Biker's Baby: Devil's Wings MC

by Nicole Fox

  He went back to Dean. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked quietly.

  “What, that Lawler’s off his rocker on drugs?” Dean looked more confused than anything. Chopper couldn’t blame him.

  “And he might be getting ready to do something insane. What’s he been saying to make his own men spend days hiding upstairs in this goddamn hellhole?”

  Dean shrugged. “What do you want to do?”

  Chopper glanced at the semicircle of serious, expectant faces. “Bear with me,” he said, and before they could voice any sort of dissent, he called up to the Mongols. “Hey, come down. We’re taking you with us.”

  “You can’t,” was the answer, but it wasn’t very convincing. “If Spike gets back and we’re gone, he’ll lose it.”

  “What do you care?” Chopper asked nonchalantly. “You won’t be there to see it.” He put his hand on the faded banister, letting a note of impatience creep into his voice. “Look, it’s not really a choice, all right? Come down, or I’m coming up after you.” As an afterthought, he added, “No one here wants to hurt you. We won’t complain if you turn out to be bait for your glorious leader, but you’re not gonna die today. Okay?”

  Silence for thirty seconds. Finally, two men appeared at the top of the stairs. They looked like ghosts, their faces gaunt, pale faces sheathed in days — or weeks — of grubby beard growth. Chopper signaled for his men to back away as the two Mongols descended into their midst; soon, he didn’t have to tell his boys to give them space. The Mongols stunk oppressively from such a long time spent in a place without the luxuries of running water. “Sorry,” the shorter one mumbled, his head hung low. “We been here a while.”

  Chopper took one of the Mongols back to the compound himself, ahead of his crew. He sent the guy to the showers, with instructions to meet him in the war room as soon as he was done. As he sat waiting in his chair, Chopper propped up his feet on the table. They were playing chess now, and he had just captured two of Lawler’s pawns.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kelsey

  She woke up alone and fuzzy-headed the next morning with a dim recollection of Chopper giving her a kiss and walking out the door. Kelsey ran her tongue over her teeth, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She’d taken a sleeping pill after he left, because she knew that otherwise her restless thoughts would keep her awake for hours, and now she felt as though she’d just come out of heavy sedation. It reminded her of the short, awful time she had spent in the hospital, what seemed like eons ago, now. Almost by reflex, she put her hands on her belly. It was flat, as always. Kelsey looked down at her fingers overlapping each other and sighed deeply. She’d come a long way since then, but the pain still found ways to make itself known, lurking in the depths of her mind and heart.

  Kelsey shook her head briskly and reached over to the nightstand for her phone. Ten o’clock in the morning, two missed calls—one from Brittany, and one from a number she didn’t recognize. Each had left a voicemail. She listened to Brittany’s first, hoping the girl’s infectious enthusiasm would clear her foggy brain.

  “Hi, Kelsey! It’s Brittany. I’m calling to let you know that Detective Wilde received permission from the chief this morning to reopen Hannah’s case file! Obviously, this is very exciting, and he’s extremely dedicated to the cause, but there’s a lot of work to be done, so he’ll be calling you soon to fill you in on some details. Like I said before, he may need you to come in again and speak with him, or he may need you to resubmit some things.” She paused, as if she wanted to say something else but thought better of it. “Don’t worry, he’s really nice. Okay? Call me if you need anything or have any questions. I should be here all day.” The voicemail ended, and Kelsey sat still for a moment, still holding the phone to her ear.

  Then, she started the next message, before she could give herself time to get lost in thought. A man’s voice, practiced and professional, flowed into her ear. “Hi, this is Detective Emmett Wilde, calling for Kelsey Jones? I wanted to notify you that we are reopening the investigation into your sister Hannah’s murder, effective this morning.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m interested in following up with you for a secondary interview, just to make sure the information in the file is accurate. As I’m sure you understand, it’s extremely important for us to make sure everything is in order going forward. Please feel free to call back whenever is convenient for you. I’ll be here.” He wrapped up with his contact number, which Kelsey wrote down on a scrap of paper from her nightstand drawer. She looked at it for a long time. This moment was one that had shaped her life for months, and almost led her to ruin. But now that it was finally here, she found herself hesitating to move forward. A realization had begun to dawn in her mind. She needed a moment.

  Kelsey put the phone number down and got up to take a shower. Standing naked in the clouds of steam, she closed her eyes and thought about the crossroads where she was standing. When she had joined the Mongols so many months ago, her only goal was justice for Hannah, any way she could get it. And when she’d switched sides at Chopper’s behest, the same was still true, even if her methods had to change. But today, she washed a body that had held and given up Chopper’s child, with hands that had spent so much time intertwined with his. The bed she slept in was no longer hers or his—it was theirs. She loved him. He was her future, he had spilled so much blood, and she suspected that before the day was out, he’d spill yet more on the city streets, or wherever he finally found Spike Lawler.

  How could she protect him if she let a police detective into her life? How could she sleep well at night if she never knew who had killed her sister? Kelsey was just now understanding — perhaps too late — what a great conflict of interest she’d managed to construct. She would have to be very careful around Detective Wilde; one slip-up could cost her everything she had come to know.

