Wrecked & Reclaimed (Sacred Sinners MC - Texas Chapter Book 5)

by Bink Cummings

Taking a step back, Kade pulls a bandana from his rear jean pocket to wipe the blood remnants from his hands and forearms. Then he offers me the fabric, dangling it from his fingertips. I accept the gift and wrap my weapons in it, not worried about my stained palms.

  Good thing this didn’t take too long. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we get to Texas. More importantly, the less exposed we are.

  “I’m sure there is a tracker on the car,” I concur as I climb into the driver’s seat and adjust it so I can reach the pedals, not paying any mind to the lifeless passenger. I stow my wrapped weapons in the extra cup holder of the console.

  H.B.B. rests his tatted forearms against the frame, leaning into my space, not letting me shut the door to get business sorted. “Then what are we gonna do?” From the pinched expression he wears and the softness of his voice, I can tell he’s worried. He shouldn’t be.

  I gaze up into those baby blues, letting them lock on mine. Trepidation whirls low in my stomach for the millionth time as I look at him. I mean, really look at him. Kade is the epitome of sex, bad boy, and something else I haven’t put my finger on. What’s worse, is I notice these things about him in a too personal manner. Perhaps it’s his fascination with me that sparks my curiosity. Let’s hope it’s that and nothing more. I don’t like any of this.

  “Don’t worry,” I assure those blues in an intimate tone.

  What. The. Hell.

  A little help here would be appreciated, Johnny. Can’t you fix whatever this is with me?

  Turning to stare out the windshield, I clear my throat and forge ahead as if the silly voice blunder never happened. “They’ll come to clean up their own mess before someone finds their men dead in the middle of nowhere. If there’s a tracker and phones left behind, they won’t risk the cops getting their hands on any of it. No need for us to do anything more than park and let the animals have a little fun ‘til the men show.”

  “Right.” Out of the corner of my eye I watch Kade adjust a bulge in his pants before he, too, clears his throat and steps back from the Caddy.

  “I’ll meet you back there.” I tip my chin toward the rear of the abandoned farm.

  Kade bobs his head in understanding, staring into the distance. “Right. Right.”

  “Thanks for your help.” For once, a Sacred Sinner didn’t interfere with my job. That in itself is a miracle. He’s different from the rest. Good or bad? I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

  “Uh. Yeah.” Kade scratches his forearm still not looking my way. “Anytime.”

  Alright. Let’s get this over with.

  Chapter Two

  Standing inside the door of Bongo’s yellow dilapidated trailer, I wait for him to return from the backroom. He calls it “command central.” I call it a shitbox, like the rest of this Twinkie shaped abode. Why he lives here is beyond my comprehension. The thin walls are nicotine stained from when he used to smoke. There are holes in the shit-brown carpet, the tiny kitchen has zero space to move, and his couch is a leather monstrosity that eats up more than half of what would be the living room. The remaining space is taken up by a sixty-inch flat-screen TV and enough leftover computer parts he could rebuild SAGE, IBM’s supercomputer. In two corners of the living room, stacks of electronic parts reach the ceiling. Not that I have any room to talk, I don’t even have a place to call home. Big keeps all my belongings safe at his clubhouse, while I live on the road most days of the year. Staying in the cabin Ryker owns on the outskirts of Red Fort will be the first house I’ve slept in in well over five years. Hotels and motels of the cheap variety are my domain.

  “Now, just a minute!” he hollers, knowing I have zero patience for this kind of lollygagging.

  “Okay!” When we arrived in Red Fort, I let Kat and her family handle their business of settling in, while I take care of mine—protection. Gunz texted to say Bongo had a slew of cameras and motion detectors installed in the woods surrounding Ryker’s cabin to prepare for our arrival. I’m here to learn the ins and outs of the fancy system. The more I know, the better.

  Floorboards creak as Bongo struts up the hallway, back into the living room with a black duffle bag thrown over his shoulder and tablet in hand.

  “Got your stuff right here, Rosie.” His southern drawl is pronounced, as is his bowlegged gait as he drops the duffle at my feet. “It’s all in there.” He gestures to the bag with a tilt of his head.

