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  2. Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

  3. Severed Heart: Chapter 56
Severed Heart (Ravenhood Legacy Book 2)

Severed Heart: Chapter 56

BLINK.
Exhausted and reeling from these last relentless weeks, images of my latest mission threaten to shutter in as I lower my truck windows, allowing the breeze in. Fall announcing its imminent arrival as brisk air filters throughout the cabin. Restless and unable to sleep, I left Delphine in bed to take a drive, and since then, I have ended up aimlessly roaming the streets of Triple Falls as I did years ago. Only vaguely aware I’ve lost time due to the visions continually threatening to batter me.
Eyeing the clock on my dash, I see it’s a little past 3 a.m. Since the day we buried Dom, Delphine and I have been vigilantly trying to stop the hemorrhaging that started with that gunfight—and after, an attack on every southeast chapter, resulting in the death of at least one bird in each.
So while Tobias spun out, figuratively and literally, leaving Dom’s casket to race toward Cecelia, it was mine and Delphine’s back-and-forth during the drive home that birthed my first mission. Our first step toward retribution. A minute into the drive, Delphine had deduced one of the reasons Miami had been so quiet. They were scoping us out to the point that they put a strategy together to start their attack and used the contract on Roman to kick it off. Terrified that was the truth of it, both of us became hellbent on coming up with a plan.
“There was someone in that car that escaped with too much intel,” she expels confidently, as the truth of it guts me.
“Even with a practical cannon in my fucking hands, I didn’t have a clear shot due to the glint of the sun, and I don’t fucking miss, Delphine.” I glance over at her, seeing the wrath in her posture in my passenger seat. “But I did miss that day, and it cost us dearly. I should have taken them out when I had the chance.”
“Try not to doubt Ezekiel’s reasoning, Soldier. He’s as trained as you are and spent just as many days at that kitchen table with me. His biggest hesitance in taking out Miami was their mafia connections. There is reason there, and we need to get to the bottom of it so we can move forward. But first, do you remember the make and model?”
“Yeah, hard to miss. It was an obnoxiously painted street-illegal performance car—an orange and lime green Honda. One I didn’t recognize from the meetups, which means fuck all. They were too far clear of the gate by the time I made it there, so I didn’t get the license plate. I’ve put a call in with Phillip to track it, but chances are slim he’ll find it.”
“We start there. Grab your Miami ledger and hunt down that fucking singing canary, if he exists, and I will help you,” Delphine relays, her whisper lethal. “If it’s one source, you’ll find he’s one of the most established in the Miami chapter, probably closest to Matteo and Andre in ranks if he has so much knowledge of our club. Once you do, silence him and all his closest in a very messy way.” She turns to me in the seat. “It’s time to send a message, Soldier—one they cannot ignore and will have them rethinking they have the position of high ground. Compile a list of possibles if you can’t locate the car or the owner, and I will help you find a way to narrow it down.”
As we pull up to the house, she immediately opens her door before rounding the truck to meet me at mine. “No, Soldier. Go, now. Find the source.”
“Baby, but your treatment—”
“Is the only reason you’re going alone,” she states emphatically, forcing me to drop it. “We’ve already lost too much time and need to find that canary. If you track him and decide to move in before getting back to me, make him sing his last song for you. For intel on Miami and the extent of their connections. Including what branch of mafia before he bellows his last note. If he refuses, find personal leverage against him.” Her comment hangs in the air between us. “Which will be very messy,” she warns.
“I excel at messy,” I assure her.
“I know,” she whispers, her worry for me evident. “I will work on a strategy while you’re gone. One that will get our birds back home in their own beds, but . . .” When she reaches for me, I bend, giving her access while pulling her to me. “One last order.”
“I’m listening,” I murmur against her lips.
“Come home to me, Soldier. That is a priority order.”
I didn’t argue with her, selfishly in need of a way to purge my grief. Within hours of zeroing in, I found the bird, one that hypocritically wore our fucking ink, and a Miami veteran. For him, I had taken my most trusted of the Triple chapter and called in a few of our inked military before carrying her order out to the letter in Florida.
