by Debra Kayn
By day three, he wouldn't even recognize the president of Avery Falls Motorcycle Club.
"Were you able to lock everyone in the clubhouse?" asked Keenan.
They'd agreed Trip and Speeder would go to the cabin during the switch because they needed somewhere safe, away from their families. Prez would take care of himself, away from the clubhouse, for his protection. The others would be locked in the clubhouse, where Keenan would check on them periodically.
"Who gives a shit about them." Prez stopped. "Every man for himself."
Keenan shook his head. "That's not you talking."
"You don't know who the fuck I am." Prez approached him, shoving him back until the wall stopped him. "In the end, it won't matter, man. Not you. Not me. Not the club."
He wasn't going to argue with him. There were moments during the switch when he leaned toward self-preservation, and the club was the last thing on his mind. He wasn't sure if there would be any loyalty afterward. While he remembered every detail of the last eighteen years, he battled between what he was and what the AB Project created.
He'd kill before he allowed someone else to kill him.
But that was exactly what the controller wanted, so maybe the project succeeded.
Maybe he was only a smarter, more skilled, better-enhanced version of himself. But, somehow, he highly doubted others would see him that way. What he'd done in his past was unforgettable and would follow him to his grave.
"You need to go into hiding. Tie yourself up if you need to. We can't have you around the locals. They'll know something is up." He opened the door. "Forget about the club. I'll do what I can to make sure the others survive."
"I'm losing it, man," said Prez, painfully. "I'm trying."
Keenan inhaled deeply, familiar with the strength it would take to make it through to the end. There were no promises. Nobody to help them. How this turned out would be solely on Prez's shoulders.
"Take this." Prez reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out his cell phone. "The others will need you."
He shook his head. "I can't help them after they've switched over."
Prez tossed the phone on the couch and walked out of the house. Keenan locked the door, barring it from the inside and making it impossible for Grace to get out.
Taking the phone, he slipped it into his pocket. The calls would come. But he wouldn't answer them. The others would beg for death, but he wouldn't be the one who pulled the trigger.
Instead of going to bed, he sat on the couch and leaned over, bracing his elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands. It wouldn't be much longer, and the others would not only learn about themselves but would see him for who he was. They'd use the knowledge they'd gained from recovering their past to find out who he was and get the details on every member in AFMC.
It was part of their need to protect themselves. They needed to know who their enemies were, including their MC brothers.
He wasn't afraid of dying.
He was afraid of living. The self-control he'd gained over the time he lived in Avery Falls was no longer a part of him.
He was weak.
His demons were too powerful.
It was only a matter of time before he reverted to his former self. His addictions fueled his body.
He'd rid himself of the alcohol in the house. There were no drugs available.
But Grace was his new drug of choice. Hell, if he hadn't had the gym at his disposal earlier, he would've taken Grace—with or without her permission.
His obsession with Grace had nothing to do with not having sex for the last year. Sex was an easy problem to remedy. All he had to do was ride into town and look up J.J.
But that's not who he wanted.
A soft cry came from the other side of the house. He walked toward the sound, knowing where it was coming from before he reached his bedroom.
He'd given Grace his room while he'd crashed in the spare room for a couple of hours each night.
The hallway light bled into the room. Grace, on her side, hugged the pillow, moaning in her sleep. He stepped into the doorway, blocking the light. With his enhancements, he could see in the dark as well as the daylight.
"Amelia." Grace curled tighter on the bed. "Don't go. Mom. Stay with me."
He tilted his head, trying to make sense of what she was saying in her dream. She called out to her mom. Was she abandoned? Given up on?
Did she have that in common with him?
Grace's expression changed. Her lower lip came out, and her brows lowered.
His chest tightened as if in a vice. He'd experienced that vulnerability, though he couldn't remember a time in his life where he'd cried out or shown anyone his pain.
Grace's lips parted, and her chin trembled on a whine. No one had protected him.
He wasn't abandoned. He was simply not wanted. His mother had done everything in her power to abort him because her addictions meant more to her. She'd poisoned his body before he even took his first breath and set him up for a painful life led by his cravings.
There was no comfort. No protection. No support.
Not that he ever knew his mother. He was taken away at the hospital and enrolled in a system that only fed his need to escape.
From the moment he was born, he was on his own. His childhood was a nightmare. He'd stepped into adulthood at twelve years old, swearing never to let anyone close to him.
A tear fell, sliding over the bridge of Grace's nose. Without touching her, he captured the drop of moisture on his finger. He brought her tear to his mouth.
His throat closed as the saltiness tainted the tip of his tongue.
Before he gave it any thought of what the fuck he was doing, he stretched out beside her on the bed, watching over her until her mind calmed and her struggles ceased. Then, perplexed by the emotions she easily displayed while awake and asleep, he greedily fed his fascination with her.
She was like no one else. A bundle of reactions.
She overwhelmed him. His first thought was to flee and get far away from her.
