The Handler (Noir et Bleu Motorcycle Club #2) (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Move,” the biker with the red beard said to me. He dug his fingers into my neck with one hand and pointed the gun against my ribs with the other hand as he led me out of Marie Josie’s building. He shoved me into the backseat of an SUV. Some other guy wearing a bandana was driving.

“Where’s Dewalt?” I asked.

“Keep your mouth shut,” the guy with the red beard mumbled from the front passenger seat as we sped off.

I frowned because I recognized his voice. “Say that again.”

He looked over his shoulder at me as I put the pieces together.

“Cisco?”

“Yeah. You okay, kid?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

He chuckled and shook his head because I obviously wasn’t okay. “You look like shit.”

“What’s going on? How did you know I was there?”

He turned in his seat to face forward. “Did you forget who you’re dealing with?”

To be honest, yes, it was too hard to keep track of who I was dealing with and who I could trust. “Where are we going?”

A police car passed us going in the opposite direction, which Cisco glanced at briefly, but he didn’t seem concerned. “Digger’s waiting.”

What? That was not good news. “He’s in Montreal?”

“Yup, and you know how he hates to take care of business himself.”

“Shit.” Digger didn’t even like to make his own phone calls if he didn’t have to. Whether he flew across the country to shoot my ass or save my ass, either way, he was going to be pissed, and I was screwed.

We arrived at a warehouse outside the city and parked inside the steel building. A heavy guy wearing a black toque closed the sliding door behind us. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting after we stepped out of the truck. Dewalt was sitting in the middle of the warehouse with his wrists taped to the arms of the chair. He was already roughed up pretty good, and the shoulder wound I inflicted had bled quite a bit. I didn’t want to look at him, so I stood behind Cisco while Digger talked to a short, scrawny guy with a steel pipe in his hand. Dewalt obviously wasn’t a pussy, because if I were in his position, I’d be begging Digger for forgiveness. Instead, he grimaced and sat silently.

“Come here, kid,” Digger called.

I knew he was talking to me, but I looked around at everyone else hoping that by some miracle there was another person in the warehouse he might be summoning. Cisco pushed my shoulder, and I stepped forward. Dewalt watched me as I walked closer to them. I glanced at him once, then focused on Digger instead.

“This is definitely the guy who torched your mom and dad?”

I nodded.

Dewalt shook his head and mumbled, “I wouldn’t do that to your mom.”

My head snapped to glare at him, and I growled through clenched teeth, “I saw you do it.”

“I told you, I didn’t know she was there.”

“You poured gasoline on her. How can you sit there and say you didn’t know she was there?”

“I didn’t pour gasoline on her. She must have jumped on the bed and tried to save that sorry son of a bitch’s ass.”

“Shut up,” I shouted.

“I swear to God I didn’t know Monique was there.” He tilted his chin up, and the tendons in his neck popped out. “I would never hurt her, and I didn’t know the kid was there, either. You all know I wouldn’t have let it go down if I saw that the kid was there. They were supposed to be out of the house at a dance recital.”

I turned to Digger. “He’s a fucking liar. Just get it over with.”

I walked back to the truck and slouched down in the backseat so I wouldn’t have to watch. I waited for the sound of a gunshot, but it never came. I figured maybe they slit his throat instead. I didn’t really care how they did it. When nothing happened for a long time, I got antsy. I couldn’t stand the waiting, so I got out of the truck and slipped into the warehouse office where Cisco, Mug, Kaz, and a couple of other guys were hanging out.

I nodded at them and stood with my back against the wall. There was electronic equipment everywhere, and they were obviously running wiretaps and doing video surveillance. Cisco sat on a chair and scrolled through his phone messages.

“What’s he waiting for?” I asked Cisco.

“Settle down. It’s complicated.”

I couldn’t see Dewalt through the office window, but I could see Digger pacing back and forth in the warehouse. He was the same age as my dad. His short hair and goatee were dark with some gray, and he wore glasses. He was wearing dark jeans and a charcoal colored V-neck sweater that made him look like an average Joe. Without being able to see his tattoos, the only thing that would have tipped people off that he was one of the most powerful outlaws in the world was that he also had a scar that he got in one of his many motorcycle accidents. It ran from the inside corner of his eye across his cheek to his ear.

