Jase had returned home long enough to throw on clothes, grab his weapons and phone, and see if the van had dropped any other clues he could use. He made a quick emergency call to Henry before he rushed to the clubhouse.
Jase hadn’t even killed his bike when the group was descending on him. “Where is she? What happened?” Henry yelled as he stalked over.
“They fucking took her right out of my driveway!” said Jase, barely able to contain his growing rage. He met them halfway. “They didn’t kill her, Henry, they snatched her. This was a kidnapping.”
“How the fuck did that happen?” asked Beck.
“You tell me. They had to have been waiting out there for us all fucking morning. She hadn’t stepped ten feet from the house and they were on her.”
“I thought I told you to keep her armed!” said Henry.
“She shot one of them in the arm, took out a rear window. It wasn’t enough… I wasn’t fast enough,” said Jase. He put his hands on his waist and let his head hang, overwhelmed by the intensity of his pain and anger at that moment. “Henry, something is very wrong. These motherfuckers were staking out my house, and I didn’t even know we were going to end up there last night. How did they know?”
Everyone fell silent and watched Henry, waiting for his reaction. Jase could see and well understand the storm of emotions brewing behind Henry’s eyes. A kidnapping meant his daughter was likely still alive, and they all knew that meant there was a chance to get her back safely. But there were all sorts of things to go wrong between here and there.
“Where are we with the Afghanis?” said Henry.
Beck spoke, “Will’s on the line with them now. They said they had some tracks from that burner Maggie found.”
“Good, then we—“ Henry stopped. Drake was coming up the drive in a rush, yelling over his engines. He stopped just short of the group and hopped off his bike. He had a padded brown envelope stuffed under his arm that had already been ripped open.
“Boss!” said Drake. “Boss, this was at the front fence, I didn’t think before I opened it.” He reached out and handed the envelope to Henry with a wide-eyed look on his face. Henry shoved his hand inside and came out with a note. He read it without speaking, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to send a text, reading the phone number off the note. Within seconds, someone on the other end replied.
It was a photo of Maggie, tied to a chair in some indiscriminate and beat-up concrete room. Her reddened face glistened, wet with tears; someone was holding her head up by the hair. Below the picture, a number: “$500,000”.
Another text arrived a few seconds later: “One hour. Dirt road east of exit 9. No cops.”
Before he could stop himself, Jase snatched the phone from Henry’s hand and stared at the photo in shock. The fear in her eyes shattered his heart. He had utterly failed her. “Oh my god…” he muttered to himself. Someone took the phone from him and got it back to Henry. Jase stumbled to the edge of the group to catch a breath of fresh air. He thought he might be sick.
“We need to open the safes. Get the money collected.” Henry’s voice came strong from behind him. Drake led several men into the clubhouse to fulfill his order.
“You’re gonna pay it?” asked Beck, though it was without a lick of judgment.
“Not just,” said Henry. He called for someone to bring Will to him. Jase took a few deep breaths and returned to the group to take part in the updates. Will trotted up from the clubhouse still on a call, which he ended just before he approached.
“Aamir had his men in Eagleton do some sniffing around with the numbers we found in Maggie’s burner,” said Will. “Two of them were still active. One led to a junkie who was a regular client of Maggie’s ex. They couldn’t track down the owner of the other, but only because they weren’t in Eagleton—the signal is active in an area about ten miles north of here, west of Howlett.”
“Evan’s men,” said Jase. “One of them hasn’t ditched their phone in a while.”
“That’s what I think,” said Will. “Aamir couldn’t get anyone to pick up when called, but it seems pretty unlikely that it’s just a coincidence the signal is so close to LeBeau. It has to be them.”
“It might be where they’re keeping Maggie,” said Henry.
A rush of hope filled Jase’s chest and he almost let himself believe in it. “We have to try for it.”
“I’m with him,” said Will. “Let’s send a small team to these coordinates to check out the site while you answer the ransom call. Having two teams out means the chance is better one of us will succeed.”
