Hard Proof (Notus Motorcycle Club Book 1)

by Debra Kayn

  Maybe.

  ***

  Mosquitos landed on his arms. He ignored the bites and stared at the left window on the second story of the house. The bedroom where one of the twins slept. The other sister slept on the backside of the upstairs, and he couldn't view the window without the neighbors behind the townhouse seeing him.

  He stepped out from behind the bush. Excitement filled him. He'd finally found a way inside their house.

  They arrived late coming home and never noticed him behind the bush when the garage door lifted automatically, and they drove inside. His cock got hard knowing the next time he came over, he'd be able to go inside.

  He'd be able to smell their clothes, feel their beds, and imagine them inside with him.

  There was a garage door opener inside the car. He looked out at the street where the other twin sister parked her car. There was probably another opener in the other vehicle. All he had to do was break into the car.

  Not tonight.

  He needed to plan.

  Now that he'd gotten rid of the cheerleader, he could concentrate on the twins. Soon, he'd have at least one of them.

  He walked off into the darkness toward his car parked down the block, whistling, feeling good about what he'd accomplished over the last couple of months. No one knew, he'd killed two girls, and he'd found the next and last woman he'd need.

  Chapter 19

  Wayne held the bouquet of roses in his fist and stepped up on the sidewalk outside of Vavoom's. He felt like a damn fool.

  He'd woken up after seven o'clock this morning and found Janice and Brenda in his garage sacked out on the couch with Chuck snuggled between them. Last night was a blur, and somehow, he'd passed out reclined in the chair at his desk. After he showered and babied his hangover, he'd ran into Thad as his MC brother crawled out of the spare bedroom with Stephanie—another woman who liked to party with them on occasion.

  Thad had suggested they go out and have another beer to ease their headaches. A plan he was fully behind because he wanted to see Clara. It was only when Thad suggested they go somewhere else rather than hit up Vavoom's that he found out why going to see Clara wasn't a great idea.

  Unbeknownst to him, Clara had come by the house in the middle of the night and found him wasted.

  He stopped outside the door of the bar and ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the dozen red roses. Clara deserved more than a half-assed excuse and some flowers that'd probably die in a couple of days.

  Not wanting to call her and explain his behavior or give her a chance to hang up on him, he left his MC brothers at his house and hit up the florist before coming to the bar. He'd spotted her car in the alley, so he knew she was here before the bar opened.

  He knocked on the glass door. The rush of traffic behind him deafened him to everything except his head pounding. The effects of last night's drink had fled the moment he'd learned about Clara showing up at the house.

  The door opened. "Hey, Gracie. Can I talk to Clara?"

  Gracie looked behind him and then realizing he was alone, stepped back to let him inside. He scanned the empty bar and found Clara sitting in a booth with her hands wrapped around a coffee mug. He walked toward her, unable to read her stone-cold expression. There wasn't anger in her eyes or a mood outlined around her mouth.

  She looked at him as if he was a stranger off the street and his appearance meant nothing. Like he meant nothing to her. And, he couldn't blame her a bit because he'd made her that way.

  He stopped in front of the table. "I need to talk—"

  "It would've been smarter to talk to me before you decided to party with naked women." Her monotone voice left him cold. "Now, there's really nothing to say about what I walked into because I'm not interested in a relationship where I'm not one-hundred percent confident that the man I'm seeing...excuse me, the man I'm having sex with won't have the decency to let me know how he lives his life when he's not with me."

  The stems in his hands broke in his fist, and he tossed the flowers onto the table before he ruined them. "Clara. I'd like to explain what was going on—"

  "I know what was going on." She inhaled swiftly and her shoulders rounded. "In a perfect world, men would let me know if they planned to cheat on me ahead of time."

  "I didn't cheat."

  "They'd let me know before I had sex that the only kind of relationship they wanted was based on late night hookups, and then let me decide how much time I wanted to invest in them," she said.

  "Fuck that," he muttered. "You know I wasn't with you just for some ass."

