Chapter 12

Bulldog reached for his gun—only to realize that he was dressed merely in his underwear and unarmed. The man stepped forward into the light cast in from the hallway.

"You asshole." He turned and stormed out of the room. He had so many things to say but didn't want to risk waking his babies. He heard the click of the nursery door and knew he was following him out into the living room.

Bulldog turned on a lamp and rounded on Scar. "What the fuck? You nearly gave me a heart attack! Why were you in the nursery?"

Scar just stared at him.

Bulldog ran a hand down his face. "Jules, I am not in the mood. What the fuck is going on?"

Scar reached behind him and pulled out a manila folder. He placed it on the end table by the couch. Bulldog took a step forward, Scar taking one back, and reached for the folder.

Bulldog opened it—and wished he hadn't.

Pictures upon pictures lay inside. Girls and women in white rags turned brown with grime and filth. Chains and cages kept them locked away. The utter devastation seeped out of the still shots and seemed to permeate into the room.

Behind the pictures was a printed-out list of addresses. Miami, Houston, New Orleans, Tallahassee, Nashville, Cape May, Charleston, Bakersville, New Rochelle, White Plains… The list went on.

Behind the list was an eight-and-a-half by eleven colored picture of a man. He was older but dyed his hair to hide the gray. He'd had Botox or some work done on his face. The suit he was wearing, in spite of the blood, looked expensive.

He had the name Cameron carved jaggedly into his forehead, like he was alive and fighting against the cutting. Under his name was Pedophile.

A whirlwind of emotions swirled through Bulldog. Scar had found Cameron. Somehow in two months he'd done what Keys had been struggling to do for over a year. There was no way that Scar took photos of the man's victims and didn't set them free. Verifying that question was a waste of breath and an insult. Most likely Scar had worn a body cam and not actually walked around with a camera clicking pictures. The real question was where they were now. Knowing Scar, Bulldog would guess that he'd somehow arranged for the Feds to show up just as he was leaving to find all the victims free and the assailants dead.

Bulldog closed the folder. He placed it on the end table, but knew he needed to take it with him when he left. He did not want Cassie or Lila to find it and look inside.

"You missed Harper's wedding."

Both of Scar's eyebrows went up.

"It was today, asshole, and I know she was looking for you. She'd hope you'd come back for it."

Scar turned his face away, but Bulldog saw the regret on in his eyes before he did.

Tired, Bulldog sat on the arm of the couch. "I didn't mean for you to leave like that, Jules. I never meant for you to have to go to the community and do all of that for me." He tapped the folder. "Or this."

Scar just shrugged. Like he was saying it was no big deal.

Bulldog shook his head. "Are you back?" Before Scar could nod or shake his head, Bulldog pressed on. "I want you back, man. I need you back. There's a reason I brought you here. Do you remember how you were before I found you in that bar? The Via Daemonia kept you from drinking and fighting yourself to death. I'll talk to Steel. Maybe… I don't know. Maybe there's a punishment he'll agree to that won't strip you of your colors but will still make the point that he doesn't agree with your actions."

Scar, though, shook his head.

Bulldog stood. "Goddammit, Jules! Why the fuck not? You were happy here, weren't you? You had Sissy and Harper. You were happy. I know you were."

For a moment, Scar didn't respond. Then he nodded.

Closing his eyes in frustration, Bulldog uttered the words he swore he never would to Scar. "Just talk to me, man. Please. Tell me what is going on." Softer, he added, "It's just me here. No one else will hear you."

Scar's eyebrows drew down. His jaw twitched. For a split second, Bulldog actually thought Scar was going to start speaking to him. Then his expression turned frustrated and he turned his face away from Bulldog.

Bulldog let out a long sigh. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to…" He ran his hand over his long beard. "I shouldn't have said that."

Scar just shrugged. Bulldog could see the shame in Scar's eyes, and felt like shit for having been the one to put it there. No one else would have picked up on it, but Bulldog did. He was probably the only person who knew how self-conscious Scar was about his voice, that that was the reason he didn't speak, and that it pained him to do so. Bulldog had really fucked up by demanding Scar speak to him.

