Page 7
T he morning sun hits just right as I bask in the heat on my face, closing my eyes to just enjoy the moment. A quiet moment.
Since the event—how I’m referring to the big reveal of who Jack, Rue and I are—life has been interesting, to say the least, even though it’s only been a day. We’ve been ostracized but still treated with enough respect to warrant us a bed in the overnight bunk room reserved for guests. Probably more than we deserve. If things were reversed, I doubt we’d have given such quarter.
I get why the club is mad, why Casper is pissed. We lied, deceived. Came into their world, withheld who we were, and used it to our advantage.
“Coffee.” Jack puts the cup in my hand before I even open my eyes. I’ve been standing outside for a while now, not alone but left unbothered. We’ve had a few brothers on each of us since the event, with four in the bunk room with us while we slept. Well, while I slept. Jack took the night watch. Girl never was one to get a full night’s rest when she couldn’t secure the exits. Another problem she’s had since childhood. Just like me, my sister has many traumas that have shaped her. We even consider some of them an asset to our company.
I take a sip, then spit it out and glare at Jack, who’s smiling like the evil villain she is.
“Law might be gone, but they’ve still got his shit coffee going.” She giggles as I throw the coffee out of the mug. Wouldn’t be surprised if it kills a plant or two. Law’s coffee is vile.
I eye the cup she’s drinking from before taking it from her and pouring half into my own. She lets me, knowing I need the caffeine as much as she does. Never could go a day without some kind of wake-me-up. But unlike Mama Bear, I only need one cup to get up and go. And from the taste of this stuff, I know it’s from Mama Bear’s own stash. Doubt she gave any to Jack, so now I get to add thievery to the list of crimes against us.
“You ready for this?” she asks as she soaks in the sun with me. We might have a traumatic past, but we both hunger for the simple life. We’re in the Crazy Eights out of necessity. Once we no longer need it, we’re out. We just don’t know when that time will come. When the company will be done with us or when we’re done with the company.
“Are you?” I counter as I take in her face, still swollen from the hits Rue was able to land before I broke up the fight last night. Jack would have fought all night if I let it continue, and Rue would have matched her pace. But we need to reserve our strength. We know the enemy that’s out there, but we don’t know what Charles wants. Till we do, the energy we have needs to be contained until we can let it loose on the world and the enemy. Whoever that might be.
She shrugs. I know she isn’t over her anger about the boss coming, but there’s nothing she can do. Nothing any of us can do.
The opening of the club’s door has both me and Jack looking back to see Casper, Bass, Bulldog, and Flint stepping out to join us and the other brothers on guard.
“Here we go,” she mutters.
The club gate opens just before two motorcycles enter, followed by three black SUVs. They pull in front of the club, but no one gets out and no engines turn off.
“What’re they waiting on?” Bass speaks loud enough that I’ve got half a mind to think he’s asking God himself.
A light, like that of a sunbeam, flickers across the ground, over the club, and blinds me for a second. I hold up my middle finger, and the light flickers again before it moves on. “For confirmation.”
“Of what?” Bulldog asks.
“That their backup is in place,” Casper answers.
I look back at him and nod. Should have known a sniper would recognize when we’re using mirrors to communicate with our own sniper.
A bang, followed by a grunt, makes everyone look up but me and Jack.
“And that,” Jack quips as I smirk at the continuous grunts from my colleague.
“Jesus hell, they’re coming from the sky.” Domino’s in awe as he draws his weapon.
“Just call me your guardian angel, sugar.” A voice I haven’t heard in a while speaks up before a pile of white parachute falls at my feet. I look up and see Michael standing proud with two of her own pistols drawn and aimed.
“Still need help on that landing, I see.”
“Fuck off, Billy. I did just fine. Next time you take air duty.”
“Why the fuck did they drop in?” Domino’s still confused about what’s going on, and I can’t blame him. I would be, too, if things were different.
“You got to always look up, kid. Enemies rarely come through the front door,” Jack supplies. She tosses back the rest of her coffee and hands me the cup before going to the second SUV and opening the passenger’s door.
“Did she just call me a kid? Isn’t she younger than me?” Domino half whispers to his brothers, making my lips twitch. I always found him to be the funny one.
“Who knows, kid. Who the fuck knows,” Casper huffs as he walks in front of us all and goes to the door that’s open. “Welcome to the Hounds of the Reaper compound,” he greets when a man exits the vehicle.
