Seven Crows

by Kate Kessler

  After breakfast she got her clothes out of the dryer and dressed while Dash showered. She felt more like herself—less vulnerable—in her own things. She packed the rest of the clean items into her backpack and threw it in the Impala’s trunk.

  Dash met her at the car. “Call me when you’re done and we’ll get Danny and the others.”

  Killian nodded. “I owe you.”

  “Just find the kid,” he replied. “And don’t get yourself killed.”

  At one time she would have assured him of both—arrogantly so. Now…well, as long as she got Shannon to safety, that was all that mattered. She figured she’d end up either back inside or dead by the time this was all over. Honestly, she didn’t want to think that far ahead. You burn one bridge at a time.

  She watched Dash walk to the ’Vette before getting into the Impala. She slid the key into the ignition and turned it—the engine immediately roared to life. It didn’t feel real, what she was doing. It was like a dream that kept twisting and turning. She wanted to drive straight to the SOB clubhouse and take Shannon out of there, but all she had was a gun, her knife, and brass knuckles. She’d be dead before she got through the door. Or worse, they’d make her watch what they did to Shannon before handing her over to Rank to be slowly tortured and killed.

  Really, she ought to know better than to hope for a quick death. That wasn’t going to happen unless she did it herself, and suicide was not her style.

  She pulled out onto the street and began driving. Traffic wasn’t too bad—most of the morning commute crowd had already gotten where they were going. She arrived at parole with a few minutes to spare.

  There were three people in the waiting area. None of them even bothered to look at her when she sat down. Good. One was a haggard-looking woman whom she immediately recognized as an addict. Another was a younger woman who slouched in her chair and looked sullen. Shoplifter, probably. And the third was a man who was just slick-looking enough that Killian’s flesh recoiled from being in such proximity. Pimp.

  She hated pimps. Didn’t matter if they were male or female. In lockup, the only woman she ever had a real issue with was Ruby, who recruited young girls for her boyfriend to turn out. One day Ruby looked at her the wrong way, and that was all the justification Killian needed. Sell yourself if you want, but pimps were worse than dealers as far as she was concerned. Only one step up from child molesters and purveyors of kiddie porn.

  Killian leaned back in her chair and poked through the stack of magazines on the table beside her. Unless she wanted to read about babies, fashion, or celebrity gossip, there wasn’t much of a selection. She picked up a two-month-old People and began leafing through it. She was halfway through an article on Angelina Jolie when her name was called.

  Donna frowned when she saw her. “Killian! What happened?”

  “Huh?” Her heart actually lurched.

  Donna gestured to her cheek. “You look like someone punched you.”

  “Oh.” She had bruises, of course. She had no idea where she’d picked them up. She’d gotten hit a few times the night before. “Broke up a catfight at work.”

  “Last night?”

  Something about the way she asked the question made Killian pause. “No. The night before. I’m taking a couple of days off work right now.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they said when I called the club last night to check in.” Donna’s tone wasn’t necessarily suspicious, but it was wary. “They said it was a family thing?”

  Jesus Christ. Parole officers were worse than prison gossips. They knew everything. “You already know what it is, Donna. My sister called the cops and told them her daughter is missing. I’m trying to be there for her.” Trying to do what the cops couldn’t.

  The other woman’s shoulders relaxed. “Yes. I’m sorry to hear that. Has the girl been in contact?”

  Killian shook her head. “And the cops don’t have any leads that I know of.” They wouldn’t, either. No one was going to snitch on Wex.

  Donna held a pen, rolling it between both thumbs and index fingers. “Are you okay with allowing the police to investigate?”

  “I kinda have to be, don’t I? I mean, it’s their job.”

  That got a slight smile. “I imagine you feel pretty helpless right now.”

  Killian scowled. “Yeah, and you’re not helping it any.”

  “Helpless enough to reach out to some old friends? The kind who might have access to information the police don’t.”

