A Risky Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by Elizabeth Barone

  I shouldn't be surprised. Not after all the times a man has disappointed me. Especially not less than twenty-four hours after Mercy walked out on me—again. It's the same damn thing, all over again.

  Or is it?

  I take a turn too fast, the bike going nearly parallel with the road. Everything speeds up and slows to a crawl at the same time. I shift my weight, restoring the balance, and ease up on the throttle. I pull over to the side of the road, heart pounding.

  "What are you doing, Olivia?" I ask myself, the rumble of the engine all but drowning out my voice. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. I can't let this get to me. There are people depending on me: Esther and the girls, Cami.

  Fuck Cliff.

  He doesn't get to completely unravel me.

  No one does.

  I open my eyes, Bad Lane coming into sharp focus. The Street Glide still purrs beneath me. I haven't moved. I'm not dreaming. Yet I'm here.

  I turn toward the teal house. Lights are on in all of the downstairs windows. Greg's Thunderbird sits in the garage. I touch the gun at the small of my back.

  It could all be over. Right now. If I let myself walk into that house, the story that's been poisoning me ends. He never hurts anyone else. I walk away.

  If only it were so simple.

  Greg isn't like Eli. There is a whole army of people who love him—literally and figuratively. He probably has dozens of Navy buddies. There there are his siblings and parents, countless friends we went to high school with. People I cut all ties with because I couldn't stand when they said good things about him.

  "I saw Greg play in New Haven last night . . ."

  "Greg is such a mama's boy. It's sweet . . ."

  "I run into Greg now and then. He's still so funny . . ."

  My stomach clenches just at the thought of the things they say. So many people walk among a monster and don't even know it.

  Still . . .

  If I get rid of him, our story ends, but a whole mess of people will miss him. His sister won't be able to go to the mall without crying, because he won't be there to help her pick out a new record. His bandmates will have to find a new singer, someone who won't even compare but they'll try anyway, until the band collapses. His friends won't have anyone to sit around a fire pit with, drinking beer and laughing until sunrise.

  I'll erase my monster, but I'll leave a hole behind for everyone else.

  I didn't kill Eli because I wanted to. I had to. I knew, from the moment I actually looked into his eyes, that our story would end with one of us dead. It sure as fuck wasn't going to be me.

  Greg is no longer a threat. Not really, despite what my broken brain keeps insisting. He's married, and I'm safe. Maybe he went through therapy, fixed whatever was broken inside him that made him desecrate me. He's sorry—or at least scared enough of the River Reapers to pretend to be. He'll stay away from me.

  But I'm not so sure about Cami.

  If I knew, if I could be positive that she's safe with him, I might be able to walk away. There's no way of knowing. Not unless I watched them around the clock.

  My phone rings, the sound muffled by my saddlebag. I glance at the teal house again. I could go inside. Do it now. Put an end to the memories that keep rising no matter how much I try to shove them down. Exterminate the ceaseless tagged photos that keep popping up in my goddamn Facebook feed. Scrub away any chance of him playing at the next bar I go to.

  Trade my peace of mind for everyone else's.

  I think of the silver alert, the somebody who's missing Eli. Someone noticed he didn't walk. Somewhere in this town, or state, or even in the country, someone cries for Eli, stares at the ceiling at night wondering what became of him.

  I don't know if I can do that to anyone else.

  Even after what he did to me.

  I open the saddlebag and dig inside for my phone. It keeps ringing, long after a reasonable person would've hung up. It's probably Cliff, trying to apologize. I almost give up, let it go to voicemail. My fingers find it, close around it, pull it out of the darkness. Esther's name lights up the display.

  "I know, I'm on my way," I tell her, guilt joining the nausea. "I'm okay, Es."

  "Olivia," she sobs. "The girls are gone. Someone cut my brake line, and now the girls are gone."

  I hang up, and get the hell out of Bad Lane.

  31

  Cliff

  "Shit." Donny hangs up his phone and glances up and down the street we're pulled over on. "Essie's abuela called her. The girls are gone. Her abuelo's brake line got cut, too."

