The Dust and the Roar Read online

  “Yeah, he did,” said Jake, a weak smile shifting over his lips. Pride and gloom all in one.

  “Holy shit,” said Mick. “Holy shit. That’s a fucking gold mine.”

  “It can be. Our own gold mine,” said Jake, his earnest gaze snagging on mine.

  “If we can get that moving, we would have our own steady cash flow,” said Willy. “Our own material, wouldn’t be dependent on anyone, especially the Denver Jacks.”

  “We’d be a force to be reckoned with,” Mick said. “A club with muscle, authority in our area, not just—”

  “A messenger service, delivery service, bunch of fix-it boys,” said Willy, bitterness lacing every word tight.

  That’s what we’d been for the Colorado Jacks. None of us liked it much. Our take was usually pretty low.

  “You know The Shepherd’s going to pick up the scent of Leo all over us,” said Mick.

  “Fuck The Shepherd,” I said.

  “You willing to fuck him? You willing to get dirty, Wreck?” Mick said, his tone full of spikes and needles.

  “I am.”

  And I was.

  Maybe I’d never been willing to get dirty enough. But that Rich was gone now. Gone.

  “Leo gave us a gift,” said Boner. “We use it right, this could be huge for the club. By that I mean, use it wisely, not arrogantly. It’s going to be tempting to show it off, to sell it big, to brag everywhere we go, but that would be a lethal mistake. We have to curb that temptation. If that’s what we want…”

  “That’s what we want,” said Mick. “We’ll work on a strategy for that.”

  “Lay low. Fight hard. Together onwards,” I murmured, Noah’s words rumbling off my lips from yesteryear. They were the truth.

  Mick grinned at me. “Yeah, bro. Yeah.” Willy clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.

  “Shepherd has to go,” I said. “And I’d bet it’d make local law enforcement crazy.”

  “Rapid’s gonna shit themselves and shed some real tears,” said Willy.

  “Fuck Rapid,” I muttered.

  “Yeah, fuck Rapid,” they all said.

  “I’ve been keeping track of his movements, his schedule, timing it,” said Boner. Black eyebrows pulled together over those bright green eyes of his. “Give me the go ahead.”

  My prospect was eager to impress, to prove himself. “You know what you’re doing, Boner?” I asked.

  “Oh, he knows what he’s doing. He knows how to watch and wait,” said Jake, a grim grin twisting his lips. “That’s the least of it, trust me. Boner was a member of an El Salvadoran gang back in Denver before he got busted and shoved into juvie where we met.”

  I focused my gaze on my long-haired Zorro. My instincts about him had not been wrong. A master of disguise in so many ways. Quirky and easy going, he was something of a quiet loner. Now he was primed and ready to spring like a well-oiled machine.

  “You up for this?” I asked him.

  His head slanted, his long dark hair falling over the side of his face, covering a startling green eye. “This is important to you, Wreck. It’s important to me.” His voice was smooth and steady. “It’s important to our club.”

  My fucking bounty hunter. Our eager assassin.

  “That’s right,” said Jake.

  I sat up straighter. “Shepherd may have ordered a hit on Leo and Isi, or he may not have, but that doesn’t matter anymore. One of his flock was the shooter. He’s been strong-arming and torturing The Tingle, blocking us, our brothers, the Colorado Jacks, and he’ll find all sorts of creative ways to block our very existence. Now he thinks he’s got us beat, that he’s got us down.”

  “We’re not fucking down,” muttered Willy.

  “Hell no,” said Kicker.

  “I want Claw too,” I said.

  “You know what you’re saying?” said Mick.

  “I know exactly what I’m saying.” I took a cigarette out of Willy’s pack and lit up with my Zippo.

  Mick’s chest expanded, he rubbed his hands together. “All right, Jake and Boner, you two stake out Shepherd. Then take Jump with you and head up to Montana to find Claw.”

  Jake and Boner rose from the table, their lids in hand. My two prospects. My two boy-men who I’d brought into this club because I knew they’d needed direction and we needed their energy and drive. And now they were chomping at the bit to do whatever was asked of them. My blood thrummed under their heavy gaze. Their fervent and unquestioning loyalty meant everything to me. It was rare, precious, and they knew it too. I was humbled, I was goddamn proud.

  I lifted my chin at them. “Get on it.”

