Riggs (The Kings of Retribution MC, Louisiana Chapter Book 1)

by Crystal Daniels

  Taking the bag from Detective Brooks, I open it, finding my wallet and phone still tucked inside. Feeling grateful for having my belongings back, I smile. "Thank you." Detective Brooks smiles in return but then wastes no time getting down to business. "Rex was arrested last night. He is currently being held without bail," she informs me and I feel a weight has lifted off my shoulders.

  "That's good news."

  "It is. But there is a large problem that comes with his arrest."

  "What do you mean?"

  "We have reason to believe you are in danger. You are the only witness to the murder. He and his club know you are still alive. They know where you live and where you work."

  My body begins to shake at her words. "What am I supposed to do? I don't have anywhere else to go."

  "I want to take you to a safe house. The judge is supposed to schedule a court date next week. Once we get word on Rex's court date, we will go from there."

  "Will I have to testify against him?"

  Detective Brooks nods. "Unfortunately, yes. Without your testimony, he will walk."

  The thought of Rex getting out of jail and possibly killing another person or doing to another woman what he did to me causes my stomach to clench. No matter how scared I am, I can't let that happen. "I'll do whatever I have to. I don't want him hurting anyone else." I can tell Detective Brooks is satisfied with my answer.

  "The doctor said you would be discharged today. I already have a safe house in place. My partner and I will escort you there. You will have someone guarding you at all times."

  "Is there a way for me to get some of my things from my apartment?"

  "I don't want to risk taking you back to your place in case it's being watched by one of Rex's men. If you make a list of what you want, I will have it picked up and waiting for you at the safe house."

  Nodding, I scribble down the things I want from my apartment, including clothes, my canvases, and my paints, along with where they can be found then hand the list over to Detective Brooks. Taking the list from me, she stands. "I'll be sure to get you your things. I'll be back in a couple of hours to pick you up."

  Sitting in the back seat, I gaze out the tinted window of an unmarked sedan while Detective Morgan drives. I was relieved to find out the officer guarding me at the hospital would not be the one staying with me at the safe house. Instead, that task will go to Detective Morgan who looks to be in his fifties. I like him. His calm demeanor puts me at ease. With my thoughts drifting all over the place, I continue to stare out the window. I have no clue where we are going. We left the town I live in about thirty minutes ago and I'm pretty sure we have passed the same small grocery store at least three times. My guess is Detective Morgan is being extra cautious and making sure we are not followed. Before leaving the hospital, my phone was taken from me. Detective Brooks was worried it would be traceable. My cell is not something I hold much importance to. I only use it for texting my employer. I have been working at a daycare center for hearing impaired children since I was eighteen. My boss and only friend, Jade, took a chance and hired me on the spot the day I walked into the center. I tried to get Detective Brooks to let me stop by there and let Jade know I was okay and what was going on, but I was told it would be too dangerous. Rex could have one of his men watching the center. Detective Brooks said the fewer people involved, the better. In the end, I agreed with her. I would never forgive myself if something happened to Jade.

  A minute later, I'm brought out of my wandering thoughts when we pull into a residential neighborhood. This is not what I was expecting. I figured we'd be staying in a more secluded area. Maybe hiding in plain sight is the smartest move. Either way, I have no choice but to trust the detectives know what they are doing. We make several turns before pulling up and parking in front of a quaint Spanish style home. Stepping out of the car, I peer down the street to my right to see a few kids riding bikes. It seems like a typically quiet neighborhood. Closing the door, I make my way around to the trunk of the vehicle along with Detective Morgan, who helps me with my bags. True to her word, Detective Brooks had everything on my list retrieved from my apartment.

  When the three of us walk into the house, Detective Morgan motions for me to follow him down the hall and to a bedroom where he places my bags on a full-size bed. Detective Brooks trails in behind us. Coming to stand in front of me, she speaks. "This will be your room. Detective Morgan will be across the hall. You are not to go outside. Detective Morgan is not to leave you. If you need anything, you let him know, and he will have someone bring it. Do you have any questions?" she asks. I shake my head, no.

