Page 31 of Spooked (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #13)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HOUND
One minute I was holding a satisfied Maeve in my arms, dick throbbing in pants that had become far too tight for me, and then the next, I was holding air. While I’m still trying to process that, Drummer is shouting up the stairs.
“Hold on, Hound. We’re coming for you.”
“Just leave me, get out of here.” With Maeve’s disappearance, my worries about a debilitating brain injury have returned in force. I don’t want anyone risking their lives to save this miserable one of mine.
But wanting and getting are two different things, as someone has somehow found a ladder and has placed it in the gap that was once the stairwell. It’s Mouse who climbs up, reaching out his hand.
“I’ve got you, Brother. I’ll help you down.”
I shake my head, but his dark, almost mesmerising eyes fix on mine.
It’s as if he’s in my head, telling me not to give up.
While I don’t want to live feeling I’ve lost my mind, some sense of self-preservation overrules any instinct other than to strive to survive.
Picking up my crutch, I show it to him in warning, and he leans to one side as I throw it down.
Getting a one-legged man down a ladder isn’t easy, but Mouse is determined.
I take one step down, then lean back, trusting him to take my weight as he moves himself to the next rung.
We then repeat the laborious action. It seems like it takes an eternity before Peg’s strong hands come around my waist, lifting me the last couple of feet until my good leg can balance on the floor, and Blade thrusts my walking aid into my hands.
In the beams of their flashlights, I see Wraith pushing Drummer. “Let’s get out of this fuckin’ place.”
Blade follows his prez and VP, and with Mouse’s arm tight around me, I hop my way after them.
The noise around us is horrendous. The gentle moans of a dying house have crescendoed until there are screams protesting years of neglect.
From everywhere come the splintering sounds of glass breaking and shattering on the ground, and a roaring like thunder, as wooden beams collapse.
Dust swirls up, making it almost impossible to see, but somehow we all find our way unerringly to the entrance as if being drawn by some hidden string.
Kicking the door open, Drummer’s first outside. We follow, and without discussion, put as much distance as we can between us and the house. Then, at the perimeter of what was once a well-tended garden, we turn in unison.
“Fuck!” Wraith exclaims.
“Will you look at that?” Blade asks.
“Thank fuck we got out,” the ever-predictable Peg says.
“Even Bullet couldn’t do a demolition job that neat,” Drummer observes.
Mouse murmurs something in a language I don’t understand, as we all stand watching as the house implodes, collapsing in on itself, until bricks, glass, and woodwork lie in a heap on the ground.
It’s me who finally breaks the ensuing silence. “Guess that settles the question whether it’s a recondition or demolition job.”
I didn’t expect the ensuing laughter, but perhaps I should have. It’s a return to normality, a way of releasing pressure. Peg chortles loudly, Blade snorts, Drummer bends over, clutching his belly as he lets his mirth out.
Even Mouse is chuckling and slapping me on the back. “Good one, Bro.”
“Hey, would you look at that?” Drummer, having recovered, states, gaining our attention. His voice is full of wonder as he points toward the east.
I, like the others, look in the direction where the sun is starting to appear behind the mountains. It’s dawn, which must mean it’s near seven o’clock in the morning. Halloween has now come and gone. Thank fucking, God.
All of a sudden, phones start going off all around.
“Hey, Sam. Yeah, I’m fine. Heading home now.”
“Tash? I’m good. See you soon.”
“Darcy, I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Sorry I left the horses to you, will make it up to you, Mariana.”
In direct contrast, my phone stays dead in my pocket as one by one my brothers reassure their old ladies, obviously concerned that they’d been out of communication all night.
In age, I’m between the F.O.G.s and the young guys who now run the show. But even Hawk, Throttle, and Wizard have something I don’t have. Not for the first time, I regret not having an old lady to call my own.
My head summons up a vision of Maeve, knowing she could have been my ride or die, but she wasn’t real, and our interactions were only in my damaged head. I beat my fist against my forehead, wondering how it was possible to feel such a loss at something I never had.
“Time to get back to the compound!” Drummer waves his hand in the air.
Blade hesitates, casting a look at the remains of what once was a house. “Aren’t we going to talk about this?”
“Not here,” Peg says fast. “Maybe later. Though this is something I don’t think I’ll ever get my head around.”
Drummer huffs softly. “Not sure it won’t just be Hound needing his damn brain examined.”
