by Chiah Wilder
* * *
When Cara came into the office the next morning, a petite, thirty-something woman sat in one of the leather chairs in the reception area. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and pale blue eyes, and Cara racked her brain, trying to remember if she had set an appointment she had forgotten to put in her calendar. Glancing at the woman, she went over to Asher’s desk.
“Did I screw up?” she asked, tilting her chin at the seated woman.
“No, when I came in at 8:30 she was waiting in the hall. She insists on seeing you.”
“You mean she’s been here for two hours? What does she want?”
“She won’t say, just that she wants to meet with you. I think she’s Russian, or something—she’s got a heavy accent.”
“Give me five minutes to settle then send her in.”
The woman stood in the door frame. Looking up, Cara waved her into her office while saying, “Come on in and have a seat.”
The lady sat in the chair as her hands played with her purse straps. Looking down, she licked her lips then cleared her throat.
“Would you like some water?” Cara asked.
The woman nodded and Cara buzzed Asher, asking him to bring in a bottle of water. After the woman took a drink, Cara said, “What can I do for you?”
“You been given me by people,” the woman said.
“Someone recommended me to you?” Cara clarified.
A sad smile passed over her lips. “Yes, sorry, my English no good.”
“It’s fine. What’s the trouble? Have you had some problems with the police?”
The woman’s eyes bulged. “Police? No. My sister have problem.”
“Okay, first, what’s your name?”
“My name Tetyana Kravchenko. You call me Teti.”
“So, Teti, what’s the problem with your sister?”
“I no hear from her. She call me more than two months gone, and I no hear from her again. She tell me she have big problems.”
“What kind of problems?”
“I no know. She say she come here to work with modeling, but she say no good. She has scared to talk, so we talk too fast. She say bad men with motorcycle have her. I no understand all, but I know she has trouble.”
“Motorcycles? Was she here in Pinewood Springs?”
“I no know, but she come here from our village in Slovakia to do model. Our parents pay lot of money to send her. When she get here, she say not good. She say trouble and bad men.”
After speaking with the woman for almost an hour, Cara gathered that Teti’s sister had been lured to the United States with the promise of a modeling contract, only to find herself the victim of sex trafficking. She was brought either to Pinewood Springs or one of the nearby towns, and it appeared a biker club was somehow involved. Eric’s warning that the Insurgents were involved in trafficking women haunted her, but she refused to believe Hawk would be a part of a club that would do anything so despicable.
“Teti, I’m a lawyer. I’m not an investigator. I can give you the names of some good private investigators who can help you find out what happened to your sister.”
“I want you help me.”
“I can’t. I’m not the police.”
Placing her hands over her face, her shoulders rising and falling with each sob, Teti’s tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks. Cara’s heart went out to her, understanding her pain—Cara would be rabid, if any harm ever came to her loved ones. The worst part was Teti not hearing from her sister again. Cara had seen the fear and despair so often in the anguished eyes of family members, whose loved ones just disappeared.
Cara said, “I’ll make some phone calls and see what I can do.”
“Thank you, thank you. I know you good when I see you kind eyes,” Teti said, her voice hitching.
Dropping her voice, Cara said, “I’ll make a phone call to the sheriff’s department. They found an unidentified woman a couple of months ago in this county. I’m not saying it’s your sister, but you need to be sure.”
Terror filled Teti’s eyes. Her purse straps were all knotted and twisted around her wrists, and she shook her head. “Can you come with me? Please,” she whispered.
Cara moved her head in agreement; she would accompany Teti on the gruesome task of possibly identifying the seventh victim of a sadistic madman. She hoped for Teti’s sake that Jane Doe #7 would not be her sister.
