by Vixen, Jayna
The look in Dax’s eyes changed in an instant, the way that same thin veil of ice melted when the first rays of sun hit it. Dax Jamison was a very deep and very troubled body of water. “Fuck.”
He had that intense look about him again. It was a look she had almost forgotten. Whatever the island climate had washed away was re-forming before her eyes: the brooding gaze, the steely outer shell. Rhee found that she didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
We have to get out of here, she thought to herself as she headed to the bathroom, leaving Dax to his turbulent thoughts.
Being back here wasn’t like coming home at all. There were no warm fuzzy feelings, no gleeful laughter, not even the slightest sensation of comfort.
No, to the contrary, Rhee was watching Dax lose his way.
Wince was the one who had texted Dax and caused all of this turmoil. He certainly wouldn’t betray any club confidences, but he could give her some clues and she would figure out the rest on her own. Wince didn’t stand a chance. Rhee knew a tried and true way to make the man talk.
Beer and horseshoes.
Chapter Forty
How am I supposed to do this? Mickey wondered. And what the hell am I supposed to say?
“Your new donor is a child molester.”
Sure, that sounded really fucking plausible. The man was a do-gooder in the community for shit’s sake.
“Oh, and by the way, I killed our mother.”
Mickey’s breath began to come in short pants even though she was currently seated on a wooden bench. She was in a public park—one that was off the beaten path, but it was close to one of the bigger MC compounds. The place wasn’t hard to locate. Mickey knew that her scrambled nerves wouldn’t allow her to just waltz into the place, but that was where Rhee was…she hoped.
How was she going to explain the truth? What Rhee thought was bad enough: that Paul had committed the unthinkable. The truth was so much more degrading—her stepfather had sold her virtue to a disgusting old man who made her call him, “Daddy.”
A camera flashed as a man took a picture of his young daughter feeding the ducks, and just like that, Mickey was thrust into another world—a world where she was a helpless victim and there was no one to save her. The memories swirled as she clutched her backpack to her chest. Red lights, hideous grunts and moans, her own shrill screams….
Not now. I can’t pass out on a public bench…
“Wink!” Across the small duck pond, the child’s jubilant voice pierced Mickey’s flashback, puncturing her memories like a balloon.
A little girl ran towards a man in a leather cut and Mickey watched as he swung her up into his arms. The vest reminded her of Dizzy’s—the man was obviously in a crew. Plus, there was something about this man…what was it? He drew her attention in a way that had never happened before. What was she picking up on here?
She studied the man the way she always did when an older man and a child were together—with suspicion. He was tall, but he wasn’t a giant. His dark hair was cropped close to his head. His voice was playful and melodic, but it was his smile that held Mickey transfixed a moment longer than was appropriate. The guy had the megawatt grin of a movie star. His easy laugh drew her attention and held it—maybe because the man’s behavior seemed to be in such contrast to the leather cut he wore and the tattoo she could see snaking its way up his arm. She had to look away, knowing that it wouldn’t be good to be caught staring at an outlaw biker, but she couldn’t.
As if on cue, the man’s head swiveled in her direction.
Mickey had long since mastered the art of being inconspicuous, but the way this man glanced her way made her feel like he saw her, the real her, all the way down to her dirty, tainted soul. She shuddered, tearing her gaze away. Her heart was pounding and there was a roaring in her ears that signaled a panic attack was barreling towards her like a freight train. She had to move.
Now.
The little girl shrieked as a large duck waddled towards her. Mickey was grateful for the unintended distraction. The moment the man turned his head, she slipped into the trees. Mickey felt the bite of her own nails in her palms as she clenched her fists. The sting re-focused her attention just long enough for the roaring to recede and her pulse to slow a bit. She took several gulps of cool air and pulled her hoodie low over her face.
How was she ever going to get to Rhee?
Chapter Forty-One
“It goes deep, deeper than you know.”
