The Possibility of Trey (A Hellion MC Novel)

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Dallas nabbed by the fucking Ghosts! He couldn't even get his head to accept it.

  He placed a call to Bishop before he and Donny left the park but got the internet guru's voicemail. Disconnecting without leaving a message, he immediately called Huff.

  "Need emergency meeting of the council, brother. The Ghosts have my Dallas!" Snarling into the phone, he tried to listen to Huff's response but had a hard time over what his brain was screaming.

  "Where you at? Silo was looking for you earlier."

  "North of town. I'll be at the compound in fifteen to twenty. Need you to get our brothers together, Huff. Immediately!" He disconnected the call, fired up his hog and shot a grim nod to Donny.

  While the ride back to Hellion land wasn't long, it was still long enough for Trey's brain to play the 'what-if' game again, with each scenario of his girl in Ghost's hands worse than the last. His face must've showed his displeasure because traffic moved out his way as soon as he was next to the other car's back bumper.

  When he and his escort finally hit the forecourt, his men were waiting for him. Huff, Silo, Dare, Brand and Bishop were standing dead center and circled his bike before he even had shut it down.

  "Went to Dallas who has taken up jogging. Goes to a park off Greenough. Was seen being put into a van by men who work vests like ours only gray." Trey tried to keep the emotion out of his voice but knew he failed miserably. "You said they were becoming more formal, Bishop. I want to know who holds the fucking gavel, and I want them on the phone AS-fucking-AP."

  "Give me five," Bishop said, pulling out his cellphone as he ran towards the HC building.

  "I also want a report from Snake, Dice and Jay on that fucking chop shop."

  "I'll do," Dare said as he too pulled out his phone and walked away.

  Trey saw Donny standing a respectful distance from the club's inner circle. "Donny? Good work today, brother. Proud you had my back."

  The younger man lifted his chin and made his way into the clubhouse.

  "I need someone to stay with the Sheridans who won't blab, won't hover but will spend time with them until we get Dallas back." Trey was thinking out loud but he knew the men would help the process along.

  "Since he is behaving better and because they cannot come to him, perhaps their son would be a good choice," Brand offered. "We can send him with a recruit…"

  "No, I need someone with more experience but not as scary as a biker. Drake's a good choice, though." Christ! His brain was like quicksand and he needed to fucking think!

  "Have Carmi take the kid. Her tits and ass are reasonably covered today and she can be a bitch when cornered." Silo was pulling at his soul patch as he thought it out. "I'll give her the directive to call in every half hour and to keep the kid in line."

  "Work it then," Trey agreed tersely. "Fill both her and Drake on what's doing but have them swear not to give the folks the news. Mrs. Sheridan has a weak heart."

  Silo peeled away towards the back of the clubhouse.

  "How many men do we have on the lists?" Trey asked, directing his eyes to Brand and Huff.

  "Sixty or so," Huff said.

  "When I did the call out the other night, I was able to get fifty on bikes within a half hour," Brand contributed.

  "Good. We may need a show of strength." Trey unwound himself from his ride, finally feeling like he could take a breath and let his men work some of the burden. Sure Dallas was his but as his, she belonged to the Hellions full stop. Any move on her was a bald-face strike on the club.

  The Hellions would goddamn retaliate in full fucking fury.

  Trey turned towards the sound of running boots to see Bishop flying across the forecourt, his waist length hair coming loose from its holder. "The fucker's name is Emilio Rodriguez. Formerly with a group out of San Diego. Reputed to be real handy with a knife and likes to hire himself and his crew out for pay. Here's his number."

  Wasting no time, Trey punched in the number and waited. "Rodriguez? Trey Jackson, Hellion. Heard you snatched something of mine from a park this morning. I want it back. Now!"

  "Mr. Jackson. I have no immediate knowledge of any activity in a park nor of being in possession of Hellion property. The Ghosts have no quarrel with such a well known and respected club with whom we share a town. Perhaps you have been misinformed."

  The asshole talked like a fucking panty-waist. What was the ass-wipe a fucking biker or a goddamn English teacher?

