Fearing The Biker

by Cassie Alexandra

  Which was only a couple hundred miles from Jensen, I thought.

  “You got a name or address?” I asked him.

  “No, but I can make some phone calls.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” I replied.

  “I’ll call you back in a few.”

  “Okay. Leave a message if I don’t answer.”

  “Will do.”

  We hung up and I stepped back onto the plane.

  “You ready?” asked Barney.

  “Just ten more minutes. Sorry.”

  He laughed. “No problem. I’m in no rush. Sophie is out of town and I’m supposed to be fixing the fence, in the back of the yard. Wasn’t looking forward to that pain-in-the-ass project. Now I have an excuse to put it off longer.”

  Sophie was his wife. I’d never met her but had heard plenty about her. I’d known Barney for two years and he was a good pilot. He was also a good storyteller. He liked to reminisce about his life and didn’t ask a lot of questions about mine, which was one of the reasons why I’d stuck with him.

  “If you need help, let me know,” I told him. I’d never been to his place and normally liked to keep things impersonal with business associates, but Barney was no spring chicken. Helping a guy like him out seemed like the right thing to do.

  “I might take you up on that,” he said, reaching into his travel bag. He pulled out a large, metal lunch box. “Since we’re waiting, I may as well eat. You want an egg-salad sandwich? I made some for the flight.”

  “No, that’s okay. Thank you, though.”

  “You sure? I made plenty. Just in case.”

  My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten for a while. “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Here,” he said, handing me one wrapped in plastic. “I’ve got some bottled water, too. Help yourself.”

  “Thank you, Barney. You’re a life-saver,” I said unwrapping it. I took a bite. “It’s good. You make it yourself?”

  “One of the few things I know how to make. Sophie spoils me. Does all the cooking, usually.” He patted his stomach. “She’s been gone for two days, though. I’ve already lost a couple pounds.”

  I smiled. He wasn’t fat, but he looked well-fed. He also had many laugh lines and his blue eyes were always twinkling. “You’re a lucky man.”

  “I know. I thank the stars every day that she’s put up with my orneriness.”

  “You’re ornery?” I asked, surprised. “I would have never guessed. You’re always in a good mood.”

  He shrugged. “I’m diabetic. If I don’t eat regularly, I can be a bit of an asshole.”

  “I didn’t know you were diabetic.”

  “I take insulin shots and make sure I have this lunch box filled with oranges and Wheat Thins,” he said, patting it.

  “Shit. I’m sorry for eating one of your sandwiches. You going to be okay for the flight?”

  “I made extra. Don’t worry.”

  “Well, I appreciate you doing this. I know the flight was spur-of-the-moment.”

  “Like I said, it was a win-win situation.”

  “Good.”

  “So, how long have you and Sophie been married, again?”

  “Forty-two years.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive.”

  He nodded. “Mind you, it hasn’t been easy. Relationships take work and there were times when we wanted to kill each other. But, in the end, it’s all been worth it. I get to spend my dying days with a woman that I’ve shared so much with.”

  “So, no regrets?”

  “Nope. Well, it would have been nice if we could have had kids. Maybe even adopted.”

  “Couldn’t have them, huh?”

  “No. We tried for years but found out later that she had a condition. Something called Endometriosis, which made it harder to get pregnant.”

  “What about treatment?” I asked, having heard the term, but not what it meant.

  “It didn’t help much. She didn’t want to take any fertility drugs either. Always said that if it was meant to be, it would happen. Guess it wasn’t meant to be,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “At least you had each other and still do.”

  He nodded, smiling. “What about you? Anyone special in your life these days?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” he asked seriously.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess there really isn’t room in my life for a relationship.”

  “Too busy, huh?”

  “You could say that,” I replied. “I’m always involved with work and obviously, I travel too much.”

  “So, you’ve never been in love?”

  “Can’t say I have,” I replied.

  “What about dating or…” he winked, “knocking boots? A fellow like you must get plenty of women.”

  “I get my share,” I replied. “Usually just one-night-stands.”

  “Life is short and before you know it, you’ll be staring up at the ceiling at night, wondering where it went and why you feel so empty inside. A job pays the bills but it shouldn’t be your entire life.”

  I already stared at the ceiling at night, but it was because I had plenty of enemies and knew I was being hunted. I didn’t need to share any of them with a woman.

  “I get what you’re saying,” I said, knowing that he was speaking from the heart. “I do. Honestly, I guess I just haven’t met the right woman.”

  “Sophie has a lot of wonderful friend’s with daughters. We could set you up on some dates?”

  “No,” I said chuckling. “I don’t have any problems finding dates. But, thank you.”

  “You sure? Because-”

  My phone, going off, interrupted him.

  “Yeah,” I said, getting up to answer it.

  “I got an address. You ready for it?”

  I looked back over at Barney. “Do you have a pen and paper?”

  “Sure,” he said, wiping his hands against his pants. He reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a pad of paper and a blue pen. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking it from him. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Brett gave me the information and I wrote it down.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No problem. Keep in touch.”

  “I will. I owe you.”

