Bones: Heartbreaker MC #2

by Alexis Abbott

  It turns out to be more than just a phone. There’s a note taped to the back of it, and I recognize Lauren’s handwriting immediately.

  B- if you’re reading this and I’m not with you, I have forgotten my phone. If this is an emergency—which it probably is—I need you to call my mom at the number below. M is not out of prison yet. Details in texts.

  I get into the phone immediately and pull up her texts, where I find a note to self that Murray’s appeal is this upcoming Monday...in California.

  A state where I’m a wanted man.

  “Fuck,” I growl, taking a deep breath.

  My mind jumps to the bikers who took Lauren. Could there be a chance they’re taking her to the hearing? I saw them head off toward the south when they ran off, but they could have been trying to throw me off. And I have no idea why they’d want her at the hearing, unless...unless they really are working with Murray.

  My heart starts to race as I scroll over to the calls so that I can find her mom. But when I do, I see...no less than a dozen blocked calls over the last few days. All of them are from the same caller.

  Their ID is just the name KEVIN with two big red X emojis on either side of it.

  She knows who Kevin is, has his number blocked, and has gone out of her way to make sure she doesn’t accidentally get in touch with him. I rub my forehead as a headache throbs at it. I scroll back to the contacts and find her mom’s name listed as Sandra Whittaker (Mom—Urgent Only).

  But the call gives me an automated voice telling me the number is disconnected. Cursing, I go back to the laptop and try the white pages to look up the name in the area on Murray’s court listing.

  Sure enough, I find a Sandra Whittaker in the low-populated county. She must have taken her maiden name back after she divorced Murray. I call her up.

  “Hello?” comes an older woman’s voice on the other end after just three rings.

  I open my mouth and realize I didn’t prepare for this at all. Fuck. What is Lauren’s mom supposed to do here—her mom she apparently only speaks to in emergencies?

  “Hey, Miss Whittaker?” I say, clearing my throat and trying to sound as little like a biker as I can.

  “Speaking,” she says, sounding cautious.

  “Hey, my name is…” I hesitate. “My name is Tom,” I make up on the fly. “I know this call is probably the last thing you’re expecting, but hear me out. I’m a friend of Lauren’s, and I’m worried she might be in trouble.”

  A pause.

  “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment, “I’m afraid you have the wrong number. I-I don’t know any Lauren.”

  I furrow my brow. “Lauren. Lauren Smyth, your daughter.” Shit, I might really not have the right number. My mind races for something that might identify Lauren to her and prove I’m not just some paparazzi calling. “I’m not the press. I’m a friend. She...when she laughs hard, her voice kind of cracks a little at the end.”

  “Well, you know my daughter,” says Sandra, “but Lauren isn’t the name I gave her. Her name is Raylene.”

  “Oh, oh, I hear you,” I murmur, scratching my head at this new information. Raylene Smyth became Lauren Lockett, it seemed. Raylene. It was a nice name too, I thought. “Well, look, you probably know about the appeal for Murray happening on Monday. I need-”

  “Okay now, hold on, let me stop you there young man,” Sandra says in a very, very tired tone that gives me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I haven’t been keeping up with the appeals, actually. At all. And I’m sorry, but my daughter and I don’t speak anymore.”

  “Miss Whittaker,” I try to say, but she won’t let me get a word in edgewise.

  “I have to be firm about this, Jacob,” she says. “I…” I can hear her taking a moment on the other end of the line, and I hold back a deep sigh. I want to be angry with her for tossing aside her own daughter like this, but I can’t blame part of her for feeling pain over this. “I want to move on,” she finishes. “I’m sorry.”

  “If you hear anything, please, call me on this number,” I say. “At least do that for her.”

  Another pause. I’m genuinely expecting her to hang up on me.

  “Fine,” she breathes, just before actually hanging up.

  I run my hand through my hair and stare out the window for a few more moments before standing up, rolling my shoulders back, and putting the phone in my pocket. I gather up the papers in the folder, as well as the laptop, and I pack all of it into a little backpack left behind in the closet. When that’s done, I leave the way I came and march back up to my bike.

