Alright guys, don't get too excited, your only going to FINALLY find out who our mystery guy is! :P

This chapter and the next chapter are probably my favorites that I have written so far. Hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I have with writing it. R&R please and thank you :)

Chapter Seven

Juice had been thrown into the back of the van, his back and head slamming against the wall of the van, and he let out a small grunt. He sat up instantly, seeing two other people in the van, one with a gun pointed directly at him. Then the driver's door opened up, and the dark haired man got in, "ties him up." He ordered, and the two guys tackled Juice, forcing his hands behind him, his legs bound in front of him, tape over his mouth, and the same gritty rag that was used to block Nikki's vision was used to block Juices vision.

There was nothing Juice could do, couldn't fight, couldn't talk, couldn't see, he just sat there and prayed that the club would find him before he was killed.

Just as soon as Juice was starting to get fidgety, he felt the road beneath the tires change from road to dirt, and seconds later the engine was cut off and doors were being open, and he was being pulled out, and dragged somewhere. He felt the dirt under his boots as he was being dragged, felt the toes of his boots hitting rocks, and he wished for a second those damn rocks could be an anchor for his body, and somehow, someway he could break free of his chains and take out every last one of these bastards, but things were not going in his favor, and all too soon Juice was being dragged into a house, and forced into a chair.

There was no noise, except for footsteps and some whispering going on in the other room. Juice just had to sit there, and keep his patients in check. Juice sighed, his head falling forward, and his shoulders sinking down, in a way he felt defeated, like trading places with Nikki just signed his death wish, but if it meant Nikki would live then he would do it again a million times over.

He felt a hard pat to the right side of his face and, "Don't you be fallin' asleep on me now. Wakey wakey sweetheart." And with that, the blindfold came off, and all Juice could see was black. Blinking a few times, his picture evened out, and he realized that the man was standing so close to him, he was staring at the guys shirt, which was black. He took a few steps back, and sat down in a chair directly across from Juice, their knee's touching, and Juice forced himself not to move. Instead, he looked up, stared directly into his eyes, and waited.

"You've grown a lot since the last time I've seen you." He said with a slight laugh, leaning back in his chair.

"What are you talking about?" Juice asked, really getting annoyed with the guy. How the fuck does he know him?

"Think Juan Carlos, you're a smart kid. I'm sure you'll figure it out." And again, silence filled the room, a kitchen. Dirty yellow floors, they sat cheap round wooden table with four chairs around them. There was a basic white refrigerator and a small square piece of cheap white counter space, followed by an ugly brown cabinet, and then the was an old yellow dishwasher, probably didn't even work, cheap white stove that was caked in food and grease. It was the type of place that would make Juices skin crawl, but right now he didn't have time for that, he had to focus.

There was a reason why he had blocked out most of his childhood, and ever since he was a teenager, seventeen, he honestly forgot about life before the MC. It was just a big black void, and he was fine with that.

Juice shook his head, "I don't know what you are talking about. Just tell me who the hell you are." Juice demanded.

He expected the guy to get angry, maybe even punch him, but he didn't, he just smiled, still leaning back in his chair.

"I guess it's understandable, you blocking me out of your head, if I was a kid and I saw my mom being killed and I just stood there and watched it happen, I'd probably do the same thing."

Juices heart stopped working for a second, and as he lifted his head up to stare the bastard in the face, he knew he couldn't tell if he was lying or not.

He tried to remember back to when his mother died, but he was only four years old. He and his sister were raised by their grandparents. Their fathers didn't want anything to do with them. He remembers as a teenager, he had so much anger and rage built up inside of him, his grandparents couldn't control him, he was a misfit punk kid that spent more time on the streets then he did in the house. The streets raised him; it's where he learned about drugs, sex, alcohol, gangs, motorcycles, and most importantly it's where he learned to fight. The streets of New York were relentless, especially one who had no home. Juice had no home, all he knew was that his daddy didn't want him, and his mommy was gone. It wasn't until he was ten years old that he figured out, by listening to his sister, that his mother was murdered.