  Boner took off out the door. Jake shook his head, a grin on his lips. “He’s all hopped up. It’s been a while.” He unlatched his helmet and moved toward the door.

  I stopped him, my hands gripping his arm. “Be careful.” My voice came out more emotional than I’d expected, and I pressed my lips together to stop more words from coming.

  “We will. I’ll be in touch.” Jake raised a hand in farewell to all of us and headed for his bike.

  “Let’s talk details.” Willy lit a cigarette.

  “You think we should ask Scout for backup?” asked Kicker.

  “Fuck no,” I replied. “This is our business. Our job. Our club. We’re going to get it done our way, and we’re going to get it done right.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Mick took our van and met up with Boner and Jake and Jump in Montana.

  Boner was observant and had honed right in on Claw’s proclivities whenever he’d seen him around, keeping the information filed away for future use. Months ago, Claw had taken a liking to Tracy, one of the dancers at The Tingle. Boner had Tracy enter a dance contest at the strip club the Seeds frequented in Montana and re-introduce herself to Claw. He bit. While she was going down on him in a back room, Boner garroted him until Jake got him under with chloroform. Getting him out of that nightclub hadn’t been easy, but they’d done it, with Tracy and Jake creating a diversion. Willy met them all out back with the van.

  Once they got into Meager, the guys dropped Tracy off at home and brought Claw to the designated meeting place. But first, Kicker and I had a business meeting in Rapid. We stood in the dark, in the back parking lot of the Lone Pony Bar. I checked my watch.

  “So you’ve come to your senses?” Shepherd’s deep voice rose over his plodding footsteps on the sidewalk. Right on time. The one overhead security light shone behind him, adding some much-needed drama to his shoddy appearance. The heavy fireproof back door of the Lone Pony clicked shut behind Shepherd’s bodyguard. He came over to Kicker and me and patted us down for weapons. We were clean. He retreated to the brick wall, arms crossed.

  “I’m here to make a deal with you on The Tingle,” Kicker said.

  Shepherd let out a dry chuckle, his eyes creasing. “Leo’s dead. Offer’s off the table now.”

  “Hear us out, man. My brother’s on his last leg. I—”

  The Shepherd wiped long fingers down his thick gray mustache. “Come inside,” he said. “We’ll have a drink. Talk.”

  “No, we don’t want to be seen in there. We came to tell you officially. We can talk details another time,” I said.

  “What the fuck you talking about?”

  “I don’t want people knowing we’re working together,” said Kicker, gnawing on his bottom lip.

  Shepherd made a face. “No, dude. No. We don’t work together. You fuckers are working for me from now on, you got that? That nightclub will be mine.”

  I slanted my head. “Oh, right, yeah. Everything’s yours.”

  “In the Black Hills, it sure as shit is.”

  A flash of chrome passed me, and a shot exploded in the night air. The bodyguard collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.

  Shepherd reached for the gun in his holster and aimed at the black car speeding by. Another shot. Shepherd cried out, his body stiffening. He’d been shot in the leg.

  I wanted Shepherd for myself.

>   Cuffing his neck with my arm, I pulled him back against me. His eyes flared in the one dim light by the door, his lips twisting, long hair in my face. “Fuck you, motherfucker,” I seethed. Staggering, he grunted, twisting in my hold. “The One-Eyed Jacks are not your slaves, you fuck.”

  The smell of piss and garbage seared my nose. Mick pulled up in the black van, having just loaded my bike inside. Jump sprang out and taped The Shepherd’s mouth, the two of us and Kicker shoving him into the back of the van.

  We headed for the hills.

  * * *

  We parked and unloaded Shepherd from the van, dragging him along the winding path that Jake had mapped out for us. Within fifteen minutes we’d arrived at Leo’s patch of ground. Big flashlight lamps lit up the small area. Claw was hogtied, tape across his mouth. I came into the light, and he blinked, struggling against the ropes binding him.

  More lights dotted a circle where the boys dug a pit in the earth. Jump sat on the edge of it, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Jake, chill out, man. This is cool, we don’t need to go any deeper. Yo, you listening?”

  Jake continued his digging. Manic shoveling. His taut, bare arms and chest covered in sweat and thick streaks of brown dirt, his hair matted and stringy. “Needs more,” he gritted out from the pit.

