Page 26 of Ends Here (Road to Nowhere 2)

  “I hate to interrupt this father and son bonding moment, but I got places to be and people to see,” Damien announced, walking into the room. Closing the door behind him.

  “The fuck is he doin’ here?”

  He smiled, slamming his briefcase on the table, taking a seat where my old man had been sitting. “I’m slumming it. That’s what the fuck I’m doing here. Now, get your ass up off the floor, we got business to discuss.” Damien shuffled through all the photos and documents laying out in front of him, even though he was more than familiar with them all. Having stacks of his own and then some at his office.

  Pops rolled over onto his side. Holding onto his stomach, trying to keep it together as he picked himself up to his feet. Using the wall for leverage to stand, taking way too fucking long to be upright. He finally stood, hunched over, walking his way back to the table. Sitting in the head seat.

  Where he still thought he fucking belonged.

  “This her?” Damien asked, holding up the picture of Mia.

  I nodded, sitting in one of the seats adjacent to both of them.

  “You like them young, eh? Seems like your daddy does, too.”

  “Fuck you,” I scoffed out, glaring at him.

  He held up his hands in the air in a surrendering gesture. “No judgment. I’m all for young pussy. It’s much tighter that way,” he rasped, smiling.

  “The fuck is goin’ on?” Prez chimed in again, wheezing for air.

  “May I?” Damien questioned, glancing at me.

  I nodded again.

  He placed the picture back down on the table, pulling out a small recorder from the inside of his suit jacket. Setting it up in front of him. Appearing to be the non-corrupt man, the law-abidding citizen everyone knew him to be. His hair was slicked back into a bun, not a strand out of place. His white suit was crisp and clean, not one wrinkle could be seen. He played the educated, clean-cut lawyer well. Even his tone of voice and dialect was different.

  He was portraying El Santo now, far from the man I had been negotiating with these last few months. It was like he had two different personalities.

  The sinner and the saint.

  “Anything that you say in here from this point forward is confidential between all parties present.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  He rolled his eyes, sighing, “It means I’m here to save your sorry fucking ass. I have all the evidence I need to place you behind bars for life. Thanks to your son here.” He nodded to me. “Honestly, I don’t give a flying fuck if you serve time or not. I want to become District Attorney, so I’m here to make you a deal. You give up every fucking name involved in this fucked up mess. Tell me the information I need to know and sign this plea bargain, which clearly states you’re fucking guilty for committing all these crimes. And I’ll make sure you don’t serve a life sentence at Riker’s Island where you’ll get fucked in the ass every night by men who will make you bleed just for fun. Now... are those words you understand?”

  “You ain’t got shit!”

  “These files?” He gestured to the evidence on the table. “This ain’t shit?” He pulled out more from his briefcase and slid them over to him across the table. “What about these? Those shit, too? What? You need more shit? Because I have plenty of shit back at my office. You just tell me how much shit you need, and I’ll make sure you’re knee deep in it.”

  No one said anything for I don’t know how long. I knew the wheels were spinning so goddamn fast in his head he could barely keep up. Trying to figure out how he could weasel his way out of this, save his sorry ass.

  “I’d take his plea bargain, old man. As much as I’d love to see you rottin’ away in prison. Unfortunately, you’re still my fuckin’ father. I can’t bring myself to do that to my mother or Noah, even though you’re nothin’ but a fuckin’ piece of shit. It may have been different if you had actually succeeded with trafficking Mia. So I guess that’s your only savin’ fuckin’ grace. Cuz, see...” I leaned over on the table. “I ain’t nothin’ like you. I got a fuckin’ conscience. And I can’t take any more lives, not even fuckin’ yours.”

  My father peered back and forth between us, knowing his end was fucking near.

  “Either way, your ass is serving time. It’s just up to you to determine how long,” Damien added.

  “How do I know you ain’t lyin’?”

  “You got trust issues, Jameson?” He held up the plea bargain. “It’s all written here.” Sliding that over to him, too. “Oh wait...you can read, right?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Eh, I prefer fucking putas. Now pick up the fucking pen and sign.”

