit, suck dicks, and fuck around, and we don’t give a fuck about that shit as long as they keep their mouths shut about club business. Princess was miserable, sure. I get that, dude. But she broke the one fucking rule we got—the only fucking thing that makes this work: our silence.”

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice booms, and his head shoots up. His gray eyes shoot daggers at me. “You really think I ain’t thought about this—that my dick’s the only thing that matters?”

“Then what does matter?” I ask quietly. In all the years I’ve known this mother fucker he’s never opened up like this. Even when we were kids and he’d get hurt, all he’d do is start kicking the ground and throwing a fit. Didn’t matter if he’d fucked up his knee or broke his arm—he was pissed and kicking the dirt. “What is it about this chick that’s got your dick in knots?”

“She thanked me,” he says lowly. “The trip back from Brooklyn, we’re all standing around listening to Pop ramble the fuck on. She’s got to be scared as fuck, but she looks at me and fucking thanks me. Nobody ever thanks me.”

“You’re ready to lose your patch because Princess has manners?” I ask, almost incredulous.

“Fuck,” he shouts in frustration. He lifts the empty beer bottle from the counter, and throws it against the back wall. I force myself to keep a steady eye as he kicks at the floor three times and then slams his fist into the counter.

“Say you go against Grady and the club votes you down. He’s barely tolerating her being in Pop’s house as it is. You lose your patch for her and that crazy bitch is gonna follow you wherever you go.”

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He’s taking a chance by talking to me. I know that shit’s not easy.

“Problem is, Bro—you lose your patch and ride off into the sunset, and what happens when Mancuso finds you? Way I see it, the only thing keeping her alive is this club. You can’t do that shit on your own.”

“Tell me what to do,” he says in a plea. I bite my tongue to stop myself from cracking a joke. Trigger’s not one to give up control easily, and he pretty much never asks for help. I consider ribbing him about it, but if I tried that, he’d probably self-destruct from trying to sort this shit out on his own. I love the dude, but he’s not really a thinker.

“Let her go,” I say and take another pull of my beer. “You care way too much about her to let her get hurt, so the only thing you can do is to just let her go. At least then she’ll be safe.”

“She’s fucking relentless,” he says.

“Then make her understand that this isn’t going to happen and why,” I say.

“Yeah,” is all he says as he walks slow and defeated to his room, slamming the door behind him.

I can’t really be happy for Trigger right now. It’s not like he’s got his shit sorted and everything’s gravy. Still, seeing him this fucked up over a broad—and Princess of all people—makes this shit almost worth it. Trigger isn’t the kind of guy who gives a damn about women or how they feel, so whatever he feels for Princess must fucking mean something. And I don’t think it’s going to go away. He’s always been a company man, and going against the club to keep her close is news that’s bothering even the Nevada charter. With any luck, he’ll figure out how to turn her off enough to put an end to this shit.

I’m done, I think. I don’t want to think about this shit anymore. I need food and a comfortable bed to pass the fuck out on. Without thinking twice about it, I pull my phone from my pocket and hit the number nine, then wait for her to answer. But she doesn’t. It’s fucking typical. The phone rings and rings until the voice mail message picks up.

“This is Nic, leave a message,” her voice sounds through the phone in a surprisingly pleasant tone. Maybe the fact that she rarely answers her phone is a good thing. At least leaving a message ensures I’m gonna hear something nice out of her mouth.

I wait for the beep and say, “Come on, Nicole. Answer my calls. We both know you got a house full of food, and I’m hungry. I’ll be by in a bit so we can have dinner. I’m thinking you could get those steaks going.” I don’t know if she’s eaten yet, but I haven’t, and I’m fucking starved. Plus, eating a second dinner isn’t going to hurt to put some pounds on that stick figure of hers. I head back to my room to grab my bag and head over to Nic’s house, but stop halfway there. Trigger’s door swings open, and he stands in the doorway. His head is bent. and he’s looking down at his phone in his hand.

“Got a text from Cub,” he says without looking up. “Got to pick her up.”

