Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Fuck no you didn’t,” Jigsaw growls. He turns to me. “Search the house. I’ll work on him.”

  Martin’s big, round eyes dance between Jigsaw and me, clearly trying to decide which one of us will inflict the most pain.

  “No, he’s mine.” I barely recognize the savagery in my own voice.

  “He hurt my brother’s girl,” Jigsaw says against my ear. “Let me handle this for you. You need to focus on finding Shelby. First thing she’s gonna wanna see is your face. Not my ugly mug.”

  I nod quickly, taking a step back to give Jiggy’s vicious side some room to work.

  Jigsaw holds the bolt cutters in front of Martin’s face and makes a snip, snip motion. “Hope you know your ABCs, motherfucker.”

  The veins in Martin’s neck bulge as he strains and jerks his head from side-to-side. The effort of trying to free himself leaves him panting and sweat rolling down his forehead.

  “That’s right,” Jigsaw says in a hollow voice, “I’m about to break your bones in alphabetical order and floss my teeth with your tendons.”

  Behind us, Pants chuckles. “Yeah, brother.”

  I pat Jigsaw’s shoulder before leaving the kitchen.

  I’d been so focused on Martin, I hadn’t noticed Ice and T-Bone leaving the kitchen. They must be searching the rest of the house. I meet them in the darkened hallway.

  “Nothing.” Frustration bleeds into Ice’s voice.

  “Another bedroom’s over here.” T-Bone points to an open door. “I think her trunk—”

  He doesn’t even finish his sentence before I rush past him.

  Inside the room, I stop dead.

  It’s Shelby’s trunk all right but it’s empty. Lid open. Nothing inside. I stare into it as if I have the power to will it into giving up its secrets.

  “Fuck.” I jab my hands through my hair, yanking on the ends, while my gaze frantically bounces over every surface. Bed, neatly made up. Rug. Nothing out of place. No signs of a struggle.

  Where is she?

  I run to the kitchen, muscling Jiggy out of my way. Lifting my foot, I slam it into Martin’s thigh, sending the chair sliding sideways. “Her trunk’s here. Where is she?”

  In the short time I was gone, Jigsaw’s worked him over pretty good. Not with the bolt cutters—yet. But Jiggy’s fists are plenty lethal. Especially when he’s on a rampage.

  Martin smiles at me, his split lip bleeding onto his tan pants. “You’ll never find her.”

  “Playtime is over.” Jigsaw lifts the bolt cutters. “Pants, grab his hand.”

  “No!” Martin screams.

  “Start with his pinkies.” I slap Jigsaw on the back and return to the bedroom.

  She’s gotta be here somewhere.

  “Shelby!” I close my eyes and listen.

  Nothing but Martin’s screams.

  “Shut him up for a second!” I shout.

  The screaming cuts off with gurgling yelp.

  Ice’s shoulder brushes mine. “Did you see a basement?” I ask him.

  “Yo!” he shouts. “This place got a basement?”

  “No!” Jigsaw shouts a few seconds later. Guess the loss of a pinky finger motivated Martin to start answering some questions.

  I stomp into the bathroom and rip the shower curtain aside.

  Nothing.

  She’s too big to fit in the cabinets but I check them anyway. Linen closet too.

  The screaming from the kitchen resumes—although a bit muffled now. Combined with the harsh questions from Pants, and Jigsaw’s crazed laughter, it’s one hell of a psychotic symphony.

  Coming out of the bathroom, my eyes zero in on the bed. The wooden frame extends all the way to the floor. No way to hide a person underneath.

  Ice flings open a slim door. A shallow closet—barely the depth of a normal-sized hanger. With ruthless focus, Ice tears clothes out of his way and tosses them on the bedroom floor. Next, he sweeps his arm across the shelf and dumps several shoe boxes on top of the clothes.

  Together, we search for any sort of hidden space or doorway—tapping on the walls, brushing our hands over the shelf and above the door.

  Just an ordinary closet.

  My gaze drops to the shiny hardwood floor of the bedroom, then shifts to the carpeted closet floor.

  Odd choice of flooring.

