Hard Proof (Notus Motorcycle Club Book 1)

by Debra Kayn

  Notus Motorcycle Club could be in and out within minutes.

  "Run through everything," he said.

  "We break through the front door, check for Gracie, if she's there, we kill the fucker," said Thad. "I want him. For Thalia."

  Wayne's first thought was he wanted to be the one to take him out. For Clara. For Gracie. But, Thad had the right to seek vengeance for his sister. "You called it."

  "If she's there, how are we getting her out?" asked Glen.

  They all came on motorcycles. Gracie could be hurt. Not only from the car accident, but from Jenson. Wayne spotted the older, rusted car in the driveway and pushed away the idea to take her away in the killer's vehicle.

  "Ambulance. Regardless of her condition, we go with procedure," said Wayne. "As for what falls on us once we're inside, I'll take responsibility for what happens afterward."

  "It's your call. We'll back you." Thad worked his jaw and continued. "By the time the cops come, we better come up with a fucking good reason for killing him. Self-protection. No time. The moment was right, and we visually saw Gracie before seeing the killer. Got it?"

  Wayne nodded and looked at the others, who pledged their loyalty. They understand what law enforcement would look for to press murder charges against one of them. As a club, they'd be hard pressed to arrest them all. They'd present a united front.

  "We can go in the backdoor." Glen pointed, puckering his lips but his usual whistling never reached their ears. "There's at least two feet between the back of the house and the cement wall. The house was built first, so there's a guaranteed door, and nobody will see us go in. He probably locks the front door heavier than the back in case of escape. Either that, or we take out a window."

  "No, we have to go through the front." Wayne walked toward his motorcycle already planning ahead with a plausible story. "We spotted him outside, heard Gracie screaming for help inside, and he threatened us outside. We stick with the same story. We killed him outside and had to bust the door to get to Gracie. Keep your pistols out of your hands until we're covered by the house and the bush in the front." Wayne walked toward his motorcycle. "Let's roll the bikes onto the street as if we were just riding by and stopped."

  They pushed their bikes forward. Everyone's gaze on their surroundings, looking for any problems beforehand. As Wayne toed the kickstand, he motioned them to go. He caught up with his MC brothers as he stepped into the grass.

  Glen, carrying the most body weight, threw himself against the door. His shoulder rendered a crack along the door frame but remained closed.

  "Move back. We'll have to move fast because of the noise." Wayne aimed his pistol at the frame parallel from the handle and shot multiple times until the door broke free.

  Thad kicked the door fully open, his weapon drawn. Followed by Wayne. Then, Glen. Having each other's backs, they spread out through the small house. Wayne stepped into the kitchen, spotted the back door, still locked. On his return to the living room, he heard Thad yell.

  Wayne hurried down the hallway and found Thad holding a man at gunpoint. His gaze went to the bed, and every muscle in his body seized. Gracie, tied to the bed, her shirt ripped off her shoulder, stared hollowly at Thad.

  She was alive.

  His finger holding the trigger ached, and he swung his gaze to the killer. Roy Jenson held a knife in his hand at his side as if unaware of being caught. He stood without any emotion, any defense, any worry. Considering there were four pistols aimed at his heart, Jenson should've pissed his pants, but he was too high on his crime to be careful in his own house.

  "Take him to the fucking yard and get him out of the house. Make sure that knife stays in his hand. There's blood on it," said Wayne, catching Glen's eye and nodding, making sure the others understood Thad wanted to be the one to take responsibility for what would happen. "Once I hear the shot, I'm calling an ambulance."

  While the others corralled Jenson and took him from the room, Wayne moved over to the bed, blocking Gracie from watching.

  "Hey, Gracie." He leaned closer until he was the only person in front of her. "I'm going to use my knife to cut the rope off your arms."

  She stared at him with no recognition. He swallowed and slowly moved his hand to his waist. Shock had settled in her, and there was no telling if she had any injuries. She only stared. With her looking exactly like Clara, absolute helplessness washed through him. It could've been Clara, and he had to keep reminding himself that it was Gracie and not her sister. Even that fact couldn't penetrate his brain.

