by Mia Malone
“Oh, Jenny,” he mumbled. “Where are you, baby?”
***
Jenny
Everything hurt. My shoulders hurt because of the way they’d cuffed my arms behind my back. My arm hurt where I’d cut it. My head hurt from slamming into the van when I fought them. Something was wrapped around my head, although not tight so I had no trouble breathing, but the light hurt my eyes when they pulled the fabric away from my face.
“Tell your man to back off,” a rough voice growled, and I turned toward it.
“What?” I mumbled, stalling for time.
I wasn’t sure what exactly they wanted Paddy to back off from. It could have something to do with his construction business, although that seemed far-fetched. It seemed more likely that these men were involved in criminal activities Paddy was trying to keep far away from Wilhelmine.
“We know he has his trackers watching us,” the man said.
He spoke with an accent I couldn’t place. It sounded a little like something I’d heard in the movies. Russian perhaps? Then what he said penetrated, and I blinked. Paddy didn’t have any trackers, and everyone knew that. They thought I was Doug Hanes’ woman?
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound weak and confused. “Give me a phone, and I'll call him.”
I wondered if they'd check who I actually called. I didn't know Doug's phone number, so if they realized I'd call Paddy, they would be less than happy.
The roar of a bike approached, and I heard it stop outside. Feet were suddenly moving around me, but I kept my eyes on the floor. The planks were old, and when I glanced around, I could tell that the whole house was rickety and worn down. It'd be a cabin somewhere, but I didn't recognize it, and I saw only treetops outside the window.
“What the hell?”
I tilted my head back to look at the man who had entered the house because the voice was familiar. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been at a party at the Wolves’ compound, he’d had a broken nose and blood running down his face.
“This isn’t Doug’s woman. He doesn't even have a woman for fuck's sake. This is Paddy Callaghan's old lady.” He scowled and looked at the two other men in the room. “Get Marty in here.”
Someone kicked me in the ribs, and I closed my eyes, wondering why the hell they took their incompetence out on me. Then another set of footsteps approached, and I twisted around to see a very familiar man enter the room.
“Hello, Jenny.”
“Martin,” I sighed.
My fucking ex-husband walked up to crouch next to me.
“You’re sure she isn’t Doug Hanes’?” the first man asked.
Martin made a harsh sound, and his eyes darkened. The hand he'd put on my cheek hardened and he turned my face toward him as the man from the Wolves MC kept talking.
“I was at a party at the compound a couple weeks ago. Tried to get it on with her before I knew, and Callaghan went ballistic. Pushed me into a wall and told me to never touch his woman. Watched them outside after, and she was moaning sweetly for him when he put his fingers up her snatch. So, yeah. I’m fucking sure.”
Martin straightened and kicked me. And I knew. He'd deliberately told them I was Doug's just so he could, what? Hit me some more, twenty years after roaring out of Wilhelmine? What the hell?
“Wasn't it enough to hit me for ten years?” I asked hoarsely. “You raped me on our wedding night, and that last weekend, you hit me in the belly.” I glared up at him, knowing there was no way out of this situation, so I might as well tell him everything. “I was pregnant, and I was going to tell you that weekend. But I lost that baby too.”
He paled, and I heard one of the other men mutter something angrily. Apparently, even criminals objected to hitting pregnant women in a way that killed the child.
“I didn’t know.”
“Wasn’t it enough to hurt me?”
“It’ll never be enough,” he roared. “You always had your eyes on that fucking Paddy Callaghan. I knew you wanted him.”
“What?”
“Every time I caught you mooning over him, I tried to beat it out of you and it never fucking worked. No matter how hard I tried, you just kept watching him. Never looked at me the way you looked at him when you thought no one noticed.” He kicked me again, harder this time. “Except I noticed. And now you're running around with him like a fool, and I noticed that too.”
Oh, God. I tried to think. Tried to remember. My memories were hazy, and I'd never figured out what set him off. Could it all have been about Paddy? And since he knew about Paddy and me, he must have been watching me all these years. Oh, God.
“That last weekend,” Martin snarled. “I saw Callaghan’s woman pack her car and lit out of Wilhelmine. She was crying like a fucking baby. Ten years of him ignoring her and she still cried when she left. And I knew I had to make you pay. He'd be free, and you wanted him. Not me. Never me.”
“Because you made it so.”
He leaned down, and I saw his hard fist a second before it hit my temple.
Then everything went black.
***
“You stupid moron,” someone shouted. “You played us.”
They weren’t in the room with me, but I heard them clearly.
“You made us get into trouble with both the Wolves and the Brothers so you could mess with your ex?” someone else asked angrily.
“Fuck you,” Martin growled.
They moved around some, and from the sounds of it, they were pushing Martin around.
“What are we going to do with her now?”
“What the hell do I know?” Martin grunted.
“We should call down to the compound.”
“Hate this place,” the man from the Wolves MC said. “No fucking connection on my cell up here.”
“You go back to the Wolves. They’ll have figured out she’s gone, Callaghan will make calls all the fuck over. See what they’re up to. I’ll drive down to the compound.”
There was a short silence.
