Cassie

by deMora, MariaLisa

  “Hello, Faith.” He smiled and a scar she hadn’t noticed before pulled his lips to one side, thinning and distorting the expression. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Not likewise. Let me go.” Faith lifted her chin and stared him in the eyes as she clenched her fists, daring him to come closer. Drago had surprised her, but these assholes didn’t know she’d grown up fighting with a much older brother and his friends, in addition to the tribe of Rebels kids who earned their place in their own hidden hierarchy by fists and blood as much as by who their fathers were. Faith was always a leader in their group, and it had made her stronger than these men knew.

  “I cannot.” He shook his head. “Not until I have the answer I need from an old friend.”

  She shook her head. “You know who my dad is?” He nodded, that painful-looking smile drawing tighter, lips pressed bloodless across his teeth. “Then you know the hell he can rain down on you.”

  “I have hell of my own to command.” He shook his head. “Pawn in a game too large for you to understand, girl. I’ll make a call or three, begin the process of changing the rules.” He stepped backwards and used the heel of his boot to pound against the door. “Bedlam’s move was ill-considered, but until I hear one way or another, I’ll need you to remain our guest. I had other plans already in motion, so we’ll see whose bears fruit fastest. Your father will look for you, but he won’t find you here. You’re in this now, girl, and that’s good for my cause. The only thing better than having you here will be when I get his woman.”

  “Guest?” She swiped at the blood covering her mouth and chin and held the palm of her hand out, offering him a view of red-colored flesh. “I’m a guest?” They can’t get Cassie. Dad would die. “Who are you?” I need info. She stiffened her spine, giving him the most disdainful look she could summon. “Why am I here?” I’m going to get free, and Daddy will need to know.

  The door opened behind him at his signal and three men filed into the room. Faith backed until the heels of her feet hit the wall and stood there, arms lifted in front of her. One carried a heavy wooden chair, and another held ropes, the third approached her warily. The Mexican man pulled a gun from the small of his back and Faith cursed herself for leaving her purse in the car. Her handgun was hidden in a zippered compartment built for that purpose, the gun and bag a present from her Aunt Mercy. She stared into the small round barrel and saw his finger flex on the trigger.

  A final, frantic heave of her muscles proved the final push needed and Faith sobbed soundlessly when her hand slipped free from the constraining hold of the ropes. She brought her arm around her front and rolled the shoulder that ached the worst, then reached around the other side and fumbled blindly at the ropes holding her there. It took a hundred breaths, counted in an effort to keep her composure, because the longer she fought to free herself, the harder it was to keep a lid on her panic.

  Her sole focus was on escaping her bonds, but she didn’t have any kind of plan on how to get out of the room. The door had to be locked, and the one window was small and placed high on the wall. Even if she moved the chair, it would be out of reach. Once she got out of the room, there’d be the endless hallways to untangle to find the exit. She didn’t have her keys, her purse, her phone—nothing. I have my brain, she reminded herself, grimacing as her fingernail bent backwards tugging a loop loose. Wriggling her hand free, she cupped her abused wrist in her other hand, refusing to look at whatever damage she’d done. Fifty breaths later, her ankles were free and she threw the rope into the far corner of the room, as far from where she stood as possible.

  The metal loop still surrounding one wrist clanked loudly when she leaned against the wall and slid until she hunkered on her heels, staring at the door.

  What now?

  ***

  Garrett

  The bike roared under him and Garrett leaned far over as he navigated the curve that took him off the main highway and down to surface streets nearly thirty miles over the posted limit. He’d been riding hard for an hour and a half, pushing the older bike to its limits to cut the miles between him and where he knew in his gut Faynez was.

  He’d stayed in the background, listening as Hoss talked to his dad. Then Myron had dropped an information bomb that had them all scrambling. Sammy had seen something suspicious on Faynez’ computer and had called to have the tech wizard check it out. Myron hadn’t started before now, but was now digging through her files to find whatever it was that had set Sammy’s nerves tingling. They couldn’t connect with Sammy because he was on the road, on the team’s bus somewhere between Fort Wayne and Utah, and wherever he was, he had no signal.