  I kick the side of the package, testing its weight. The thing doesn’t budge an inch. “All the weapons I wanted?” It looks and feels like they’re all there; can never be too careful though. Besides, you can never have too many blades.

  Bongo takes a seat on the couch, propping a foot on his opposite knee. “Yup. All ‘em.”

  “Did you put this on Big’s tab or do you need me to get ya money today?”

  “It’s handled.”

  “You’re sure?”

  A double nod. “As sure as eggs in April.”

  Have I mentioned that Bongo’s an odd duck? A handsome one with broad shoulders, an oversized bottom lip, green eyes, Wranglers, and a Stetson. He’s what I’d call an eclectic duet of southern boy and computer nerd. He doesn’t get out much. Not to have sexual relations, party, or anything else. He’s a hermit with manners, who lives in this place. Not because he has to, but wants to. This is where he grew up. Trust me, I’ve heard the whole story. For a hermit, he’ll talk your ear off if you let him.

  When I say nothing, Bongo pats the spot on the couch beside him. “Come on, let me show ya what I done did.”

  Wanting to get this taken care of so I can grab a bite to eat and visit the local Catholic Church to get some much-needed peace before riding to the cabin, I perch on the center sofa cushion.

  Bongo holds out an upturned palm. “Phone.”

  Without hesitation, I dig into my hoodie pocket and hand it over. He does what he does best, and fusses with the thing at lightning speed. Bongo’s tongue pokes out between his lips as he concentrates on what he’s doing. Within minutes there’s a surveillance system app installed, linked to Ryker’s property.

  He shows me the screen and taps on various tabs to explain the system. “Whenever there’s significant movement you’ll get a pop-up text on your phone.”

  “What about animals or when it’s daylight?” I ask as he pops from screen to screen, showing me the coverage. It’s extensive. I’m impressed.

  Making a pinching motion with his fingers, Bongo zooms in on an area where two squirrels are chasing each other through the trees. “As ya can see, I calibrated the size. The recognition scanner can tell if it’s human or not. Although, ya just might get a few false positives every now and again. Ya can’t iron out all the kinks in a system this size in a day. I’ll monitor it too, from here.” He taps his nail on his tablet, indicating that’s where he’ll keep a look out. I knew he’d have my back. He’s a good guy.

  “And Gunz?” I ask, since he’s the head tech of their club.

  Bongo shows me a view of the cabin from behind and its rear door. It’s a nice-looking place with a distinct Hansel and Gretel gingerbread feel, minus the candy. From the look of things, it’s a full house at this moment—various vehicles are parked outside in the gravel drive. At least Kat’s not alone. If I thought she would be, I’d have gone with her.

  “Gunz’ll get the feed,” Bongo answers. “So will Big, just in case they wanna check in. Though, I don’t suppose they will. Not with you bein’ here.”

  That’s true. Big is used to letting me handle jobs my way without interference. Though every now and again he still gets a reminder of where we stand, but only when he gets a giant stick up his ass and gives his input where it’s not wanted.

  I scoot back on the cushion to get comfortable and cross my ankles. “Have you gotten much intel on the club I’m hunting?”

  “Not much. Gunz is handlin’ all that.”

  “I figured.” Makes sense. Big and Gunz don’t share unless it’s necessary, and Bongo isn’t in on this fight.<
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  “This ain’t your usual gig.” He bends forward to set his tablet on the makeshift coffee table made of plastic crates.

  “Nope. But if you’d seen Kat’s face after what they did to her, you’d think it was. I’ve dealt with women in much worse circumstances than her. This shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  “’Cept you gotta live here to see it through. It could be weeks. Maybe months.”

  I cringe, twiddling my thumbs together as a shiver of revulsion travels down my spine and a bad taste swirls in my mouth. “Yeah. Except that.”

  Time spent here is time I could be saving other women from horrible fates. Fates that dance in the depths of your worst nightmares. They don’t get cozy beds to sleep on. No three-square meals a day. A dirty blanket to sleep with is a luxury to the women I help. Hell, food itself is a luxury. Forget bathing, clothes, or the simple pleasure of brushing your teeth. It doesn’t exist in the world I fight in. Now, take that in and ingest it the next time you whine about forgetting to spritz yourself in perfume or wear a pair of socks with a hole in them. There are people in this world who don’t have socks, period. And many of them have never worn perfume or deodorant. You don’t realize how good you have it until you find a naked woman shivering in a dark corner with track marks from wrist to bony elbow, her hair like straw, with haunted eyes that stay with you forever.

