Edge Of Tomorrow (Arrow's Edge MC Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  The guy is jogging toward me, dressed in heavy winter gear. At least he was prepared for the weather. I roll down the window as he approaches. Younger guy, maybe thirties, with a look of relief on his face.

  “Thank God. I thought I’d be stuck up here when the snow hit. The truck’s down that way.” He points up ahead, but I can’t see anything for the trees lining the dirt road.

  “Sure, hop in.”

  I realize my mistake when he guides me through the campground toward the boat launch and there’s still no sign of a truck.

  “Look, I don’t know—”

  “Stop right here,” he says, a gun pointing at my head.

  Lisa

  Lordy, it’s coming down.

  In that short walk from the cottage to the clubhouse, the quilt I threw over Finn for the trip is covered, as am I.

  I stomp my feet to get the snow off my boots and shake it out of my hair.

  “Here, let me take him,” Ouray says, walking up and taking the stroller while I hang up my coat and scarf. “Pretty bad out there,” he points out, uncovering the baby and lifting him out.

  For a man who’s never had babies of his own, he’s pretty comfortable handling Finn. In fact, I’ve seen him handling Lettie, and Trunk and Jaimie’s babies. He may be a little rough around the edges but he’s a good man at the core. All of these guys are.

  I really lucked out when I ended up here.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I bite off a grin. If there’s one negative about this club, it’s that very little stays secret. I’m sure Luna already gave him the update.

  With Brick’s help, she pushed me to put a call into Dr. Husse’s office Friday. I did, and went to see her Saturday morning. According to her, there’s no reason for alarm, as long as it doesn’t become an ongoing problem. She did reiterate cutting down on stress, which I don’t exactly have complete control over.

  In fact, looking out at the storm outside reminds me how little control I have. I don’t like Brick being out on the road in this. The sense of doom that’s been hovering over me feels even heavier today.

  “I’m all right. Just a little worried with Brick out on the road in this.”

  “He is?”

  “Was called out on a tow,” I explain, grabbing the diaper bag from the stroller and plucking Finn from Ouray’s arms.

  “Won’t be the first time. Tow calls get more frequent during the winter months. Lots of idiots ending up in a ditch. He’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure,” I mumble, not quite convinced as I make my way to the kitchen.

  I notice one of the boys, Michael, lying on the couch watching TV and walk over.

  “Why aren’t you in school?”

  It’s clear when he turns his head to look at me the boy has a fever: eyes glassy, deep blush on his cheeks and forehead.

  “Not feeling good.”

  “I can tell. Let me take care of Finn and I’ll check you for a fever.”

  Last thing I need is for the baby to catch something.

  Ouray is in the kitchen pouring a coffee.

  “If I get his bottle ready, would you mind feeding him?” I ask. “I think Michael’s got a fever.”

  “Yeah, he puked after breakfast. Said his stomach was bothering him.”

  I put the kettle on the stove and pull one of the premade bottles out of the diaper bag.

  “Could be a stomach flu, which is bound to spread. Might be a good idea to keep him away from the other kids.”

  “Fuck. Just what we need,” he grumbles, holding out his arms for Finn.

  “Not until you wash your hands, and you better warn everyone else too. Nosh especially. At his age a simple flu could knock him on his ass.”

  Once Finn is safely installed in Ouray’s arms, his little hands folded around the bottle, I head to the bathroom down the hall to grab the medical kit.

  “Sit up, boy, let me take your temperature real quick.”

  He barely lifts his head off the couch and he lunges over the edge, puking. Great. This is gonna be fun if more turn up sick. I grab a gauze pad and wipe his mouth.

  “Stay like that. I’ll be right back.”

  I rush to grab a few towels, a wet washcloth, and get a bucket from the laundry room in the back. Poor kid is crying when I return.

  “Here, wash your face. You’ll feel better.” From the corner of my eye I see Wapi walking in. “Gimme a hand?”

  He walks around the couch and instantly freezes at the sight of the puke, turning a little green himself.