The guy grunts before turning and doing something inside the SUV, then steps aside to let a ramp come out.
I straighten, as does Jack. Rue is still inside the compound, as we decided it was best for only us to greet the boss and not have her involved in our issues. Well, no more than she already is.
Charles wheels down the ramp and smiles softly before holding out her hand to Casper. “Thanks for having us. We’re eager to be working with you. I’m Charles, leader of the Crazy Eights. It’s nice to meet you.”
Not sure whether it’s her word choice about working together when I’m sure the club feels as if it’s forced, or that the head of my organization is wheelchair-bound—and, you know, a woman who looks to be in her early fifties—that causes the hesitation. The air crackles with unease as both groups seem to wait with bated breath for what’s about to come.
I know my group has this place locked down from what they can see, but Casper isn’t an idiot. He isn’t freaking out like Domino, or maybe the rest, because he likely has something planned on his own. Guy took on the mother presidency just a few days ago. He’s been jumping from one war zone to the next. We might have sprung this little costume reveal on him, but I’ve got no doubt he’s already prepped and planned for the next move.
He takes her outstretched hand and shakes it. “Casper.” He drops the hand and gestures for her to roll forward. “Let’s go inside and talk. I’m sure you have a few things to say, and as president, I’ve got a few questions of my own.”
“Of course, Casper. Happy to address them.” She wheels herself forward a bit before her body man steps close and pushes her the rest of the way.
Engines shut off then, and the rest of her travel team gets out of the vehicles and off their bikes, taking off helmets to reveal what the Hounds probably already figured out: C8 consists mostly of women.
“Billly, Jack,” Charles calls to us. We look over, but she’s not looking back at us, as the wheelchair is positioned at the entrance of the club, and Bass is holding the door for her. “Be a dear and tell Oakley to come in. Then you two can get me a coffee.”
“Damn,” Jack mutters beside me, but low enough that I doubt Charles can hear. Or I hope not. But that woman is crazy amazing in a scary way. Her being in that chair doesn’t mean shit for what the woman’s capable of.
Walking to the closest SUV, I climb onto the hood before going to the roof. I wave my hands a few times, then circle around before hopping off. I hear a few gasps from the boys, but I pay them no mind. They’re probably freaking out about the number of C8s we had so close to the clubhouse, and now that I gave the sign that all is clear, they’re coming out of hiding.
A few more drop in from above, more vehicles come in, and then a couple of them just walk in with their camo paint still on that shows they were blending into the bushes and brick walls across the street. I could spot a few of them before the boss showed up, but that’s only because I knew to look.
I almost feel bad for the Hounds. They’ve been hit with so much shit lately, and now this? Men don’t do well with inadequacy, or at least not that I’ve seen. And having women show up and prove how easy it is to take a club like this has got to be hard to bear.
“Jesus motherfucking cunt-ass shit,” Bulldog hisses, but at least he lets me pass before following. Well, me and Jack, after I all but drag her back in. If the boss wants coffee, it means she wants us in the meeting. And despite my aspirations to climb up the corporate later of C8, I just want to know what the hell is going on and what the Hounds are going to have to do.
When I walk into the open room, I scan it quickly and only see a few brothers and Rue. Who tilts her head to the back, toward the open doors of the room reserved for Church. I raise my eyebrow and look at Jack, who’s doing the same. Never expected the club to let us in a room sacred to them, but it makes the most sense. From the floor outlines Rue got for us on this place last year when we used it as a training opportunity, it’s the only place big enough for so many people—and it’s wheelchair accessible.
Jack goes to get the coffee, and I walk over to Rue. “Any issues?”
She shakes her head. “Emily’s been close, but if she gets any ideas of needing space, I’ll follow.”
I nod. “Good. And take one of the sisters with you. Doesn’t matter which. Just tell them Emily’s the target, and they’ll listen and follow in line if Jack and I can’t get out in time to assist.”
She nods slowly and takes a deep breath.
I smile and feel a sense of pride before I place a hand on her shoulder and squeeze. “You’re ready, Rue.”
Being part of the Crazy Eights is one thing, but taking point and telling other operatives what to do when you’re fresh to the scene can be intimidating. Lord knows I had my fair share of butterflies over the years, especially when I got recruited to be part of this group. Jack never did, or none that I saw, but then again, she never leads a mission. She’s more like the loose cannon you let off the leash and then try to rein in when all the destruction is done and it’s time to go home.
