Where Souls Spoil (84 page)

Desperate to change the subject, I mentally inventory our options for the evening. “Well,” I say slowly. The idea’s forming in my head, but it’s stupid. I shouldn’t be thinking about this. Ever. The only thing that can come out of this is a majorly broken heart.

“Yeah?” Tracie says, eyes widening and waiting for me to finish.

“What if we... sneak into the party at the clubhouse...” I shove my face into my hands. I feel like an idiot. Jeremy and I had one date—one truly awful date—and we haven’t had a kind word to say to each other since I threatened to push him out of my bedroom window after he tried to maul me. But the idea of him turning eighteen at the clubhouse with all the Lost Girls and the wannabe whores who haven’t earned the title yet leaves an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. I just want to know, to see what’s happening for myself. Daniel’s going to be there, too. He’s still texting me, and I’m texting back now, so I kind of also want to know what he’s up to. If he’s hooking up with someone during the party, then he doesn’t like me enough for me to continue to let him pursue me.

“You don’t actually have to
sneak
in. The doors will be open,” Tracie says. “It’s so loud and dark in there, I doubt anyone will notice us.”

“No, they’ll have security this time. Things are kind of tense with the club.” I wave the gun in the air. It’s a fine art, telling the truth without telling too much.

“They have prospects at the gate, and I
highly
doubt any of them would be stupid enough to turn you away.”

I lift my head slowly as some things over the last few months start to make sense. The times Tracie was MIA, and when she started to tell me that there’s a major difference between sex and love. Then there’s the looks she gives Dad and my uncles when they’re around and how many times she’s commented on how attractive they all are.

“You freaking slut,” I say, still half in disbelief. She so hasn’t partied with the club. She can’t have. She’s still in high school. That’s so... wrong. She’s
my
age. Ugh.

“Stop being such a prude. How is it possible that you’re
Bloody Knuckles’s
daughter and yet you’re so sheltered? Your dad is a legend among the Lost Girls.”

“That’s gross.” I slap at her knee. “And I’m not a fucking prude. But come on! That would be like
me
hooking up with one of them.”

“Not really,” Tracie says. “You’re being a baby.”

“Who have you hooked up with?” If she says she hooked up with my dad, I’m going to push her fucking ass down the stairs and call it an accident. I know my dad better than that, but until I have verbal confirmation, I’m keeping my options for retribution open. Like sisters or no, you don’t hook up with your best friend’s dad. Ever.

“Diesel,” she says quietly. I cast a glance long enough to find that she’s staring at me nervously. I’ve always liked Diesel. He’s fun to be around, got some pretty awesome muscles, killer tatts, and his video game knowledge is out of this world. I squeal and grin, slapping at her legs like a crazy woman, demanding that she tell me everything. I can totally handle her sleeping with Diesel. As long as she keeps her hands off anyone I call “uncle,” I think I can live with this.

“It was... hot,” she says in a breathy tone. “I mean, I thought high school boys knew what they were doing—but I only hooked up with two guys at school before I started hanging with the club.”

“Is he the only one you’ve hooked up with?” I ask.

“No,” she says and lets out a breath. “I hooked up with Aaron before…” Her voice trails off, and we stay silent for a long moment. She can’t bring herself to say it, but what she means is before Aaron died protecting Holly and Mindy. Before some sick bastard shot him in the back of the head. Before everything went to shit.

“Did you like him?” I ask, because if she did, I should probably offer some kind of condolences. I can’t say I’ve made peace with what happened to him, because we were friends. He was funny and kind and was completely devoted to the club. But I cried my ass off at his funeral, and I promised Uncle Jim that I wouldn’t waste any more tears on the dead. Aaron wouldn’t want it, he said. So I try not to do something that Aaron wouldn’t like. Instead, I’m dedicating myself to finding out what happened to him. It’s too late to fix that crap for Aaron, but there’s still time to fix it for Holly and Mindy.

And by fix it, I mean once I find out who did it, I’m turning the evidence over to the club so Dad can kill them. Because he would, and they’d deserve however he makes them suffer.

