Page 32 of Freak
“Nothing that means nothing, but ... I don’t know.” He tapped the side of his head. “Spidey senses goin’ haywire.”
Len nodded. “C’mon. Let’s talk to Badge.”
––––––––
~oOo~
––––––––
Badger’s response wasto send Len and Mel after Kellen and ‘get the stick out his ass one way or another,’ so Mel shot off a quick text to let Abigail know he might not be at the clubhouse when she got there, but if so, he’d get back as soon as he possibly could. Then he hunted up Adrienne and asked her to keep an eye out for her. Abigail was shy about being at the clubhouse without him—and that had surprised him, since she’d shown up to a few parties over the years and, as far as he’d noticed back then, she’d been fine. But his notice back then hadn’t been so completely locked on her, so maybe he’d missed her discomfort.
Len texted Kellen and asked where he was, but Kellen left him on read. So Len and Mel mounted up and headed off on a tour of Likely Places to Find Kellen Frey. No Place was closed this early in the day, so they rode straight to the second most likely place, Marie’s—and found his bike parked alongside the building. They parked on either side of him and sauntered in.
Kellen sat alone at a booth, hunched over a cup of coffee, scrolling on his phone. A half-full pot sat in the middle of the table. He didn’t look up as they approached.
Without a word, Len slid onto Kellen’s bench, blocking him in. Mel took a seat on the other bench, facing them.
Kellen’s head jerked up, and Mel caught a flash of fear in the man’s eyes before he covered and said, as if he were glad to see them, “Hey, fellas.” He flipped his phone screen down on the table.
“Hey, brother,” Len said, also as if he were glad to meet up. “What’s up? We’re busy at home, and you’re not there.”
Kellen’s eyes darted to Mel and back to Len. “Nothin’. Just needed a minute to myself.”
“Got worries on your mind?” Len asked, his friendly tone taking on a hint of frost. “Nobody better to talk things over with than family, right?”
“Nah, I’m good. No worries on this noggin.” With a strained grin, he made a loose fist and knocked on his temple.
Mel had no talent in or patience for roundabout talking, so he asked outright. “You said we needed to talk. What’s up?”
Kellen’s attention stayed on Len for several seconds before he turned again to Mel. “It’s nothin’. Forget it.”
“Nah, man.” Len hooked his arm over Kellen’s shoulders and gave him a firm squeeze. “Don’t bottle shit up. Keepin’ secrets is bad for a man’s health.” As a period on the barely veiled threat, Len squeezed a little harder and gave Kellen a shake.
Len looked like what he was: a hard man who’d lived every second of his life hard. White brush cut and beard, leathery, permanently sunburned skin—what was visible under a near full-body coverage of ink—and hands turning to stone with old damage and arthritis. He wore an eye patch, and he’d lost the eye that had been in that socket about as hard as an eye could be lost. He was around seventy years old and could not possibly be as strong as he’d been, but he remained a man with whom one should not fuck.
Kellen was not the brightest star in the night sky, but he clearly understood—and felt—Len’s threat. A sheen rose across his unusually pale forehead.
Mel was getting the idea that Kellen was into something bad—bad for the club, or the town, and ... somehow bad for him? Why had Kell been so interested in talking to him, in particular?
From somewhere deep down, Kellen dredged up some courage, but he deployed it foolishly. He straightened up under Len’s grip and hardened his expression. “I don’t appreciate this pressure. I’m a patched member of the Horde—I’m a fuckin’ officer—so where do you get off treating me like I’m some mark?”
When Len didn’t back off, and neither he nor Mel replied, Kellen seemed to consider something for a quick second before he turned to Len and went in harder. “You know, maybe you should think twice about pissing me off. The shit I know could fuck you all straight down to hell.”
Mel barely held back an audible gasp, and he couldn’t keep the words “Jesus Christ, Kell,” from slipping quietly from his lips.
Len grinned like a man who’d been looking for a reason and finally found it. He tightened his grip on Kellen and leaned close to his ear. “Oh, Kell, baby. Did you just threaten to rat on your brothers?” Clucking his tongue like a disappointed schoolmarm, Len released his hold and leaned back.
His burst of reckless courage draining away, Kellen paled more and tried not to be obvious as he scooted his ass into the far corner of the booth, making all the distance he could between him and Len. “No, no. Fuck, of course not. I’m just ... y’all are comin’ on sohard. It’s like you’re threatenin’ me, and I ain’t done nothin’.”
“Then why all the secrecy?” Mel asked. “What is it you need to talk to me about?”
Again, Kellen studied Len and Mel in turn. Finally he sighed, flipped his phone over and opened his photos. He enlarged the most recent. Pushing his phone to the center of the table, and keeping his hand firmly on it, he showed Mel, and Len, the photo.
It was the side of Abigail’s house, where the shitheads had spray-painted FAT FREAK in Day-Glo orange. This photo was recent, showing the garden of flowers, butterflies, and bees she’d painted around that nasty message.
The caption printed over the photo read:Guess She Agrees with Us!followed by a string of various laughing emojis.
In that moment, Mel understood the phrase ‘seeing red.’ His vision actually changed, going dark and ruddy in the margins, as his heart rate sped up and burgeoning rage tightened the muscles across his shoulders. It was possible he’d never been this angry in his life.
