Chapter 3

Luca’s words hit me harder than the rain outside and my heart was full of anger. What did he mean by Bishop says you ran with the cash? For a second I just stood there, the bulb above us swinging like it was trying to see who was lying between us. My mind ran through the last few days, every face I’d seen, every whisper that died when I walked into a room. Someone had set me up, and Bishop’s name on Luca’s tongue made it sting worse.

“You believe that?” I asked finally. My voice coming out rougher than I meant it to. Luca didn’t answer right away. His jaw moved like he was chewing on his anger. “You’ve been back for what, a day? And already Bishop is already getting calls about missing money. Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

“Because you know me,” I blurted angrily. I saw his face twist at how harsh my tone was but he didn't say anything because the door burst open before he could reply. Two of Bishop’s men came in, dripping from the rain, one of them was holding a small black duffel. The taller one tossed it on the table and it spilled open, stacks of dirty bills falling out of it.

“I found this in the loft,” the man said.

I looked at the money and then at Luca. “Well, that’s not mine.”

“Then whose is it? Because the last time I checked, you're the only one who stays there.” Bishop’s voice spoke from behind the man and the air suddenly thickened. I had been too focused on the men that I didn't see him walk in. He walked in slow strides, smiling like he was already bored of the whole show. His suit was too clean for this place and his umbrella drippedwater. 

“Well,” he said, eyes sliding over to me, “the prodigal ghost returns and there's missing money. Who else is going to do that and cause a scandal if not someone who is known for scandals?”

I straightened my shoulders but didn’t speak because I knew Bishop thrived on reactions.

“Search him,” he said casually and the men didn’t hesitate. One grabbed my shoulder, the other went for my pockets. I didn’t fight, though my pulse thudded in my throat. My hand hit the table as one of them jerked my arm too hard and the hidden latch under my sleeve clicked loose. I turned slightly so they couldn’t see the tiny drive that slid into my palm and I clenched it tight until it hurt.

“There is nothing on him,” one of them said.

Bishop looked at me for a long time. “Of course not. He’s smarter than that.” Then he turned to Luca. “You’re the president now. You know what to do when someone steals from this club, don't let me remind you of your job.”

Luca’s face tightened but he didn’t say anything. Bishop looked him in the eye for a few seconds before leaving. Umbrella In hand, he launced jnto the rain. 

When the door shut behind them, silence settled in. Luca stood there, staring at the duffel bag, then at me. His voice dropped low as he spoke.

 “You make it really hard to believe you’re innocent you know.”

“I didn’t come back for money, Luca. I came back for truth.”

He laughed once without humor. “But you know it. So why search for answers you already have?”

He turned and walked out, leaving the door wide open and the rain spilling in.

………..

I spent the rest of the night in the garage too livid to even return to the loft. The storm had calmed but the wind still blew through the cracks in the roof. I cleaned the Fat Boy again even though it didn’t need any of that. I just needed to keep myself busy. My knuckles were bleeding and my head throbbed but I needed the noise, it saved me from thinking which was even more tedious. Each time I turned the wrench, I saw Saint’s face. 

I remembered the way his eyes creased when he smiled and once, he had told me that , “Machines don’t lie and only people do.” Now with the set up, I remembered it and it made even better sense. It was easy for me to fix a machine cause if I did it right it would pick up but men… they only tell you the truth when they want to.

I didn’t hear Luca until his reflection appeared on the tank beside me. His hair was wet and the collar of his cut stuck to his neck.

“You’re still here,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t tell me to leave.”

He leaned against the doorway, watching me work. “But you know you should. Bishop’s not gonna stop until you do.”

“I’m not leaving until I find out what really happened.”

He looked away like the words hurt him. “Can you stop pretending? When will you stop chasing ghosts?”

“When I find the actual truth.” I fired back. His eyes snapped to mine and for a moment, neither of us moved. The rain was beginning to get heavier and I thought he would run out before it got worse but he didn’t.

“What do you want from me, Riven?” he asked finally.

“Nothing you can give.”

“Then why come back?”

“Because I owed him that much.”

He shook his head and laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. “You always talk like you’re in a story. You left me with nothing but a grave and a bunch of questions.”

“I left to keep you alive,” I said before I could stop myself.

The silence that followed was heavy. He blinked like he didn’t know what to do with the words. Then he turned, walked toward the stairs and stopped paused in thw hall way.

“You don’t belong here anymore, Riven,” he said without looking back. “These men will kill you if Bishop tells them to.”

“I’ve been dead a long time,” I said quietly.

He didn’t respond, just disappeared into the shadows above.

By morning the storm had completely gone and the sky was begining to clear up. The smell of wet asphalt clung to everything and as I was closing the garage door, I saw Bishop’s car parked across the street. The windows were tinted but I could feel his eyes on me. I went back inside and sat beside the Panhead. The engine was cold, and under the faint scratches on the frame, I could still see the initials Saint had carved years ago. S.M.

I traced them with my thumb until my eyes burned with tears. Something shifted behind me and I turned fast, expecting Bishop’s men again, but it was Jude one of the oldest men in the club. He stepped in quietly, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“I heard Bishop’s been sniffing around again,” he said. “You really pissin’ him off, aren't you?”

“Seems like it. But I am pissinbmg everyother person off, including you. I'm the traitor.”

Jude looked at me a moment, then said, “I do not label people without evidence and I am sure you know that.” 

“So you believe me?”

“Be careful who you trust.” he said ignoring the question. “ This place ain’t the same.” He flicked the ash onto the floor and left without another word.

When the door closed, I looked down at my hand. The drive was still there, small and warm against my palm. I plugged it into the recorder inside my prosthetic and saw the red light flicker.

Bishop’s voice came through. “Saint Monroe trusted the wrong people. Don’t make his mistake.”

My throat tightened. I pressed stop and slipped it out.

So that was it. Bishop hadn’t just wanted to ruin me. He wanted to erase every trace of Saint that was left?

That night, while the club gathered upstairs for drinks, I walked out into the yard. Across the lot, Bishop stood with his phone to his ear. When he turned, our eyes met and I saw something that froze me.

Fear. I could be wrong about so manything but not about fear… I had seen it in so many eyes, I couldn't miss it. He looked afraid.

Quickly turning around, he walked away, but it was too late. I’d seen it.

And there and then, I got the confirmation I had been looking for. Bishop was hiding something and it was worth killing for.