But something deeper kept him close to her, refusing to let her leave.
Chapter Twelve
"We paid good money to stay here." Ryan Buckley, a returning tourist, led the other campers in their complaint. "We've already put a deposit down on the rafts—"
"And the bikes," added a woman from the back of the group.
Ryan pointed his finger toward the river. "How are we going to fish without getting out on the water?"
"I understand." Keenan turned his back on the crowd and unlocked the door to The Shack.
Johnny had disappeared after getting Hank in the clubhouse with the others. Considering yesterday his MC brother had ridden up to the clubhouse and tried to break down the gate to get to the others locked inside, and then roared out of town on his Harley, Keenan wasn't expecting Johnny to return until he'd fully gone through the switch.
Even then, the chances of him returning were slim.
Stepping aside, he motioned toward the inside of the small building. "Take what you rented."
"What about the fishing equipment?" Ryan stubbornly crossed his arms. "We paid for two tackle boxes, three poles, and bait."
"It's all inside." He hitched his chin. "Get what you need for the day."
With the club in chaos and everyone locked down as they dealt with the ramifications of what the Alpha Bio Project had done to them—some of them for two decades—it was up to him to make sure the town continued running.
He was only one man. He couldn't be everywhere.
Some things would need to shut down. Like the diner. He had nobody who could cook for a town full of hungry campers since Steven was locked up.
Hell, he could barely take care of his personal life, and he'd gone through the changes on his own. With everyone suffering out of view of the public, he had no one to watch over Grace. The added pressure made him short-tempered with the tourists.
Trained to run each part of the
mountain town and provide a living for the club and a steady income for the locals, he knew what needed to be done. But to keep everything open and running, he needed the support of his MC brothers.
He slipped past the tourists looking over the inventory. The loss of money, if they took advantage of the situation, was the least of his concerns.
Checking the register, he took the handful of money left in the till and shoved it in his pocket. He'd need to come back later and make sure all the equipment was brought in and lock the door.
He rode over to the store and parked beside the entrance. Going inside, he found J.J. at the third cash register. She turned her head, spotting him.
Dipping his chin, he approached her. Before the switch, stopping in and seeing her was a common occurrence.
"Hey, sweetie." J.J. leaned against the front of him. "Long time, no see. How was your trip back to see your relatives?"
"Fine." He glanced around, making sure the customers waiting in line remained clueless to his conversation. "Do me a favor and put the profits for the next several days in the safe. Someone from the club will pick it up later."
J.J. scanned two more items and put them in the bag before glancing at him again. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah," he whispered.
"The club?"
He nodded.
She squinted, studying him. J.J. was a local who hung out with the bikers. As much time as she spent on her back in bed, she remained unaware of the Alpha Bio Project. No one except the Avery Falls Motorcycle Club members who participated knew what was going on.
J.J. helped load the bags back into Mrs. Finley's cart and sent the customer on her way. Then, she faced him.
She leaned her hip against the counter. "You never even told me you were leaving, and then you're gone for a year."
"I had family business to take care of," he repeated the lie.
"You're such a mystery." She tilted her head. "You've never mentioned family before."
He shrugged. "Not much to say."
J.J. was a good woman. She'd treated him right through the years. At one time, she'd talked about only seeing him, but he had no desire to tie himself down with a woman. While in the project, he lacked the emotions needed to have a relationship. It was only after the switch that he understood why men would pair with a woman and want to take care of them.
Understanding and wanting were two different things.
"Can I see you tonight?" she asked.
"Nah, not tonight. I'm busy." He stepped back. "I need to get going."
"Hey." She stepped toward him. "Where is everyone? Practically everything is closed. I tried to grab a coffee this morning at the diner, and Steven wasn't there. Robin came in about an hour ago and mentioned she's not working there for the rest of the week. She said something about maintenance on the building required them to close."
"I just got back to Avery Falls, so I don't know much about it." He reached the sliding door. "I'll talk to you later."
Leaving before she could ask him more questions, he got on his Harley and rode toward home. The way the day was going, he'd probably arrive back at the house to find Grace gone.
An ATV rider buzzed down the road, going over the speed limit. He gazed in his side mirror. It was an accident waiting to happen.
On a whim, he cut his ride short and took the forestry road up to Sether Mountain. He'd made the trip multiple times a day since being brought to Avery Falls. In the dark. In the daytime. Sometimes, he walked away rejuvenated and strong. Other times, he dragged himself home, beaten and drugged, not knowing what was done to him.
From what Trip told him about the implosion, he needed to see the mountain for himself. It was up to him to save the club. To do that, he needed to know every detail.
Maybe the others had missed something important that would clue him in on what was happening or what would happen to the others after the switch.
If Grace had escaped, his freedom would be cut short. And if she were still locked up in the house, she'd need to wait until he finished club business.