"Will you at least stay the night? Please. It's late. We can talk to Steel in the morning."

Scar looked like he was about to refuse and then he nodded.

Bulldog let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Take the couch. I'll get you a blanket and pillow."

Really, he should have known better. Maybe he was more tired than he realized. He stupidly walked out of the living room to get a blanket and pillow from the hall closet. When he came back only a minute later, Scar was gone and so was the manila folder.

Bulldog threw the pillow and blanket onto the couch. "Damnit!"

* * *

Smoke filled the rundown bar, causing Bulldog to cough as he walked through the front door of the bar. While it probably would do the world some good to have this den of depravity burn down, unfortunately there was no fire. Just a lot of cigarette, not cigarette, and really not cigarette smoke. The lights were so dim, Bulldog could barely make out two feet in front of him before his eyes adjusted.

It had been almost three years since he'd seen Julian. He'd been horrified when he'd discovered this was the sort of establishment that Julian frequented most nights. What happened to the respectable soldier, the man who stood for God and country? Guilt filled Bulldog, knowing he'd let his friend down. They'd lost touch after Julian had been medically discharged.

They'd met when they'd gone through basic training at Fort Jackson in South Carolina. Both eighteen with glory in their minds, honor in their hearts, and stars in their eyes. During those ten weeks, they'd become friends and leaned on the other when the going had gotten tough. Career paths had separated them soon after. Julian had had his eye on joining the special forces while Bulldog had chosen to remain with the Infantry. They'd stayed in contact over the years, and even run into each other at various bases around the world. It had been a good and easy friendship.

Until certain tragedies had befallen Julian's Delta Force team. Horrors that even Bulldog didn't know the extent of. Eight brave soldiers had gone into those Afghani caves—only Julian had come out, and Bulldog wasn't sure he had. Not the Julian he'd known at least.

Julian had been discharged from the military with honors and a Purple Heart. Two years later, Bulldog had finished up his ten years and chosen not to reenlist. His mom had just survived her second fight with breast cancer, and he wanted to spend more time with her as well as his younger brother.

Once stateside, Bulldog had looked up his old friend expecting to find… Well, anything other than what he found. Bulldog ignored the prostitutes, drugs, and anything else nefarious going on as he searched for his friend.

Julian was slouched over the wooden bar. He had a bottle of whiskey gripped tightly in one hand. His eyes were unfocused, his face unshaven, and his hair disheveled. Pity and guilt filled Bulldog. Veterans who'd given their lives and sanity deserved better than this from the country they'd served.

Bulldog took a seat on the bar stool next to his drunk friend. He had to wonder how long Julian had been at the bar to already be this intoxicated. It wasn't even seven at night.

He reached over to take the whiskey bottle.

Quick as a flash, Bulldog found himself pressed face down against the bar in a bent-arm hold. Julian's blue eyes bore murderously into his. It took a moment for recognition to register and then Julian released his grip on Bulldog's arm.

Bulldog circled his arm a couple of times to loosen his shoulder. "Good to see you too, brother."

Julian sat back down on the stool and took a swig from the bottle. He didn't answer but, then again, Bulldog hadn't expected him to.

"I'm out," Bulldog told his friend. "Did my ten and now I'm looking to start something new. A Marine I know is starting a motorcycle club. He's looking for officers and wanted to know if I knew of anyone who'd make a good Enforcer. I thought of you."

Julian took another drink. He was staring straight ahead, as if Bulldog wasn't even talking to him, but Bulldog knew he was listening. Even drunk, Julian was too well trained to be aware of his surroundings not to be.

"This isn't you, Jules. You don't drink. You look like you haven't eaten a solid meal in years. You're skin and bones. Come back with me to Pennsylvania. It'll be good for you. You'll be around others who've served and maybe you can find some peace?—"

The whiskey bottle came slamming down on the bar counter. The glass held strong, though, only sloshing the bronze liquid around inside. A drop came out the top and onto Julian's hand. Bulldog's eyes landed on the scars marring his flesh. In the dim lighting of the bar, they might not be noticed until someone was looking for them.