Just like Juice, his mother was raised on the streets, she became part of the wrong crowd of people, and started prostituting herself to earn money, it's how he came into the world, and it's how his sister came into the world. He never ever had the full story, except he had an older half-sister who was half white half Puerto Rican, and he was half black and half Puerto Rican, thought by the looks of him, you'd swear he had no black in him, he didn't look the part.

At sixteen he met up with some friends, some street kids he sold weed with. They got high, and decided – with their fake ID's – to go get a tattoo, that's where his head tats came from.

Juice sat back, eyes flicking across the floor, as if he was searching for something, in reality, his mind was scanning the memories, he couldn't think of anything with his mother. He had purposely blocked that part of his life up, and now he couldn't even recall the basic details, not even something as still as what his mother even looked like, he just couldn't remember.

Shaking his head, Juice said, "Stop playing games with me. Just tell me who you are and what you want with me, what you wanted with Nikki."

"I'm not playing with you, Juice." There was silence for a brief moment, the two sat across from each other, eyes locked on eyes. A small smile cracked on the dark haired man's face, "You used to call me Ully, remember that? You couldn't say Tully. You were a good kid, for the longest time your mom made me believes you were mine. Dark skinned like her, sometimes you can't help who you fall in love with."

Juice only heard one word, one name….Tully. His brain was on rewind, like that of a videocassette rewinding on the television, you can see the pictures moving so fast, only they are moving backwards. He remembers now. He remembers the arguing, and the screaming, someone getting slapped across the face, his mom, on the floor, screaming and crying. He stood there in the living room, looking straight into the kitchen where his mom was curled up on the floor. He had just watched Tully hit her over and over again. Then he pulled a knife out of the drawer, and then there was blood everywhere, and little Juan Carlos vision blurred with tears…then nothing.

"Why did you do it?" Juice choked out. His eyes brimming with tears, his lip quivered, and for the first time since that fateful day, Juice felt like the four year old boy who watched his mother die.

"Because I found out the truth." Tully said flatly.

"I'm not involved with them anymore. I'm a changed man, I'm married now." Darby said, looking over his shoulder to his Hispanic wife. The sight of her with a ring on her finger, and in Darby's house floored everyone. Darby had been the head of the Nordic's, a no good white supremacy gang near Lodi, who had ties with the Aryan Brotherhood.

"Come on, we were hoping for a little chat." Bobby said, stepping forward, hoping to intimidate the guy, but anyone who knew Bobby Elvis knew he was just a big teddy bear. The real one to fear was usually the guy in the back, Happy, he wasn't one to mess with, and Darby knew this. So when Happy stepped up, Darby lowered his head, put his hands up, "Okay, okay, fine." Darby agreed, but turned around to his wife asking, "Go in the house, and make up some lemonade." She nodded her head, and ducked inside the house through the garage door.

"Good." Chibs said, hand clapping over Darby's shoulder.

"What is this about?" Darby asked, arms folding over his chest, as he cocked his head to the side, eyeing Chibs.

"We had one of our own. Old lady, kidnapped, girl just gave birth. Waited until she was alone, made a trade for a member instead. We know he might be connected to the Nords."

"Look, I told you, I'm not part of that anymore."

"Hey man, just listen, maybe you know who it is, can help us out, alright?" Tig said.

"Guy was tall, dark hair, looked black, had a swastika tattooed on his hand. Soft spoken. Girl that was taken said he treated her very nice, sweet, and called her sweetheart."

Darby shifted his weight, kicked a rock that laid at his feet, watched it disappear into the dirt and rock that made up the driveway.

"Sounds familiar, guys a creep, knows how to work people. Goes by the name Tully, last I heard he was in prison."

"Who was he affiliated with?" Chibs questioned.

"Aryan's." There was a pause, Chibs thanked him, and started to walk away, but Darby stopped him. "Hey." He called out to Chibs. "Tully is relentless, he'll play with you, keep you in hanging by a string, watch you squirm, at the same time he'll hold you close. If he took one of your guys, he'll wear them out mentally first. He's not into that torture shit that most of the guys are into, just the mental breakdown. He'll keep your guy alive until he asks to be put out of his misery."