Chapter Four

Ivy

Three nights later...

"I'm confused. I thought you said Puck was a brother?"

Mouth groaned. "Alright, Barbie. This is how it goes. When we get a walk in and after they pass muster, they start at the bottom of the barrel, low man on the totem pole. You get the gist. We call our newbies Plebs, because that's what an enlisted soldier, grunt, sailor is called during bootcamp after they sign their life away. It's the same with us. Every brother in Disturbed has served. We don't discriminate unless they were Coast Guard, and then all bets are off. Anyway, this club always has five Plebs. They get the shit work. KP duty, cleaning the head, bitch work, you name it. Anything a brother can hand off, it's the Plebs' job to make sure it gets done. Then there is our enlisted crew, the middlemen. That group is composed of Pinball, Puck, Elvis, Hannibal, Razor, and Cyrus. You haven't met Cyrus yet, ‘cause he's on leave helping his mom out. Then there are the officers.

"This club has two designated enforcers: Agony and Trash. While the military trained all of us to kill, those two are lethal, and I mean it. They won't think twice before ripping your head off and shoving it up your ass. They generally follow the Prez around. The club has an in-house doctor. You know him as Logic, the GQ model with white hair. Don't let his looks deceive you. He's fucking smart as hell and just as deadly as the enforcers. His eyes aren't the only thing distinctive about him. Fucker has ice in his veins. The club treasurer is Berlin. The reason you haven't met him yet is because the fucker rarely steps foot in the clubhouse. He is the quiet one, prefers numbers to people. You see him here. Shit is about to hit the fan. The road captain is Alias. Totally unassuming until he's behind you with a knife to your throat. Alias organizes all the club runs and shit. The club's intel officer is Indigo. There is nothing that fucker can't find, and I mean it. Fucker is a bloodhound when on the hunt. He doesn't stop. Don't lie to him. He will know. Your buddy Slash is the club's sergeant at arms. He's basically the club's bouncer. He sucks at it because he's generally the one starting shit. Next, there is the club's lieutenant, Saint. Kind of like a jack of all trades. Bastard is good at everything. Frost is the club's VP, or vice president. When the Prez isn't around, Frost is in charge. Nice enough guy but lie to him and it's game over. The enforcers, the VP, and LT, all corral Luc. The Prez doesn't interact much, and you really don't want him to. He has no fucks to give and never compromises. It's his way or the fucking highway, and that's everyone. Every brother here is former military. We've all served. We're brothers. Plain and simple."

"What about you?"

Mouth smirked. "I'm what you call the wildcard. Not quite an officer and not enlisted."

"What's that mean?"

"I was a Warrant Officer. Had the education to go green to gold but stayed true to my roots. Meaning, I swung the other way. I got a lot of pull in the club, and I can sit in on briefings if I want, but I mainly stay behind the bar. I make sure the Plebs aren't slacking off and help the enlisted when they need guidance. Occasionally, I put an officer on his ass when I think he's in the wrong."

"Does that happen often?"

"More than you think."

"Ivy!" Slash grinned, walking out of the back as he headed for the front bar. "Get your shit. I'm taking you to dinner."

"But?"

"Go," Mouth whispered. "It's a slow night. Have fun."

Nodding, I grabbed my backpack and ran to catch up with Slash.

Riding down the coastline as the sun began to set was magical. I got why the brothers preferred bikes to cars, or cages, as they called them. Being on the back of a bike was like flying. There was nothing else like being emancipated from the shackles of man to journey the earth, unrestricted, unregimented, boundless, with only the horizon in the distance.

It was freeing.

I didn't care where Slash was taking me, I just didn't want the ride to stop. But like all good things, eventually the bike slowed, and soon I found myself sitting in a small diner off the beaten path, as Slash scoured the menu before him.

When the server walked over, he ordered enough food for an army.

"So, the reason I brought you here was so we could talk. Really talk."

Reaching for my coke, I muttered, "About what?"

"Got a call from Mom this morning. Said a detective came by looking for you. Wanna tell me why?"

"A detective?" I questioned, looking out the window. "They say why?"

"Nope, only that she was looking for you."

"Honestly, Slash, I do not know why."

"Mom also told me about a child killer on the loose in the city."

I stiffened.

"That got me thinking. About what you said the day you showed up here. About your mom. How you found her. Tell me, Ivy, exactly how did you learn of your mom's name?"

