by Zoey Parker
Peter’s color looked okay, but he had sweated through his onesie. This might be a bad sign, with regard to his heart. Or it could just be a natural outcome of more than a day spent in terrible conditions in a tent in southern Arizona. Hard to tell.
The smell in the tent was horrible, and I figured his diaper hadn’t been changed the whole time he had been away from me. My poor baby. I mentally cursed Brian in as many ways as my mind could come up with.
When Peter first saw me, I think I shocked him. He stopped crying for a minute, and just watched me with his big beautiful eyes. Then, assured that it was indeed his momma, he really let loose with the wails, as if to let me know how unhappy he was about my neglect. It made me want to cry, too. But I had a priorities list now, and crying was not on it.
First things first. I plucked a diaper, some wipes, and a fresh onesie from my bag—the ladies had packed it for me yesterday, and made sure I had it when I left the house in such a rush and without all my brain neurons firing. Thank God for the ladies!
Once Peter was clean, I took him outside with me and settled us on one of the camping chairs. Brian had waited outside—surely avoiding the odiferousness of the tent interior—and now watched me with greedy eyes. I did my best to ignore him.
With a blanket over my shoulder to shield his view, I settled Peter down and felt him latch on to a swollen nipple. My overly-swollen breasts were painfully ready to unload, and it was a great relief when Petey began to suckle. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. No more wailing, no more nasty diaper smell, and the promise of total relief of the mammaries to come. Peace, of a kind.
“Why are you covering yourself? I want to watch. I want to see.”
He was whining like a child. Seriously, dude?
“Brian, I don’t know if you are aware, but we are in the middle of the desert in southern Arizona. The sun is brutal, and Peter’s skin—not to mention my own—is not prepared for it. I need to cover us both up for safety.”
It was the first excuse that popped into my head, but it was also true, and it worked. Score one, for me.
“It’s okay. I’ll get to watch later. I can wait. We can make an occasion of it. Baby’s last meal! Ha ha ha!”
Fuck. I had to think of something, fast. No way would we be hanging around long enough for him to hurt my baby. This had just turned into a deadly stand-off.
I decided that the MC guys only had as long as it took me to finish feeding Peter to intervene. If they took any longer than that, I wasn’t going to wait. I was going to shoot Brian myself, with that gun Jack had hooked me up with. And I would do it without any hesitation.
Thank God for Jack, and that beautiful handgun.
Chapter 23
Jack
The whole time I’d been following Ellie on the trail, I had plenty of time to do some thinking.
I loved her. I wanted her—not just for the sex, which was obviously excellent. But more, everything about her blew me away. She was beautiful, smart, strong, funny, kind—an amazing woman and mother. I knew I would never meet another like her, not in this life. And I knew, in my heart, that she was mine.
Just like Peter was mine. He may have been born of my brother’s seed, but the way things had played out, there was no other man alive who could ever feel for that boy what I did. So he was mine, too.
It drove me crazy that Ellie was up there, ahead of me by only minutes, with that fucking psycho. I willed her to be smart—I really didn’t have to worry much about that, she was smart—so that we could end this awful day on a high note. A ton of scenarios flitted through my mind, and to each I conjured take-downs that ended with McAfee a bloody mess, and Ellie and Peter in my arms.
Then, I would turn this disaster of a sham marriage into the real thing. Since they were both mine already, there was no reason for us not to—unless, of course, Ellie really wanted out of it. But I couldn’t see that. I figured we were both miserable not being together, so the obvious solution to all our problems was to just be together.
And that’s what drove me. That idea filled me with anticipatory gladness. That was my light at the end of this fucking tunnel from Hell.
When I finally made the final turn around a rock column outcrop, I let out a breath in relief and repositioned myself a step back. I could see Ellie just settling down to nurse Peter in a low camping seat near the tent. The lowness of the seat put her at a distinct disadvantage, as far as movement went. With the baby in her arms, she’d have a difficult time getting up, should she need to in a rush. McAfee was talking to her, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying.
I indicated to the guys behind me to fan out, to encircle the area so we could close in like a noose. No way in fuck was this cretin going to get out of here freely. It would take several minutes for everyone to make it around, so I watched the camp while I waited.
The difficulty for us, of course, was in the outcroppings and general terrain, which was packed with various cacti and spine-laden growths. The desert was no place for the weak. And Brian appeared well-settled in here—he even had a clothesline hanging. Seriously.
Still, we were more than thirty strong in number—that only counted the men who had made it here in time to be part of this take-down. And several in our ranks were military-trained, practiced, licensed, and tested. Not to mention, we had some true native blood—including one guy, Patch, who boasted his Apache lineage to all and sundry. Since we were on his own home territory, the very site of Geronimo’s decades-long stand-off with the U.S. and Mexican militias, Patch was in prime mode for one hell of a fight today. The guy was pumped up. If things hadn’t been so serious, I would have laughed. As it was, I was goddamned thankful to have him on our side.