  Reading my mood like a magician, Bongo changes the subject altogether. “Did Gunz tell ya the cabin’s specs?”

  I shake my head to clear it of bleak thoughts. “That the windows are bulletproof and there’s a safe room?”

  Bongo chuckles, scratching his smooth chin. “Guess he did.”

  “He’s pretty good about that kinda stuff. Details are his addiction.” Annoyingly so at times.

  “That they are,” he agrees, tapping two fingers on the top of his thigh.

  Alright, it’s my turn for a full-on topic change. I have no desire to talk anymore about myself, this job, or any of that shit. He’s lucky I’ve stayed as long as I have. This is a rare occurrence. If he wasn’t my weapons supplier, I wouldn’t try so hard to be nice to the man. Respect and human decency go a long way, even if I hate the entire concept. “How’s the dark web treatin’ ya?”

  Bongo’s eyes light up brighter than a Christmas tree as he twists to face me and begins to geek out on the business that rules the better part of his existence. I listen, and he blathers on. I listen more, as he barely takes time to breathe. I smile when necessary and extend obligatory responses to appease him. He eats up my faux interest in spades and consumes a generous portion of my evening with his stories. I don’t have the heart to interrupt so I can leave. Not when he’s been nothing but good to me, year after year. We may not be friends. People like us don’t have friends. We have acquaintances we trust will listen and support us when the moments arise. He pulled through with the surveillance system, and I’m paying my dues, by depleting my patience storage until the well’s been sucked dry.

  The sky’s dark by the time he finishes and helps me strap the duffle to the back of my Ducati.

  Standing next to the bike, Bongo pats my shoulder. It’s a feather-light touch, one that speaks of understanding. “It was good to see ya, Rosie.”

  Holding my helmet, I paste on a closed-mouth smile and straddle my motorcycle. “You too, Bongo.”

  He lifts a chin in parting. “See ya ‘round.”

  I do the same, then turn over the engine and flip up the kickstand.

  It’s time to stuff my face with a greasy burger and see what this cabin’s all about. The sooner these asshole bikers show their asses, the sooner I can off them and get back to my life.

  Chapter Three

  Walking past the kitchen in Ryker’s stylish country cabin, Kat shows me to my bedroom just up the hall. I have multiple bags slung over my shoulder, ready to settle into my temporary home. One I didn’t expect would come with an airy, almost homey feel. Complete with tan leather sofa, stone fireplace, rustic beams across the ceiling, and a fancy kitchen that stretches beyond my expertise of frozen TV dinners and greasy spoon take-out. The basic cooking skills I picked up out of necessity when Johnny and Sebastian were alive serve no purpose for me anymore. You eat to survive. I take little joy in it. There’s no reason to. Not when you always eat alone, usually in a grungy hotel room, on the back of my bike, or a quick stop somewhere when I need a change of scenery.

  “Thanks.” I nod in appreciation to Kat, forcing a constipated smile to repay her kindness the only way I know how. We haven’t spoken much. Not that there’s much to say. She’s friendly, I’m… not.

  The smile she delivers in return I know must be painful, thanks to that sliced lip and stitched cheek. Yet, she offers me one anyhow, because that’s the kind of woman she is… warm, inviting, pleasant. All the things I’m not nor have ever been. She’s the woman every girl dreams of growing up to be when they’re little—beautiful, genuine, real. Sure, I might not know her well, but I’m a fine judge of character within the first twenty seconds of meeting someone. Observation is one of my strong suits.

  Because I’m an awkward fool, I continue to stand outside the bedroom door… waiting. For what? I haven’t a clue. Kat stares at me, rubbing her belly. I stare back, but not directly at her. I aim my sight on the log wall behind her head. Yep, this is going swimmingly. I arrive, haul my stuff in, say nothing, and here we stand in limbo. Should I reach for the door? Or wait for her to? This isn’t my place, I dunno the protocol here.

