Dead Souls MC: Prospects Series Books 1-5 Page 4

  “Do you mind if I go leave a voicemail? It’s gonna bother me all night if I don’t.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Go do what you need to do. I’ll get the movie up and going.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. I’ll be right back.”

  Then, I ran up the stairs and bolted for my room. I closed the door behind me before I started rummaging around for my phone. It didn’t take me long to get Cage’s number dialed once I had it in my hands. But, even three phone calls didn’t force him to pick it up.

  Unless he doesn’t have it on him.

  “Shit,” I hissed.

  I drew in a deep breath, trying to steady myself as my mind swirled. I couldn't get away from my father tonight. I wasn't sure if I had a proper excuse for it. But I had to find a way to get myself to Cage’s place. It was the only other place he’d probably go before leaving town, and if I didn’t catch him before that, it was likely I’d never see him again. If he was smart, he’d already abandoned his cell phone. Gotten himself a new one.

  Cage was nothing if not resourceful.

  “What the hell am I going to do?” I murmured to myself.

  Then, an idea dawned on me.

  An idea that just might work.

  5

  Cage

  I tore through the woods, running as quickly as I could. I kept my ears peeled for any sounds that might indicate someone was coming after me. I saw headlights shining down the road and ducked behind a tree, not wanting to get noticed at all. Three pairs of them, blinding the woods and racing up the road as they made their way back to the mansion.

  After the cars passed, I made a dash for my bike. I smoothed the brush off it I used to cover it up, then stood it up onto its wheels. I walked it for half a mile through leaves and twigs and over holes in the ground. Until I knew I was a safe enough distance away for my bike to crank up without suspicion.

  Then, I sped back to my place.

  My father and I lived in the same house. Had my entire life. After Mom died—or got killed, really—I tried to convince Dad to move out. To get a new place. To let us start over fresh. But he didn’t want to leave that house. He always said he fought with Mom tooth and nail over the thing, but that she made that house the hill she wanted to die on. His joke was that she evened threatened divorce, so she could take half of whatever he had and buy the house just to spite him.

  That story always made me smile, because Mom had always been a spitfire of a woman.

  Kind of like Sutton.

  I shook my head as I skidded into the driveway. No use turning back for her now. She took her stand. She chose her corner the second she stood up for her father. It didn’t matter if he was nice to her or provided for her. The way he provided was disgusting. The lives of dozens of innocent people were on his hands, and if that was what she wanted to stay ignorant to? I couldn't stop her. If she wanted Daddy Dearest to pay for her cushiony lifestyle through blood, murder, and mayhem, that was her prerogative.

  But I didn’t need someone like that in my life.

  I pulled into the garage and found it empty. A stark reminder of what all had transpired that evening. I grunted as I slid off my bike, allowing it to crash to the concrete floor. I growled as I stormed into the house. It smelled of my father. Tobacco, mint, and scotch. The three smells that always combined to make him up. Tears rushed my eyes as I made my way through the house. I bypassed the kitchen, which dumped me into an extra room my father turned into his office. I pulled out drawers, rummaging around and trying not to think about the fact that my father would never be in this house anymore.

  I’d never see him sitting there, staring out the window into the backyard anymore.

  “I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch,” I growled.

  I looked around for any information about this supposed brother of mine. Diesel, who was apparently the head of the Dead Souls. My body bounced between my need to find this information and my anger with Sutton’s response. Because I wanted her to come with me. The second she suggested it, I fought it because I thought I had to. Because I wanted to keep her safe. The truth, though, was that I was ecstatic to whisk her away the second she suggested it.

  I’d fallen hard for Sutton.

  But apparently, she didn’t feel the same way.

  “Screw her,” I grunted.

  You had plans on doing that before.

  “Shut up!” I roared.

  I ran my hands through my hair as my breathing became shallow. I stumbled away from the desk; my nose assaulted by memories that would soon fade away. Just like the life from my father’s eyes that night. I had to get out of that room. I was too overwhelmed, and I needed to start packing anyway.

  I stumbled over to the stairs and dragged myself up, making my way to my childhood room. The room my mother once rocked with me in. The room my father used to comfort me in during my teenage nightmares. The room where both my parents would dote on me and sing me sweet songs whenever I was sick with a fever.

  The memories were blinding as I walked into the darkened room.

  “Dad,” I whispered.

  I flicked on the light and saw him sitting there. A ghostly image of his body, staring straight at me. I fell to my knees, my eyes never leaving his as I tried to commit every part of him to memory. His smile. His eyes. His graying hair and his ever-crooked back. Eaten away at from scoliosis, but still the strongest man I’d ever known.

  “Find him,” my father said.

  Then, like the ghost he now was, he evaporated into nothing.

  “I will. I will, Dad. I swear it,” I said.

  I scrambled off my feet and ripped my closet door open. I pulled out the leather suitcase that strapped perfectly onto my bike before I began pulling out clothes. I rolled them up, just like my father showed me. Just like he learned from his time in the military when he was my age. I rolled up my white t-shirts and my black t-shirts. I folded down my jeans, stuffing them in until the bag bulged at the bottom. I rolled up socks and boxers. I grabbed a couple of my pajama bottoms before carving out room in the suitcase for my toiletries. I stuffed them into a plastic bag and squeezed the air out, jamming it against all my clothes.

