Devil May Care: Boxed Set (88 page)

I stared at her blankly, trying to deal with the torrent of emotions swirling inside of me. Hurt, anger, fear. I was trying to understand how she could come to that conclusion. How could she listen to that story as I’d lived it and think that it was nothing more than a guy hitting on a girl?

“But he
grabbed my arm!
” I told her urgently, suddenly needing her to see it how I’d seen it.

Emma looked uncomfortable for a moment, then she tilted her head to the side and fixed me with an assessing look. She looked at me like that for a long time before her expression turned soft and she leaned forward slightly. “Charlotte, honey, did…well, did something
happen
to you where a guy grabbed your arm like that?”

I froze. Her question brought all of that back to me again, but it did something else, too. It reminded me that I hadn’t wanted to tell her about that moment when I was fifteen and that that moment had colored my entire world in a slightly different shade. It didn’t make me any less positive that Specter was a creep and that he was dangerous, but it did tell me why Emma couldn’t see the danger.

She didn’t know all of it.

It took me a long while, but I finally nodded. I didn’t tell her all the details of the alleyway or the man or how Johnny had beaten him so badly that his face was permanently deformed afterwards. But I did tell her that something had happened and it had been done by a man like Specter.

She nodded once and said, “That makes sense. I just don’t think you should be so quick to assume that everyone who grabs your arm is the same as that guy.”

“So you think Specter isn’t a bad guy?” I asked hesitantly, dreading the answer. I didn’t want to hear one more person vouch for his loyalty and goodness.

Quickly, Emma shook her head. “Oh, hell, forget that! He’s a dangerous fucker and I’d stay the hell away from him!”

Relief filled me at her words, though I was slightly confused. “What? But I thought you just said—”

“I said that you shouldn’t let that one experience suggest that every guy is like that,” Emma explained to me. “That doesn’t mean that Specter
isn’t
like that guy. He’s always given me the creeps. And besides, if he weren’t a creep, then he would have just let you go when you first tried to get around him, right?”

I let out a slow sigh of relief. For a moment there, I had really thought that she was going to tell me that I was just completely overreacting. But she didn’t. She was on my side. Letting out a quick laugh, I nodded my head. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

“But I’ll be honest,” Emma continued, sipping at her coffee. “I really think you should just tell Johnny. He’ll kick Specter to the curb, or, at the very least, teach him the kind of lesson he won’t forget anytime soon. Guaranteed.”

I bit my lip. I hadn’t wanted to talk about Johnny about how worried I was about Specter because then I’d have to get into details. And details could be dangerous. But under normal circumstances I would agree with Emma. Telling Johnny was the easiest way to deal with any of that, right?

Finally, I said, “I don’t want to tell him because I’m worried.” I wanted to say scared, but substituted it for worried at the last minute.

Emma frowned, pulling her legs up beneath her on the chair, holding her mug between her two small hands. “What do you mean?”

“I’m worried about Johnny. Things are…escalating. I know there’s something going on with the Berserkers and I know that Johnny’s caught in the middle of it. Worse, I think the Berserkers are trying to double cross Johnny.”

I said this last part quietly, worried that someone might hear us and my scant few words would send into motion a terrible war between the two clubs. I couldn’t risk that; the Unholys weren’t ready for war. But I had to get this off my chest now. I was so scared for Johnny and me and my family. What was left of it. I had to tell someone.

Emma let out a loud whoosh of air, then whistled. “Damn. I didn’t realize…” She shook her head. “I had no idea that the danger and the excitement would start
right away
.”

I almost told her, “See? This is what happens. You still sure you want this?” But I didn’t. Instead, I nodded. “It does. And it doesn’t go away, either. This is just the most recent shitstorm.”

Emma sat back thoughtfully for a moment before she asked, “You think he’s in real danger?”

