Zero Apologies (Lost Kings MC 14)

“All depends on what we’re talking about.”

“The girl who provided the original eyewitness statement saying you were at the scene.”

Already, I’m on edge. Whoever it was will have to be dealt with. Doesn’t matter the reason. And I’m not fond of hurting women.

“Who was it?”

“Girl named Josey Banks ring a bell?”

“Fucking twat,” Rooster mutters.

“I know of a girl named Josey who hangs around the club. Not sure if Banks is her last name or not.” Although that last name sticks in my mind for some reason.

Trey leans in closer. “Her brother’s on the force. A complete asshole.”

“He send her to spy on us?”

“Nah, from what I understand she just likes to act out to piss him off.”

“Great.”

“He caught her with a large quantity of heroin, a few weeks back. Threatened to put her in jail. She was looking at hard time. Didn’t give a shit that it was his sister.”

Given my own experiences in that department, can’t say I blame the guy. “Yeah, so. What’s that got to do with me?” And where the fuck is anyone in our territory getting their hands on heroin?

“Well, he wanted the dealer, but that was a dead end.”

“So?”

“He wasn’t letting it drop and she knew he was working the arson case, so she said she had information about that.”

“Are you fucking serious? Why me?”

He shrugs. “You’ll have to ask her.”

Shit, I’d had the bitch right in front of me a couple days ago. If I’d known then, I would’ve rung her skinny little neck. No wonder she seemed so off. “That’s it?”

“That’s all I got. Took me a while to find the right person and shake the story out of them.”

That’s just great.

I slip the envelope out of my pocket and hold it without handing it over. “You got an address for me?”

“Yeah.” He stares at me for a second. “What are you going to do to her?”

“Read her a bedtime story,” Jigsaw says. “Maybe sit around and sip some tea together.”

Trey seems to be having trouble deciding if Jigsaw’s serious or not. He sputters and stares before handing over a piece of paper.

I flip it open and check the address. Right on the NY/NJ border. Must really have a thing for bikers if she was coming all the way up to party at our clubhouse so often.

“What’s your beef with her brother?” I ask.

Trey seems surprised I care but fuck knows what information might be useful in the future. “He’s an ass-kissing ball-buster. Always ratting brother officers out and sucking up.”

My opinion of Trey isn’t all that high, but I’ve got no use for snitches. “I’m not poking at him unless he gives me a reason. The sister needs to be dealt with, though.”

He shrugs.

I hand over the envelope and we go our separate ways.

“What do you want to do, Z?” Rooster asks as we walk back to our bikes.

I glance between him and Jigsaw. “What needs to be done.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Z

Josey’s apartment is about the kind of place you’d expect a junkie to live. Doesn’t make me feel any better about what we’re facing.

“I’ll handle it, Prez. Go home to your wife and kid,” Jigsaw says.

True brotherhood right there. Someone hurt the president which hurts the whole club and any one of us should be willing to retaliate. While I appreciate the offer, there’s no fucking way I’m shirking my responsibility just because it happens to be unpleasant. A lesser man might be fine with letting Jigsaw and Rooster take the risk, but if that’s the kind of brother I want to be, I don’t deserve to wear our patch.

“Let’s get this done and get out of here,” I answer without addressing his offer.

He sighs and pulls a knife out of his saddlebag, sliding it into his pocket.

I reach under my cut and check that the Glock I usually carry is secure. Once we get inside, I’ll probably need it. I don’t have a sound suppressor, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to be a problem in this neighborhood. As we walk up the cracked sidewalk, I slip on my black leather gloves.

Josey has two choices today. Leave town. Or leave this world. Permanently. Her call.

The intercom is broken, but so is the front door lock. Inside smells like piss and dog shit. Debris litters the hall and stairway. Lots of kids’ toys too, which just makes me sad. No kid should live in a place this filthy.

“She got kids?” Rooster asks.