He left the asphalt and rode over the gravel road the rest of the way. The dead-end brought him to the base of the mountain. He shut off the engine and walked to the left, through the brush. Rounding the first tree, he stared at the once darkened entrance.
The blocked entry piled with granite boulders and limestone barred anyone from entering. He studied the edge of what was once a tunnel. If he hadn't worked inside the cave, he never would've known that an opening in the side of the mountain provided them privacy and an opportunity to train the others.
He put his hand up on the rocks. The pile shifted, sending white powder down to cover his black boots.
Trip had mentioned an explosion. It wasn't a cave-in.
Why would those in charge of the Alpha Bio Project erase the program? Why would they switch the members and yet leave them with their enhancements?
He walked back to his motorcycle, hoping the answers would come to him.
Right now, he needed to get back to Grace.
Chapter Thirteen
The door rattled. Grace shoved the piece of paper and pen under the couch and righted herself. During the hours she had alone, she'd found a pen and tablet in the junk drawer in the kitchen and spent the time writing out a message for help. Then, she'd pried the strip of rubber off the bottom of the front door and slid each piece of paper outside in hopes a breeze would scatter the messages and someone would discover Keenan kidnapped her and look inside the house.
The almost fruitless attempt was her last hope. She had no other ideas, and the contents of his house had little to pique her imagination.
She only hoped Keenan hadn't found one of the messages as he'd approached the house.
Heavy footsteps thunked against the floor. She swallowed hard, hoping her activity wasn't showing on her face.
Goosebumps covered her arms, tightening her shoulders. She stared at the television on the wall, even though it was off.
A hand slid under her hair, skimming her nape. A shiver rolled through her. Rough fingers tightened around her neck. The lump in her throat grew. Keenan usually went out of his way not to touch her, and when he had, he seemed angrier than having an ulterior motive.
He covered her mouth with his hand. Panicked, she reached up to peel his fingers away when he yanked her head backward. She gawked up into an unfamiliar face.
Realizing it wasn't Keenan in the house, touching her, she screamed. The sound blasted against the man's palm.
"Quiet." The man put his lips against her ear and dragged her over the back of the couch until she stood in front of him. "Don't scream, or I'll kill you."
Lightheaded, she struggled to breathe through her nose. Who was this man?
He slowly let go of her mouth. She sucked in air, then lost her breath when he shoved her into the couch. She folded over the back, grabbing onto the upholstery.
"Where is he?" asked the man.
She gulped, trying to control her body. How could someone else get in the house when Keenan locked her inside?
The man grabbed her hair, jerking her back and bending her neck to a painful angle. He put his face six inches from her face.
His nostrils flared in anger through the hardness in his features. She shrank away from the harshness of his stale breath.
He shook her. "Where's Keenan?"
"I-I don't know."
He roared, flinging her across the room like a forgotten rag doll. She fell against the floor. Pain pounded her body. She stayed down, afraid to get up and anger him more.
The man walked out of the room. He slammed cabinets, rattled drawers in the kitchen, and angrily grunted as he appeared to destroy the place. She flinched with each violent act.
Crawling to the front door, she pulled herself up by the handle and wiggled the lock, praying it would miraculously open. That some higher power or guardian angel was going to protect her.
"Where does he keep his guns?" said the man.
After wanting Keenan to let her go and leave her alone, she wished he'd return. With him, he never physically hurt her.
The man darted down the hallway, out of her view. She rushed to the window, plastering herself against the glass. In all the days locked in the house, no one had driven by. She suspected Keenan lived on a dead-end road.
But it would only take one person out for a walk or exploring the area. Only one person needed to see her begging for help or find one of her notes floating in the breeze.
Only one person to save her.
Only one person.
She fisted her hands and pressed them against the glass. Her soul cried out in silence.
A movement down the road caught her attention. Strength filled her, making her stronger. She raised onto her tiptoes. It took everything in her to refrain from beating on the glass.
Hope escalated within her at the sight of a biker riding toward the house. He was too far away to see if it was Keenan, but she'd even take the other bikers she'd seen outside the house on occasion over the man inside, wreaking havoc through each room as he searched for weapons.
When he found out there was nothing in the house, he'd probably take his anger out on her.
She made out a dark blond beard on the rider, then sunlight hit the long hair, blowing in the wind. Recognizing the large, solid body on top of the motorcycle, she waved her hands frantically for Keenan to hurry. If anyone could stop the strange man inside the house from killing her, it would be him.
Her knuckles accidentally tapped the glass. She muffled her cry of fear at making noise and looked over her shoulder to see if the man had heard her. A fist flew toward her, and she had no time to duck. The shock turned to impact and then pain as she crumbled to the floor.
The idea of Keenan saving her fled. She only had herself.
Turning her face away from the pain, she scrambled to sit, pressing herself against the wall. The man grabbed her by her hair, dragging her to her feet. She grabbed his wrist, pulling on his arm, trying to escape the pain radiating through her scalp.