I shrugged. Yes, was the answer, but Johnny was
always
in danger and that was the real point. How could you believe someone was safe when they were constantly caught up in risky business? “I don’t know. They’re careful about this stuff, but…” I trailed off, then took a deep breath and said, “But stuff happens. People die. My dad—” I broke off when I thought I might start to cry. My mind flashed back to the garage and his body and the pool of blood. The words on the note rang in my ears, though I never saw them on paper.

Emma reached for me, her hand clasping mine tightly. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

I took a deep, steadying breath and nodded, because my throat was caught up by a deep welling of sorrow and I didn’t trust myself to speak. She held on to my hand for a long while as I composed myself before she said, “That’s not going to happen to Johnny.”

I nodded, though I couldn’t help but think that it didn’t matter
how
my dad died, only that he did. And that meant that Johnny could, too.

“Can I ask you a favor, Em?”

She nodded without hesitation. “Of course. Anything. You name it and I’ll do it.”

I smiled at her weakly. “Go with me to the cemetery?”

Johnny

What the hell?

Now that I knew it was Specter in that building and he was meeting two Berserkers, I couldn’t come up with a single damn reason that he should be there. Yes, we were making peace. Yes, we were going to have to work together on that. But that was in the works, not a solid commitment on either of our parts. I still didn’t trust Stitches or the Berserkers, and that meant that right now, I didn’t trust Specter, either.

Six months ago, when the Reverend died and I took over, there had been a lot of debating over who was who. There was little to no contest as far as me becoming leader. That had been implied for years now, and whether people thought I was too young or too lenient or too goody two shoes for it, they wouldn’t argue it. Not really.

The Reverend had made it clear that should he step down, he wanted me as his replacement. It was years ago that he said that and I wasn’t sure if it had more to do with Charlotte or me, but I never bothered to ask and neither did anyone else. When the Reverend gave an order, it was law and it had to be followed unquestioningly.

The only moment of uncertainty I’d had was all those years ago on the night the Reverend had made the decision to give me the spot, and it was because he’d had someone else in mind for the spot first.

Specter.

Specter had been the Reverend’s right hand for years and years. He wasn’t old enough to be the Reverend’s contemporary, not quite, but it was close. A lot closer than I was. And Specter knew the business. Not just the cars, but the logistics of running a biker club like ours as well as dealing with some of the unsavory aspects that went along with it. Aspects like killing those who needed killing. Pieces that often didn’t sit very well with me most of the time.

But four years ago, something had shifted. People talked and there were all kinds of rumors about what had happened, but no one really had a definitive answer. Some said that Specter fucked up so bad that the Reverend never really forgave him. Some said that Specter deliberately stepped down on his own and the Reverend didn’t have anything to do with it. And some said that there had been a private battle between myself and Specter to determine who had the right to be at the Reverend’s side.

I could honestly say that that last one was complete bullshit. Whatever happened between Specter and myself had never amounted to much more than a disagreement here and there. In fact, the only one that had been any kind of a large disagreement had been over Charlotte. At that cookout at the Reverend’s place. Now that I thought about it, it wasn’t long after that day that the Reverend made the announcement.

Specter hadn’t seemed overly upset about it, but he hadn’t been pleased either. After that, I started learning the trade in earnest and Specter took a back seat. He became my de facto body guard, while I started to act in that capacity for the Reverend.

It didn’t take long for everyone to settle down about the whole thing, including Specter and myself, but when the Reverend died six months ago and his will was actually implemented, things got stirred up again.

Suddenly, people were scrambling to take up the job I’d held: lieutenant. It was a title of honor that meant you were the right hand of the club leader. It could be dangerous, though, because it also meant you acted as body guard for said leader. If they were in a dangerous situation, it was your job to get them out of it.

A lot of people told me that they should be my lieutenant, people I even liked. That didn’t unsettle me really because it was my choice and it was natural for people to put in their bid for it. What did bother me was when people told me that I
shouldn’t
make Specter my lieutenant. Not because they wanted it or felt like so and so would be better suited for it, but because they felt like there was something
wrong
with Specter.