“It could get Maggie killed,” said Beck.
“I don’t want to make a single move that would give these assholes reasons to take it out on her,” said Henry.
“Let me take Ghost and go in small,” said Will. He put a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “We can handle it.”
The sheriff stepped up. “We can coordinate patrolmen waiting on the highway to stop the kidnappers once they leave the drop point.”
“Only if they’re far enough away that you won’t get spotted, and you don’t move in until I say,” said Henry. The sheriff nodded and moved to give out orders to his own men lingering on the edges of the crowd.
“Head out,” said Henry to Will. “Take Ghost. See what you can find.” Immediately Will ran for his bike and hollered for Ghost to follow him. From the house, Drake and the rookies returned with a black zippered duffel bag stuffed with cash. Henry took a cursory look and then zipped it back up. “The full half-mil?”
“Right, boss, but that emptied every safe in the house,” said Drake.
“Fine. Tommy, I want you to hold down the fort here with whatever men the sheriff leaves. I want two men along with the sheriff’s checkpoints on either side of the highway as backup in case the sheriff can’t stop them. Beck, Drake, and Jase, you’re with me on the drop.” Henry looked at him with steel in his eyes and Jase nodded sternly. No one was keeping him at the clubhouse waiting this out, regardless of what Henry’s orders were.
No one argued, but scattered to their respective duties. Henry had one quick last word with the sheriff before he climbed on his bike, parked next to Jase’s, and strapped his helmet on. Beck had already pulled out one of the panel vans from the side of the clubhouse; he would be transporting the money bag, and presumably Maggie upon her return.
The sound of bikes roaring to life filled the air. As a few began to buzz down the driveway, Jase looked over at Henry as he adjusted his helmet. A million thoughts exchanged between them without a single word being said.
“I’m going to fix this,” said Jase. “I’m going to get her back.”
“We will get her back together,” said Henry. He clapped a hand on Jase’s shoulder. Jase waited and followed a few meters behind, praying to himself that they weren’t too late already.
17
Every mile of the ride to the drop off seemed to take a thousand years for Jase. He knew it was worse for Henry, though that was difficult to even fathom. He followed the president as he wheeled in and out of slow highway traffic, keeping his speed only low enough to prevent a slide-off. Drake kept pace beside him. Beck lagged behind in the van, but he had the location—none of the bikers needed to wait.
Jase felt a growing dread in his gut. Maggie’s screams burned in his ears. He tried to let the soothing rumble of the bike beneath him spread and calm him, like it would calm Maggie if she were on the back, arms wrapped around him tight. Christ, he couldn’t lose her again, not now. He felt like the hero in some Greek tragedy.
The drop-off point was northeast of LeBeau’s limits, and at least five miles from the hideout coordinates they had received from the Afghanis. After a small detour down a gravel road, the bikers came to a flattened clearing that had likely once been the location of some pioneer homestead or ranch, though no buildings remained now. Two ugly black vans were already waiting for them, turned facing towards the gravel road to the highway. The bikers slid carefully
onto the opposite side of the clearing and cut the engines.
“We go in cold,” said Henry without looking at any of them. He stabilized and got off his bike. “No weapons out until it’s necessary.” They waited without moving until Beck came ambling down the gravel road in the van. Jase fetched the bag of ransom cash from the van and returned it to Henry, who led the march to the middle of the clearing.
The doors of one of the black vans slid open loudly, and four men hopped out with M4 carbine rifles slung across their chests. They were wearing denim jackets and jeans and black ski masks, like the men from his driveway. They had no cuts or patches claiming for a club, but the way they moved together betrayed that these were likely members of the Rebel Cross. Henry’s contact had told them that Crosses were no different from other clubs and members often took side jobs for money. Whoever these Crosses were, they didn’t want the Black Dogs recognizing them. At least a few of them probably lived in LeBeau. The thought made Jase’s anger bubble hotter.
“You her old man?” one of the men asked, pointing at Henry. His voice didn’t sound familiar, especially as he shouted across the clearing from behind the cotton mask.