  My path is clear now. It’s not a path I want to take, and it’s not one I thought I’d ever be in a position to take, but I don’t have a choice anymore.

  I have to go to California and be at that hearing myself.

  For Lauren, the name I know her by, the name she chose, I’ll blaze right on into the state where I’m wanted for murder.

  Bones

  Bright and early on Sunday morning, I pull up to the diner where the bikes of the rest of the Heartbreakers are lined up. It’s the last Sunday of the month at the crack of dawn, and the club is gathered at a diner that smells like rich, fatty food and hot coffee. Breaker called the breakfast in hopes that we might not all be at each other’s throats if we have some hearty patty melts and pancakes coming our way while we discuss how to tackle our problems in the area.

  What they don’t know is that I have other plans.

  I haven’t told Breaker about my trip yet, but I have everything packed in my bike, and I’m eager to go. I just need to touch base one last time here so the last note I left on isn’t me storming out of a meeting in progress.

  The door swings open, and I stride to the back of the diner on heavy, dusty boots as the occasional patron glances at me on my way in. My kutte tells them all exactly who I am, and around this town, people know what it means to see a Heartbreaker.

  Usually, we keep the peace around here better than anyone else. We know what’s best for the town because none of us have had pampered lives. The kind of bullshit we saw with Brandon and his rich congressman daddy is exactly why we stick around town and keep an eye on things. If we leave, there’s nobody else who will do what needs to be done. And that’s exactly what I’m riding to California to do.

  In the back room, the guys are already assembled around a large rectangular table, and a waitress is bustling around handing out coffee orders. Breaker looks up at me as soon as I step in the doorway, and we look at each other with a brief, silent regard, as if sizing each other up and searching for a challenge in each other’s eyes. I respect Breaker, and he respects me, but when tensions are high, there’s more to walking back into a meeting than just planting your ass in a chair.

  Finally, I nod to him, and he nods back to me and gestures to a seat across from him. “Pull up a chair, Bones, we already put in a black coffee order for you.”

  “Perfect,” I chuckle, taking my seat just a second before the waitress sets the steaming mug in front of me.

  Ironsides and Big Daddy are sitting near us too, as our cluster of guys makes up the core leadership of the club. But we’re not the only ones taking up the room today. There are more members hanging around the table, most of them talking amongst themselves. Skid has grown into a man who can hold his own, and he’s chatting with a few prospects about his life story. Kate is sitting beside Breaker, talking with a few other members about some of her plans for the future of the bar. There’s a comforting din in the room all around that makes me feel bad for taking a trip like this, but it has to be done, and I’m the one to do it.

  “Your ride yesterday give you any new ideas, Bones?” Breaker asks once I’m settled, and the four of us lean in to talk.

  “It got heated in there yesterday,” Big Daddy admits, nodding and taking a swig of his own coffee. “But we ended not long after you left. Figured it was best to clear all our heads and put ‘em back together this morning.”

  “I appreciate it,”
I say, “and no hard feelings, brother. I agree. Now’s not the time to let our tempers get the better of us, and I’ll be the first to admit when I need to cool off.”

  “I know you are,” Breaker says, a gruff smile breaking through his otherwise stern face. “And that’s why I’m not gonna try to drag your ass out back and fight it out with you. I’ll spare you that,” he adds with a wink to make sure it’s clear that he’s joking, and a chuckle goes around our group.

  “Alright, alright, air’s clear,” Ironsides says, eyes flitting around to each of us. “What now?”

  “Now” I say, deciding to rip the band-aid off, “I’m gonna take all this good will we just agreed on and blow it to smithereens. I’m going to California.”

  The three others look at me like I’ve lost my mind, except for Ironsides, who watches me carefully but doesn’t let his face show a reaction.

  “You drinking the water right out of the reservoir, Bones, or…?” Breaker asks, glancing around at the others. “The fuck’s in California?”

