I opened the phone as he requested and had a lump in my throat when I saw a picture of me, Pops, and Cheyenne smiling at the camera as his screensaver. It was taken a month or so before he died, put on the front porch, and it was one of my favorite pictures of us.
“Open the pictures and I’ll show you what I’m talking about,” he instructed, and I did as he asked.
He scrolled the pictures back in time and opened one that seemed random. It was a picture of a house that looked to bein need of repairs. I gave him a quizzical look, and he took the phone from me and pulled up the photo’s data. I knew stuff like that was in pictures from cell phones, but I was shocked at the amount of information that was available.
“This shows the day, time, location, and phone that took the picture.” He closed it, then he pulled the picture from the screensaver and did the same thing. “See what’s different?”
I looked but had no fucking clue what he was talking about, so he pointed to a line. “This is Nitro’s phone.” Closing it, he reopened the one of the house and pointed. “But this isn’t this phone. It looks like he downloaded it to his phone, so it’s showing the phone that took it.”
“Why the fuck would he download a picture of a rundown house that could be anywhere in the Dakotas? And who the fuck’s phone was it?” I stood from the chair and scrubbed my hands down my face as I yelled, “Fuck.”
“I’m gonna figure out why, or at least where this picture was taken, and hopefully by who.”
“And then what? We’re still no closer to finding the motherfuckers who killed him.” I started pacing in the kitchen, and Warhol watched from his seat as I grumbled about letting Pops down.
I turned to see him stand, then he walked right up to me. “Whatever bullshit you have in your head about not doing right by Nitro needs to be tossed out. He would be so proud of the leader you’ve become, and I know for a fact that everyone in the club respects you. So, stop all the second guessing and thoughts of inadequacy.”
“How can you say that? It’s been three years and I’m still no closer to avenging him as I was the day it happened.”
I went to walk out of the kitchen, but his words stopped me. “Trent, you’re a good man and a better President. I don’t say this often, but the things you’ve done to change the club since the rowdy days after we lost your Pops have made the club better. Not knocking Nitro, but your leadership is what’s going to carry this club forward, and without you, we would’ve fallen apart by now.”
I glanced over my shoulder, and he offered a tight smile, which was weird for him. “Thanks, Matt.”
It’s rare that we used anything but our club names, but this conversation was exactly what I needed. The feeling that I was only elected President because of what happened with Pops has plagued me since we lost him. I worried the brothers had done it out of loyalty to him and not for their belief in my ability to lead.
He followed me outside to the front porch, and as he stood next to me, watching the orange hues of morning fill the sky, he lifted Pops’s phone up as he said, “I’m gonna dig deeper into the pictures, files, downloads, and uploads from the timeframe you said he was dropping off the grid and see what I can find.”
I slapped him on the back as I said, “I appreciate it. Cheyenne will be back from her granny’s this afternoon, and I’ll let you know what she found out about his stops at that store.”
He gave me a worried look, and I knew what was bothering him. Cheyenne was out there alone, asking about things that could have been the cause of Pops’s murder. I was terrified she was about to put a target on her back.
If someone came after my ol’ lady, the power of the Bastards would squash them. But I did fear she could be hurt, or worse, in the crossfire.
Chapter 11
Cheyenne
The black eagle scaring the shit out of me this morning was still heavily on my mind as I pulled out of Granny’s driveway. Jackie had heard my cup hit the floor and came into the kitchen to investigate. She saw the massive bird sitting on the swing set, staring at the house, and her eyes had grown wide. She was walking very close to the shattered mug when I grasped her arm and tugged her back.
It was like the bird was calling to her, and when she met my gaze, I knew she was worried. This kind of thing was legend within the tribe, and the appearance of a black eagle wasn’t something that happened often. Or ever in this country, which made it all that much weirder. Worried that Granny would see it, or maybe one of the neighbors, I slipped a pair of shoes on and walked outside, waving my arms above my head as I got closer to the carnivorous bird.
It seemed to lock eyes with me, and when I got less than ten feet from it, the bird hopped off the swing set, flittered down to the ground, and flapped its massive wings. I swallowed the fear that was coursing through my veins and clapped my hands twice at waist level, causing the bird to launch into the air and fly over the house.
I didn’t want to see where it went, so I turned and walked back inside the house. Jackie had cleaned up the spilled coffee and was sweeping the broken mug into a dustpan.
“That was strange,” she joked, trying to cut the tension.
“The weather does strange things to animals,” I remarked, trying to not speak about the ominous feeling that seemed to blanket us.
Pouring two cups of coffee, I handed one to Jackie before taking a seat at the table. She joined me, and we sat in silence, not speaking about what was on both our minds.
Why would an animal not native to this country but steeped in our folklore show up? And why did it seem to be focused directly on me?
We didn’t speak of it when Granny woke up, nor when we were enjoying the pastries I’d brought for breakfast. Our gazes would meet every so often, and I knew there was a lot she wanted to say but couldn’t. She followed me up to the bedroom so I could change and grab my bag before getting on the road back to Rapid City.
“What the fuck was that, Cheyenne?” she whispered to me, and I shrugged. I turned my back to her and pulled my nightshirt up and over my head before putting a shirt and sweater back on. Facing her, I saw her arms crossed and the expected expression on her face as she tapped her foot, waiting for me to answer. “What are you involved in that a harbinger would appear?”
“I’m not involved in anything, Jackie,” I returned, and she shook her head at me.