You should never mistrust your lieutenant. When I made Specter mine, I did it working under the assumption that the Reverend had always trusted him. Even when he’d changed his successor to me, he always told me, “You can trust him, Johnny boy. Specter’s a rough man on the outside, but he’s as loyal as any man I’ve ever met and then some. You can’t do better.”

So I did as told and trusted him. I hadn’t regretted that decision, but as I watched the meeting come to a close, handshakes all around, I had the sinking suspicion that I was about to.

When the men finished up, they went for the door.

“Shit,” I said, then ducked down lower, trying to cover myself as best I could amidst the tall grass and the brush.

The two Berserkers went out first. They did a quick sweep of the place, looking to see if there was anyone around watching them. There was, but thankfully they didn’t spot me. Satisfied that they were safe and that no one had witnessed their illicit meeting, then hopped onto their motorcycles and rode off with a blast of sound. Specter came out next, but he lingered for a while by the door. He took something out of his pocket, checked it, then cursed and put it back. He waited several more long minutes, not knowing that I crouched there watching him.

Finally, he checked his watch and apparently decided that it was okay to go. He scooped up his helmet, which was set beside the door, and headed around back. I realized that he must have parked a little out of the way so that no one would spot him—more cautious than his associates, I noticed. If I wanted to follow him further, I realized that this would probably be my only shot. If I lingered here by the window any longer, then there was a good chance that I’d get stuck here as he drove off. Otherwise I’d be seen, and by the time I could get to my bike, he’d be long gone.

Making a quick decision, I ducked out from beneath the window. Staying low to the ground, I ran as fast as I could to that billboard towards my bike. I heard his start to rev just as I got to mine. I ducked behind the billboard when I heard the sound getting closer. Just barely peeking my head out to see, I watched as Specter drove up the road towards the freeway.

I gave him a little bit of a head start, then hopped onto mine, hoping that he wouldn’t notice me as I attempted to trail him. I needed to know where he was going and what the hell was doing.

There was a good chance my life depended on it.

Charlotte

I didn’t know why it was so important to visit dad just then, but as soon as I mentioned the idea to Emma, I knew it was the right thing to do. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to my father’s grave since we buried him. The plot was nice, as was the cemetery itself. I knew there were some where the graves were overgrown and the trees were dead and the flowers—if there even were some—were nothing but cheap fake-looking ones made from fabric or plastic. This place, thankfully, wasn’t like that.

We’d stopped at a flower shop to pick up some wildflowers. Dad had liked them, though I suspected it was more because they were my favorite rather than any personal preference on his part. When I was around six or seven, I told him that they were the best kind of flowers because they grew all on their own and they didn’t care where they ought to grow or what they ought to look like. They were what they wanted to be and no one could tell them different.

Of course, most all flowers were like that, but as a kid, I didn’t understand the difference and thought that wildflowers were just these pretty little weeds that couldn’t be tamed.

I carried a bouquet of them now as we walked through the multitude of plots. Emma hung back a few steps, understanding that she was there if I needed her, but otherwise this wasn’t really the kind of thing that concerned her. She knew my father, but not well. It was nice to know she was there at the very least, a familiar and comforting presence that gave me something to ground myself to.

There were so many plots, some with flowers, some without, and it started to get me. There were so many dead people buried here. People who had had lives and families and hopes and dreams. People who’d maybe gone before their time or had been taken before given the chance to do the things they really needed to do.

I thought of Dad like that, though maybe that wasn’t a fair comparison. Most of these people, maybe even all of them, had gone by some force that was beyond their choosing. A car accident, a plane crash. Some sickness like cancer or pneumonia or a bad fever. These people were
taken
from their loved ones, but my dad had
chosen
to go.

Coward.

The thought slipped through my mind unbidden. It was so powerful that I almost stumbled as I walked, overtaken by this sudden, singular concept:
my father was a coward.