He hung up the phone and made eye contact with me through the glass. My heart forgot to beat for a long second and then, when it remembered, it felt like it was stumbling to catch up. He came into the office, and sweat rolled down my temple as I waited for him to say something. “Have a seat,” he finally said. I sat on a wood chair. He lit a cigarette and stared at me as he exhaled. “You’re starting to feel like a real pain in my ass, kid.”

“Sorry.”

He was quiet for a while, and he looked around at the other guys before he said, “Your mom was pregnant when she married Southpaw?”

“Yeah, I was born four months later. I already knew that. So?”

“They got married two months after they met.” He hesitated and coughed to clear his throat. “Do the math, kid.”

My breathing sped up, and the room moved as if we were on a boat in rough seas. I blinked probably a hundred times trying to process what that meant. I heard what he said. I just didn’t want to believe what it meant. “Southpaw wasn’t my dad?”

“No.”

I scanned the room, hoping to find an asthma inhaler or a paper bag or something. “Are you absolutely positive?” I finally asked.

He shrugged to indicate that he wouldn’t have said it if he wasn’t positive. “Southpaw told me he was going to raise you as his own because Frenchie would have been a shit father anyway.”

I opened my mouth and gasped for air. “Dewalt?”

He nodded.

I propped myself up by resting my elbows on my knees. “That’s why there was a picture of my mom on the mantle at his mom’s house. I really can’t breathe. Someone open a window or something.”

Cisco got up and opened the window.

Digger took another drag. “Your mom and Frenchie grew up in the same neighborhood. She was his old lady when they were young, but she left him when she met Southpaw. It messed Frenchie up, and he stalked her and threatened her and shit. His jealousy got ugly, and he tried to stab Southpaw one night at a party. It turned into brawl. That’s how Frenchie got the scar on his face. Anyway, he ended up killing a random civilian in the fight. Southpaw testified in court against him, which got Frenchie put away for twenty years.”

“So, Fireball, or Frenchie, or Dewalt, or whatever the hell you want to call him spent all that time in jail, then got out and came after my parents for revenge.”

“There’s more to it than that, but basically.” He sat back and took a long drag from his cigarette.

“Do the guys who put the contract out on me know that I’m his son?”

Digger shrugged. “They won’t care. A murder contract is a murder contract.”

My heart alternated between beating way too fast and stalling out. His son? That’s why he killed two Boomslangs to protect Lincoln and me. No wonder it didn’t make any sense. “Did he plant the IED on the bus?”

“No. Boomslangs did it trying to cash in on the contract on your head. He heard about it and started tailing you.”

“What about kidnapping Huck?”

“Boomslangs who really don’t want you to testify.”

“He didn’t order any of it?” I asked, shocked.

“Nope.” A guy knocked on the office window and held the phone up to indicate that Digger had a call. “I’ll be back.” Digger got up and left.

I sat blinking repeatedly as I stared at the wall.

It was hard to say how long I sat in a stunned stupor before Cisco laughed and said, “That chick definitely knows how to put on a good show. That security guard got the best assignment ever, eh, Cain.”

“What?”

He pointed at the TV on the desk. I blinked a couple times to refocus my eyes. Footage of Lincoln at an ice rink with my body double played. I sat forward. It was an entertainment gossip show, so it flashed the same pictures repeatedly while the reporter talked about the tour being canceled because of Hal’s death. A few pictures from my old neighborhood and a still shot of the Kiss Cam at the hockey game rotated through the loop. I reached over and grabbed the remote control to rewind it to the beginning of the story. I pressed pause to freeze it on the picture of her kissing Steve at the ice rink. He had his hand on her ass, and it made me want to throw the remote through the screen.

I shot up and stormed into the warehouse. I paced around for a while, then texted her:

I saw the pictures of the PDA from your skating date. What do you think you’re doing?

You’re the one who told me to hang out with him.

Hang out with him, not let him feel you up. You can tone down the act.

Who says I’m acting?

