by Nicole James
“I hear what you’re saying. I’ll think about it. I promise.” I know one thing for certain; I’ve got to talk to my sister. I think everything Tina said is true, and I need to make Scarlett see that.
“Maybe I should stay here with you.”
“No. I’ll be fine,” I insist.
“I’m going back to the bar to tell Shelly you don’t feel well, and that Scott and I will help her close up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. That or you come home with me, or I sleep on your couch, which, I do that, Scott will know something is up.”
“All right.”
“You keep this door locked and that gun loaded, understand.”
“I will.”
“I’ll keep my phone under my pillow tonight. Anything weird happens, you call me right away. Promise?”
“Promise.”
I lock the door behind her.
I watch some television, trying to keep my mind off everything. A half hour later, the bar is closed up, and Tina calls to tell me they’re pulling out and checking that I’m okay. I tell her I’m fine.
I watch from the window as hers and Shelly’s cars drive off, their taillights disappearing down the highway. Immediately, the isolation closes in on me again. I don’t know how Scarlett stands living out here all alone since Buck died.
My phone rings again and I answer, thinking it’s Tina again; she probably forgot to tell me something.
“Hello.”
“Wear that denim shirt again tomorrow and tie it up under your tits with no bra underneath.” The voice is raspy and definitely male.
“I can’t wait to see those tits. I want to tie you naked to that iron bed. Watch you squirm and try to get free. Tie a pair of panties around your mouth, and make you moan behind the gag. I’m gonna beat you good and fuck you harder. I want to hear you beg.”
I hang up, my whole body shaking.
Not a minute later, my phone dings with a text.
I have pictures of you.
Then two pictures pop up.
One of me coming out of the house the other morning. One of me taken through the window the first night I was here.
Oh my God. Before I can think what to do, the phone immediately rings again, and I block the number. My heart is pounding. I get the gun, make sure every curtain is closed, then go in the bedroom, locking the door behind me. I take a deep breath. I’ve got a gun, and I’ll shoot anything that comes through that door. I tell myself I’ll be safe.
Not five minutes later, Daytona texts me.
Daytona: How are you, babe?
Me: Fine.
Daytona: We’ll be back tomorrow.
Me: Good.
Daytona: You okay?
Me: Fine. Just tired.
Daytona: Okay. Get some sleep. I’ll see you when we get back.
Me: Okay. Bye.
Daytona: Sleep well, Cherry.
I stare down at the words, wondering if he’s a lying snake.
I sleep in my clothes, the gun under my pillow and every light on. To say I sleep is not really accurate. I nap off and on, constantly jolting awake, checking that the gun is still there and lifting my head to listen for strange sounds, then fighting the fear and anxiety to try to fall asleep again. Sometime during the early morning hours, I drift off in exhaustion.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Charlotte—
My phone dings with a text, rousing me.
I squint against the morning light and check my phone. It’s six in the morning.
Tina: You okay?
I go up on an elbow and reply, yawning.
Me: I’m fine.
Tina: Anything happen?
Me: Got a creepy phone call last night. I blocked the number.
Tina: OMG. Any gifts this morning?
Me: I’m still in bed.
Tina: Go check.
Me: Give me a minute.
I push the covers back and climb from the bed, taking the gun with me, the phone in my other hand. I look around the house but see nothing suspicious. I part the curtains an inch and peek out the front. I don’t see anyone or anything except a guy at the gas station, his hands shoved in his pockets, gassing up a pickup truck with a camper top that’s parked at the pump.
I peer down at the porch, and that’s when I see it. A large manila envelope is lying on the mat. I stare at it like it’s a snake coiled on my porch. The hairs on my arms stand up, and my eyes dart all around again. I move to the back of the house and look out a window, but there’s no one there. I’m being crazy. Whoever put it there is long gone.
I return to the front door, take the safety off the gun, and hold it at my side as I unlock the deadbolt and crack the door open an inch.
I don’t see anyone, and I don’t hear any sound but the wind. I snatch up the envelope, slam the door, and throw the deadbolt.
Then I move to the kitchen table and open the envelope.
Photos printed out on copy paper. Half a dozen sheets, each with a full size shot. All filthy porn. At least that’s what I think at first glance. Naked women tied up, gagged, blindfolded. The thing is, I’m not sure these are stills from a porn movie or something more deranged. The terrifying thought slithers through my mind that these women have been abducted and abused. Is this what Daytona’s MC is into?
I’m scared, but I’m also furious. Furious that they would do this to me, and if these photos are real life pictures, not actors, I’m sick to my stomach.
I know one thing, though. I can’t tell Tina about this. I can’t drag her and Scott any deeper into this mess. It’s getting too dangerous. I pull out my phone and fire off a text.
Me: No gifts this morning. Everything’s fine. I’ll call you later.
Tina: Okay, babe. Call if you need me. I’m here for you.
I feel bad lying to her, but I know it’s for the best.