  Beer Can leans forward, dangling his arms over the handlebars of his Road King, fingers resting on the fairing. "Anybody call the police? Issue an Amber Alert?"

  "We need Olivia," Donny says, turning in his seat to face me.

  I spread my hands. "I don't know where she is. Has anyone called the social worker?"

  "Essie's grandparents don't want to call their social worker. Olivia's our only shot."

  I rub my hands over my face, the stubble scratching my palms. "Do you really think she's going to answer me?" I growl through my fingers.

  Donny shoves the kickstand into place and jumps off his bike. He stalks over to me, towering over where I sit on my bike. He leers down at me. "Those girls could be anywhere right now!"

  "I'll call Vaughn," I say, grabbing my phone. "He'll get us an address for Josué. We will find them."

  Donny's hands clench, unclench. "It'd be faster to call Olivia."

  "You're wasting time arguing," Beer Can says.

  I touch Vaughn's name in my contacts and bring the phone to my ear.

  Donny points a finger in my face. "You better be calling Olivia."

  Even though I know he's worried about Esther, blood whooshes through my veins. I kick the stand into place and rear above him. "I'm calling Vaughn."

  "Jesus Christ," Beer Can mutters.

  Donny snatches the phone from my hand and throws it. It disappears into the night. I don't even hear it land. He seizes me by my cut. "I'm your fucking officer!"

  "Then take it to the table!" Beer Can snaps. He drags Donny back, sidesteps him, and shoves himself between us. I'm again reminded of how dangerous he can be, even if he's as stocky as a Tolkien dwarf. "Cliff will answer for this," he tells Donny, "at the table." Turning to me, he squares his jaw. "I don't know what your problem is, son, but pull it together. This is not about you. It's not about either of you! This is about three girls we promised to help."

  I bow my head.

  Donny paces away, scowling.

  "Now," Beer Can says, pulling the biggest iPhone I've ever seen out of his cut, "I'm calling Olivia. If you can't handle that, Romeo, I suggest you get the fuck out of here." Eyeing me, he presses his mega phone to his ear. He keeps his volume so high, I can hear it ringing as clearly as if he had it on speaker.

  I take a deep breath, waiting for her to pick up. Esther needs her, but I kind of hope she doesn't answer. I'm not ready to see her yet. She called me a bastard, flung the word at me, splashing me with its acidic burn. Seeing Greg must've been a shock for her, but she wasn't supposed to be there. I was going to take care of him before he could hurt her again.

  Instead, we only hurt each other.

  Words have power. That one slur cut deeper, maybe more so than she intended. I might be a monster, but I am not my father. For her to insinuate so is unforgivable.

  "I'm going to get Vaughn," I tell Beer Can. Before he can answer or Donny can stop me, I swing a leg over my bike. I bring it to life, the engine growling. Jaw tight, I ride away in the direction of The Wet Mermaid.

  I'm halfway there when I realize I'll also have to answer for this. If it means giving myself a little more time before I have to see her, so be it.

  I pull into the parking lot and swing off the bike. I tuck the helmet under my arm and surge into the club, moving through the floor with ease. For the first time in days, the club isn't packed to the brim. Oh Vile Eye definitely knew how to fill a house. The cl
ub will take a hit on income now, and I'll probably have to answer for that, too.

  I duck under the door frame of Mark's office. Lucky for me, Ravage isn't here.

  "Thought you were handling something?" Mark asks, looking up from his computer.

  "We need Vaughn. I lost my phone." I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

  He takes off his thick black rectangular glasses. "The guys lose their phones, too?"

  I regard him, saying nothing.

  He shakes his head. "You've only been around for a few months, but you know better. Where are they?"

  "Almost at Esther's. We had to pull over because she was calling Donny. The girls are gone and her grandparents' car's been fucked with, too. It's gotta be Josué. We need an address."

  His shoulders rise, then fall as he takes a deep breath. "Olivia's just like Mercy. You know that."

  "Then why did you bring Greg here for me?" I tighten my grip on the helmet.