“Where is she?” Henry demanded.
The men ignored him. They conversed among themselves for a moment and then moved to approach the center of the clearing. Only one walked all the way to face Henry, with the others falling back to defend on either side, much as Jase and Drake had done themselves. Everyone had casual hands on their weapons.
“Do you have the money?” asked the leader as he walked up to Henry.
“Do you have my goddamn child?” said Henry.
“She’s safe, old man, don’t worry. We just hear you’ve got a reputation for not paying your dues so we need to make sure you actually brought that money with you. Else she might not be safe very long,” said the masked leader.
Jase’s rage exploded inside and it took all his strength to keep his feet planted and his gun holstered. He wanted nothing more than to tear over and end this negotiation by ripping some heads off. He tried to keep calm by reminding himself that Maggie would probably die if he didn’t keep it together.
Henry flared in anger as well, at the threat, and at the insult. They were working very hard to keep him emotionally compromised. Henry lifted up the bag in silence and opened the zipper far enough to show the piles of cash waiting inside. “It’s all here, you fucking coward. I want to see my daughter.”
“Throw that goddamn bag down so we can count it first!”
The bad feeling in Jase’s gut transformed into a roaring air-raid siren. Something was very wrong. He suddenly doubted that anything was in that second black van at all except more men with automatic weapons. Before he could figure out how to talk to Henry without interrupting the deteriorating negotiation, he felt the shocking buzz of his cell phone from the pocket in his cut. Common sense told him to ignore it, but something else inside him knew he had to pick it up.
Everyone’s eyes seemed to be watching Henry and the leader as they fought. Jase carefully slipped the phone out of his pocket. It was Will.
He accepted the call. Immediately the sounds of loud popping and screeching metal poured through the earpiece. Jase put the uncomfortable noise to his ear and whispered Will’s name as loudly as he dared. “What’s happening?”
“Drake!” Will’s voice screamed into the phone, and then came angry roaring followed by the unmistakable sound of 9mm gunfire from very close range—Will firing his weapon.
Jase listened to the sound of a gunfight as his eyes widened. He turned away from the group. “Will, this is Jase, what the fuck is going on?!”
Jase waited a few tense seconds, listening to the chaos, before Will’s voice returned. Jase had never heard Will so loud, so angry. “It’s Drake! It’s fucking Drake! He’s working with the Rebel Cr—“ Pop, poppopopop.
Jase turned and looked across the clearing where Drake stood, bored, watching Henry argue with the masked men. As if he felt Jase’s gaze, he suddenly looked over and met it. Even behind the sunglasses, Jase could see Drake’s expression drop when he saw the look on Jase’s face, phone pressed against his ear. He knew what was on the other end of that line.
“Stop Drake! Jase!” screamed Will.
Suddenly from the call, automatic gunfire erupted like a volcanic explosion, drowning out all other sounds. Jase could make out the faint faraway attempts of Will yelling but couldn’t understand another word. He stared at Drake, his breath quickening with every shot. Will and Ghost were stranded in a war zone.
Then as fast as it had come in, the call cut out.
18
For a few seconds, Jase could only stare at his phone while the shock processed in his brain. Everything else was faraway and muffled. Jase felt something inside him awaken. It spread a new rage throughout his veins and suddenly he was aware of everything in sharp, crystal detail.
Before he realized it, he had stalked halfway across the clearing. Henry’s arguments with the hostage-taker suddenly ceased as the men in the masks shouted, questioning, hoisting their guns up in alarm. But Jase wasn’t after them, not at that moment. Henry shouted his name but he didn’t turn, didn’t even slow his pace.
Drake watched him approach like a deer frozen in headlights. The cigarette in his lips fell to the ground as he tried to get out a cry of fear, or surrender—Jase didn’t care which.
Jase had a good four inches, and fifty pounds, on Drake’s more slender frame. With full force, he shoved his fists into Drake’s chest and sent him flying into the dirt with both feet upended. Drake tried to scramble away, but Jase was on him quickly. He lowered a rib-crushing knee into Drake’s chest and pummeled his face with punches. The second one shattered his sunglasses, cutting his face and Jase’s knuckles, making every hit a bloody mess.
