Hard Escape (Notus Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by Debra Kayn

  On the other side of the street, she slung her backpack over her shoulder and slowed down. Her whole routine now was different than her old life. Even the simple act of washing her clothes took planning. If she came upon money, she used the laundromat. It took her a week to find enough pop and beer cans to turn in for the five-cent refund. Even then, she couldn't get enough to use the laundromat and had to borrow two dollars from her roommate with the promise to pay her back in a week after she received her first paycheck.

  Most times, without money, she used the Willamette River and jimmied the dispenser at one of the six laundromats around town for soap. She learned quickly that even water unfit for swimming was good enough to bathe in and wash her clothes when there was nothing else available.

  Having only one outfit that was good enough to use for her new job that she'd picked out of the used clothing bin at the Lutheran Church, she needed to keep that outfit clean, not river clean. Once she saved enough money, she'd buy some more pants and shirts at the thrift store for work.

  Excitement filled her. Two years of living on the streets and she finally found a job where she felt like no one would recognize her. The boost in her attitude over her soon-to-be employment had her looking forward to tomorrow.

  "Hey," a male voice shouted.

  She kept her gaze on the sidewalk and walked faster. The apartment was on the next block. Not the safest part of town, but at least inside the room, she was surrounded by other women, and she felt safe. Safer than she'd felt in a long time.

  "Wait up," said the man.

  The crosswalk light turned red. Heidi sprinted across, praying a car wouldn't turn and hit her. Heavy footsteps pounded behind her, growing louder.

  Heidi glanced over her shoulder without stopping. It was Glen. Her muscles moved too slow, but her heart sprinted, breaking records, feeling him pressing her from behind, urging her to go faster.

  Ahead of her, the chain-link gate to the apartment that never closed came into sight. She pushed herself faster and only when she was within a hundred yards of safety, she realized she still held Glen's wallet. Panicked that he'd think she stole something that belonged to him, she pumped her arms and kept running.

  All she needed to do was reach Apartment #3A, and she'd lay low until the man gave up looking for her. Tomorrow, she'd return the wallet to Vavoom's when he wasn't there. She couldn't take the chance that he'd call the cops on her.

  Her sneakers hit the grass, and then she went airborne. Taken by surprise, she clamped her teeth in preparation of the pain that'd come when the ground came up to meet her. Instead, she flipped in the air, cushioned by two strong arms, and landed on top of a solid piece of man.

  A pair of stormy gray eyes stared back at her. Disoriented and out of breath, she pushed against the wall of chest.

  His arms locked around her. She squirmed. "Let go of me."

  "Keep wiggling your tight little body against me, and I have no problem rolling until you're underneath me and we're both enjoying the way you move." Glen's hand landed on her lower back.

  She stilled. "I didn't steal your wallet. It fell out of your pocket during the fight, and I didn't want it to get lost or stolen. I was going to return it tomorrow to the bar. You can check. I didn't even open it."

  "Nice story." He lifted her off him and stood, holding her arm. "Considering you took the wallet and ran, I don't believe you."

  "Whatever." She jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Ever thought of finding out what was going on first before you decided to chase and tackle me?"

  His lips hardened, and he brushed at the pieces of grass stuck to his elbow. "I found it easier to go after you now rather than hunt you down tomorrow after you spent all my money."

  She tossed the wallet in his direction, picked up her backpack, and walked away. He was just like her ex-boyfriend. Overconfident and pushy. She wanted to take back all the compliments she thought about him earlier.

  "Hey," he said.

  She turned around at a safe distance from him. "What?"

  "My name's Glen Steele." He remained standing in front of her, watching her.

  "So?" She frowned. He had no idea she already knew his name or that she'd admired him from a distance before. That was before he'd tackled her and treated her like a criminal.

  "Usually when I give my name that's when you'd tell me your name." Glen stepped forward.

  "Stop." She stepped back, putting a safe area between them. "Stay right there."

  He raised his hand. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'd like to give you something."

  Her spine straightened. "What?"

  "Are you going to give me your name first?"