  It didn’t take long for my old man to agree, spending the next five hours telling Damien everything he needed to know and then some. I couldn’t believe the shady shit he was involved in. It made me sick to my fucking stomach that we were blood and he was my father. He had his hands in a little bit of everything. Things that made human trafficking look like fucking child’s play.

  I just waited.

  Listening to every word. Every confession. Every person he betrayed.

  Anticipating when everything was said and done. My moment. Everything I’d been fucking waiting for, pursuing, investigating. All the sleepless nights, all the bullshit I’d gone through. Every life that had been taken.

  Mine.

  Noah’s.

  Mia’s.

  Especially Maddie’s.

  It all collided together. Except this time, there was no more doubt. No more struggle. No more what ifs.

  My time had come to make things right. All I ever wanted led up to this point in time. Where nothing else mattered.

  But fucking revenge.

  We walked out the back doors of the clubhouse when they were done with his confession. Pops was getting ready to light up a cigarette, smoking one last time before Damien was supposed to take him in. I didn’t think twice about it, in one swift movement I grabbed the gun from the back of my old man’s jeans and aimed it right at his head.

  “The fuck you doin’?” he immediately let out.

  “Damien, grab the gun he’s hidin’ in his boot.”

  He obliged, pulling the handkerchief out from his suit jacket and bending over. Using it as a barrier between his hand and the gun, he grabbed ahold of the Glock. Placing it in the back of his slacks still using the handkerchief as a barrier between his skin and the gun.

  “Grab that shovel over there and fuckin’ walk,” I ordered, nodding to the shovel behind my father.

  He peered over at Damien, waiting for him to interfere. Say something, anything so I would lower my gun.

  Damien just shrugged, putting on his sunglasses. “I have what I came for,” he let out, holding up his briefcase.

  My father’s eyes widened, spewing, “You fuckin’ played me!”

  “WALK!” I roared, pushing my gun into the side of his head.

  His chest heaved and his nostrils flared, stepping one foot in front of the other toward the direction I demanded. Eventually figuring out where I was taking him. I followed close behind, remembering everything about that goddamn night.

  How thick and suffocating the fog from the rain the day before was. The way the wind blew a cool breeze through the trees, skimming the surface of my overly heated skin. I remembered the sounds of twigs cracking beneath my boots, the noises from the birds and owls, along with whatever else fucking lurked in the woods.

  Most of all, I remembered feeling so much fucking hatred for my father. Not giving Luke, his son, a proper burial. Just wanting to throw him in a field along with countless other bodies the club had taken.

  I hadn’t been back there not one fucking time since the night he made me bury my brother.

  Not one fucking time.

  Until now.

  We stopped when we stood over the exact place where his body lay buried under dirt, rocks, and God knows what else.

  Nodding to him, I ordered, “Dig.”

  “You ca

n’t be serious.”

  “Ain’t ever been more serious about anythin’ in my fuckin’ life! Now fuckin’ dig!” I seethed, daring him to defy me.

  “You gonna tell Damien over here? How you murdered your brother, huh? What? Wanna a cell by your old man? Is that it?”

  “He already knows,” I simply retorted. “Don’t you see, Prez, this is all part of the plan. I give him what he wants, he gets a promotion. I get immunity for providin’ evidence to finally turn your ass in. Make sense now? All the roads comin’ together for you?”

  Pops shook his head, gripping the shovel tight, grumbling something under his breath. Forcefully driving the blade into the hard ground over and over again. Heaving dirt over his shoulder while Damien and I watched. I kept my emotions in check. Trying like hell to remain calm the closer he got to digging up my brother’s grave. Until all that could be seen was a giant hole in the dirt along with the black body bag that held Luke’s remains.

  “There! There’s your fuckin’ brother! Tell him how sorry you are again! Forget you’re the reason he’s in the ground?” he sadistically mocked.

  “Bring him up here!” I demanded, looking only at him.