Though I was gone for too many days, we left a brutal blood trail in our wake while delivering our intended message. A trail I’m still processing now as I pull up to the darkened, abandoned garage. The second I’ve parked, a vivid flash of Dom behind the hood of his Camaro crashes into me before another surfaces, followed by another, until I’m flooded by them. Every day, I feel the added weight against my bulging levee, but so far, I’ve held it, keeping myself upright for my birds. Tonight, that task is especially taxing, and I fear that if I let so much as a drop through, I won’t be able to get upright again. Working through the burn, I stare at the dark, abandoned garage from where I sit, the need for release briefly paralyzing me.
We promptly shut down King’s after the attacks started on our southeast chapters and have yet to get the garage back up and running.
Not that any of us are anxious or have the fucking time anymore to keep the ruse going as we fight to keep our birds safe and get our club back to functioning on some level. Right now, Tobias has been forced to play the role of politician in damage control and is, at present, a moving target. A target at his wit’s end to try to restore peace in our club. We’ve been so busy scrambling on the offensive as Miami continues its assault that none of us have had time to grieve. But with my most recent mission, their advances have slowed slightly. To the point that several birds have migrated back to their houses from Denny’s compound since I ordered us all there the morning of the gunfight.
As of now, we’ve taken every imaginable step to safeguard Triple Falls.
With eyes fucking everywhere, and thanks to the digitization and access by the club to Delphine’s maps, we’ve got birds posted at every single vantage point to detect any possible threat or motorcade that looks even remotely suspect. Her strategy, combined with the police vigilantly monitoring every major road in and out of Triple Falls—thanks to Roman—has me feeling confident in some respects. While feeling utterly helpless in others, Delphine’s sickness being the first.
But with the added help of Beekman and the rest of our rapidly increasing number of feathered Feds currently scouring the media and everything in circulation to keep our street war unlinked, if control wasn’t an illusion, I might feel some sense of it this side of the half hour. Delphine’s and my new reality so far from the hammock-swinging, snooze-inducing state of bliss we were in not so long ago. A place and state I would do anything to get back to for the moment, but this war is far too close to home.
At this point, I would do anything to erase the days between that night and this one for any other outcome than Dom’s permanent absence. The echo of his death haunting my every waking hour. But it’s the image of Dom’s lifeless body in Tobias’s arms as he brought him down Roman’s staircase that morning that keeps the rage lacing the blood pumping through my heart. That keeps me in constant need of an outlet. It’s that need that now fuels my strategies and upcoming plans for retaliation. For the purpose to purge on the motherfuckers who took him from us in an effort to shift this war in our favor and bring Tobias back. Though, day by day, Tobias becomes more and more lost to us.
As does Sean. That sting becoming harder to ignore.
Knowing I won’t be able to sleep anytime soon—and in need of mindless work—I stalk into the garage. Letting Delphine witness my anxiety isn’t something I want right now, but the idea that her treatment won’t take—of losing her . . .
Tamping that fear down, I enter the side door of the garage and stop at the open hood of the closest car, needing the mind-numbing work to help me sort my shit. Fully aware that I, too, am a moving fucking target, I keep the main bay lights off and pop on the shop light already hanging over the engine. Shortly after, I flip open a toolbox, ready to assess what needs fixing. An instant later, my Glock is drawn and pointed at a . . . kid whose eyes bug out of his head as he gapes back at me just as a soft “Russell?” leaves his lips.
“The fuck?” I say, immediately tucking my Glock back into my jeans. “Who in the hell are you?” I ask, darting my eyes to the couch to see a blanket and pillow discarded there.
“I-I’m—I thought you w—” he says, backing slowly away from me, his palms up. “I d-d . . . I’m sorry.” He skitters toward the couch as I slowly trail him.
“You can’t fucking be here, kid,” I bark, confusion setting in.
When he glances back and sees me on his heels, he does a one-eighty before stumbling backward and falling on his ass, palms still up as he speaks rapidly.
“R-Russell was c-coming back to g-get me. He j-just, he couldn’t get a-ahold of anyone to k-keep me while he ran an errand b-but he’s coming right b-back.” He lets this all out in a terrified but stuttered rush as I realize I’m towering over him, my posture threatening and tense.