  Part of her, the old Kelsey who was so wracked with grief and vengeance that she joined a motorcycle gang, said that it’d be worth it to see Hannah’s murderer jailed, that she’d just start over again. But a bigger part wasn’t willing to throw it all away. There was no conceivable scenario in which she’d get to keep any of Chopper’s assets, especially not if she was found to be complicit in whatever crimes could be charged. It was a real possibility that she’d be trading her freedom for prison. And if that happened, she could kiss all her ambitions goodbye, as well as consigning herself to live with the knowledge that she’d ruined Chopper’s life because her own selfish motive ultimately outweighed their love.

  Kelsey turned her face up to the showerhead, letting the water sting her cheeks. That wasn’t true. Chopper, that sexy, hard-edged one-night-stand she’d met in a bar, somehow taught her everything she now understood about love and commitment. Through her darkest days, he stood by her side, often without really knowing what she was thinking, or whether she’d ever come back to him. He kept vigil over her in the hospital, despite being told that she didn’t want him there. And after that, he literally saved her life. Jesse Slater was the one man who had never left her. It would be unthinkable to turn around and abandon him in return. Still, she refused to choose him over her beloved Hannah. A sigh escaped her. These were going to be hard times.

  Ten minutes later, Kelsey sat on the edge of the bed, running a towel over her damp hair. Her phone, set on speaker, lay beside her, calling Detective Wilde’s number. She tried to keep her heartbeat steady, tried to make sure her voice wouldn’t tremble when she spoke. On the other end of the line, a telephone began to ring.

  “Detective Wilde here.” Like in the voicemail, he spoke mildly, his tone completely neutral.

  Kelsey’s heart still kicked into high gear. “I’m Kelsey Jones,” she stated, hoping she sounded at least a little bit composed. “You left me a message earlier. I’m sorry I missed it.”

  “Ah, right.” Papers shuffled in the background. “Thanks so much for calling me back, Miss Jones. I wondered if there was a chance we might be able to meet in
the near future? As I said before, I just want to make sure that what we have in the file is correct.” His tone turned slightly apologetic. “Unfortunately, there’s really not much here, so I need to go over what we do have with a fine-toothed comb.”

  “Of course. You can call me Kelsey.”

  He smiled. “Kelsey, then. When is a good time for us to meet? If you’re not comfortable coming to the station, I’m more than happy to meet you somewhere else, either at your residence or a public location. Your choice.”

  Kelsey flinched. The address they had on file for her was her old apartment, the one she’d given up to live at the Mongol compound with Spike. Would they ask her to confirm it? She shook her head, grateful that he couldn’t see her. Too late to worry about that now. She’d have to take her chances.

  “I can come to the station,” she said cheerfully, pasting on her biggest, brightest smile to mask whatever emotions might be bubbling up behind her words. “In thirty minutes? I just got out of the shower.”

  “Take your time,” Wilde replied. “I’ll be here. See you soon.”

  “Thank you.” Kelsey felt simultaneously relieved and anxious as she watched the call terminate on her screen. He had probably meant for his last words to be comforting, but to her, they sounded a little bit ominous. A stone settled itself in the pit of her stomach as she started to get ready, but she knew it didn’t matter. There was no going back anymore.

  # # #

  Kelsey took a cab to the police station, and as she walked up toward the front door, she imagined the last time she was there: a grieving sister with a broken heart, being told for the hundredth time that there was no news or progress to report on Hannah’s case. On her way across the threshold, she wondered idly if the staff at the front desk would remember her. Kelsey took a deep breath. She wanted to stop, but she forced herself to keep going. One foot in front of the other. Then the door was swinging shut behind her, and she was in. She swallowed hard. A smile found its way automatically onto her face.

  “Can I help you, hon?” The lady behind the glass was the same lady Kelsey had seen every day for weeks, back when she was a station regular. There was no recognition in her bright blue eyes, which somehow made Kelsey feel better, or at least less conspicuous. Kelsey’s smile became a tiny bit more genuine.

  “I have an appointment to speak with Detective Wilde,” she said, in the same tone of voice she used at the doctor’s office, or the bank. This is normal, she told herself. Totally normal. Nothing is wrong with this. Nobody knows who you are.

  “Sure thing,” said the woman. “Let me page him down for you.” She nodded toward the collection of chairs sitting opposite the counter. “Feel free to have a seat. He won’t be long.”

  Obediently, Kelsey sat. She wanted to stand — it made fidgeting easier — but remaining on her feet seemed suspicious, for reasons she couldn’t explain even to herself. It was better to blend in and act like she belonged there. You do belong here, she reminded herself firmly. You were invited. Relax.

  The minutes ticking by felt like individual eternities, but there were likely only a few before the elevators to her left dinged their arrival, opening to reveal a tall, lanky man in a grey blazer over jeans. He stepped out of the car and smiled when he saw her. “Kelsey?” he called, one foot planted in front of the elevator doors to keep them from closing. She glanced up, and he waved her over. “Come on up. No point in giving up the elevator, right?”

