The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC) (24 page)

“Dominique. Two hundred people heard what Cropper did to me! I mean, what exactly did those photos consist of?”

She snorted. “Apparently one of the Baal’s Minions guys took photos with his cell which he blasted to some brothers, and somehow the pictures wound up in Tonya’s hands. Those assholes. They can never resist bragging about their fucking exploits.”

“But what did they show? Did you get any idea?”

“Well, from what Tonya was screaming, it seems that Riker—typical, just fucking typical—was giving you a moustache ride while Cropper and a few Minions were bludgeoning their beefsteaks over your body. Sorry, but it needed to be said.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry! I wanted to know, so I asked. Nothing else, though? No actual, uh, penetration?”

“I don’t think so. I think you’re safe.”

“Well, you know the worst part? You remember I was bleeding. I think Cropper caused me to miscarry.”

Dominique was silent for a few seconds. Then, “Oh, God.”

“I know, right? I mean, it feels different than a regular period.”

“Probably because the asshole kicked you. Sister, you need to run right out and get a pregnancy test. It’ll tell you how far along you were. Oh, wait. You’re a nurse. I keep forgetting.”

“So he beat the crap out of Cropper?” Sabrina had seen my car sitting in her driveway. She was standing in front of my hood gesticulating wildly. She’d moved to Flag about four years after I had, gotten all messed up on drinks and drugs, but had just discovered AA. Now she was waitressing and sharing a house with a few fellow AAers. Funny that the girl with the good background and stable mother turned out to lose it so heavily.

“Yes. Don’t worry, he didn’t murder him. Yet. Riker came and shuttled Cropper out the door, no one knows where, but he’s safe for now.” Dominique sighed. “Then Turk took Ford into the bathroom and the party kind of broke up from there.”

“Okay.” I pressed the bridge of my nose between my fingers. “I just need some down time now. Do you feel me?”

“Oh, I feel you, all right. Give these guys a week to sort it out and everything’ll be back to normal. And do go get that pregnancy test.”

“I will.”

I exited my car, just now realizing I didn’t have a single change of clothing, not even a toothbrush—how apropos. Sabrina was used to that, having housed me when I was a teenaged vagrant, basically.

“What’re you doing here? I didn’t hear a call from you.” She hugged me.

“Oh, it’s a long-ass story, Sabrina. But I think my fucking life is over.”

“All right. Why don’t you come inside and have a cup of coffee?”

I remembered she was clean and sober. It was the first time I had cursed that decision of hers.

FORD

“When I realize that she is gone, perhaps forever, a great void opens up and I feel that I am falling, falling into deep, black space. And this is worse than tears, deeper than regret or pain or sorrow, it is the abyss into which Satan was plunged. There is no climbing back, no ray of light, no sound of human voice or human touch of hand.” ~ Henry Miller,
Tropic of Cancer

S
he was doing it again.

Madison was a runner. She liked to run.

What the pictures had shown, from Ford’s understanding, was so far from being her fault, yet she took it upon herself to feel responsible.

Ford knew the shit that went down in the clubhouse when old ladies were gone. He’d participated in most of it. Tag teaming, bukkaking harmless girls, and Cropper liked to roofie them first. Gave him more of a sense of power.

That’s why Ford had wanted Madison to stay away from the Citadel. He didn’t trust Cropper with her, not after seeing what Cropper did to young girls, the holes in the walls at the Bum Steer. Worst was probably what Faux Pas had told him after the brouhaha had died down.

Ford had finally torn Turk away from the bathroom door. Faked him out, more like. He looked in the mirror, rubbed his face, sighed heavily, and when Turk was least suspecting it, Ford leaped for the door and ripped it open.

And yes, he punched Faux Pas around before he’d even said a word. No one knew what his beef was with Faux Pas so no one stepped in. If the beef was legitimate, if Faux Pas had somehow participated in the train or crew screw or whatever had occurred, then Ford had every right to beat the ever-loving shit out of him. Most people stood back at a safe distance, front row seats to the brawl.

