Page 30 of The Devil's Redemption

With rapid, shallow breaths, I rest my arms on the countertop and try to control my breathing. I wait a moment to see if there is anything left inside of me that would like to join the rest of the contents of my stomach. When I believe it’s safe, I turn the water on, sipping the cold liquid into my mouth and rinsing the acrid taste away.

“You look as lousy as I feel.”

I turn my head to see Maggie, bed slightly raised so she’s in a sitting position, staring across the room at me. With a final swish and spit, I cup some more water into my hands and pat my flushed cheeks to cool them. I grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the way back to my chair.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I apologize.

“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for a while,” she assures me.

I nod to her as I pick up the blanket from my chair and wrap it around my shaky body before taking my seat again.

“The girl in the other cell, that was you,” she states.

“I’m Sasha.”

“Maggie.”

Offering her a fraction of a smile, I suddenly have no idea what I want to say to her. Maybe it was a mistake for me to come over here. How the hell are we supposed tobondover the horrific events that we endured? She probably wants to stay far away from me, a constant reminder of what she went through.

“I want to thank you,” she offers, tugging my attention back to her.

“Thank me?”

“Yes. The first time I heard you humming, I thought they were just random notes that didn’t mean anything. But eventually, I figured out you were hummingYou Are My Sunshine.”

She looks down at her mangled nails and picks away at some skin around the edges of them.

“My mom used to sing that to me all the time when I was little. I haven’t heard it in quite a while. It was like she was there in that cell with me… Comforting me.”

I don’t know what to say. I don’t even remember humming it. My dad used to sing it to me when I was little and my mom would disappear for days at a time.

Her gaze meets mine as she speaks again.

“Hearing it was the only thing that kept me from losing hope,” she pauses, “and praying for death.”

Chapter Twelve

Two dayson the road and we’ve come up with nothing. It’s as though Jasper and his crew have vanished into thin air. We’re following leads we’ve gotten from other clubs and gangs who are known to associate with Death’s Road, but so far they’ve all been a bust. No doubt they’re sending us on a wild goose chase, scared that it will get back to Jasper that they gave him up.

At our last pit stop, Stone decided he wanted to make a detour on the way home so we can check in with the Bastards. We want to press them for any information they may have on Death’s Road. Previous partnerships or dealings that may have occurred. Find out whatever information Crew was able to gather before the attacks. I hope we won’t be here long. I want to find this motherfucker more than anything, but I miss Sasha. The few days that we were apart last week may as well have been an eternity.

Turning off of Baltimore Pike, we make a left onto the dirt drive leading to the main gate to their clubhouse. Stone presses the call button on the security box, then we wait for an answer. These group of Bastards have a cushy little set up here in Gettysburg. They own a stone yard that provides field stone to the majority of the town, but they also haul cross-country to deliver to their customers. The stone business itself would be lucrative enough, but for them it’s merely a front for their gun and drug business.

“Yeah?” We finally hear come from the speaker.

“Stone and the Skull.”

After a few seconds, we hear a buzz, and the steel gate opens, letting us through. We kick up dust and gravel as our tires spin, carrying us down the remainder of the mile-long dirt road leading to the main clubhouse. Halfway down, we see a couple of prospects duck out of a guard shack. They make sure we are who we said we are and that there is nothing amiss. No danger to the Bastards. Stone nods to them as we pass, and thankfully, they nod back without issue. I recognize them as some of the men who were at the battle last Friday night. I nod my appreciation as I pass by.

I’ve never been to the Bastard’s clubhouse before, so when we pull up in front of a large, three-level limestone and wood dwelling, I’m taken aback by its size and beauty. Complete with a wooden wrap-around porch, two-story columns, and a smaller guesthouse beyond, if you didn’t know this was an MC clubhouse, you’d never believe it.

I still don’t believe it.

As we pull our bikes onto the driveway—also made of stone, go figure—I see a group of men exit the house and trample down the steps to greet us.

“Stone. Good to see you again, brother.”

“Royce,” Stone responds. “So sorry for your loss, man.”

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