  Reaching over, Detective Brooks gives my arm a squeeze. "I know you are scared and completely out of your element, but I want you to know we will do everything within our power to keep you safe. Let's see what the judge says next week at the hearing, and we'll go from there. Until then, take this time to heal and rest."

  Over the next week, the days tick by at a snail's pace. Each day is the same. I spend most of my day held up in my room painting, and each time I venture out, Detective Morgan greets me with a friendly smile. We have engaged in a few casual conversations here and there. He has not shared too many details about his life, but I have learned he is a married father of three. When he spoke of his family, I felt a surge of guilt knowing I am the reason he is not with them now. He saw the look on my face and quickly assured me he often has these types of assignments and that he and his wife are used to it by now. Deciding to turn in for the night, I clean my brushes and put my paints away. Standing from the stool in front of my easel, I stroll over to the dresser and grab my pajamas before heading down the hall to the bathroom for a quick shower when suddenly the bedroom door is pushed open, and I am startled by Detective Morgan's abrupt entrance. By the look on his face and the gun in his hand, I know something is not right. I see his lips move as he says five words.

  "We have to go now."

  I don't question him as he grabs my arm and ushers me down the hall, through the kitchen and out the door that leads to the garage where I see a car. I swiftly climb into the back seat where Detective Morgan gives me the signal to lay down. Jumping into the driver's seat, he shifts the car in reverse, where we swiftly peel out of the garage. Bile rises in my throat when I feel shattered glass hit my back. I throw my arms over my head, tucking further into myself.

  Taking a chance, I peek up toward the front of the car to see an arm raised over my head as Detective Morgan effectively uses his left hand to steer while he fires several shots out of the rear window of the car toward whoever is behind us. When I feel myself start to panic, I close my eyes and begin counting backward from one thousand in my head. This is a method I have used to calm myself since I was a child. I do my best to center myself and concentrate on my breathing. By the time I reach 157, I feel the car come to a stop.

  Lifting my head, I see Detective Morgan exit the vehicle. He pulls open the passenger door and motions for me to get out. Noticing my frazzled state, he grabs my arm and helps me. Looking around at my surroundings, I notice we are behind a gas station.

  On wobbly legs, I'm led to another car. Sliding into the front seat, I buckle up. When we pull back out onto the main road, Detective Morgan retrieves his phone from his suit jacket. I see his mouth moving, but I'm unable to make out what he is saying. Ending the call, he tucks the phone into his pocket then looks over at me. "It's going to be okay."

  Roughly thirty-two hours later and I'm passing a sign that reads Polson City Limits. Detective Brooks and Detective Morgan are escorting me to a different safe house. This one is hundreds of miles away from Arizona and from the Savage Outlaw. After the safe house was compromised and Savage Outlaw once again tried to shut me up permanently, Detective Brooks informed me she got in touch with an old friend who works at a place called New Hope House in Polson, Montana. There is a woman named Sofia Torres who runs the home.

  New Hope is a place for women who are needing to escape their old lives and wanting a fresh s
tart. In my case I don't need a new life, I just need a place to hide. Pulling up in front of a coffee shop, Detective Morgan puts the car in park, and the three of us step out. Detective Brooks turns to me. "We are meeting my friend Dr. Kendrick. She's a therapist who works at New Hope House."

  I give her a slight nod, and the three of us make our way into the shop — the bell over the door chimes, alerting the woman standing behind the counter to our arrival. The young woman behind the counter offers us a warm smile then says something to Detective Brooks who answers her back as she points to her right where a woman whom I assume is Dr. Kendrick is sitting at a table.

  Walking up to the table, Dr. Kendrick stands and hugs Detective Brooks. The two exchange a few words before she turns her attention to me. "Hi, Luna. I'm Dr. Kendrick. It's nice to meet you."

  I pull out my small notepad and pen from my hoodie pocket. It's nice to meet you too. Thank you for agreeing to help me.