  When a decade of staring and weirdness has passed, Kat rocks back on her heels and points to the bedroom door. “Um…Rest easy, if you need anything, I’ll be in the living room.” Then she’s off, leaving me to my own devices.

  I exhale a sigh of internal relief and thank her retreating back in a whisper I’m positive she can’t hear unless she’s a canine. Guess this is it. Time to settle into the home I’ll be living in for the foreseeable future with a woman I just met, and her two kids.

  Setting one foot in front of the other, I open the bedroom door. Instead of stepping inside, I push it wide to observe the space from the hallway looking in. The lights are off. The blinds covering the windows are twisted open. A crescent moon casts its faint glow between the branches of trees just beyond the windowpane. Shadows tuck in every corner, as moonlit lines crisscross the bed and sparse bedroom. It’s perfect for me. No sentimental touches, no abundance of creature comforts. Just a twin size bed with simple comforter, a nightstand, and a closet. It’s as basic as it comes, and I couldn’t be happier with what I’ve been given.

  Another sigh slips free as I enter the space and shut the door behind me, producing as little noise as possible. I set my bags in front of the accordion closet door. There are pillows and extra blankets stacked on the top shelf, like in a hotel room. No need for a light, I remove my leather jacket and drape it over one of my duffle bags. Then set my boots and weapons next to the bed in case of an emergency. On the floor, so I don’t accidentally knock them off the stand and puncture the hardwood with a blade. The last thing I want is to damage any part of this cabin during my stay.

  Further settling in, I plug my phone charger into the wall behind the nightstand, then plug my cell in with the sound turned all the way up. Don’t want to miss an intruder outside because I can’t hear my phone go off, even if I sleep light. With everything in order, I decide now is as good a time as any to double check every lock and window throughout the cabin—for peace of mind.

  Exiting the bedroom, I start in the open living space where Kat sits on a comfy chair reading on her tablet. The windows and doors are secured room to room until I’m certain we’re safe. To make sure nobody can see Kat and try to take her out, I shut the blinds in the living room. Bulletproof windows can only sustain so much firepower. The last thing I want is a sniper ending her life from a mile away through the eye of his scope. Not that these bikers are that sophisticated. From the way Big talks, they’re small time. Snipers aren’t their caliber. Though, I�
��ve seen stranger things than that happen. A sniper death would be better than what I inflict; up close and personal. A shot to the skull is quick and painless. You’re dead before you know what hit you.

  As I make one final round, I wave goodnight to Kat. She returns the sentiment in kind. Then I use the restroom across the hall from my bedroom before settling in for some much-needed shuteye.

  Noise erupts from my phone, startling me awake. Rolling over, I snatch it off the nightstand to examine whatever’s happening outside. There, on the screen, is a person navigating through Ryker’s woods. As I climb out of bed to get dressed and gather my weapons, I watch him move out in the open. Not hiding behind trees or taking cover. He’s the laziest damn scout, if I ever did see one. A dead scout I plan to bleed to death, soon.

  Strapping weapons to my chest, making haste, I watch the intruder draw closer to the cabin through the infrared cameras. My heart rate quickens. I move faster, shoving a dagger in my boot, others tucked on my person. Not wanting to freeze outside, I shrug on my black, leather jacket and head for the door. I’ll phone Gunz and Big later, once I’ve incapacitated our unwelcome guest.

  Ready to kick ass, I grip the doorknob and twist. That’s when I hear it. Chatter coming from the living room. Ryker and Kat’s voices. Okay. Plan B. No need to get them involved when this is what I was hired to do. Turning around, I jog to the window, light on my feet. A flick of the latch and a shove upward is simple enough; as is popping out the flimsy screen. I rest it on the ground just below the sill and hop out in a smooth dismount, landing in a crouch between two low-lying hedges.

  Yep, I should’ve worn my night vision. Good thing the moon is extra friendly tonight. There’s barely a cloud in the sky.

  Shuffling to the edge of the cabin, I tuck my phone screen into the panel of my jacket to examine. Don’t want to give my position away with the glow. The trespasser hasn’t moved from where he last stopped. He’s probably taking pictures from there. Getting the lay of the land to send info back to his club. I’ll be damned if I let him get away with that.