Hawk’s voice, even though he was speaking in low tones, carried to Slade’s ears anyway. It was late at night, and Slade had taken to doing two rounds instead of one. He did the first one at midnight on the dot, like he was expected to. He made sure to tromp heavily around the compound during first rounds. About three hours later, after everyone else was either getting fucked or well past fucked up, he slipped out the back and made his way silently to the edge of the property.
After a few days, he came across Hawk having another one of his secret conversations. Slade couldn’t get close enough to record the conversation but he wanted proof.
“Look, I told you, I can get you what you want, but it’s gonna take some time. Well, you’ve waited this long. I don’t give a fuck about your statute bullshit. I said I’d do it, but it’s gonna be on my fuckin’ timeline!”
A few seconds later, a rock zinged by Slade’s face and slammed into the fence a few feet away.
Shit. This was bad. Really bad.
***
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Wince jumped about a foot into the air. “Jesus, man! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
Dax grabbed him by the neck of his shirt. From the look on his VP’s face, Wince knew that he was about to sustain another broken nose.
“Dax! It’s not what you think, brother.”
Dax glared at the computer screen. “What the fuck am I supposed to think, Wince? You got a thing for little girls?”
Wince paled. “Fuck, no!”
He just wanted to confirm what he had found before he brought it to Dax’s attention. An advanced search of Rhee’s stepfather led to more sealed files. Turned out the guy was using an alias—he had changed his name after he got out of juvie. There was more. The alias was connected to a bunch of online uploads and shared files. Videos. Of young girls. After a few hours of serious hacking, he was able to access the anchor site and when the images came onto the screen, he nearly threw up in his mouth.
Darling Dolls.
The girls on the screen couldn’t be more than twelve years old. On the homepage, they were pictured alone—some in their underwear and some nude. The videos in the member’s area showed these same girls with men. Older men. Men who were like, fifty. Wince swallowed the bile that churned in his gut as he realized it wasn’t just this one site. There were over thirty of them.
Westlake Dolls.
Dover Dolls.
Palmdale Dolls.
He had taken a bunch of screen shots and was in the process of filing them into a folder on his desktop when Dax burst in.
“Wince, you have about two seconds before I send both you and that fuckin’ computer straight to hell.”
“Calm down, Dax. It’s about Mickey.”
“What the fuck do you mean, this is about Mickey?”
Wince sighed. “I’ve been digging into the stepfather. It’s worse than I thought.”
Dax couldn’t seem to look at the computer screen. “Is she…on there?”
“I’m not sure. These girls look younger. But some of these sites have been around for years.”
Dax’s fist slammed down onto the table making the computer bounce.
“Hey, man. Don’t break my shit. It took me a long ass time to get into this site.”
Dax turned and stalked several paces away. “Fuck, Wince. Kiddie porn? Are you sure the stepfather’s dead?”
Wince recognized that look. The look in Dax’s eyes was murderous. Yeah, the man was seeing red, and he wanted to pound the shit out o
f something—or someone.
“The guy’s in the ground,” he confirmed.
“I feel like digging that motherfucker up and putting a few bullets in him anyway.”
“Well, since we can’t make dear old stepdad any deader than he already is, I was working on the IP addresses of the other fucks who access this site. Could be that will lead us to Mickey. And if it doesn’t…”
Dax cut him off. “It will lead us to someone who deserves to have their dick chopped off and handed to them. What do you need from me, Wince?”
“Time, man. A couple of days.”
“You got it. I’ll keep you clear of any other business.”
“Thanks.” Wince said grimly. His work was cut out for him.
“I need to either puke or fuckin’ hit something, man. I’m gonna go a few rounds with one of the grunts.”
Wince nodded absently, already immersed back into his mission. “Hey, brother, have one of those stalker sluts bring me some more coffee.”
It was going to be a long few days, but Wince knew that he was on the right track. This kiddy porn thing was huge. Malone was connected to it, and sadly, so was Mickey. Someone, somewhere, knew where Rhee’s sister was-and he was going to find him.