  I had room for a few more things. Like another pair of jeans. Or my favorite button-down shirts. A book I was reading when no one was looking and my laptop along with my chargers.

  I needed a new cell phone, though.

  I took the battery out of my cell phone and tossed it to the floor. I slipped the SIM card out and ripped it in half, then tossed the cell phone in the trash can. I zipped up my suitcase and headed for the stairs. I needed to take one last look in my father’s office before I headed to the gas station for a new cell phone, a top off, and a fucking map.

  I needed to figure out where the hell I was headed.

  “All right, Dad. Please tell me you’ve got something at your desk,” I said, sighing.

  Dropping my suitcase down, I sat down in his chair. I closed my eyes, then bent my back like my father’s had been all his life. He would have stashed his most important documents where he could easily reach them from his desk chair. And since he was bent over to the left, I began my search there.

  I ripped open the left-side drawers, rummaging around in them to see if I could find anything.

  “Bingo,” I said.

  It wasn’t what I was looking for, but I found a stash of unused cell phones and SIM cards. I grabbed one and set it up, sliding the card in before turning the phone on. I scrolled through the phone to figure out how many texts and minutes I had before the phone was expired, then committed the number to memory.

  I paused as I went to add a contact, wondering if it was a good idea.

  You might need to get in touch with her.

  I quickly added Sutton as a contact before closing out the phone. I slipped it into the breast pocket of my leather jacket, then scooped up the rest of the burner phones my father had already purchased. I opened up my suitcase and shoved them in. Eleven phones with clean SIM card
s that were up and ready to go the second they were turned on. I was going to need them in the future; I felt it in my bones.

  “All right, Dad. Let’s see if you can do me another solid,” I murmured.

  The left-side drawers of his desk didn’t reveal anything in the way of Diesel. So, I tried the right-side drawers. Though, it didn’t shock me that those drawers had basically nothing in them. It grew substantially harder over the years for my father to control the right side of his body. I groaned as I stood up from the leather chair, shoving it back so I could hunch over his desk.

  Then, a thought occurred to me.

  “Hidden compartments,” I said.

  I reopened the left-side drawers and dug down to the bottom. I moved my hands around, pressing and tapping. Trying to figure out if any of them had a false bottom. My hope was already being betrayed as I worked my way down the drawers.

  Until I got to the very bottom one.

  “Yes!” I exclaimed.

  I tapped the bottom hard enough and heard the hollow sound. I killed my fingertips trying to pry the damn thing open, which told me it hadn’t been opened in quite some time. I pulled out the drawer and dumped it out onto my father’s desk, watching as all the contents spilled out.

  But, when the pictures and the file folder of information came crashing out, I grinned. Because I knew I had found what I wanted.

  I placed the drawer down and picked up the file. And the second I opened it up, I saw everything I needed to know. A file on a man named “Diesel,” complete with a picture of him. Several pictures of him. There were even pictures of him with a woman, whose name was “Brynn.” Pictures of the two of them, holding and cooing at a baby.

  Was that their baby?

  The happy looks on their faces told me it was.

  “Congratulations,” I whispered.

  The file had everything I needed to know. Including where the Dead Souls were located. I found a local area map of a town called “Redding,” with a red dot that I could only assume was where their lodge was. I scooped everything up, feeling an urgency rush down my spine. I could get some food along the way and look the file over more later. Right now, I needed to get the hell out of this city and on the road toward Redding.

  My only hope was that Diesel would hear me out with all this shit once I got there.

  I slid the file folder into the front pocket of my suitcase. I took the pictures and slid them into the other breast pocket of my leather jacket, then paused. Was it smart to keep wearing my leather cut? It would solidify my backstory to Diesel and his crew. But was it smart to wear?

  I walked over to the corner near the front door that held all of our jackets. Mine. My father’s. There was even still one of my mother’s hanging up. One my father never could bring himself to move. Tears rushed my eyes as I grabbed my father’s leather jacket, then slipped mine off my shoulders. I pulled out all the contents of the pockets, shifting them to my father’s coat before slipping it over my shoulders.

  The jacket fit me perfectly, which only served to push tears down my face.

  “Suck it the hell up and get on the road,” I said to myself.

  Then, I wiped at my face and picked up my leather cut off the floor.

  I had a job to do. I had to fulfill my father’s last wishes. And more than that, I needed help. Lars was after me, and I knew he wouldn't stop until I was dead. Until no witnesses were left regarding the slaughtering of my crew. Diesel and the Dead Souls were my only hope now. A hope I prayed would pan out in my favor.

  “I love you, Mom and Dad,” I whispered into the house.

  And with a bend in my legs, I picked up my things and made my way for the garage.