  "Is that really how you want to play it, Rodriguez? Seriously? Because I believe a man in your position would've been informed on how the Hellions play. And how sharing is not our thing."

  There was a soft chuckle that came through the phone and had Trey seeing red.

  "What an interesting way to describe you and your crew. Much like bullies on a playground."

  "Perhaps you are too new or simply too stupid to get it, but we intend to get our property back and we will use every means possible to do so." Trey's words were snarled and menacing.

  "Call your police friends. They are of no worry to either myself or my club," Rodriguez's voice was still in playful mode as if the Hellions and Trey were of no concern. "Good-bye, Mr. Jackson. This has been a unique pleasure."

  He turned back to his men to see Silo and Dare had rejoined the group.

  "And?" Bishop asked on a strident tone.

  "He won't admit it but they've got her. Rodriguez likes to play games, verbal games. But he is very much aware of us involving MPD which tells me he and his crew had something to do with or is working for the people who organized the other night's happenings." Trey kept replaying the conversation in his head, listening for tone and inflection. "Here's the thing. The fucker isn't in his words, 'worried' about Hellion retribution."

  "Think it's time he did," Silo growled.

  "Agreed!" came the cry from the other five mouths.

  *.*.*.*.*

  I was still working at the bonds on my ankles and seemed to be making progress but was rubbing the skin off as I moved. My brain, though, was still in the oatmeal category.

  "Hey, honey. How was your shift? Listen, do you have a sharpener? I broke my eye-pencil and can't find mine." The girl's voice was muffled but seemed to be coming from the room behind where I was sitting.

  "Sure thing. Here," the other feminine voice answered.

  Without thinking, I half-stood and bent banging my numbed hands against the wall behind me. Since they were completely without feeling. I only hoped I wasn't doing myself serious damage.

  "What's that? Did you hear that?" the first voice asked.

  "Lola's on. You know how her fans get when she whips out those double F's."

  I banged harder and yelled a loud, "Help!"

  "No, it's coming from the other side of this wall." The first voice sounded closer now.

  "I'm in the closet!" I yelled, banging with my hands after each word.

  "She says she's in the closet."

  I heard a door close by squeak open and a shadow blocked out the light through the crack. "Is anybody in there?"

  "Yes, my name is Dallas Sheridan and I'm tied up," I said almost sobbing with relief.

  "My name's Sugar. How'd you get in there if you were tied up, honey?" My relief was short-lived if my would-be rescuer thought I'd gotten in my predicament all by my lonesome.

  "Can you get me out, Sugar?"

  I heard the girl try the doorknob. "It's locked."

  Of course it was. Why would kidnappers who were hiding someone be so kind as to keep the door open for easy access?

  "Could you make a call for me?" When in doubt, get help was my motto.

  "Sure thing, honey. Who d'you want me to call? Your mama? I always need my mama when I'm in a fix," the sweet voice said.

  "Can you call Hellion Construction and ask to speak to Trey Jackson? Be sure and give them my name," I instructed. I had no clue what time it was or even if it was day or night. All I knew was when push came to shove, Trey wouldn't turn away from my call no matter who he w
as presently screwing.

  "Is that a local call? I have the worst cellphone contract."

  "Yes, Sugar. It's local and if there are any extra charges, I'll pay you back." I was trying to keep up the façade that we were just a couple of girl's having a girlie conversation but it was wearing thin.

  "Oh, okay." I heard the beeping of her phone as she called information and then was redirected. "Hellion Construction? My name is Sugar and I dance at Tomatoes. A Dallas Sheraton, you know like the hotels? Well, she asked me to call and tell you that she is tied up and in a closet in the basement underneath the stage. Oh! I forgot! I was supposed to ask for a Trace Monroe. Is he around?"

  ohgodohgodohgod, my mind moaned.

  shitshitshittyshit, my heart cried.

  "Dallas?" the syrupy voice said through the crack in the door. "That lady on the phone said someone will be with me shortly. I'm on hold. So what do you do for a living, honey?"

  I couldn't help my eye-roll. "I'm a plumber."

  "Really? Imagine that. A girl plumber. I didn't know there were any gir…hello? Yes, this is Sugar. Are you Mr. Monroe? Yes. Yes, that's who she says she is." Sugar was quiet for a couple of seconds. "He wants to know if you're all right."