  “He’s a digging machine,” said Jump.

  “You certainly aren’t winning any prizes tonight, shithead,” said Willy.

  “I’m taking a quick break. I’m no Energizer bunny like this freak, okay?” Jump got to his feet, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans.

  Jake kept digging.

  Boner, sweat dripping down his chest, a hand on his shovel, watched Jake intently. “Jake.” His tone was firm, precise as a blade.

  Jake blinked, Boner’s voice snapping him out of his trance. Chest heaving, he gazed up at his friend, trying to focus.

  “It’s good, man,” said Boner.

  “Yeah?” Jake surveyed his work. “Yeah.” He grinned at his accomplishment. Handing his shovel up to his best friend, Jake took hold of Boner’s other hand and climbed up out of the pit.

  Jump, Mick and Willy dragged over Shepherd’s body to the edge. “Look at you now, fucker,” muttered Jake, wiping a dirty hand across his mouth. “Not so high and mighty now.”

  Boner handed me a crowbar. The metal cold, hard in my hand. I gripped it tight and swung, smashing it into Shepherd’s shot-up leg. His face came alive with horror and pain. “That’s it. Look at me, you fuck. The Great Shepherd is done in the Black Hills. Done. Forever done. May his memory be forgotten.” I bashed his leg with the crowbar again and again. Bones popped and smashed. He howled and grunted through the tape on his mouth. His face turned red. He slacked and jerked. Mick wielded a baseball bat and smashed his other leg. He lifted the baseball bat over Shepherd’s head.

  “No!” I yelled.

  Everyone turned to me. Silence but for Shepherd’s moans and Claw’s cries.

  I shoved Shepherd into the deep pit. Grabbing Claw by the shoulders, I dragged him to the edge. His feet kicked out, he struggled in my hold, trying to shuffle back.

  “Look at your buddy.” I held him over the pit, his whole body fighting me. “Look!” I pulled him back and shoved him on the ground, ripping the tape from his mouth.

  “Why you doing this? Why? I didn’t do nothing to Leo or Isi. That wasn’t me.”

  “Didn’t do nothing?” I placed the flat edge of my blood-soiled knife on his lips. Claw groaned, his face twitching, legs jerking.

  I dragged the knife along his lips, cutting, thin lines of blood seeping over his mouth, his teeth. My blade trailed down his throat, to his chest and ripped his T-shirt down the middle. I pressed the blade into his flesh, and he wheezed and moaned, a thin line of blood flaring on his white skin. Shepherd’s low wails rose from the pit at our side.

  “Light me a cigarette, would you, Willy?” I kept my eyes on my victim, squatting down in front of him.

  Willy put a lit cigarette to my lips, and I inhaled deep once, twice, the ember of the end blazing red. I let out a thick stream of smoke and jammed my blade into Claw’s thigh. He howled loudly, and Boner tied a bandana around his mouth real tight.

  I leaned into Claw. “This is why you’re here, you fuck.” I pressed the flaming end of my cigarette into his chest. The odor of his burning flesh filled me with adrenaline. The sound, an odd hiss that shot a rush through me. “You remember doing this to her? You remember?” I sucked on the cigarette, Claw’s eyes flaring at the bright red burst at the end of the cig. I burned the cigarette into his chest again, his body jerking, shaking. “You deserve to be in the ground. Not her. Not her. Not Leo.” I stuck the cigarette in his flesh again. “Feels good, huh?” I twisted it. “You liking it?”

  I burned more holes into his chest, along his throat. His flesh my ashtray, his skin my canvas. He shuddered and screeched through the bandana. My pulse thudded dully. He was a helpless, twitching animal.

  I put out the last cigarette on his balls, his dick. His eyes full of water streaming down his red face. His legs flailing, still trying to gain traction, to get away from me, his personal demon.

  “You’re going in the pit. No mercy. You deserve none.” With the full force of my own body, I shoved my knife in his belly, pulling it to the side an inch. I wanted him to suffer more. He quaked, eyes bulging, moans lingering. His head fell, and he watched as blood leaked and bubbled from his middle.

  “Look.” I slapped Claw’s face toward the pit where Shepherd lay groaning. He cried out.

  “I want you both buried in the ground while there’s still life left in you, slowly, slowly draining out of you. I want you to know what it’s like to breathe in the dirt and the worms.” My loud voice shook.