  “I’ll take care of this, but I need you to get his stuff from the bunkhouse. We’re gonna get him set up in one of the empty bedrooms here, otherwise it’ll spread like wildfire.”

  Half an hour later, we have Michael installed in the bedroom closest to the main room so someone can hear him if he calls. He’s got his bucket in case, and Wapi even borrowed a small TV from one of the other rooms so the boy wouldn’t be bored out of his brain. I left him with some ginger ale and a bottle of water, hoping to at least keep him hydrated.

  Five minutes after I get started in the kitchen, we get a call from the school. Ravi, our latest foster kid, showed up at the nurse’s station feeling sick. Ouray goes to pick him up while Wapi gets a second bed set up with Michael. I keep my fingers crossed there won’t be more.

  Luckily Finn is clueless, Ouray put him in his stroller after his bottle and he’s sleeping soundly, supervised by Nosh.

  When Shilah walks in a little after noon looking for lunch, I tell him he’s on his own. I have my hands full.

  Ravi came in looking like death warmed over and spiking a fever as well, so he’s been relegated to the bedroom with a bucket of his own. Not really surprising, since Michael sleeps in the bunk above him.

  Ouray is calling Dr. Weinberg to see if he can make a house call, instead of trying to cart the boys over to the clinic. In the meantime, I’m deep cleaning the big room, starting with the TV area where the kids tend to congregate.

  It isn’t until I get back to the kitchen and see Shilah eating lunch at the table, I remember Brick saying he’d stop by.

  “Is Brick back? Should I make him something?”

  He looks up, the sandwich halfway to his mouth.

  “I haven’t seen him. I kinda thought maybe he’d gone home first or something. That’s weird.”

  That heavy cloud over me just got significantly darker.

  I grab my phone from my pocket and dial his number. It rings five times and hits voicemail. I try again with the same result.

  “Where’d he go?” I can hear the edge of panic in my own voice. “Brick?” I prompt Shilah who isn’t answering fast enough. “Where was he called to?”

  “Up at the reservoir.”

  I dart out the kitchen and slam into Ouray.

  “Hey, careful,” he says, grabbing me by the shoulders. “The doc is on his way.”

  I shake my head, willing myself to calm down, but I know in my bones something’s very wrong.

  “You need to find Brick.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Brick

  FUCK.

  I watch as three more men—two more armed with what looked like M16s hanging off their shoulders—step from the tree line. Dressed the same as guy number one, but with the distinct difference: these three have most of their faces covered with balaclavas.

  That’s not good. I can deal with one guy with a gun—maybe—but four is a different ballgame. My best course of action is to find out what they are after, because one thing I’m sure, they lured me out here for a reason.

  “Mr. Paver…”

  The only unarmed one of the three, a guy with a raspy voice, opens my door. He seems to expect me to get out so I comply.

  “What’s going on? I’m supposed to pick up a truck that ran off—”

  The openhanded bitch-slap stings my cheek and my hand automatically comes up to cover it. I flex my jaw.

  “We don’t play games, Mr. Paver. I strongly suggest you re
frain from doing so as well. You cooperate, this will be quick and you’ll soon be on your way.”

  Somehow I doubt that when I feel the cold steel of a gun pressed to the base of my neck.

  “Walk,” the guy behind me orders, and I take a step.

  The unarmed guy walks ahead and I do my best to go as slow as I can. Give myself time to think, because I’m not liking what I see when I look toward the end of the boat launch.

  “Fucking move,” the voice growls behind me.

  “I’ve got arthritis,” I lie. “My knees are bad.”

  “Maybe a bullet in the kneecap will help?”

  “No bullets,” the guy in front says.

  Well, at least that’s something, although, I have a feeling they wouldn’t hesitate should I try to get away. There’s an air of professionalism around these guys, like this is something they do on a regular basis.

  The other two guys take the cinderblocks off the mechanic’s creeper sitting at the end of the slope as we approach.