  6

  Sutton

  I pulled up to Cage’s father’s house and paused. As I parked my car, I felt something akin to lead settle in my stomach. My eyes watered as I slowly got out of the car, pausing to take a look at the house. It looked empty. Dark. Dead

  Like Cage’s father.

  “Son of a bitch,” I hissed.

  I slammed my door closed and jogged for the front door. But the second I found it unlocked, I knew I wouldn't find anything good. The only reprieve I had was knowing my father was still at his house. Otherwise, I would have been worried.

  “Cage!?” I called out.

  The smell was the same. The way it always smelled. Tobacco laced the air and mint candies laced the furniture. I closed the front door behind me and stopped. I forced myself to take in the air. To remember Patch one last time before I got to work.

  “I’m so sorry, Patch,” I whispered.

  I knew Cage had already left. But I needed to figure out where he was headed. I rushed to Patch’s office space, knowing that was the only room in the house that held the answers I needed. Well, probably. I’d been in Patch’s house a handful of times since Cage and I started hanging out. And while we had to sneak around my father, we never once had to sneak around Patch. He always held his arms out for me. He always welcomed me like part of the family.

  I let the tears slide down my cheeks as I rummaged around.

  There were a few loose papers on the desk already. Not to mention, open drawers and one that was overturned and empty in the corner. It look like whatever Cage needed, he already found. All I had were these loose scraps of paper and some picture that had gotten left behind.

  I picked it up, gazing at the man sitting on what looked to be the deck of a house.

  “Huh,” I said.

  The man looked like Cage. I mean, not much. But there were similarities. The strong jaw line. The full lower lip. The stern gaze that naturally settled into the eyes. I flipped the picture over to see if there was an inscription on the back. But it was blank.

  Is this the brother Patch told him to go after?

  I tossed the picture back to the desk and picked up the loose pieces of paper again. One of them was nothing but a blank page. A last chance at the printer to shoot out information for whoever was making them in the first place. But the other piece of paper held something very interesting on it.

  They were handwritten notes. And the words I could make out sent me flying to the laptop still sitting on the desk.

  I typed in the words as I glanced down at them. “Redding,” which I recognized. “Dead Souls,” which I didn’t. “Hoover,” which I had no idea how it fit into anything. And the initials “MC.”

  I pressed the enter key before I reached for the leather office chair behind me, watching the dusty laptop do its work.

  It moved slower than dirt, which made me smile. Patch had never been one for technology. Hell, the man still carried a flip phone around with him! I giggled as I shook my head. Patch was always bucking against technology that way. No matter how hard I tried to get him to take to a smartphone, he simply wouldn’t give up that rock of a phone he had stowed away in his back pocket.

  “I’m sorry, Patch,” I whispered softly.

  It didn’t shock me that Patch didn’t have a password-protected laptop. There were filing cabinets as far as the eye could see in this office space of his. Which told me he didn’t keep anything of importance on it anyway. I snickered as the search results finally loaded. I tuned my eyes to the results slowly blooming in front of me.

  And when I saw a few articles on a motorcycle crew pop up, I knew I had the right place.

  I clicked through a few of the articles, just to get an idea of what was going on. What the crew was into. And sure enough, the rough and tumble man in the picture I reached for again was in a few of the article pictures. Standing right in front, with his arms crossed over his chest and that stern look in his eye.

  A look I got from Cage sometimes.

  Cage did say his father said this man was in a crew.

  Once I was sure I had the right place, the right crew, and the right information, I gathered everything up. I closed out the search history, then put a password on the laptop. Just in case. After I was done, I closed everything down and snatched up the pictu
re. I folded up the handwritten notes, hoping to decode them on my way to Redding, California.

  Because now that I knew where Cage was headed, he wasn’t going to be heading there alone.

  It took me a little while to get out from underneath my father. But all men were the same. The second any woman mentioned cramping or headaches; they immediately crinkled their nose. One small trip to the bathroom with a few hisses and muttered curse words, and my father was sending me out the door with money for the drug store and wishes to feel better this week.

  Men really hated it when women started their periods. And it was easily to capitalize on.

  “Idiots,” I murmured.

  I locked the front door of the house and walked out. I headed back to my car with the information in my back pocket and a need to find Cage. He wasn’t doing this without me. I wasn’t letting him do this alone. I got to my car and opened the door, turning back toward the small, darkened house.

  It was a quaint house. More like a cottage, than anything. And the memories that bombarded my mind made me smile.

  I could hear Patch and his son cackling together in the kitchen over beers before lunch time. I could smell Cage’s breakfast first thing in the morning before Patch called me down. Knowing damn good and well I was upstairs. I smiled as I remembered the first time Patch took my hand, telling me—with his eyes burrowing into mine—that I was a welcomed member of that house anytime I wanted to be one. My lower lip trembled as the smell of his scotch-laden breath pulsed against my face. Just before he’d come in to give me one of the biggest hugs my body had ever experienced.

  My god, that man gave the best hugs.

  “I’m so sorry, Patch,” I whispered.

  I opened my eyes and took stock of the house one last time before slipping into my car.

  “My father will pay for what he’s done to you. I’m going to make sure of it,” I murmured.