  “That’s where fucks like you belong,” said Jake, his tone heavy steel.

  I stood up, and with a shove of my boot, Claw tumbled into the pit. Mick tore the Demon Seeds patch off of Claw’s jacket and held it high in the air. Cigarettes were tossed in the pit. Mick ripped at the jacket with his knife and threw a piece over Claw who twisted in the dirt below. Each brother ripped off a piece of the jacket with the knife until I threw the last piece over him.

  With their shovels in hand Boner, Jake, and Jump flung the earth they’d dug up onto Shepherd and Claw. Weak cries and moans rose up in response. Jump stopped, swallowed hard, his lips parting. Head down, Jake shoveled quickly, his arm muscles rippling in the glow of light. “I dug this dirt deep for fuckers like you,” he muttered. Kid was in another battle he was still fighting.

  All of us joined in the shoveling of earth over the Shepherd and Claw. Willy, Mick, Judge, and Kicker at my side. With every deep grunt of ours, with their every shove and slide of metal into the earth, warm blood pounded through my veins again. I dumped the last of the earth on those fuckers, knowing they were still alive down there, silencing them forever.

  Silencing the hammering of my drained heart.

  My gaze remained riveted on the mound of earth before us as Jake patted it down one final time. A memory of mutilated limbs, humid earth soggy with blood, the stench of it, those horrible moments of watching, helpless, as life turned to death. I didn’t feel that helplessness now, that regret, that failure.

  Silently, we loaded the tools and flashlights and tarps into the vans. Jake drank from a big bottle of water, the liquid streaming from his mouth. He poured the last of it over his head and let out a groan.

  I would never forget all of us coming together that night. What my brothers did for me, what we accomplished that dark night in the Hills.

  We got back to our clubhouse, and I asked Mick to call a meeting. Boner and Jake—now named Dig—were sworn in as full members of the Meager One-Eyed Jacks.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Her funeral.

  That past year I’d been to a number of biker funerals, most the results of stupid behavior, being high while riding, or some revenge backlash. Each one ingraining the fact that this was a way of life fo
r us.

  But this. This?

  Two identical coffins side by side.

  Unbearable.

  The whole town had turned up. The Silver Tongues. Isi was beloved.

  Georgia’s face was drenched in pain, and she cried uncontrollably. So much shock. She had her arm through her husband’s, their two young daughters and son standing behind them, faces swollen with tears. Ryan, in uniform, stood by Georgia, next to their parents. The last of the Dillons of Meager, South Dakota.

  My brothers and I stood in a row to the back, all of us in our colors. Sobs were carried by the blustering wind at Rock Hills Cemetery. The Dillon family plot was a big one with stone markers dating back to the gold rush days. The two caskets lay side by side on the plush green grass. Too green.

  People whispered as the pastor got himself ready to speak.

  “Such a tragedy.”

  “That boy dragged his sister under.”

  “That family, nothing but bad luck, I tell you. First James, the mother, now this. Terrible.”

  “What’s going to happen to the old five and dime now? That store was the spirit of the town once upon a time.”

  “Poor girl tried to hold it together for so long. Only so much one person can do.”

  The roar of bikes had everyone turning. Scout had arrived with his three officers. We embraced, thumping each other on the back. “I’m so sorry, man. Got to know her some when she’d come down. Your ol’ lady was a good woman.”

  “Thanks for coming,” I said.

  The pastor said whatever he had to say. I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. The noise in my head was too loud. All I cared about was Isi in that box. Isi being lowered into that cold, ground alone. Didn’t matter she was with her parents and her two brothers side by side and stacked. No. She was alone and cold and silent in that box, and that was crazy, insane. The caskets were lowered in the ground, the pulley system creaking.

  Everyone took turns throwing a carnation on the caskets. I ignored the boy handing out the flowers and threw a sheaf of wheat that I’d brought. It landed on top of the flowers on my Isi’s coffin, and my chest tightened at the sight. My memory of her standing there in the shuddering wheat field in the blaze of the sun was still sharp. That moment had been a turning point for us, one of frankness and honesty, and had been seared in my heart forever. No, Isi wasn’t pink and red sweet smelling flowers. She was the hardy grain of my earth. She was my bounty.