Never in my entire life had I thought that, but now I burned with the anger that came from the thought.

When I finally reached my father’s plot, I almost couldn’t bring myself to stop. I was so angry so suddenly that I wanted to keep on walking by and pretend like he never even existed. How could this man who I’d known all my life have
lied
to me? And it was a lie, because he had given off this aura of manliness and courage that I had used as the standard by which to measure all men. So many had failed to meet that standard, but in the end, even my father hadn’t met his own bar.

I wasn’t sure what to do with that yet.

Almost reluctant about the whole thing, I stepped closer to his grave. My gaze lingered on his headstone, tracing the individual letters that made up the inscription.

ADAM ELIAS CANDERS

“THE REVEREND”

LET NO MAN JUDGE YOU.

LET YOUR CHOICES BE YOUR OWN.

THERE IS ALWAYS A WAY TO DO THE RIGHT THING.

The words were poetic and strangely righteous for a man who ran a club full of burly bikers. If you hadn’t known him in life, you would never guess in death that he had been an outlaw of sorts. Granted, he’d been the sort of outlaw that never strayed too far from the line of the law, but he
did
stray.

I wondered briefly as I read the inscription if Dad had chosen it himself or if it had been a collective decision by the members. Maybe it was even Johnny who’d decided what belonged on the last memory of my father. He’d taken care of everything to do with the funeral, the wake, and anything else that might have been associated with his death. I was in no shape to do it; Mom had been even worse.

I stepped closer to the tombstone until I was right in front of it. I wasn’t sure what I was doing until my knees buckled and I slumped into the damp, soft earth. The grass was wet still and seeped into the fabric caught beneath my knees. My shoulders slumped a little and for a moment, I just felt empty.

What am I even doing here?

I wasn’t sure until I started speaking. “You were my hero, you know?” I told the cold stone, imagining that it was my father sitting in front of me, a half smirk tilted on his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. The image was so vivid that it could have been his ghost propped up on the headstone, watching me. “I never wanted to be you, I wasn’t that stupid, but that didn’t mean I didn’t look up to you. The biker lifestyle wasn’t meant for me, I don’t think. I wasn’t built for it. The strength you always had…I never got any of it. I know everyone thinks that I can handle myself, that I don’t need the protection that you and Johnny provided, but I do. I’ve always needed it and now half of that shield is gone.”

I sucked a harsh breath of air through my nose, holding it deep in my lungs for damn near a minute, before it slipped back out between my lips. The air was strangely sweet here, like flowers and fresh plants.

“Maybe I could have lived with that,” I continued, not sure where I was going with this or what I meant, but feeling the sudden need to get it all off my chest. I needed him to know what was going on inside of me, even if I wasn’t quite sure myself. “Maybe I could have even moved past it if things had been different. I don’t know, maybe I’m completely off base when I say this, but I think a car accident would have made me feel better. Cancer. A gunshot. All of those are…are terrible things. They would have broken my heart. But they wouldn’t have left me feeling like I’d never even known you at all.”

My voice cracked as I got those last words out. Tears pricked at my eyes as the ache of my bruised heart began to throb in earnest. I’d been trying to avoid it, medicate it with whatever I could find—taking care of my mother, sex with Johnny, motorcycle rides, throwing myself into work—so that it was little more than a dull numbness that was fine so long as I didn’t move the wrong way.

Sitting here, talking to my father, that was moving the wrong way.

I sucked in a shuddering breath. “I loved you so damn much, and you didn’t even care enough to stay.” My tone had turned accusatory and I was vaguely aware that Emma was standing not far from me and could probably hear everything. I didn’t care. “People here, buried next to you, they had families, too. Families and lives and friends. Things that mattered to them. And they were taken before their time without so much as a say in the matter. But you? You were a
coward
! How am I supposed to live with that now?”