  "Most men would—"

  "Shut up." He sat down in the booth and planted his boots on the floor on each side of her legs under the table, blocking her from leaving. "I’m not other men. I'm me. I'm Wayne. I never had sex with anyone but you since I met you. I don't plan on cheating on you because I'd be ruining the best thing I've had in my life. I'm not seeing you for the sex—that's a fucking benefit that comes with you that I don't take for granted."

  Clara's eyes had softened before they narrowed again.

  "I was already wasted and in a bad place when Chuck walked in with the women. That's no excuse, and I'm not saying that's the reason why I never told the women to leave." His jaw ticked in frustration, and he continued. "In my head, I had no interest, so I didn't care that they were there with the others. All I wanted to do was meet the bottom of the bottle and forget. I wanted the regrets to go away, and no matter how many times I try, they're never gone for good and return like a son of a bitch."

  "The teenage girl?" she whispered.

  He shrugged and exhaled loudly, feeling the weight settling on his chest. "Losing her yesterday was one more person I couldn't save."

  Clara frowned and tilted her head. "I don't understand."

  "The others—Thad, Chuck, Glen, we grew up together on the same street I still live on. But, there was one more of us. Another Notus member. His name is Rich." Wayne leaned back against the seat. "Remember when I told you about Talia, Thad's sister that went missing and was later found murdered?"

  She nodded. "I remember. One of your friends left St. John's afterward."

  "Yeah, Rich. He was in love with Talia. He took her death hard like we all did, but he couldn't see past his anger." Wayne paused. He'd never told anyone outside the club about Rich before. "He took off and never came back."

  "He's missing?" Clara rubbed the surface of the table with her thumb.

  "Not in the sense that we believe someone took him. He's out there by himself and has made no contact with anyone or his parents, who still live in St. John's. But, he's as much a part of me as Thad, Chuck, Glen. Maybe more so, because he needs me. I would do anything for him, and he's out there hurting. Last night was a reminder of failing him. That reminder makes it hard to push through each day, and after losing the second missing girl in such a short time, I wanted to forget that I can't save everyone."

  "Do you have a drinking problem?" she asked.

  He chuckled softly and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find more patience than he was capable of having. She ran a damn bar and slept with him every fucking night for the last month. If he had an addiction problem, she'd be the first to notice. "Only when I'm trying to forget."

  "Then, before you started drinking, you weren't drunk. You were sober and hurting. You should've called me." Clara's voice softened. "You could've talked to me like we are right now or I could've let you drink here where you have someone to watch over you. I could've helped make you feel better."

  He stared straight ahead at her. "You're right."

  Clara reached across the table and grabbed his hand. "I'm not trying to be right. All I saw when I walked into your garage were those women, and it hurt me, Wayne. I took you at face value that you wanted to keep seeing me and if there is any chance that you're—"

  "I'm not." He stood at an angle in the booth, leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "I didn't. I wouldn't. It's only you. I'm
sorry, sweetheart."

  He sat back in the booth. Clara glanced down at the table and back up at him. The tension in his body he'd been holding in all morning eased at the soft smile she gave him.

  "You brought me flowers." She reached out and brought the roses to her nose and inhaled.

  "I fucked up. You deserve more than flowers." He waited until she looked at him again and said, "I'm sorry."

  She nodded. "Now, you know how I feel."

  "Yeah, I know," he said. "I hope you know how I feel cause, sweetheart. There was a moment this morning when Thad told me you'd stopped by that I wasn't sure you were going to give me a chance to tell you that through our work schedules, the searches, the bullshit, that I plan on having you in my life."

  Gracie walked into the room from the kitchen. "Delivery truck is in the alley. I need to open up."

  Clara jolted and slid out of the booth holding on to the roses. "I need to be with Gracie and help her put everything in the storage room."

  "I'll help while I'm here." He stood, and she blocked his way.