  “Buy me a steak dinner the next time you’re in New York.”

  I smiled. “Damn right I will.”

  “As far as Reaper, be careful with this guy. He’s a real nutter. Gets into some seriously crazy shit.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  The man chuckled. “There’s crazy and there’s psychotically fucked in the head. The guy doesn’t seem to even care about dying. I heard that he plays Russian Roulette for fun. Even forced his grandmother to play, once.”

  “She win?”

  “She won to tell about it. When you’re grandmother hates you, you know your shit is messed up. He should have never been let out of prison.”

  “Right. Well, I’ll take care of that problem and make sure Grandma only plays Parcheesi from now on.”

  He laughed. “I know you will,” he replied. Brett was with the FBI and knew what I was all about. It didn’t stop him from helping me out, though. Of course, saving his ass, during one of my assignments, probably made me that much more appealing. He’d been beaten and shot by a gang member, in Chicago. One I’d been hired to kill. After walking in on their moment, I filled my order and then took pity on Brett, by dropping him off at a nearby hospital. A month later, I’d heard rumors that he wanted to thank me personally. Knowing that it could have been a trap, I went anyway, meeting him at a seafood restaurant, where we’d talked face-to-face. That was sixteen months ago and since then, we’d helped each other out, more than once.

  I looked over at Barney, who was still eating and watching me intently. “I’d better let you go so we can get into the air. Thanks for the info.”

  “You’re welcome. Go take care of business.”

  “I will.”
r />   After I hung up, Barney cleared his throat.

  “You got problems with your grandmother?” he asked.

  “No, but someone else’s apparently needs a Family Intervention,” I replied, texting Slammer the address for Reaper’s uncle’s cabin.

  His eyebrows shot up. “You going to be part of that?”

  “I hope so.”

  Barney smiled and began cleaning up the lunch mess. “You’re a good man. I knew that the moment I saw you, Jordan.”

  His words made my stomach sour. If he knew the real Jordan Steele and what I was capable of, something told me that it would crush him. “I don’t know about that. Anyway,” I nodded toward the windshield, “we can leave now.”

  He chuckled. “Not much for compliments, are you?”

  “Hey, coming from you, I’m flattered, Barney. I truly am. I don’t think there’s anyone that I respect more, to be honest.” Which was the truth. Not only did he appear to be a great husband and business associate, you could tell he really cared about people. There was a shortage of that, these days.

  Barney grinned proudly. “I’m honored you feel that way. Thank you, son.” He started flipping some switches on the dashboard. “I’ll contact the tower for approval and we’ll get moving.”

  “Okay. By the way, could we find someplace to land in Cedar Rapids?”

  “Why there?” he asked, looking surprised.

  “Because there’s been a change of plans. Hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”

  “No. We can do that. I’ll radio the tower.”

  “Thanks. Sorry about the confusion.”

  “Not a problem.”

  I sat back down and stared out the window as Barney put his headphones on and began preparing for lift-off. I knew that I was going to be late for the party, in Cedar Rapids, and that Slammer’s step-daughter was either dead or wishing she was. No matter what her fate ended up being, I was going to make sure that Reaper was wiped off the face of the earth. Anyone who made their grandmother put a gun to her head, deserved nothing less.

  Chapter Nine

  I stared down at the diamond bracelet my mother had given to me at the restaurant, imagining the terror she was feeling at the moment, knowing that I was missing and who in fact now had me. I let out a ragged breath.

  That’s it. I’m a dead woman…

  To say that I was scared was an understatement. I was so frightened that eventually I began looking for something in the van that could end my life before they did. After hearing about what they’d done to Raptor’s mom, I wasn’t stupid enough to think they’d let me go. I was going to die and if I didn’t escape, one way or another, get raped and tortured by a man who’d just gotten out of prison. It seemed very ironic, considering Breaker had just gotten out before he attacked me.

  I wiped the tears from my face and then rubbed my palms against my jeans. It was then that I remembered the belt I’d worn that morning. Normally, I didn’t wear belts. They bothered me. But this particular one was unique, and I’d fallen in love with the buckle, which a tiny metal skull with a crown and wings, making it stylishly wicked.

  I removed the belt and pulled it off of my jeans. Staring down at the prong, I touched the tip; it wasn’t very sharp but I knew it could do a lot of damage. I just didn’t know if I had the courage to try and use it against one of the bikers. And if I did, I was highly outnumbered. Killing myself almost seemed like the easiest and most merciful thing I could do at the moment.

  “Don’t be a fucking coward,” I muttered, feeling ashamed that the idea of suicide had even entered my head. Yes, I’d already been through Hell and back and was about to cross the border for a return trip. Chances were that it was going to end badly, but, that didn’t mean it had to end completely. I just needed to muster enough courage to stay alive and maybe even come up with a plan.

  It was then that I remembered what Adriana had told me about Mud. When she’d been kidnapped, she’d made him believe that she hated the Gold Vipers and had been hot for him. She’d even kissed the man. I couldn’t imagine letting one of them kiss me, but if it got me close enough to their jugular, things might not have to go that far.