  “What is it you want?” I try again.

  “I have reason to believe you’re well aware, Mr. Paver. I caution you not to waste my time.” He gestures to the creeper, which I now see has ropes attached to it.

  My heart sinks; unfortunately I can see where this is going. The water in the reservoir would have cooled off significantly with the November we just had. It wouldn’t take much for hypothermia to set in.

  “Is this about my daughter?”

  “Very good,” he says in his raspy voice, and I have to clench my fists not to react to that patronizing tone. “Like I said, we can avoid a whole lot of unpleasantness if you simply tell us what we want to hear.”

  “If I knew whatever the fuck you’re looking for, I could.”

  This time it’s not a bitch-slap, it’s a fist, and it hurts like a sonofabitch. I lean forward and blood drips from my nose.

  I’d fucking fight to get away if there wasn’t a possibility they’d just go after Lisa next. The longer I can drag this out, the better the chance the brothers will clue in something is wrong, and I trust them to make sure she and the kids are safe.

  I’m pretty sure I still have the gun to my head when the two other goons walk up and take my arms. I keep my mouth shut and I’m not fighting, but I’ll be damned if I make it easy for them; I let my knees buckle so they have to carry me. I’m not a lightweight, probably close to two hundred and thirty pounds, and I derive some satisfaction from their grunts of effort.

  Of course the result is the same; they force me down on the creeper and boss guy pulls straps from his pocket. I panic when they pile the two cinder blocks on my chest and pull the straps through the holes before tying me down on the board, but with one of the guys sitting on my legs, strapping those down as well, there isn’t much I can do.

  “Last chance,” he says, getting up.

  “Fuck you.”

  One second I’m cursing him, the next I’m flying toward the water, and all I’m able to do is take in as much air as I can.

  It is indescribably cold—painful. I have to resist the urge to suck in a breath as I come to an abrupt stop, reaching the end of the rope. I open my eyes and can see the snow hitting the surface of the water just a few inches away.

  My lungs start burning and I let out the air a little at a time, watching as the last the bubbles break on the surface. An overwhelming sadness washes over me as I think of Finn, of Lisa and the kids.

  Then suddenly I’m moving. The moment I feel air on my head I suck in a breath, inhaling water with it. I cough to clear lungs that feel raw like open wounds. Blinking to clear tears and water from my eyes, a blurry masked face comes into view.

  “Where is it?”

  “I…I d-don’t know what you want!” I yell, the effort resulting in another coughing bout, even as the shakes take over my body.

  “The. Fucking. Key. Where is it?”

  He slaps my face again and again, but I’m already numb.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mumble.

  “Put him back in.”

  A second later I’m plunged into the water again. The cold this time not as painful. I try hard to empty my mind of everything while I’m under. Just as darkness starts pulling me down, I’m yanked to the surface again.

  The questions, then the hits, and I’m back underwater.

  I lose track of time, stopped feeling my body a while ago, and I have trouble thinking. The only thing I hear is the same question, over and over again, “Where is the key?”

  At some point I must’ve passed out when I feel a weight behind lifted from my chest. It takes too much effort to open my eyes, but I hear them talk.

  “…doesn’t know.”

  “What about the feds?”

  “Don’t be a moron, would they be sniffing around if they had that kinda intel? We’d a been nailed already. We need to find it before they do.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t have it, who does?”

  “That snooty bitch from accounting; Sophia. It’s fucking somewhere. We’ve got millions on the line, and time is running out.”

  I’m suddenly grabbed under my arms and pulled off the board. I hear my heels dragging over the dirt but I don’t feel anything.

  “You know it’s easier just to shoot him.”

  “Won’t look like a fucking accident with a bullet in his head, Einstein.”

  “What if he doesn’t drown?”

  “Hypothermia will do the trick. No one’s up here this time of year. With a bit of luck they won’t find him ’til spring.”

  Lisa

  “Lemon Reservoir.”

  Ouray swings on Shilah, covering his phone with his hand.

