Page 41 of That Girl is Trouble

12

Two years ago

December

Churches make my skin crawl.

It’s the echo, I think, that does it. I don’t mind quiet. Even the heavy, solitary kind of quiet that Kat hates so much. It doesn’t get under my skin the way it gets under hers. Hell, when I was locked up, there were times when I’d fucking pray for quiet. I’m not one to beg, but I really considered it a time or two—dropping to my knees on the cold, hard concrete of my cell and praying to whatever god was listening to turn off all the fucking noise.

The constant murmur of hushed voices, the yelling, the clink of something hard being dragged back and forth across the iron bars. Echoes everywhere. It was noisy as hell, but somehow also… empty.

It’s the same with this place. There’s something inherently empty about a church. They possess a hollowness of sorts, and it gives me the fucking creeps.

Kat sits in the pew closest to the front of the church, which has mostly emptied out since the service. And I watch her. Her attention is focused ahead, where half an hour ago, a casket topped with Jesse’s leather cut was sitting.

A ghost of a headache pokes at my temples. I sigh as I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing it away. I’m itching to get out of here and back to the clubhouse, where we’ll honour Jesse the only way we know how—loudly, and with a lot of liquor.

But I gotta do something first.

Beside me, a throat clears, pulling my focus away from Kat. A fully uniformed Lincoln Decker leans against the doorframe, his face pulled into a deep scowl, the blood that coated his hands a week ago long washed away.

“We should talk,” Decker murmurs, flicking a glance at the door behind us.

“Not now, Deck. I’m busy.”

“Yes now, Donovan,” he says curtly. “I’m free now, so we talk now.”

I clench my fists, the pain in my temples intensifying as I work to rein in my temper. “Then talk. And make it fast.”

“Got that info you were looking for,” he says, ignoring the threat in my tone. “But you won’t be happy.”

“Rarely am when I’m talkin’ to you. Out with it.”

“I did some digging on that land—the property you torched and that old farm. It’s numbered company after numbered company, man. Had a hell of a time tracking down the name of the owner.”

“Yeah? And? You sort it?”

He nods. “Had to bring in Preacher’s PI. Not all that digging was, uh, legal, but yeah. I dropped an envelope in your truck. Under your passenger seat.”

“Remind me why I’m not happy.”

“Because the dude’s a ghost. And from what I can tell, he doesn’t spend much time on this side of the hemisphere. Owns a few businesses in the surrounding towns—all legit. Real estate, mostly, but a couple investment firms. A strip club. Does some shit with crypto. But more than half the year, he’s in the Caymans, and he’s travelling the rest. Doubt the guy’s ever even stepped foot in South Bay. Not sure what kind of vengeance you can lay down if he can’t be bothered to show his face around here.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Or you could just drop it.”

I glare at him. “Come again?”

“Drop it, Axe. It’s not worth a war. The people who crossed you got theirs. It’s done.”

“It’s not done until I say it’s done.” With a scoff, I go back to watching Kat, who hasn’t moved. Shoulders still slumped, still facing forward, hair still falling limply around her face like a curtain.

Gritting his teeth, Decker pushes off the wall and closes the distance between us. He lowers his voice to an angry hiss. “Nine bodies, Donovan. Who else has to die for you? Her?” He jerks his head towards Kat.

That bullshit only pisses me off more. “Careful.”

“No. You be careful. You may have my balls in a vise, but don’t think I’m going to let innocent people die because you can’t leave well enough alone. I will fucking take you down, Donovan. Even if I have to go down in the process.” He jams a finger into my chest. “Don’t think I won’t fucking do it.”

---