by Cathryn Cade
"Is Stick okay?" she asked, worried that Pete was hiding something from her. "What did they have to do? No one got hurt, did they?"
"He's okay," he said, his gaze warming. "And your brother's safe."
"But who had Seth? And why on earth would they hurt my brother and—and lock him up?"
"Los Angelinos are a Hispanic gang active in the Tri. Kidnapping, extortion, shakedowns are just part of the shit they're into. Why they wanted your brother, don't know, although I'd be real interested to find out."
Sara noted he failed to answer the rest of her question, but as long as Seth and Stick were all right, she had no emotional strength left to worry about anyone else.
"I need to talk to him." She picked up her phone again. "I need to talk to Seth." She'd think about Stick tomorrow.
She stared at the last number on her phone. "This isn't Seth's phone number." But she pressed the call button anyway.
Pete spoke over her head. "Bring her a drink, would you? Something strong."
"Sure thing," Velvet's cigarette smoke roughened voice said.
A moment later, a glass of amber liquid was pressed into Sara's hand, but she scarcely noticed, waiting for Seth to pick up.
"Hey, sis," he mumbled into her ear, his voice still weak. "'M okay. Your friends are giving me a ride somewhere safe."
"You need to go to the hospital," she ordered. "Tell them to take you to the ER."
"'M okay, Sarey," her brother repeated. "Just need to rest. Got a friend who'll take care of me. She's a nurse."
"Well, if she says you need a doctor, you listen," she scolded, and then had to stop talking, hand pressed to her mouth as she struggled for control. Now that the crisis was over, she just wanted to fall apart, just cry and shake.
"Hey, hey," Seth soothed hoarsely. "I’mma be okay, Sarey-Berry. You got cool friends. One o' these days you hafta tell me how you met 'em."
Deep laughter echoed through the phone—whoever was driving, she guessed. Seth chuckled too, but then ended on an audible wince.
"Whose phone is this?" she asked.
"They took mine. But somebody dropped one in the room ... anyways, it had just enough juice left to call out. I couldn't remember anybody's phone number but yours."
"Oh, Seth," she said. "Oh, Sethie. Thank God I never changed it." She'd had the same number since she got her first cell phone in high school, and Idaho had only one area code, 208.
"Thank God is right. Listen, we're at the motel," Seth said. "Go to bed, sis. Call you tomorrow. And, Jesus, do not say a word 'bout this to Momma or Sam."
"That depends on how whether you listen to your nurse friend," Sara informed him. 'Night, baby brother. Sleep well—and lock your door. And maybe think about moving somewhere else, like tomorrow?"
"Okay, okay. G'night."
Sara ended the call, and stared at the glass in her hand. Then she took a drink. She promptly choked, because it was whiskey, and burned down her throat. She took another drink, and sank back in the big sofa, staring at the ceiling over her head.
"I can't believe this," she mumbled. "What the heck happened to my peaceful life?"
"I'd say it ended when you moved next to the Flyers, but it seems to me your family has your own share of drama," Pete said.
Sara lifted her head, staring at him. He sat on the leather ottoman facing her, elbows on his knees, watching her like a fascinating TV program. Velvet was gone, off to bed, Sara supposed.
"We didn't used to," she told him. "But now ... what's next? My momma, a staunch member of the Grangeville Community Church, shaving her head and joining a cult?"
Pete Vanko chuckled. He really was handsome, although not as hot as his older brother, who had just leapt from his status at the top of her Most Despicable list to the top of her Gratitude list.
Although, she might have to sell him her property to repay him.
Just as well, she decided, draining her glass. Because she could not bear to live next to Stick Vanko and know that at any time, she might peer through the hedge and see him with another woman with her hands and mouth on him, right out on his porch. That was burned on her brain for eternity, and it still hurt. Felt as if it would for some time to come.
Her lip trembled, and she gritted her teeth and set her glass aside to slide off the big sofa.
It was at this point that she realized she was sitting on Stick's sofa, in front of his brother who was an adult male and essentially a stranger, while she wore nothing but a snug baby blue tank that was so thin it was nearly transparent, and a pair of baby-blue sleep shorts with black puppies cavorting on them.