  "Because once you told Ravage, Greg became a security issue that needed to be taken care of. But you know Olivia. There was no way she'd ever be okay with you handling her business for her."

  "What was I supposed to do?" I drop the helmet onto the desk and turn away, chest tight. "Nothing? Let him keep coming here, haunting her?" My voice breaks. I clench and unclench my fists, eyes burning.

  "I know," he says quietly. "I know." His chair creaks as he stands. A second later, he puts a hand on my shoulder. "We all want him dead, but no one wants it more than Olivia. You've got to let her do this. She's not a princess who needs saving, Cliff. She's the fucking dragon, and she's going to burn us all alive if we get in her way."

  Her voice echoes in my head: Bastard.

  I nod.

  "Your head's getting all mixed up with your heart, and you're losing your way. Your brothers understand what you're going through," he says. "Donny especially. He needs to find Josué, because Esther needs him to help slay her demon. She's not Olivia, Cliff. She's the princess, and you've got to back Donny up."

  "I fucked up," I agree.

  "Yeah." He grips my shoulder and gives it a gentle shake. "Now how are you gonna fix it?"

  32

  Olivia

  I speed all the way to Esther's grandparents' house, hoping that this will be the one time Naugatuck cops won't be assholes. That maybe this is the one night they're not hanging around, just waiting to pull someone over. Time is being wrenched away. I can't afford to drive the speed limit.

  I also can't afford to get a ticket, or arrested. I slow the Street Glide to only 5 mph above the limit. I should've become a cop instead of a social worker. Then I could fly all over this town.

  Approaching a stop sign, I slow down. Naugatuck is all about the three-second stop. When Lucy took me out with my learner's permit, I actually counted out loud, for fear a police cruiser would materialize and arrest me. How things have changed. Now if I see a cop, I'll do the full stop. If there isn't one in sight, I roll right on through.

  Everyone here does it.

  A squad car pulls up behind me, its front bumper only a few inches from my rear tire. I take the full stop, putting both feet on the pavement. I count to three in my head.

  One.

  Three seconds is an agonizing amount of time when there's a cop watching. It's even longer when they're watching and someone's life is on the line. Tonight, it's three.

  Two.

  I check my rearview mirrors. He stares at my ass through his windshield. Or maybe he's noting my plate. Technically, I don't have a motorcycle license yet, and the Street Glide is registered under Mark's name.

  I swallow.

  Three.

  I pause, taking a breath. Then, putting both feet back up, I ease forward. Blue and red lights twirl through the street.

  "Motherfucker," I grumble, rolling to a stop again. He must've run my plate numbers.

  Of all the nights.

  He creeps up behind me, again nearly kissing my back tire. The lights wash the whole street in a slow strobe, an effect that makes my temples thud and my eyes ache. He doesn't get out of his cage.

  I glance into my mirrors again, without turning my head. I don't want him to see that I'm nervous. Tonight I'm just a girl out for a ride, a girl who obeys stop signs and speed limits.

  A girl who doesn't have three kids and a rapist to worry about.

  Make that two rapists.

  My fingers twitch toward the throttle. On this bike, I can outrun him. I'm not far from the Aguirres's house, so all it'd take is a quick canvas of the neighborhood and he'd find me. Plus I'm wearing my cut, and he's probably already run the plate.

  "Fuck," I breathe.

  I'm wearing my cut.

  And my gun.

  I'm fucked.

  Completely and utterly done.

  If he's run my plates, he knows I'm not the owner. When he asks for my license and registration, he'll know I'm driving this thing illegally. And since he's a Naugatuck cop and a total dick by default, he'll probably pat me down, just to piss all over the MC.

  Because even though the police and the club have an uneasy agreement, they're still cops and we're still bikers.

  Well, okay. I'm not one of them yet.

  It doesn't matter, because he's going to find the gun.

  Which means I'll be spending the night in jail.

  I almost laugh. Cliff and I are about to have a whole lot in common, something we could trade stories on if he hadn't gone all alpha hero and I hadn't broken up with him. There's absolutely nothing funny about this. If I can't get to Esther, they probably won't find the girls. I'm the only one who knows Josué's address.