But Faux Pas couldn’t answer him well if he was bloodied and spitting out teeth, so Ford held back. Faux Pas may have been under the ban of silence but Cropper was gone now. Cropper had done a vile, unforgiveable thing, and now it was Faux Pas’ duty to come clean. So Ford just bloodied his nose a little, and he probably didn’t knock out any teeth.

“I’ll
tell
you, all right?” Faux Pas’ eyes flickered with anger. No doubt he didn’t appreciate being whaled on just for having had some knowledge. “She was in the hangar last week like I told you.”

“But you left out some important parts, my brother.”

“I did. Listen, I don’t know what sort of agreement you’ve got with Cropper, and he’s the President. I don’t know what agreement you’ve got with Madison.”

“We can leave, bro,” said Turk. “You should confront Faux Pas in private.”

Ford turned on his best friend. “Don’t leave. Stay! I want every last one of you to hear this. Faux Pas. What. The fuck. Happened.”

“Well, I first saw Cropper kick her. In the stomach, while she was already down.”

Ford would have lost it at that, but he had to keep it together to hear the rest of the story. His tone was murderous. “
What. The. Fuck, Faux Pas.
You don’t think that’s something you should’ve been telling me?”

Faux Pas threw up his hands. “Who the fuck knows these days,
savez vous?
Cropper’s been doing whatever he wants, however he wants it for a long fucking time!”

A lot of men mumbled in agreement. Faux Pas was right. Ford shouldn’t shoot the messenger. “What then?” he demanded.

“Well, then those two fuckheads—Cropper and Riker—proceeded to beat the crap out of each other. She begged me not to tell you—said she was doing it all for Speed.”

“I knew it. I fucking knew it,” moaned Speed, clutching his head. “It’s all because I stacked the ride.”

“Then what?” Ford demanded.

“Then I didn’t see her again until…the incident Tonya talked about, with the pictures and all. Those Baal’s Minions were there, but from our club it was just Cropper and Riker, naturally. Anyway, the only part I glimpsed—are you sure you want to hear this, Torino?”

Ford narrowed his eyes so they were slits. “Indubitably.”

“I saw…” Faux Pas looked from side to side, shifting in his boots uncomfortably. He crapped out on owning up to what he’d seen, at first. “I saw what Tonya said. Crew screw. Except no, you know, screwing part. They were just pulling their puddings. You know how Cropper does. And…”

Ford stepped closer to Faux Pas. Faux Pas was maybe one inch taller, but Ford easily faced him down with superior muscle power and rage. Faux Pas flinched. “And,” he said, to postpone Ford’s rage a split second. Then his words came all in a rush. “And she was bleeding. And Riker had his stupid fucking face between her legs.”

“Oh God.” Ford had to wander over to a window just to prevent himself from strangling Faux Pas.

Men murmured in agreement, in disgust. Women were more vocal. “That’s just
wrong
.” “Riker needs to be stopped.” “He needs to be put on a fucking leash!”

Ford had wanted the club to hear because he wanted them to dislike Cropper and Riker as much as he did. He wanted them to know the full story so that when he went to kill Cropper, they would understand and back him up.

Cropper and Ford had never really gotten into it physically before. They’d thrown a few toasters and television sets at each other in their time, but never really given each other a beatdown. This time was different. This was the woman Ford loved with all his heart, and Cropper couldn’t even leave her alone. While it was somewhat true to a certain extent that Speed would have to work off the price of the bike since the club owned it, in no one’s book was it written that the Vice President’s old lady would have to work off her brother’s debt in sex.

Now that they had to vote about how to proceed, they needed to get away from the women. “Church in fifteen,” Ford shouted to the room. He went to the master suite to get his Sig Sauer, sticking it in the usual spot, under his belt at the small of his back. Just in case he saw Cropper.

He was going to bury that motherfucker once and for all.