  “Lauren,” I say, and Ironsides nods slowly, as if he had already guessed it. I take a long drink of the coffee that nearly burns my throat on the way down and explain. “Did some digging last night at her place. Kevin Cranston is some piece of shit reporter who thinks Murray Smyth is innocent and wants to follow up on his story now that Murray’s appeal is coming up—tomorrow,” I add.

  “Tomorrow? Where?” Breaker asks.

  “Small town right on the border of Nevada,” I say. “Sixteen hour ride from here. I won’t be able to stick around and eat, I need to hit the road if I’ve got any hope of making it there today.”

  “Christ,” Breaker says, taking a slow breath and thinking for a moment. “Wait, you said Lauren was in California.”

  “All signs point that way,” I say. “Kevin’s running tabloid articles because he’s after Lauren. He’s been calling her nonstop. Murray’s appeal is too close to her kidnapping for it to be a coincidence. Something’s going down on Monday morning, and I plan on being there when it happens. Town isn’t that big. I’ll get down there, find her, and get out. And I’ve got to do this alone, before any of you say anything,” I add, looking around at the lot of them.

  “Then you’ve got my leave,” Breaker says before anyone else can interject, and he holds up a hand to silence them. “You do what you need to do. And we’d be downright stupid to think these things aren’t related somehow, so it’s best that we stay here to keep watch on this front.”

  “Any news on Diesel, speaking of?” I ask. “Or Chainlink?”

  “No,” Breaker says, shaking his head. “I’ve touched base with every contact we have on this side of the state. Every ass that rides a bike from here to Casper and all down the east side of the I-25 is friendly to us if they aren’t already under us. Nobody knows anything. Can’t even get a bead on our buddy in the necklace your girl saw,” Breaker adds.

  He doesn’t say “thinks she saw,” either, which I appreciate.

  “If we want to flush out Diesel and anyone working with him,” I say, “keeping the people on our side is going to be key.”

  “Damn straight,” Breaker grunts. “I-”

  “Y’all ready to order?”

  The waitress’s voice interrupts us, and we all exchange brief glances before shrugging and answering as she refills our coffee mugs.

  “Let me get two patty melts,” Breaker says. “Side of hash browns.”

  “Sausage, toast, and 3-egg breakfast for me. Over easy,” says Ironsides.

  “Waffle and two sides of sausage,” Big Daddy grunts.

  The waitress turns to me, eyebrow raised, and when my stomach growls loudly at the mention of breakfast, I chuckle up at her.

  “Oh, what the hell—give me three sausage and egg biscuits to go. I got a long ride ahead of me.”

  She jots down our orders and bustles off with a sharp smile, leaving us to resume the conversation.

  “We need to deal with Brandon, justified or no,” Breaker goes on as soon as we’re in relative privacy again. “We do that, we keep the mayor happy, and if the mayor’s happy, things come a little more easily for all of us, usually.”

  “Agreed,” we all say in loose unison.

  “How do we plan on dealing with him?” I ask, looking around at the group. “We need to figure something out that won’t hurt the town and won’t hurt any innocents, either.”

  “I’m working on that,” Breaker says, rubbing his temples. “With the kid on the way before too long, I want to get this handled soon. But if soldier boy loses his patience, his daddy might follow through on his threat and pull the plug on funding for development the town needs bad. That’s a lot of jobs. That funding goes away, local support goes away.”

  “Shit, I don’t like having a piece of trash like this guy holding us by the balls like this,” Big Daddy grumbles.

  “Me either,” Breaker agrees, “but unless we can find more people that ‘war hero’ has done this to, our hands are tied, and the knot’s just getting tighter every time we struggle.”

  “A knife’s not a bad way to get through a knot,” Ironsides suggests.

  “Let’s stick to metaphorical ones, Ironsides,” Breaker says warningly. “That wouldn’t do a bit of good for our reputation right now.”

  “I’ll give you an easy out,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Where I’m going, I’m a wanted man.”