  He did as he was told, placing the bag of bones next to me. “We done now? This the family reunion you wanted, Creed?” He was about to jump out from the hole, but I had other plans for him. I cocked back the chamber, making him jerk back in place. “What the fuck you think you doin’?”

  “What I shoulda done a long fuckin’ time ago,” I simply stated.

  He put his hands up in the air, surrendering, stepping further into the makeshift grave. “You don’t got to do this... I’m already goin’ to prison!”

  “Prison is too fuckin’ good for you!”

  “Damien! What the fuck?! You gonna stand there and watch him—”

  “I don’t like to involve myself in family disputes. I’m not that kind of attorney. It wouldn’t be my place,” he sarcastically interrupted in his serious El Santo tone. “I already told you, I have what I came for. It doesn’t matter if I bring you in, dead or alive. I solved the case. Not to mention all the names and evidence you provided. By the way, thank you for that, but in my honest opinion...” He smiled. “Justice is always served better on the fucking streets.”

  “You piece of shit!” My father spit at him, peering back at me with a vicious glare. “How the fuck is this happening? How the fuck did you even find out?!”

  “That was all—”

  “Me.” All eyes went to the man dressed in an expensive fucking suit, casually walking out from the woods like he just appeared out of thin air.

  All the blood drained from my father’s face, immediately turning pale as if he was looking at a goddamn ghost and in a way...

  El Diablo was.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Damien questioned, arching an eyebrow.

  He wasn’t in on this part of the plan. I only did it for Martinez. I gained nothing with him being there.

  But I owed it to him.

  “I heard you were missing me. So I came just to see you,” Martinez rasped, standing beside me. Making Damien chuckle and shake his head.

  “You’re... the papers... I thought... you... were dead...” Pops stuttered, still staring only at him with petrified eyes. An expression I’d never seen before.

  “You can’t believe everything you read, Jameson,” Martinez relayed, grinning. “The news and the papers are always exaggerating shit.”

  “Now ya scared, Prez?” I mocked, smiling. “You wanna have a little bedtime story before you go to sleep for good?”

  He swallowed hard, his eyes couldn’t focus on one of us for very long before moving onto to the next.

  “You see, Martinez handed me a disc, and I hid it under the mattress of my bed when I reported back to base. When Diesel went to find it, it was gone. Fast forward to a few months ago, and it miraculously showed up in your C.D. collection. Funny how that is, yeah?”

  “That—”

  “He texted me a photo the day of the shootout of my mother, your wife, sittin’ on another man’s lap. But you probably already knew that... seein’ as the shootout was that night. Needed to distract me, yeah? Get me away from her? Why do you think he chose that picture?”

  “Creed—”

  Martinez stepped forward, rendering him speechless. Crouching down in front of the makeshift grave, trying to get as close as he could to my dad’s face, wanting to look him in the eyes. “I may be a lot of things, but I don’t fuck with women and children. You know how these things go, Jameson. People talk, especially fucking criminals. There isn’t anything I don’t ever know. When I learned about your involvement, I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Seeing as it involved my niece’s friend’s daughter. And family has always come first to me. No matter what.”

  “The photo was so old, it was hard to make out it was Striker’s lap she was sittin’ on, but that wasn’t what Martinez wanted me see... It was the fact that the picture was taken in Mia’s mom’s restaurant, a pigtail faintly in the background. I didn’t figure that out until I saw what you wanted to do with my girl... Now, the rest of the fuckin’ files you had,” I breathed out, pursing my lips and shaking my head.

  “The pictures of a woman bein’ fuckin’ gunned down? Now, that! That was helluva fuckin’ surprise! Why did ya hold onto that for? Souvenirs? You sick fuck! I didn’t even realize who the woman was until I saw a written agreement on another document, statin’ you murder his wife and he’ll deliver the sex traffikn’ to you on a silver fuckin’ platter... Mind-fuckin’-blowin’! But you do have trust issues, yeah? Why else would you leave a fuckin’ paper trail? It just took one phone call to Leo, one fuckin’ call lettin’ him know I knew who killed Martinez’s mom, and the next day this motherfucker was at Diesel’s door. Not gonna lie, it took us a minute to figure it all out. To make it work so everyone would walk away satisfied. But here we are...” I paused to let it all sink in. Needing him to understand every last word that came out of my mouth.

