Captured: Hunted Love #3

by Aden Lowe

  Kate led him up onto the back porch, paused a second to pat the big dog with pups hanging off her, then opened the door. Someone had been there in their absence and tidied up. Kate checked the fridge and found it full of essentials, with a note taped to the milk. She pulled it off and read it aloud.

  "Shame on you, Kate. A man to feed and not a thing for him to eat. You have to hire a housekeeper right away. Love you, Chelsea." Kate wadded the note up and tossed it into the trash. "I can't believe her. But I'm glad she shopped. At least we have something to eat. You ready for a shower? Or want me to call the doctor first?"

  Heat flared in his groin. "Definitely the shower first." He took over and grabbed her elbow. "Come on." Why did her bathroom seem so incredibly far away?

  "Oh, wait. Wait." She drew back a little. "I need to check messages. Something might be important."

  Jakob sighed and released her arm. "Fine. Just hurry."

  "I will." She hit the button and waited, finger hovering, ready to Skip. Telemarketer. Skip. Hunter telling her he was now available. Skip. Someone responding to her Help Wanted ad. A woman who seemed unsure she'd reached the right number, with some wild story about an outlaw biker gang headed their way for trouble.

  Jakob only half-listened until the woman mentioned Falon Harris. "Wait. Repeat that one."

  Kate hesitated only an instant, then complied. "You know something about this?"

  "Maybe." He listened to the message again. "Okay, I know Falon Harris from way back. He's a good guy, and if he says trouble is coming, it is."

  "So what do we do?" She frowned as if contemplating the possibility of more trouble.

  "Are there any defensive measures here? Anything left over from when the place was first built?"

  "Yeah, a few things. There's—" A faint knock at the door interrupted. "Come on in, Ray."

  The wizened foreman entered and stood just inside the door, holding his hat before him with both hands. "Sorry to bother you, Miss Kate." He carefully ignored Jakob. "I had a call while you were gone that worried me, and I thought you should know about it." He went on to explain about the phone call from Falon. He had a few details the message on Kate's machine had neglected.

  "He give you a name for who's coming after me? The biker?" He didn't care if Ray wanted to ignore him or not. He refused to wait for the information he needed.

  "Someone called Kellen. And the name of the gang was Hell Raiders. The guy said you had old business with the Kellen guy." He turned immediately back to Kate. "The guy, Falon Harris, said he's on his way to help, and to hang tight. This biker gang guy is following orders from someone else. We need to know who."

  "Yeah we do. I can't imagine anyone doing something like that, though. Can you?" Kate frowned.

  Ray shook his head and turned an almost furtive glance toward Jakob. "No, I can't, Miss Kate. Not much changes around these parts." The clear implication that the trouble was related to Jakob's presence came through loud and clear.

  Jakob curbed his resentment and took a deep breath. The old bastard didn't know him, or what kind of hell he might have riding behind him. "Granted, Kellen was likely brought in because of me. But I don't think that's the root of this." He turned to Kate. "Remember that neighbor guy, the one who's been after your land? He was pretty sure of himself."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, and something dirty like this is his speed. I wouldn't have thought he would know anything about biker gangs, but who knows what kind of shady connections he has? He's in the city a lot."

  "Okay, so we have at least one suspect on the list. And there are a couple of guys who wouldn't wish me any good, but I don't see how they could have found me here. I gave Uncle Frank's place as my destination when I signed out on leave."

  "So anyone looking for you specifically would have looked there."

  Her words had barely trailed away when Jakob caught the faint roar of an approaching motorcycle. "I think Falon's here already."

  Chapter Twelve: Kellen

  The dust cloud raised by the wheels of two dozen motorcycles would choke anyone. Kellen knew from experience that the guys in the rear would have bandanas pulled up over their faces in an attempt to keep a little of it out. That cloud also made it unlikely for their presence to go unnoticed.

  He would have preferred to meet the boss at some isolated location along the highway. Someplace where they would leave no trace of their presence. But no, this dude had some idea that meeting in the middle of nowhere would be safer. What-the-fuck-ever. Kellen was totally over this job, and if the deal wasn't perfect, he'd walk away. Especially now that Barger was off the table.