He'd seen Julian's hands bandaged when he'd visited him in the hospital after he was rescued, but he hadn't known the details of the damage.

Maybe peace wasn't what Julian needed. Maybe he needed a chance to let out some of his rage—without landing himself in a prison cell or a psych ward. Bulldog could only guess at the horrors dancing around in his head. Most of the facts revolving around Julian's team was redacted due to nature of special operations. What Bulldog had been able to discover hadn't been good, nice, or pretty.

"Look, I'm not going to pretend I know what you went through. I sure as hell am not going to claim I understand. All I want, Julian, is for you to get yourself out of this shithole of a bar and cleaned up. Get some food in you too. After that, we'll talk. I'm sorry I came on so strong. I'm excited for what Steel is building and I think it'll be good for both of us."

Without a word to him, Julian stood up. He took the whiskey bottle with him as he headed through the bar towards the door. Drunk as he was, he walked on steady feet. There was only a slight sway to his upper body that belied his condition.

Bulldog followed him. He sure as hell hoped Julian didn't have a car outside and expected to drive. Instead, he found Julian walking across the parking lot. By the time Bulldog caught up with him, Julian was on the dirt road, walking south. The warm Texas breeze felt good after breathing in the tainted air of the bar.

They walked in silence for a while. Julian was still drinking from the bottle. When Bulldog guessed they'd walked about four miles, he finally spoke again.

"Mom's doing well. She's in remission. Two bouts with breast cancer and she still came out swinging."

Julian continued to drink from the whiskey bottle. He just kept on walking. Bulldog didn't know where he was heading. He wasn't sure his car was safe being left unattended back at the bar, but at the moment his priority was Julian. He had insurance for a reason.

"Carlos is still a deputy. He really likes his boss. It's hard to believe my little brother's a cop. He's young, but he's got a good chance at becoming the deputy sheriff during the next election."

Still nothing. Bulldog could handle silence; it was the lack of acknowledgement that was starting to get to him.

"So it's really a funny story about how I met Steel, the Marine I was telling you about who's starting the motorcycle club. Well, not funny as in ha-ha. More of funny as in coincidence. About two years back, I'm getting ready to fly home for leave, except it turns out that my flight was overbooked. I'd already had a two-hour layover and I was not willing to wait any longer. I wanted home so badly I was salivating. Anyway, this other guy next to me was willing to give up his seat for some points. The guy who took his seat was Steel. He was headed to Pennsylvania too. Turns out he has a buddy, a former Marine, who lives in Mount Grove, my hometown. I didn't recognize the name of his friend, but he did say the guy was older than me by about six years. Doubtful I would have gone to school with him. Anyway, we get to chatting. Turns out, he didn't want to get bumped to another flight either. His wife was meeting him in Pennsylvania and they were taking a kid-free vacation.

"We met up a few times while he was in Mount Grove. Seemed to really like the town, and I met his friend who lives there too. I've seen the guy around but hadn't known who he was. Then we're at a diner, Mom, Carlos, and me, and Steel walks in with his wife, the guy he knows, Lucky, and Lucky's kids. Turns out Carlos knows them really well. We all sat down to have lunch together.

"Fast forward about a year ago, I'm getting ready to take my final flight home. Just minding my own business at the airport. Pair of boots step up in front of me. I look up, and there's Steel. He'd served his twenty, retired, and was moving his family to Mount Grove. That's when he told me about the motorcycle club.

"It sounds like a good bunch of people he's putting together, Jules. All vets. I'm even planning on reaching out to some in my old platoon to see if they'd be interested too. He wants me as his Sergeant at Arms. Basically, I'd be in charge of club security. Lucky, the guy from Mount Grove, is going to be VP. His best friend is going to become Road Captain. I didn't recognize the names of the men he's bringing on as Secretary and Treasurer. I'm told one of them was a SEAL though."