“And if you fuck it up, it’s only Billy’s ass on the line, not yours.” Jack comes out from the kitchen, steaming mug of coffee in her hand, and heads to the back room.
“Funny.” I give Rue one last smile of encouragement before following my friend.
When I walk in, Bass pulls the door closed, and I take in the group. Casper sits at the head of the table with Charles to his left. Charles’s man and personal bodyguard, Frank, stands behind her, and Jack stands beside him. The seat beside Charles is empty, and I take that as my spot to sit. On the opposite side of the table are Bulldog, Flint, and Chains.
“First off, let me extend my apologies for any deceit you might have felt when my girls were in your presence. While we like to hold a sense of anonymity, we never intended to get this close. Unforeseeable circumstances got in the way.” Charles speaks with all the grace of a woman who truly means it. Or at least she comes across like she does. I might not be personally close enough with Charles on that level, but I know she’s only half bullshitting. I doubt she wants bad blood between the Crazy Eights and the Hounds, but I also know that nothing was unforeseen. Though Charles might look old and maybe ready to just enjoy the good old days, the woman is sharp, and she analyzes every thought six ways to Sunday to see the repercussions. She knew something like this was bound to happen, though the exact catalyst of the reason behind it might have been the unknown.
“Noted.” Casper purses his lips.
She raises her eyes at his subtle “fuck off” comment and moves on. “Right, let’s begin. I know you’re probably eager to know what we want from you. And while I can appreciate that, I want to address why we’re here.”
“And why is that?”
“Billy?” She makes an elaborate show of shifting in her seat to turn to me so everyone else follows her viewpoint.
Taking a deep breath, I nod. “Before we begin, I think it would be wise if General was in here, maybe even Emily.” I look to my boss first, who nods once, then to Casper.
He holds my stare longer than most. “Bass, get General.” He speaks without looking away and I hear the click of the door as Bass leaves. “He can let his niece know what’s going on. Might be easier to come from a family member than a stranger,” he says to me.
“Fair enough.” I’ve got no problem with how the girl learns about what her life will now become, just that she does. I don’t want her death on my hands because I didn’t warn her. Got too much blood already coating them as it is.
A few moments later, Bass returns with General, who stands with his arms folded. “What do you want me for?”
“Not me, her.” The way Casper says it bristles me a bit, but I guess I deserve it.
I don’t wait any longer and dive into the reason for all of this. I look at everyone as I talk, mostly to keep myself from looking only at the man who sits at the head of the table and holds my attention more than any man should.
“Twelve years ago, my company identified a serial killer. He gathered some local media attention at the time but has gone quiet, according to the press. They believe he’s dead or in jail. What they don’t know is that the man has only gotten smarter. Instead of living in one place, he travels frequently. He changes his appearance every chance he can get. Facial recognition doesn’t work on him despite what we’ve tried. Each person who can identify him has given a different description. We’ve never been able to catch him based on what he looks like alone.”
“Then how do you know it’s the same guy?” Flint asks. He’s typing away on his tablet, no doubt trying to find truth in my tale. He won’t find much. The guy covers his tracks well, and the only details come from the victims who don’t actually know they’re victims.
“The way he targets his victims. He marks them on the inside of their arm, upper left by the elbow.”
“Emily doesn’t have any marks on her,” General claims with too much arrogance.
“Yes, she does.” I lock eyes with him and take in his tall stature. He’s the club’s official doctor but also one of the top doctors in the state, maybe even the best in the Midwest. I have a dossier on each member of the club. We know more than they would like us to, but not enough to dive in more than just below the surface. I know he keeps himself separate from the club a bit when they decide on who to go after, as he struggles with his oath to always help someone and his need for retribution. I’ve got a feeling that once he learns the truth, he’ll be the first to volunteer to go out hunting with Jack as soon as we have a lead on where this psycho.
“And in a week, it’ll look like this.” I show him my arm and the cluster of dots that form a brand in the image of a lock. Last night, I had Rue bring in our bag that we always have in our SUV. It had little more than a change of clothes for each of us. Thankfully, I’m no longer in a dress but in some comfortable jeans and a tank with a thin quarter-sleeve jacket over it. “At first it just looks like a bruise, and you hope it’ll fade, but the toxins that are used to not only mark you but drug you leave behind this symbol that appears after a week.”