  At least Eric the Red and his Red Demons had sense enough to stay the hell out of his way. Eric gave directions, but nothing more than that. Bastard knew he'd fucked up, and he realized he'd better back off. And still, Kellen didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

  Finally, a house and outbuildings came into view tucked into the edge of the tree line. It was probably meant to look rustic, but failed miserably. No doubt, the million-dollar home served as nothing more than a hunting lodge, visited once or twice a year and only when the need arose to impress someone. Fuck that.

  The bikes roared up to the house, obnoxiously loud, and pulled to a stop too close to the door for politeness. Turning to head back the way they'd come meant the house would be filled with exhaust fumes when they left.

  When no one emerged from the house, Kellen approached the fancy carved door cautiously. Damn thing set back in a little alcove that would make a perfect ambush. He ignored the ornate doorbell and banged on the door with his fist. He wasn't in a doorbell kind of mood. When no one answered after a minute, he pounded again, making sure the heavy, sharp-edged rings on his fingers struck the door hard enough to gouge the wood.

  Just as he raised his fist to do some serious damage to the fucking door, it swung open. Kellen stepped back, out of the alcove, forcing the man to follow him out into the open. He stood, silent and waiting for the bulky ex-jock-gone-to-seed to say something.

  The guy stared at him, arms crossed. "Is there something I can do for you, son?"

  Bastard just rubbed Kellen the wrong way. "First of all, I ain't your son. Next, I'm supposed to meet somebody here about a job." He turned back to his bike and gave Hack the signal to roll them out. The bikes thundered back to life as he swung his leg over the seat.

  The ex-jock grabbed Kellen's arm in a misjudgment that nearly cost him his life. Kellen put him on the ground, hard, and stuck the tip of his knife just under the skin at the base of the man's throat. The bikes fell into deafening silence, shut off, as their owners watched to see what would come next.

  "Motherfucker, unless you want a homemade tracheotomy, don't you ever fucking put your hands on me again. You got that?"

  The idiot stammered his understanding and a heartfelt apology while he sweated bullets.

  Disgusted, Kellen wiped the tip of his blade on the man's shirt and stood. "You got something to say to me?"

  The man dragged his ass up off the ground and looked everywhere but at Kellen. "Uh, I'm Alexander Blackwell, and I'm the one that sent for you." As the asshole said his name, he puffed up like a damn peacock, regaining his confidence. "Take your men down there by the equipment shed." He pointed toward a metal shed painted to look old. "I'll be down in a few minutes and we can discuss the details."

  "Fine. It'll be best if you don't keep me waiting. I'm not a patient man. If I have to come find your ass, it won't be pleasant." Kellen gave the signal again and once more the bikes roared to life. He hit the throttle hard and gave the jerk a face full of dirt and gravel, then led the way to the open flat area by the faked out shed.

  The men separated according to their colors, Raiders refusing to mingle with Demons, and settled in to wait. The rich bastard better be ready to feed two dozen bikers. It had been a long-ass dusty ride.

  Bikes stood ready and waiting, the Raiders gathered to find out what was going on. "It's late, so whatever,
we're staying put for the night. Settle in." Eric gave the same order to the Demons and within a few minutes, both clubs had fires going. Most of the men dropped to the ground to rest until more orders came.

  Kellen thought about reading, but just holding the phone reminded him of what last night's festivities had interrupted. His dick sprang to immediate attention, ready to finish what he'd started. Not to mention, he still owed Vicky an explanation for his hasty exit.

  The only question remaining was whether to call or text her. Of course, he couldn't risk being in the middle of jacking off to her ball-clenching voice when that stupid bastard came down to talk. No doubt, he'd kill the next man to interrupt them. So that settled it. As soon as he finished talking to the bastard, he would call her.

  He stood and started to pace through the camp, feeling like he should kick the piss out of someone. Anyone would do at the moment. He looked around but no one presented an issue he could justify beating one of his Raiders for. Temptation drew his gaze over to the Red Demon camp. He'd love to go over there and kick every fucking one of them. The only thing stopping him was the thought of starting a war. The Raiders would be up for it, of course, but he couldn't ask them to bleed just because he was in a nasty mood.