“Okay, and I’m afraid to ask, but how exactly did you end up partying with Forsaken?”

“It was one of those days when Diesel was here. You were off somewhere with Holly when I caught him looking at me. We flirted. He invited me to a party. I went and we hooked up.”

“You make having sex sound so simple and easy,” I say in disbelief. “I never get a freaking moment alone with a guy because my dad is a helicopter, always hovering. Even the few times I have managed to get a base or two in, I barely know what I’m doing.”

“That’s because you’re hung up on this idea of being in a relationship. That’s the difference between us, Chey. You’re Holly and I’m Elle,” she says, referring to my dad’s on-again-off-again hookups with Elle. While I don’t care for her using my dad’s relationships as an example, because that’s just awkward, I know what she means.

“Why do you think Elle doesn’t want a relationship?” I ask. Then I correct my question to what I actually mean. “Are you saying you
want
to be a club whore?”

“Some women are built for relationships, and some of us just want to have fun. If it’s right, it’ll happen, like with Duke and Nic.”

My heart rate speeds up in fear that we’re about to get into a fight. I hate fighting with Tracie, and it’s been happening more and more lately.

“Do you know how many women show up at the clubhouse thinking they’re going to whore their way to being some guy’s old lady?” My voice is soft. My heart hurts for her if she thinks whore to housewife is an easy road.

“I didn’t say I want to be someone’s old lady.” Her tone is defensive. “I just said if it’s right, it’ll happen.”

“Okay. I just hope you know what you’re doing,” I say.

“I do, and speaking of knowing who I’m doing... we better get ready if we’re going to crash this party. If we get there too late, all the hot guys will be taken for the night.”

I don’t say a word as we stand from the stairs and head for my room, which we ransack in search of the right outfits in order to blend in. I waffle on how sexy I should be. If I’m wearing too little, I might be more visible. But then if I’m dressed like a nun, I’ll stand out. By the time we’re ready, it’s nearing in on midnight, and if we don’t hurry, we’re going to miss the countdown.

Do they even do a midnight countdown at these things?

CHAPTER 10

December

16 months to Mancuso’s downfall

Walking into the
clubhouse in this outfit makes my palms sweat and my breath catch. I shouldn’t be here and especially not dressed like this. If Dad catches sight of me, not only will I be embarrassed that I’m treated like a child, but I’ll never get over Dad seeing me in these clothes. Even though it’s almost officially January and cold and wet outside, Tracie convinced me to wear a pair of my cut-off jean shorts with one of Holly’s numerous pairs of high-heeled leather boots. I have my black-and-hot-pink plaid shirt that I wore on my and Jeremy’s one and only date rolled up and knotted atop a tight tank that shows a few inches of my midriff and is cut low at my breasts, showing off some cleavage. My thick brown hair is down and teased, held in place with half a pound of hairspray.

High heels suck. They are so uncomfortable, but at least I look taller and hopefully more mature, too. Between the heavy black eye makeup and the dark red lipstick, I’m hoping it’s not as easy to recognize me. While Dad is Public Enemy Number One, I wouldn’t put it past any of my uncles or the other club members to make this situation really suck for me. Thankfully this place is crowded, and just like Tracie said, it’s too dark in here to really shine a spotlight on anyone. Rink gave me a little crap at the gate, but I promised I’d bake him some cookies the next time he was at the house, and he let us go with the warning that I’d pay for it if Dad finds out and reams him for not ratting on us. I don’t know where the nickname came from, but Greg’s nickname should be Oink or something rather than Rink. He’s got a worse sweet tooth than anyone I’ve ever met.

I’ve never really seen the clubhouse like this. The lights are low, smoke fills the room, suffocating me the first few minutes until my lungs adjust, and the temperature is higher than I expected. Pulling at the knot of my button-up, I squirm under the heat of the other bodies in the room.

