Page 19 of Devil in Disguise

My footsteps echoed on the deserted cobblestone streets, the sound swallowed by the vastness of the night. The harbor’s lights appeared in the distance, their yellowish beams flickering like beacons of hope in the darkness. Ships, both grand and modest, bobbed gently on the waves, their masts swaying in a rhythmic dance.

As I approached the harbor, the gentle lapping of water against the docks grew louder, mingling with the occasional creak of wooden planks and the distant call of a solitary gull. The boats, tethered securely, painted a serene picture, their hulls reflecting the glowing orbs of light that dotted the pier.

I quickened my pace, feeling the urgency of my destination pressing against the tranquility of the night. Each shadow seemed to stretch and shift, whispering secrets of the countless stories that the harbor had witnessed over the years. The night was alive with possibilities, each corner and alleyway hiding its own narrative.

Finally, I reached the edge of the pier, the expanse of the ocean stretching out before me like an endless abyss. The water shimmered under the starlight, a canvas of ever-changing hues and reflections. I stood there, catching my breath, my eyes searching the horizon for the signal that had drawn me here.

In the stillness, a soft rustling caught my attention. I turned and there, standing just a few feet away, was a figure cloaked in shadows. Their presence was both familiar and enigmatic, a specter from my past or perhaps a harbinger of what was yet to come. The night seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he said harshly, his voice blending seamlessly with the night.

“My plane was delayed,” I replied, mostly to myself, knowing he didn’t like excuses. I was shocked to receive his text when my plane landed, telling me he wanted to meet with me. Generally, we talked over the internet through secure channels. I didn’t know what changed, but I could guess.

It was all over the news.

The Society was no more.

The Golden Skulls did what no one else could, and the fallout would be massive and felt worldwide. Already I heard the chatter of a new rising threat, as others clamored to secure their foothold in the underworld.

“Have you found her?”

“Not yet,” I admitted, then added, “I need more time.”

Reaching inside his jacket for a pack of cigarettes, I watched as he placed the cigarette in his mouth before flicking his thumbnail against the tip of the match. The flame illuminated a gnarly looking scar that rain across his jawbone before he blew out the flame. The scent of tobacco drifted through the air, mingling with the damp, salty, fishy smell of the surrounding harbor. He said nothing as he took a long drag of his cigarette before flicking it onto the ground, extinguishing it with a twist of his boot.

“Find the bitch fast, kid. Hate to be you if Morpheus loses his temper.”

Gasping, I bolted upright, my body drenched in sweat as I grabbed my head and winced, feeling the bandage that still covered my head. I really hadn’t dreamed of anything important since the accident. The doctor told me my memories would take time and not to rush them, yet I couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that I was supposed to be doing something important.

I stumbled out of bed. Each step felt like an eternity as the room swayed slightly. A vague sense of urgency gnawed at me, yet my mind remained a blank canvas, devoid of any clues. The ticking of the clock seemed louder than usual, an incessant reminder of time slipping away.

Heading toward the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water. Twisting off the cap, I took a large swallow as I looked around the place that was allegedly mine.

Walking over to the large windows, I stared down into the city that never slept and I tried to make sense of my dream. I knew of the name Morpheus. He was the president of the Brotherhood of Bastards, only they weren’t any normal motorcycle club. The club was 1%’ers and didn’t listen to the Biker Federation. In fact, the brotherhood did whatever the hell they wanted and didn’t give a damn about anyone.

I knew there was something I was supposed to remember, something crucial about the Brotherhood of Bastards, but my mind was frustratingly blank. The name Morpheus hung heavily in the air, a shadowed figure in the fog of my fragmented recollections.

As I stood there, the city’s lights reflected like a sea of stars and a sudden flash of memory jolted me. A meeting—yes, a meeting in an old, rundown bar. Faces obscured by smoke, voices murmuring in hushed tones. Morpheus had been there, his eyes cold and calculating, issuing orders with a chilling authority.

The image faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving me with more questions than answers. I knew I had to piece together the fragments of my lost memories, but where to start? The urgency grew stronger, twisting my insides with a sense of impending doom.

I walked away from the window, trying to understand why the Brotherhood was so important to me. And why the thought of letting Morpheus down sent a shiver of dread down my spine.

I tried to get back to sleep after that memory woke me, but my head wouldn’t shut off long enough for me to rest. Instead, I just got up. No matter what I did, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I was supposed to be doing something when I heard a knock at the door. Looking at the time, I frowned. It was only four in the damn morning, and I knew Dante wouldn’t be up till seven.

That thought stopped me short.

How the hell did I know that?

Hearing the knock again, I headed over to the front door and opened it to find my brother, Ace, along with four other men, all staring at me. Groaning, I ignored them and walked away. I didn’t know why they were here so damn early, but I wasn’t in the mood for any of their shit.

“Why are you here, Ace? Isn’t the military looking for you yet?”

“They better not be if they know what’s good for them,” my brother absently muttered, then clearly spoke. “Look, Danny, we need to talk.”

Halting my stride, I turned back toward him and his friends. They looked agitated, tense, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Standing my ground, I crossed my arms over my chest and asked, “You’re lying to me. Why?”

“Not lying,” Ace groaned. “Just not telling you what you want to know.”

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