“Marty, you get to keep an eye on your ex. You do not touch her until we’re back.”
“Why would I touch that old hag?” Martin asked.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. We’ll have to kill her, but I want the main man to give the order before we do.”
“Kill her?”
“She’s seen us, so, yeah. We planned that anyway, and nothing has changed. The idea was to send a message to the Wolves, and it still will. Might not be too bad, sending a message both to the Wolves and the Brothers. As soon as I have the go, I’ll come back here. We’ll drive her a few hours away and do it there. This place is too good, can’t have any tracks leading here.”
“Fuck,” Martin muttered, but he didn't protest. “What am I going to do up here for two hours?”
“I’m leaving Niels, Dimitri and a few more to guard the road leading up here. They are not happy with you, and they will shoot you if you try to leave.”
Then heavy steps moved away, and I heard a bike and a car start up. Two hours. I had two hours to get away, and then they would kill me.
Shit.
I tried to move and got up on my knees but with my hands cuffed at the small of my back, I wouldn't be able to run, so that would have to be the first priority.
“Help?” I croaked.
“What?” Martin snarled.
“Martin?” I asked weakly. “What are you doing here? Why am I cuffed? Where am I?”
He stared at me, and I tried to look confused and sad.
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?” I asked. “I don’t know what’s happening, and I need to go to the bathroom. Martin, please…”
He yanked me up to my feet, and I didn't have to pretend it hurt. Then he pushed me into a small, dingy bathroom and stood there, watching me. The room was dirty, and I could tell from the yellow stains on the rim of the toilet that the men did not sit down and pee, and that they didn't know how to aim. It smelled foul, and I gagged but pushed it back.
“Please,” I repeated and moved my arms a little. “Can you uncuff me?”
“No.”
“I need to…” I closed my eyes briefly and went on, “I’m not going to pee. You don’t want to wipe me after that, Martin.”
He glared at me, but then he swore, pulled out a set of keys and I felt the cuffs come off. Then he left and slammed the door shut. I moved my shoulders around to get the blood flowing and surveyed the cuts I had on my right arm. Most of them looked like shallow scrapes, but one was deeper, and it had bled some. When I was done, I walked out with my right arm held tightly to my chest.
“Can I use some water to clean this?” I asked quietly.
He shrugged, which I interpreted as a yes and limped into the kitchen. When the wounds were clean, I pulled the torn jacket on again. It was thin and dirty, but I had felt my phone in the inside pocket at the back.
“Why am I here?” I asked and looked around in the room.
The countertops were dirty and worn down, and there was a disgusting smell of old cabin and something sour. By the door stood an old fridge and next to it an even older stove where someone had fried bacon in an old-fashioned cast iron skillet.
“It smells in here,” I said, and took two steps to push the door open. When Martin started moving toward me I stepped back into the room, and asked calmly, “Can I get a glass of water?” Martin just looked at me in silence, and I wobbled the few steps back to the sink and drank straight from the tap.
“I should cuff you again,” Martin mumbled.
“My arm hurts,” I said and moved my injured arm a little to illustrate how weak I was. “Can you please explain what’s going on? I don’t understand.”
Slowly I shifted to lean on the stove, trying my best to look weak and close to fainting. He seemed to relax again, and I wondered if he really hadn't known me better. My right arm was cut up some, but I was in good shape. I was also left-handed and a lot stronger on that side, something he should have remembered.
He didn’t answer and just kept watching me. There was a look in his eyes that I recognized, and I knew he’d explode any second.
“So, you ended up with Paddy after all,” he murmured and moved toward me.
I waited and held my breath.
When he was close enough, I took a deep, slow breath, gripped the skillet with both my hands, and swung it.
It hit him in the head, and he went down. I didn't stop to look if he stayed down and bolted through the door I’d just opened, and ran straight into the forest. I kept running for some time without caring about where I went or if I made any sounds. Then I slowed down and started paying attention to my surroundings. I was in the mountains, and at first, I didn't recognize the ridges or peaks.
Then I saw the outline of a familiar rock formation, and knew I was high up on the ridge leading up on Whitewash mountain. We’d camped in the area several times when I was a kid, so I thought I had a pretty good idea where I was.
“How the hell could he be stupid enough to uncuff her?” I heard someone say and crouched down behind some bushes.
“We’ll deal with the idiot later,” another voice said, and this time I did recognize the accent.
What the hell was a Norwegian doing up here in the mountains? They were the people who handed out the Nobel peace prize, weren’t they? Not people who liaised with criminal assholes who planned to kill innocent women.
“The only way out of here is down, and she'll head for the roads. Let's spread out and find her.”
They moved away, and I stayed where I was until I hoped they were far enough away. While I waited, I looked around, smiling grimly. Down wasn’t the only way out. I could go up too, and it looked like it would be a hard hour up the mountain, but after that I could go over the ridge and down the other side. It would be a lot farther to run, but I knew old roads were crisscrossing the mountain so if I got lucky, I’d find one of them. They wouldn’t chase me that way, or at least not initially. And if they did, I was in my jogging shoes, and there wouldn't be any of them who could run like I did.
