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A chuckle starts to work its way up my throat, but I swallow it down. This is the dynamic they’ve had for as long as I’ve known them. Tack and Hacker are opposites in so many ways, but that is also what makes them a good team. There is a sense of balance between them.
When Hacker is deep in a hole with his work, Tack is there to watch out for him and make sure he’s taken care of in some of the most basic ways. When Hacker is hyper focused, he won’t sleep, driven by the need to complete the task he’s been given or uncovering all the information he’s looking for.
It’s something that makes Hacker damn good at what he does, but that also means other things suffer. Tack has his back and makes sure that doesn’t happen.
“Last night was tough. He needed to help the first woman we found, and that shit was hard to see,” I give my brother some grace and understanding.
Tack’s face turns to stone, and he gives a curt nod. When I look around the room, I notice that we all seem to be haunted by what we saw last night. It’s not the first time we’ve seen horrible things, but for some reason it is hitting us differently this time.
The Seattle chapter of the DSMC has a lot of experience with taking down human trafficking rings. I’m sure they’ve seen things very similar to what we did last night. How do they cope with it? What is the price they’ve paid with their souls?
With Dante Guidice’s hold on New Orleans, human trafficking isn’t nonexistent, but it’s something he takes care of swiftly and decisively. The club has supported him in his efforts, but there’s a detachment when we do. It’s not our sole mission or objective. We are there as backup instead of being the men who go in and see the worst the world has to offer on display.
We’re silent as we stand and make our way into Church. Hacker is already there in his chair around the table with his tablet plugged in. The way his eyebrows are furrowed, it’s clear he’s concentrating hard on whatever is on the screen in front of him.
We take our seats around the table and wait. My gaze snags on the devil’s skull burned into the middle of the table. It’s a symbol of our club, of our loyalty.
A wave of pure gratefulness washes over me. Because I know who I am and where I belong. The females we rescued last night are lost. My brothers would never allow me to become lost like they are. Honestly, they probably would have kicked my ass long before things went so far.
And I would have, eventually, been glad they did.
Lucifer sighs, “Three of the women we rescued last night have already been taken to facilities that can deal with acute withdrawal symptoms. They were not doing well when we took them in, but we’re not equipped to deal with people detoxing like that. They need medical professionals, not rough bikers,” he tries to lighten the mood in the room, but it falls flat.
Probably because of how fucking true it is.
We might have gotten them out of a horrible situation, but that doesn’t mean we are capable of anything more. I hope we are; I have faith in my brothers that we sure as fuck will try, but we also know our limitations.
“Before Hacker gives us the rundown on who we’re helping, lets walk through what happened last night.”
I nod and share a look with Scythe. He gives me a chin lift and I know that he did his job last night. He protected our Prez who was leading the rest of our brothers inside the back of the house. We didn’t get the chance to debrief last night, but my club brothers all walked out of that shit hole unscathed.
I’m calling it a success. Well, at least as much of one as I can.
Lucifer’s eyes bore into me, and I lean forward while resting my forearms on the table in front of me. My voice is cold and detached as I walk him through breaching the front of the house. If I focus too much on it then I’ll be right back there. I’m not entirely sure the stench of the place—body odor, urine, and hopelessness—isn’t clinging to me still.
Sioux’s face swims through my mind and calms me. She bathed me last night so that I could shed the stench and find my footing again. She helped me. She guided me.
And then she helped me to forget.
When I’m done, I look at Prodigal to see if he has anything to add, but he just shakes his head and looks toward his father. Lucifer is nodding his head slowly.
“The girl Feral carried out hasn’t said a word,” he speaks so softly that I strain to hear him. There’s a desolation in his words that feels like a knife twisting in my gut.
“Cherise was talking to her when I came in today,” I offer gently, hoping that it’ll help him, and the rest of us, cope.
Lucifer’s mouth tips up in a rare smile. Usually, it’s only his old lady and his children that earn such a smile from him. And I see that hasn’t changed.
“She’ll work her magic,” he sounds sure, but the uncertainty in his eyes tells a different story.
From the looks on the faces of all my brothers, we’re collectively hoping that she can. That we can reach the girl whose life will always be tainted by this trauma. That we can help her find a way forward toward the warmth of the sun instead of her hiding in the shadows of the darkness of her experience.
CHAPTER 17
APOSTLE
It feels like the room takes a collective breath, taking a moment to be lost in the what ifs and the uncertainty. Then our focus is back in this room where there is no room for doubt. It’s in Church where we plan for the worst and make decisive decisions for the benefit of our city.
“When we came in the back,” Lucifer starts, “we found three Rebels in the back room.” His eyes light up slightly and I know I’m going to like what he says next. “Two tried to go for their guns, but they never got the chance. The third guy was Hustle, but he was too fucking out of it to do much of anything. He’s waiting for us in his new,” he pauses for a moment, a sinister grin on his face, “accommodations.”
