Page 69 of Restless
Halfway through, he yawned, and his eyes drooped. If Rebel hadn’t been standing near, he would’ve toppled to the floor. She grabbed his shoulders while Diesel snatched the cup and set it on the rolling tray table.
“Either he’s more tired than I thought or you gave him more than Xanax, Uncle,” Diesel said. Crouching, he placed an arm around Daddy and hoisted him up.
Uncle Mort rushed to Daddy’s other side. Together, they got her father to the other bed. Once he was laying down, Rebel removed his boots and covered him with the blankets piled at the foot.
She kissed his cheek again. “I love you, Daddy. Sweet dreams.”
Chapter Twelve
Rory stared out of his window, the evening sun casting long shadows across the floor. His bedroom was on the northeast side of the house. He was campaigning to have his bank of windows turned into French doors that led onto a terrace. In the early morning, especially on weekends when he wasn’t rushing to dress for school, he could go outside and watch the sun rise, its reflection glimmering off the stream. So far, his parents had declined his pleas. Their house sat alone in the meadow, close to the cave that sat near the stream. Not only that but the back entrance was unmanned, though the location was hard to discern without knowing exactly where to look.
Still, odder things had happened. If the club was ever breached via the back entrance, a second-floor terrace with French doors invited disaster.
Sighing, Rory shoved his hands into his pockets and pressed his nose against the glass pane. Dad had been gone for over twenty-four hours. He hadn’t called Mom or texted Rory, Mattie, or JJ.
Mom hadn’t gone into the office today, so Rory hadn’t gone to school. He was afraid to leave her alone. She looked devastated, and Rory felt like slitting his father from gullet to groin for torturing his mother.
To think, he’d believedBashsuch a problem, he’d skipped class the day after the motherfucker found them at that bridge. Rory had stolen one of his father’s guns, intending to shoot that asshole and be done with it. In Rory’s head, it was perfect: Bash greeting him; Rory drawing his weapon and emptying the magazine into the fuckhead; Bash’s face disappearing in a cloud of blood and bone; Rory dragging him into the brush and dismembering him, then leaving his body parts for scavengers.
For a minute, his vision blurred, and his breath shortened. Dad’s face replaced Bash’s. Horrified, Rory jerked himself back to the present.
Fueled by concern for his father’s safety, Rory’s fury toward Dad knew no bounds. He agreed with CJ: Dad knew Bash. Otherwise, the motherfucker wouldn’t have gone off the deep end. Bash was bad news and needed dealing with.
Of that, Rory had no doubt. He’d presented himself as a stock villain, yet, deep down Rory believed Bash’s presence was personal. Bash sounded like a road name.
An idea hit Rory. Turning away from the window, he went to his nightstand and picked up his phone.
Still no messages from Dad.
Fuckhead.
He Googled motorcycle clubs, and opened the first link that listed them by state. He didn’t have time to click the hyperlinks to each club’s website to find a president’s name. The Death Dweller listing didn’t include a website. Shocking, but whatever.
The next website that he was directed to focused on the clubs’ histories and their level of illegality. Still, no president’s name.
However, the Death Dweller information raised alarms.
The Death Dweller Motorcycle Club was founded by Logan Donovan and Sharper Banks. Of its ten charter members of particular note are the aforementioned Logan Donovan and Sharper Banks, as well as Sebastian Caldwell and Wallace Bart, all dead now. Joe Foy, also known as Boss and Big Joe, became a member several years later along with his brother, Kaleb Paul Andrews. The original charter, long hidden, from the membership, listed Boss as president in perpetuity, though bi-annual elections were regularly held. Court records also call into question the club’s ownership.
Rory’s eyes bugged, and he reread the paragraph twice, then checked the input date of the information. It was yesterday.
He read again.
What did the writer mean by stating Kaleb Paul Andrews was Big Joe’s brother? Club members called each other brother, but Rory doubted the words alluded to that. He hadn’t referred to any of the others asbrothers. No, he meant Joe Foy, Aunt Meggie’s father, and Kaleb Paul Andrews, Aunt Bailey’s father, shared family ties. They were related, which made Aunt Meggie and Aunt Bailey—
Fuck him.
He stumbled back and almost dropped his phone.
Aunt Meggie and Aunt Bailey were cousins, and they had no fucking idea.
Fuck, he needed to tell CJ and Harley.Posthaste.Otherwise, they might end up with blue fucking babies as second cousins. On the other hand, Harley and CJ weren’t as close as they once were, so maybe there was nothing to worry about.
Swallowing, Rory looked at the date again.
Law enforcement, writers, rival clubs, and motorcycle enthusiasts looked up these sites. Most people didn’t bother because MCs, especially one percenters, operated on the fringes of society.
As long as Aunt Meggie was in the hospital, Uncle Chris wouldn’t stumble across this information on his own. Someone, though, wanted him to find out; otherwise, they wouldn’t have put this out into the world.