  He turned for a second circuit of the Raiders' camp, while the men eyed him warily, and spotted a fucking golf cart pulling away from the main house. Was that joker really coming to talk to him in a golf cart?

  The other men noticed his stare and turned to look. Someone guffawed and the rest of the camp erupted in derisive laughter. Some of the men rose to their feet, laughing and joking. A golf cart as a mode of transportation anywhere but a golf course became an object of great ridicule to them. A go-cart would have been more respectable.

  Kellen waited silent, frozen almost in shock at the spectacle climbing out of the golf cart. The man had changed into what he must have thought was appropriate attire for negotiating with one percenters—brand new jeans that were two sizes too large, a white wife-beater with a leather cut over it, complete with a full set of patches. The jeans, possibly meant to look baggy, were hitched up to the guy's navel, where the wife-beater was tucked in to hold it snug over his flabby chest and belly.

  The men, Raiders and Demons alike, fell into shocked silence as the man approached with an exaggerated swagger. He looked like a comedian trying to do an impression of a hard-core rapper, and failing miserably. Holy fuck! It was simply too much to comprehend all at once.

  The idiot seemed to interpret the outlaws' silence as respect, taking time to nod to each and every one of them like a fucking politician stumping for votes. Finally, he got around to approaching Kellen.

  Flabbergasted, Kellen almost forgot to signal Hack and Eric and his VP to come over. When he remembered, they moved with purposeful strides, the threat of extreme violence apparent in every movement.

  Looking very pleased with himself, the man extended his hand to Kellen. "I fear we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Alexander Blackwell. And you are?"

  Kellen gave the hand a scornful glance. "I know who you are. I'm Kellen. Are we going to talk, or are you just here to parade your ass around? If that's it, a couple of my boys are always up for anything. I'm sure they'll be happy to oblige."

  A puzzled expression crossed Blackwell's face. "Pardon me?"

  Kellen sighed. "What-the-fuck-ever. Where can we talk privately?"

  "Ah. Yes. If you'd care to ride with, we can go back up to the house."

  Disgust overcame Kellen and he spat on the ground at the man's feet. For the first time, he noticed the brand-spanking new black shit kickers. How the fuck could he work for someone so utterly ridiculous? "No fucking way I'm going to talk in your house. Or ride in that fake cage. We'll walk over there." He nodded to indicate a place about two hundred yards away in the middle of a small meadow.

  "You won't mind if I drive? Old college ball injury. Blew out my knee."

  Hack spat, barely missing the toe of one of the new boots. "I don't give a fuck if you blew the quarterback. We walk." He started off toward the area Kellen had selected, and the Demon VP fell in beside him.

  Kellen glanced at Eric and received a slight nod of agreement back. Barely concealing a smirk, Kellen held out one hand in a magnanimous gesture. "After you."

  Blackwell nodded despite the frown he wore, and followed the VPs with that crazy walk. Kellen shook his head and followed with Eric, barely managing to contain his laughter.

  Blackwell persisted in trying to maintain the ridiculous swagger, nearly falling over every few steps. Fucker had obviously watched too much something and thought he knew how to pass himself off as an outlaw. Stupid.

  For the first time, Kellen got a clear look at the back of Blackwell's cut. He looked closely at the patch, then checked to see if Eric had noticed.

  He had. First time ever, Eric the Red looked confused. He squinted as if to make certain his eyes worked correctly. Then his brows climbed his forehead. He looked to Kellen and shook his head.

  Finally they reached a likely spot roughly in the center of the meadow. Kellen couldn't wait. As soon as he called a halt, he spoke. "Hey, man, I…uh…I couldn't help but notice your patch."

  Blackwell grinned, putting perfect bleached teeth on full display. "Yeah, you like it, man? I'm starting a Sons charter here."

  Kellen exchanged a look with Hack. "Is that a fact? So Teller and all them boys from Charming approved, huh?"

  "Oh, yeah, brother. The Sons are happy to expand down here." Blackwell seemed willing to elaborate.

