by Debra Kayn
"We could put everyone up in the clubhouse," said Prez.
"It's better if they're apart and in their own houses." He rolled his lips over his teeth, trying to plan. "They'll turn on each other."
Prez heaved a sigh. "I want my club together."
"We'll do what we can to save everyone." Trip lowered his voice. "I need to know, though, if I'll be a danger to my family?"
Keenan nodded. "Find somewhere else to stay."
"Speeder's got a woman and his daughter to care for at home. We can't allow him to put them in danger," added Prez.
"He'll need to leave his house and get away from them." He cracked his neck. "The originals can't go to the clubhouse with the others, though."
Prez cleared his throat. "We could send—"
"They can go up to the cabin, where I was staying." He looked at Trip. "There's water up there, but you'll want to pack food with you. The meat I've collected will go bad soon. Bring a pack."
"Weapons?" asked Trip.
He shook his head. "No weapons. Nothing you can hurt yourself or others with."
"Jesus." Trip stood. "I'm going home to be with Bonnie and the boys while I can. I'll get Speeder in the morning and explain what's going on. Hopefully, if everything goes smoothly, we can get out of Avery Falls by noon. Where am I going?"
Keenan went to put his hands in his vest pockets and patted his stomach. He hadn't worn the leather since he got switched. "Go up to Feral Mountain, cross on the south side, following the old logging road. Continue northwest—"
"Toward Taft?"
"Not that far. You're not going to cross into Montana. Do you remember the endurance race we did when the AB project enhanced our breathing?"
"The forty-eight-hour trip?"
He nodded. "You're going to go over the next ridge. There will be a stream you have to cross. Keep going up. You might find an animal trail, or you might not. Keep going. If you're pushing at full strength, it'll take you about twenty minutes to get up that last ridge. There will be an old miner's cabin. You'll stay there."
"We'll take the ATV."
"It's best if you don't." There were many times that if he would've had a vehicle, he would've driven himself off the side of the mountain. "It'll be one more thing you can use against yourself."
Trip studied Keenan. He squeezed his MC brother's shoulder, reassuring him that it was the only way to handle the switch. He'd given him as much as he could without telling him the truth of what was to come. To do so would make things worse.
Prez got up and walked to the door. "Come to the clubhouse early."
"I will." Keenan stepped back
Prez stopped in front of him. "The girl?"
"I'll lock her up. She won't be a problem."
They walked out of the house. Trip stopped and whispered under his breath. "Do you want me to send J.J. over, or are you good?"
He'd gone a year without sex. J.J. usually entertained him enough to get his nut off before he sent her home. His sexual needs were strong. Normally, any woman would do.
Except, he'd gone a year without any physical contact, and he had no craving at the moment.
"I'm good." He shut the door and turned the lock. Grace was in his bed. He needed sleep before he dealt with the club tomorrow.
But first, he needed to figure out a way to secure the bedroom. He couldn't have her escaping while he rested.
Chapter Eight
Coming out of a dream that she was home, snuggled in her familiar bed, the aroma of bacon wafting through the air was the worst way to wake up.
Grace clutched the blanket to her chest, wanting to slip back into a world she knew and loved.
"Eat." Her kidnapper poked her shoulder.
She pried open her eyes as he set a plate of eggs and bacon on the bed beside her. Her stomach rumbled at the cuisine.
"I need to take off, but I can't until you eat, and I know you won't pass out again."
Ignoring her strange surroundings—that appeared normal at first glance, she picked up the fork and shoveled food into her mouth. He handed her a glass of orange juice. She snapped up the drink and drained half the contents before taking a breath.
The man frowned. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and continued eating. Her pride was gone. She was starving.
The crispy bacon, over-easy eggs, and orange golden sunshine stimulated her appetite more than unknown meat on the bone stored in a hole in the ground.
He left the room and returned with a glass of water. She finished the third egg and picked up the last piece of bacon before he could take it away from her.
"Slow down," he muttered.
She chewed. "Where am I?"
"My house."
"In Avery Falls?" The memories of last night and arriving in town, being carried inside the house, brought a heaviness to her stomach, and she swallowed.
"Yes."
"Can I leave?"
"No." He picked up the empty plate.
She bounded out of bed. Dizziness hit her. She swayed, grabbing the back of his shirt to keep from falling. "Bathroom?"
He pointed outside the room. She let go, following him while finishing the orange juice. He took the glass from her in the hallway and motioned with his chin toward the open doorway. She stepped inside and shut the door.
Her urgency to use the toilet won out over trying to escape. While she finished, a rumbling vibration came through the walls. She hurried and washed her hands, her face, her arms, her neck. Wanting to clean the filth of the last several days off her, she couldn't get clean enough. All she'd accomplished was making the dust turn to mud and smearing it over her.
She used the hanging towel to clean as much of the dirt off her and then left the bathroom. Following the noise, she found her kidnapper using a battery-powered screw-gun on the door. A quick study to see what he was doing left her miserable again.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Putting a lock on the door." He flipped a lever and slid a keyed padlock through the mechanism, checking the fit. "You'll need to stay here while I take care of business. The doors will be locked."