  He wanted to kill Roy Jenson.

  Making sure not to reach across Gracie's body and scare her more, he placed her free arm on the bed and walked around the foot of the mattress to the other side. "I'll have you unbound in a moment, Gracie. Then, I'm going to call an ambulance to take you to the hospital, and the doctors can make you feel better. You won't have to worry about anyone hurting you again."

  He needed to keep talking. Any second the gunshot would rock the house, bringing new problems. He wanted to protect Gracie. She'd been through more than any person could handle.

  "Almost there. You're going to be okay." He reached forward to work on the rope holding her hand to the headboard and stopped. The skin from her fingertips to halfway down her forearm was blue. Looking closer, her wrist was swollen and at the wrong angle. Her kidnapper had broken her damn hand. "Gracie...I'm going to be as careful as I can, but untying your hand is going to hurt. I'm afraid there's no getting around not hurting you."

  He cupped her forearm, away from her wrist, and sawed at the rope. "Clara's safe at my house with two police officers babysitting her. She got a little banged up in the accident, but she's okay. She's worried about you and wants you back home. I bet you'd like that, huh? I'll make sure you both get back together soon. Once the ropes are off you, I'm going to call an ambulance. I'm going to stick by you and make sure they take good care of you. We're not far away from the hospital. Only a few blocks away. It won't take long at all to get you taken care of and feeling better."

  The rope gave way. He took the deadweight of her arm and laid it down beside her, gritting his teeth, knowing he had to be causing her excruciating pain that never showed on her face.

  Quickly moving down to her feet, he worked on the bindings. "Clara said you both changed your minds about having people dance in the bar. I'm not a dancer myself, never have been. I like music though. Your sister, she hums. Did you know that about her? Between you and me, she can't carry a tune, but Jesus...hearing her is the best thing in the world."

  Fuck, he was running out of things to talk about. The others had been outside a long fucking time.

  "You'll...you'll see that Vavoom's will be packed around June and July. More sunshine brings people out and —"

  The blast from the pistol outside filled the room.

  "—everyone enjoys hanging around bullshitting and relaxing. I've often thought it'd be good business to put a few tables out on the sidewalk during the summer months. You'd probably have to check with the city about a permit first. I'm not sure they allow drinking outside the establishments, but it wouldn't hurt to check." He loosened the last rope and returned to the side of the bed.

  Clara watched his every move, but there was something missing in her gaze. Whatever Roy Jenson did to her, around her, for her, caused her to shut down from the situation. How long had she been like that? What had Jenson done?

  He pulled out his phone. Not knowing how things were going outside, he put his trust in his club and tapped in 911.

  "This is 911, what is your address?"

  "Uh, Six-zero-four." He grimaced, doubting himself. "Or, six-four-zero. It's on Piedmont off of Lombard, directly behind the car wash. Uh, the Suds and Spin Car Wash beside Dunn's Car Lot."

  "What is your emergency," said the female dispatcher.

  "I have Gracie Nelson in front of me. She was recently abducted." He knew the drill and what information would be asked. "This is Wayne Shaw, and I'm staying with her until y
ou get here. She's in the house and needs an ambulance. She is alive."

  "Police and ambulance are dispatched. ETA is five minutes." The woman's voice softened. "Well done, Mr. Shaw."

  "Can you put a private call into Lieutenant Gomez and let him know the situation?" he asked. "Tell him the suspect is outside on the lawn, along with Notus Motorcycle Club."

  "Yes, sir. I will. If you'd like to stay on the line until the police—"

  "That's not necessary. Thank you." He disconnected the call and pocketed the phone.

  Law enforcement would be too busy once they arrived to stop him from following the ambulance and making sure Gracie is taken care of. They could question him after he made sure Gracie and Clara were taken care of.

  He squatted down beside the bed. "It won't be long now. I'll call Clara as soon as you're transported and let her know I found you."

  "Clara," whispered Gracie.

  Relief filled his chest. He'd done the right thing. He'd found her. She was alive. Whatever came next in her life, she'd find the strength to go on. "Yeah, Clara. She's home, and as soon as I can, I'll bring her to you. She'd want to be with you."