  Kelsey glanced at the receptionist, who chuckled and shrugged. She grabbed her bag and trotted over to Detective Wilde. “I guess not,” she agreed, shaking his offered hand. He let her in ahead of him and thumbed the button for the seventh floor.

  “Thanks for coming in on such short notice,” he said. “Follow-ups are always tough. I appreciate it.”

  “Sure,” Kelsey said. The elevator stopped at their floor. He led her out through a maze of divided cubicles, toward a narrow hallway in the back. Once she realized where they were going, Kelsey had to consciously keep herself from stopping.

  Wilde seemed to notice her apprehension, though he didn’t look at her. “We’re going to do this in an interrogation room, but only for reasons of space and privacy, okay? Obviously, you are not a suspect at this time, and you are not in trouble.” He gestured around the open office. “It’s just … this is not an ideal space to be conducting interviews.”

  “It’s fine,” Kelsey said, her voice a little smaller than she wanted it to be. Wilde stopped in front of one of the heavy, windowless doors. He fished a key ring out of his pocket and stuck one of them in the lock. The door swung open with a creak that echoed throughout the rest of the room. Kelsey felt a few of the officers raise their heads from their desks for just a second, but long enough to make her cheeks start to burn.

  The detective frowned. “One of these days, we’ll get that fixed,” he muttered. Then he ushered her in, offering her a seat on one side of the metal table. There was a folder on the tabletop, and a ring on the wall behind her chair, for handcuffs. Kelsey tried not to look at either. “Do you want anything?” Wilde asked. “Coffee, soda, snacks?” He was still on his feet. She didn’t like having to look up at him.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  He nodded and slid into the chair opposite her, pushing it away from the table and leaning back. His eyes, an oceanic shade of green and grey, scanned her briefly.

  “All right,” he said, after a few moments. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chopper

  He had a pizza brought into the war room as a kind of peace offering, because as much as he wanted to tell himself that the Mongols he’d found in that squalid house weren’t hostages, he suspected they all knew better. Not that any of them expected Spike to come to their rescue; in fact, as soon as he had laid eyes on the condition of the building they were in, Chopper knew that Lawler had most likely left them for dead, or was seriously thinking about it. How a man who called himself a leader could treat his men with such indifference was totally beyond Chopper’s capability to imagine. He found himself feeling more than base pity for the two men sitting at his table. He watched them tearing into the pie like wolves, and he understood the struggle of their fierce, misplaced loyalty. If he were in their shoes, wouldn’t he do the exact same thing?

  Chopper didn’t eat. His mind was focused on the impending interrogation, trying to predict what he might learn from them. He prepared himself to be told that here was a secret faction of Mongols that was waiting in the wings with a fresh arsenal of guns and bombs, that Spike had planned for this exact scenario. He prepared for the possibility that the Mongol collapse was all some sort of elaborate prank, and that the advantage he’d gotten by fighting tooth and nail meant nothing. If the Outlaw victory was hollow, Chopper could take it. He was strong enough for that. He and his boys would simply regroup, and come back stronger. Hell, he’d send Kelsey away if he had to, just to keep her safe. He smirked to himself as he imagined her reaction to that kind of news. She’s gonna be pissed. But he would do it. He would do anything for her.

  One of the Mongols finished off the last of his third slice of pizza and pushed the plate away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Up close, Spike’s boys looked even worse than they had in the unflattering light of the ruined house, free shower notwithstanding. The circles around their eyes were so dark they looked like masks, their faces almost skeletal. He glanced at his brother-in-arms, who was still eating, then back at Chopper. His dull eyes were grim and resigned.

  “Thanks, Slater,” he said. “I guess we owe you one, huh?”

  “How long were you in there?” Chopper asked. He did his best not to sound like an enemy. These boys were potentially valuable resources, and he couldn’t afford to screw up diplomatic relations if he wanted to make any significant headway toward locating their leader. Showing even nominal concern seemed prudent. And besides, Mongols or not, they didn’t deserve the treatment they’d gotten. Chopper
’s morals were straight enough to know that, at least.

  The Mongol shrugged. “Since you caught Spike at the warehouse.”

  Chopper raised his eyebrows. Weeks. That explained their haunted, starving looks—and the smell. “Long time,” he said casually.

  The kid laughed tonelessly. “Don’t have to tell me. We weren’t even s’posed to be there. It’s just that everyone else was dead.” His gaze shifted to the left. “Well, almost everyone. I don’t think he —” He stopped then, suddenly, as if realizing what he was saying. His lips clamped shut. Chopper saw the color draining rapidly from his face.

  His friend, finally full, stared anxiously between him and Chopper, apparently trying to decide if he should step in or not. He opened his mouth, only to close it when nothing came out. Chopper held up his hands. “All right, hang on. Let’s back up for a second. What do I call you?”

  The first one said, “Snow.” At the same time, he ran a hand unconsciously across his nose. Chopper didn’t press for details. He got it. He turned to the other one expectantly.