Because of the massive proportions of the rock columns surrounding McAfee’s camp, our sightlines were severely limited. So the idea was to form the circle, then close ranks. We’d have to tighten the noose in order to act. So be it.
When enough minutes had passed that I figured everyone had to have either gotten into place or close enough, I looked one more time to see what Brian was doing. He was standing over Ellie and Peter, with her backpack in one hand, hefting it, testing its weight. Shit. Looked like it was go-time now, before he discovered the gun I’d put in there for her.
But wait—what was she doing? Damn, my woman was smart. She had him handing the pack to her, and she started to dig through it with her free arm, looking—or pretending to look—for…
What the fuck was she doing?—She had Peter nursing in one arm, and her little gun trained on the psycho with the other.
Jeezus! “GO!” I yelled, and we all ran in, closing the circle, guns drawn, all beaded on McAfee, who was also looking in surprise at Ellie, from just a few feet away.
We weren’t quiet anymore. We used our own version of a rebel yell, which echoed strongly in the rocks and must have shocked the hell out of McAfee, who immediately moved to close behind Ellie’s seat, between her and the tent, and he whipped out a switchblade and held it at her neck while watching us all close in. His other arm had knocked the gun right out of her hand and it flew several feet away from them. Then he wrapped that arm around her shoulders to keep her in place.
Fuck. The guy was strong and fast.
“You want her dead? Keep coming,” McAfee yelled out.
Almost as one, we stopped in our tracks.
I called out, “We got you, you fuckface. You’re trapped in here, no way out. You want to add murder to the kidnapping charges?” I thought about Keith, and how murder should already by on his rap sheet, but we didn’t have proof of that. Not yet, anyway.
“Back off, biker. She’s mine. She’s just been waiting for me to get everything ready for her. Now she’s here—by choice, I’ll point out—and you need to accept reality and leave. All of you. Just go. You have no right to be here. Ellie came to me, just like I dreamed. Just like I knew she would. It was perfect. You shouldn’t be here. Go away!”
Jesus. This guy was seriously crac
ked.
Ellie was carefully not moving her head—that knife had her chin lifted, and it was close to her jugular. But she spoke up, anyway. “Brian, please put that knife away. Nobody wants anybody here to get hurt. You don’t need it. Just put it away.”
I can’t say I thought that was going to be a successful attempt at decelerating the crazy, but I’d give her points for imagination.
“Ellie, make them go away. It’s supposed to be just you and me. I told you. I told you, on the phone, just you and me. Or…or now, now I have to take that noisy baby away. Why did you lie to me, Ellie? Huh? You promised you’d come alone. Bitch!”
He wasn’t in the best position to do anything other than a fatal slash to her throat, which he obviously didn’t want to do, because instead, he used his free hand to tug away the small blanket she had draped over Peter and her shoulder, to shield them from the sun and prying eyes while she fed him.
She gasped at the movement, but it freed her just enough—and in that exact moment when McAfee’s attention was not on his knife hand—she used her free arm to push his knife-wielding wrist away from her neck as she hefted her body to angle away from him. Brian was caught off-guard, and almost tipped over onto the ground.
If that damned camping chair hadn’t been so low to the ground, Ellie might have had a shot at getting away then. But as it was, it was too deep-set, too awkward—especially with the baby in her arms—and she ended up tipping herself over, almost squashing Peter on the ground.
She caught herself before her weight crushed him, but he started squalling, and she was panicking that she had hurt him and also trying to watch Brian at the same time.
Brian self-corrected from his awkward tip and grabbed the chair-back again—like that was going to protect him—before he realized he really needed Ellie’s body to be his shield, not the chair.
He was clearly about to dive onto her and Peter, probably with the intention of rolling them on top of himself, but our secret weapon—in the form of Target, who was a veteran sniper, served duty in Afghanistan and Iraq—got him first. Thank God for Target.
McAfee was hit in the shoulder before he’d even had a chance to fly on top of Ellie, and the impact of the bullet had his body whip back a bit. Target took another shot, and McAfee was down on his back, too shocked even to make a sound.
We all came running forward at that point. Most of the guys went to secure McAfee, while me and Grath and a couple other guys headed for Ellie and the baby.
She was crying, Peter was wailing—but they were both unharmed. I was so relieved, I couldn’t do anything but put myself on the ground beside her, pick her up—while she clasped Peter—and hug the both of them in my arms, feeling their heat, and hearing their breaths. I buried my face in her hair for a minute, before I lifted my head.
Brushing loose strands of hair off her cheek, I held her eyes. “It’s over. You okay? Peter okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. I think we’re both okay.”