  “The question is, Prez,” I eyed him, “did you know Martinez was gettin’ close to the truth? Or did you just kill Striker cuz he was the only one who knew what really happened? Since he was there with you. Or did you just put a hole in his head cuz he was fuckin’ your wife?”

  “You—”

  “I asked ya a question, expectin’ a fuckin’ answer,” I interrupted my father, not wanting to hear any more of his bullshit lies.

  It was the first time I had ever seen pure fear cross my father’s face, realizing that he was really going to fucking die. Never expecting it to come from the hands of his own firstborn son.

  His fucking prodigy.

  “Look me in the eyes, motherfucker,” Martinez ordered, leaning forward, closer to his face. He didn’t falter. “I promised my mother the day she died in my arms. The day that you and your biker trash murdered her... I would find the pieces of shit who put her there and make them pay. And as you know, Jameson. I am a man of my fucking word.”

  “Ya got any last fuckin’ words, Prez?” I baited.

  “Please, don’t—”

  “On second thought.” Cocking my gun to the side, I locked eyes with my father for a split second. Needing him to know it was me who put him to ground. “I don’t give a fuck.” I pulled the trigger.

  His brains blew out from the back of his head, splattering all over the dirt before his body fell back into the deep, dark hole with a hard, loud thud. Mimicking the sound of Luke’s body the night he just threw him in there like he was taking out the fucking trash. Time just seemed to stand still, nothing moving, including me. While Martinez and I battled our demons for a whole different set of reasons.

  There was an unfamiliar feeling lingering in the air, burning into my senses. Where it would forever be etched in my skin. Except this memory would be the first one that would never, ever, fucking haunt me.

  I was the first to break the silence, whispering, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and a

ll that fuckin’ shit.”

  Martinez spit in the grave before standing up, walking back over to us. Once again the cool, calm, collected man he’d always been.

  “Well... that was entertaining,” Damien proclaimed, bringing our attention to him.

  Martinez grinned, taking him in. “He just murdered your promotion. How the fuck you going to explain that?”

  It was Damien’s turn to smirk, cocking his head to side. He pulled out Pops’ gun from the back of his slacks with the handkerchief wrapped around the grip, and aimed the barrel right into his own shoulder.

  He didn’t hesitate, pulling the trigger. “Mierda!” he shouted, chucking the gun to the ground. Immediately holding onto his bullet wound while blood gushed out all over his white suit. “Murdered?” he repeated, mocking Martinez. Letting out a big, throaty laugh as more blood seeped through his fingers. “All Creed did was save my fucking life,” he simply stated. “Clean up this mess so I can call it in.” With that, he turned, walking back toward the clubhouse like nothing ever happened.

  It was then I realized this man would do anything to get what he wants, including shooting himself to fucking prove it.

  “Damien!” I called out after him, making him turn to face me once again. “Everyone know you’re a corrupt motherfucker?”

  He arched an eyebrow, smiling. Nodding to me. “Not to anyone who matters. I’m just a fucking Saint.”

  Martinez took off shortly after that, going back to whatever hole he crawled out of, with closure. Diesel showed up with all the brothers in tow. He spent the entire day at his house, showing them all the proof of what their Prez had been involved in. How much he compromised the club, our brotherhood, our fucking pack. Proving to them that he didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. They didn’t ask questions after they learned what he was trying to do with Mia. Already fully aware that what I did was necessary.

  Knowing they would have done the same fucking thing had it been one of their ol’ ladies.

  And we always protected our own.

  As much as I wanted to bury my old man in that grave, we couldn’t. We made the scene look exactly the way Damien said it was, which didn’t take very long. The club had always been good at staging shit, it was one of the things we did best. Diesel made sure to take Luke’s remains with him so I could give him a proper burial, finally laying my brother’s soul to rest peacefully.