Dax was going to torture and kill the man—and there was no doubt in Wince’s mind that the bastard’s punishment would more than fit his crimes.
Chapter Forty-Two
The beer and horseshoes scheme hadn’t panned out. Wince was holed up in the compound. He had made himself totally inaccessible and Rhee couldn’t help but feel a little jilted. As if it wasn’t bad enough to have Dax preoccupied, something was obviously bothering Wince now too. With the two of them acting like assholes the last two days, Rhee was cranky as hell and she was having a hard time disguising it.
I’m nine days late now. Why the fuck are all of these tests negative?
The uncertainty was really starting to weigh on her. She was tired, irritable, and she felt swollen all over. Her breasts were so sensitive she was actually glad Dax had club business to attend to because the thought of anything touching her made her want to scream. Rhee glanced at Sirena, who was chattering away to a stuffed version of cookie monster as she made plate after plate of play-doh “cookies” to feed him.
“You still hungry, Cookie Monsta?” Sirena inquired of her inanimate blue playmate. “Oh, yes, me hungry!” she answered for the toy.
Does she need a sibling? She’s talking to a stuffed animal!
The ramifications of having another child loomed huge and scary in Rhee’s mind. She hadn’t exactly told Dax the whole truth surrounding the circumstances of Sirena’s birth. Rhee had been just shy of thirty-four weeks pregnant when things started to go wrong. She was on bed rest for another three weeks but then she had suffered a placental abruption. Rhee had nearly bled out and it took months for her to recover.
It was one thing to have a near death experience as single girl, but the risks were far greater now that she was a mother.
I have everything to lose.
The doctors had cautioned Rhee that she now had a higher chance of a problematic pregnancy. Unconsciously, she placed her hand over her belly, trying to decide if there was any joy beneath the anxiety she was currently experiencing. The familiar stirrings of panic began to hum in her veins and she had to force herself to relax. Stress wasn’t good. Rhee took some deep breaths until the jitters faded.
Of course I’ll be happy if I am…I just need to know!
The new club doctor, an older lady, said they could blood test tomorrow. Rhee would know for sure, very soon. Then, she could convince herself that she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life.
***
Dax checked the time on his phone and swore under his breath. He’d been at the compound for almost two days straight. Following the Trish incident, he’d sent Rhee and Sirena back to his house with strict orders to stay put, as well as two grunts to make sure Rhee obeyed him this time.
It was a ballsy move—bringing Trish to the clubhouse. He understood why Rhee had done it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t totally mindfucked by Trish’s appearance. He had kept an eye on her when she went to school—even knew about some of the dates she went on, but he never knew her secret.
All this time, the twinges of guilt he experienced about fucking her over, and Trish was pregnant—by another man. Smart, calculating Trish. Who would have thought it?
“You want me to put him to ground?” he had asked her, referring to the asshole who had knocked her up and then abandoned her.
“No. I just want closure, Dax.”
Then Trish dropped another bomb—a bigger one, if that was possible. She was sick. Real sick. The man in him, the outlaw, couldn’t help wanting to protect her. But, Trish assured him that she was happy, given the circumstances, and well taken care of. She came to say her piece and enjoy the rest of her time on this earth, and he was impressed by her integrity. Still, that didn’t stop him from calling up a charter club and putting a guy on her and her new man. Closure was one thing, honor was another thing entirely.
Wince was still holed up in his bunk putting together shit for Darling PD about the kiddy porn ring. That shit was going to be taken down, fucking immediately, and fucking violently, if Dax had anything to say about it. There was the issue with Rhiannon being pregnant, too. And Hawk talking to the feds…
Dax’s head ached. He was itching to get back into the water—the deep blue peace was comforting to him. At least it was quiet. He glanced at the bar. Maybe a drink would calm his nerves.
Dax shot back a brandy and then an idea sparked in his brain. Grinning, he paced quickly out to one of the sheds located at the rear of the compound. His master key was no match for the rusty lock, which looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.