  Was the woman fucking following her? Killian’s mouth went dry. “That would be a violation of my parole.”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I haven’t reached out.” She kept casual eye contact as she spoke, careful not to oversell. Refused to squirm in her seat. “But they probably would find her before the cops.”

  Pursing her lips, Donna nodded. “You must be very scared and very frustrated.” She’d already said that.

  “We are.” And very pissed.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Killian blinked. She hadn’t expected that. “I don’t think so, but thanks.”

  The pencil twirling stopped. “You know I’m here for you, right? You can call me if you need to talk.”

  Yeah, no. The last person she was going to confide in was the person with the power to put her back inside. “Thanks, but I don’t need to talk.”

  “No. You’re not really much for conversation, are you?” It was said with a smile, like it was a shared joke.

  Killian tilted her head and just looked at the woman. Silent.

  Donna leaned back in her chair, swiveling slightly. “I’m afraid you’re going to do something that could land you back in prison, Killian.”

  Going to? Ha. “Be afraid of the dark, or death, Donna. Don’t be afraid for me. I don’t do anything unless it’s worth the consequences.”

  Sandy brows lifted. “Beating up Cirello was worth ten years of your life?”

  Killian smiled. “I was prepared to pay more than ten.” Of course, she’d never admitted in court to actually planning to kill him—that would have been stupid.

  The other woman nodded. “Okay. Just so you know, if I think you’re going to do something—”

  “What am I going to do, Donna?” she interrupted, suddenly very annoyed at wasting her time in this place that seemed to suck the life out of everyone who entered. Shannon had been raped by at least one SOB, and fuck only knew how many others might be lining up. “I don’t have criminal connections anymore. Those friends you mentioned all bailed on me when I went in. Do you know how many people tried to collect the bounty Cirello put on my head? I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long. No one from that world is going to be crazy enough to help me even if they do know where Shannon is.” Except for her Crows, but they weren’t friends; they were family.

  Donna watched her for a second, then took one of her cards from the holder on the desk and scribbled something on the back of it before sliding it toward Killian.

  “What’s this?” Killian asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

  “My home number. If you find yourself weighing the consequences of certain actions over the next few days, give me a call first. Or we could just talk if you want.”

  She ran her thumb over the ink. “I’m pretty sure you’re violating some rule by doing this.”

  Donna smiled. “I’m aware of the consequences.”

  Killian didn’t understand her. “Why do you care what I do? You get a bonus for each one of us you keep on the outside?”

  “Yes.” It was said with such complete conviction that for a second, Killian believed it. “Of course not. But I do prefer my parolees refrain from re-offending.”

  “I have to think you spend a lot of your time disappointed.” Oddly enough, she didn’t want to be another disappointment. She wasn’t about to live her life based on someone else’s expectations of her, but it might be nice to know someone thought she had achieved something.

  “Maybe less than you think. O
kay, so if you’re going to need more time off work, just let me know. And if there’s anything I can do…”

  Killian held up the card. “I’ll call you.” She rose to her feet. The wound in her thigh twinged. It felt hot and bruised. Hopefully it wasn’t getting infected. That would really slow her down. She’d have to see if Dash had any antibiotics in that magic first-aid kit of his. He seemed to have a little of everything.

  “I hope they find your niece safe and sound.”

  Killian almost laughed. “Thanks. Me too.” She moved toward the door, determined not to limp.

  “Oh, Killian?”

  She turned, hand on the doorknob. “Yeah?”

  “Twenty-seven,” Donna said, with a direct gaze, hands folded on top of her desk like she was posing for a photo.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s how many people tried to collect on the bounty on you in prison. And every one of them regretted the attempt. Did you know that?”

  “Yeah,” Killian replied with a grim smile as she opened the door. “I told them they would.”