  Garrett had known where to look. As soon as Myron talked about the little bit Sammy had given him, Garrett had known. He’d seen something similar a few weeks ago, and she’d laughed it off as a way to pass time while her dad worked in the studio. The conversation he’d seen was innocent enough, and Garrett knew well what it meant to have a need to fill time until the most important people in your life paid attention to you again. That’s how he had always filled his days between seeing Faynez. It wasn’t cheating on his feelings for her, because nothing happened, and he was careful to keep all his chats PG enough even Dolly could have read them, but he understood.

  He’d slipped from the kitchen and into her bedroom. Booting up the computer had taken only a moment. Since his fingerprint wasn’t in the unlock system, he’d had to guess at her password. He swallowed hard at the memory. Jonny’s birthday. A few clicks later and he’d opened the log of recent chats, which included the days between Myron pulling a backup and today.

  Blood running cold through his veins, he’d read the back and forth, watching with clenched fists as it ramped up more and more, this Drago teasing and taunting her with a flair that was masterful in a way, entirely designed to have one result. Faynez trusting a stranger enough to meet in person.

  “Gar-boy, where are you?” His father’s voice boomed through Hoss’ house and Garrett sat up. He’d been slumped over the keyboard, forehead cradled in his palms as he tried to think of a way to get Faynez out of whatever mess she’d gotten herself in. “Come here.”

  He couldn’t ignore a direct summons, so he put the computer to sleep and straightened the covers on her bed. “Coming.” Out the door, he closed it quietly behind him, reverently almost. She’s gonna be okay. He made his way to the kitchen to find his dad and Myron had joined Hoss at the counter. There were more phones on the surface now as Myron connected with different members to leverage various specialty skill sets. “How can I help?” His dad turned to him, grief pulling deep lines into his face and in that instant, he saw the mortality of his own father for the first time. Heart stuttering in his chest, Garrett asked, “Dad?” No answer for whatever question he’d asked, and honestly, Garrett didn’t even know what that’d been. “Has there been any word?” Shaking his head, Mason held out one arm and Garrett stepped closer, letting his dad curl him close.

  “Nothing. Cassie caught the one call, but there’s not been anything else. Myron can’t ping her phone, either, which means it’s been turned off.” Hoss turned, his face as hollow as his voice had been. “Do you know anything, Garrett? Has she said anything to you about anyone?” Garrett shook his head slowly, the weight of what he’d just learned resting heavily on his conscience.

  Hoss looked as torn up as Mason, and Garrett cut another glance up at his dad. I can save her. He knew where she’d gone. He’d looked it up on maps on her computer, something she clearly hadn’t done, because it was labeled as an MC clubhouse, records showing it had gone back and forth between Outriders and Diamante, two names he knew well. Those organizations had been written with blood in club lore for as long as he could remember. If I tell and Dad rolls the club, there’ll be blood. A war like the ones old members talked about, bringing death and destruction for everything they loved. A single man however, could get in and out without anyone matching him against any given patch. Dad won’t let me prospect yet. Mas
on had told him he had to wait until he was eighteen, and if he still wanted then, he’d sew the rocker on himself. But I’m not club. Not yet.

  He eased away from his father’s grip, making his way to the living room. It was the work of moments to slip outside through the sliding glass doors, and once in the garage, he straddled his bike. After a brief moment of hesitation, he dismounted and moved to his dad’s bike. Digging in the saddlebag, he found what he was looking for and stashed the leather pouch in his bag. Transmission in Neutral, he rolled the bike down the sweeping drive, jumping to mount the bike only after it was moving quickly. He made it a block before the bike had slowed where it needed to be pushed. Another block and he felt comfortable starting the engine, not revving it like he normally would, praying it wouldn’t stall. Out through the security gate, edging his way around the closed traffic control arm, he ignored the irritated shout of the guard.

  Then it had been balls-to-the-wall riding, weaving through traffic on the streets until he hit the highway, fighting to hold his speed to less than his racing pulse demanded, cruising the line of being stopped if he was seen by the cops.