I shook my head and squeezed the phone in my hand to the point of almost crushing it before I responded:

Tell him to keep his hands off your ass or I’ll break both his fucking arms.

Ooh, tough guy. Why are you getting so upset? It’s not like you and I are dating or anything. Correct me if I’m wrong.

You don’t even know the guy.

I’m sure I’ll get to know him better on our date. He’s taking me out for a nice dinner and then the ballet.

I closed my eyes and exhaled to calm my shaking enough to write back:

He’s taking you on a real date?

Sure. Do you have a problem with that?

Do whatever you want. You can think for yourself, can’t you?

I turned my phone off and kicked the door to the bathroom open. After leaning on the sink for a while, I splashed water on my face. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed that the cut above my eye from the bus accident was bleeding. It must have busted back open when I got punched. My skin was pale. I hadn’t shaved since before the funeral. My hair hadn’t been cut since before I left L.A., and I looked incredibly angry. I looked like a guy who I wouldn’t let anywhere near Lincoln. I looked like a one percenter. I swore at myself under my breath repeatedly and got myself so worked up that I eventually reeled back and punched the mirror. It shattered, and two seconds later blood poured out of my hand in streams like a volcano spewing lava.

Cisco popped his head in. “You okay?”

“No,” I mumbled.

“Digger wants to talk to you.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Dewalt was still alive, sitting on the chair. I sighed and walked over to Digger, wrapping my hand with a bandana that Cisco gave me to stop the bleeding. Digger handed me a phone and said, “Call your sister and find out what really happened.”

“What difference does it make? He still killed my dad.” I purposely said the second part loudly so Dewalt would hear me clearly.

“It makes a big difference. If he didn’t know that your mom and Huck were there, we have to handle it differently.”

“He’s lying.”

“I’ve known him a long time. He may have done a lot of shitty things in his life, but he always admitted to it if he did it.”

I shook my head, unimpressed. “Yeah, he’s a real stand-up guy.”

“Just call her.”

Dewalt smiled, but winced as if it hurt him to move his bruised and swollen face.

I growled, “What are you smiling at, you cocksucker?”

He chuckled. “You’re just like me, kid.”

I lunged and punched him as hard as I could. The force knocked him and the chair over. Cisco stepped in and held my arms to prevent me from beating the hell out of him. Dewalt laughed as he lied on his side on the concrete. Mug and Kaz righted the chair. “I’m nothing like you!” I shouted.

“No? Are you like Southpaw?” He scoffed. “That ain’t nothing to be proud of.”

“Shut your fucking hole.” I struggled with Cisco and kicked at Dewalt. “Let go of me. I’m going to kill him.”

Digger stood beside me. “Take it easy, kid.”

Cisco let go of my arms but positioned his body between Dewalt and me so I couldn’t charge him.

Digger dug his fingers into my neck and led me away. “Call your sister and see if you can get her to talk.”

I paced around, taking deep breaths for a few minutes, then dialed. I hung up before it connected. “I just remembered the police have my grandparents’ phone tapped.”

Digger nodded as he thought. “Okay. Go sit in the office and wait while I get someone over there.”

I walked right past the office and out the door. It was already dark out, and it was cool enough to see my breath. I sat on the ground outside the warehouse, sick of waiting, but also unsure of what I wanted to happen next. My mind raced, and I couldn’t focus on one problem. When I thought about the night of the murder, heard Huck scream my name, and saw my mom rolling around engulfed in flames, I wanted to rip Dewalt’s face off. Then when I reminded myself he was my birth father and had killed two men to protect Lincoln, I wanted to vomit. I wished Digger hadn’t told me.

I slammed the back of my head against the sheet metal siding of the warehouse, attempting to order the chaotic thoughts about Dewalt, my dad—who wasn’t my dad—Lincoln, Huck, the night of the murder, and all the bullshit that went down before I was even born. I was still banging my head against the wall, as confused as ever, when Mug came outside to get me.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just stood over me, staring. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Doubt it.”

“There are a couple guys with Huck now, so we’re going to get her to talk on their phone.”

“She’s not going to talk. She didn’t talk for months after my dad died.”

“Give it a try.”

