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“It wasn’t a nightmare. And you shouldn’t have woken me up. That wasn’t nice, and if you keep it up, I’ll put you in time out.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and crosses her arms petulantly. I shoo her off of my bed and turn over, trying to get back to sleep and find the woman who was teasing me.
“You can’t go back to sleep,” she says in a bored tone. “Something bad has happened. Pocus is calling church.”
* * *
Istumble down the main stairs of the clubhouse, rubbing my eyes. It’s only 3:00 AM, and
I’m pissed at Pocus for making us get out of bed. What could possibly be so important that it can’t wait another few hours? Based on the looks of the other club members, I’m not the only one thinking that.
But Pocus is the Prez, and what he says goes. I’ve been loyal to him since I joined the Ruthless Kings, and I won’t be disloyal now. An early wake-up call is hardly grounds for a mutiny. It better be good, though, that’s all I’m saying.
As I look around, I realize I’m nearly the last one to arrive. Great.
“Nice of you to join us, Hex,” Pocus says sarcastically. “I’m sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep.”
I flip him the bird and take my seat. Seer files in after I do, and I notice Pocus doesn’t say a word to him. Dick. They’ve gotten closer since Seer’s brush with death. Do we all have to be hunted down by our murderous twin brothers to earn that kind of respect? I control my bitterness and stifle a yawn.
“Thank you for joining me at this early hour,” Pocus begins gravely. “I’m sorry I had to drag you out of bed for this, but I’ve received word that Anderson Grey is dead.”
Shock ripples through the assembled crowd and the men whisper among themselves. I look at Pocus, who seems more stressed than ever. Which says a lot because Pocus has been stressed out a lot in the last year. The last few, come to think of it.
He’s a dad now, though, which adds a layer of worry I can’t imagine. We all hear little Daisy at night when Pocus brings her out of his soundproofed bedroom to give her a bottle. She’s nearly a year old and still hasn’t settled into a sleep routine. She might be the death of us all.
Although, she may also be the reason Pocus couldn’t wait until morning to share this news. He probably figured since he was up anyway, we should join him. In my tired, grumpy state, all I can think about is how I want to punch him in the face. Prez or not, he’s keeping me from my literal dream woman.
“Do we have confirmation he’s dead?” Seer asks, shell-shocked.
Pocus nods seriously, his face extra gaunt.
“A guard confirmed it just moments ago. He was murdered by a gang member on the inside. Apparently, it was a nasty affair.”
Pocus absentmindedly wipes down the front of his shirt, as if he’s imagining the scene. He probably would have liked to be the one who dealt the fatal blow after everything Anderson put his wife through.
“Well, as tragic as that is, why drag us out of bed?” Knix interjects. “If anything, we should all sleep better knowing that son of a bitch is gone.”
A few men cheer, but Pocus hisses at them to quiet down.
“He made our lives a living hell,” Bones chimes in. “We should be celebrating!”
“Quiet,” I shout to the room. My booming voice brings the conversation to a halt. I see on Pocus’s face lines of distress and I know he doesn’t consider Anderson’s death good news.
“Thank you, Hex,” Pocus says. “There will be no celebration because his death doesn’t mean we’re free of him. For all we know, he arranged his own death so he could blame us for it.”
“Or he faked his death and is on his way here,” Seer mutters.
Pocus fixes him with a serious look.
“Anything you’d like to share, Seer?” he asks. Seer immediately looks sorry and shakes his head.
“All this to say,” Pocus continues, “we aren’t in the clear yet. We need to be more on our guard than usual and make sure our assets are fully secured. Anderson has tried to bring down this club before. I wouldn’t put it past him to keep trying, even in death.”
More grumbling comes through the room, and everyone gets lost in their memories of Anderson’s cruelty. Pocus is right, even in death he has the power to royally fuck us over. That’s the kind of man Anderson is. Or was.
“Hex,” Pocus calls out. “You’ll need to keep an ear to the ground and see if the ghosts know anything. The last thing we need is Anderson’s ghost haunting the clubhouse.”
I fix him with a wide-eyed gaze, surprised at his request. Pocus is kind to the ghosts, such that he allows them to wander around the clubhouse and refuses to use salt to keep them away. That doesn’t mean he’s a fan, and he’s certainly never asked me to directly request anything of them.