That afternoon, I’m standing next to the draft taps, my palms on the bar, my thumb tapping against the wood, still trying to decide what to do.
Pete walks up and grabs some long necks from a cooler next to me. “Something bothering you?”
I shake my head and paste on a fake smile. “No. Everything’s good.”
He walks off to deliver the bottles to customers at the end of the bar. There are only half a dozen people in Badlands. All of them men. My eyes scan every one suspiciously. I don’t know if they’re regulars or strangers that have never been in the place before. I want to question Pete, but I haven’t had a chance.
My ears perk up at the sound of a distant roar, and I turn my head toward the windows overlooking the road. The sound gets louder. I go outside and stand on the boardwalk. The glint of chrome flashes on the horizon. The image wavers with the heat rising off the blacktop.
I watch them get closer as the thundering roar gets louder.
When they get near Badlands, the line of bikes slows. I see Daytona and Trick at the front of the pack. The two of them pull off and idle while the rest of the line heads on past.
Trick sits on his bike while Daytona shuts his off and climbs from it. He pulls his helmet off and approaches. I stand watching him, no smile on my face. It must be that look that has him stopping with one foot on the step.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
He cocks his head and studies me. “You seem in a mood, and I’m tired, so I’m gonna do us both a favor and go on up the road. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
I’m pissed, and I want him to know it. I want to see his reaction. He seems dead set on not giving me one. I try to read him, but he’s got a good poker face when he wants.
He heads to his bike, and they pull away.
I go back inside and slam things around as I work. I’m pissed at myself more than anything. I didn’t think I was such a coward.
The phone near the cash register rings. Usually Pete answers it, but he’s across the room bussin
g a table. So I pick it up.
“Badlands.”
“You think you’re something special. But you’re not. You’re just a fucking whore.” The voice hisses, full of rage.
Before I can react, the line goes dead.
I turn and scan the room. Customers are chatting and laughing and paying me no mind. One guy is loading dollars in the jukebox. Two others are racking up a game on the pool table.
My gut clenches. How long is this going to go on?
I go in the office and try to call Scarlett, but it goes straight to voicemail. I try to think what day it is and what she might be doing, but I’m not sleeping much, and I can’t think straight. I don’t want to leave this stuff in a voice message, so I hang up.
CHAPTER NINE
Charlotte—
I fume for another two hours, then decide to act. I get the photos from the envelope and get in the pickup. I fire it up and jam it into reverse, backing out onto the road. I peel out, throwing dust and gravel. One hand on the wheel, I pull up my contacts on my phone with the other. I find the one I want and hit it. It rings twice before it’s picked up.
“Yeah?”
“It’s me.”
“Hey, Cherry. You in a better mood?”
“Are you at your house?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the clubhouse. You okay?”
“Where is it?”
“Babe, if you need me, I can come to you.”
“Nope. Just tell me where.”
“Scarlett—”
I cut him off. “Just tell me where.” I’m sure he can hear the emotion in my voice, but I’m determined this is going to happen on his turf.
“You driving?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“Just pulled out on the highway in front of Badlands. Heading north.”
“Turn when you come to 447. Take it to the fork. Take the left. Go about a mile. I’ll have somebody waiting at the gate. Can’t miss it. It’s a big red metal cattle gate.”
“You have cattle?”
“Nope. But that thing will stop a tank.”
Ten minutes later, I find the place and see a guy leaning on a bike on the other side. He walks to the gate.
“You Cherry?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.” He opens the gate, waits for me to come through, and then locks it again. He mounts up and I follow him down the dusty dirt road, around a bend, and spot the structure behind some boulders, hidden against the hillside.
I follow him to the front door and park.
It’s a rustic wooden structure with a porch across the front.
Daytona and several of his men are standing outside it when I climb out and snatch the stack of papers, slamming my door. That’s his first warning of how pissed I am.
He picks up on it immediately. “What’s wrong?”
I stalk to him. “We need to talk.”
“Ooo. That’s never good,” Trick murmurs, grinning.
“Shut it,” Daytona snaps, then grabs my hand and pulls me inside. Once we’re through the doors, my eyes do a quick scan of the interior. Several men are leaning elbows to a bar. They look over when Daytona pulls me in. The room is big and nice, but I’m too pissed to take in details. I yank free, and Daytona turns to face me.
“Did you do it?” I snap. “Did you have your guy put these disgusting photos on my doorstep?”
His chin pulls to the side, like I’ve started speaking gibberish. “What photos?”
“Don’t play stupid. Since the night your VP walked into my bar, I’ve been getting stuff.” I fling the stack down on the table. They splay across it. “You want me to sell. You want me gone. You think you’ll drive me out by scaring the crap out of me? Well, think again.”
His eyes fall to the photos. “The fuck?” he whispers dangerously. He picks up a picture and looks at it, and then his eyes scan the other photos. I see his face tighten and his jaw clench, and he fists his hand, crumpling the photo. He holds up a finger. “Not another word,” he says in a voice I’ve never heard.