  "Clara." Through her parched lips, Gracie could barely say the name again, but he understood. She wanted her twin.

  He ran his hands over his thighs wanting to touch her and assure Gracie everything would be okay, but he had no idea what would happen once the police showed up. He'd cut the ropes, ruining the crime scene. "Clara loves you, Gracie."

  "Twins. Forever," whispered Gracie.

  Sirens grew louder. Wayne blinked hard, sniffed, and stood. "You hang on to that strength, Gracie. You did good. Damn good."

  The responding officers shouted their arrival. Wayne stepped away from the bed, raised his hands in the air, and shouted, "In the bedroom. This is Wayne Shaw, and Gracie Nelson is in front of me. She's hurt and needs to get to the hospital. I have a pistol in a shoulder holster, and my arms are in the air."

  After that, he was escorted outside with a pistol aimed at his back and laid on the ground beside Glen and Thad, who lay prone with their hands handcuffed behind them. He lifted his chin off the grass and gave a short nod to his MC brothers. Because ten feet away lay the dead body of Roy Jenson.

  Chapter 31

  Clara jolted awake from dreaming about Gracie's hand slipping out of hers. She laid still in Wayne's bed, trying to slow her panic when quiet voices downstairs broke through her fog of sleep. Never before had Motrin knocked her out, especially when she wanted to stay awake in case they found Gracie. She rolled to her side, groaning at her muscles protesting any movement. Her tiredness had to be a reaction to the head injury she suffered in the accident making it hard to keep her eyes open.

  She pushed into a sitting position and hesitated, gathering her breath.

  Her wrist throbbed, and she rubbed the joint, surprised that her arm ached worse than the mild headache that'd plagued her since the accident. She stood and closed her eyes when the room swayed. Officer Taylor was no longer in the bedroom, and she had no idea how long she'd slept. The last thing she remembered was hearing it was almost six o'clock in the evening.

  Holding her arm against her chest, she stepped away from the bed testing her weak legs. She made it to the door and walked across the hallway to the bathroom. When her ass hit the toilet, she trembled in relief. She was weak, almost like she'd been drugged and sleeping for days. Unable to shake the disassociated feeling, she finished using the toilet, washed her hands, wincing again at the dull pain in her wrist. There wasn't a mark on her hand or arm.

  She dragged her feet down the hallway and gingerly stepped down on the stairs. Confident she could make it all the way into the living room, she held on to the banister with her unhurt hand. At the bottom, she huffed to gain her breath back.

  "Clara?" Officer Taylor walked toward her. "Are you sure you want to be out of bed? Wayne wanted you to rest."

  "My sister? Has anyone heard anything?" she asked.

  "Come sit down before you fall down, and we'll talk. You're shaking." The officer pointed to the couch. "You've been sleeping really hard. Only stirring when I wake you every two hours."

  She stepped to the couch and held onto the back. "What time is it?"

  "Almost midnight. Can you please sit down?" Officer Taylor put her hand on Clara's arm and led her to the front of the couch. "We've got news to share with you."

  Clara's body stiffened, and she grabbed on to the officer's arm. Her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't go on without Gracie. She had to be okay. "About my sister?"

  Officer Taylor's gaze softened. "Your sister has been found."

  "She's alive?" she said, exhaling harshly.

  "Yes, very much alive."

  The fear she'd been holding inside of her boiled out faster than she could contain her emotions. She sagged forward, every ache forgotten, and cried hard, unable to control the sobs rendering her body and mind useless.

  Gracie was alive. That's all that mattered.

  "Where...?" She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to stifle the relief.

  "She's at St. John's Hospital and in surgery right now. She's going to be fine." Officer Taylor held up her hand. "Her wrist is broken and..."

  Officer Taylor's voice faded. Clara looked down at her hand laying in her lap, limp and aching. She should've known.