  Over the next hour, the four of us discuss the details of my stay at New Hope. I found out before the decision was made to come to Montana that the judge scheduled Rex's trial date six months from now. With Savage Outlaw gunning for me, the best thing was for me to get the hell out of dodge. Once the game plan has been hashed out, we exit the coffee shop and go about gathering my things and transferring them from one car to the other. When Detective Morgan pops the trunk to his car, I'm shocked to see everything of mine that I left at the safe house is here. I turn to him, and he winks. He knows how important my art stuff is to me. I'm lost without my canvases and paints.

  Once my things are loaded, I part ways with Detective Brooks and Detective Morgan. They both promise to keep me and Dr. Kendrick updated on all the happenings with Rex and the trial. The drive to New Hope House is quick and it's late afternoon when we arrive. The moment we park I don't waste any time climbing out and walking around to the trunk where I begin pulling my things out the same moment Dr. Kendrick steps up to help. She makes it a point to look directly at me when she speaks. "You'll like it here. Sofia is very kind."

  With my hands full, I offer a small smile and follow her inside the house where she leads me through the living room and down the hall to a bedroom. Placing my bags on the bed, I grab my notebook. Thank you.

  "You're welcome," she replies. "I think Sofia is about to make dinner. Would you like to join her and Emma? I know they both are anxious to meet you."

  I'm not hungry. Would it be okay if I just settle in and get some rest?

  Dr. Kendrick gives me a look of understanding. "Sure. Get some rest and make yourself at home. I'll stop by in the morning to see how you are doing. I'll let Sofia know you are turning in for the night. Her room is just across the hall if you need anything. She would want you to make yourself at home while you're here."

  Thank you for everything.

  Luckily Dr. Kendrick didn't take offense to my wanting to be alone, and hopefully, Sofia and Emma won't either. The way Dr. Kendrick speaks of Sofia she sounds like a good person, but I'm just not ready to socialize yet. This past week has been a whirlwind. I haven't had a chance to wrap my head around everything that has taken place. Witnessing my now ex-boyfriend murder someone, him trying to kill me, me finding out Rex is not who I thought he was and now his club coming after me at the safe house is not exactly what I had in mind for my life. I've been completely uprooted from my home, from everything I know, taken out of my comfort zone and dropped in the middle of nowhere Polson Montana. To say I am overwhelmed to the point of exhaustion is an understatement.

  Deciding I want to get lost in my head a bit and forget the world around me; I set my easel up in front of the bedroom window next to a chair sitting there and place a blank canvas on it. Next, I dig through my bags until I locate my paints. Sitting on the chair, I let my mind drift while my hands go to work.

  Painting is something I discovered when I was twelve. I took an art class at school and became addicted to it the moment the paintbrush touched my hand. I've had numerous people tell me I'm good at it, and I should be selling my art, but I don't paint to make money. I paint because I love it and it centers me. Painting is like breathing for me. It's like my therapy. I think if painting became my job, I wouldn't enjoy it as much. I view it as something just for me. I have no desire to share my work with the world. Gazing out the window at the mesmerizing Montana sunset, I watch as the sun begins to disappear behind the mountain. With my inspiration in front of me, I continue with soft strokes as I fill the blank canvas with shades of orange and purple as I leave my troubles behind. At least for tonight.

  The next morning, I wake feeling a little better about my situation. I need to make the most of my temporary home. Dressing in a pair of black leggings and a sweater, I open the bedroom door and peak out. I don't see anyone, so with my toiletry bag in hand I find the bathroom down the hall. Once I have taken care of business, I store my bag in the cabinet across from the sink. Stepping out of the bathroom, I make my way into the kitchen and find a woman with long brown hair standing at the sink. Spinning around, she looks stunned for a moment then offers me a smile. This woman seems to be somewhere around my age, has a glowing olive complexion and beautiful brown eyes. Wiping her hands clean on a towel, her face lights up as she introduces herself. "Hi. Nice to finally meet you. I'm Sofia."

