Empire of Savages (Savage Hunt MC #1)

18. Nick

Chapter 18

Nick

After leaving Alex’s garage, I went straight to Rixon’s place. The thirty-minute drive had left me with plenty of time to play back last night at Muse. My loyalty was and always would be to Rixon, so I had to tell him what had gone down.

When my phone rang, I pulled off the side of the road and answered it. “Yeah?”

“Nick,” Gunnar started, glee in his tone. “I just heard that Talon is on a fucking war path trying to find out who sent this week’s shipment up in smoke.”

Despite my dark mood, that news made a smirk pull at my lips. “I hope the fucker eradicates his own fucking club chasing his tail trying to find the mole.”

Gunnar laughed. “The boys are having an impromptu party to celebrate.”

Of course, they fucking were. They hardly needed an excuse to start drinking this early.

“I’ll be at the clubhouse soon. I have some business to take care of.” As soon as I said the words, I regretted them.

“What business?”

“Personal shit. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Hanging up before he could grill me for any more information, I got back on the road.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into Rixon’s driveway and killed the rumble of my engine. I hadn’t called ahead, so I just had to hope he was still here.

Molly appeared at the front door, a dish towel in her hands and an apron around her waist. “To what do I owe the pleasure, honey?” she called from behind the screen.

Getting off my bike, I walked toward her. “Mornin’, Molly. Is Rixon home?”

She nodded and opened the door. “He is. Just eating the breakfast I cooked?—”

There was a soft thwap , and Molly’s words died on her tongue. She looked at me, blinking rapidly, and I knew something was wrong.

“Mol?” I stepped forward, my heart already beginning to race.

With her mouth opening and closing wordlessly, she looked down at her chest. I followed her gaze and saw the rose-red bloom of blood blossoming over her heart. Jesus fuck !

“Rixon!” I yelled, catching Molly as she toppled forward out the door. “ Rixon !” My gaze shifted to the street, looking for the shooter, but there was no movement that I could see.

Heavy footsteps thumped across the hardwood as I laid Molly down on the front porch. The stain on her front was growing larger, and I knew it was her heart’s blood leaving her body. Her eyes were fixed on me, her mouth moving soundlessly.

“Molly?” Rixon said in a soft voice before yelling, “ Molly !” Bursting through the screen door, he fell to his knees beside her body, pulling her into his arms. “Molly, darlin’, talk to me.” Pressing his hand over her chest, he tried to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. She’d lost too much blood.

He continued to call her name, stroking her cheek, pressing his lips to her hair in the hopes of rousing her, but the bullet that had torn through her heart had done too much damage, and she died in Rixon’s arms.

Stumbling back a step, I let reality sink in. Someone had fucking killed the president’s old lady, and there was only one person stupid enough to do it. Only one person who knew what this would do to Rixon. Talon La Croix had just misstepped, and it would cost him and his men their fucking lives.

I blinked at the scene in front of me, unable to look away. My president clutched Molly to his chest, holding her slack head against his shoulder with one hand while he wrapped the other around her body, hugging her to him. Rixon was calling her name over and over, rocking her in his arms, while blood spilled between them. His once clean plaid overshirt was soaked.

“Stay with me, Mol,” Rixon wailed. “Don’t leave me.” His words were hollow. She was already gone.

Pulling out my phone, I called for an ambulance. After giving them the address, they assured me they would have first responders there in the next ten minutes.

Rixon had stopped rocking Molly’s body but kept her close. He looked up at me, blood smeared on his face and neck, and said, “La Croix is going to pay for killing my Molly.”

Holding his eyes, I let him see my anger. My rage. If Rixon was like a father to me, Molly was like a mother. I felt her death like it was a ripple in time and space. “I’ll pull the fucking trigger myself,” I vowed.

Five minutes later, there were multiple ambulances and cop cars up and down the street. Medics ran toward us, dropping their jump bags beside them as they crouched to look at Molly’s injuries. But Rixon refused to let go of Molly’s body.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he snarled at the closest medic—a woman who only looked to be in her early twenties.

“Sir, we need to check her vitals,” she replied, unfazed by the venom in his tone.

“She’s already gone. He shot her. He took her life away from me.”

“Sir—” she tried again.

Rixon straightened and bared his teeth. “Touch her and you die.”