  "Wayne?" She moistened her lips. "I want what you want, but I do feel weird. Not bad weird, but hesitant. I care too much, and the thought of losing you scares me. I'm still trying to get used to all these new feelings inside of me."

  He cupped her cheek. "What can I do?"

  "Keep talking to me until I get more secure in how I feel." She raised up on her toes and kissed him softly.

  He barely got a taste of her, and she dropped back on her heels breaking the kiss. Male voices came from the back of the building. He followed Clara. More than providing manual labor, he wanted to make every aspect of her life safe. That included seeing who the men were that made her deliveries.

  There was a killer walking among the community, and until he was caught, Wayne planned on being aware and keeping his attention focused on any talk or odd behavior around the bar.

  Chapter 20

  He strolled out of the bedroom belonging to the twin who was seeing the biker, zipping up his pants, and walked downstairs. It'd taken him almost an hour to find out which bedroom belonged to the twin that was closest to the biker. He'd found a T-shirt under the bed that belonged to the asshole who hung out here at night.

  Breaking into the townhouse helped him make progress. He only needed to take one twin. The one who wasn't sleeping with the man who belonged to a biker gang. Once he had her, the other twin would be alone, and she'd leave the biker. Then, he could take her, too. She'd belong to him. They both belonged to him.

  His skin tingled. He was close to having them both. They looked so much like the woman he'd loved. The woman he'd mistakenly killed.

  Barbara.

  She was meant to stay with him forever, and he'd gotten too rough, too impatient. It'd taken him years of practice since then, looking for someone like Barbara, learning not to hurt the women until they stopped breathing.

  He scanned the room. It felt like someone was watching him.

  He walked over to the bookcase and peered around the figurines and items stacked on the shelf looking for a hidden camera. Every place had security cameras nowadays. Schools, gas stations, even exits on the freeway. He had to stay extra diligent.

  Moving over to the second bookcase, he froze, shaking in excitement. He reached out a trembling hand toward the picture frame. Elation hit him.

  "I was right," he whispered, holding the proof in front of him.

  Barbara had come back.

  Stumbling over to the couch, he sat down and stared at the photo, rubbing his thumb over the glass. She was here. His Barbara came back, and he'd found her. The twins were part of his Barbara.

  He held the picture to his chest and stood. Looking out the window, he studied the neighborhood. The cover of darkness let him come and go over the last two nights without anyone the wiser. People who were caught up in their lives, rushing here and there, never paid attention to him.

  He looked down at the picture. He couldn't leave Barbara here. Shoving the picture frame under his jacket, he zipped up the front and put his arm down at his side.

  Then, he opened the door, relocked the handle, and slipped outside, locking the house behind him. He'd be back, and next time he'd take his Barbara.

  ***

  Clara pushed through the door into the house. The garage door clicking shut behind her gave her the signal to rip off her bra. "Did you hear the drinks the woman with Steven, who works at the gas station down the street, tried to order?"

  "Oh, God. I did." Gracie laughed setting her purse on the kitchen counter. "I was glad you were dealing with her. I don't think I could've kept a straight face. I mean, who knows what a Ring-a-ding Dolly Lolly is? I've never heard of it."

  "She couldn't even tell me if it was rum or whiskey based." Clara opened the junk drawer in the kitchen, shuffled through odds and ends and found a hairband. She wound her hair up into a messy bun. "At the end of the ten-minute conversation that only confused everyone who listened and chipped in suggestions for her, she settled on wine. Red wine."

  Gracie tilted her head. "You're in a good mood."

  "Yeah." She cupped her elbows. "As I told you earlier, I believe Wayne when he said nothing happened. The other guys hung out with the women there, and he only wanted to get drunk."

  Gracie kicked off her shoes and toed them until they were under the chair at the table. "Is Wayne coming over tonight?"

  "He might. It depends on how long he stays out." Clara took her phone out of her purse. "He hasn't called me yet."

  "Why is he out riding around if the Hillard girl was found?"

  Clara shrugged. "I didn't ask."