  "Tell him I will be as soon as he gets his goddamn ass down here!"

  "Oh, honey, I couldn't say that. I don't swear. Oh, you heard her? Good. Because I don't use that kind of language. Uh-huh, seems to be okay just locked in the closet. Who? You mean those guys that have that Halloween looking thing on their backs? A couple of them sitting at the bar, why? I guess I could. Two hundred? Gosh, that's more than I make for a lap dance! Yes, I'll do it, Mr. Monroe. You're welcome and any time you visit Tomatoes be sure to ask for Sugar. Bye-bye, now." I heard her disconnect the call and she pressed her lips back to the crack. "He asked me to keep an eye on you. Said someone will be here in a few minutes. Is he your fella?"

  "Used to be," I mumbled, surprised that the thought of what we'd almost had still hurt.

  "He sure sounds nice with that deep, ol' sexy voice." Sugar's own voice sounded dream-like. "And worried, too. It must be great to be with a guy that gets worried about you."

  I couldn't help my snort. Yeah, it had been until I caught him red-handed getting all 'worried' about somebody else. "He's a good guy."

  "What line of work is he in?"

  He's a big bad-ass motherfucking biker who rules his kingdom with an iron fist and yet can love on a girl so soft and sweet, she sees God in all his heavenly glory. "He runs the construction company."

  "Ooh! A little office hanky-panky? That sounds like fun," Sugar giggled.

  The conversation was wiping me out but I had to admit it was entertaining.

  "Do you know what time it is?" I asked.

  "Three-thirty, honey. Why? Is it important? Do you have to take a pill or something?"

  "No, just wondering. Is that in the afternoon or in the morning?"

  "Daisy says I'm not good enough yet to work the late shift. They still have me on afternoons." I could hear the pout in her voice. "But I've seen a couple of the other girls who work then and I don't think they're as good as I am."

  "So, do you uhm, just strip or do you do that pole dancing thing?" She was being so nice and seemed to want to talk so I made the effort to get to know her.

  "Both, but I'm really good at dancing. Either on the pole or on one of the stages," she explained.

  "I've always been curious about that thing you said to my boss. The lap dance portion. What exactly is that anyway?"

  "A lap dance? Oh, it's just where I dance for one client at a time. I think they call it a 'lap dance' because when you do it, you're dancing really close to them and usually end up in their laps."

  Huh. You learn something new every day.

  I heard her phone beep. "Oh! It's a text that says, 'tell Tex to keep her panties on. We're here.' What does that mean? Are you Tex? You didn't take your panties off in there did you?"

  And with that, for the first time in my life, I heard myself give out an honest to god giggle.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Disconnecting the call from Sugar, Trey changed the plans that had been brewing and only took four other brothers, plus his full council, to go get Dallas. After having dealt with Fat Jack in the past and hearing where they'd stashed his girl, he wasn't going to waste the energy by using the full contingency of the club.

  That would be happening later when the Hellions hit their other targets.

  He sent four men around to the back of Tomatoes as he and the other five pulled up in the front. "Stow your cuts. I don't know how many people know us as HMC and would like to go in undetected if we can."

  The men nodded and complied, shoving their vests into their ride's saddlebags or storage compartments. As they started walking toward the entrance, Trey stopped abruptly. "Shit, I meant to stop by the ATM. How much green are we carrying?"

  "Fifty."

  "One hundred twenty-three."

  "One large."

  "What? Bishop! You're holding a motherfucking grand and I paid for two hours of pool plus beers last night?" Dare glare was zeroed in on Bishop who was smiling in answer.

  "What can I say, man? You're a good date. Pay for everything and don't make me put out at the end of the night." Bishop blew his club brother a kiss and received the bird in reply.

  "I'm holding about five hundred," Trey announced. "We may have to grease some wheels before we get to her. I'll replace whatever you rack up."

  They moved as a unit and paused just inside the doors to allow their eyes to adjust to the dark club. Music was thumping and Trey estimated the large space had about forty people in it including club staff. He spotted the Ghosts immediately but didn't see anyone else that appeared to be a biker except for the two at the bar.