Honestly, Bulldog was aware he was rambling. He supposed the story of how he met Steel wasn't that exciting, but he was hoping to get some sort of response from Julian. It didn't have to be words—just something. Instead, Julian just kept walking.

They reached a crossroads and Julian turned left. The sun was about to set and they would soon lose their light.

Though Bulldog knew better than to ask a direct question, he couldn't help himself. "Where are we going, Jules? My car is all the way back at the bar."

Julian. Just. Kept. Walking.

Bulldog threw his head back in frustration and kept walking too.

It was well past sunset when they finally came to an old barn. There were cars of all types surrounding it and Bulldog could hear the shouts coming from inside from a good distance away. It sounded like an arena. His heart sank. Julian better not be leading him to a dog- or cockfighting ring.

Still, he followed Julian inside.

As he suspected, there was a cage in the middle of the barn—but it wasn't for animals. Men fought bare-fisted and bloody in the middle of the ring. Julian weaved his way through the crowd, not even blinking at the show in the cage. He finished the last of his whiskey and threw the bottle into an overflowing trash can. Bulldog continued to follow him.

As they approached the opposite side of the ring from the barn doors, Bulldog caught sight of a table. Gruff looking men stood around it with a potbellied middle-aged bald man sitting at it. He was bent over a notebook, and then he caught sight of Julian.

"There he is!" The man boasted with a heavy Texan accent. "Gents, our champion has arrived! Clear the roster. I want Creeper in the ring next."

Creeper? Bulldog looked at Julian. He supposed he did look creepy with his overgrown hair and beard, his sunken eyes, and basically a walking skeleton. As shouting drew his attention back to the large men pounding away at each other in the ring, Bulldog realized that Julian planned to get into the ring.

Bulldog was no slouch. He stood tall at six foot-five and had the muscles expected of a ten-year Army veteran. He'd shaved his head bald when his mom had started her first round of chemo. While on active duty, his face had had to be clean shaven. He'd stopped shaving the day he'd gotten his discharge papers. Over a year later, Bulldog had a full beard that extended past his chin. He planned to keep it going, liking the look, especially if he was joining a biker club.

Julian, however, had lost most of the muscle mass he'd had on active duty. He was six-two but looked as if he'd disappear if he turned sideways.

"Are you insane?" Bulldog grabbed for Julian's arm, but his friend slipped out from under him before he could make contact. "You are not getting in that ring. You're drunk." He didn't want to add that his friend was skin and bones, and certainly not strong enough to fight off any attacker with skills.

Julian ignored him. He handed the man at the table a thick white envelope. Bulldog didn't have to look inside it to know it was filled with money.

The man ran his thumb over the bills. "You sure you want to bet this much? You haven't seen your opponent yet. Guy's bigger than your friend there."

Julian said nothing. Just turned his back and headed towards what looked to have once been a horse stall. There were no doors for privacy. Just a row of lockers, a sink, and an old metal folding chair. Bulldog hurried to follow his friend.

"Jules, you can't seriously be considering doing this." Thinking through his options and knowing how stubborn his friend was, he quickly offered, "I'll do it. I'll fight for you."

Julian, who'd been sitting in the folding chair taking off his socks and boots, paused. For the first time since Bulldog had walked up to him in the bar, Julian looked up at him. It hurt Bulldog to meet his friend's eyes. There was a hollowness present, like a piece of Julian's soul had been left behind in that Afghani cave. Now that he was looking at his face, Bulldog also noticed a long, ragged scar running from Julian's left temple and down into his unshaven beard. When Bulldog had visited Julian in the hospital three years ago, he'd been informed that Julian had just had reconstructive surgery on his face. Bulldog had never seen the result though. Why would the doctors leave such a gnarly scar on his face? Was it the end result of the surgery?