Looking out the window, I refused to lie to my best friend.

I wouldn't do it.

"Tell me you didn't go back there?"

"So what if I did?"

"Goddamnit, Ivy!" Slash snapped. "Do you know how dangerous that was? If he got his hands on you, he wouldn't have hesitated before he killed you. Why did you go back there?"

"Because I had no fucking choice," I sneered. "You do not know what it's like having a head full of holes. I can't make sense of shit. I knew it was a risk, and I was careful. He didn't know I was there. I made sure of it. But I couldn't just leave it. I have a right to know. Not all of us have the distinct pleasure of knowing who our parents are."

"That's not fair, Ivy. You know I've always understood. If you had asked me, I would have gone with you, but you said nothing. Not a fucking word. And now a fucking New York City detective is snooping around. Did anyone recognize you while you were there?"

"No."

"Well, someone did."

"What do you mean?" I asked when Slash reached into his cut and removed a San Francisco paper, placing it before me. There on the front page, the headline read: Slain Runaway Mutilated.

"We got a problem."

My hands trembled when I reached for the paper, reading the report. It was a young teenager. Found in a homeless encampment, naked. Her body was beaten and sexually assaulted. But when I read her attacker branded her, I felt sick to my stomach.

Covering my mouth, I slid from the booth, running for the bathroom. Slamming the bathroom door open, I ran to the nearest stall, dropped to my knees, and threw up everything in my stomach as flashes of a life I once lived filtered in my head.

My body convulsed, ridding itself of everything, and when there was nothing left, the dry heaves took over, straining my stomach muscles until my whole body hurt.

I felt him step up behind me before he flushed the toilet. Helping me to my feet, he walked me over to the sink, where he lifted me up and placed me on the counter. Reaching for a few napkins, he wet them before washing my face, brushing my hair away.

"Breathe, Ivy," Slash coaxed before asking, "It's because of him you called me out of the blue, wasn't it? You didn't need a fresh start. You're running again."

Lifting my head, I felt horrible, but he was right.

Nodding, I muttered, "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't sure at first, but when the third kid turned up dead, I knew something wasn't right. I didn't think. I just grabbed my go-bag and left. I didn't even tell your mom where I was going. I just got the hell out of the city."

Slash took a deep breath, then sighed. "Where is your phone?"

Reaching into my back pocket, I handed it to him.

In the next instant, he snapped it in half before tossing it in the trash can. Pushing my hair away from my face, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine. "I've got you, Ivy. I'm not going anywhere."

Gripping his wrist tightly, I whispered, "I'm scared, Mikie."

Curled up on my couch, Slash sighed when he looked out my living room window. "Babe, I gotta tell them."

"No. You can't. If they know, they will make me leave."

"No, they won't."

"Yes, they will, and you know it. Every time a family learned who I was, they called DCFS and returned me. No one wants me. That's why I lived on the streets until your mom found me. Even then, I saw the fear in her eyes when DCFS told her."

"Mom was scared, yes, but not for the reason you think, babe. She was scared for you. Still is. She made me promise to keep you close. If you won't let me tell the others, then I think you need to move into the clubhouse."

"I'm fine here, Slash. You said yourself that the club owns this building. I've seen the security cameras. I'm safe here."

A knock at the door had both of us turning.

"You expecting company?"

"No," I whispered while Slash reached into his cut, withdrawing his gun as whoever it was knocked again, louder this time. Slash pointed to my bedroom. I jumped over the sofa, running for the bedroom. Closing the door, I leaned against it, listening intently when I heard a familiar voice.

"Hannibal?"

"Where is she?"

Opening the door, I walked out to find Hannibal standing in my living room, glaring directly at me.

"Everything okay, big guy?" I asked, slowly approaching.

"Club got a visitor an hour ago."

"Okay?" I stated, confused. "Who was it?"

"Don't know. Don't care."

"Why tell me then?"

"Because the fucker wanted you."

I stiffened.

Slash growled. "Who the fuck knows you're here, Ivy?"

That was a damn good question.

The big guy stared at me as he handed Slash an envelope. "Said to give her that. Didn't like him, Slash."

I stood there while Slash ripped open the envelope and removed a small photo.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" he roared, ripping the photo to shreds.

"What was the picture of, Slash?" I stayed rooted in my spot, refusing to budge.

My friend shook his head.

"Michael!" I yelled.

"It was of you, okay!" he shouted back.