  "Spread out and try to find the stairs to the ground floor," Trey instructed. His men took off while he and Dare sat two stools down from the Ghosts and ordered beers. He marked the bouncers all who seemed to be carrying. Only one, though, was standing at a beaded curtain.

  Downing half his beer in a swallow, Trey pulled off the stool and advised Dare of his plan.

  "May I help you, sir?" The bouncer was big, almost as tall and as broad as Trey.

  "I'm supposed to meet someone downstairs." Trey tried to see around the bulwark of a man but was unable.

  "The downstairs is off-limits to all but the dancers, sir. We can get a message to one of them if need be."

  "Could that be reconsidered for maybe an entrance fee?"

  The other man looked Trey over. "You seem very determined, sir."

  "I am." Trey's eyes never wavered from the bouncer's face.

  "The current cost of a ticket is five yards."

  "May I purchase one now?" The bouncer's eyes shifted over Trey's shoulder and scanned the room.

  "Would you mind pulling out your wallet and flash it open, sir?" Ah, the bouncer wanted Trey to play like he was a cop. Shit, Trey would play like he was Darth Vader if it got him to his Dallas.

  Trey performed the move and the bouncer pulled the beaded curtain aside before allowing the biker to enter first. Trey palmed his five hundred and tucked his wallet away.

  "I appreciate your help," Trey said, extending his hand with the wad of cash held against his palm.

  "You're welcome, sir," came the swift reply. The money was soon transferred with no fuss. "The stairs are right this way. So as not to cause the dancers upset I'll go first."

  Trey saw that while the club itself was decorated in black, chrome and neon, nothing had been done to freshen the downstairs. Cement floors, brick walls painted long enough ago that the white was chipped away and harsh florescent lights overhead was where the stairs led.

  "Hey, Sammy. What cho doing down here?" the sweet voice from the phone asked. Trey leaned around and saw it was the dancer who he'd been eyeing the last time he was there. Wrapped in a short, hot pink robe the ass-length hair and the long, long legs gave her away. And damn,
if that kittenish-look hadn't been the truth as supported by her syrupy-sweet voice. It wasn't something Trey personally found attractive but liked that it was honest and not something faked.

  "Are you Sugar?"

  She blinked her round eyes at him and then back at Sammy. "I don't think Daisy's going to like you bringing a customer down here, Sam. I don't want to get into trouble."

  "I'm Trey Jackson, remember? We talked about my girl, Dallas?"

  "I'm not your fucking girl, Trey!" The voice was muffled and sounded pissed but it was Dallas's.

  Trey couldn't help shoving Sam aside with a belated, "sorry" as he raced to the door he'd heard her yell from. "I'm here, Dallas. I'll have you out in a second, honey. Just hold tight."

  "What's the goddamn hold up?" Oh yeah, she was madder than a wet hen.

  "Just trying to decide if this lock takes Visa or MasterCard, Tex. Give me a minute."

  The sight that greeted him when the door opened had his temper red-lining again. Sweating like she was in a sauna, Dallas's arms were over the top of a fucking wooden kitchen chair at an angle he knew was horribly painful. But it was when his eyes hit her goddamn bloody ankles he knew it was time to get fucking serious about the Fat Jack, the Ghosts and Brechot.

  Trey took out his knife and sliced through the nylon cord at her ankles before lifting her still in the chair and bringing them both out into the hall. Moving her arms wasn't an option and he needed to get behind her. "This is gonna hurt, Dallas. I'm sorry. But we gotta do it to get you free, okay?"

  "It-It's okay. I can't feel anything in them anyway." He could hear the tears in her voice and it broke him. He'd tried to be gentle when he'd taken her and the chair out of the tiny closet but he must have put her down harder than he thought.

  "Almost there, pretty girl. When you feel the rope release, don't move yet. Okay? I'll help you to move your hands and arms." Trey was using the calmest voice he could but her poor goddamn hands were swollen nearly twice their size and purple. The fuckers had tied her up tight but with her shoulders up and over the back of the chair, her hands hadn't gotten any blood flow to speak of.