  "Well, alright then." It was all he could do to keep a straight face. Years of on-the-job experience at giving away absolutely nothing nearly failed him. He had to look away. "So, tell me, what's this job all about?"

  Disappointment settled over Blackwell's features for a moment, quickly replaced by something else. He puffed out that flabby chest and moved his feet a little further apart as if his balls were too big to fit the allotted space. "Yes, well, I already took care of the hard part of that one for you. All you have to do is convince a little bitch to marry me."

  "Uh huh. Last I checked, Jakob Barger was not a little bitch. Now, I was told I was coming after him. And then I got a message that he's already taken care of. If that's the case, I'm out."

  All-out panic. "Yes. That's right. I did originally send for you because of Barger. At least, my source said that was his name. Your brother was in attendance at the time, and he conveyed that you might be interested in handling that aspect of things." Blackwell shuffled his feet, then started to pace, three steps one way, turn, three steps again. Like some kind of fucking lawyer about to make his big case. "However, I happened to be out hunting two days ago. I need another trophy buck to balance the display over the fireplace. Anyway, I encountered this fellow near where my men had placed deer bait. He pulled his gun, but I was faster."

  "Uh huh." The need to call bullshit nearly choked Kellen. No fucking way this idiot could out-shoot Barger. "So what the fuck you need me for?"

  Blackwell gave a pained sigh, as if he needed to explain something complex to a simpleton. "I need to marry the bitch. She has a big chunk of land that needs development. I don't intend to buy it when all I have to do is get her to say yes."

  Kellen shrugged. "Sooo…"

  "So, she needs some convincing. That's where you come in. I need her scared enough to do whatever I ask her to."

  "Okay, then. How badly do you want her?"

  "I want her and I won't take no for answer."

  "I can deliver her. If the price is right."

  Chapter Thirteen: Rita

  Rita figured the lane Falon turned them down would probably jiggle her teeth out. The course limestone, not finely crushed rock that would pack like concrete, looked newly spread and maybe six inches deep. The roughly two-inch diameter stones couldn't be easy on a motorcycle.

  And she was right. The narrow tires seemed to sink into the surface and make the bike very difficult to maneuver, leaving her feeling v
ery insecure on her seat. However, if Falon noticed any such effect, he gave no indication. So she gritted her teeth to keep them in place and held on a little tighter.

  Falon better have taken the right turn, because she sure as hell didn't want to turn around and ride right back out that road. She might just cry if that prospect faced her any time soon.

  Finally, it got a little better, after the lane split and Falon took the turn toward a house not too far distant. Damn she couldn't wait to get off that bike for more than a few minutes. The constant vibration had quickly gone from novelty to normal, and thankfully Falon's shoulders shielded her from the worst of the wind in her face. Eighty miles an hour for hour after hour after hour made for some serious windburn.

  A dusty pickup sat by the house, and Falon stopped beside it. Rita managed to wait until he shut the engine off, but barely. Eager to get her feet on the ground again, she swung off and stretched while Falon locked the ignition and pocketed the key, then followed suit.

  "Maybe we should go the barn instead. I didn't think of it, but if Jakob and the lady haven't been found, there's probably no one around the house." He peered intently toward the barn, as if dreading the possible need to get back on the bike that long. Before he had to make the decision, though, the house door opened and a slim cowboy came out.

  A hat shaded his face, but even with the distance, the guy's gray hair stood out clearly. He approached, definite caution in every step. "You Falon Harris?"

  "I am." Falon head toward the cowboy. "Glad to know I found the right place." He held a hand out.

  "I'm Ray, Miss Kate's foreman." The old man accepted Falon's hand and grinned. "Bet that lane's quite a ride on a steel horse."

  "Sure is." Falon took a careful look around. "Any word yet on Miss Holt and Jakob?"

  "Yeah, they're safe. A couple of the boys I sent out to search for them came across them late yesterday, and they came back in this afternoon. They're inside now. Miss Kate said for you to come on in." He nodded toward the porch door he'd closed carefully. "I'm headed out to the barn, but they can fill you in on everything." Another nod, this time in Rita's direction. "Pardon me, ma'am." He turned for the dusty old truck.