“That explains shit,” I expel, the tension in me due to his own safety as I offer my hand to help him up. Denying my outstretched hand, he palms the concrete before standing on shaking legs as I pull out my phone. “Who are you?”
“Zach,” he expels, eyes darting to the side door.
“That still explains nothing. Why are you sleeping on our couch, Zach?”
He bites his lip, the fear in him palpable, terror in his eyes, which look slightly familiar. It’s the rest of him that I can’t place. I gauge him carefully, seeing signs of extreme fatigue. Even beneath the dim shop light, I can see his complexion is gaunt, and he’s extremely malnourished by the looks of him. Pocketing my phone, I decide to act first and ask Russell questions later, knowing this situation could go further south if the garage is being watched—which is likely.
Adrenaline kicking in, I stalk over and kill the shop light and cock my head. Just after, I start to bark my orders rapidly while walking over to the door to ensure it is fully pulled to and locked. “You need to get your shoes on and your shit and come with me right now.”
Even in the blacked-out bay, I manage to catch his nod and a telling sniff before letting out a heavy exhale.
“Hustle, please,” I manage as gently as I can, knowing I might have just put this kid in direct fire. Subconsciously, I came here to pick a fight with anyone who might have snuck past our borders, knowing damn well this garage is a hot spot and neon sign for Miami.
Zach promptly kicks into his shoes, grabbing a tattered backpack at the end of the couch before stopping a good five feet from me when I lift my hand to halt him. Easing open the side door, Glock drawn, I scour the corners of the building before turning to him. “Stay right here until I come back for you,” I utter low. “Only open this fucking door if you hear four rapid knocks. If you don’t hear those knocks when you count to a hundred and twenty, call Russell, got it?”
“Got it.” His voice breaks on the words, confirming I’ve terrorized this kid within minutes of meeting him while racking my brain on who he could be and why he’s here. After clearing the building, I quickly knock and retrieve him before rushing him to the cab of my truck.
A heartbeat later, we’re shooting out of the parking lot and racing away from the garage as I continually dart my gaze between the road and my rearview. Rapidly becoming pissed at myself that I’d just so recklessly risked my well-being when I have a woman at home who needs me. Who is fighting to stay here, all the while growing more pissed at Russell, who put the kid shaking next to me in harm’s way as my need increases for his explanation.
“Jesus . . . fuck,” I grit out, relief filtering in when I catch no signs of life behind us. Glancing over, I see Zach plastered to his passenger door, a pang of guilt stinging me. Pulling out my cell, I dial Russell, who doesn’t answer. Irritation growing, I manage to compose a menacing text, threat included. Russell’s not a fucking fool by any means. His every step is just as calculated as mine. So why would he leave a fucking kid so vulnerable in the garage?
“Tell me why you’re sleeping on a couch,” I prompt, keeping eagle eyes on our rearview while I press a little harder on the gas.
“D-Dom was my friend,” he utters. “You’re Tyler, r-right?”
“Yeah, sorry, I’m a little on edge and don’t normally go around pulling guns on kids. You just scared the shit out of me,” I tell him as he stares at me, eyes bugged wide. “But I’m guessing I returned the favor. I’m really sorry if I scared you, but I wasn’t expecting you . . . and am going to kill Russell,” I grumble.
“Please don’t,” he says, eyeing me as if I may see it through.
“Not like that, man,” I say through a chuckle I can’t help as I glance between him and the road, my anxiety easing slightly with every mile I put between us and the garage. By his uneasy disposition—even after our introduction and the look of him as he continues to white-knuckle the passenger door handle—it’s obvious he’s experienced some heavy-handed trauma. It’s everywhere on his person, which has my chest squeezing as I do my best to put us both more at ease. “So, Dom was your friend, how?”
He lowers his head as he settles slightly in my seat. “He . . . looked out for me a lot up until about a year ago. Then he just . . . disappeared. He d-didn’t answer my calls. But for a long time, as I was growing up, he would check on me even after he left for college. He used to help me when my dad would—” He falters before he speaks again. “C-can you please call Russell? I accidentally left my phone at the garage.”
Feeling his hesitance and urgent need to be in the company he trusts—which isn’t mine—I do my best to shuffle myself into that fold. “Look, I’ll admit that was a shit fucking introduction for the two of us, but I swear to God, I’m not going to hurt you, okay? Things are pretty tense right now.”
