Vicious Heart (Desert Kings MC #2)

25. Cam

twenty-five

Cam

There was only one person I trusted to watch my back in The Bends and that was Merc. In the same breath, I’d left Riley with his sister. Preacher wouldn’t fuck with AP’s kid. Not after the last chapel.

The twisting, one lane road was filled with more potholes than the entirety of Hayes County. Every bump shouted how little people thought of this place. Which was a mistake that Wanda Haynes had taken advantage of.

They didn’t call the cops in the Bends. Whatever shit was flushed here stayed and festered.

“You sure about this?” Merc asked as I steered the blacked-out SUV past another rusted out, boarded up mobile home with as many dogs chained in the front yard as beaters on blocks in the driveway.

It wasn’t just the potholes that kept us from riding through here. Merc had borrowed a nondescript, blacked out SUV from where I would never ask. Didn’t need to know. My brother had come through like he always did.

“Yeah.”

He just shook his head and kept his hand lazy on the pistol in the holster under his shirt.

Lawnmower Jay had been a funny kid we’d gone to school with. Right up until high school when some piece of shit cracked him over the head with a birdhouse he’d made in shop class. Busted up the birdhouse and his brain.

Ever since, he lived in his mother’s old trailer, with a large shop in the back where he repaired and rebuilt lawnmowers and other small engines. Not that many people out in the desert had lawns to mow.

People, even in the Bends, generally left him alone. I was grateful for that. He didn’t deserve more shit from life.

When we pulled in, he stopped what he was doing, stood, and stared at the truck as I put it in park and climbed from the driver’s seat. His smile, when he recognized me, was wide and missing at least one tooth since the last time I’d seen him.

“Cam!” His childlike excitement made me feel sick. I didn’t deserve his hero worship.

Without our bikes, without our cuts, we were just two more customers for Lawnmower Jay. Two random white guys in peckerwood territory, nothing to see.

“What’s up, buddy?” I patted him on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. I always felt like if I gave too much, I’d spook him—not enough and I’d make him sad.

His smile got wider as he gaped past me at Merc. “Need a mower fixed? I don’t do much with bikes, but I do mowers. I’ll take care of whatever you need, on the house.” He spun and pulled tarps off machines he’d rebuilt—push mowers and ride-ons. His skinny arms tugged hard, and a tarp flapped in the air before falling beside him. “You can have one of these if you want.”

Merc gave me a sideways curious glance as Jay walked ahead, rattling off facts about each mower.

“Remember when I got expelled?”

“Beating the shit out of that preppy fuck in the locker room?” Merc dug out the memory.

“Yeah, pretty sure he didn’t like birdhouses.” Not enough of Jay’s mind was gone that he didn’t understand what happened to him, who had done it, and what had transpired after.

Merc grunted, putting the correct pieces together, but said nothing more.

“No mowers today, Jay. Wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.”

“I’m doing real good.” He stopped and smiled at us. “Want a chair? A soda? Ain’t got no beer—don’t like the way it tastes.”

“No, man, we won’t be here long. Place looks good.” I inspected the area and gestured at the equipment in his shed. “Might need a new cherry picker and toolbox.” I’d make it happen, whether he helped me or not.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep meaning to get a new cherry picker, but the chains on this one are still good.” They were, but the machine used to heft motors and other things was missing its wheels and hanging onto its last days.

“Seen any Kings lately?”

“Like you or dressed up?” He made a face, like he just realized we weren’t in our cuts.

Merc shrugged, giving the front of his t-shirt a tug. “Either.”

“I seen Zach, the skinny one with the tattoos on his head. But he lives just over the hill, right before you start in the Bends. I think maybe he has a girlfriend here.”

He meant Ghost. Kenna didn’t live anywhere close to the Bends, hadn’t since she was a kid. David had made sure of that. But I wasn’t surprised to hear Ghost had been down here.

Jay made a show of looking around, like someone might pop out of the junk piles next door to eavesdrop. “But there’s two that don’t dress up. Seen them at the diner wearing their vests, but not here.” He lowered his voice. “They come to Wanda’s . She got a card place in the back now, told me never tell no body bout it when I cut her grass.”

When my brows raised, he knew he’d said the right thing and . “They was there today.”

Merc caught my gaze, whipped out his phone, and showed him a picture. “One of them, this guy?”

“Yup.”

I looked over his shoulder. It was Preacher. Not proof he’d killed Archer, but it was a start.

“If you see them again, can you send me pictures?”

He shifted back and forth on his feet, unsure. “But Wanda and the boys…”

“Will never find out it was you. I promise.” I scribbled my number on one of his business cards laying on a mower and handed it to him. Then I counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills and dropped the c-notes onto the seat of one of his rebuilt riding mowers. “Drop that off at Archer’s this week, and I’ll throw in a few more.” With all the rocks and sand, it would just hang out in the garage. But the sale made Jay beam.

He snatched up the money. “I can deliver tomorrow.”

“Wait until next week, after you send me pictures.”

“I can do that, Cam. I can do that.”

We were back at the clubhouse, and I was about to call Riley. She was supposed to meet me here. I got jumpy when she was late. As my phone rang, a number with a familiar prefix appeared on the screen. I answered it, panic momentarily welling in my chest. Why the fuck would the hospital call me unless something had happened to her?

“Mr. Savage?” A woman’s clipped, but polite voice filled the line.

“Yes.”

“Sir, this is Anna from St. Catherine’s Hospital. I’m calling you because you’re listed as the Emergency contact for Robbie…”

Everything after that bled into soundless vibration. I understood what the nurse was saying, but it was like someone else listened for me.

The door to the clubhouse swung open and Riley walked in, her eyes adjusting to the dark before landing on me. What’s wrong? she mouthed as she crossed the distance to me.

“It’s Ro, I need to…”

Riley said nothing, just turned back the way she came, held the door open, and then followed me to the bike. Twenty-four hours ago, I’d thought Preacher would strike out at me through Riley.

I’d been wrong. That’s not where he hit me. I should have known better.