She gazed at the window.
"You won't be able to get out. One of my brothers is guarding the house. The locks are just to make his job easier."
She rubbed her bare arms. "How will you get back in?"
The thought of him locking her in the house alone for who-knew-how-long scared her more than who was outside the house watching her. There could be a fire or a gas leak. How would she get out?
"The lock is on the outside of the door, leading into the garage. I'll lock you in when I leave and be able to unlock it when I get home." He stepped over to the couch, picked up a leather vest, and slid it on.
Her spine stiffened. Until that second, she had forgotten about the men wearing leather vests last night upon their arrival.
She looked at the front of his chest, scanning over the patches, and zeroed in on the one over his heart. Keenan
From what she knew about bikers, they went by road names. Butch, Spade, Greaser, Devil, Dirtbag.
Keenan seemed like a normal name. It would be easier for the police to find him if she had his first name when she escaped.
"There's food in the kitchen. Eat whatever you want." His gaze wandered to her chest and something flickered in his eyes. "Take a shower. I'll be back later."
He pulled on the lock again and grunted, satisfied that it would hold.
She stared at him in disbelief. Take a shower? Seriously?
Looking around the room, and back at the door, she gritted her teeth. He'd put some thought behind keeping her here.
There was no way he could've anticipated her arrival at the cabin. She was following general directions and staying on paths, using the GPS on her phone. Even she hadn't known where she'd end up.
So why had he planned out how to secure his house so that she couldn't escape?
He walked out of the room, disappearing into the kitchen. She s
tepped over to the front window. Several seconds later, Keenan walked onto the driveway and sat on a motorcycle.
She glared. He walked around cocky for someone who, seconds ago, locked a woman in the house.
A biker approached the house wearing the same vest and parked in the driveway. Avery Falls Motorcycle Club.
She pursed her lips. The name of the group seemed innocent, like the mountain town. She knew differently. They were probably all criminals who condoned kidnapping women. She'd heard the horror stories in other parts of the United States. Women went missing. People were shot. Street wars broke out.
The only bikers she'd known went to Bayside Bar in Cannon Beach. The locals steered clear of them. The tourists were hesitant to approach the building because of the number of motorcycles parked outside.
While her sister had expressed her fascination over the rough and rude men decked out in leather who seemed to flip their middle finger up at everyone around them, she tried her best to ignore they existed in the sleepy beach town.
She could live without the catcalls, the revved engines every time they rode past, and the leering looks.
Glaring at Keenan and the other biker, she knew deep in her heart she was looking at the baddest of the bad.
Avery Falls was a lie. A recreational hub in the Bitterroot Mountains was a cover for more dangerous activities. Like kidnapping women.
She glared at them through the window, hoping their wheels exploded.
Several minutes later, Keenan rode off. His motorcycle club brother stayed in the driveway, sitting on his black bike. She moved over to the door and yanked on the lock. The contraption never budged.
Knowing Keenan had left through the back door, she went in search of the exit. In the kitchen, elation filled her, seeing no lock on the door. She twisted the hand and pulled, pushed, and then kicked. The door wouldn't budge.
Not wasting time, she moved through the house, taking stock of everything she could use to help her escape or use as a weapon.
There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms—one in the master bedroom—one off the hallway, which she'd already used. The furnishings were slim. She'd met bachelors who had a more outfitted house than Keenan.
There were no knickknacks sitting around. No sign of a woman living in the bedroom. Not even a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Though, she had found a half-full box of condoms in the drawer of the end table by the bed.
She shivered. He was so large. She had a hard time imagining someone not being intimidated by the size of his dick.
The most dangerous possession he had in his closet was a snow measuring stick that people use in areas where avalanches were a danger. She decided to leave it there and look for something that would cause more damage as a weapon.
Retracing her steps, she returned to the kitchen. Going through the drawers, she found forks, butter knives, and spoons. She slammed the cabinet door shut. There wasn't even a steak knife in the house.
Escaping through the window was her only option. She'd need to break the glass and climb out.
Deciding not to climb over the sink, she went to the first bedroom at the back of the house. If she could slip out without the biker in the front noticing, she stood a chance at making it to her Jeep and riding out of town.
The town of Avery Falls had only a few buildings along the river. There was one main street. At the entrance of the township, a bridge welcomed visitors. It couldn't be too hard to find her way there.
She shoved back the curtain, flipped the flimsy lock in the middle of the window, and yanked. One of her fingernails bent backward. She muffled her groan, sticking the end of her ring finger in her mouth.
She'd unlocked the window. Why wouldn't it open?
Studying the glass, the frame, she found a screw embedded in the bottom track, keeping the window from opening.
Going to every window at the back of the house, she found each one rigged not to open.
Frustrated, she couldn't even get into the garage to find a screwdriver; she walked into the kitchen. Her gaze zeroed in on the drawers.
