Page 33 of Secrets Unveiled

“We’ve been investigating Luther’s death since the day he died. In the beginning, we worked closely with your uncle, trying to identify every enemy he ever had. And let me tell you, Sage, there were many. Frankie was helpful at the start, but soon enough, he stopped cooperating with the investigation and went silent all together. We felt like we were on the right track at one point and leads brought us to Damien’s involvement. So, I inserted myself into his life and became friends rather quickly. I was on the verge of new intel, and suddenly he magically disappeared.” Dante’s eyes meet Saint’s, and my chest tightens at the silent communication between the two. Does he know Saint and Saxon are behind his death? “It’s all a bit suspicious, isn’t it, Saint? All the leads we follow magically disappear or end up dead under suspicious circumstances.” Saint lifts his chin in defiance but gives away nothing.

“What are you implying, Officer Macari?” I ask, gritting my teeth in frustration.

“What I’m implying, Sage, is as much as it hurts to lose a loved one, you and your father’s club need to leave it up to the professionals to track down the men responsible for his murder. Now that you know we’ve been actively investigating his homicide, I will keep you updated on any new leads we find. Unlike your uncle, who seems to have lost interest in finding his brother’s murderer, I hope you and I can keep this line of communication open. I, for one, know what it’s like to lose someone close to you, and I can assure you that I am here to help, if only you and your family will let me.” I step back as Dante opens his car door, steps inside, and drives off, leaving me with more questions than answers.

I take a few deep breaths before I turn to face my uncle.

“What the fuck is he talking about, Frankie?” My tone is murderous. I am angry, more than angry. I am irate. How could he stop assisting in the investigation? Didn’t he want to know who did this to our family? To me?

“It’s not as it seems, Sage,” he speaks in almost a whisper, which irritates me even more.

“It’s not? Then please enlighten me, Frankie. Help me understand!”

“We need to discuss this at home, Sage. This is too public for this type of conversation. Frankie, meet us back at the house immediately.” I’ve never heard Saint speak to Frankie in such a way. Almost like he is scolding a child, but Frankie doesn’t fight back. As we make our way to Saint’s Tahoe, leaving my car in the parking lot, Frankie gets on his motorcycle and takes off in the direction of the house.

We follow close behind, not wanting to let him out of our sight in case he takes off.

“He lied to me today,” Saint says in a low, whisper-like tone, almost as if he didn’t mean to say this out loud. I turn to face Saint, his profile hard and completely focused on Frankie’s taillights.

“What do you mean?” Saint’s knuckles begin turning white, the squeak of the steering wheel leather beneath his hands showing just how much anger he is holding back.

“Today, in the kitchen, I was looking into Dante’s background, and when I asked if he knew who Dante was, he told me no. It makes sense now that he was the agent assigned to your family’s case. I thought I recognized him in the club, but I couldn’t pinpoint where I’d seen him before.” He clenches his jaw so hard, I fear he might break a tooth.

“That was seven years ago, Saint. I can barely remember people’s names after five minutes.” It’s true I am awful at names, but I can see the frustration in the way he narrows his eyes. He is pissed at himself for not remembering. As if it is his responsibility to remember every person he’s ever seen or met. Saint’s always put the most pressure on himself. He is a perfectionist to a fault. No mistake is a good mistake in his eyes, and when it comes to his family, it’s his duty to protect us. This is why Saxon trusts him so much, as do I. He’s always looking after others before himself. He is quite literally a man who would take a bullet for you.

“Seven years is a long time,” I say. “Why would Frankie lie to us? Or not want to work with the feds to track down Dad’s killer?” I can’t find a reason why not working with the feds would be beneficial. Chills start prickling my skin, and I try my hardest to force away the thoughts of betrayal, especially when it involves Frankie. My uncle. My last remaining family besides my brother. There is no way he was involved in my father’s, his brother’s, murder.

