Page 7 of Tortured Souls
Meet at the club in thirty.
Finn:
You got it.
“Who was that?” I didn’t even hear Saint approaching as he plops down on the couch beside me.
“Finn. He knows where Damien is,” I say as I give him a smirk. “Let’s go. I told him to meet at the club in thirty.” He doesn’t respond, just stands, and we’re both headed to the garage for our bikes.
Ten minutes later, we both pull up to my father’s garage, his way of providing a place where our club members could make an honest living. This is also where I conduct all club meetings. This is home. If I’m not at the house, I’m usually here where the rest of my family is.
Pulling off my helmet, I scan the bays. All garage doors are open to allow for the fresh summer air to filter through. I spot my sister immediately. Sage has been working on a complete rebuild of her bike for about a month now, and I’m surprised to see she’s almost done. She’s probably the best damn mechanic in this garage, if I’m being honest, and I couldn’t be prouder.
“How’s it going, sis?” I ask, stepping up beside her and kneeling down to her level.
“About as good as it could be, I guess,” she says through gritted teeth as she tightens a bolt attaching a piece of the engine to the frame. She has grease smeared across her cheek, her long blond hair secured beneath her favorite blue LA baseball cap, and the sleeves of her mechanic overalls are wrapped around her waist. A once white tank top is now grease covered as she lies on the garage floor.
She looks just like our mother, Stella. Her silvery eyes meet mine as she successfully secures the bolt and goes to stand up, brushing the grease from her hands onto her pants. Sometimes when I look at her, I get a pain deep in my gut. A feeling I’ve identified as guilt for knowing such an amazing woman, while Sage never got to hear her voice. Stella died giving birth to Sage; she suffered too much blood loss. I know Sage would have loved her as much as I did. I know my sister blames herself sometimes, but complications with pregnancy and birth happen every day.An unfortunate side effect of birth that could happen to anyone. My chest tightens still whenever Sage gives me the same look Mom used to give me, and I have to swallow to relieve the tightness in my throat.
“There, that part is done.” Sage gives me her bright white smile before looking over my shoulder. I don’t have to turn around; I know it’s Saint. Wherever I am, he is. It’s been that way forever.
“What are you two doing here this morning?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, sis.” She tilts her head at me and places her hands on her hips.
“Come on Saxon,” she pleads. I will never allow my sister to be privy to the inner workings of the club. She has a bright future, and I will uphold my father’s wish of her chasing her dreams and finishing school. The club is no place for her.
“Got to go, sis.” I kiss the top of her head, and turn to head to the meeting room, but before I do, I say over my shoulder, “Send Finn into the meeting room when he gets here.” I see Saint giving her a kiss on the cheek before turning and following behind me. She gives a mock salute before turning back to her bike and continuing her work. I pull out my phone, pulling up my app and seeing Sky just waking up for her day.
There’s my tesoro.
SAXON
Finn was able to get Damien’s address. How, I don’t know how that fucker works. He’s a genius when it comes to computers, and I’m just thankful I have him in my arsenal. Sitting at the club’s table, I examine the Google map image of Damien’s apartment. It’s on the opposite side of town, roughly two blocks from Capital Vice, and I have to believe that his apartment being that close to Skylar’s is no coincidence. When I asked her about Damien, I could see the anger ignite in her eyes. She knows who he is. How, I don’t know yet, but I will.My brain tells me she’s involved in a malicious way, still loyal to her family and theirclub. As much as my brain remains in protection mode, there’s another part of me that wants to believe she hates them as much as she claims.
“Shit man, you want an ice pack, an ibuprofen, a beer maybe?” Saint chuckles as he asks Finn. I have to admit, he looks rough. He fights every Monday night at the fight club downtown. He has since we were all teens. He calls it his therapy sessions, his way of “keeping his demon satiated.” He chuckles at Saint’s offer, his menacing laugh filling the room before he pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his leather cut. He tosses them on the table after pulling one out. He runs the cigarette across his busted bottom lip before settling it between them, lighting the end, and sucking down the nicotine.Finn plops down in one of the seats at our meeting table and stretches his long body out with a grown. He and his twin Brooks are the tallest fuckers in our crew. Both stand at a towering 6’7” and pack a solid 225 pounds in muscle. When they’re together, they look intimidating as shit. Another reason I’m glad they’re on our side.
“Nah, man. Maybe you should ask the fucker from last night. He had a one-way ticket to the hospital. Heard he was in the ICU or some shit. Fucking little bitch is what he is.” I don’t doubt it. Finn is brutal. I mean, we all are, but there is something about Finn that makes him tick just a little differently than the rest of us. I like to call him my secret weapon. The man you call when you need something sketchy done, and he will do it with his psychotic smile splayed across his face.
“Jesus, man,” I laugh, shaking my head and returning my gaze back to the computer screen.
Apartment number 112. A two-bedroom, one bath apartment on the second floor with a window overlooking the complex’s courtyard. Nothing special or suspicious about it. I notice a black Harley Sportster in the parking lot, with the letterHpainted on the gas tank. It stands for Hellstorms. I know he’s partof Skylar’s father’s club, but I don’t know the extent of their relationship. All I know at the moment is his address, he’s thirty-eight years old, and he is the man who delivered my family’s address to the next messenger in line. This led to my father’s death and almost killed my sister.
This is the man I’ve been hunting for. The man that’s currently top priority for me. He assisted in taking everything from me. My future was immediately written in blood the moment my father passed. No more was the possibility of traveling the country with my best friend, seeing the world and all its mysteries. No, that ship sailed promptly, leaving me to fill the role that, though I was happy to fill, thinking about it now, I know I wasn’t ready for that responsibility. I’d always planned to be my father’s right-hand man, but being the mindful man he was, he insisted I venture out for a bit and experience all that this country has to offer. He knew I’d come back and take my rightful place beside him, but he wanted me to live my life. That all changed the day of the fire. I was the leader, and I needed to step up and protect those my father had all his life. The club is family, and we take care of family above all else.
“What’s the plan, boss?” Finn asks, blowing smoke from his lips and leaning back in his chair. Finn doesn’t know why I asked for this information. He figured it was because a rival motorcycle club member was in our territory, which is not false. However, Saint and I have been on a personal mission to uncover the truth behind my father’s murder. It’s a little side project we’ve been working on.
“We keep tabs on him.” I keep my response brief. Finn nods at me, his eyebrows pinching together, telling me he’s not buying my response, but he doesn’t push it.
“What’s the plan for Witch Stick’s birthday? Saint asks, using my sister’s nickname, which she hates, to steer the subject away from Damien. I lean back in my chair, pondering what to do forSage. She doesn’t like to celebrate her birthday due to it also being the anniversary of our father’s death.
“Whatever the girls have planned for her, I guess. You know she doesn’t like to make a fuss about her birthday,” I reply with a sigh.
“I overheard Frieda talking to Ophelia about taking her dancing or some shit.” I look up at Finn, who’s now playing with his lighter, his fingers dancing with the flames as he curls each finger through the flame one at a time.
“When was this?” I ask.
“Last night, while Frieda was doing her face washing routine.” I look over at Saint, who’s trying to conceal his smirk at Finn’s mention of his adopted sister, Frieda.