  Taking a deep breath, I began biting on the vinyl part of the belt, to somehow try and free the buckle.

  ***

  Fortunately, I was able to do just that before we arrived at our destination, which was about two hours from where we’d started. When the van finally stopped and the back door opened, I had the prong in my front pocket and had managed to hide the rest of the belt around my waist, under my jeans. With my light, blue peasant blouse covering the waistband, nobody seemed to notice anything unusual.

  “Let’s go,” said Stryker, holding out his hand to help me out of the vehicle.

  “Where are we?” I asked, ignoring him.

  He scowled. “That’s not your concern. Get your ass out of the van before I come in there and get you.”

  Gritting my teeth, I got out of the back myself and looked around. It appeared that they’d driven me to some cabin, in a very secluded and wooded area. Parked outside were several motorcycles and a couple of cars.

  “Move it,” said Grady, waving his gun toward the place.

  Touching the outline of the buckle in my front pocket, to give me courage, I began walking toward the porch, wondering if it would be worth it to try and make a run for it. Before I could decide, the front door opened and a large man stepped out. He was obscenely muscular and tall, close to seven feet. I figured him to be somewhere in his forties, with long, dark hair that was braided in the back and brown eyes that were filled with contempt.

  “So this is Frannie?” he asked, walking down the steps toward me. As he moved closer, I noticed he had quite a bit of tats, all of them dark with a death theme.

  Perfect, I thought dryly.

  “My name is not Frannie,” I said, staring up at a long, white scar under his left eye. The closer he came, the scarier he appeared.

  “Anyone tell you that staring isn’t polite?” he asked, now smirking. “In fact, staring can get you scars of your own.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare,” I said quickly, feeling myself sweat under the pressure of his scrutiny as he circled around me.

  “You sure you got the right Old Lady?” asked Reaper, suddenly grabbing me by the back of my hair.

  “Ouch,” I gasped, trying to pull away.

  He stared down into my face, his eyes boring into mine. “I can’t imagine Slammer tapping this one.”

  “I’m not anyone’s Old Lady and I’m certainly not Slammer’s,” I cried, tears in my eyes from the pain. “You’ve got the wrong person!”

  “Don’t listen to her, Reaper,” said Stryker, pulling out a photo from his pocket. “We found her outside of Slammer’s house. See for yourself. It’s her.”

  Reaper let me go and I quickly backed away from him. Smirking, he grabbed the photo and looked at. The smile fell from his face. “Goddamn it.”

  “Goddamn what?” asked Stryker.

  “It’s not her,” he said, holding up the picture.

  Curious, I stepped closer and stared at the photo. It was definitely my mother, sitting with Slammer at some outdoor cafe. The photographer had zoomed in and anyone could see that there were similarities between us, but our noses were different and her hair was darker.

  And not to mention that there was twenty-five years between us, I thought dryly.

  “Good going,” he said, turning back to Stryker. “You brought me the wrong bitch. You were supposed to bring me Slammer’s Old Lady. You brought his step-daughter instead. Dumbasses.”

  I shuddered, realizing that he knew who I was anyway.

  “She looks enough like her,” said Grady. “Anyone could make the same mistake. Look at her.”

  “Save it,” snapped Reaper, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’ll work with what we have. Just, get her into the house and lock her in the back.”

  “I thought we were going to, you know�
�” said Grady, smiling wickedly. “Have us some fun.”

  I stiffened up, waiting for Reaper’s response.

  “Get your shit together and you will,” he said, turning to go back into the house. “But it will have to be when I’m done with her.”

  Chapter Ten

  Slammer

  After receiving the text from The Judge, I called in the rest of the club members and we made plans to try and get Jessica back. Feds or not, I wasn’t about to let her die without putting in some kind of effort. She was a good kid and worth the risk of going to prison. Just like I told Frannie, time-and-time again, we took care of our own. Jessica was my step-daughter and now a part of the club, whether she fucking liked it or not.

  “Bring her back to me,” wept Frannie, as we prepared to leave.

  Tank and Raptor had driven ahead, over an hour ago, to give us Intel on the Reaper’s cabin. Sitting in the clubhouse parking lot, were ten more of us on Hogs, with two more Prospects driving an SUV. We were all armed with handguns, plus there were a few AK-47s hidden in the back of the cage.

  “I plan on it,” I told Frannie, holding her close.

  Since Jessica’s body hadn’t been found, there was still hope that she was alive and that Reaper would try to use her for some kind of bargaining chip. Fortunately, with the Judge’s help, we were one-up on him and would know that he’d messed with the wrong club.

  I released her and stared down into Frannie’s eyes. “Now, whatever you do, don’t leave the clubhouse. Ice and Mikey will do what they need to do to keep you safe while we’re gone. Trust them, okay?”

  Ice and Mikey had just become official members the month before. Both were dependable and knew how to keep calm under pressure. I didn’t foresee any of Reapers’ men storming our clubhouse, though. Frannie would be safe, as long as she stayed put.

  “I won’t go anywhere. Just find my daughter.”

  Nodding, I kissed her on the lips and then got on my Harley. “Let’s ride,” I said, starting the engine.