Angel
"You are an angel. Beware of those who collect feathers."
—-
"It wasn't your decision to let him go." Wolf growled at me, staring at the bloodied chair where Rage had been. The place was a mess. The stench was disgusting.
I was exhausted. The past few days I was in a cycle of sleep a few hours, grab a quick bite to eat, and come back here to fuck up Rage. He had stopped talking days ago, but I was persistent. He had screamed a lot once I used fire play, which brought me some satisfaction.
"Save it, dude. We gotta talk."
Wolf stilled, eyes wide. " 'We' as in the whole club? Or..." he looked around suspiciously. We were alone in the warehouse. "Officers?"
I blinked at him, trying to read him. "You, me, and Trace." Wolf nodded, leading the way towards the exit.
We walked through the woods to the clubhouse, everyone scattered around once we got close. It was almost night time and everyone was off from their various daytime jobs, relaxing. A few girls from the Sirens were here, too. Just another night for us. Brothers were playing pool and watching football.
My eyes caught Trace in a chair across the room, alone, messing on his phone. I slowed, getting his attention. I gave him a look, slightly nodding at him to let him know something was up.
Wolf unlocked the church conference room, and we shut ourselves in, taking seats in our usual spots.
"I don't have a good feeling about this," Wolf muttered, taking his hat off and running his fingers through his long hair. He replaced it on his head, turning it backwards.
I shrugged, tired. He cursed at my silence. I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes tightly. My hair was tangled, untamed and sticking to my face.
Trace slipped in minutes later, closing and locking the door quietly. He moved like morning fog, eerie and deadly. He didn't bother with turning on the lights. Wolf removed his hat.
"What is it?" Trace asked, taking his spot at the head of the table.
Wolf sat up super straight in his chair, staring at me expectantly, tense. He cocked a brow, waiting.
I took a deep breath, swallowing deeply. Trace didn't like all the stalling nonsense.
"We have a rat."
Trace nodded, eyes glazed and far away. Not really the reaction I expected. Wolf jumped up, looking as if I told him that Riley and I had just run off and got married.
"WHAT?!" He roared, huffing and puffing. I really thought he might hyperventilate. I blinked at him as he started moaning. He ripped off his cut, throwing it.
"I mean, it's Rage. But the information he had on us lines up. Him, Shooter, and Shooter's right hand man Grizzly were all absent when we hit their clubhouse. Everyone else that night was expendable." I shook my head, slowly, thinking. "I mean, it makes sense. Their numbers took a hit, which is something at least.."
Trace was staring straight ahead, his hands in front of his mouth like he was praying. "What else makes you think this?"
I scratched at my forehead. "He knew we lost Red. That we buried him."
Wolf paced up and down his side of the table. "They could've heard word of mouth when we mourned. It was weeks."
I ran my hands up and down my neck. "He wants us to disown Riley. He was trying to sell it like she was giving them information. But she knows nothing. I wouldn't tell her, and I know you both wouldn't either. I acted on emotion regarding that." I stared at my lap, regret licking up my collar.
Wolf stopped pacing, brow furrowed. "We all would have reacted the same way, brother. There's no shame in doing what you have to do for the club." Wolf stared at me so intensely that I knew he meant it.
Trace cleared his throat. "Riley knows what club means. She's been through a lot worse than an interrogation." He left it at that.
I nodded slowly, eyes glossing over the Death Reaper carved on the table in front of me.
"Who do you suspect?" Trace asked, eyes on the Reaper, too.
I had thought this over obsessively. Constantly. I shook my head. "Someone fresh. Someone dumb enough to cross us. Not an older member, no one who has shown their loyalty."
Wolf punched the door, muttering to himself.
I delivered the final blow. "He knows where our next gun shipment will be. He didn't say it out right, it was more subtle hints. That certain land markers, he might soon ambush." I licked my dry lips, feeling my phone buzz in my pocket. "Maybe y'all will just have to trust me, but someone with a patch is feeding him information. I saw it in his fucking eyes." I shook my head, lids drooping low. I could fall asleep right then and there.
Wolf nodded, sitting down across from me. His face was concerned. "Angel. I don't want to have to say this twice. We will never agree on Riley, except for her safety. But you're our sergeant-at-arms, and that means," his eyes met Trace's, "that your gut feeling, your judgement, whatever you got out of Rage, we believe in. We believe in you 100%, no explanations." It was like a hallmark movie. Trace just stared at me, nodding once in agreement.
I blinked back at him, clearing my throat. "I won't let y'all down. Know that I take this seriously. I don't have a family," I thought of Lux, moved on, "and the Reapers mean more to me than I could ever express." Fuck, what was this, an emotional pour-your-heart out moment? Yuck.
We made a plan on how to flush the rat. I was skeptical. But I'd do anything to get the traitor out. As we stood to leave, Trace stopped us. "I'll feed everyone different information. In a week's time, we'll pick Rage up again and beat the fucking information out of him." His eyes were ablaze with something I'd seen in Riley's, in that interrogation room. Hellfire and determination.
I went to my room and passed out as soon as my head touched the pillow. I sent Riley a two word text, ignoring Trisha, Tessa, and Aspen's attempts for a booty call. Waking up, I saw that Dallas, or one of the Reaper hang-arounds that were more frequent now with Dallas, left me meals by my bed.
I didn't even know what day it was or how long I'd been crashed out before Wolf shook me awake. I startled, jumping out of the sheets. Moonlight filtered into the room. A hot meal was by my bedside table. The alarm clock read "2:58AM" and I grumbled, indignant. Bass thumped through my room walls from the bar.