We sat there a minute, just breathing, before she pulled herself away from me and, focusing on Peter, started baby-talk soothing him. Grath had grabbed the baby bag and set it nearby, and she dug in for a pacifier and a clean blanket.
Bull came over with some water and granola bars for all of us, which were accepted and ingested with great appreciation.
The circle of men who secured McAfee while I had been focused on Ellie had opened up, and it was clear from his bloody and somewhat rearranged face that he’d been treated to a classic MC smackdown. Good. He deserved it.
Watching him, I thought about the hell he’d put Ellie and Peter—and me, and all the rest of us—through in the last thirty hours.
Fuck that. The man had murdered my brother. He stole that life from us. From Peter. From me. I fucking hated this motherfucker. I needed to get some payback.
“Grath!” I called out.
“’Sup?” he asked
“Make sure she does not see this.” Grath followed my eyes to McAfee, and he nodded. “On it.”
I made my way over to him, leaned low to get in his face, and said, “You remember me?”
“Yessssssss.” He was still capable of some attitude, then. Good. Gave me more to work with.
“You remember my brother?”
“Yo’…who?”
“My brother, dickwad. Big guy, bigger than you. Little smaller than me. Was friends with Ellie at that bar last year. Took you down one night, I heard. My brother.”
“That was…” And he started laughing, in that horrible nasty way that bloody fucked-up faces laugh, like death was knocking at the village gate.
“That. Was. My. Brother.”
“Yeah, well, took care of him, did’n I?” He was still laughing.
“Thought that was you. Know it for sure now.”
“Yeah. Tha’ was a fun nigh’.”
I breathed in through my nose, keeping it together. “Where’s the gun?”
“You’d like to know, huh?”
“Gotta be here, huh, McAfee? In your tent? I’ll find it. But first, I got some gifts for you.” And I laid in.
I might have kicked the man a few—many—times when he was down. He fucking had it coming.
My attention over the next few minutes was all on McAfee, making sure he was feeling more pain, and that he was aware it was me giving it to him. Target’s second shot had got him in his lower right ribs—he probably had a cracked rib and a punctured lung, but it wasn’t a death shot.
Some of the guys eventually pulled me away, and they took over tying his ass up, and letting some more steam off on him when they felt it necessary.
I called out to Bull, told him to check the tent for the gun that killed Keith. He was all over that shit, made sure the guys breaking down camp were catching everything they could as evidence. Smartphones were out in force, photos and videos were taken, the works.
Grath had called Steph, who was coming out with his own team, but they’d be awhile on the road. Still, I was reassured that everything was being done right to take this motherfucker off the streets for the better part of the rest of his life, if not all of it. He was going down, long and hard.
By the time I made it back to Ellie’s side, she was looking relieved and—something else, but I couldn’t read it. One thing was clear: she was ready to go, as she finished tying up the huge long scarf she used to carry Peter around in, making a massive X across her chest.
“How’s he doing?” I asked, putting my hand lightly against his back, trying to feel his breathing, desperate to touch him and see for myself that the kid was okay. Damn, thirty-so hours was a long fucking time. It was really just hitting me now, how scared I had been—and how scared Ellie must have been.
I’d been working: on the road, searching, hunting, making calls, doing sweeps. Active. I hadn’t allowed myself time to stop and think much. But Ellie, she had been at home, just waiting for a call with news or …
But now that we had Peter back, secure, alive—now I felt it. And the fear, and the relief—I got something in my eyes again. Shit.
“He’s okay. He ate—poor little guy was hungry. I think he’s gotta be dehydrated. I don’t think he ate the whole time he was gone. He was crying so hard, but it was so weak…”
“We gotta get him checked out, Ellie. ASAP.”
“Yeah, I know. We have to go. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t care what happens with Brian—I don’t want to wait around to find out. I need to get Petey out of here. Like, now, Jack.”
I nodded, completely in agreement. “Hold on, let me get Patch. He’s got a sidecar on his bike, brought that one for a reason. You climb in there, and we’re out of here. You sure you want to be the one to carry the baby on the trail? We can wrap him on me, might be easier for you.”
She thought about it for a second, but shook her head. “No, thanks. He’s mine. He needs me. I’ll be okay. I just want to go.”
I looked at her a second, knowing there was more to her rejection than the s
urface intention, but not clear on what it really meant. Still, she was the mama, she got to make that call.
“Be right back.” I then hailed Patch to join us—he would, after all, be a hero of the day—and we were off, following the cheese puff trail.
It didn’t take that long for us to get back to the trailhead—I carried all our bags except for her water-pack, which I had unloaded of all other non-essentials.
We got back to the main parking lot in record time. As I got her and Peter settled back in the truck, I asked her, “You sure you’re okay to drive? I could leave my bike here, come back for it tomorrow or something. No need for you to drive unless you want to. You’ve been through a lot, baby.”