  “What time did he leave?”

  “He called me at nine fifteen,” I answer for him. “He said he’d just left.”

  Ouray looks up at the clock, but I already know it shows twelve forty. I’ve been counting seconds in my head. It’s all I know to do to keep from screaming. That darkness is no longer hovering over me; it’s invading me.

  He left almost three and a half hours ago.

  “Shilah, get Tse, close down the garage. Call the brothers; tell them armed. You, gun safe.” He tosses a set of keys at Wapi, who easily grabs them out of the air before heading to the office.

  The prospect runs out the door while Ouray gets on his phone, snapping details to someone on the other side. Nosh covers my hand with his and I turn to him. His face is one of sympathy.

  “He’ll be fine,” he says in his monotone rasp. “Ouray will find him.”

  I nod and grab on to the faith he offers. Brick will be okay. He has to be. Anything else is inconceivable.

  The door swings open and Shilah is back, with Tse in tow. Both men focus on Ouray, who is still pacing and talking on the phone.

  “Like fucking hell I’m gonna hang around, Sprite,” he barks. “Heading out now.”

  He shoves his phone in his pocket and turns just as Wapi holds out a gun and what looks like an assault rifle. Ouray stuffs the one in his waistband and slings the other over his shoulder.

  “Chief,” Shilah pipes up. “Got a hold of Yuma, he’s on his way here.”

  “Good. Get back on the phone and locate the others. Tse, with me. Wapi, you and Shilah have the clubhouse. I’ll be in touch.” Then he walks over to me, bends down, and kisses my forehead. “Gonna find him, Lisa. Gonna bring him back.”

  Then his long strides take him out the door, Tse close behind him.

  Ouray

  I let Tse drive.

  His fucking NASCAR skills come in handy as he flies through town, narrowly avoiding hitting anyone.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Ouray,” Luna snaps in my ear. Should’ve known she’d call me back after I hung up on her at the clubhouse. “We’re getting on the road now. Ramirez was near the hospital, but he’s making his way up there and he’s putting Fire and Rescue on standby. Station Three is closest.”

  “Good.”

  “
We could be overreacting. For all we know his truck broke down.”

  “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Could be bad reception up there,” she counters.

  “Or not. Got a bad feeling about this, Sprite.”

  It’s quiet for a second before she answers.

  “Me too. How’s Lisa?”

  Tse takes a sudden left and I brace myself when the back of my truck starts fishtailing precariously. The snow has mostly stopped falling but the roads are a mess. It gets hairy for a moment before he straightens it out. I glance over to catch him grinning at me.

  Fucking lunatic.

  “Stoic,” I answer Luna. “I got the bad vibe from her.”

  “Shit. Let me call Lissie, see if she can head up to the clubhouse.”

  “She may already be there. Yuma was on his way.” The phone buzzes against my ear with another call. “Gotta go. Got another call.”

  I take a quick look at the screen to see Kaga calling.

  “Talk to me.”

  “I’m right behind you…” I glance over my shoulder and spot him. “…and tell Tse to keep his fucking hands on the wheel before he wipes us all out.”

  “Will do.” I hang up and mutter at Tse, “If you could keep us alive I’d be much obliged.”

  “Doin’ my best.”

  I guess that’ll have to be good enough.

  I’m trying to imagine what we’ll encounter. Thankfully, I geared out the truck after the first snowfall. You don’t drive winters in the mountains without a survival kit. Thermal blankets, an emergency warmer pack, shovel, ropes, gloves, extra clothes, and a first aid kit.

  We’re passing the dam on the left and I’m keeping my eyes peeled.

  “Somebody drove out of here not too long ago. South.”

  Tse points at the faint imprint coming toward us in the opposite lane.

  “There. They came from the campsite.”

  We follow the tracks on the narrow road between the pines until we break through the tree line.

  About twenty yards into the reservoir only the top foot or so of the cab of Brick’s black tow truck is sticking out of the water.