“Sax, are you home? We need to talk immediately. Frankie’s on his way over as well. You may want to brace yourself. I have Sage.” I look over at Saint; I hadn’t noticed he had called Saxon. I can hear Saxon’s confused and angry tone from the passenger seat. I can’t make out what he’s saying, just that his tone gives away his mood almost immediately.

“We’ll tell you everything in five minutes. We’re almost there.” Saint hangs up the call and pockets his cell.

“This isn’t going to be good,” I mumble, knowing my brother’s anger is about to reach all new levels.

Saint pulls up right behind Frankie’s bike and watches as he enters the house before the pair of us get out and make our way inside as well. The moment I open the door, Saxon’s voice booms through the foyer.

“What the fuck is going on, Frankie?!”

“Listen, it’s not what it’s going to sound like. You have to take my word on this and just trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t even know what the fuck is going on. Please enlighten me. Tell me why I get a call from Saint saying the three of you are on your way, and that I better brace myself with whatever this is?” Saxon waves his hands in the air at the mention of “this.” Frankie and Saxon are standing in the living room. Upon entering the room, the energy is palpable. So many questions and so many emotions swirl in my gut; I hope Frankie is right, that this is all a misunderstanding. When they see Saint and me enter the room, Frankie puts his hands in his pockets while Saxon immediately asks us what’s going on.

Saint gives a shortened brief of my date—how Frankie showed up and dropped a bomb that Dante Macari was actually a federal agent who had been assigned to Luther’s murder seven years ago. He also mentions how Dante told us that Frankie stopped communicating with the feds while they were hunting down the murderer.

Then it all happened so quickly. One minute, Saint was talking, and the next, Saxon has his hands clutching Frankie’s shirt and is slamming him against the wall. Shit, I knew this wouldn’t go well.

“Saxon, stop! Please!” I scream, but I am sure he can’t hear me over his own voice, demanding Frankie to tell him if he was involved in any way. I know better than to step in between Saxon and Frankie. When my brother goes into his rage, he sees black, and no one is safe.

“Sax, enough. We need him alive to explain himself.” Thank God for Saint and his sheer size. He is able to grab Saxon and pull him away from Frankie. He is still yelling. However, I am able to stand in front of Saxon to try and bring his attention back to me instead of Frankie.

“Sax, please look at me. Just stop—look at me!” I yell. After another few minutes has passed, Saint and I are able to calm Saxon down enough to try and get more information from Frankie. We find it safest to have Saxon be at one end of the room with Saint, while Frankie and I take the sofa furthest in the corner. Saxon can’t sit down; obviously, the man is possessed and ready to end Frankie’s life if he was involved in the slightest bit in our father’s murder.

“Frankie, for fuck’s sake, explain yourself from the beginning. Why the hell did Dante make it sound like you were somehow involved.?” I finally ask. The room goes eerily silent after my question. The only noticeable sounds are Saxon’s breathing, which is still harsh from his outburst. Finally, Frankie sighs. Rubbing his hands through his hair before he leans on his knees and clasps his fingers together.

“Everything Dante said is true.” Fuck, I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I look at Saint, who has moved closer to Saxon just slightly, so he can catch him if he rushes Frankie again.

“He’s right about me no longer helping with the investigation. And it’s not what you think it is. In the beginning, I did everything I could, told them everything I knew about your father and his deals in hopes that it would lead to his killer. Then, suddenly, in the midst of the investigation, I started receiving messages from blocked numbers, letters with no return addresses, even fucking pictures of you and Sax doing mundane things, like eating lunch, going for rides, or going to school. I showed the first few letters and messages to the police, but then I received this one.” Frankie pulls out his cell, skims through his photos, and pulls up an image before handing it to me.

I take the phone from his hand and peer down at the image. It’s of my father, from maybe eight or nine years ago. His handsome face resembles so much of Saxon, but it isn’t him in the photo who I am staring at. It’s the woman. A woman I’ve seen before. I squint down at the image until realization crashes through me like a freight train.

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