“What difference does it make? He killed my dad and set my mom on fire in front of my sister. He’s still going to need to pay for what he did whether he knew they were there or not.”

Mug shook his head. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because what happened between Southpaw and Dewalt was a fair deal. If he didn’t know about your mom and sister, then we might be able to negotiate to have your contract dropped in exchange for dropping his.”

“What do you mean it was a fair deal? He gets to kill my dad for stealing his girlfriend twenty years after the fact?”

“Southpaw stole more than just your mom. They had some big business deals that your dad fucked Dewalt on, and he testified at the trial to get Dewalt sent away for that murder. But the main problem was that Southpaw murdered Dewalt’s brother over a two hundred dollar debt.”

“Bullshit. My dad never murdered anyone.”

Mug shrugged as if he didn’t want to be the one to break it to me, but it was true.

I shook my head because I didn’t want to believe it. “No. You’re wrong. My mom wouldn’t have married him if he was a murderer.”

“She didn’t know. She doesn’t know.” He leaned his back against the wall and looked up at the stars. “Dewalt didn’t know about you—not until he saw you at the house on the night of the murder. Your mom never told him she was pregnant, but he said that when he saw you, he knew you were his because you look like he did.”

“So what? I don’t care whether he knew or not. It’s not like I care.”

“He’s been tailing you ever since they put a hit on you to make sure nobody gets to you.”

I stood and brushed the dirt off my jeans. “So what? You think he deserves a Father of The Year award or something?”

“No, I just thought you should know that he’s been doing some shit to protect you. My dad would have never done anything like that for me.”

“Gee, I’m honored.” I couldn’t see past the image of my mother’s flesh burning and peeling off her body. I couldn’t erase the image of my father’s charred corpse. Dewalt was a stranger. A murderous stranger. Good intentions and DNA aside, I couldn’t excuse his actions.

I walked back inside, grabbed the phone, and went into the office to be by myself while I called Huck. Some guy answered and then gave her the phone. “Hey, Huckleberry. How are you?” She didn’t answer. “I need you to go somewhere where Digger’s guys can’t hear you.” A door clicked. “Are you by yourself?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Listen, I need your help to make everything go away forever.” I paused and listened to her breathing. “On the night that Dad was murdered, did the guy pour the gasoline on Mom?”

She sobbed.

“I know it’s hard to think about it, but if you can tell me what happened, everything is going to get fixed and I’ll be able to come home.”

“No,” she whispered.

“No, what?”

“He didn’t pour it on her.”

“Was she trying to pull Dad off the bed?”

She sniffled, and I could barely hear her say, “Yes.”

“Where were you when the guys shot Dad?”

“We heard glass break, then there was a gunshot, so Mom and I hid in the closet.”

“The guys who did it never saw you?”

“No.”

“Were you and Mom supposed to be at a dance recital that night?”

“Yeah, I didn’t feel well, so we didn’t go. She was sleeping with me in my room when they broke in.” She paused, then her voice became faint. “She tried to save him from the fire.”

“I know. It’s okay. You don’t need to talk about that part.” I exhaled heavily. “Thanks, Huck. I love you so much.”

“Jamie.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t become one of them.”

I closed my eyes and squeezed the phone. I wanted to say that I wouldn’t, but I couldn’t lie. “I have to go. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Be good.”

I winced and hung up. I stood in the office for a long time, thinking. Cisco eventually knocked and opened the door. “Did she talk?”

I nodded and reluctantly followed him back into the warehouse. Digger was smoking another cigarette and watching me for an answer. Dewalt stared at me, too—with eyes exactly the same color as mine. I glanced at Mug, then back at Dewalt. I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him. My throat dried up and my lips felt like I’d been wandering around lost in a desert.

“What did your sister say?” Digger asked.

My mouth opened to tell Digger that Dewalt had poured the gasoline on my mom and that he knew Huck was there. His eyebrows angled together, and he nervously tightened his long fingers into fists. I closed my eyes and tried again to form the words. The tightness in my chest moved up to strangle my throat trying to hold the lie in.