  "You should've. It'd help us know what kind of activities he's involved in." Gracie walked out of the room and said, "I'm jumping in the shower. Don't start yours until I'm out. The hot water heater sucks here."

  "Okay." Clara put two drinking glasses in the sink and flipped off the kitchen light.

  Wayne had cleared up one of those activities they didn't need to know more about. Maybe because she was concentrating on what he does on his searches and how far he would go if he found trouble or a bad guy, she overreacted finding him drunk in the garage with naked women present. Finding out felt a lot like someone kicking her legs out from under her.

  Though the roses were a nice touch.

  The apology made more of an impact.

  She left the table lamp on in the living room, letting it light her way up the stairs. She dragged her feet up the steps and walked into her bedroom. Maybe she should give Wayne a key to the house. She yawned, her eyes closing at the power of her tiredness. If he could let himself in, she could stay in bed when he showed up instead of walking back downstairs and opening the door.

  She took off her necklace, stepped over Wayne's shirt on the floor, and laid her jewelry on the nightstand. Her pulse accelerated, and she whirled around and looked on the floor again. Every morning she picked up all her dirty clothes and took them down to the clothes hamper in the garage where the washer and dryer were situated. Maybe she dropped the shirt and never noticed.

  She bent over and picked up the T-shirt and instantly dropped it. It was soaking wet. She sniffed her hand and recoiled, skirting the room, giving the shirt a wide birth.

  "Gracie," she yelled. "Come here."

  "Hang on."

  "Hurry." Her heart pounded, and she stayed by the doorway, unable to comprehend what she was seeing and smelling. Even the beige carpeting looked wet beside her bed.

  Gracie touched her arm. "What's up? I was just getting into the shower."

  She held her hand that she'd used to pick up the shirt away from her body. "I-I think someone peed on Wayne's shirt and my floor."

  "Peed?" Gracie pushed past her, leaned over, and inhaled through her nose. She backed up gagging. "Sis, call 911."

  Clara's phone was on the dresser. She'd have to walk on the carpet. "Where's your phone?"

  "My room. Come on." Gracie grabbed her arm and took her to the bedroom
, shutting and locking the door. "Wash your hands in my bathroom. I'll call."

  She hurried to the attached bathroom, washed with soap twice, and returned to hear Gracie on the phone.

  "Please, hurry." Gracie looked up at Clara. "We're in the bedroom. I locked the door."

  Gracie pointed to her closet and then at her robe she wore. Clara grabbed her a shirt and a pair of shorts, found her shoes and dropped them at her feet.

  "Thank you." Gracie held her shirt in her hand and the phone to her ear. "Can you talk to my sister? I'd like to get dressed before the police come. No, I have my clothes in the room with us."

  Gracie thrust the phone at Clara. She put the cell on her ear. "Hello?"

  "Hello, this is dispatch. I've asked your sister to keep the line open until an officer arrives," said the woman.

  "Okay." Clara paced. "Why would someone pee in my bedroom?"

  "I don't know, ma'am. An officer will be there in two minutes. Let me know when you hear the sirens."

  "Okay." Clara looked behind her at the window and stepped away. Even though the blinds were closed, it felt like someone was looking in on her. "Are they almost here?"

  "Yes, ma'am. They're on Lombard Street, two blocks away from you. Is there anyone else in the house?"

  "I-I don't know. We just got home, and noticed someone had been in my bedroom." Clara reached out and grabbed Gracie's hand, together they sat on the edge of the bed.

  In the distance, sirens came to them through the house. Clara stood back up. "I hear sirens."

  "Good," said the dispatcher. "Do you want to open the door or would you like to stay in your room and give us permission to break in?"

  Clara glanced at Gracie who pointed at the door. "We'll open the door."

  "Please stay on the phone until the officer is in the house. I'm right here and have communication with the officer if you need me."

  "Okay. Thank you." She opened the bedroom door and together with Gracie hurried down the stairs.