Find Her: Avenging Angels MC Book 1

by Nia Farrell

  Rose was sitting on a cot, while Krissy was huddled beneath a towel on another, her body curled in a fetal position and her face buried in her hands.

  Michael waved his hand and got Rose’s attention. Putting a finger on his lips, stressing the need for silence, he pointed to the girls, to himself, and to the opening over his shoulder but out of sight. Pointing at Krissy, he held out an oversized T-shirt that he’d thought to bring at the last minute.

  Rose nodded. She went to Krissy’s cot and touched her shoulder. Krissy freaked, gulping air, eyes wide with fright.

  Post-rape PTSD, or the start of it.

  Rose shushed her. Placing two fingers over Krissy’s lips, she whispered to her and nodded at Michael. More whispers. A motion from Rose to throw her the shirt, then another hand sign to turn around.

  After a minute, a quick glance behind him, and he saw that she had slipped it over Krissy’s head and was dressing her like a doll, talking softly to her. Evidently, she had told her to get ready to go, but not that he was here for them. The second that Krissy saw Michael was there to help them escape, she came fully to life, nearly tipping the cot in her haste to get away.

  Her gait was off, but she made it to the coal bin door and followed Michael to the chute.

  He helped Krissy out first, lifting her into Mad Dog’s waiting arms. Rose was next. The soft scent of honeysuckle teased his senses when he helped her out. Mad Dog reached back in to give him a hand up. With the Angels in place to provide cover fire, if needed, Mad Dog took Krissy in a fireman’s hold over his shoulder, Michael grabbed Rose’s hand, and they ran like hell for the trees that edged the north side of the property.

  They made it into the timber before the first shots rang out. The vans were parked close by, pushed in backwards and ready to roll. The bikes were close, too. They’d been shut off some distance away, pushed in, and turned around, headed home. More Angels followed in their wake.

  Michael had hoped for an element of surprise, and they’d achieved it, but now it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. He and Mad Dog loaded Rose and Krissy into one of the vans. Taking a head count of the extra passengers, Mad Dog’s brother Sam got behind the wheel, brought the engine to life, and headed down the rough dirt road used for harvesting timber.

  Krissy clung to Mad Dog like he was a goddamn savior or something, which he actually kind of was. The problem was, when they reach Michael’s SUV, she refused to let go of him.

  “Come on, Krissy,” Michael begged her. “Your uncle is the one who’s responsible for getting you out. I promised him I’d bring you back.”

  The look she gave Michael was one of pure panic. “I can’t go home yet!” she sobbed, clinging to Mad Dog’s neck. “Please,” she begged him. “I need a shower. And clothes. Uncle Giovanni can’t see me like this, or my folks will know. It’s bad enough that she does.” She turned and pinned Rose with her gaze. “Not a word, Rose. Do you hear me? You owe me that much.”

  Mad Dog bristled, but Krissy seemed oblivious to it, as focused as she was on herself.

  “I’ll meet you back at the clubhouse,” Michael told them, refusing to waste any more time than they already had.

  He called Visconti from the road to let him know that Krissy was safe. “She doesn’t want anyone to see her until she’s had a chance to get cleaned up. As soon as she’s ready, I’ll take her home.”

  Mad Dog took Krissy to his room and left her to shower. Rose put some clothes and the only shoes they could find in a size six on her brother’s bed for Krissy to wear when she was done. Downstairs, Michael stayed closed to Mad Dog, thanking members and prospects as they straggled in. He watched Rose comfort her mother Mare, reassure her brothers, and, finally, hug her dad, who was among the last to return.

  The President had made sure that the last man came out.

  Orders had already been issued to secure the clubhouse and its businesses. Torching Angel Ink and taking Rose was as good as a declaration of war. The members here were bracing themselves for the worst.

  Krissy stayed in Mad Dog’s shower until her skin was red from the heat. She emerged from his room dressed in a borrowed tee, a pair of Daisy Dukes that barely covered her ass cheeks, and mismatched sneakers on her feet.

  “Come on,” Michael said softly. “I promised your uncle that I’d take you home.”