Eventually, I shook my head and said, “He didn’t know they were there. My mom got burned when she tried to rescue Southpaw off the bed. They were supposed to be out, but Huck got sick, and they didn’t go.”

Digger nodded and dropped his cigarette butt on the ground. He squished it with his boot as he pulled out his phone. I glanced at Dewalt. He looked kind of proud or something, so I turned my back on him.

Digger made a bunch of phone calls and eventually the current international president of the Boomslangs came on the line. “Call off the contract on Cain, and we’ll let Dewalt walk,” Digger said. He rolled his eyes and paced while he listened to the other guy. “Cain had nothing to do with those two guys in Miami… Fuck that. Keep track of your own members… Yeah, well, I’ve known his dad since we were both stealing milk money on the playground and Dewalt popped him… Who the fuck cares if he’s the founding president? Do you really want to start a war over some has-been who’s been locked away for twenty years?”

Digger shook his head and lit another cigarette. Thirty minutes later, they were still talking and Digger raised his voice periodically. When he called the guy a “motherfucking cocksucker,” even Cisco looked worried for me. We leaned against the side of the truck. Dewalt was still tied up in the chair.

“We have security up her ass,” Digger shouted. “And surveillance everywhere she goes. You won’t get near her.” I stood up straight, and my muscles tensed because I knew he was talking about Lincoln. “Even if you were stupid enough to attempt it, we made sure that a couple million of her fans would all be witness to it. You’ll have enough heat on your ass to stall business for at least six months.” Digger paused to listen to the guy’s response and rubbed his forehead. “Fuck that. You’d spark a war, which I don’t need to tell you is also bad for business. Plus, we would both lose a lot of members. Since I have almost three times more members, it’s probably a good bet that you’ll run out of bodies before I do.” He shook his head as if he thought the guy was an idiot. “I don’t give two fucks about that. Call off the hit or prepare to lose your chapters one at a time. Your choice.” He paced and coughed as he listened. “Yeah, all right. Make it happen,” Digger said into the phone. Then he hung up. “Fucking prick,” he mumbled. He pointed at Dewalt. “Let him go.”

Kaz cut the tape around Fireball’s wrists, and he stood up, rubbing them. He walked right up to me and said, “I’m not going to apologize for what I did to Southpaw, but I am sorry that your sister was there and that your mom got hurt.” He checked my expression and continued, “I’m also sorry that I didn’t know about you before now.” He waited for a while to see if I was going to respond. When I didn’t say anything, he turned and limped out of the warehouse.

I didn’t talk for the entire ride back to the hotel, and the only thing I said once we got there was thanks to Digger. I went up to the room. Stan and Aaron were standing guard outside the door. “Is she in there with Steve?” I asked.

They both nodded and looked at me as if they were glad they weren’t me. I took a deep breath before I slid the key card into the door and stepped in the room. I was prepared to kick Steve’s ass if he was anywhere near her, but he wasn’t. He was sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. Lincoln appeared at the bathroom door wearing sweats. Her hair was in a ponytail, and her toothbrush was hanging out of her mouth. “Hi,” she said, and she smiled as if she was amused by whatever expression must have been on my face.

“Get out,” I said to Steve. He left, and Lincoln moved to sit on the bed. I took my jacket and boots off, then sat on the bed next to her. After a long silence I said, “I thought you guys were going to the ballet.”

“I changed my mind. He doesn’t look enough like you to get photographed without a hat and sunglasses. Besides, I’d rather do that with someone else.”

I stared down at my hands. Keeping the emotion bottled up was literally painful across my chest, and it made me feel like I was going to throw up.

“You got hurt,” she whispered and touched my cheek softly.

“I’m fine.”

“Is he dead?”

“No. Nobody’s dead, and nobody’s going to jail.”

“That’s good, I guess.” She moved to sit cross-legged. “What now?”

I shook my head because I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know how to make it work. “I don’t know.”

She sighed and reached over to place her hand on top of mine. “Why did you come back?”

“To make sure you were okay.”

Her eyelashes rested on her cheek before she made eye contact with me. “Are you still going to be here in the morning?”

I swallowed and ran my hands through my hair. “Do you want me to be?”

“Yes.”