  I pull my knife out and rip up the carpet.

  Well, fuck me.

  There’s a small square in the floor with a pull ring that fits flat against a recess in the surface so it’s easily concealed under the carpet. “Motherfucker.”

  Bracing myself for whatever’s inside, I pry the door open and drop to my belly. As I shove my face into the hidey-hole, my vision’s immediately swallowed by the darkness. “Shelby?”

  No answer.

  Ice hands me a small flashlight and I use it to illuminate the dark space. All four sides are carpeted. A small stack of books, a pillow, a scratchy-looking blanket, and a bottle of water are arranged neatly in the corner. Waiting to welcome a new prisoner or left from a previous captive?

  “What the…?” I whisper. I pull my head out of the space and sit on my heels. “He’s kept someone in there. Or he was planning to. It’s empty now.”

  “Who is this sick fucker?” Ice takes my place and checks out the hiding spot.

  I press my hands against the dresser next to me. It groans as I shove it sideways. I search the dusty floor and the wall the dresser had been leaning against. No hidden panels or doors.

  Together, Ice and I move almost every piece of furniture, toss each throw rug, and scour every available inch of the hardwood floor for hidden latches or panels.

  No more hidey-holes.

  My gaze lands on the bed again. It looks solid. Heavy. Thick wood with broad, black iron accents.

  “Help me flip this thing.” I nod to the bed.

  “Bro,” Pants says from the doorway. “He swears she’s not here. Says he left her somewhere else and we’re not gonna find her.”

  “What do you want to do?” Ice asks me.

  “She’s in this house. Somewhere. She has to be. He didn’t have time to stash her somewhere else and make it all the way out here.” Actually, I have no idea if that’s true or not. “I’m not leaving until I’ve turned this place inside out. Why leave her somewhere else and hide here by himself?” I gesture toward the kitchen. “Who was he eating dinner with? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Good points.” Ice gestures to the hallway. “Let’s keep searching.”

  Pants wanders over to the closet and peers inside. “What the fuck’s that?”

  Ignoring him, I press my palms to the bed’s wooden frame and start shoving. At first, it won’t budge. Ice scrambles over to help me push. Then I realize, the top of the bed is moving. The underneath isn’t.

  “Shit!” I drop my hands from the bed and fall to my knees, tugging on the two black O-rings on the side of the bottom part of the bed. It’s a separate piece that easily rolls out on two steel tracks.

  …You remind me of a soft, tiny rabbit. Cautious, yet unaware of the dangers that surround vulnerable creatures in need of the safety of a cage.

  The final letter he sent Shelby.

  He wasn’t joking or waxing poetic about putting her in a cage.

  Through the thick, black metal lattice I make out Shelby’s still form.

  Sweet fucking relief flows through me. Followed by stone-cold fear.

  “She’s here! I got her!”

  I work the latches and throw the top open.

  “Shelby!”

  She’s on her back. Hands folded over her stomach. So still.

  Devastation ravages my soul. My entire world turns black.

  “Baby, no,” I keep repeating in a ragged whisper. Carefully, I slip my arms under her limp body and lift her out of the shallow box, cradling her body against my chest.

  “Jesus Christ.” Jigsaw drops down next to me. “Shelby?” He brushes her hair out of her face.

  She’s brea
thing.

  Low and shallow. Her chest is barely rising and falling. But she’s breathing.

  “Fuck,” Ice mutters. “We need to call an ambulance.” He turns, barking orders to Pants and T-Bone to load Martin into the van.

  Ignoring everything else around us, I kiss Shelby’s forehead.

  “Baby, wake up.” I stroke my hand over her cheek. A red gash on her forehead brings my rage to the surface.

  Wetness trickles over my arm.

  Another bump on the back of her head has blood coming from it. Angry red patches and bumps line her arms, chest, and cheeks.

  “What the fuck did you do to her?” I roar over my shoulder, torn between ripping Suggs to pieces and not wanting to release Shelby.

  Pants and T-Bone drag Martin into the bedroom. His pathetic gaze latches onto Shelby immediately.