  Despite what she indicated to Donna, Killian remembered every attempt on her life while she was in prison. Two a year was the approximate average, though some years there’d been more. One year there were actually none and she almost let herself believe that was it. Then the bitch came at her with the spoon. Two months later three of them jumped her in the shower. Thankfully, Raven had been with her when it happened so she had backup. If not for Raven, one of those attempts in the previous six years would have been successful. She’d been lucky to get her for a cellmate. They’d become good friends.

  More than friends. Maybe that made her a cliché—that whole gay for the stay thing she’d teased Shannon about. What she believed was that human beings couldn’t survive without physical connection. Everyone needed to be touched, made to feel cherished and special. Other than Jason, Raven was the only person to ever make her feel that way, and Killian loved her for it—not the same way she’d loved Jason, but there had been real affection there.

  She wished she had Raven with her now. Not for the sex, but for the support, the backup. Toss her in with Dash and Story and they’d have a killer crew.

  Raven would have killed Brand. Hell, Raven would have killed Rank, and she would have gotten away with it, too. The woman was practical that way. And smart. She never let her temper carry her away like Killian sometimes did.

  She wouldn’t like Killian getting involved with the Crows again, though. She had a real prejudice against bikers. Killian never asked why, but she had a pretty good idea. There were some things women just understood about each other and could talk about without ever once saying its name.

  After leaving parole, Killian texted Dash to let him know she was on her way to the MC. The Crows’ clubhouse was in New Britain—New Britski, as it was sometimes called. It was an old brick house that hadn’t been zoned residential for decades. The club met there and partied there; a few of the members crashed there on a regular basis. Killian hadn’t been by in a long time, but she knew the way like the lines of her own face.

  She had to stop at the gate and press the button to get the gate opened. It slid open faster than she remembered, and she steered the Impala through. Outside a couple of guys worked on bikes while three women watched. They all looked up as she parked. The guys stood when she climbed out of the car.

  “Holy shit!” one of the women exclaimed and ran toward her. She had on jeans, boots, and a worn leather jacket over a silk blouse. Killian took one look at her big hair and started laughing. It was Deb. She opened her arms and caught the woman up in a huge hug, swinging her off her feet.

  Deb squealed. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it’s you!”

  Killian gave her another squeeze before setting her on her feet. “It’s good to see you, Deb. You look fucking fabulous.”

  “So do you! Jesus, you could kill a man with those thighs.”

  She laughed. Chel, Deb’s husband, came over to hug her as well. He introduced her to the other guy, Marius. The other two girls were Gritta and Mandy. Killian didn’t know them and it was obvious they weren’t interested in knowing her. That was fine by her.

  “I’m sorry about your niece, mami,” Chel said. “I’m going with you today.”

  “Thanks.” She clapped her hand on his shoulder. The leather was cool beneath her palm. “That means a lot.”

  “You bring that little girl home,” Deb said. “Whatever you need, honey.”

  “Is Dash here yet?”

  “I don’t know,” Deb replied.

  Mandy perked up. She was a young thing with bleached hair and purple shadows under her eyes. Too skinny. “Dash is coming by?”

  “Don’t go getting your titties all pushed up there, girl,” Deb cautioned. “He ain’t coming here for your tired ass.”

  Mandy looked at Killian, her gaze an insolent dismissal as it moved over her. “He could do worse.”

  Killian raised her brows, but before she could say anything, Deb smacked the girl upside the head with the flat of her palm. “Bitch, you better watch what comes out of those big flappin’ lips of yours and who you say it to. You ain’t nothing next to my girl Killy. You feel me?”

  It was a harsh put-down. Deb was one of the senior old ladies. She’d been around for a long time, and as far as Killian knew, Chel had never cheated on her. That kind of loyalty from her man gave her extra cachet within the hierarchy. If the clubhouse was a kingdom, Deb was a duchess, if not a queen. Only Danny’s wife, Alva, had been around for as long, or nearly so. They ruled the roost; falling out of their favor could mean falling out with the entire club.

  “Sorry, Deb,” Mandy said, sullen.

