Page 42 of Perdition
Em closed her eyes as tears finally broke through and spilled down her cheeks.
“Why…why did you take her to our spot?” she asked, unable to comprehend that level of betrayal. That spot, that tree, was where her dreams were planted. Where their marriage had been planted, the roots deep and once well nourished, were now withering in soil too long left fallow.
A growl rumbled through the phone. “It’s just a fucking tree, Emily! I don’t know why you’re so fucking caught up on that! I took her there because I was going there and she just came along, okay? We ate lunch, we talked—it wasn’t anything special.”
Just…a…fucking…tree….
Breathless, heart shuddering, blood draining her from her face and hands, leaving her cold…numb.
In unutterable pain, and with fingers stiff from holding the phone too tight, Em ended the call, her limp arm falling to her side, the cell like a stone in her grip.
Just a fucking tree….
She needed to get out of there, she needed to go somewhere dark and quiet…somewhere she could scream and cry and curse and rage until her throat was sore and her agony was spilled.
Closing the shop, Em dialed a number she knew by heart.
“Em? What’s up? I never knew you to call after hours,” Tim Noches, a local arborist, answered, sounding concerned.
She often called Tim when she got a client asking about tree planting, stump removal, or replanting after moving a healthy tree from one location to another.
“You busy tomorrow?” she asked, refusing to let the burning ache in her chest stop her from uttering her next words. “I need a tree removed. Root and all.”
THIRTEEN
Staringat the condensation sliding down the outside of his beer, Frost ignored the sounds of the rowdy after work crowd drinking and eating and relaxing at the bar in Cool Hands.
When James Quinn, son of a longtime friend, had first come to him, asking for the Unchained to invest in his bar, Frost had been hesitant. There were dozens of bars in Scranton already, established pubs and holes in the wall with regulars that would rather drink piss than grab a drink somewhere they didn’t already have a running tab, ten years long.
But the man had done his research, presenting Frost with a business proposal that seemed like just the legitimate endeavor the club needed to add regular income to their coffers.
So far, Cool Hands was going better than expected, bringing in a steady crowd of Millennials and early Gen Zers who enjoyed old school booze, local IPAs, and mouthwatering bar foods.
“That beer going to give up it’s secrets?” Stallion asked as he sat down on the stool beside Frost at the bar.
“Nah, and I’m not asking. Already got enough to think about,” Frost grumbled, then narrowed a glare at the other man who smirked knowingly.
“I just bet you do,” Stallion replied. “Redtube and Locust blabber like old women, so there isn’t a brother in the club who doesn’t know that you and Emily are having problems. Matter of fact, no one needed to blab a thing; I could see it with my own eyes, that you’ve been getting cozy with that club slut. Can’t imagine Em being all that appreciative of that.”
Stallion didn’t care much for the club women, and it was no surprise after what he’d had to deal with.
For years after being discharged from the military, and then patching in with the Unchained, Stallion—government name Brandon Green—had been a nomad, drifting from place to place across the country, never putting down roots, never staying anywhere longer than a few months, and always leaving everything and everyone in his rearview. Until his sister, Jaime, went and fucked up, making Frost and Patriot call him home to deal with her and the fallout of her betrayal to the club.
The woman had lied, abusing club resources to try and get her claws into Patriot. She’d even weaponized the club whores in an attempt to humiliate and alienate Patriot’s woman, Cilla. Thankfully, Jaime’s bullshit didn’t stick, and Patriot and Stallion had forced her from the club and the whole state. Redtube was keeping tabs on her, making sure she never crossed into Pennsylvania again.
Frost had thought that once Jaime was dealt with, Stallion would hit the road again, but the man had surprised Frost, choosing to stay, and even taking on the job of co-manager and security at Cool Hands.
Allowing himself a moment of vulnerability after too long of being strong, impenetrable, untouchable, Frost admitted, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”
Beside him, Stallion took a swig of his own beer, his gaze on the reflection of the room behind them through the mirror along the shelves of booze.
“Who does?” Stallion offered laconically. “The problem isn’t that you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, it’s that you keep pushing forward despite knowing you’re in the wrong. That’s like breaking your leg on mile five but still finishing the marathon.”
Frost pinched his lips shut, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from denying what Stallion said.
That asshole was right.
Fuck.