Riker could stay. Cropper was the engineer of this entire mindfuck. Riker was just a warped son of a bitch. Also a combat veteran, Riker probably had traumatic brain injury just like Ford, but he’d been hexed since birth by drug addict parents. Riker was just twisted, the sort of guy who’d think it was fun lapping blood from an unconscious woman’s pussy.

Riker had excuses up the yin-yang for his behavior. Cropper had none. Ford knew that his Italian grandparents were old school squares, and he seriously doubted they’d done anything to corrupt or pervert their son. Cropper had just preferred a nomad, outlaw lifestyle, and that’s all his son knew.

It wasn’t just the Madison events. For years Cropper had been mistreating women—Ford too, to a certain extent, because that was his only role model. Cropper had beaten Ingrid, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. Hell, Ford had done time in Juvie due to Cropper’s profligate ways. Sure, he’d earned his “Filthy Few” patch at sixteen after killing the father of a girl who Cropper had molested. She’d been Ford’s girlfriend, but Cropper just couldn’t keep his hands off, and when her father came after Cropper with a piece, Cropper had ordered Ford to bury him. Of course he had. He was protecting his father.

Yes, he had a “Filthy Few” patch, and people were afraid of him, but at what expense? His childhood had gone, his youthful exuberance had been sucked from him, he’d become hard and bitter like the other junior thugs-in-training at the facility, while Cropper went scot free.

Cropper would not twist, pervert, and degrade Madison any longer.

The Citadel was only a ten-minute drive from Ford’s McMansion. Shivers raced up Ford’s spine as he strode the corridor to the chapel. He had to go past the game room where some of the incidents had taken place. Someone had cleaned up. Not one billiard ball was out of place. He snorted with disgust.

The kitchen, too, had been tidied. Maybe some of the women, not wishing to rile Ford any further, had come to straighten up. Ford gave the guys some time to pee and figure out how they’d vote, and slipped into his office to call Madison again.

While the phone was, predictably, ringing and ringing, he noted a few drops of blood on the floor. He was sick of blood. Had Madison come in here for something right after Cropper had kicked her? Why was she bleeding? What had Cropper broken inside of her?

“Listen, babe,” he told Maddy’s voicemail. “I understand that you’re freaked out right now. Faux Pas finally came clean and told us the whole story. Sugar cookie, no one holds anything in the slightest against you. You were just trying to save your brother’s hide. We could have worked something else out. That’s not our tradition to use women to work off a brother’s debt. But look, that’s all water under the bridge. Faux Pas said you were bleeding too from Cropper kicking—listen, I can’t even bring myself to say it. Kicking you.” His voice was thin and pained. “We’ll work it all out,
mija
. Everything will work out. Cropper’s never going to bother you as long as you live. You can rest assured of that.”

Turk stuck his head into the office to indicate everyone was seated in church, so Ford cut it short.

“Listen. Wherever you are, know that I’m going to bat for you. I’m not going to operate a club where I have zero respect for the President. What was done to you never should’ve happened, and I will eternally be so, so sorry for all of it. Cropper’s a twisted degenerate and should be removed from office. Bye for now.”

He didn’t mention that his version of “removed from office” would involve murder, fratricide. There was no other way. They could remove him, burn off his backpack, and send him into the wilds of Borneo, but knowing he was out there and had ruined Ford’s honor, that was too much to ask him to bear.

This wasn’t the first time Cropper had done this, and it wouldn’t be the last if no action was taken.

Ford wielded the gavel. It was Speed’s first meeting as a fully patched member. Ford was compelled to comment on it.

“I’m sorry, Speed, that your first vote had to be this way.” He gestured for Speed to speak. He had almost as much at stake in this mess as Ford did.

He looked like he’d been crying, or smoking weed. His eyes were rimmed with red, and he rubbed them again. “I just want to say I feel utterly responsible for this whole clusterfuck being brought down on your head. If it wasn’t for me ODing on peyote in the first fucking place, none of this would’ve happened.”

Protests arose from the men around the table. No one wanted Speed to blame himself.