“No, but like that though? Like old dead bodies?”
“Yeah. You’d find ’em along the side of the road. Kids, women, men. Bits of them left out in the wild. Once found a couple of dogs eating a fuckin’ week-old head.”
“Just a head?” Sketch replied, sounding disgusted.
“Yeah, just a head, no eyes or anything, nose all chewed off.”
“Do you two want to shut the fuck up, or do I need to crack some skulls?” Bull interrupted.
“It’s all right,” I said, looking up from my whiskey, the world a drunken blur. “It’s all alright.”
The men exchanged a look and Ranger and Sketch took off. Bull sat down opposite me, one ankle resting on top of the opposite knee. He leaned forward and let out a heavy sigh before leaning back in his chair. His one long braid hung over his shoulder and he sighed again.
“I’m sorry, Crank. Don’t know what to say to you to make any of this okay. It’s fucked up, majorly.”
I swallowed the rest of the whiskey in my glass and leaned over to put it on the table. I missed the table and the glass fell to the floor and smashed.
“Fuck, sorry, Prez,” I slurred.
I had been drinking since we’d found Hope’s body, still wearing my shirt and curled up in a ball on the floor. It had looked like she was sleeping, but the smell was what had given it away.
“Don’t fucking apologize for a broken glass, you asshole. Break as many fucking glasses as you need. Break ’em all if you have to. But stop apologizing.” He sounded angry with me. Everyone was always angry with me. I always let someone down, no matter how hard I tried not to.
“Sorry,” I slurred again, reaching over to grab the bottle from the table.
“Maria swears she had nothing to do with it.”
“You believe her?” I asked, swallowing down a mouthful of whiskey. God, it felt good. I was so close to passing out I could almost touch it.
“Yeah, I do. Think she had a couple of words with her to make her feel like dog shit though—probably the final straw for Hope, but the drugs she had, they looked like the same shit Stone had on him. Which means…”
“This was down to Click,” I finished off for him.
“Yeah. And we already know that he got what was coming to him.”
I nodded, somehow feeling worse for that. I couldn’t get revenge for Hope’s death. I couldn’t make it right for her, or her family.
“What are we going to do with her?” I asked, my eyes feeling heavy.
“Wolf and Thor are already taking care of it. Can’t have that shit coming back on the club, Crank. Gotta get rid of the body and any trace of her from the club.” He sounded apologetic as he spoke, yet his apology meant nothing to the pain I was feeling, or the pain her parents would be feeling, never knowing where their daughter went.
“What about her friend Katie? She knew that Hope was here.”
I closed my eyes, the image of Hope’s gray face burned in my mind. It went right alongside the image of my family burning together, their screams locked inside me forever.
“The garage has been burned to the ground. Nothing to find but dust and bricks. No trace that she was ever here. We stick to the story that she left after about half an hour. She was sober and said she wanted to go home, after she left it’s not our problem.” Bull dragged a hand down his face. “Katie can talk, but other than bringing her here, she don’t know shit. She was off fucking Patch when Maria laid into Hope, so she wasn’t witness to anything that could make people suspicious. Only one thing left to get rid of now,” Bull said, his tone dark.
I opened my eyes and looked at him, the almost-empty bottle of whiskey still clutched in my hand. I was topless, my bloody chest on show. I reached up with one hand, touching the scabbing-over tattoo. Hope’s name. Branded on my heart forever.
“Need to get rid of it, brother. Just in case. Hope was a civilian, an innocent. A death like that in our clubhouse, with our drugs, given to her by one of our men.” He tutted angrily. “Need to get rid of all trace of her from here or we’re all screwed.”
I was silent, letting his words wash over me like a wave. I nodded and stood up, almost falling back over again. Bull came over quickly and helped me to sit back down.
“It’s all right. Sketch is here waiting,” he said, and as if on cue Sketch wheeled his cart over.
He looked me over, his gaze moving to the tattoo on my chest. “This is gonna hurt,” he said.
I laughed darkly. “You know I only do this for the pain, Sketch.”