Late that afternoon, as the sun blazed over the jagged mountain tops, Teti squeezed Cara’s hand as the deputy sheriff brought in the photographs of Jane Doe #7. Teti held them in her sweaty palms as she flipped through the ten photos. A low, guttural whimper emitted from her, starting deep in her throat. She threw the photographs down on the table and tears rolled down her cheeks as a shrill scream burst from her mouth. Teti pulled her hair, her body trembled like a leaf in the wind. Teti’s wails were the only sound in the small room. Cara put her arms around her, knowing nothing would be enough to lessen the horror of it all. Silently, the deputy sheriff gathered the photographs, making notations on them. Jane Doe #7 had become Nadyia Kravchenko, eighteen years old.
Chapter Ten
Since Friday, brothers from the Insurgents chapters in Wyoming and Nebraska had been arriving, and the clubhouse party was in full-swing. All of the upstairs rooms and the guest houses out back were full, and about seventy Harleys lined the lot behind the compound, the sun’s rays glinting off the chrome on the customized bikes.
The clubhouse came to life on Friday and Saturday nights, and getting fucked, drunk, and stoned were favorite pastimes for most of the members. Even though the Insurgents didn’t allow any hardcore drug use, whenever a big gathering like this occurred, crystal and crank flowed freely. The home members turned a blind eye to it, but home club members were not allowed to do anything but weed.
There were always women at the big parties. Women loved bikers and their bikes, and the Insurgents had their own groupies just like rock stars.
The Insurgents never had a shortage of women. Chicks were drawn to the bikers’ badass attitudes and rebel lifestyle. Horny women who wanted sex any way it came found the MC an exciting outlet for their fantasies, and bored, restless women who wanted to take a walk on the wild side were drawn to the macho men like magnets. There were those who got a rush from being with a feared outlaw biker, and others who loved the freedom from responsibility. There were also the women who confused sex with affection when the strong arms of an Insurgents member held them.
Every weekend, a throng of girls lined up in front of the club’s gate, an excited glow emanating from them. They waited in too-high heels and barely there outfits for a couple of hours just to spend one night of wild abandon with the Insurgents.
“Fuck, haven’t seen this many brothers in a long time. It’s good to be together,” Banger said to Ruben.
“Yeah, I haven’t been to a crazy party in a while. I’m glad Doris was cool with this tonight. You know these old ladies—sometimes they’re okay with all this, and other times, they’re screamin’ and madder than hell if you go.” He laughed.
“I know what you mean, man. When my Grace was here, she’d monitor my club parties. She was my woman, my property, but shit, she had me wrapped around her little finger. She was the best. I miss her.”
Ruben nodded. “She was a good woman. Doris can be a pain in the ass, but I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Tomorrow night will get wilder. I see a fresh pussy I’d like to try. You comin’?” Banger asked.
“Nope, I’m just lookin’ for now. Go have fun.”
Banger walked over to a voluptuous woman who was busting out of her strapless spandex dress. Banger liked a woman with some flesh on her; he wasn’t into the bag-of-bones bitches who came to the club. His Grace had been a big, beautiful woman. He put his arm around the hoodrat and whispered in her ear, making her throw her head back in laughter while her hand stroked his growing cock.
* * *
When Hawk entered the great room, it w
as nearly midnight, and the smell of alcohol, tobacco, and weed hit him in the face. The room was smoky and dimly-lit, and all around him, brothers and bitches were fucking and sucking. The smell of sex enveloped him. He chatted with several brothers from Wyoming and Nebraska, guys he hadn’t seen in a long time. The camaraderie was good, comfortable and familiar. This was his life, his family. It was where he belonged: a shot of Jack, Moonshine Bandits’ “For the Outlawz” rockin’ through the speakers, his brothers all around him. This was the life he loved.
There were a lot of hot, new women that night. A big party like that always brought out a shitload of women. It never ceased to amaze Hawk how easy it was to get one, and how these bitches threw themselves at him. He could have any woman he wanted without a problem, except for Cara, and it pissed him off because he knew she wanted him. He saw it in her flushed face when he was near her and felt it when she quivered under his touch, but it was the dark ache that burned in her eyes which convinced him that she desired him.
