Tag opened his eyes and listened as the men left the barn, slammed the van doors, and then drove away. He stared at his knees and the three battered boards in front of him until Shepherd’s heavy, scarred leather boots stamped into his field of vision.
“You know why I wanted you to see that?” Shepherd asked.
When Tag didn’t answer immediately, someone cuffed him around the back of the head. He clenched his hands against his thighs.
“No,” he squeezed out through tight lips.
“Because the reason I have to grovel to the likes of fucking Martin Morales is that you”—Shepherd rapped his knuckles hard against the top of Tag’s head—“can’t mind your own fucking business. I should have gotten rid of you after you fixed up Sonny’s leg, but I thought we had an understanding. You. Kept. Your. Mouth. Shut.”
He ground his knuckles into Tag’s skull with each word. It ached down into Tag’s brain like an external migraine.
“The baby was sick,” Tag said. “I didn’t know that Maria worked for you or that it wasn’t her baby.”
“Did anyone ask you to get involved? Did Maria knock on your door at night and offer up her scrawny ass in return for antibiotics?” Shepherd asked. He pinched the top of Tag’s ears between thick fingers and squeezed until Tag couldn’t stop the yelp of pain that escaped him. It hardly counted as pain, a pinched ear when he’d had a piece of rebar punched through his gut once, but it made him squirm in place as tears sprang to his eyes. “Did Bass tell you to get involved? Slip a quiet word in your ear after he fucked you? Does he think he could take my fucking place?”
“It was a sick baby,” Tag said raggedly as he tried to concentrate around the throb of his ear. “Most people wouldn’t need an ulterior motive to want to help.”
“Ulterior motive,” Shepherd mocked as he let go of Tag’s ear. “Thinks he’s a smart fucker, doesn’t he, Boone?”
Boone grunted in agreement. He hooked his thick thumb into the belt loop of his jeans, and the worn denim sagged under his gut. “Never trust a man that wants to cut you open,” he said. “That’s what my dad always said.”
“Shut up,” Shepherd said. He slapped the side of Tag’s head. “What did Bass tell you about me, Dr. Hayes? Did he say anything about the MC?”
Tag lifted his arm to block the slap and got kicked in the chest instead. The sharp, hot pain made his lungs and heart seize at the same minute. He rolled onto his side and curled up around the pain as he tried to suck in a breath. His heart jumpstarted itself after a missed beat, but his lungs took a moment longer before he managed to force air back into them.
“Did that two-faced fucking bastard put you up to this?” Shepherd roared in his ear. “The fucking Feds had no idea about the adoption racket. Drugs and guns, they had their noses up our asses. No fucker ever mentioned babies until you stuck your nose into my business.”
He kicked him again. The heavy toe of his boot caught under Tag’s ribs and skidded him over the floor. Something made a brittlepopsound, and it was hard to breathe again.
“Suddenly you want to keep quiet?” Shepherd asked. Instinct made Tag start to clench a fist, but Shepherd crushed his fingers against the floor with a heavy boot. “What the fuck did Bass tell you about us?”
Tag swallowed hard as Shepherd leaned his weight on him. Blood throbbed painfully in the tips of his fingers, and his joints popped and grated.
“To stay away from you,” Tag said. “That being around him didn’t mean I had anything to do with you. Bass never even met Maria.”
Not exactly true. Tag remembered Maria’s nervous glance at Bass as they spoke outside the building for the first time, and Bass’s bored discouragement of Tag’s interest. Reverse psychology, to make sure that Tag didn’t stick his nose in? One more bit of manipulation.
Tag didn’t know, but it wouldn’t help him to hurt Bass, so he bit his tongue and breathed raggedly through his nose.
“Did Bass even know about the adoptions?” Boone asked. He flinched back when Shepherd turned to glare at him, hands raised. “Just saying. Sonny didn’t. Mick neither. Not their sort of racket, so who’d have told Bass?”
“Maybe Ville ran his mouth,” Shepherd said as he ground his foot down. The growl of an approaching motorbike cut through the air. “He likes to preen.”
Boone huffed a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. “Then why not look atVille? It ain’t like our problems started when Bass came back. Besides, why? You go down, me or Sonny will step up till you get back. Maybe Mick or one of the long-timers. Bass’s been back a couple of months. He only got inked in a month ago. You go down, and no fucking thing changes for him.”
After a second, Shepherd lifted his foot and stepped back.
“Maybe,” he said, although he didn’t sound convinced. “I don’t trust him, though. He’s in The Sheep’s Clothing now, into the tequila and telling everyone to fuck off to Mexico while they still can. Never mind the fact that he was the one I sent to talk to Cochrane. Next thing you know, Cochrane is on Merlo’s leash.”
Boone shrugged. “It happens. You put a scare into someone, sometimes you scare ’em too much. Why send Bass if you didn’t trust him? Why make him a Brother at all?”
A nasty smile flickered over Shepherd’s mouth. “I wanted to see what he’d do,” he said. “And because you keep your enemies close.”
Tag cradled his hand against his chest as he sat up. It felt thick and hot, like a glove overfilled with blood, but he didn’t think anything was broken or snapped. That was good. It would heal.
“Why’s he your enemy?” he asked because he was still in… fatuated. Or stupid in love, and it would be nice to die with the idea that he hadn’t been a total idiot.
Shepherd scowled at the question. “Because you don’t shut the fuck up,” he snapped as he grabbed Tag’s ear again. “If he’s not a traitor, then what does he want?”