  Ice slaps Martin across the face to get his attention. “What did you give her?”

  Martin’s eyes settle on something across the room for a brief second. “I won’t tell.” He flashes an evil grin at me. “You can’t take my little rabbit. I caught her fair and square.”

  Ice stares at a black leather case on top of the nightstand. He picks it up, unzips it and studies the contents.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “No label.” Ice zips it shut and holds onto it. “We’ll give it to the doctors.” He focuses on Pants again. “Take him out to the farm. Don’t fuckin’ finish him yet. He’s Rooster’s kill.”

  “Got it.”

  “W—what are you talking about?” Martin stammers. “No. You can’t make me leave. I’m not going with you.”

  Ice punches him this time. His fist making a sickening crack against Martin’s cheek. “Now you know how Shelby felt, asshole.” He lifts his chin at Pants. “Get him out of here.”

  A few seconds later, the van starts up and drives away.

  “Rooster, we gotta go,” Ice says. “Call me.”

  I tear my gaze away from Shelby. “Thank you, brother.”

  His gaze falls on Shelby and his jaw works from side-to-side. “Thank fuck we found her.” He shakes his head and walks out of the bedroom.

  “Shelby, baby,” I whisper. “Come on. You’re safe. We’ve got you. Wake up.”

  Nothing.

  “It’s all right. She’s breathing. She’s gonna be okay,” Jigsaw keeps repeating. Whether he’s trying to reassure me or himself, I can’t tell.

  Sometime later—minutes or hours, I have no idea—sirens fill the night air, slowly growing louder.

  Jigsaw slaps my shoulder and stands. “I’ll get someone for her.”

  Careful not to jostle her too much, I stand with Shelby limp in my arms and walk into the hallway. Every light in the place is blazing now. Paramedics rush into the house with Jigsaw shouting directions at them.

  Agent Jackson follows, scowling at me. When his gaze lands on Shelby, he closes his eyes briefly.

  “She’s breathing. We don’t know what he gave her,” I explain to the paramedics, ignoring Jackson.

  “Where is he?” Jackson shouts.

  “Don’t know. He was gone when we got here,” Jigsaw answers smoothly.

  The paramedics don’t seem to understand the situation. They fire off question after question at me.

  Has she been drinking?

  Does she do drugs?

  Is she diabetic?

  “No! None of that. The guy kidnapped and drugged her, or he knocked her out with a sedative. She’s got a head wound.”

  They lay her out on a stretcher, supporting her airway and administering oxygen. She’s so limp, like a fragile doll.

  “Puncture wound,” one of the paramedics says, studying her neck.

  “We found this on the nightstand.” Jigsaw hands over the black case. Thank fuck. I’d been worried Ice left with it.

  “Ambulance is out front. Let’s get her to the hospital.”

  I move to follow and Jackson stops me with a hand against my chest. “Wait a minute. I need information from you.”

  I brush his hand off. “Not now. I’ll be at the hospital. You can catch me there.”

  Jigsaw blocks Jackson’s path. I edge around them and run to catch up with Shelby, wincing every time the stretcher bounces and shakes down the stairs and over the grass.

  “How long has she been out?” one of the paramedics barks at me.

  “I don’t know.” I jump into the back of the ambulance, not waiting for an invitation. “We just found her.”

  “Sir, move into the corner.” He jerks his chin.

  I fold my big ass into the spot he indicated and brace myself. Sirens pierce the air. The ambulance rolls out at a quick and bouncy clip.

  “I think he drugged her water when he took her. Not sure if he injected her with something else here.” Words keep rambling out of my mouth. I’m so fucking afraid of whatever he did to Shelby in the few hours that he had her.

  The paramedic grunts in acknowledgment and keeps working on Shelby.

  The ride to the hospital is excruciating. I keep my gaze focused on Shelby, watching for any sign she’s waking up.

  Every minute she remains unresponsive murders a piece of my heart.

  Chapter Eight

  Rooster

  Friend of the club or not, Agent Jackson is relentless.