  “Mm.” Deb’s lips pursed. “Get lost for a bit, will ya? You’re on my last nerve.”

  Both of the girls left, eyes downcast, tottering away on heels that were stupidly high.

  “How do they walk in those things?” Killian asked.

  “Easy once you get used to it,” Deb said. “I used to wear ’em a lot in my dancing days. ’Course now my feets is all gnarled like an old tree.” She laughed. “Come on, honey, let’s go in and sit down.”

  Killian followed Deb and Chel inside the main building. Marius stayed outside, which told Killian that he hadn’t been a member long enough to be taken on a raid. He was probably still a prospect, or trial member.

  The inside of the clubhouse was almost exactly as she remembered. Dark paneling that ought to have been ripped out in the 1980s; dark, bare concrete floors with a few old rugs scattered across them. Concrete cleaned easier than carpet. There was a pool table in the corner, a big TV and a bar against the wall. Tables and chairs and a couple of couches filled the main area, and the walls were lined with photos of the club over the years. There was still a wall of mug shots, and still a wall of those who had fallen. Jason was on both.

  Jesus. He looked so young. She had loved him then, but looking at him now, she didn’t find him attractive. He was cute and arrogant and he had treated her nice, but he’d been a boy. He never got the chance to become a man. She wished she’d been able to see who he grew to be. Would they still be together? Would she be like Alva or Deb? Or would they have ended things years ago? Not like it mattered now.

  Those who recognized her immediately came over to give her a hug and say hello. The others waited to be introduced. Gritta and Mandy kept their distance, and that was fine. Arlo offered her a beer, which she took just because it gave her something to do.

  “Danny’s in a meeting,” he told her. “Soon as Dash gets here we’ll get goin’, yeah?”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  He walked away, only to be replaced by his old lady. Jackie gave her a sympathetic smile. “How you doing, doll?”

  “I’m okay.” She took a drink of the cold, bitter beer. “How was your night last night?”

  The older woman’s heavily lined eyes twinkled. “Cathartic,” she rep
lied. “I imagine he’s out of surgery by now.”

  “He’s alive?” She couldn’t hide her surprise.

  “Oh yeah,” Jackie enthused. “We took a page out of your book, deary, and left him alive but ruined.”

  “You’re not worried about retribution?”

  “Not at all. Who’s going to want revenge for that asshole? Besides, you think he’s going to willingly tell people what we did to him? Uh-uh. And he’s certainly not going to admit it was done to him by women.” She cackled gleefully.

  Killian smiled at her. “I’m almost sorry I missed it.”

  “We made sure he knew when we got to your share of the pain.” She turned her head toward the door and sighed. “I swear, that boy gets better-looking as he gets older. It’s not fair.”

  Killian followed her gaze and spied Dash coming into the main room. “I know. He could at least go bald.”

  Laughing, Jackie took the bottle of beer from her and helped herself to it. “You and him knockin’ boots now?”

  “Fuck, no.” Killian snatched the bottle back. “How can you even ask me that?”

  “Mm. I wonder.” The older woman gave her a pointed look before turning her attention back to Dash. “Hey, handsome!”

  He lifted his chin at them, then walked over. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Everything okay?” Killian asked.

  Dash nodded. “Just business.” Apparently that was all he was going to say, because he changed the subject by asking Jackie about Brand.

  Killian half listened as Jackie told him the sordid details of what she and the others had done to the SOB. Dash winced and grimaced at the graphic description of the violence done to Brand’s person—most notably, his dick.

  “Jesus Christ, woman,” he said. Then he took Killian’s beer and drank as well, as though the story had left a bad taste in his mouth. Jackie laughed in fiendish delight.

  Danny emerged from his office, filling the doorway. He had his hair tied back and was wearing jeans and a dark sweater under his leather vest. “Dash, Arlo, Chel, Jackie, Killian, and Vince,” he said. “To the table.”

  Jackie looked surprised. “Me?”