I moved quietly to the side and started making my way up the mountain, slowly at first to make sure I didn’t make any sounds. When I couldn't see the lights from the house anymore, I broke into a steady jog. It was dark, but the terrain wasn't difficult. The forest would be denser further down, but for now, I could keep going quite quickly.
When I’d reached the ridge and was about to start my way down, I thought it was safe to stop and turn my phone on. Just as they’d said, I had no coverage, so I turned it off again and started running.
Chapter Fourteen
Padraig
He watched the hard-faced men surrounding him and pulled a hand through his hair. They had searched for hours, driving up and down on the old gravel roads and there had been no traces of anyone moving around in the area.
“Right,” he said. “We’ll head back down toward Muerta’s house. I can’t think of anyone else who would be involved.”
Everyone moved toward their bikes, but Gibson called out to him and walked over.
“Lee called,” he said. “She heard from Bethie.”
Finally. Someone had found something out. Lee wouldn't call unless Beth had found information worth sharing.
“What?”
“None of the men on the list, or their women, turned up in any searches Beth did.” Gibson’s face hardened. “She’s clever that one, Paddy. Asked Lee for another name, searched it and got a hit.”
“Who?”
“Martin. Jenny’s ex-husband owns land up on the mountain.”
Paddy’s blood froze, and he couldn’t do anything but stare at Gibson.
“Land?” he rasped out finally.
“Might be old cabins up there. Nothing logged in the systems, but there could be.”
“Where?”
Gibson started to explain, but Paddy just couldn't keep his mind on what his friend said.
“Give me a sec,” he ground out and walked away.
He gave himself three minutes to calm down, counting the seconds and focusing on breathing.
His phone rang when he was on his way back, and when he looked at it, he shouted and raised his hand.
“Jenny?”
Everyone around him stood still, and he locked eyes with Joke.
“Paddy,” she said.
Her voice was choppy and hoarse, but there she was. Alive. He closed his eyes and pulled in air through a throat that felt too tight suddenly.
“God, baby-girl. Where are you?”
“I have almost no battery and a bad connection. I'm good. Running. Some men took me to a cabin, it's on the –” The call broke up, but then she was back again. “… ridge up to the top. Small gravel road I think. They must have cleared it. Martin was there.”
“Jenny, where are you?”
He didn’t give a flying fuck where she’d been or where anyone else was.
“I’m on the frontside of Whitewash somewhere. I don’t know if they’re chasing me, so I can’t stop. I’ll keep going toward –”
The call crackled again, and he lost the rest of what she was saying.
“You're breaking up. Tell me where you are, and we'll come to get you.”
“No road. Running. Go to the cabin and get the ones there. They want to kill me. And call Doug.”
“Doug?” he asked and turned his gaze to the man.
Doug raised his brows in a silent question.
“Traitor. The man… broken nose… He works with them.”
“Jenny, where are you?”
“I’ll keep running. Get the men in the cabin off my back.”
“Jenny!” Paddy called out, but the call suddenly broke.
He stared at the phone, and then his head swung around. The man who had grabbed Jenny had been with them, helping out with the search. Traitor. Jenny had said he was a traitor.
“Stop,” he roared, but the man was already by his bike.
He swung up, started it
and roared down the road. Everyone moved toward their own bikes.
Everyone except Cal. He'd already started running, straight into the forest. They saw the lights from the motorcycle, and how the road turned in a sharp angle. Then the bike swayed, there was a crunching sound, and the lights went off.
Someone roared something angrily and then Cal shouted, “I got him!”
Paddy blinked.
“What the hell?” he grunted.
Had Callum just jumped out from the forest and taken the biker down as he sped by?
“Jesus,” Gibson muttered. “Crazy fucker.”
Neither of them had even started their bikes.
“Are we getting old?” Mac snorted from the side.
Paddy turned toward the men who had rolled out of Wilhelmine with them. Petey from the gas station was there. Hector Alvarez and his nephew Eric. Bobs from the tattoo shop, Joke’s bartender Tug and several others. They were good men. Solid. Regular guys who didn’t need to see them interrogating a traitor and hunt down a group of criminals. Shouldn’t see him do what he’d do if Jenny didn’t make it off the mountain.
“Mac, Gib, Joke, with me. Everyone else from Wilhelmine, around to the frontside of Whitewash. She’s coming down that way, running. I don’t know where, or when. Spread out and look from below.”
They nodded, and ten men moved toward their bikes. Several walked past Gibson to say something, some of them clapping his shoulder and all of them hard faced and furious.
“We’ll find her, Paddy,” Petey shouted, and then the bikes roared.
His eyes met Gib’s, and their gazes held a few seconds, then Gibson’s lips twitched.
“What did they say?” Paddy asked.
“If I kill anyone involved in this, I have an alibi. Had dinner with a bunch of our neighbors, it seems,” Gibson said calmly.
“Let’s get shit done,” Cal called out from the side. “We need to find out what this piece of garbage knows.”
Cal was holding the biker down and Doug started toward them, but Gibson put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.
“You or me, son?” he asked Cal.