  The doctors took Shelby away immediately and started working on her. The paramedics handed over the stuff we found at the house. The doctors questioned me, but I didn’t have a lot of information to share. They finally sent me to the waiting room with a promise someone would keep me updated. Jackson tried corner me the second Shelby disappeared behind the swinging doors, but I’d dodged him easily.

  I haven’t had a chance to confer with Ice yet to know what he wants me to say to his FBI buddy.

  Greg and Trent arrive at the hospital, both grim-faced and tense. Confident Greg can answer at least a few of Jackson’s questions, I slip away to phone Ice.

  “What’s going on?” he answers, his tone casual.

  “Got her to the hospital. Jackson’s on my ass, though.”

  “We got everything you need. Just tell it like it is. Suggs and the van were gone when we located the house. We searched the cabin and found her under the bed. That’s it. You can say we’re hunting for him now if you want.”

  “All right.”

  I hang up and push through the side door into the hospital.

  Agent Jackson’s waiting for me in the hallway. “Get your story straight with your prez?” he asks in a dry tone.

  “No story to get straight.” I relay the barest ‘facts’ to him.

  He grunts in response. “I suppose your brothers are out there trying to track him down so you can get a piece of the guy.”

  I force my mouth to twist down, like I’m so terribly conflicted about the situation. “You saw what he did to my girl. What would you do?”

  “Let the justice system handle it.”

  I don’t buy that for a second. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t be so friendly with Ice if that was true.”

  His lips twitch into a smirk. “Probably.” The humor in his expression fades. “This is turning into a high-profile case. I need something solid to close it out.”

  “If they find Suggs, I’ll have them turn him over to you, okay? I have Shelby back. All I care about right now is making sure she’s okay.” I choke on the last word, and this time I’m not faking. “I gotta get back inside. I still need to call her mother.”

  “First, tell me something.” He holds up his hand in a stop gesture. “How’d you know where to find her?”

  “We searched the house. Saw the hidey-hole he had in the closet, so I just started moving furniture to see what other hidden spaces he might have.”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  I shrug and back into the elevator, jabbing the ‘close’ button before Agent Jackson decides to join me. “Had a hunch and it paid off.”

  The door shuts as he’s opening his mouth t
o respond.

  Later, Jackson.

  Upstairs, I find Greg in the waiting room, fretting and staring at his cell phone. “It’s out. The story’s out. Shit! This isn’t good, Logan.”

  As if I give a single flying fuck about his PR problems. “Did anyone call her mom yet?”

  He shakes his head miserably. “I didn’t know what to say to her.”

  Yeah, neither do I. “It’s all right. I’ll call her now.”

  “Thank you. Someone needs to let her know before she reads it online. It’s going to be everywhere in a couple hours.” He’s obviously too much of a coward to be that someone.

  “Are they reporting where she is now?” People trying to get information or sneak a photo is the last damn thing we need.

  “I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. But the story about her being kidnapped from the arena is big news.”

  “Shit.” I yank out my phone and search for a quiet place to make my phone calls and arrange some travel. The sun’s barely peeking above the horizon. Exhaustion settles over me but I push it away. I locate an empty room and make some arrangements before settling in to call Lynn.

  “Rooster?” she answers with a yawn. “You know I work the late shift. Why the hell are you callin’ me at this hour?”

  Can’t say I feel good about fucking up her morning. But better she hear it from me than someone else.

  “Lynn.” I grit my teeth and decide to get straight to the point. “Shelby’s in the hospital.”

  “What?” she shrieks so loud I pull the phone away from my ear. “What happened?”

  Shit, how the fuck do I explain the kidnapping over the phone?

  “She’s had this obsessed fan following her.” Bare details. Just give her the few pertinent facts. “He got to her last night. Gave her something that knocked her out. We don’t know what yet. The doctors are working on her now.”

  “Can I talk to her? What do you mean an obsessed fan? Who?”

  “She’s unconscious.” I swallow hard. This has to be the worst phone call I’ve ever made. “I’m waiting for an update from the doctors.”

  “Rooster.” She sobs and I feel like fucking shit for doing this to her over the phone. “Is my baby going to be okay?”