  I sit up straight. I'm not the only one. If I can call Esther, I can remind her to check her texts for the pics of the file I sent her. But if I pull out my phone, he'll probably shoot me. He'll get away with it, too, because technically I do have a gun on me.

  Cold sweat dots my hairline, gathers at the small of my back. I wish I could take off this helmet. I've only got one move, so I better use it wisely.

  "Hey Siri," I say, voice shaking. I wait for the familiar two-note tinkle. Nothing happens. Fucking Siri. Squeezing my eyes shut, I say it louder.

  Nothing.

  I open my eyes and check my mirrors again. The motherfucker is still sitting in his car. It's like he's playing with me. I force myself not to glare at him. He turns back to his view of me, and the air vanishes from my lungs.

  He looks just like Greg.

  I gasp for breath. He can't be Greg. What kind of musician works in law enforcement? That kind of kills the whole rock 'n' roll vibe.

  Still, the face staring back at me is Greg's. Younger, though. I blink, squint at the mirror while remaining upright in my seat. He looks like Greg, but he isn't Greg. His face is thinner, softer. No beard.

  I shake my head. It doesn't matter who he is.

  "Hey Siri!" I all but yell.

  The phone in my cut dings.

  "Call Esther."

  A second later, I hear the phone ringing. Only, I didn't tell Siri to put it on speaker. I'll never hear her, and she probably won't hear me.

  "Fuck," I seethe.

  In the rearview mirror, I see the cop's door open.

  "Hey Siri!"

  The phone chimes, effectively ending my call.

  "Call Esther on speaker."

  This time, the phone rings—echoing through the quiet street. The cop sticks a leg out of his car. I tap my boot on the ground.

  "Please, Esther. Please."

  The call goes to voicemail.

  "Hey Siri!"

  When she responds, I tell her to call Cliff on speaker. I might be furious with him, but I'm not letting that get in the way. Those girls need us, whether we're on or off. But Cliff's phone rings, and rings, and rings. It might as well be in a ditch.

  At least he didn't hit the Fuck You button on me.

  The officer slides out of his cage. I only have seconds left.

  "Hey Siri!"

 
"Ma'am," the cop calls.

  I tap my boot harder, aware of how close he is, how loud he is. How he could so easily fuck up my commands, confuse Siri.

  "Text Esther!"

  "Please shut off your engine," the cop says.

  "What do you want to say to Esther?" Siri asks.

  I shut off the engine and close my eyes. "I texted you the file. His address—"

  "Ma'am, please stop what you're doing."

  "Okay," Siri announces. "Ready to send?"

  "Yes!" I yell, putting my hands in the air. I have no idea if the text goes through, and no idea if she'll even see it. All I see is his face, and the name on his uniform.

  Byrne.

  He isn't Greg, but he is his brother—a face I haven't seen since that night.

  33

  Cliff

  I push the Screamin' Eagle, weaving through the streets. I'm breaking parole by speeding, but that's nothing new. I should count myself lucky no one called the cops earlier. Since all I have is an address for Esther's grandparents—no GPS, thanks to Donny jacking my phone—I have to rely on my memory of Naugatuck's layout.

  Which is next to nothing, considering I hardly drove anywhere before I went inside.

  I slow, listening for the growls of my brothers' motorcycles, something to give me a hint. Anything. The night is quiet—especially in this neighborhood. It's the right neighborhood, that I'm sure of.

  I cruise down a side street, the blue and red lights of a police car flickering through the trees from the next street over. Good—they're busy with somebody else. Better them than me. I've got to help Donny and Esther, and make things right with Olivia.

  Can't do that from inside the pen.

  I take a right and catch sight of bikes lined up in front of a brick ranch. Relief washes over me. I'm not too late.

  I don't see Olivia's Street Glide.

  Sliding in between Beer Can and Donny's bikes, I shut off mine and pull off my helmet. Abraham sits on the front stairs, his long dark blond hair shrouding his features. He shakes his head at me.

  "Brace yourself, brother."