Page 18 of Damascus & The Wildfire
After Merrick left, I flipped through the album of photos. His energy seemed different as a child. Lighter and brighter, with a scar-free face, a big smile, and positive energy. I wondered if the club life had changed that about him.
I flipped to the end of the album, and the last photo was Merrick standing beside a beautiful woman with jet-black hair. He was kissing the top of her head. The front of her cut had a patch of a red rose.
The only thing that followed was empty slots.
Chapter Six
My vision began to swim, the letters on the pages blurring into a muddy haze. My back ached from hunching over the table the night before. I’d slept for only a few hours before waking again and posting all the evidence on my wall with pins—a puzzle of brothers and broken loyalty.
My front door flew open, slamming the wall behind it. “Knock knock, motherfucker.” Hatchet strode in with a steaming coffee and a pink box from Maisie’s. The scent of fresh donuts and cinnamon rolls wafted through the room.
Reaper followed close behind with two coffees. He handed me one as his eyes skimmed the wall. “Fuck me, Merrick. You look like you’ve been up all night.”
Hatchet snorted. “Told you he’d have a wall like he’s onCSI.”
Reaper shrugged. “CSI: Outlaws. I’d watch it.”
I took a long sip of coffee, the heat searing my tongue, before walking them through everything I’d discovered: inconsistencies, suspicious credit card charges, phone calls, and text messages to unknown numbers. The evidence was scattered.
“Everyone’s still a suspect at this point,” I admitted, rubbing my temples. “But I’m narrowing it down.”
Hatchet flipped open the box, the scent of sugar and fried dough filling the room. He grabbed a glazed donut, devouring half of it in one bite.
“So, what’s next?”
“I had Linc pull records for anyone who’s been a failed prospect or hangaround for the past five years. He also pulled together information on the sweetbutts, but they don’t have access to enough dirt to be a valuable CI.”
Reaper nodded. “Good thinking.”
I pointed to a picture of a former prospect. “I’m sure you remember Danny. After we stripped him of his patch, he was arrested. Assault charges, among a few other things. He did a little time, but he’s already been released. That’s exactly when the feds like to swoop in and make a deal.”
Hatchet smirked. “Danny in the clubhouse with the candlestick. You might just win this game of Clue after all.”
Reaper tilted his head. “Considering the beating you two gave him after he touched Eva, I’d think he’d want as much separation from the Mavericks as he can get.”
“Or he’s pissed enough to want to bring our entire club down. Maybe he wants payback. He bitched to his buddies that he got kicked out of the club because of a woman.”
Reaper rubbed his jaw. “You think he knows enough to hurt us?”
“Not as much as a fully patched brother, but enough. He went on a few runs. And if he’s working with the cops or feds, they could be feeding him info. Using him to build a bigger case.”
“Maybe,” Reaper mused. “Let’s grab him today and take him to the junkyard. If I remember right, he works third shift at the factory off Bowles. He should be off within the hour.”
I grabbed my cut and keys. “Let’s go.”
Hatchet grinned as he cracked his knuckles. “It’s going to be a great morning.”
A few hours later, my tools lay spread before me, gleaming under the dim junkyard warehouse light. Pliers, a blowtorch, a bone saw, and my favorite blade. I ran a finger down the flat side, the textured metal cool beneath my touch.
Danny strained against the zip ties securing him to the wobbly metal chair. The duct tape over his mouth muffled his pleas. At first, he’d claimed innocence—even after a few punches to the face left blood pouring from his nostrils.
“Let’s try this again,” I said, peeling the tape back just enough to reveal his split lip. “Who are you talking to? Is it the Texas Rangers? Or the FBI?”
He spat blood onto the concrete. “I told you; I don't know anything about?—”
Hatchet’s fist cracked into his nose before he finished. Cartilage crunched, and crimson blood streamed down his chin. “We won’t ask again.”
Still, Danny clung to his lie, his eyes tight with anger and defiance.