“Take it off if it’s that uncomfortable,” Tracie says, catching my movements. She threw on a pair of tight jeans and some hot pink pleather heels she had stored in her trunk—especially for this occasion apparently—with a low-cut pink tank. She’s pushed her boobs up in her bra as far as she can without her nipples falling out.

“I can’t,” I say a little louder and with more fear in my voice than I should have. I know I’m being a baby, but my tank top is so small and the men around us are so... manly. They’re adults, not stupid teenage boys that count their blessings if you let them get to second base. Well, most teenage boys do, just not the Forsaken ones.

A woman passes by fully naked with two beers in her hands. My eyes follow her naked body, half in disbelief and half in jealousy of her confidence, as she places the beers on a table in the corner of the room. She parts her legs and climbs up on the lap of a large man I don’t recognize. I turn away when she lifts herself up and, through the gap between her body and his, a dark hand sneaks out and rubs the flesh tucked between her butt cheeks, then sinks in between them. Her head falls backward as her hips jerk from the motion.

“Oh my God,” I say and elbow Tracie. I turn my attention back to the bar area across the main room and try to block that out.

It’s not working.

“What?”

“Some dude just shoved his finger in that woman’s butt.” My face is beet red, and the stifling heat gets to be too much. I unbutton my top and slip it off and choose to deal with the tiny tank I’m sporting that provides very little coverage—even less than what Tracie’s wearing.

“It happens,” she says casually and tugs me toward the bar. I nearly trip over a couple making out and another doing lines of something off a naked woman’s inner thighs. I can’t believe my dad hangs out here. I can’t believe
I’m
hanging out here. Knowing this shit goes down and seeing it firsthand are two totally different things.

“Since you’re the expert, why don’t you tell me where Jeremy is.” I don’t regret the words when they leave my mouth. No, I regret the curiosity and nervousness I feel in my heart. I shouldn’t want to know.

“Ah,” Tracie says with a smirk. “Birthday boy should be around here somewhere. Let’s grab a few beers, and then we can track him down.”

The bar is so crowded we can barely squeeze ourselves up to the counter. It’s not a true bar, because the club doesn’t take any money for the alcohol they dole out. Apparently it’s served up for favors—sexual if you’re a woman, and
otherwise
if you’re not—no exceptions. Aunt Ruby says they don’t keep tabs on who owes them what. They just kind of expect whoever shows up here to be available to them when they need or want it.

“Two beers,” Tracie says with a smile at the chick behind the bar who looks around for the fridge. She must be new. My eyes slide down to the other end where I see Chel serving up a drink to Squat. He leans over the bar, and she grabs ahold of the back of his head before shoving her tongue down his throat. I back off from the bar and cover myself from her view by the dude from the Oakland charter who has his back to me. The woman behind the bar nods and sets two beers down in front of us.

We each grab one of the cold bottles and turn around. I take a single step and slam into a hard chest. My nose presses into the dirty black leather vest that I know means I’m in trouble. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the Fort Bragg patch. Any other charter, any other club, and I’d be fine. But not
this
charter. Not one of my dad’s brothers. Please, no. I thought maybe I could get a solid half hour before getting busted.

As my eyes travel up the leather cut and up the man’s neck to his chin, I let out a heavy sigh. Ian.

“Unless I’m drunker than I think, you’re not legal.” His cool voice is soft as his brown eyes take in my attire.

“You gonna rat me out?” I ask, batting my eyes and flashing him my best sweet smile.

He just shakes his head and tosses an arm over my shoulder. He glances at Tracie and says, “Go party,” before turning back to me and leading me away from the bar.

When he doesn’t make a move to take away my beer, I take a small sip and try to convince myself that I like the taste of it. I’ve only ever really liked beer after I’ve had enough of it that I can’t really taste it anymore. Still, it’s my best friend right now since I know if I drink enough, it’ll calm my nerves. I take a large gulp and fight off the bitter aftertaste.

Ian’s always been good to me, but I know he has a dark side that puts people on edge. I try not to walk on eggshells around him, even knowing everything I know about him, but it’s hard. Forcing myself to see past his damage, I smile at the man who once felt very much like an older brother.