No worries.
He pulled a pint-sized tomcat from his ankle holster and one bullet was all it took to shatter the lock. A yell went up from the clubhouse and three grunts raced outside, guns drawn. Dax dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
“Fuck off.”
They stood there, gaping at him until he turned and glared. “I said, fuck off!”
The door to the shed swung open and light crept in, making the swirls of dust in the doorway dance. Dax felt the grin on his face getting wider as he made his way into inside. It was still there, leaning against the back wall—and from the looks of it, it was in pristine condition. He ran his hand down the side, feeling the dings and the bumpy remnants of old wax. Testing its weight, the thing felt smaller than it had when he was a kid. But, the old boat would work just fine.
Dax tucked the heavy surfboard under his arm. Time to see if Darling Beach still had any shitty waves to fuck around on.
***
From Hawk’s bunk in the clubhouse, Alanna had a perfect view of the yard. She already had her eye on Dax as he sauntered out to the shed. Who wouldn’t look at the man? He was like a god—all strong and golden, with muscles that bulged out from beneath his tight black tee shirt. She felt her eyes widen as he pulled his piece from his ankle and shot the shit out of the lock on the shed. Immediately, Alanna’s panties moistened at his aggressive behavior.
Fuckin’ unreal.
What was the man looking for in there? Dax was on a mission and from the looks of it he didn’t want any interference. She watched, her curiosity mingling with her heightening arousal.
When Dax finally emerged from the shed, and she saw what he carried under his arm, Alanna experienced a jolt of sexual desire so strong she nearly creamed her jeans. It was a fucking surfboard. She flew into action, discarding her jeans and throwing on a sexy, black bikini and shorts.
Alanna smiled to herself. She had a few pictures on her cell phone of the papers Hawk thought he had hidden in his desk. They should be proof enough. Dax was sure to reward her handsomely—and she knew just what kind of tribute she was going to suggest.
It only took a few wiggles and gropes to get the keys to one of the
grunt vans. Hopping in Alanna slid her oversized sunglasses over her eyes and waited. A few minutes later, the Phantoms’ vice president appeared, looking sexy as sin in his board shorts. The man was sex on a fucking stick. She watched as he secured his surfboard to the roof rack of the Suburban and patted it with a sentimental look on his face—like he was seeing an old friend.
He meant to surf Darling Beach, of course. There was one break there—she’d heard some of the grunts talking about it. The place was decent in the winter if there was no wind, but the water was fucking freezing. No matter. She followed him at a safe distance to avoid being spotted, and then she watched from her vehicle as he loped down the sandy trail.
After his session, he’d be all hers.
Chapter Forty-Three
Slade pulled up to the docks and checked the time on the antique pocket watch that dangled from a reinforced chain on his belt. Some of the guys gave him shit about his timepiece but it had belonged to his old man and he would wear it until he went to ground. He didn’t bother explaining his affinity for the antique gold piece. It was nobody’s damn business.
Over the last few weeks, Hawk put him on extra runs to the port and Slade wasn’t sure why. At first, he assumed his president was just trying to get him out of the way. Now, Slade picked up on an underlying sense of anxiety down there. The ship gang working this dock had been in the Phantom’s pocket for years and they were used to the gigs. So why did the longshoremen seem so tense lately?
Slade lit up a doobie and took a long inhale as he watched the men work. Looked like a dangerous fuckin’ job—inside the hold of the ship, cargo containers were moved to a precise location so the winch could pick them up. Then, the containers, which had to weigh several tons, were lowered onto the ground. Another guy driving what looked like a huge forklift picked it up and stacked it.
Containers came from lots of shipping yards contracted with the port. The ones from Mako Shipping were easy to identify. Slade and the ship gang carried a sheet identifying which ones held contraband. They popped those open and the gang unloaded the Phantoms’ shit right into the trucks that carried them to their distributors. The empties were loaded right back onto the ship. It was a well-oiled process that had been going on for years. Nothing could go wrong.