  She lifted her chin. Not naive about the favors, gifts, bargains, and bribes exchanged on the streets, she refused to answer.

  "Okay, I'll call you Blue," said Glen.

  She cocked her head. "Why?"

  Glen pointed to his eyes. "You've got the prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen. They're even beautiful when you're angry."

  There was not much about her that was considered pretty anymore. Men lied to women all the time for sex, food, a bed.

  Glen opened his wallet and pulled money out. "Take it. You need money, and I only need my driver's license."

  Embarrassment left her gasping. She clamped her lips shut fighting tears. Over the last two years, she'd thought she couldn't sink any lower. She'd lived through hell. Every day was a lesson in obedience, fear, and humiliation.

  But, she wasn't desperate. She wasn't hurt. Not anymore.

  Whirling around, she flung her backpack over her shoulder and walked away. She refused to look back to see if Glen followed or to be scared. Going in the opposite direction of her apartment, she rounded the corner and stopped out of sight of Glen. When several minutes ticked by, and he failed to appear, she peeked around the building. Seeing the area clear, she ran to apartment #3A.

  The women she lived with were the third group she'd found over the last two years who allowed her to stay with them since running away. The accommodations never lasted long. Sometimes a couple of weeks, other times a day or two. Then, she was back to sleeping on the street and under overpasses. The timing was perfect for her this time. She'd have a job to support herself. That alone gave her hope.

  It wasn't the first sign of hope that she'd had in the last two years, but the most real. It almost made her feel normal. Something she hadn't felt since she'd made Ingrid disappear and became Heidi Lundin. Nothing and nobody would stop her now.

  She refused to let Glen's comment make her feel bad about her position. Things could be worse.

  Chapter 2

  The rush of traffic on Lombard Street whizzed by almost non-stop in the early evening hour. Glen rode his motorcycle out onto the street following Wayne Shaw with Chuck Milburn and Thad Bowers rolling behind him. The oncoming cars were forced to slow down for the motorcycle club.

  Lifetime friends since they were all around the age of six, they'd formed Notus Motorcycle Club when they'd reached adulthood. Wayne had started the ball rolling and pledged in as president. Chuck was the secretary, and Thad swore in as vice president because it was his sister, Thalia, who'd lost her life after being kidnapped and murdered, that instigated their purpose to ride. Glen had pledged in as treasurer, committed to the lifelong choice of being brothers. Rich—an honorary Notus member — had left St. John's without a trace soon after the patches came in, unable to deal with Thalia's murder. To Rich, Thalia had been his one true love.

  From the day they achieved permission from the territorial Motorcycle Club that ran the greater Portland area to ride under the Notus MC patch, they'd worked with St. John's Police Department to help find missing persons whenever they weren't working at Port Loaders. That was almost twenty-three years ago.

  And every Friday, they went to Vavoom's Bar where they ate dinner and had a few beers if they weren't searching the streets for someone's loved one.

  Two blocks later, all of them came to a stop in front of the
bar and backed their motorcycles to the curb. Glen shut off the engine, removed his helmet, and whistled a tune. He was hungry and thirsty after working an eight-hour shift loading new cars onto cargo ships set for other places in the world. A few beers would have him looking forward to the weekend.

  A car honked. He looked up and found three bicyclists trying to push their bikes across the street through traffic. The local rent-a-bike place across from the bar catered to tourists and yuppies who wanted to keep the world green. Unfortunately, that included the renters thinking they were entitled to cross a busy street instead of walking to the end of the block and using the crosswalk.

  "One day, someone's going to get hit by a car and sue the city," muttered Wayne, pulling the leather strip holding his hair back and letting his long hair loose.

  "Not our problem." Chuck stepped up on the curb and eyed a woman in shorts jogging along with a small dog on a leash and rubbed his shaved head. "Now that's a sweet piece of ass."

  "Let's go in and grab a booth. I'm starving." Thad stepped up on the sidewalk.

  The front door of Pauly's Peddlers swung open, and a familiar woman stepped outside. He squinted, studying her closer and grunted at recognizing the shaved head. He'd chased that woman down last week and got his wallet back.

