“I know that the guys in the MC stick together.”
“It’s a brotherhood,” Ava said.
“Yeah.” A brotherhood stronger than any clique, or college fraternity, or friendship. Seeing them in the bar, in groups of two and three, had been enough evidence for her to learn that the Lean Dogs belonged to a nation all their own, a world beyond the reach of others. “But why,” she continued, “is Michael always alone?”
Ava shrugged. “I don’t know anything about him. I have no idea.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Ava hesitated, then said, “The brotherhood runs deep, but there are even deeper places, in all of them. Things they’d only ever tell their old ladies.” She lifted her brows. “Maybe Michael will tell you those things, in time.”
“Maybe so,” Holly said, and hope stirred in her chest, like the feather-light brush of wings unfolding.
Low indigo clouds were rolling slowly in from the west, vivid and dark against the silver morning sky when Mercy pulled onto the Dartmoor lot behind Ghost. The rusted-out Buick was already waiting for them, parked in front of the clubhouse. The sight of it angered Mercy. He hated these hillbillies anyway; daring to be on their property felt like an affront.
Abraham had another man with him this morning, a square-shouldered, wind-battered frown in a pair of Dickies that could only be his brother, judging by the physical resemblance. The pair leaned back against the Buick’s rust-eaten fender and waited with undisguised agitation.
Mercy watched the brother size him up as he and Ghost approached. Everybody sized him up, wherever he went, and they always found themselves lacking.
He smiled to himself.
“My brother, Jacob,” Abraham said by way of greeting.
Ghost spared the man a flat, disinterested look, and asked Abraham, “What’s this about? I don’t like my dealers coming onto club property.”
“My son-in-law, you remember him,” Abraham said.
“The one with the ears, boss,” Mercy said, helpfully, giving the two dealers his worst grin.
“Yeah, thanks Merc, I got it.” Ghost sighed. “What about him? So he’s missing. So what?”
“You gotta understand Dewey,” the brother, Jacob, said. “He ain’t the type to go running off and not tell anybody.”
Ghost’s face said,I don’t give a damn. “Obviously, he is the type.”
“Nah, you don’t understand,” Jacob said. “Dewey ain’t real smart.”
Mercy snorted. “Neither are you,” he muttered, earning sharp glances from all three of them.
“He doesn’t get ideas,” Abraham said, scowling now. “He doesn’t think to himself, ‘I think I’ll go over there.’ He does what he’s told. And nobody told him to get himself lost.”
Ghost made an impatient sound. “Say you’re right and something happened to him. How’s that my business?”
Abraham scowled. “He works for you!”
“No. I allow you to sell in my districts, at the agreed price. None of the three of you are my employees. Let’s get that perfectly clear. Understand? You don’t work for me. You are indebted to me.”
The brothers shared a look. “Okay,” Abraham said in a quieter voice, swallowing down his aggression. “I understand. But…you know better than anybody what goes on in this town. If there was somebody doing bad things to people in Knoxville, you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
“That girl got killed at that bar,” Jacob said. “I saw it on the news this morning.”
“And I got a bad feeling about Dewey, Mr. Teague. You know? Like a sick feeling, in my gut.” Abraham put his hand to his stomach, to drive home the point.
“No offense to your son-in-law,” Ghost said, “but guys who kill pretty young women don’t tend to go after big-eared doofuses, just on principle.”
“You saying you won’t help us find him?” Abraham asked.
“I’m saying it’s not my problem,” Ghost said. “I’m sorry for your loss, if it turns out to be a loss, but Knoxville isn’t exactly a murder hotbed.”