  He sat upright on the bike, slowing as he rode away from Columbus proper, making his way through the tangle of backroads he’d memorized from the map. A mile from the clubhouse, he idled into the driveway of an empty house, listed on a realtor site as lease-to-own. Garrett stashed his bike behind the garage and retrieved the package, giving the bike’s tank a light pat in thanks as he walked away. The bike had done a great job for a machine older than his old man was, and he twisted around to look at the paint job Bear had done for him, the word Beast worked across the surface of the Indian’s tank, twisting through billowing clouds the shifting colors of Faynez’ hair. Good name, he thought, and then focused on making his way through the small line of trees that separated him from seeing the building where he knew Faynez had to be.

  He paused at the edge of the woods, staring across at the decrepit building. Garrett counted six bikes behind the building and saw the end of a familiar car sticking out of a falling down outbuilding. It was quiet here, the sounds of birds in the trees and fields the loudest sounds he could hear. If that car’s Faynez’s…I wonder. Without giving himself time to think about what he was doing, he yanked his silenced phone from his pocket and turned it on. Once it was active, he ignored the missed calls and texts, going straight for the speed dial for Myron.

  One ring and the man answered, raw anger and fear in his voice. “Yeah?”

  Garrett tilted his head. Myron was never that short with him, always taking time to talk and joke around. “Uh, Myron?”

  “Jesus God, Garrett. Are you okay?” Belatedly, he realized Myron had probably feared he’d been taken too, given that the call from her kidnappers originated on Faynez’ phone. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “That my boy?” Mason’s voice echoed through the line. “Give him to me.”

  There’d be no arguing with that tone, so Garrett quickly said, “I know where she is. I’m here. Tell me how to get in, Myron.”

  As he’d hoped, Myron retained control of the call, asking him, “You’re where, exactly? Where do you think Faith is?”

  Hoss barked a question in the background, then the tone of the call changed and Garrett knew he’d been put on speaker. On the spot and in the spotlight, something he’d tried to avoid for as long as he could remember, he attempted to keep his voice steady when he answered. “I’m here. I know she’s in this building in front of me. But Dad—” His voice broke and he swallowed, took a breath, and pushed through. “Dad, if you come here, it’ll be war. I can do this.” He straightened, standing tall and fisted one hand on a hip as he told these men, people he’d looked up to for as long as he’d been breathing, that he wasn’t backing down. “I’m going to do this. It’ll be easier if Myron can help me, but I’m here and I’m not waiting.”

  Myron’s voice was farther away from the phone as he said, “Fucking hell, he’s outside Columbus.” Silence and then Myron told them, “Diamante.”

  “Boy, you stand down, now.” Garrett shook his head even though his father couldn’t see him. “Now we know, we can make a play. They haven’t called again, Gar-boy, we don’t know she’s there.”

  “Yeah, I do. It’s the address the asshat gave her to lure her here.” He hurried to reassure Hoss, because he knew the man would be ripping his hair out. “Uncle Hoss, she didn’t know. I swear. She made plans to go to the mall, not this.”

  “How do you know this, Garrett?” Myron was closer to the phone again and Garrett heard keys tapping. “Oh, hell. You got into her computer? I see what you found now. I was just looking at what I’d pulled, and it was days old. Fuck.”

  “Garrett, stand down.” The command in his father’s voice was hard to ignore and Garrett’s muscles trembled. “You stand the fuck down right now.”

  “Dad, I can’t. I’m here now, and if they’re hurting her—” He stopped when he heard an anguished yell, knowing his words had ripped that sound from Hoss’ throat.

  ***

  Mason

  He stared at his friend, his brother, seeing how pain and grief were stripping him of control. It had been hard enough to keep Hoss here when they didn’t know anything, and Mason knew if he didn’t gain control of this damned situation with Garrett now, they’d lose Hoss.

  “Garrett?” Every question he could ever ask was in that one word. Was his boy sure of himself? Did he have the means to take her by force if needed? Did he need her like he seemed to? Was Hoss’ girl the one for his boy?

