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“Something’s not right,” I confirm. “Get back to the clubhouse ASAP. I’m calling church.”
The men nod and walk out of the alley, but Hex holds back.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Prez, but there’s something I have to do.”
This is unusual. He’s usually the first to follow orders, but I’ll allow it. After what he’s been through tonight, I don’t blame him for needing a few minutes to compose himself.
CHAPTERFIVE
Away from the club, the empty streets feel eerie. It’s late, but it’s like the whole city has locked down. I wonder if news of the shooting has reached the general public. If so, they’re probably fortifying their homes, sure the shooter will come for them next.
People are so self-absorbed. An alleged gang shooter who opened fire in a crowded club isn’t looking to interrupt ma and pa’s quiet evening. Whoever the shooter was, he was looking for maximum destruction. Now that he’s completed his objective, he’ll likely be hiding in the swamps to avoid capture.
Knix and Hemlock are already in the yard when I arrive, staring up at the trees. It’s an odd scene, but the moment I take off my helmet, I see what they’re looking at. Strewn through the trees are hundreds of pieces of toilet paper, flapping in the breeze.
“Who the fuck would do this?” Knix asks as I approach him.
It’s not unusual in this area for kids to pull stupid pranks like this. We’ve ridden past hundreds of TP’d houses in this area over the years, but everyone in town knows who we are and what the clubhouse is. No idiot children would dare mess with the clubhouse, not on a dare.
Another cold chill runs through me, and the wheels in my mind spin wildly. We left the house no more than an hour and a half ago. That means someone was watching and waiting for us to leave. Who has that kind of time?
Unless they knew that a shooting would happen to pull us away. Who would know that unless they were the ones to orchestrate it? TP’ing our house is a harmless and stupid thing at the end of the day, but it’s a message. We’re being watched and someone has the balls to fuck with us.
I circle the streets surrounding the club, hoping to find the woman again. It’s a fruitless errand, but I’m drawn to her somehow. I’ve seen her before, but I can’t work out where. I won’t sleep until I know. Or I won’t sleep well.
My brain tingles with an awareness around the edges, trying to tell me why I know her, but nothing happens. I wonder if this is how Seer feels when his visions don’t come through. It’s like waiting in purgatory for a word to come to mind. It’s the worst sensation in the world. After another circle around the block, I realize I won’t find her.
We were in the club for a long time after the cops arrived, and she was long gone by then. Whoever she is, she vanished, and it will be a miracle if I ever find her again. I turn my bike toward home and drive away, feeling defeated.
When I arrive, a few of the men are outside, pulling things out of the trees. What the hell? Is that toilet paper? My blood boils, wondering who would have the audacity to do such a thing. I should help them clean, but I’m too tired and frustrated. I’m no good to anybody tonight.
I open my bedroom door, ready to jump into bed and crash, but I immediately sense something is wrong. The room is too muggy, and the door sticks before I shove it open. When I step inside, I notice that the window is open. No, not open. Broken.
What the fuck?
I fiddle with the light switch, but nothing happens. I growl in frustration and walk to my bedside lamp, which does turn on. When I survey the room, I roar out in anger. The place is trashed. Not only is the window shattered, but my things are upended all over the floor. Someone was in here.
I go to the door and call for Pocus to come. He’s there in a minute, surveying the scene. His face is whiter than normal and the look in his eye is absolutely murderous.
“What’s going on?”
“That’s what I would like to fucking know,” I growl, carefully stepping over the broken glass and assessing the damage.
He looks up at me in fear, which isn’t an emotion I’m used to seeing on his face. Worry, sure, anger, almost constantly, but fear is a rare occurrence. He never lets his guard slip like that. He leaves the room, rounding up whoever isn’t working outside, and I hear the sounds of them tearing through the house.
I clean up the glass while my brothers from go room to room, careful not to wake up Daisy. I hear the sounds of doors being carefully opened and closed, and the sound of the all-clear after half an hour. In that time, I manage to clean up the glass and find a tarp to tape over the window. It isn’t much, but it’ll do for now.
Pocus returns to my room and asks if anything is missing. I truthfully haven’t checked, but it doesn’t look like anything is gone. I don’t keep much in my room. I don’t have anything of real value to my name.
I simply shake my head, letting him know that as far as I can tell, my belongings are there. They’re just all over the floor. Pocus nods, though he doesn’t seem relieved by this news.
“No other rooms were vandalized,” he tells me. “There was the TP out front, but nothing else in the house has been bothered.”
He sighs heavily and sits on the edge of my bed. Then he drops his head into his hands. I’ve never seen him this weary. It’s about more than Anderson and fatherhood. He’s been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for a long time.
“I don’t understand it,” he says quietly. “First there’s the shooting, then there’s the vandalism. They’re related somehow, but who has the means to do that?”
“I can only think of one person,” I tell him. “But it can’t be him. He’s dead.”