“Where is she?” I ask, giving him a nervous glance. He keeps sucking air in through his nose and blowing out heavy breaths. He lifts his hand and wipes white powder away from his nose then lifts his head. His eyes are pinned and unfocused.

“House party. Downtown,” he says. “You’re gonna want to follow me.”

“Why?”

“Because she left the house with Nic,” he says and pinches the end of his nostrils together, sucks in a deep breath, and shakes his head. “Fuck.”

“If you’re not good to ride, I can take Ruby’s Suburban to pick them up,” I say. Irritation tickles the back of my neck as he sniffles and shoves his phone back into his pocket. No wonder she didn’t answer my call. “What the fuck are they doing at a house party downtown? Those places are fucking skeezy.”

“And the clubhouse isn’t?” he asks, smirking and grabbing his dick.

“At least we know the fucked up shit that goes down at the clubhouse,” I mumble and turn around to head back down the hall and out the door. Trigger’s behind me when we pull out of the driveway, but then he takes lead. The house is a short drive from downtown, but we take our time riding slowly up and down every street in between. It isn’t long before Trigger signals with his left arm that he thinks he’s found the house.

The house in question is jam-packed with people, and the music is blaring. I recognize this house and fucking pray this isn’t where they are. Fort Bragg’s small, but there has to be another house party going on tonight. At least, I hope. This place is owned by a couple of meth heads who used to cook the shit here a couple years back before the club had to shut them down. We only found out about it because Layla was buying her shit here.

Trigger pulls up to the house in front of the fire hydrant, makes a sharp right and then backs the bike up to the curb. I follow his direction. When I dismount, I look for a guy to watch the bikes. People in this town know not to fuck with us, but some of these losers need reminding and my bike already has one fucking scratch in it. I’m not about to let her get another.

Scanning the crowd, I find a kid who can’t even be out of high school yet. He’s young enough to be Nic’s brother, and he’s standing on the sidewalk holding a forty in his right hand. His eyes widen as I point at him and say loudly, “You. Come here.”

The kid walks over all wobbly-like and nods. He obviously knows who we are, and he’s been raised right if he looks like he’s going to piss himself like he does.

“You watch my bike. Make sure nobody fucks with it, or I’ll be breaking bones when I come out,” I say. He nods his head furiously and takes a swig from the bottle.

“Yeah, I can do that,” he says.

I jerk a thumb over my shoulder at Trigger and raise my eyebrows at the kid as I take my helmet off and set it on the handlebars. “And that guy? His bike gets fucked with and you might want to be careful. He likes to pound his dick into tight young assholes.”

The crowd parts and quiets down as we walk through. Trigger jabs me in the ribs for my comment, but says nothing else as we head through the house. The faces in the rooms aren’t familiar as far as I can tell, but they aren’t stupid. Someone turns the music down and conversation stops save for a few people who stand on the periphery whispering among themselves. Forsaken showing up at a house party they weren’t expected at is a big deal to the people in this town. In the kitchen, shoving baggies and a glass pipe in a drawer, is the meth head who owns this shithole. He’s skinny as fuck, and his limbs jerk as he moves.

“Shut this shit down,” I say to him. He nods his head and his hands twitch as he continues to sweep a mirror and a few needles into the drawer. Fucking loser.

Around the corner from the kitchen and behind the center hallway is the covered back porch. The room is littered with a variety of furniture. On one of the center couches sit Nic and Alex. At the sight of the two of them, obviously fucking drunk, huddled together on the couch, my blood pressure shoots through the roof. Neither of them has any fucking business being in this kind of place. The shit that could happen to them in a place like this makes me wanna bust some heads open.

In front of me, Ryan reaches out for Princess. Happily, she takes his hand, and he pulls her to her feet. I move around them and look down at Nic, who’s sporting the biggest, cutest fucking pout on the planet. Damn, even pouting she’s fucking cute. I shake my head at her, which makes her cross her arms over her chest and shake her own head back at me. I don’t know what the fuck’s happened since this morning. We had a good morning. We bickered, grocery shopped, and I was planning on having her make us dinner. Absolutely nothing should be pissing her off right now.