She looked down at herself, up at Pete Vanko, who was grinning at her, crossed her legs and clapped both hands over her breasts. "Give me your shirt," she demanded. "I'm practically naked."
"I noticed," he said, his voice quivering. "But I was enjoying the view, so ..."
He didn't give her his shirt, but he did cross the room to grab a ratty blanket from a basket by one of the big leather chairs. The blanket had trucks on it, so it clearly belonged to one of the twins', but it was cover, so she took it.
She also took the pair of clean men's socks he brought her from the laundry room, and pulled them on her feet, which were somewhat battered from her dash through the gravel and hedge to come here.
Then he walked her home, checked every room of her house for her, and told her to lock up after him.
In her lighted kitchen, he held out a hand. "I need Kick's blanket back."
She gave him a look, clutching the blanket around herself. "I'll bring it back tomorrow morning. And I'll thank you then, too. Because I need to do that properly, and right now I'm too ... y'know."
"Too drunk?" he supplied helpfully, the back doorknob in one hand. "You're a cheap date, only took two shots."
"Smartass. G'night, Peter. Wait, why don't you have some raunchy biker nickname like your brother?"
He smirked. "Maybe I do. G'night, Sara. Lock the door after me. And it's good you have a guard dog—saw him out there, keeping an eye on me with you. He looked like he was thinkin' about going for me."
"He's not my dog," she began. "Oh, never mind."
She locked the door after Peter, then made her way to bed, crawled in and lay there, her brain spinning, wondering how she'd ever sleep.
Her baby brother had been kidnapped by a Hispanic gang and roughed up, then rescued by a biker club, the president of whom she'd had hot sex with—twice.
She and Seth both needed to move somewhere far away. Maybe Wisconsin ... they had cousins there.
Were there gangs or motorcycle clubs in Wisconsin?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Sara woke to the sound of her phone playing Red-haired Girl, Kit's ringtone.
She fumbled for her phone without lifting her head from her pillow, and held it to her ear. "H'lo?"
"Sara Cannon!" her friend shrieked into her ear. "I am unbelievably pissed at you! Why did you not tell me your little brother was being held by Los Angelinos—one of the worst gangs in the Tri-Cities?"
Sara opened her eyes wide, fully awake now. "Um ... sorry?"
"I just ... why would you not tell me this?" Kit went on, sounding genuinely hurt. "We agreed to call any time of the night if needed, but you didn't call me."
Sara pushed herself up and then slid out of bed, headed for the kitchen and an extremely necessary shot of caffeine.
"Wait, wait," she said. "Okay, first, it blew up like a firework going off in my face, in the middle of the night, okay? You know I was worried about Seth, but I had no idea he was in that much trouble. And then it all happened so damned fast."
She recounted what had happened while she pressed the button on the coffee maker, which luckily she always left ready to go the evening before. She took her cup of coffee to the table and sat.
"So by the time I got back here, I was a little, um, buzzed. I just crashed. And that's all I know," she told Kit. "Pretty sure there's a lot more to the story, but knowing Seth, he won't t
ell me the parts he thinks will scare me, or piss me off. Like how he ever got messed up a gang."
Kit was silent for a moment.
"Wait," Sara said, setting her cup down with a clunk. "You know more than I do, don't you? What did Keys tell you?"
"Um ... there may have been a few details Seth left out."
"Are any of the guys hurt?" Sara asked. She bit her tongue to refrain from asking especially after Stick.
"No, they're fine. The gangers? I heard something about their pickup truck going into, uh, a nearby river. The driver and passenger were, uh, not fine."
A chill raced through Sara. "Holy crap," she breathed. "You mean they …" The Flyers had run the pickup into the river with the kidnappers inside?
"Yep," Kit said simply. "But no loss, right? Because according to Keys, your brother was the last person the gangers grabbed, but not the first, not by a long shot. And probably, if he hadn't gotten out ... he'd be the one in the river."
"Right," Sara agreed slowly. "So, no loss."
