I shiver. The last night I saw him will forever be burned into my mind. I was twelve, still young enough to think everything was going to be okay. Mom was out, and I was doing homework at the kitchen table when he came home. His eyes were wild, and there was blood everywhere, on his face, his hands, and his shirt was soaked through with it.
When people meet me, I know what they think. I’m shy. A pushover. Too trusting. Sheltered.
The truth is uglier than that. I learned early how cruel the world is and how little it cares about my feelings. It didn’t care when I was four and Mom locked me in the closet with a bottle of water and fruit snacks to have guys over, and it didn’t care when fate stole the only person I knew I could count on.
“Stop. Stop! I’m so fucking sorry, Q. I have to go.” He pressed a roll of bills and a key into my shaking hand. “There’s a box in the hiding spot. It’s got the rest of the money I’ve been saving. I’ll try to come back, okay? But if I can’t… don’t give her the money. Use it to get away like we talked about. Don’t tell anyone you saw me tonight. Promise?”
I knew Axel was working for a gang. I didn’t care. He was my brother and he loved me.
I would’ve run with him that night, but then he was just… gone. For days I waited for him to come home, but he never did. Mom never even asked where he was, but I remember her going outand getting her nails done and her hair dyed at the salon instead of in a box in the bathroom, like she was celebrating. Then three days later, the cops came to the door to tell us the bad news.
The money is long gone, and I never did get away.
But I never, ever told.
6
Chapter 6 - Sinner
The secretof going places you aren’t supposed to is to just act like you belong there. Nobody says shit to us when we park in the alley next to Inferno and walk around back with our heads held high. The club isn’t technically open yet, but we’ve had eyes on the place and know there are four staff members inside getting things ready. Quinn’ll probably be pissed at us doing this, but I’m not going to tell her, and I’ll take angry and alive over happy and dead any fucking day of the week.
“Watch the back,” Priest tells Grimm.
“Yeah, I know the drill.”
Colt snorts. “Prospects cop more attitude every fucking year. Especially the old ones.”
Grimm flips him off.
The guy is only a prospect by technicality. He was around before most of us, back under General when the Sons were first getting serious about being more than a violent social club for society’srejects. Some shit went down and he took off on his own, but showed back up a year or so ago. He and Hellfire, our new president, have come to some sort of truce and Grimm’s been putting in his time to earn back his cut. Taking a bullet for Hellfire probably helped.
Me, Colt and Priest slip inside. I check my piece, making sure I can get to it easily, just in case. Hopefully it won’t be. We’re here to put down some pressure, not shoot the place up.
There are two people working in the back, carrying boxes out of a storage room. Colt rounds them up without much trouble, distracting them with some bullshit story while Priest and I make our way to the main room.
A woman behind the bar, probably the bartender, is talking to a younger guy. She looks up when we come in, eyes narrowing as she tries to figure out if we’re her problem or not. She takes us in and I see the moment she decides it’s above her paygrade and looks away. Smart. This might go smoothly after all. I check the door, making sure it’s still locked and let out a sharp whistle with my fingers between my lips.
The two employees Colt sidetracked walk through the door, hands not over their heads, but out where we can see them. Colt is right behind, and Grimm’s shadow hangs back to stay in sight of the back door while keeping an eye on what’s happening in here. Like most jobs, the setup feels like hours when you’re waiting for shit to go wrong, but it’s really just a matter of minutes from the moment we walked in, until everyone’s accounted for and waiting to see if they make it out alive.
Not that we have any intention of killing anyone for the crime of being at work, but they don’t need to know that. A healthy dose of self-preservation can keep things moving nicely.
Priest claps loudly. “Okay! Now that we’re all here, listen up! We’ve got a couple fucking questions and if everyone cooperates, we’ll be on our way. You! What’s your name?” He points at the woman.
“Em?”
“That a question, Em?” I ask, walking behind the bar and herding them out into the open where we can see what they’re doing.
She shakes her head, flustered. “No.”
“Were any of you working during the PR party the other night?” Priest asks.
Em nods. “Me. John.” She points at the guy she was talking to. “Um, Selina?” She looks at one of the people from the back. “I think that’s it.”
One of the guys nods like a shaken bobblehead doll. “I was off that night. Took my girlfriend to the movies.”
“Good for you,” Colt says, dripping with sarcasm.
Priest glances down at his phone, taps to answer and moves to the side, talking quietly.