The clearing erupted into confused chaos. Henry and Beck rushed over, yelling Jase’s name. The masked men yelled at each other, jumpy, waiting for orders.
Over the din, Jase heard one of them yell: “We’re made, let’s get the fuck out of here!”
“Trigger go!” said another.
Jase looked up and saw the masked men retreating towards the first van. The second van’s sliding door popped and began to open.
“Get down!” yelled Jase to Henry. He pulled his sidearm and started firing off shots at the second van. Someone inside stopped the door halfway and tried to push it closed again, shouting and cursing. Two of the masked men opened fire with their M5s, and sent Jase scrambling off of Drake’s beaten body to take cover behind his bike. He saw Henry and Beck hunkered down on the side of the MC’s van, guns out, trying to keep the gunmen in the second van from emerging. Jase’s instincts had been right. They didn’t bring Maggie; they brought a kill squad.
“Get the money, get the money!”
From the side of the rear tire, Jase watched one of the mask men make a desperate sliding run for the bag of money Henry had dropped. Jase wriggled onto his stomach and took a few clean shots at the runner. One round pegged him in the carotid artery and the man dropped, blood gushing out of his neck.
Reloaded, the masked men opened fire again and pressed Jase down hard enough that he couldn’t come out from behind the bike. One of them must have grabbed the money bag, because suddenly the rear doors slammed shut and the van’s engines roared up. On cue, all three of the Black Dogs came from around their cover and began to open fire on the vans as they spun out in the clearing, trying to escape.
Jase jumped to his feet and fired off the rest of his mag as he followed the van on foot. He heard a few desperate pings against the metal of the second van’s body.
A motorcycle revved up behind him, and Jase turned in time to see Henry speed by him, chasing the vans down. He came up hard and fast on the second van, lagging behind almost four car-lengths on the dirt road. Jase heard the pop of Henry’s gun over the roaring engines, followed by the unmistakable blast of a tire blowing out. He watched as the van began to fishtail, br
akes squealing as someone stomped them with a heavy, panicked foot. It swerved hard left into a shallow embankment on the side of the country road, and then flipped twice side-over-side with a cacophony of crushing metal and shattered glass. The first van didn’t even slow, disappearing beyond the trees towards the highway.
Jase ran over to Beck, already on the phone with the sheriff. “Out the way they came. Money should be on them. We need troopers down here, too.” He hung up and looked at Jase. “What the fuck happened?”
His heart still racing, Jase’s voice came out shaking with adrenaline. “Drake. He’s working with them.”
“Oh Christ,” said Beck. He looked around Jase’s shoulder to ensure Drake hadn’t moved from where Jase left him bloodied in the dirt. “Pick him up and get him in the van before the sheriff comes, we’ll deal with him.”
“I have to go after Maggie,” said Jase. “Will and Ghost are pinned down at those coordinates. That has to be their hideout. I have to get there before…” He didn’t finish.
“Go,” said Beck with a pat on his shoulder. “We’ll be right behind you.”
While Jase revved up his bike, Beck moved the MC’s van to the site of the crash. He and Henry waited like vultures in case any of them survived it and tried to make a break before the sheriff arrived. Jase slowed his bike down as he approached, but Henry only shook his head wildly and waved for Jase to move on. Jase gave a confirming salute before he lay on the throttle and tore up the dirt road towards the highway.
Jase followed the coordinates Will and Ghost had been checking out and found they led to an old industrial facility in the hills just off the interstate, tucked in a gully with steep faces on three sides. The main building was a monstrous thing of dusty concrete and faded paint. Two relocatable trailers sat on its perimeters, windows broken out, shingles flapping in the breeze. He didn’t see a single car or person roaming around outside.
PRIDE: A Bad Boy and Amish Girl Romance (The Brody Bunch#1) Page 32