As my words slipped through the air and slowly seesawed down towards the earth to be absorbed, I allowed the silence to fill me. That was something about this place that I hadn’t noticed before: how quiet it was. So much quieter than the city and the shop, and even home. Here it was almost peaceful. But it was a lonely kind of peaceful. Not exactly the kind I’d want for the rest of my life.

There might have been more to say. There probably was, but I didn’t know what it was and I definitely didn’t know how to get it out. It would just have to settle there again on my chest before I got the strength to stir it back up.

I sat there in silence for who knew how long, lost in my own thoughts. Finally, it was a rustling behind me that brought me back to the here and now.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Emma standing behind me just where she’d been when we first arrived. Behind her, though, was a large man with a blubbery middle and a balding head. Worm. He was coming to pick up Emma since we’d taken my car here and I was only keeping her company—more like the other way around, really—until he got home.

Emma noticed my gaze and turned around to see him. I couldn’t see her expression, but heard her gasp and remembered that she hadn’t seen him since initiation.

“Oh, Worm!” she exclaimed, her hand partially covering her mouth so that the words came out muffled, but there was no mistaking them.

I saw that, as Worm moved closer, he was limping slightly and moving very slowly. When he got close enough that his features were visible, I could see his face scrunch up in brief bursts of pain.

Emma rushed to him after a few more seconds and embraced him tightly. He winced at this, but wrapped his arms around her anyway. They held each other tightly and I heard whispers pass between them. They were too quiet for me to make out, but they sounded sweet and tender. I decided that I didn’t need to know what they were saying. Knowing that it was full of comfort and love was enough for me.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to stand, brushing off my knees. I waited patiently until they broke the embrace. Emma, remembering that I was still there, turned back to me, Worm keeping one arm across her shoulders. She bit her lip.

“Are you okay?”

I forced a smile that probably was terribly unconvincing, and nodded my head. “Yeah, I’m good. You guys should head home. Take care of him.” I nodded my head towards Worm.

Emma offered me a sympathetic smile, then said, “Thanks. Don’t stay too long, okay?”

I agreed, then watched as they walked away, their arms wrapped tightly around one another. It wasn’t until they disappeared completely that I turned back to the tombstone. I didn’t drop back down to my knees this time, and I didn’t say anything else to dad, but his ghost lingered there, watching me. I told myself that it was a good thing, but didn’t entirely believe it.

I couldn’t figure out if I was still angry with him.

I didn’t hear Johnny, not even when he was standing right behind me. It wasn’t until his arms wrapped around me tightly and he whispered in my ear that I realized he was there.

“Are you okay?”

I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t have an answer just then. I let him hold me instead and watched until my father’s ghost finally disappeared.

***

Johnny

Charlotte looked haunted. It was the only way I knew to describe it. There had been a little bit of that in her since her father died six months ago, but as I held her beside her father’s gravestone, I knew that this was more. The things that were eating away at her were worse here and I needed to get her the hell out of here.

“C’mon, baby,” I told her gently, still holding onto her. “Let’s go. It’s getting late.”

She didn’t say anything, but after a moment nodded. She let me lead her away from the plot and back through the sprawling, evergreen cemetery towards the front gates. When we stepped through them back towards the land of the living, I noticed her car again. I knew she’d driven here, but seeing the state she was in now, it bothered me. I looked over at my bike, then back again to her car.

Charlotte was already pulling away from me and heading towards it, when I reached for her, yanking her back.

Her lips tugged down into a frown. She motioned behind her towards the car and said, “I can’t leave it here.”

I shook my head. “I’ll have someone pick it up. I just don’t think you should be driving right now.”

Charlotte looked ready to protest, to tell me that I was being a stupid ass or something, and in all honesty, it would have made me feel better. Maybe if she had actually done that, I’d have let her drive home, because it would have told me that she was doing better than I thought.

But she didn’t do that. Instead, her shoulders slumped and she nodded, telling me without words that I was right. She didn’t need to be driving just then.

She handed me the keys and I pocketed them, not wanting to leave them in the car—I wanted it deposited back at the house, not stolen.