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“She ain’t my lady anymore,” I say. Admitting that sends a surge of pain through me, enough that I feel how Marquez must’ve felt in his last moments. There are a few sympathetic nods, and an eye-roll from Rook, but I force on without acknowledging them. “You all know about the shit that happened in Sacramento when I rode with the Road Kings MC, before that club fell apart because of the war with the Crimson Fury. I carried that pain with me a long time, nearly killed myself because of it, and now, thanks to Erik Marquez, I know what really happened: it was a fucking setup. Rafael Reyes orchestrated it. He’s a drug-dealing, son-murdering piece of shit.”
“He murdered his own kid?” Rook says. His voice is a feral growl, like he might actually give a damn about something. Might.
“He did. His son found out he was behind all the drugs being sold in their neighborhoods and was going to shut it down. That soulless motherfucker murdered his own son just to save his drug-dealing ass.” I pause, let the words hang in the air for a moment. “I’m going there to kill him. For all he did to me and for everything he did to fuck up his own fucking community, I’m going to take justice on him and everyone else who helped him.”
Rook stands immediately. “I see nothing to vote on here.”
“Excuse me? Did you not just hear Smokey?” Bullet says. “We need to vote on backing him up. He’s family.”
“Exactly. He’s fucking family,” Rook says. “But, in my mind, there’s no fucking need to vote on it. Murdering your own son? Selling drugs? Fuck, he deserves worse than death. If any of you have any fucking doubts, speak up, so we can hold the real vote — on kicking your damn asses out of the MC. Smokey, you’re my brother and you’ve been through hell. We have your back. Do I hear any fucking objections?”
Every single man in attendance stands and raises their voice in agreement, and Ghost awkwardly hits my shoulder again to show support. Someone really needs to teach him how to do human things. I look over at my brothers and feel a swelling of pride that overwhelms the pain in my chest; I may not have the woman I love, but I still have a family. Even if I can’t patch things up with Alexandra, I can still get justice for her Lucas and clear my conscience.
“Thank you, brothers. It’s time to go to war.”
Chapter Forty-One
Alexandra
Tears sting my eyes as I walk to the address Mateo gave me, which turns out to be a motel on the outskirts of Costa Oscura. There’s a ‘Condemned’ flyer plastered to the door of the front office with a smiley face sticker stuck on it. Through the window, I can see the man working the front desk slumped down face-first into an empty pizza box, his mouth working open and closed like a goldfish and his snores so loud I can hear them outside. To say this motel — with a sunken roof, rats running freely in the parking lot, and a car on cinder blocks in the parking lot — is a shithole is an insult to shitholes everywhere.
I see Mateo’s bike parked next to the car on cinder blocks, but have no idea what room he’s in. I also have no desire to go knocking on doors to find him, or even raising my voice for fear of alerting the denizens — yes, denizens, because ‘resident’ seems too tame a word for the feral people that must live in this dump — that there’s fresh meat roaming the parking lot.
I call Mateo.
“I can’t believe you’re staying in a place like this,” I say the second he answers.
“I was at the Four Seasons, but I didn’t like their breakfast choices, so I moved. Can you believe they wouldn’t have a vegan option?”
“The horror,” I say, smiling. It feels comforting and strange to smile. As much as I hurt, I’m looking forward to seeing Mateo. It’ll be nice to have a friendly face around. Someone who’s proved themselves a friend for as long as I’ve known them. Unlike a certain traitor and murderer I left stewing in someone’s blood back at Reid’s Repairs. “Which room is yours? I don’t want to knock on the wrong door and have that creepy clown from It snatch me.”
“The clown’s in 2A. You’ll know it by the trail of headless bodies out front. I’m in room 3B.”
Because I’m not sure if Mateo is joking or not, I take the flight of stairs on the opposite end of the building in order to avoid any clown encounters. On the way, I encounter three mice, eight roaches, and a flier for a nearby rehabilitation center with the words “Counselor Jeff sells crack” and a phone number scrawled on it. Good to know.
“What’s happened?” Mateo says the moment he opens the door. It’s right after the first knock and happens so quickly I’m sure he must’ve been waiting at the door for me. There’s so much concern and caring on his face and in his voice that the fragile dam inside me that’s held back all my tears shatters and a sudden sob rips itself from my throat.
Instead of answering, I pull him into a tight hug and soak his shoulder with my tears.
Fuck, it feels good to hold someone that I know I can trust. For a minute, I simply stand in Mateo’s doorway, bawling my eyes out on his shoulder.
After everything I’ve been through with Dixon, what hurts the most is can’t even admit the truth. Instead, he has to murder and lie to cover things up, and then, for his pathetic story, he blames the last two people alive that I’d consider family. It isn’t just an insult to me, it’s an absolute disgrace to Lucas, too.
“It’s Dixon,” I finally say, once the gasping sobs subside enough I can speak.
Carefully, Mateo guides me into his room and leads me toward the bed. I don’t sit right away, though. I give it a look through tear-bleary eyes and see that the bed, and the room itself, look surprisingly clean for being in a motel that looks like it was built to be a repository for rejected waste from the town garbage dump.
“I cleaned it myself when I got here. Stole the supplies from an abandoned housekeeping cart. It was dire, but it’s all good now. I even vacuumed. Twice.” Nodding, I lower myself onto the bed and then my face back into the crook of his shoulder. He puts his arm around me. “Dixon? Who’s Dixon?”
“A man I’ve been dating. He’s been helping me…”
“Is this the Dixon? The one who killed Lucas?” There’s shock in his voice, but no judgment; I’m so glad he’s here to listen.
I nod. “It’s complicated. I thought… I thought he was different. He convinced me, and there was all this stuff about what happened to Lucas… And then we… Then he…”
My voice cuts out. Mateo hugs me.
“What happened? Did he hurt you?”