“Checking up on Baby Boy?” he asks.

I shrug my shoulders and decide to just be honest. “Yeah, but I’d also like to know where Daniel is.”

“Detroit is in the palace,” Ian says. “Not sure about Baby Boy.”

“You’re not going to tell me I’m too young to be here or that I don’t want to see this shit?” Honestly I’m a bit surprised he isn’t pulling some big-brother routine. With his arm that’s draped over my shoulders, I’m slightly turned to see Jeremy at the far wall where Ryan is standing with a brunette who can’t be much older than me. She’s wearing jeans and boots with a tight tank top.

I swear the chicks at this party created some kind of freaking dress code or something. The whores are either naked or almost there, and the old ladies look classy as ever next to their badass biker men. There’s no mistaking Ryan’s companion is Alex. Her dark brown hair is up in a casual bun with strands falling and swooping out in places. Her brown eyes that look so much like Ian’s and Ruby’s stay focused on Ryan. He isn’t doing much talking, or if he is, he’s talking slowly. He has all of her attention, and she has his. I almost didn’t recognize her at first—it’s been a few months—but I saw her at both Chief’s and Aaron’s funerals. Both of those days were hazy.

“Is it weird having your sister here?” I ask.

“No weirder than having
you
here,” he says. His voice sounds tight and uncomfortable. We close in on Ryan and Alex, but when we’re a few feet away, Alex makes eye contact with Ian and smiles. He gives her a casual head nod, but then we’ve suddenly taken a jerky turn toward the hallway. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him that. It’s really none of my business, and it’s not like we’re close friends who share secrets or something.

“You want to know why I’m not trying to scare you out of here?”

In my experience, I’ve learned that if someone asks you a question that requires a simple yes or no, they are going to tell you the answer whether you want to hear it or not. So instead of fighting it, I just agree that I want to know why.

“You’re going to do what you want anyway,” he reasons. “And this way, at least you’ll be fully informed of what you’re getting yourself into.”

“And what do you think I’m getting myself into?” It’s been months since Ian and I have had really any conversation. It’s not like we’ve ever been really chatty with one another, but I know what he did for Holly. He talked her through that awful night. He heard Mindy’s screams. Even after, he’s been gentle with Holly. He talks softly to her, and he was patient when she clung to him weeks after it all happened. I’ve always liked Ian, but now I have a newfound respect for him.

I know the clubhouse well enough to know what awaits us beyond the doors that line the hallway. Most of the rooms belong to the brothers. It gives them a place to crash or have sex with the Lost Girls—and for some, their old ladies. At the end of the hall is the chapel. I’d go say hi to Nic since I know she’s holed up in there, but there’s no telling who else might be in there who’d be more likely to tell on me. Still, I’m tempted to go say hi anyway since Duke quarantined her due to her super-pregnant state.

They hold Church meetings in the chapel, where they formally discuss club business. It’s also the room where they’ll decide whether or not to vote in Nic and Holly. I’ve only been in there a few times, and truthfully I have little desire to be in there normally. It’s as sacred as any place can get to these men.

One door, though—one door isn’t sacred, nor is it a personal space. The palace is where the nastiest of the nasty shit goes down. And we’re headed right for the door.

“Trouble,” he says and lifts his arm from my shoulders then takes a step away. My nerves get the best of me, oxygen catching in my throat, unable to make its way down to my lungs, and my palms sweat. I bring the beer bottle to my lips and take another large gulp.

“He’s not good enough for you, Miss Priss,” he says with a blank stare at the wall beside my head. “Your dad doesn’t want this life for you. None of us do.” He leaves me at the door to hell and disappears into his room at the end of the hall.

I wish Tracie were here with me. Instead, she’s off somewhere, doing something—or apparently someone—and not by my side like I need her to be. Maybe this is what Ian is talking about. I don’t do things on my own. I finish my beer quickly and wrap my hand around the doorknob. If I wait any longer I won’t have the nerve to do it.