I watched as the responding cops took a step forward. One was reaching for his Taser, while the other unclipped the leather snap on his baton. Sensing how this was going to go, I threaded my arms under Rixon’s armpits and hauled him backward—pulling him away. He struggled against my hold, swearing and threatening to kill me for taking him away from Molly, too, but I let all his threats roll off my back. He wasn’t in his right mind.

“Rixon,” I said, trying to get him to focus. “Rixon, you’re going to get fucking tased, or worse, if you don’t calm down.”

“Fucking tase me then!” he yelled. Despite weighing thirty pounds less than me, he slipped out of my grip, grabbed the gun at the small of his back and turned it on me. The medics that were rolling out the body bag froze on the spot, while the cops each pulled out their own weapons and aimed them at Rixon.

Gesturing for the cops to wait, I spoke to Rixon. “Man, you have to let them take her. You don’t want her body left on your front porch.”

Rixon’s brown eyes were wild. “They will not touch her.”

“Sir,” one of the cops said in a firm voice. “Drop the weapon.”

Rixon turned his whole body toward the interloper, bringing the muzzle of his gun around with him and pointing it at the cop.

“Put the weapon down now!” both cops barked in unison, but Rixon wasn’t listening. He wasn’t there. He was staring at Molly’s body surrounded by a bloody halo. I had to diffuse the situation before Rixon was arrested for something more serious than temporary insanity. Or worse: shot.

“This isn’t what Molly would want,” I told him, trying to appease his rabid grief. Slowly, I eased my hand on top of Rixon’s tattooed knuckles and lowered his weapon, taking it from him. I laid it on the ground for the cops to see and backed up a step. One cop charged forward, spinning Rixon around and shoving him to the ground, while the other rushed to kick the gun away.

Rixon’s face was pressed to the boards not more than six inches from Molly’s head. He stared at her slack face, tears beginning to leak from his eyes.

The paramedics began to move again, rolling out the thick black body bag, then carefully picking up Molly and placing her inside. I watched as the zipper was slowly drawn up, covering her knees, her hips, her chest, until finally, it slipped over the crest of her chin and nose.

A detective approached then—a young woman who looked like she’d not seen a dead body yet. She wasn’t in uniform, rather she was wearing a pair of black jeans and a floral blouse, a badge around her neck.

“My name’s Detective Díaz. I need to take your statement,” she said in a soft-spoken voice.

I told her everything that had gone down, leaving my theories and plots for revenge out of it.

“Did she have any enemies?”

“No. Molly wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“What about you?”

I turned to look at her. “What?”

“What about you? You said she opened the door for you and then she was shot.”

I scowled. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe the bullet was meant for you. Do you have any enemies, Mr.—” Díaz made a show of checking her notes. It was all bullshit, though. Every single detail had already been stored meticulously in her head. “—Sobolev?”

“Don’t we all?” I replied through gritted teeth. Her questions echoed my own thoughts, helping to solidify my suspicions.

She studied my tattoos and the motorcycles parked in the drive. I’d underestimated this detective. She may have looked like a timid mouse, but she had hidden fangs.

“You know what I find curious?” she began, her tone growing harder. More cutting. “That another young man was shot not two weeks ago while walking back from a class on campus. His death looked awfully similar.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” My jaw was clenched so tight that it was beginning to ache.

“That’s very surprising, Mr. Sobolev, because the young man who lost his life two weeks ago had the same surname.”

My hands balled into fists. “Could be a coincidence.”

She shook her head. “I’m the detective on that case, too. And I never forget the faces of my victims. The victims that I swore to find their killers. So, you must be Nick, Dimitri Sobolev’s twin brother. Nick Sobolev, who was released from prison just days ago after serving five years on a weapons charge. Nick Sobolev, who is the sergeant at arms for the Savage Hunt Outlaw Motorcycle Club. How am I doing? Am I missing anything?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “What the fuck are you trying to get at here?”

Díaz smiled coldly. “I’m saying that maybe you are the real target for these attacks. I’m saying you’re putting everyone you’re around in danger. And if that’s true, who the hell has a hard-on for you? Did you piss someone off inside? Did they drop the soap and you took it as an invitation?”

Lifting my chin, I looked down at her, choosing not to rise to her goddamned bait. “You haven’t got a goddamned thing on me. I’m a witness in this fucking crime, not the fucking suspect, so why don’t you take that bitch mouth of yours and fucking move along?”