“I know about Miami,” Zach relays as my body draws tight.
“You what?” I utter in disbelief as my cell phone buzzes. “Hold up, okay?”
Zach nods as I answer Russell’s call without speaking a word while sliding to a stop under the cover of some trees clustered on the roadside. Quickly circling the truck to the passenger door to stand guard, when I’m confident enough we’re as safe as we can be for the moment, I finally lift the phone with a—“You want to explain to me why the fuck you left a ten-year-old kid in a hot spot for Miami?”
“I know I fucked up,” Russell replies instantly, “but I’ve got your twenty, and I’m coming straight to you . . . and he’s not ten. He just turned thirteen.”
“What? Not this kid, he’s . . .” I trail off, glancing toward the truck.
“Yeah, man,” Russell sounds, “he’s thirteen.”
“Explain,” I snap.
“Dom kind of took him in, took care of him since he was young. His dad is this piece of shit who used him as a punching bag. Dom would buy him clothes and shoes, you know how he is . . . was,” Russell corrects, his verbiage stinging us both as a short silence ensues. “When Zach popped up at Dom’s funeral after everyone left and told me that Dom said to come to him if things got bad, I made the judgment call and took him with me. I kept him at the compound at first. I finally took him home with me a few days ago, but Mom flipped shit tonight, had one of her moments. You know how she gets. Zach’s been through enough, Tyler. I don’t want him around her when she’s like that. Just after we left my house to get a hotel for the night, I got pinged by Peter. I had to think on my toes and tucked him away at the garage because I had no choice.”
“Why in the fuck didn’t you fucking call me!”
“You know why,” he counters defensively. “Everyone is dealing with so much, man, and I had a threat to take care of. I didn’t have the luxury of time, and I couldn’t fucking leave him streetside in the middle of the night. Nothing around me was open. I’ve only been gone twenty minutes,” he says in exasperation.
“Everyone okay?”
“Yeah, false alarm. Peter thought Miami was at Eddie’s.”
“You sure it wasn’t them?” I snap in question.
“Yeah, brother,” he says, “positive, just some asshole causing shit, but Peter swore it was, so I raced to him.”
“Fuck!” I kick the gravel with my boots and the fact that I can’t be the eyes and ears I was months ago or stretch myself any further. I can’t be there for all of Delphine’s treatments and carry out her orders. I’m already breaking my promise to revolve the club around the two of us. A promise I made years ago that she and I would come first. Ironically, breaking that promise now at her insistence. Due to her unrelenting thirst for revenge, which conveniently matches my own, but has us losing precious time.
One thing at a time, Jennings.
But that’s the problem—as it is now, my multitasking days are getting more limited and seem over until we can start to anticipate Miami’s moves. As of now, we’re stuck on the offensive—something Delphine is working diligently to rectify.
Shifting my gaze to the kid who’s staring through the windshield in a daze, my chest tightens again at the sight of him. Brown hair and eyes, looking utterly lost, he briefly reminds me of a younger me.
“So . . . he’s got no place to go?”
“All he had was his dad, and he’s not going back to him, Tyler. I’ll take him in. I’ll do what has to be done. Dom wanted him with us, brother. I’ll take responsibility. I’m not letting him—”
“This should have been brought to me. Period. What if his dad sets off an Amber Alert?”
“His dad hasn’t called his phone once since he left. Hasn’t bothered looking for him, man. I know I made the wrong call tonight, but Peter was bugging out.”
“Son of a bitch,” I grit out, feeling helpless to the fact we don’t have enough birds to cover every business and guard our borders. Peter’s state is indicative that we’re already stretched thin.
“Just sit tight, I’ll be there in five.” Russell misconstrues my frustration. “I’ve got him. I should have brought him to Denny’s, but I had no fucking time,” he rushes out. “Tyler . . . I’m telling you, that kid has been through enough.” Russell continues to sputter out more explanations as my mind races with solutions until a few of his words cut into my thoughts.
“. . . dad owns some gas station.”