Instantly, I get quiet.
“Come on.” He doesn’t wait for a response but snatches the photos up, grabs my upper arm and hauls me across the big open room and through a set of double doors. It’s a large office with sliding glass doors that lead to a beautiful courtyard.
He tosses the photos on a massive desk, then backs me against it and gets right in my face. His voice is calm and soft… and deadly.
“What the fuck is going on, Cherry?”
“You sent those, didn’t you?”
“Fuck no. I’m a dick, but I’m not that big a dick.” He glares into my eyes. “You come here and accuse me of something like this bullshit.” He jabs a finger at the photos. “Seriously?”
I swallow when I see the anger in his face. He’s pissed. And he’s pissed at me. “You want my bar.”
“Not like this.”
“You’re the only one who benefits if I sell and leave town.”
“Did I act like a man who wants you to fucking leave town, Cherry?”
“I overheard your man on the phone. He stood outside my bar and said”—I make air quotes—“she’ll sell. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got a couple of things in mind. I’ll make sure of it. By the time you get back, with what I’ve got planned for her, she’ll be dying to get rid of it.”
“A member of my club?”
“Yes.”
“And this brother came by your bar while we were out of town?”
“Yes.”
He stalks to the door, yanks it open, and jerks his head, snapping, “Mutt. Get in here.”
I take the opportunity to put some distance between us, taking several steps away from the desk.
A man walks into the room, his eyes shifting between Daytona and me. It’s the same guy I overheard talking. I take a step back. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and shaggy hair that hangs in his light eyes. “Yeah?”
“Were you up at Badlands the other night?”
“Yeah, I stopped in for a beer, why?”
“You have a conversation on the phone out front?”
“Yeah.” He frowns. “What’s this about?”
“Who were you talking to?”
“Guy who works on my bike. He wants to buy Liv’s car for his daughter. Told him I’d make sure she was ready to sell by the time he gets back from Reno. Only way Liv’s gonna sell that Wrangler is if I get her something better. That’s her baby. I’ve had a couple things in mind. There’s a used Tesla with the batwing doors she’d kill for. Thought I’d surprise her with it. She gets that; she won’t miss the Wrangler. Why?”
“Never mind. Go.”
Mutt walks out.
Daytona looks at me, quirks a brow, and stalks me across the room, until my back’s to the wall.
“Maybe coming here was a mistake,” I say and try to move around him, but he presses me back with a hand to my chest.
“Ya think? Thought we had something. Fuck that bar, I wanted to make you my queen.”
Fury. That’s what’s written all over his face.
He drags a hand through his hair. “I’m tryin’ real hard not to lose it right now. But this really kills everything I thought we were building toward.” His jaw ticks. “You come in here all full of fight, which, any other situation, gotta say turns me the fuck on. But then you go and accuse me of this vile shit. Fucking hell.” He breathes deep and blows it out. “I’m gonna make sure you’re safe, first off. Then I’m gonna find out who did this. But us? You and me. That’s done. Sit down.”
He points at a chair, and I sit, his words sinking in while he goes to the door and barks out, “Trick. Lobo. Get in here.”
The men enter and close the door behind them. Trick I know. Lobo I recognize as the other man who was with him the night he first came into the bar.
The men gather around as Daytona leans his fists on the deskto
p and drills me with a look. “Besides us, who else could this be?”
I’m not Scarlett, so I have no clue. I thought about calling her again on the drive over here, but I don’t want to freak her out or worry her. If things get worse, I may have to make that call. I was so sure it was the MC. The only thing she warned me about was feeding the stray dog that wasn’t a stray and belonged to the creepy guy behind the gas station. I lift my hands. “I don’t know. Maybe the guy with the German Shepard was pissed I fed his dog.”
“He confront you?”
“No. I haven’t seen him.”
“He come in the bar?”
I can’t admit I’ve never even lain eyes on the man. “I don’t think so. Not that I’ve noticed.”
Daytona looks at Trick. “You know the guy?”
“Nope.”
He looks at Lobo. “You?”
“Nope.”
“Get on this asshole. I wanna know everything there is to know about this guy by tomorrow.”
“I’m on it,” Lobo replies.
“You want a message delivered?” Trick asks, flexing a fist.
“Not just yet. I don’t want to tip our hand until we know what we’re dealing with. Besides, I already let him know I was around the other night. Did a burnout in the gas station lot.”
“All right.”
“Has there been anything else?” Daytona looks to me.
I wet my lips. It’s not something I want to talk about in front of these other men. My eyes shift nervously to them. “Um…”
“Tell me, Cherry,” Daytona presses, cutting me no slack.
“There was a heart drawn on the window of my truck. In the center it said, you’re mine. I also received some creepy texts.”
“What did they say?”
“Things like, I have pictures of you. Things like that.”
“He send any pictures of you?”
“One of me coming out of my house. One of me taken through the window at night. And there have been some calls.”