General slumps into the closest chair, and I feel for the guy. I don’t look at anyone but him, but I feel eyes on the left side of me. I refuse to look at Casper and see any sense of pity in his gaze.
“She wasn’t raped,” Jack adds from behind me, to which General squints in distress.
“How do you know?” he growls.
Charles speaks this time. “Because he likes them pure.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Bulldog jabs as if he’s personally affronted by this. And maybe he is. He’s the club’s VP. He has feelings for all who are under his protection. But I’ve also got to wonder if he’s thinking of his daughter, Princess, and worrying that she’ll be targeted next.
I continue. “He marks the girl. Usually at a bar or a crowded club or party. He has a ring he wears on his index finger that he turns around to face out right before he grabs a girl to steady her after conveniently bumping into her. She never notices the prick from where he injects the drugs into her skin from the ring, as there’s a numbing cream on it as well. He’s been known to either chat the girl up or sit and wait. Either way, the victim soon feels the effects of the drug, and that’s when he guides her away from her friends and out the back. He prefers to be alone, but for what he’ll do, he has no problem if anyone is within earshot.”
“What does he do?” Casper’s words have me finally looking at him, and I hold his stare so I’m speaking to him alone, even if the surrounding crowd can hear. There’s no pity in his eyes. No sadness or anguish. Only anger, like a pot of rage ready to boil over. But he holds it in.
“He paralyzes them. They can’t move, and their brain is fuzzy, so they can’t understand everything, but their eyes work. He lays them down, undresses them. He makes them think he’s going further because they can’t move their head, but they feel the jerking of their clothes being removed and the icy breeze on their skin. They get flashes of light but then see him above them. Eventually, the drugs take them under, and they wake up either outside or in an abandoned building, their clothes back on but askew, and with no clue what really happened, only that something did.”
“That it?” Bass asks, pulling my gaze away from their president.
“That’s just the beginning. Once you’re marked, he considers you his. He doesn’t do anything immediately, sometimes for weeks, months, even years. But eventually he comes to collect. You see, he thinks of these victims, of us—” I swallow hard to get over this part. I hate being the victim as well. “—as his art. We’re to go out in the world and age till it’s time for him to collect us and capture the moment he thinks is the best to preserve. He then kidnaps those who are marked and turns them into art by draining them, then using their blood and organs to paint a picture that he’ll eventually leave in the place he marked her.”
“How does he find them again? Does he put a tracker on them or something?” Flint continues to type away as he speaks.
“Most of the victims don’t know they’re a victim. If we didn’t notice what was on Emily’s arm, nothing would have changed. She would have continued her routine and nothing more.”
“But she could move,” General rasps, but he’s looking at his hands and misses me shrugging.
“Yeah, they could move. Some even die before he comes to collect. But almost half of them move back to where they grew up. He targets them young and waits for their return. I’m sure he keeps watch or tracks them down a bit, but we haven’t figured that part out. He takes pictures of his victims. That’s what the flashes are, why he removes the clothes. He takes pictures of his art and uses that to fuel his desire till he can’t take it anymore and goes out hunting for them.”
“How did you survive?” General asks.
“She didn’t.” Charles pats my hand, and I take a deep breath. “She’s still a victim. Always will be till he’s caught. We do what we can to keep those marked girls safe. Some go into hiding; others constantly move. Some ignore us or tire of having to always look over their shoulders.”
“But why? You’re saving their lives,” Bass asks with more outrage than he needs. But he’s a man. He can’t possibly understand.
“You don’t think that you wouldn’t want to pretend it was all fake? That he gave up and isn’t coming after you? That after eighty-one moves around the world, he still wouldn’t find you and you’re free to dream that a mix of Ted Bundy and the Night Stalker, Richard Ramirez, isn’t after you? That you can settle down and meet someone, have kids, live a life and not have it brutally taken away from you? For those who move on from the fear of him, he makes them pay. He doesn’t just cut you open and paint with your skin. He marks those who are close to you and tells you he’ll come after them next, and they have zero clue because the victim didn’t want to share their past with their partners. They just wanted to move on, but instead, they’ve killed them by not speaking up.”
I snap my head away from them all and look down at the ground to blink away the tears that gathered in my eyes at my weakness. I refuse to cry for being a victim, and I’m not. Fucking female hormones always make me tear up when I get mad.
And I am mad.
Always have been.
Always will be.