Expression sparking with interest, Ian swiveled around, facing them now. He glanced at Carter and then Fox in turn. “Do your brothers here share your sentiments?”
“No idea. I won’t ask them to take a fall for this. I’ll take full credit for the whole fucked up mess.”
“I want to ensure that you’re all equally committed, you understand. No sense backing balky horses.”
“Aidan was my sponsor when I came into the club,” Carter said. “I’m with him. All the way.”
What a change of tides. Had they been alone, Aidan would have pulled him into a hug, such was his sudden surge of gratitude. But instead he tipped his head toward Fox, silently asking.
“I don’t balk,” he said, voice flat.
“That’s about the biggest answer you’re gonna get out of him,” Aidan said.
Ian drummed his fingers together, seemed to consider.
“It’s Kev,” Aidan prodded. “I know you–”
“Yes, obviously I’m in.” He sighed. “But I can’t involve my men. That would kick off a Middle-Earth-scale battle neither you nor Knoxville could handle at present.” He held out his arms, inviting them to look at his expensive gray suit, open-throated sky blue shirt. “So you have me, and whatever money and supplies you need from me.”
Aidan snorted. “We haveyou? Yeah,Rambo, that’ll be a big help.”
Ian grinned darkly. “Just you wait, darling. As you would say, you don’t know shit about me.”
~*~
How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? He didn’t know or care. All he wanted was for someone to put a bullet through his frontal lobe. He was destined for insanity anyway, right? No one could handle the aftereffects of his life thus far. This new torture was physical only; it hadn’t touched his mind – that was already damaged beyond repair. And this was an old familiar pain, that of violation and misuse. He felt the welling of blood and knew that this had been bad; this had been worse than with the paying customers. This had been about making a point and fighting hard against their own sick delight in the act.
Through the wall of bars that separated them, Whitney was sobbing quietly.
Tango rolled his head toward her, but his eyes were puffy, his vision glazed-over. He hated that she’d witnessed it all, but he wasn’t sorry that he’d saved her from it. “S’okay,” he mumbled, voice getting stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. “I’m alright.” He tried to lift a hand to demonstrate, but the limb only shuddered on the concrete.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Whitney chanted. And then, in a low, fierce voice: “I have to get us out of here. Ihave to.”
Thirty-Three
On Halloween, they’d raided every known Ellison property, and an afternoon of recon proved that none of those houses had been put back to use. Which meant Tango was being held somewhere off the map.
“I have an idea,” Aidan told Ian over the phone. “I’ll call you back when I know something.”
The guy drew breath to say something in response, and Aidan hung up on him. He didn’t have time for all that proper grammar bullshit.
“You actually have an idea?” Carter asked.
“Yeah.” He pocketed his phone and glanced toward the parking lot as he heard the drone of an engine. Mercy was back in one of the club trucks with lunch. “After work,” he said, under his breath, as his brother-in-law climbed out of the truck and carried a half dozen takeout containers from Stella’s over to the picnic table.
“What’re y’all doing in there?” he called. “Gossiping like chicks?” It sounded only half-teasing.
“Yeah, exactly,” Aidan said. He thumped Carter in the arm and they went out to eat, tingling under the skin with delayed action.
The sharp tang of danger lay heavy on the back of Aidan’s tongue. Since deciding on a course of action, he’d begun to feel the stares of his brothers more acutely; imagined them guessing his thoughts, reading his intent to subvert Ghost’s authority. Which glance would be the final deduction? When would it be dragged before MC court and dismantled?
“They were outta lasagna,” Mercy said as Aidan sat down across from him. “So I got manicotti.”
“That’s cool.”
Mercy knew. Oh shit, he knew! His dark eyes were level and serious on the other side of the table, his face – so jovial most of the time – set at sharp angles that brought out the lean meanness of his features.
“What?” Aidan asked, heart pounding.