  For a second, I forget she doesn't know sign language, and I begin to sign. I feel bad when I see her face fall. Retrieving my notebook from the pocket of my sweater, I glide the pen across the paper. Good morning. Sorry for not introducing myself last night. My name is Luna.

  "That's okay. I get it. New place and all. Would you like some coffee?"

  I would love some.

  Sofia motions toward the table for me to take a seat. After fixing the drink, she places the steaming mug in front of me. "What do you like in your coffee?" she asks.

  I like it cold — milk, sugar, and ice.

  Sofia goes about gathering the fixings for my coffee then places them on the table. She then lightly touches my shoulder. "Will you be okay until Dr. Kendrick comes by? I have to go to work."

  At the mention of her leaving, I cut my eyes toward the French door where I see several men working in the yard. The house appears to be under construction. "Don't worry. They are not allowed to enter the house, and I promise I will lock the doors."

  Feeling uneasy, I write. How long will you be gone?

  "Not long. I promise. And there are only five people outside this house that have the code to get in here." Sofia assures, and I slump in my seat, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I am looking at her again. Sorry, I tell her.

  "Never apologize for being afraid," she says the same moment I notice something over my shoulder has gained Sofia's attention. Entering the room is a woman with dark hair, and her eyes are a color I have never seen before. They are brownish yellow. A color you would find on a cat. They are beautiful. Sofia introduces her as Mila. Mila has talked to Dr. Kendrick and has been by the store to pick up some things she thought I might need. She has also agreed to stay with me a bit while Sofia goes to work for which I am grateful.

  The next couple of weeks go by in a blur with one day bleeding into the next. New Hope House is lovely, and Sofia is excellent. I've even hung out with Emma a few times, and she seems friendly enough. I've met Sofia's boyfriend Sam, and he has always offered a polite smile when he's been over at the house. I will say having Sofia's family stop by a time or two has been the most challenging for me. I wasn't told that I would be around another motorcycle club. Considering what I had gone through with Rex and Savage Outlaw, I was weary. But I quickly realized Sofia's family; The Kings, are unlike Savage Outlaw. So aside from being in a strange place and meeting new people, my biggest problem is I feel like my life is stuck in limbo. I miss my apartment and being around my things. I miss work and my friend Jade. Maybe if I could work and have something to do with my time, I'd find my days more bearable. It's not that I'm not grateful for the help and support I have been receiving, because I am
. The problem is that I feel useless. I want to pull my own weight and show my gratitude to the people helping me. Sure, I help around the house by cooking and cleaning, but, in my opinion, it's not enough. I'd hate for anyone to think of me as a freeloader.

  Shaking those thoughts away, I bring my attention back to the blank canvas in front of me. I'm about to bring it to life when my bedroom door opens, and Sofia walks in. My eyes widen at her disheveled appearance. Matted hair, smudged makeup, and her face bruised. Placing my things down, I shuffle toward her. I study her face a moment then put my hand on her shoulder. She looks like she's been in a fight.

  "I'm going to be okay," she assures me. "A man attacked me at work today." I nod slowly letting her know I understand what she's saying. Sofia grabs my hand. The look on her face says I'm not going to like what she has to say next. "He said he knows who you are. He mentioned you by name."

  I pull my hand free from hers, cover my mouth, and slowly back away. This sweet, kind woman in front of me was assaulted, and it's my fault. My shit has followed me to Montana. Savage Outlaw found me.

  "He threatened my family and me. I need you to tell me who he is," Sofia continues. Closing my eyes, I shake my head. This has gone too far. Innocent people are getting hurt. With tears running down my face, I focus my attention back on Sofia. "Please tell me something. We won't let anything happen to you, but I need to be able to tell those men out there a name or description so they can find this guy," she points in the direction of the living room where I am confident her family is.

  Taking a deep breath, I agree. Swiping my notebook from the top of the bed, I tell her what I know. What did he look like? It could be any one of them. They go by Savage Outlaw MC.

  "I didn't see his face," she tells me. "But would it help if I told you he smelled like he smoked a carton of cigarettes a day and bathed in alcohol?" Sofia's description matches Rex's brother to a T.