  “Yes, Dad. God, yes.” Relief in his boy’s voice. Relief and a sense of self that’d been lacking lately. Relief and knowledge that he had his father’s trust. Something I never had. Something he’d wanted to give his boy so badly it kept him up at night.

  Mason looked around the room at the men gathered there. Hoss, Myron, Tug, Deke, Brute, and Gunny stood in a tight group around the counter where the phone connecting them to his boy rested. These men, some of the ones he trusted most in the world, were waiting on his word. Myron’s fingers rested on the keyboard of Faith’s computer he’d retrieved from her room, but an expectant silence filled the room, surrounding the men in a way that Mason knew no matter how things went today, they’d all remember this moment as one that changed everything.

  “Okay.” Hardest word he’d ever had to say, and it ripped from his throat like sandpaper. “Okay.” He lifted his chin and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the welcome weight of his infant son on his chest as they slept on the couch together. Inseparable, he’d built a strong foundation with his boy through the years, and this was the moment it mattered most. “Son, you tell us what you need.” Myron looked at him like he’d lost his mind and Mason shook his head, shutting him down before he could utter a single word. “No, brother. Don’t argue with me. Just do, yeah? See what you can find out. Give my boy a fighting chance to bring our girl home.”

  Hoss sucked in a breath, and another, control leaving him until Gunny and Deke bracketed him, hands on his shoulders helping him hold it together. Myron nodded slowly and then looked down, verifying something on the screen in front of him before moving back to his machine.

  “Okay.” He tapped a key, then thumped his thumb against the mousepad. “It’s a standard farmhouse, circa 1990s, but satellite imagery shows the ground around the house hasn’t settled like you’d expect it to. Not for a good distance on every side of the structure. That tells me they’ve reinforced the basement. We’ve seen this before, in Chicago, when Diamante took over a prepper’s house. I expect that’s what happened here, even if I can’t find a record of that particular owner. That means, Garrett, that getting into the house is only part of the job. You’ve got to get to the basement, and then find where they have her.” Myron paused, and Mason nodded, telling him to pull back the curtain on the things that happened in club business. “Almost all clubhouses have interrogation rooms in the lowest level, where it’s easier to put in dra
ins and water for cleanup. That’s where they’ll have her, I can almost guarantee it.” He tapped again and spun the computer to Mason, pointing at something on the screen. “The last known roster tells me they’ve got a lot of new blood in there, only a couple of OG, and that’s probably going to work in your favor.”

  Mason stared at the screen, reading through the names, his gaze pausing on one. “Are you sure of this, Myron?” He angled his gaze up in time to see Myron’s solemn nod. “Garrett, there’s one guy there you’ll have to steer clear of. His club name is Bedlam, and he’s been in this area a long time. He’s crazy, so crazy we won’t even think of putting a patch on him. He’s earned some seriously bad blood with a few Rebels over it through the years. Steer clear.” He lifted his chin at Myron. “Send him a picture of Bedlam.”

  “Bedlam got papers yesterday severing his parental rights over Blackie’s oldest girl.” Hoss tossed this bomb out like he didn’t see how that changed everything. “Blackie talked to me while we were in Texas, and we—” He gestured towards Myron who nodded. “—hooked him up with a fast track. I got a text from Blackie earlier that they hadn’t heard anything from the man yet, made him nervous. You thinkin’ this is about that?”

  Mason shook his head. “History on the contact with your girl predates our trip. It ain’t that.”

  Myron retrieved the computer and worked for a moment, then looked up, lips pressed into a bloodless line. “Remember that guy we wanted to talk to from Estavez’ village?” Mason nodded, muscles in his belly tightening in advance of the blow he knew was coming. “The one who owned the place Spider was taken to and worked over? Enzo Estavez?” Another nod, and he held his head steady at the end, waiting. “He’s there, too.”

  ***

  Cassie

  Fingers trembling on the clutch, Cassie angled the bike around the final corner and pulled off the road to stop at the end of the long, gravel driveway. She hadn’t intended to be here, hadn’t intended to be anywhere except at Hoss’ house, waiting for word. Or maybe in her own home with the doors locked, under the covers in her own bed.