“No fucking idea.”

“Hope not,” Jigsaw says.

Yeah, I think we’re all hoping that.

The door to the apartment number I was given is cracked ajar and I tap it with my boot, pushing it wider. The place is small. One bedroom. No kids’ stuff. Thank fuck.

It’s even dirtier than the hallway. Musty and hot.

Rooster closes the door behind us with a barely audible click.

The three of us fan out as much as we can in such a small place.

“Clear,” Jigsaw says in a low voice as he exits the kitchen.

Rooster nudges the bedroom door open. It’s barely big enough to fit a mattress. No closet.

“Clear.”

I toe open the bathroom door. My eyes and nose are simultaneously assaulted, and I take a step back, gagging from the stench. “Fuck.”

“Holy shit.” Rooster lets out a low whistle behind me. “She dead?”

“By the smell, I’m guessing yes.”

“What the fuck?” Jigsaw says. He reaches past me and points at the bathroom mirror.

They always loved you more than me is scrawled over the glass in blood-red lipstick. The same shade of red smeared on Josey’s lips and fingertips.

“Suicide note?” I’m not sure why I bother asking. The needle from her arm suggests she was probably high. Could be song lyrics or words left to torment her brother. Who knows.

“We need to get out of here,” Rooster says.

“Yeah.” My gaze lands on a sparkly-pink phone on the bathroom rug. “That hers?”

Jigsaw side-eyes me. Who else would it belong to? But he keeps his mouth shut and reaches in to grab it. “Locked,” he mutters.

He takes a few steps closer to Josey and borrows her fingers to unlock the phone.

“Aw, for fuck’s sake, Jiggy. Really?” Rooster growls.

“What’d you want me to do? Hack off her thumb for a souvenir?” He taps on the screen for a few seconds. “Fingerprint lock is off. Let’s get out of here. We can examine it at the clubhouse.”

“Someone going to be able to track it?” I ask.

“Give me a minute,” he mutters as he flips through it some more. “Whoa. Fuck me.” He turns the screen, shoving it in my face. “Someone has a stalker.”

“Had,” Rooster corrects.

“What the hell,” I mutter, taking the phone out of his hand and flipping through the photos. “When the fuck?”

Photos of me. Well, photos of lots of people. Crowds. Biker rallies in different spots across the country. I’m in a disturbingly large amount of her shots. I recognize the Iron Bulls MC’s clubhouse in one photo. Surprised she got away with taking selfies there. That’s not something that’s usually encouraged when visiting an MC. Especially one like theirs.

“Gotta be a couple years old.” The tattoo on my right hand hadn’t been covered up by the skull and swords inked into my skin today. It’s obvious I’m drunk in a lot of the photos. In one or two selfies, a much healthier and less-dead Josey has her lips pressed to my cheek and her arms around my neck. Shit, why don’t I even remember this chick?

Was this bitch following me around the country when I was on my Lilly-left-me pity tour?

“Better make sure Lilly never sees them,” Jigsaw suggests. “Technology sure can make a manwhore’s life difficult.”

“They’re old phot

os, dickhead.” I shove the phone and the back of my hand with the skull tat in his face. “At least a year old.”

“And technology can save a manwhore’s ass,” Rooster snarks.

Jigsaw laughs and high-fives him.

“Fuck both of you. This isn’t funny.” It’s fucking tragic and sick.

Rooster wipes the smile off his face and stands up straighter. “You’re right. It’s sad. And fucking creepy.”

“When’d she start coming around our clubhouse?”

They both stare at me for a minute and I realize I said, “our.” Not downstate. Or Sway’s place.

Shaking that off, I slap Jigsaw’s chest. “Who invited her?”

“How should I know? That’s Steer’s job. Hot chicks who are down to fuck always get in, you know that.”

I glance at Rooster. “She’s only been coming around for a little while.” He meets my eyes. “Maybe since around the time you took over as president.”