Maybe I could take some comfort that I didn’t hallucinate everything alone. Unless, even this has been just another Groundhog Day Halloween, only in my mind. Though the presence of my brothers makes that hard to believe.
But something’s missing. There’s no Maeve. If this is reality, I think I’d rather lose myself in a fantasy where she could be here with me.
“Let’s ride,” Drummer insists again.
Around me, my brothers don’t hesitate to obey him, heading to their bikes.
“Come on, Hound.” Mouse takes hold of my arm and supports me across the rutted and uneven ground until we get to the SUV.
It’s him having to help me that makes me feel completely useless, and though I’d describe myself as a card-carrying red-blooded man, tears prick behind my eyes. The only woman I ever felt a real connection with was summoned up by my broken brain.
“Snap out of it,” Mouse growls as he puts the vehicle in drive. “Lost sight of you, but I sensed that there were spirits all around. If you saw things, I, for one, would believe they were truly there with you.”
For a moment, I let my suspicions overtake me, that if I admit to him who was there, what I saw, and what went down, he’d use that as ammunition to take my patch from me.
But there’s something in his tone, or rather, something that’s lacking.
There’s no judgment, no levity, just an acceptance that he’d believe whatever I said that I saw.
“I think I saw Maeve,” he adds, gently.
Turning to him sharply, I question, “Really?”
There’s a slight up-and-down movement to his chin. “Of course, it could have been me picking up on something you were projecting, but something was happening in that house for sure.” He barks a laugh. “Houses don’t just demolish themselves.”
And that’s the part no one had wanted to talk about once we’d escaped the ruins. He casts a sly look my way. “And in no sense was that in your head, Brother. That was something we all saw.”
It’s his quiet recognition that I’ve experienced things outside the norm that has me tapping my pockets and not finding them empty. With open eyes, I bring out what I find.
He risks a glance away from the road ahead, seeing the glint of the exceptional jewellery. His eyes go so wide, he swerves the car. After he’s corrected the steering, he snaps out, “What the fuck, Hound?”
“Emerald’s jewellery,” my clipped voice explains.
“Hidden in the remains of a dressing table.” I swallow the lump in my throat and admit, “I wouldn’t have found the secret drawer, wouldn’t even have looked for it, if spirits hadn’t shown me where to search.
” Before he can think I’m a thief, I add quickly, “They belong to Maeve.”
“And that?” he asks about the documents I’ve next pulled out.
“The last will and testament of Emerald Sullivan, leaving everything to Maeve. Siobhan never had any right to the house.” I pause, then add, “Siobhan was there. The ghosts killed her.”
As I glance at him, I see the rapid shake of his head. “Siobhan never entered. The chauffeur drove her away.”
“She came back,” I insist. “She’s dead.”
Then, in a manner I’d expect only from him, and from none of my other brothers, he shrugs nonchalantly and says, “Maybe the ghosts took revenge on her spirit, but she could still be alive in human form.” He nods toward the paperwork I’m holding.
“I’d guard that with your fuckin’ life if I were you, Hound. ”
“And the jewels.” I raise and dip my head in agreement.
“It was them she’d been searching for.” Out of the side of my eye, I see his jaw clenching.
“I think we should go straight to the hospital to see Maeve.” The jewels give me hope that while I might have been hallucinating her presence in the house, the woman herself is real – even though I clearly recall seeing her in a hospital bed, even that I could have dreamt up.
A kernel of excitement bubbles within me.
Could there be a chance that we could have a relationship after all?
Or is that more of my damaged brain’s fucked-up thinking?
“It’s only just dawn. Way too early for visiting time, and,” he casts a look at me, “you look awful, Hound. You’re mentally and physically exhausted, and you’re not the only one.
” He makes a show of stifling a yawn. “We’ll head back, catch forty winks on the compound, and as soon as you wake, I’ll take you to her. ”
Not what I want to hear. I want to get the jewels and will to Maeve while they still feel real.
A large part of me thinks there’s a possibility that, if I let go of them, they’ll turn to dust. But Mouse has seen them.
Or, at least, he’s pretended he has. Maybe he’s just pandering to my delusions.
No. He saw them. He asked about them. Now back in my pocket, I clasp my hand around them, using their solidity to ground myself, to prove to myself, not everything in the damned Sullivan House was an illusion.