"Fuck, dude. What?" I rasped, parched.
Wolf smirked, shoving a bottle of water at me. Same old Wolf. Hallmark movie forgotten. "Come with me. Our girl needs us."
-
We pulled up to a run down, massive apartment building. It stood at least 15 stories high, in a bad part of Savannah. Junkies were littered around the place, homeless or getting drunk and high. Trash was everywhere, windows boarded up. I squinted, a chill running down my spine. Riley was here? With who?
"Where are we?" I asked, taking my seatbelt off. Wolf had driven the club's truck here, staying silent.
He just stared through the windshield at the ugly building. His eyes traveled up. "We're at Brynn's apartment."
Right. The dead McKenna sister. Fuck. "Let's go." I reached for the door handle.
"Wait," Wolf's hand was on my chest, halting me. I turned my head, looking him in the eyes. I saw fear there and it made me unsettled. "She doesn't know you're here. You need to stay," he shook his head, laughing somewhat incredulously, "hidden."
Me, 6'4", stay hidden? Yeah, okay. I rolled my eyes, giving a nod that I understood.
We exited the truck and ran up the side stairway, to the fifth floor. Wolf led us to a faded red door with a new lock and doorknob. 506.
He busted it open, not bothering to knock. Jesus. I followed silently, hand under my cut and on my gun. I looked quickly behind us, at the empty open hallway and deserted parking lot. No one cared about us. Good.
Wolf entered, and I was at his flank, feeling like we were about to go down the rabbit hole. A point of no return.
The living room was trashed, smelling of mildew and rot. Like no one had been in here in months. Riley wasn't in this room.
Wolf whispered, "she's in the bedroom, stay here and keep watch." I nodded again, silent. He walked forward, turned right and disappeared.
I studied the living room that the front entrance opened in to. Yellow caution tape was on the floor near the door. The TV was destroyed, all of the chairs turned over. The couch had been stabbed, old discolored stuffing spilling out of the cushions. I walked around slowly, trying to picture who had once lived here. A McKenna? There's no way. I couldn't imagine Trace letting his family live like this. Even one the club whispered was a traitor.
I wandered into the kitchen and heard low murmurs beyond the short hallway. Broken dishes and glass were all around me and around the sink, my boots crunching loudly on it. Cockroaches crawled around, perfectly at home. Nothing seemed exceptional in this room. I walked back onto the tan, nasty carpet of the living room. I studied the carpets seeing how it was worn in the path from the door to the kitchen and beyond. A place among the wall was empty, as if something had been moved. I looked around calculating and methodically, seeing a clean Manila envelope on an upturned couch cushion against the wall. It was fresh, clean, and definitely out of place. I picked it up, turning it over. The seal was broken.
I reached inside and pulled out a red folder. It read:
SAVANNAH POLICE DEPT
MCKENNA, BRYNN A.
AUGUST 20TH OG. REPORT
Oh shit. My eyes widened, looking back towards the bedroom. Oh fuck.
I flipped it open quickly scanning the formal police report. The file felt like fire in my hands. 29 year old female, severely mutilated, initially found in her bathtub. Fatal cut to the throat, weapon not found. Presumed razor blade. History of heavy drug use. Drugs found in system at time of death, small traces of heroin and alcohol. Cause of death, brain hemorrhage secondary to beating. Victim was pregnant, presumed to be 16 weeks along. Found in hostile environment, foul play suspected, a struggle assumed. Evidence of at least two or more others at scene of crime. One being victim's sister, Riley McKenna. Sister moved body to try and revive. Sister's alibi confirmed by Brayden Black. Presumed dead 26 hours before found, rigor mortis set in.
The words didn't make any sense to me. I scanned them over and over, pieces sticking out to me.
The pictures are what really did me in. My stomach revolted, seeing Brynn's lifeless naked body on the floor of the bathroom, body cut up and on display. She had visible patches of hair ripped out, throat wide open, one of her arms looked as if it had been stabbed, a tattoo on her wrist reading my girl's name. I flipped through the file quickly, utterly horrified. The last photo was one of Riley, looking so skinny and pale and sad and small, wearing wet jeans and a white sweater stained with blood. They had photographed her as evidence.
My mind reeled, understanding clicking into place. It made more sense why Riley was so unpredictable and absent when we got close, why Trace was so completely shut off.
I heard a door open and shoved the police report back into the envelope. Not soon enough. Riley snatched it from my hands, screaming something at me and Wolf. It didn't register for me. She stormed off. I just kept seeing Brynn's body and the state Riley had been in, over and over in my mind. My feet took me towards the kitchen, not hearing what Wolf was saying to Riley. He was speaking softly, trying to console her. She was inconsolable.
I leaned against the fridge, watching them. Watching her, as she argued with Wolf.
Riley suddenly stopped and pointed at the clock, her face as white as a ghost. I turned, looking. It read 3:46 AM and she just started crying. So loud that I jumped, scared.
Wolf immediately picked Riley up and cradled her like a baby, carrying her out of the run down apartment. I followed, gun drawn, on edge. We ran to the truck, checking the parking lot before hauling ass out of there. Wolf held her in his arms the whole way and she clutched him like her world was ending.
I thought losing her to Rage and the Bastards would be the worst thing that could happen. But Riley was sobbing like she was fucking broken. I almost lost my shit. She just wouldn't stop.