Yet she resisted. Hawk sensed that she struggled with some do-what-is-expected bullshit, but her body, and the way it responded to him, told him that she needed him just as fucking much as he needed her. Fuck, I bet she’s a wildcat in bed.
As he looked around the room, emptiness grabbed hold of Hawk, and he wished Cara were with him. No, he wished Cara were hanging with him at his house; he wanted to take her out to dinner or a movie and spend time with her. Fuck, what am I thinking? I fuck, but I don’t date. This woman makes me want to break all my rules.
Hawk threw back his shot, waved to Jerry behind the bar, and left the clubhouse. He revved up his Harley, speeding away into the darkness.
* * *
Sitting on her porch with a cup of coffee in her hand, Cara savored the peacefulness that Saturday mornings brought. As she did every morning, she thought of Hawk. She wondered if he had screwed one of the women who hung out at biker clubs the night before. She wasn’t too sure what went on during the parties, but she had heard stories, and that made her worry.
Hawk was a woman magnet, and every time she was with him, she noticed women checking out his broad chest and firm ass. At his last court hearing, the court clerk and the bailiff both kept staring at his ass every time he bent over, and even in his orange jumpsuit, he looked hot. Watching the two ladies rake their eyes over his fine body, he’d flashed them a smile, dimples and all. He was such a flirt. Of course, the women melted, giggling and smiling at him. It was damn annoying.
Cara was sure the women who hung out at the club were more than willing to please Hawk any time he wanted it. He probably screwed several of them last night. The reality was the guy was horny, and all he ever wanted to do was kiss her or talk about fucking her. Whenever she tried to have a serious talk with him, his mind was always on her pussy, and he was so demanding. Most guys who acted like that were full of bullshit, but she knew that wasn’t the case with him.
She hoped he hadn’t slept with anyone, but she knew she was being ridiculous. After all, they weren’t dating, or anything. Still, she didn’t want to think of him with other women. She heard bikers were notorious for screwing around and not thinking twice about it, and she bet that Hawk had a past littered with satisfied women. On the flipside, Cara had only had two lovers: an awkward, quick bang in the backseat of her high school boyfriend’s Mustang after her graduation party, and Trevor, the guy she thought was her soulmate.
Hawk had probably broken many hearts over the years, and even though the women who hung out at the clubs knew the score, they must fall for some of the guys. Although, she couldn’t imagine any woman melting his heart since Hawk was so closed off. She perceived that he was interested in her, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think she would ever matter to him beyond a good lay.
Her phone rang, and she hoped it was Hawk calling to apologize for his atrocious behavior the other night in the restaurant’s parking lot. She looked down at the screen and saw it was Luke. She thought about letting it ring through, but figured that would be rude.
“Hi, Cara, how’s it going?” Luke’s cheerful voice grated her nerves, and she wasn’t sure why.
“Fine. Just hanging on the porch, enjoying this beautiful weather.”
“Do you have plans for Labor Day?”
“Going to my parents’. The family always has a big cookout. You know, tons of relatives and that sort of thing.”
“Sounds fun. I’m not doing anything. I usually go water rafting, but this year I’m not up for it.”
Grasping that Luke was hinting for an invite, she changed the subject. “My dad told me you handled the negotiations on the Cooper Mine Investments’ case real well. Good for you.” Cara imagined Luke’s chest puffing out.
“Thanks, I worked real hard on it. I’m glad your dad noticed my efforts. What are you doing tonight?”
“I have plans, remember? I told you, I’m going out with Sherrie.”
“I don’t know what you see in her. You’re both so different.”
“You don’t even know her, and she’s my best friend. Don’t even think of talking trash about her, Luke.”
He sighed. “Are you going to ask me to go with you to the Boys Hope charity event in a couple of Saturdays?”
“Uh—yeah, okay. You want to go?”
“I’d love to. Your dad bought a table, right?”
Cara rolled her eyes; Luke’s ass-kissing was too transparent. “Uh-huh.”
“Great, we’ll have a good time.”
“Yeah, right. I gotta go now. Let’s connect next week, okay?”