Anyone who would beat up her brother so badly he could hardly speak, then lock him up and threaten to kill him and mean it, was no loss to those trying to lead lawful lives. And she wasn't going to waste time saying they should have gone through the justice system, which unfortunately let many criminals off much too easily, despite the police' and prosecutors' best efforts.
"I'd really like to go and see Seth."
"Honey, no," Kit said. "Don't do it. He's safe now, and the guys are ... well, they're moving on the Rattlers, who it turns out are maybe allied with Los Angelinos, letting them all know they don't mess with Flyers, or their friends. If Stick finds out you're there, he will lose his mind. And you do not wanna be the one he's losin' it on."
"Stick can go jump in the river himself," Sara muttered. "Not like anyone's going to notice a woman in a Lexus driving through town."
"Okay, well then please stay home for Keys' sake," Kit said. "He's got enough on his mind without worrying about you."
"He wouldn't have to know I was there."
A pause. "Sara, love you," Kit said. “You and Lindi are the sisters I never had, but if you think I'm keeping secrets like that from my men ... no. Just no."
Sara sighed, and shoved a hand through her hair. "I’m sorry, you're right. That would be unfair to ask. And, I don't want to worry Keys, so I'll stay here. But I just ... I hate sitting on my hands while someone I love is in trouble. I should be there."
"Seth will be okay," Kit assured her. "They've got him stashed safe, in the same place as Deni, in a quiet part of Kennewick. The motel isn't open anymore for general business, just friends and family of the owner, so no one will pay any attention to who comes and goes. I stayed there with Mom once. It's clean and the owner is an awesome cook. And if he needs a doc, I'm sure they know someone who'll come out."
"Okay, thanks for reassuring me," Sara said. "And just so you know, you are my sister, in every way that counts. Even if you are being bossy."
"Huh. If we're sisters, you're the older one, who always tries to boss me. It was definitely my turn."
"Now don't get carried away, little sis. This is your last turn for a while."
They laughed together, and Sara ended the call feeling better.
She showered and slipped on a pair of beige shorts, a cute halter top sewn of red bandannas, and red flip-flops, and put her hair up in a messy bun, as the weather was supposed to climb into the nineties for the day. Then she went out and fed the dog, who was waiting for her in the shady ell of the hedge and front garage.
After the night she’d had, it felt weird to return to the quiet normality of a summer day in the country. A warm breeze rustled in the trees, the tall hay billowed in the wind, and motorcycles rumbled in the distance, along with a siren from the other direction, out by the interstate.
"Hey, fella," Sara said, pouring dog food into the empty dish. "You've got it made in the shade, huh? I'll have to remember and give you plenty of water, won't I?"
The dog's ears perked, and he turned his head. A few seconds later, Sara heard rapid footsteps pattering on pavement. She peered through the gate, and smiled. Now this was just what she needed, two little visitors to take her mind off things.
The twins dashed to the gate and squeezed through, looking up at her with wide eyes. They looked freshly scrubbed, with damp hair and rosy cheeks. Today they wore MMA tees, one black, one blue, with cut-offs and sneakers.
"Good morning," she said. "What are you guys up to?"
"Ve'vet said we can come and get my blankie back from you," said the twin in black.
"'Cause you hadda borrow it last night," said blue shirt. "Was you sad? Izzat why you needed a blankie?"
Sara couldn't help laughing a little. They were so stinkin' cute, with their big blue eyes and gruff little voices. "You know, I was a little sad. But boy, that blankie just fixed me right up."
"Yeah. But now can I have it back? 'Cause its mine, y'know."
Sara wanted to hug them both. They were unaware of the deadly drama that was playing out miles away, with their father in the eye of the storm. That was as it should be. She just hoped he came home to them in one piece.
"Of course you can have it back," she said. "I wouldn't want to keep a guy's blanket from him. Let me go get it."
As she turned to go, she noted the dog had retreated farther into the shade, but was lying down again. He certainly didn't look aggressive, so that was a relief.
"What's your name?" One of the boys asked.
They were both on her heels as she opened the back door, so Sara shrugged and held it open for them to follow her in.