Something sparked in her eyes—something I couldn’t identify. “Be sure to stay in town. We might have more questions for you.” She looked at the cops. “We’re done here.”

“What about him?” one cop asked, gesturing to Rixon who was lying face-down next to the pool of Molly’s blood, his brown eyes locked on the red puddle.

“Let him go,” she replied.

“Díaz, he pulled a weapon on me,” the guy said.

“I never saw that happen.” She turned to me. “Did you see that happen?”

I shook my head.

“It didn’t happen, O’Sullivan. Let him up. He’s grieving.”

O’Sullivan did as he was told, uncuffing Rixon but making no move to help him up. The cops left, and I got Rixon up onto his feet. The ambulance with Molly’s body pulled away, and my own theories, muddied by Díaz’s assumptions, were left circling my fucking head.

Silas called the meeting to order. Kaash couldn’t be reached, leaving our club secretary to preside over this emergency session of Church.

“What’s going on?” Ryker asked, still cleaning grease from beneath his fingernails. “Where the hell is Rixon?”

Silas looked to me, letting me take the lead.

I cleared my throat. “Rixon’s resting right now.”

Jaxon chuckled. “I bet it was Candy that wore him out.” The comment made everyone start to chuckle, conversations about how good Candy could suck a dick popping up around the room.

I was suddenly enraged by their lack of fucking respect. A woman had fucking died . Not just any woman either. Our president’s fucking old lady had been murdered, and they were in here laughing about Rixon fucking around on her. I slammed my palm against the cool surface of the desk, making everyone turn in my direction.

Once everyone got a look at my face, and the humor left theirs.

“Nick?” Maverick asked, sitting straighter in his seat.

I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a breath. Fuck, my throat felt like it was closing—suffocating me. I swallowed over the lump that had formed. It was like being told Dimitri was dead all over again, and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to take another hit so soon.

“Molly—” Fuck, I was choking on these words. Dragging in a deep breath, I shoved my pain and grief down with the lungful of air. It was easier to concentrate on violence than goddamned pain. “Molly was shot this morning.”

“Jesus, fuck,” someone said.

“Is she okay? What about Rixon?”

“Molly… she didn’t make it.” I heaved a sigh, trying to erase her dead eyes from my mind. “She’s dead.”

The whole room was suddenly filled with calls for retribution. For revenge.

“Who the hell would target Molly?” Kai demanded.

“What the hell happened?” Mac asked.

I looked around the room, waiting for everyone to quiet down because repeating myself simply wasn’t a fucking option. I’d had to witness it. Rehashing the goddamned story because people weren’t listening was just not on my list of things to do. When I was sure everyone was listening, I said, “I was checking in with Rixon this morning. Molly answered the door, and just as she was about to let me in, she was shot.”

“Did you see who it was?” Sawyer asked.

“I didn’t.”

River asked, “What about the cops?”

“They came and took my statement. There’s a ball-busting bitch called Díaz investigating. She’s the same detective investigating D’s death.” Believe me, I saw the fucking irony.

“This is bad,” Mac muttered. “Taking out Rixon’s old lady? That’s cause for a war.”

Murmurs of assent bubbled up around the room.

“It had to be La Croix,” Nash said.

His brother, Xander, agreed. “La Croix has to be getting us back for blowing up his cook house and the stash house.”

“The hit on the truck transporting his meth down to Florida last night probably pissed him off, too,” Maverick added.

I looked to Gunnar since he hadn’t weighed in yet. “Thoughts?”

His green eyes traveled around the room before returning to my face. “I think La Croix and the Devils are our most likely suspect. Coupled with the death of your brother, shit is starting to look fucking personal.”

I met Silas’s gaze and he nodded, giving me the go-ahead.

“I’ll start preparing,” I said.

Silas adjourned the meeting, but I didn’t leave right away. I sat at the table, my eyes lingering on the worn surface where Rixon usually sat at the head. His whole fucking life changed this morning, and I hadn’t even got to tell him what I’d witnessed at Muse. All I knew was that Rixon was grieving, I’d lost another person who I loved, and the Savage Hunt were starting down a destructive path of retribution killings, brutal beatings, and a lot more funerals to attend.