Julian blinked, breaking their eye contact. Bulldog had to turn his face away, knowing his cheeks were heated. He was ashamed he'd been staring at Jules's scar. What must Julian think he thought of him?

After placing his boots and socks into a locker, which didn't even have a lock on it, he started back out towards the main barn floor. He'd left his jeans and long sleeve shirt on. Julian paused when he was shoulder to shoulder with Bulldog.

He turned his face away from Bulldog, but slowly raised his left hand to touch Bulldog's shoulder. He didn't grip Bulldog, just laid his hand atop his shirt. Bulldog stood frozen, afraid to move. To an outsider, the gesture might seem small and insignificant but, from Julian, it was like receiving a bear hug. Bulldog didn't want to do anything to startle Julian.

A loud echoing shout from the crowd rang out. Someone had won the match in the cage—and it didn't sound like it was a crowd favorite. Julian dropped his hand.

Bulldog turned so they were still standing next to each other, but he was now facing the cage area. The man Julian had handed the envelope of money to was now standing in the middle of the ring shouting about the next fight between Creeper and his challenger Vinny.

"Please don't do this," Bulldog tried again.

But Julian squared his shoulders and walked forward.

To say Bulldog was pissed would be an understatement. Julian had won his fight, leaving the barn with a huge amount of cash, but he'd taken a serious beating before knocking out his opponent. Bulldog wasn't angry about the fighting itself or that this seemed to be how Julian was making a living. No, his anger was from Julian's lack of care for his own wellbeing.

True to the organizer's statement, Julian's opponent had been bigger than Bulldog. The man had probably been about six-seven or -eight with massive muscles. In comparison, he was Goliath and Julian was David. However, it was clear from the start of the fight that Julian wasn't blocking the man's hits. While large, the giant was slow. Julian should have easily been able to dodge many of the man's punches and kicks.

He hadn't.

At first, Bulldog was blaming it on the alcohol, except there were certain attacks that Julian did block that would have resulted in him losing the fight. Therefore, Bulldog could only draw the conclusion that Julian was purposefully not blocking the hits that connected. Which meant he was taking all that pain for some other reason than a lack of ability to fight.

That was what had pissed Bulldog off. Julian wasn't fighting to make money—though he'd certainly made money. He was doing it as some sort of self-punishment. He wanted to be in pain.

Though bloody and sore, Julian walked all the way back to the bar with Bulldog. At first, Bulldog hadn't realized that was where Julian was heading. They made it back to the bar around three in the morning. Bulldog had no idea how Julian was still upright. He'd offered to help Julian after he'd stumbled a couple of times, but Julian had just kept walking.

When they made it back to his car, Bulldog offered to drive Julian wherever he needed to go. He wasn't sure where Julian lived, and he wasn't ready to give up on his friend. That fight had proved Julian needed help more than even he probably knew.

However, when Julian gave him directions, it was to a twenty-four-hour motel, not an apartment, a house, or a trailer. Bulldog thought Julian was waiting in the car while Bulldog went in to pay for a room. Upon returning for his bags, though, he discovered his car was empty and Julian was nowhere to be found. After driving around for an hour looking for Julian, Bulldog gave up and returned to the motel.

The next morning, Bulldog exited the motel room to find Julian leaning up against his car. He almost didn't recognize the man. Julian had shorn his hair down to a buzz cut and was completely clean shaven. The scar on his face was extremely prominent now. He looked freshly showered, wearing black jeans and a long sleeve black shirt that no longer had blood on them. His bruises from the night before showed and he had applied superglue to the cut under his eye. At his feet was an Army regulation rucksack.

Bulldog cautiously approached his friend. "You coming with me to Pennsylvania?"

Julian nudged his bag with his booted toe. Guess that was answer enough.

* * *

Steel and Bulldogstood on the back of Bulldog's porch. He would have called Lucky too, but it was the man's wedding night. He'd already disturbed Bear on his wedding night; this situation wasn't dire enough to disturb Lucky on his too.

Steel was quiet for a long time. "You're sure he's not coming back?"