  He couldn't hear what she said to the bicyclists, but whatever it was got the people off the street and pushing their bikes down the sidewalk toward the crosswalk. She still smiled when her gaze swung in his direction. He stopped whistling and lifted his hand acknowledging her.

  She looked completely different, except for glaring at him. Her black jeans showcased her slim hips and long legs. The breeze pressed her white flowing shirt against her breasts.

  Damn.

  He'd been a fool not to see through the rags she'd worn when he'd tackled her. She was beautiful.

  The woman jerked around and hurried inside but not before he caught recognition on her face. She remembered him.

  He inhaled swiftly. When she'd sprinted off running with his wallet, he'd nailed her for one of the street kids running wild in St. John's. It'd been dark. He'd been tired. And, she ran like a fucking leopard.

  Without thinking, he'd grabbed and rolled with her, making sure he protected her from getting hurt. All he'd wanted was his wallet.

  But, her slenderness and baggy clothes held curves he hadn't held for a while with his busy schedule. It hadn't been a kid he'd caught but a woman.

  Wayne smacked Glen's back jogging him out of the memory of the woman's sweet body against his. "You coming?"

  "Yeah," he muttered, turning away from the street and walked into the bar.

  He grabbed a chair from an unused table and planted it at the end of the booth. He and Thad chose chairs, while Wayne and Chuck slid into the benches. Before he could sit down, Clara slid in beside Wayne and kissed her man.

  He looked away and found Clara's identical twin sister, Gracie, sitting at the back booth alone. He glanced at Thad and motioned his chin in Gracie's direction wondering what was up. Since Gracie was kidnapped by her mother's murderer and rescued by Notus six months ago, she rarely sat in the bar and preferred to work from the office in the back.

  "She's trying," whispered Thad.

  "About time she gained control of her life back," muttered Chuck.

  "Leave her alone, Chuck." Clara leaned against Wayne's side. "It takes a lot out of her to step forward."

  "Not complaining." Chuck cleared his throat and tapped the table. "It's been a long fucking day."

  "Maureen's getting everyone's dinner." Clara placed her head on Wayne's shoulder. "I know you guys need to go out and search tonight, but everyone needs to eat a hot meal."

  Glen crossed his arms and gazed out through the darkened window to the businesses on the other side of the street. They wouldn't have time for a beer tonight. Notus was on the hunt trying to track down Alex Craine, a twenty-six-year-old man, who'd disappeared three weeks ago. His family and friends hadn't become worried until recently when Alex's phone stopped taking messages. They explained that Alex often would go away for a few days and not keep in contact with anyone.

  Their biggest clue: Alex battled an addiction to heroin.

  "Here you go." Maureen stepped between Glen and Thad, placing the plates in from of them.

  Burgers and baked potatoes all around, Glen wasted no time, and the second the waitress left, he moved his chair closer to the table.

  "What time will you be done tonight?" Clara passed napkins out.

  Wayne finished chewing. "I'll swing by here and follow you home after work."

  "I'll need to drop Gracie off at the townhouse first," said Clara.

  Glen looked up, surprised to hear Gracie planned to spend the night in her own house. Since the kidnapping, she'd gone back and forth with Clara. Either spending the night at home with her sister or crashing at Wayne's when Clara stayed with him. Far as he knew, she hadn't stayed alone. Today seemed like a huge day of improvements for Gracie, and that made him happy.

  "I'll let you guys finish eating." Clara kissed Wayne. "I'll be in the office if you need me."

  "I'll find you before we ride out." Wayne picked up his fork and dug into the potato.

  Glen stood, letting Clara out of the booth, then sat back down and dug in. He'd expected changes after Wayne settled down with one woman, but Clara only benefitted the club. He bit into the hamburger. He no longer had to pay to eat. The refrigerator in Wayne's garage was always full. Even Clara's random questions asking if he ate, slept, needed anything felt comfortable. Wayne done good getting a woman.

