Page 2 of Lies Beneath Secrets

“How’s it out there?” Knox asks me as he taps some ash off the tip of his cigar.

“Our brother is tied to a chair and beaten half to death. Just peachy.” I crack open the can and angle my glass to pour in the dark-brown liquid. Enough of an angle, and there won’t be too much foam at the top. Siena quietly takes away the empty can when I’m done, and I gulp a few long drinks from the glass. Maybe I should have gone with scotch tonight, but I don’t want to give off how stressed I am.

“It’ll be over tomorrow.” Knox takes a sip from the beer bottle in front of him. Gabe told me not to trust anyone. Is Knox someone I can’t trust? I’ve known him for just about as long as I’ve known Gabe. But on the other hand, I also know that he’s the club’s enforcer. He does the dirty behind the scenes work. The shit that needs to be handled without anyone knowing what happened or who did it. That means if King wanted me gone without anyone knowing, Knox would be the one to do it regardless of how long we’ve known each other. I eye up his bottle a little, watching his thumb peel away at the label. The fish on the label that covers most of it is nearly gone. He must have been digging on it for some time now. Something has to be bothering him too.

Len’s shouting from outside pours into the clubhouse. His face is bloodied, eye swelled shut. “He got away!” he shouts. Some of the other brothers jump up and start toward the door, only for King to stop them.

“Hold on.” King gets up from the chair and stalks over to Len. “How long ago?”

“Maybe ten minutes. I don’t know. He knocked me out.” Len reaches up and touches the gash on his head, wincing at the action.

“He couldn’t have gotten too far,” King starts, “Knox? You’re with Con. You two are the fucking soberest ones in here tonight.” Knox looks my way, and I shrug. I suppose he’s right. “Stay alert. No telling what kind of measures he’ll take to stay alive.” Murmurs of agreement spread around the room. My phone chooses this moment to go off, ringing that generic tone in my pocket. King shoots me a raised brow in question as to who the hell is calling me right now. Pulling the phone out of my pocket, I flip it open, and the call suddenly ends. This fucking phone.

“You’re getting an upgrade tomorrow,” Knox says behind me with humor in his tone. “Fucking old man.”

“Still better looking than you.” Knox barks out a laugh at my retort. Knox is the epitome of a pretty boy. Tall, sandy-blond hair. Sharp jawline covered in the same amount of stubble each day. Hell, he even has one of them dimples on his chin. I, on the other hand, it’s been some time since my hair has seen clippers. It normally stays tied back or under a bandana. My beard is a few inches long, only getting a trim now and then when it starts to bother me. The strands of silver weaving through both probably make me seem older than my forty years of age.

“Even your jokes are outdated.” Knox laughs. Fucker is like ten years younger than I am.

“Let’s fucking go asshole.” I check my gun to make sure it’s loaded, then tuck it away for now, hoping I won’t have to use it later.

We’re only three miles from town, cross country, so a man highly motivated to stay alive wouldn’t take too long to reach the outskirts. There are mostly apartments on that side and no abandoned buildings that I know of. A couple small businesses and a diner. So, if he were to hide out, he’d have to break into something.

One group of men take off on foot in case Gabe is slow as hell and is still in the woods between the clubhouse and town. Knox and I drive into town. “Leave your cut in the truck. We don’t need to draw attention to ourselves or have someone remember us,” I say, taking mine off and placing it in the backseat.

“You think they would if they realized who we were?” Knox responds but takes his off as well. The Skeleton Crew are very well known in this town and sometimes not in a good way. Especially since in the last few years, the club has been connected with the Flatliners, a street gang that has been growing their ranks. While we only provide transport protection for them, it still puts a stain on our reputation. Boe was never fond of the partnership, but he was outvoted when the proposal was brought to the table.By King.

I glance over at Knox who has his gun drawn. I do the same and keep it low, wondering for a moment if now could be the time I should say anything to him about Gabe’s reveal. “You really think he was able to get away?” Knox asks me.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You were just with him, weren’t you?” He doesn’t look my way, only keeps walking in front of me through the alley.

“Are you accusing me of something?” I ask, causing him to pause for a moment without turning around.

“I’m asking if you think Gabe would have been able to get away?” Knox takes another step, his gaze seemingly trained on an apartment window. I glance up to the same window in time to see something flash behind the curtain, then a woman’s scream for a split second.

“Shit.” Both Knox and I swear at the same time and jog for the front door of the apartment complex. The glass vestibule door is busted open with thick shards all over the floor.

“Gotta be him,” Knox declares. “Looked like it was on the third floor.” I nod in agreement and follow after him to the stairs. The hallway is lit, and I can’t help but notice there is more than just one set of wet footprints on the thin, worn carpet.

“Hey,” I whisper to Knox, then point at the floor when he looks back my way.

“Two,” he responds. He draws back the hammer on his gun when we reach an apartment door that has been kicked in. The door jamb is splintered where the deadbolt used to sit.

The closer we get, the clearer we can hear whimpering inside. “Please. I didn’t see anything.” It’s a woman’s voice. Small and shaky. No one answers her back, only the click of a gun loading. “Please,” she pleads again.

“Where is it?” King’s voice speaks in the dimly lit room.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whimpers again.

He chuckles, then must hear Knox and I walk into the room. His head turns our way. I keep my mouth shut, so does Knox. The woman is on the floor, hunched over, covering her head. She looks like a child almost, the way she’s crouching down. She’s so small.

King reaches down and takes a handful of her dark, wayward hair, pulling her up to his face, her feet barely on the floor. She keeps her eyes squeezed shut. “Should have been sleeping, little one,” he taunts, then places the barrel of his gun right under her jaw.

“Please,” she sobs again, and something in me clenches hard. I’ve been a witness to many things King has done in the past. Some could be justifiable and others not so much. This right here is the latter. I can’t help myself. I snap my fingers, getting his attention. He looks my way with a dark glare. As if I’m taking away his fun. I narrow my stare and slowly shake my head in warning.

“Guardian angel,” he mutters and pushes the gun harder into her chin. Her neck stretches with the force, and it causes her to let out a hiss. This is a scary situation for anyone, but she seems to be handling it surprisingly well and for a moment, I find myself impressed with the girl.

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