Hope blossomed inside of her as she started opening and shutting each one again, sure she'd spotted a junk drawer before. She prayed Keenan was like everyone else in the world and had a spare screwdriver hidden amongst rubber bands, take-out menus, and decks of cards.
Bingo!
She rifled through the items. Protein mixes. Dishwasher pods. Pencils. Empty cash bags—he probably robbed banks when he wasn't kidnapping women.
She slammed the drawer shut in disappointment. Of course, Keenan wasn't normal.
In case she was wrong, and he kept the tool in a different area of the house, she checked the cabinets and under the sink again. Finding a skillet in the sink from the breakfast he'd made, she fingered the handle and lifted, testing its weight.
She glanced behind her, though the biker outside had no way of seeing her, much less reading her mind. This could be her only chance to escape.
If she busted a window, the biker would hear. But what if he never noticed?
She walked into the living room. Keenan had a TV.
Searching for the remote, she found it next to the receiver box. She turned it on, flipping through the channels. Nothing worked.
She bit her bottom lip. It appeared he wasn't hooked up to satellite or cable, or maybe he dropped his service. Tossing the remote toward the couch, her attention went to the stereo sitting on the floor beside a wooden rocker.
Stepping over, she squatted down and pressed the power button. The blue lights on the display came on. Her heart raced as she quickly discovered a CD in the player. Cranking the volume to max, she stood. Would it be loud enough to cover the sound of broken glass? Could the biker outside even hear the music with the doors and windows shut?
She picked up the pan and went to the master bedroom. It was the room at the end of the hall. She could see a huge pole building at the back of the yard. If she could get behind the structure, she could hide. Then, she could figure out where to go next.
Her hands shook. She had no idea if it would break a window until she tried taking a whack at the glass.
Afraid of cutting herself but more afraid of failing, she used her fear to aid her efforts. She held the handle like a baseball player holding a bat, prepared to hit a home run. Swinging with all her strength, she closed her eyes, anticipating the window shattering.
At contact, the pan bounced out of her hands. Pain ricocheted through her palms and into her wrists. She opened her eyes, expecting to see shards of glass littering the floor in front of her, and gawked at the spider vein etched in the window. Not a single piece had fallen out.
She picked up the pan and hit it again, getting a six-inch shard loose. Prying it out of the frame with her bare hand, she worked diligently.
Swing, hit, pick. Swing, hit, pick. The work went painstakingly slow. It would take her too long to make a hole in the window large enough for her body to fit through.
The music blaring through the house changed. Energy flowed through her at Kurt Cobain, belting out the lyrics of Lithium. With the pot suspended over Grace's right shoulder, she wondered if Keenan was a Nirvana fan.
She broke off the last big piece in the pane. Dropping the pot, she pushed the bed closer to the wall and scampered up on the mattress. It was a short five-foot drop to the ground. She peered out at the building. It wouldn't take her long to sprint across the yard, where she would have more options on where to hide.
Fresh air hit her face. She threw her leg over the sill, careful not to cut herself, and squeezed through the window opening. Freedom in sight, she dropped to the ground. A bubble of excitement filled.
Chapter Nine
Keenan parked his Harley beside Ruger's motorcycle in the driveway. He'd left his MC brother outside the house for the sole purpose of staying put and watching Grace.
"Where the fuck are you?" he whispered, expecting an answer.
Silence greeted him. Ruger was barely out of the pr
ospect position and hadn't received all his training from the Alpha Bio Project. He wouldn't have his hearing enhancement yet.
He dug through his duffle, found the automatic garage door opener, and pushed the remote. Jogging toward the garage, he realized his mistake.
Ruger wasn't qualified to watch over Grace. He wanted someone to visually keep her in sight and within enhanced hearing distance. As it was, Ruger wouldn't be able to tell what the fuck was going on in the house from outside.
He unlocked the door and pushed into the kitchen. A slight pulse filled his ears, and he followed the sensation.
Grace sat on the couch with Ruger standing near the window across the room. He glanced at his MC brother and lifted his chin, motioning him to leave. Now that he knew Grace was safe in the house, he could handle her himself.
Ruger walked up to him. "She busted out your bedroom window. I had Steven come over and board it up from the outside, but you'll want to get that fixed if you plan on keeping her."
A muscle in his cheek twitched. He stared at Grace. Not surprised to learn she'd tried to escape; he'd need to do something about her always wanting to leave.
She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
The door leading to the garage closed. As soon as he was alone with Grace, she jumped up.
"He dragged me through the window." She held up her arm and pointed at her elbow. "That's from him."
She had a small nick on her skin. He stepped closer, grabbed her arm, and held it up higher.
Her wound wasn't deep enough to require a Band-Aid. It was merely a scratch.
"What are you going to do about it?" She pushed him. "Go...punch him or shoot him!"
He cocked his head. She had no reason to believe he'd do her bidding. He wasn't trained that way.
A growl erupted out of his throat, and he walked into the kitchen, leaving her behind. He'd had a hard enough day explaining in detail what would happen during the switch to the first batch of men. Tomorrow, he had to do the same thing to the remaining members of the club.