"I'm not sure of anything with him anymore," Bulldog admitted. After he'd found his living room empty, he'd gone down the hall to check on Abby. She was asleep, wearing one of his shirts. Bulldog wanted nothing more in that moment than to crawl into bed with her and hold her close, but Bulldog had a job to do. While talking with Steel about Scar's place in the club could have waited until morning, that Scar had been here and pulled another vanishing act could not.

"Where do you think he's going?"

"He has a sister down in Texas, but they weren't close before he went into the Army. I doubt he'd go to her now."

Steel stared up at the moon. "I'm going to have to strip his colors, Bulldog. I don't have a choice anymore. He came back and he left again."

A hollow feeling came over Bulldog. "I know."

"Who do you want as your Enforcer?"

Bulldog hated the fact that he knew that question was coming. Even more so that he had an answer ready because he'd been prepared for it. "Ghost."

Steel didn't question him or put forth another suggestion. He just nodded once. "We'll make the announcement at Church next week."

"I hate this."

Steel took a step down the back stairs. The communal backyard wasn't lit, but the moon was bright enough that Steel wouldn't need a flashlight to make his way back home. "Me too, brother. Me too."

As Bulldog walked into his house, he pushed the feelings of sorrow aside. Scar was a grown man who could make his own choices and suffer the consequences. Bulldog made sure all the windows and doors were locked before journeying upstairs to look in on the girls. Cassie was curled up tightly in the fetal position, a pillow pressed against her stomach. He'd need to keep an eye on her after the wedding. Lila was sprawled out on her mattress like a spider monkey. She'd managed to kick off all of her blankets and pillows. Her little snorts were adorable. Bulldog entered quietly and picked up the blanket to cover her with once more.

He walked down the stairs and then flipped off the upstairs hall light. As he made his way back towards his bedroom, he stopped in at the nursery again. Not wanting to turn the light on and disturb the babies, Bulldog did a rudimentary peek around. Scar had been in here for a reason. Maybe he was just looking in on the babies, but Bulldog didn't think so. He'd done something to or in the nursery. Bulldog would have to wait until morning, though, to find out.

He stopped by the bathroom before joining Abby in bed. This was the first night in over two months that they'd slept together. Bulldog knew better than to automatically take her into his arms. As much as he wanted to, it wasn't a good idea. With her unaware, it could cause her to panic. Instead, Bulldog laid down next to her. He gently rubbed her arm, murmuring nonsense under his breath. Slowly, Abby roused enough to realize he was there. Then she came to him. Bulldog wrapped an arm around her waist and held her to his chest.

His mind wouldn't settle though. Scar had killed Cameron. Who was he going after next? Were all the auction houses shut down or had that list been where he was headed to next? Bulldog wished he'd gotten a better look at it or made an effort to memorize at least a few of the names.

He needed to push Scar from his thoughts. Scar had made his choice, and it wasn't with the VDMC. That hurt, but Bulldog couldn't dwell on it.

He had a vibrant, beautiful, sexy woman in his arms that he loved more than life itself. She'd given him four wonderful kids. In the span of four months, he'd gone from miserable bachelor to married with children.

He still had to deal with Carlos. They were either going to have to duke it out or make up and move on. Their mom wasn't going to allow this silent treatment to go on much longer, and Bulldog did feel bad about stressing her out because her adult sons couldn't kiss and makeup.

Glancing down at his chest and the mop of ginger hair there, Bulldog couldn't help but smile. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew they'd face it together.

Abigail Santiago. His Abby. The wonderful, beautiful, resultant woman that he loved more than life itself. There would be good days and bad days ahead. There would be laughter and tears. And a hell of a lot of poopy diapers.

He'd take it all. Embrace it. Because of her. He'd told everyone from the day he'd met this girl that he would marry her someday. They'd called him crazy. Said it was a childhood crush that he'd get over. His grin widened as he settled further into his pillow.

Joke was on them. He'd married her all right. Sometimes, a man just knew.

Even if that man was only six years old.