  When she broke her leg falling off her bike as a child, Gracie had an unexplained limp for the six weeks Clara had been in a cast, though nothing was wrong with Gracie's leg. When Gracie had an ear infection, it was Clara who'd ran the fever and cried into her pillow. By the time they were twelve years old, they had taken sharing each other's pain as a normal part of life and never questioned why it happened.

  "I need to go to her." Clara wiped her cheeks. "Can you take me?"

  Officer Geary stepped forward. "The best thing for you to do is take care of yourself. The doctors are taking care of your sister. You're still recuperating—"

  "Where's Wayne?" Her chest seized, and she pushed herself off the couch. "I need to talk with him."

  Officer Geary looked at his partner. Clara looked at both of them. Her eyes stung, her mouth dried, and her body hurt. Wayne had gone out searching for Gracie. He'd found her. Then, where was he?

  "He's at the police station, and they're questioning him." Officer Taylor brows lowered. "Our shift ended at eleven o'clock, but we've told Wayne we'll stay with you through the night."

  "What do you mean, they're questioning him?" She fingered the bandage on her head, trying to ease the pounding. "Why? Did they catch the man who kidnapped Gracie, too?"

  "He's dead," said Officer Geary. "He can't hurt any more people."

  She'd given Wayne the information about the man who'd killed her mom. Had she been right and it was the same man who took Gracie? Her stomach rolled. She'd asked him to kill the murderer. Everything that she and Gracie had planned came to fruition before Wayne left her at the house. She'd told him the truth. She'd outright asked him to kill and offered him money.

  She knew something would go wrong.

  The officers promised her Gracie would recover. Right now, she had to go save Wayne from being arrested.

  "Please, take me to him." She moved to the stairs and remembered she was at Wayne's house, she had no change of clothes, and even her purse was missing. Turning around, she looked at them expectantly. "Please or call a cab...something. I need to go to the police station."

  Officer Geary removed his radio off the loop on his shirt and walked into the kitchen. The female officer approached Clara. She held herself perfectly still, proving to herself she'd be fine. No one could talk her out of going. If the police had questions, she could answer every single one. Wayne would not take the fall for something she'd orchestrated.

  She got her sister back. That's all that mattered. She owed Wayne everything for what he'd done for her.

  Chapter 32

  The four walls of the interview room blocked the normal noises wit
hin the police station. Wayne kept his eyes closed, his head against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. After being read his rights, he'd faced three officers, none of which he'd worked with in the past, and answered their questions regarding the murder of Roy Jenson.

  Before he'd closed his eyes, he'd noted the time by the large black and white clock on the far wall. It'd been twelve-o-five. Clara would be sleeping. Gracie coming out of surgery. The citizens of St. John's would still be sleeping, more peacefully because a serial killer was gone from the community.

  Banging invaded his thoughts and he raised his head. He sat up and stretched his back. The noise came again, and he looked at the black window in front of him. He stood and walked around the desk.

  The window vibrated with the noise. "Yo."

  Thad? He put his hand on the one-way window, unable to see through. "What's going on?"

  He waited for a response. When none came, he spoke louder. "What?"

  "Your woman's here."

  His fingers curled on the glass. "Clara?" he shouted.

  She was injured and at home, under the care of Officers Geary and Taylor. He leaned closer until his forehead hit the window, straining to hear.

  "The detective...radio...left."

  Wayne banged his fist. "What the fuck are you saying?"

  "Clara's here. Came over the radio," shouted Thad.

  Jesus Christ. Wayne stalked across the room and kicked his boot against the door. "Hey, let me out," he yelled.

  He continued beating the door. "I want to talk to someone."

  The door lock jingled. He stepped back. There was no way he'd allow anyone to talk to Clara. She had no idea what she was doing.

  "Are you ready to talk?" asked Detective Harrison.

  "There's a woman who came into the station. Clara Nelson. I want to see her." He held his arms out from his sides. "Get Gomez to give you permission if you have to, but in two minutes I'm about to raise holy hell here, and I don't think you have enough men on the night shift to stop me."

  "Do you really want to be making threats while you're under questioning for murder?" Detective Harrison put his hands on his belt, close to the nine-millimeter he wore at his hip.