Page 111 of Ink's Devil

I sink to the floor and wrap my arms around myself. I’ve tried to stay strong for my mom, but the odds are Connor is gone.

When will I stop making mistakes? If I’d called the police as soon as Connor had said he was being hurt, would he still be alive? Would I have spared him death in such a horrific way? And would Ink be laughing and drinking with his brothers?

Everything’s my fault. I made the wrong choices and look where they’ve led.

Mom’s crying on the couch, I’m weeping on the floor. After a while, we gravitate together, and hold each other. There’s no more to be said. We’re both determined to find out the truth in the morning, and while the hope we’ve been told a lie is so tempting to believe, both of us are trying to deal with the notion what we’ve been told may be true. Connor’s no longer alive.

“Can I get you anything?” Dirt’s voice sounds hesitant, unsure of his welcome.

I raise my head. “No, it’s alright.”

“I lost my squad.” Dirt sits on the armchair opposite. “I watched them die. Only survivors were Nails and me. I know how hard grief is to deal with.”

I hadn’t realised they’d served together. No wonder the two share a bond.

Talking about someone else’s pain is easier than dealing with mine. “What happened?”

“IED took out the jeep we were in. We were returning to camp at the time. Even had a dog with us, he was trained to sniff out bombs. If we’d been walking, he could have warned us, but in the vehicle he couldn’t have known.”

“What happened to the dog?” Stupid question, I know.

“He lost a leg but survived. We brought him back, well, he was part of the team. He lives with us.”

“You and Nails live together?”

“Yup. Me, him and the fuckin’ dog.”

I wonder if they’re gay, then realise it’s unimportant. They’re three survivors, moving on as best they know how.

“How many died?”

“Five. Including our squad leader. Two others came through the initial blast, one died shortly after in my arms before help could get to us. The other lost his leg, then died of a fuckin’ infection. Nails and I only had minor injuries from the shrapnel. We turned in our papers after that. It wasn’t fearful on our own behalf, it was watching our brothers die. Just couldn’t take the chance of going through that again.”

“That’s why you want to join the MC?”

He nods. “Want men at my back again, and me to be at theirs. Nails and I have felt adrift since we’ve been out. Started our business, but something was missing, you know?” He leans forward, his hands clasped between his legs. “You’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’d been laughing that day. On our way back after a successful mission. I’d just been handed a picture of Tinman’s baby, I was staring at it when the world exploded. Tinman was killed immediately. Makes no fuckin’ sense.”

“That’s awful,” says Mom, her voice dripping sympathy.

Her tone suggests that his pain, his sharing, somehow helps us with ours. A reminder that loss happens all the time. That what we’re feeling happens everywhere, every day. I’m just about to tell him, when for the second time in two days, the front door crashes in.

“Look everywhere,” a voice barks.

“Phil?” Mom’s on her feet as I set my eyes on a man I barely recognise.

His hair, thinning now, is more grey than black. I get the blond from my mom. His face is etched with lines, and his cheeks are reddened. He’s got a gun in his hands and so have the men who’ve come in with him. He must have set off from Denver immediately after Mom called.

“Stay right where you are. Search him.”

Dirt’s standing. He sends a look of apology my way and holds out his arms to his sides. He needn’t feel sorry. What can one man do against five? Nothing other than die if he tried to be a hero. Soon he’s disarmed, and, for good measure, has his arms tied behind him.

“You the boyfriend?” Phil demands.

“Yes,” I reply fast, my own look of contrition toward Dirt. Don’t want to admit he’s here as an ineffective, as it’s turned out, bodyguard.

“What are your men doing?” Mom asks, her own face reddening with rage as now Dirt has been secured, four of the men have fanned out, and are opening drawers and cupboards and throwing the contents on the ground.

“Looking for my fucking stash,” he rasps. He approaches and grabs hold of Mom’s chin. “Where did Connor hide it?”

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