“You don’t want to see me on Labor Day?” he whined.
“Won’t work. It’s a family thing, you know. We’ll talk soon. Bye.”
Cara hung up the phone, wishing she would have let his call go to voicemail. Hawk was right; Luke was a pansy-ass. Cara laughed. She should’ve been furious at Hawk for the way he acted in the restaurant’s parking lot, but she wasn’t, and his possessiveness and confidence turned her on. It had taken all her strength not to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him that night. Why can’t I get him out of my mind? It’s driving me crazy. And why in the hell doesn’t he call me?
Standing up to get another cup of coffee, Cara’s spotted the manila envelope on the table. Realizing that the pre-raid photographs were in there, she opened it up. A wide smile broke over her face as she scanned the pictures. She screamed out, “Yes!” while picking up her phone to call Asher.
When he answered, she blurted out, “There isn’t an ammo box on the table in the pre-raid photographs! I’ve got this.”
“Way to go, Cara. That’s awesome news. Badass Biker will be happy, if that word can ever be used to describe him. Does he ever get rid of his scowl?”
Cara chuckled. “Yeah, he does, and he will be pleased. I think I’ll go over to the clubhouse tonight after dinner and tell him.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“He deserves to get this news in person. I’m filing a motion to dismiss on Tuesday and requesting a hearing. This is great.”
“Do you think it’s wise to go alone to a biker clubhouse on a Saturday night? I think you should pass and go tomorrow. Sunday is probably tamer.”
“I’m not worried. I know Hawk and a few of the guys. I’ll just be there for a few minutes. It’ll be cool.”
“I’m not so sure. You want me to come with you?”
“Don’t be silly. You’re going to Aspen tonight. Have a good time and don’t worry about me.”
“Okay, be careful.”
“Sure. Have fun, and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Realizing she had a ton of things to do before she met Sherrie for dinner, Cara made herself go into the house. She couldn’t wait to see Hawk, and this was the perfect excuse for her to seek him out. Disappointed that he hadn’t contacted her, she could still tell him the good news about the recent discovery of what the pre-raid photos contained and see him without losing any pride. This worked out in her favor all the wa
y around. She was going to see Hawk, and a delicious shudder heated her body.
Chapter Eleven
“Where the hell is this damn place?” Cara muttered. She must have gone up and down Highway 295 several times, and she had yet to see the clubhouse. It didn’t help that it was pitch-black out, either. The clubhouse was twenty-five miles out of town and she figured it would be inconspicuous, but this was ridiculous. She could call Hawk, but she wanted to surprise him, which meant finding this on her own.
After the fifth time driving south on the highway, she spotted five motorcycles ahead of her and had a hunch they were going to the Insurgents’ clubhouse. She followed them, and sure enough, they turned left down a small dirt road she never would’ve found. After following them for about two miles, Cara’s brows knit and a quiver rippled in her stomach. Asher might have been right about the foolishness of her idea.
Just as she was ready to turn around, a three-story, brick building set back among the trees with a tall, chain-link fence surrounding it came into view. The Harleys she followed turned into the enormous parking lot, and she veered her sports car into the area, parking to the far-left side. As she switched off her ignition, her doubts intensified. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Looking over at the gate, she saw a group of men wearing leather jackets with the Insurgents MC patch on the back, and with bottom rockers stating “Nebraska,” “Wyoming,” and “Colorado.” The men were sitting on their Harleys, drinking beers and laughing as they talked.
After taking in a few deep breaths, Cara opened the car door and walked toward the gate. Noticing her, the bikers yelled, “Hey, sweetness, come over here and give us some of that tasty pussy.” Their hoots and whistles were deafening, but Cara ignored them, opened the gate, and headed toward the clubhouse door, hoping to see someone familiar. As she walked through the opening, a large hand grabbed her waist and pulled her back outside. Rancid breath burned her nostrils as one of the bikers leaned in close and sneered, “Where the fuck are ya goin’, whore? Ya got brothers out here who need your pussy.”