"My name is Sara. How about you guys?"
The folded blanket lay on the corner of the counter nearest the back door. She handed it to the boy in black, and he hugged it to him like an old friend. "I'm Kick," he said.
"An' I'm Dash."
Sara nodded. Kick's hair parted on the left, and Dash's on the right.
"Well, nice to meet you," she told them. "Stop by anytime—that is, if it's okay with your dad." Which was debatable.
"Whass your dog's name?" Dash asked.
"Good question," Sara said wryly. She didn't bother to say he wasn't her dog—they weren't going to get the finer points of his making himself at home but not really belonging.
She walked the boys back out into the yard. The dog was eating, keeping a wary eye on her and the boys. He was filling out, she noticed with satisfaction. She couldn't see his ribs under his black and brown coat any longer.
The boys plopped down on the top step to watch him, so Sara sat on the corner of the bottom step.
"He doesn't got a name?" Kick asked. "All dogs gotta have a name."
"Well, if he does, he hasn't told me."
"You could call him Blackie," Dash suggested, with a big smile.
"Perfect," Sara said. "You're a master of dog-naming."
Kick laughed at his twin. "You're a master of dog names! That's silly."
"Well, you're the master of dog poop, so there."
"Whoa," Sara said, waving an arm between them when they scowled at each other. "You're both masters of fun, how about that? Now, you should head home, because I bet Velvet is wondering where you are."
"Nope, she's lying down onna sofa. She gots a headache."
"Unca Pete's taking us somewhere. But he won't tell us where unless we're good."
"So we're being really good." They both nodded vehemently.
"Yes, you are," she agreed. For maybe the next three minutes at the most, if she remembered this age correctly. She'd done quite a bit of babysitting in her high school years.
"Dash, Kick, c'mon," called a deep voice through the hedge. Pete Vanko stuck his head and shoulders through the gap, grimacing as the hedge caught at his baseball cap. "Hey, Sara."
"Good morning." She could pretend he hadn't seen her in her tiny nightwear, she assured herself, following the boys across the yard.
They slammed into their uncle, rockin
g him back as they each grabbed a jean-clad leg. He grasped their heads and rolled them gently, grinning at her. He wore a snug, white teeshirt with his bar logo on the front. The Hangar Bar & Grill in blue and red letters was backed with an old plane in silver. He was going to turn feminine heads wherever they went today.
"Thank you so, so much for your help last night," Sara said to him. "You were a superb, uh, intermediary. I was a mess."
He shook his head. "Nah. You did great. Waited until your brother was safe before you lost your shit."
She shook her head, laughing. "Okay, well ... thank you again. I mean it. If I can ever do you a favor, let me know."
"Glad I could help, but don't thank me, thank Ivan." He gave her a knowing smirk that was so like Stick's she narrowed her eyes at him. Younger brothers were universally bratty, it seemed.
"Unca Pete, let's go," Dash shouted, jumping up and down.
"Let's go, let's go," Kick repeated, jumping with his twin.
Sara wanted to ask if Pete had heard from Stick, but that wasn't happening now, clearly. Instead, she backed up a step, and waved. "Have fun, guys."
"Bye, Sara!"
The boys dashed through the hedge, Peter close behind them. A moment later a vehicle started up, and she watched a classic late 50's, bronze pickup truck roll out and turn onto the county road, Pete driving, the twins' heads just visible beside him.
Seemed she wasn't the only one with a classic vehicle. She wondered what Peter would think of the Caddy. Bet he’d like it.
This led to wondering what Stick would think of the Caddy with her in it. This made her remember the last time she'd seen him, and that just pissed her off, so she stomped into the house and grabbed her purse.
She was going to the leather shop again. She needed another project so she did not go crazy waiting for Seth to call, and for Keys to report in on the Flyers' activities--especially their president.
She might hate him, but she couldn’t help worrying about him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sara drove the Lexus, because air-conditioning was a must when it was hot, as far as she was concerned. Although, since she didn't know if she would continue to be a home owner, she hadn't made up her mind whether to keep two cars. If Stick gave her a good price for the place, she could pay off the Lexus.