  A few eyebrows go up around me. I’ve never shared all the details about my past, not like I have with Lauren, but the guys know I’m running from something. They just don’t know what. A lot of times, you don’t even ask a biker about that kind of thing. It’s a good way to get a set of knuckles across your jaw, if you ask the wrong person what kinds of skeletons they’ve got in the closet.

  “Something you want to tell us, Bones?” Breaker asks.

  “Not right now,” I decide, putting my hands on my knees. “But what I do know is that I’m going to down to a courthouse for the girl I love, and nothing’s going to stop me, not even the police. What the cops do if they catch me down there is another thing. Worst of the worst case scenarios, here’s what we do: if I wind up arrested in Cali for some bullshit I didn’t do years ago, so be it. And if that happens, you,” I say to Breaker, who watches me with narrowed eyes, “can turn right around and inform Mayor Hartley.”

  The others look surprised, but impressed. Ironsides looks reluctant, and Big Daddy is hard to read. Breaker strokes his chin, looking uncertain.

  “That’s a big risk on your part, Bones,” he says. “You know what I think about heroes.”

  “I know,” I grunt. “But I’m no hero. I’ll be there regardless. What I’m doing is giving you blessing to take advantage of the situation if it turns south for me. Unless you all recruit a damn good attorney-biker while I’m gone, ain’t nothing you’ll be able to do to spring me down there if the law catches up to me. Second-to-worst case scenario, I don’t get caught but Brandon still has his beef with us: I’ll come back up here and stand trial in court.”

  “That’s noble of you, but I’m not going to let that happen,” Breaker says.

  “Besides,” Ironsides says, “the mayor will just assume you won’t come back into state.”

  “And wouldn’t that solve the problem too?” I say, nodding. “If I’m not back quick enough, disown me. Chances are I’m dead anyway. Throw me under the bus and say I ran off to ride with some rival gang in Utah. Hell, tell ‘em I found Jesus, I don’t care, just don’t get your asses burned on my account, alright?”

  There’s a tense silence among the four of us for a few moments before Breaker lets out the breath he was holding, closing his eyes. He sees the logic in my words. They’re not words he wants to hear, but I feel much better knowing that he agrees with my logic.

  If I don’t come back from Cali, the name Bones doesn’t mean anything anyway. Might as well put some old bones to use.

  Before Breaker can officially answer, though, the waitress comes b
ack in with arms full of food, to the delighted cheer of the rest of the bikers in the diner. Ironsides and Big Daddy get distracted enough for Breaker to make eye contact with me, and we stare each other down for a moment. It’s as if we need one last battle of wills before he’s willing to let me walk into something that could be my funeral.

  But Breaker knows that leaders need to make tough calls sometimes. He gives me the faintest shadow of a nod, and I smile, just as the waitress sets a grease-stained brown paper bag in front of me.

  “I’ve got his check,” Breaker speaks up as I stand to my feet with the bag in hand.

  “You got it, sugar,” she says before leaving, and I give a nod to the group.

  Wordlessly, I shake hands with each of the guys and embrace, and I walk out of the diner, ready to raise hell...and not think about the fact that I might not see any of those faces in there again.

  As I throw my leg over my bike, I take out Lauren’s phone to dig out the best address I can find for the town. But as soon as I open it, I see a missed call from just an hour ago, and my face pales.

  It was Kevin.

  My finger hovers over the callback button as I clench my teeth, but before I can press it, the screen lights up bright again as another call starts coming through—and once again, it’s Kevin. My heart races, and I answer the phone immediately, hoping to take the son of a bitch off guard.

  “Who’s this?!” I snarl, putting the phone to my ear.

  Silence.

  I can almost feel a kind of surprise from the other end of the line, as if someone is holding back from doing so much as breathing. If it’s Kevin, he was not expecting someone else to pick this line up. Finally, I hear the sound of the phone shifting against something, and I know there’s definitely someone on the other end of the line.

  “Listen, you son of a bitch,” I start to say, but the sound of a scream in the distance through the phone interrupts me just before the line goes dead.

  “Lauren? LAUREN!” I shout at the phone in frustration before jamming it back into my pocket and cursing loudly.