“What?” I stop pacing and turn to stare at the kid who’s currently peering back at me through the passenger window of my truck. I now realize exactly why his eyes are familiar, even as I ask. “You say he’s thirteen? Where is his mother?”
“Yeah, man, just turned last week. He’s been through hell. Says his mother left him when he was like three or four, had some affair or something, and his dad’s been fucking punishing him for it since.”
All the blood drains from my face as I keep the kid’s gaze while a fear-filled tear slowly trickles down his cheek. “Russell . . . this is important,” I utter hoarsely, “was his mother’s name Grace? His dad’s name, Tim?”
“Yeah, I think so. You know them?”
“Yeah,” I manage as the gravity of who I’m peering at through the passenger glass sinks into me. His eyes familiar because they belong to the toddler who squirmed in Grace’s arms nine years ago, his arms reaching out to me. For me. An image forever burned into my memory. “I’ve got him,” I hear myself speak, disbelieving of the words but feeling the decision in my gut. “I’ll get him safe . . . I’ve got him.”
“What . . . you sure? I’m good with him. We get along well. I—”
“Please trust me on this. I’ve got him. Just . . . we’ll talk later but lock down that fucking garage. No one goes in or out until I say otherwise. And meet me at Denny’s tomorrow at noon. It’s time to get more aggressive.”
“I’ll be there,” he says, “but . . . there’s a few things you need to know.” Russell’s tone has dread seizing me before he speaks. “Zach . . . can’t at all handle human touch, Tyler. At all, okay? Do not touch him.”
“His dad abused him that badly?”
“He left home because his dad beat him with an extension cord before he made him wrap it around his own neck . . . Jesus, man, I—”
“Tell me,” I order, chest seizing unbearably.
“Then he ordered Zach to sit tight while he went to scout the perfect spot for him to hang himself from.”
I drop my phone instantly, turning my back to Zach as the grief I’ve been holding at bay spills over my levee. A breath later, I make a beeline for the cover of the trees, giving myself a few seconds of collection. Fisting my hands at my sides, I absorb the latest blow and addition to the list of collateral damage left in the wake of Carter Jennings’s mistakes.
* * *
Half an hour later, I bend to press a kiss to Delphine’s temple as I murmur in her ear. “Hey baby, can you wake up for me, please,” I whisper hoarsely. Delphine slowly rouses from sleep before opening her gorgeous silver-gray eyes. I see the happiness in her expression just before it dims, and I know it has nothing to do with any loss of enthusiasm in seeing me—but that she’s just realized within a blink that she’s living in an altered world. One that Dom no longer exists in. My own grief is evident, along with the fear of the alteration I’m bringing to her as she gauges my expression. In an instant, she’s lifting to sit, her eyes scouring me with concern.
“Soldier, what’s wrong?” She begins frantically searching me for any wounds as I grip her frantic, explorative hands.
“I’m fine, baby,” I assure her as her eyes dart to mine.
“Is Ezekiel—”
“He’s fine, too. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” I whisper. “It’s not that serious,” I relay and then shake my head. “Actually, yeah, it is.”
“I am here, Soldier. Please tell me,” she utters.
Her expression remains guarded, and it’s then I wonder if we’ll ever experience real joy in full again without Dom. If either of us will be capable of forgetting, for just a few seconds, about the matching hole now and forever punched into our gaping hearts. Wanting more than anything to blink myself out, if only for a day, instead, I exhale a loaded breath.
“Please, Soldier, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m sad. I’m really sad right now, gutted,” I admit honestly. “And I need my best friend. I need you, and I mean I really need you. I need both your permission and help. I-I, fuck.”
“I’m here, I’m here, Soldier,” she assures, covering me in her voice, her caress. I glance back toward the closed bedroom door, knowing Zach is probably feeling more ill at ease in his skin than he ever has as he sits in our living room—isolated. Probably wondering why the hell he’s been passed off by Russell and thinking he did something wrong to end up here. Pushing all apprehension aside in my ask because of that fact alone. For the way he must be feeling, the words begin to pour from my lips. Ten minutes later, Delphine is fully dressed and pulling on her robe.
Clearing her eyes one last time, she glances back at me before opening our bedroom door and stalking down the hall toward the lost boy rattling with fear on our couch.
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