  If he could find a woman out there that fit into his lifestyle and wanted to take care of him the way Clara had done for Wayne, he'd think about settling down.

  He looked out the window as he lifted a forkful of potato soaked in sour cream to his mouth. The perfect woman would be easy going, always there, and sync with his personality. Not like the woman across the street who had tried to lift his wallet.

  Women like her always questioned why men only wanted sex from them. Great to look at—more than great. But, the hard-core attitude would grate on him after five minutes. And when he spent time with a woman, he liked more than five minutes.

  "What are you smiling about?" muttered Thad.

  Glen glanced over at his MC brother, and his facial muscle relaxed letting him know he was fucking smiling for no reason. He cleared his throat. "It's Friday. What's the plan for tonight's search?"

  Chuck tossed his napkin on his plate and leaned back against the seat. "We've already looked at camping spots around the area and the public places Alex would go to when he wanted to get away. At twenty-six years old, Alex is open to traveling the world. Nobody knows how much money he had. Somehow, he always had money to live on his own. If he was dealing drugs, he could have enough to get him halfway across the United States."

  "It's time to let the family deal with an addict's crutch." Thad removed his phone and typed on the screen. "I'll have Gomez contact them and get the locations of where they'd picked him up in the past when he returned to shooting needles. As soon as we get a list, we'll head out."

  Across the street, the door of Pauly's Peddlers swung open and the woman from the other night came out, holding the door open for a man and a woman pushing bicycles onto the sidewalk.

  Even through the darkened window and the distance, her smile impacted him. Gone was the frown and defensiveness she'd given him.

  "Yo, Glen?" said Wayne.

  He looked at his president and lifelong friend. "What?"

  "What's wrong with you?" Wayne pushed his empty plate to the center of the table.

  "Nothing." Glen bunched the napkin laying on his thigh. "Why?"

  "You weren't whistling." Wayne continued to look at him.

  He shrugged. "Just ready to ride out."

  Wayne studied him, then gave a curt nod, pushing his plate away. "Let me go see Clara, and then I'll be ready. We can ride Lombard Street over to Swan Island until we h
ear from Gomez."

  Glen stood and walked out of the bar and to his bike. Looking at the front of Pauly's Peddlers, he found himself disappointed that the woman had gone back inside. He'd missed the chance to see her again. That was something he never knew he wanted. Not after he realized she wasn't a teenager and she blew him off when he'd tried to help her.

  He'd tried to give her money, believing she stole his wallet. He cocked his head. Now he found out she had a fucking job.

  Glen looked beside him and found Chuck leaning over his motorcycle. "Hey, give me a minute. If Wayne comes out before I'm back, tell him I'll catch up."

  Chuck straightened, wiping his hands off on his jeans. "Where you going?"

  "Across the street." He stepped off the curb, looked left and right, and picked an opening between the traffic flow, and jogged to Pauly's Peddlers.

  Inside the shop, he strode to the counter before he even realized why he'd come looking for the woman. He wasn't here to look at bicycles.

  A man with long gray hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt smiled. "Feel free to look around. If you need help finding a bike part or..." The older man laughed. "You're not here because you ride a bicycle, are you?"

  "No." He quickly scanned the room. "There's a woman who works here."

  "Two of them." He held out his hand. "I'm Pauly."

  He shook. "Glen Steele."

  "What can I do for you, Glen Steele?" Pauly's gaze dropped to his vest. "Glen Steele, a Notus Motorcycle Club member."

  "There's a woman who works here." He held up his hand, level with his shoulder. "About this tall. Crewcut. She's got a white shirt—"

  "That'll be Heidi." Pauly shuffled two steps back to the open door behind the counter and yelled, "Heidi, you have a customer."

  Pauly stepped toward him and picked up the pen on the counter and lowered his gaze to the books. Glen moved over to a line of bicycles. All blue cruisers that bore the name of the business on the frame of the bike.

  "You needed me, Pauly?"

  Glen turned at the sound of the feminine voice, recognizing the husky quality and fascinated at the unfamiliar niceness of the tone. "I asked for you."