  Krissy looked at Mad Dog. “No,” she said. “I want him to take me home.”

  “Too dangerous,” Michael said. And not just from the Blackwater Demons. Castellari was rumored to have mob connections of his own. He wouldn’t be the only father to shoot first and ask questions later.

  “Him,” she insisted. “And whoever else needs to come with us.”

  Brat. If he was her Dom, she’d be over his knee right now, counting out spanks to that backside of hers.

  In the end, with Uncle Giovanni’s permission, Krissy rode off on the back of Mad Dog’s motorcycle, flanked by his three brothers. Watching the taillights disappear, Michael felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Papa Bear McLanahan, his face set with new resolve. “Come on, son. Let’s talk.”

  Michael followed him to his office and took the chair across from Papa Bear’s desk.

  “I’m not going to beat around the bush. The only reason we got out with no casualties was because the Demons weren’t at full strength. Part of their chapter is in Minnesota with Sig Rhodes. You can bet, as soon as they’re back, there’s gonna be hell to pay. Angel Ink and taking Rose was just the start. She says that Reaper promised to give her to Sig. The bastard will do his damnedest to deliver. That safehouse you wired for us? I want you to take Rose to it. Keep her there until things get settled. I’m hoping it won’t be long, but she’s too independent to stay put, and I can’t be watching her 24/7. Mare’s helping her pack now. Richie’s getting groceries loaded to last the two of you. You’re our best hope for keeping our baby safe, Crash. Run by your house, grab whatever you need, and get her the hell out of town. We’ll send word when it’s safe to come home.”

  Part of him wanted to argue with Papa Bear, but that was his emotional side balking. The hard truth was that a war was about to be waged in earnest. If Rose McLanahan wasn’t going to fall into enemy hands, she was going to need protection.

  His.

  Chapter Five

  While Rose waited in his living room, Michael loaded a duffle with clothes and a carryon with electronics. Burner phones. Laptops. IPad. Kindle. Chargers. An external hard drive filled with things to watch and music to listen to. Looking around his bedroom one last time, knowing Gretchen would be in bed with her cell phone off, he left a message that he was going out of town on a job that could last several weeks. He promised to call her when he got back.

  Michael added his things to Rose’s in the back of his SUV, and the two of them headed for the Avenging Angels’ safehouse.

  Exhausted from her ordeal, Rose slept most of the way. Michael didn’t wake her until everything was unloaded and he needed to move his SUV. Parked behind the house, it would be out of sight from anyone who happened to take a wrong turn onto the mile-long lane road and ended up here.

  “Rose,” he said softly. “Time to wake up. You can go back to sleep as soon as we find your room. Come on, princess. We need to get you inside.”

  She stirred. Stretched. Jerked awake when she realized where she wasn’t. Home was gone. Lost to her, for now. And when she did go back, there were certain to be changes.

  Men died in wars. Casualties could claim anyone. Her father. Her brothers. Her friends….

  Michael saw Rose blink hard, refusing to cry, just like she had done as a kid. “They’ll be fine,” he told her, wanting to believe it. He’d known their family since before she was born. It had been nearly twenty-two years since he and her oldest brother Luke—Mad Dog—had bonded over Lincoln logs in kindergarten. They’d been best friends ever since.

  It hadn’t hurt that both of them were looked down on by their teachers and peers. Luke, because his dad wore
a cut, and Michael, because his father wore Federal prison khaki after multiple counts of insider trading, forgery, embezzlement, and fraud. If he and his mom hadn’t moved to be closer to the penitentiary at Marion, he never would have met Luke…and he wouldn’t be here with Rose.

  “Yes, they will,” she said firmly, as if saying it would make it so. Her voice was husky with sleep. She smelled like the blooming honeysuckle that scented the fresh country air.

  The safehouse had been built as a doctor’s weekend getaway. The stone walls would resist fire, and a metal roof would hold up through the Midwestern storms that spawned tornadoes, dropped hail, and stripped shingles. He knew from installing the security system that the finished basement had a bar at one end and a six-burner range graced the large kitchen, designed for entertaining.

  The house was hooked up to rural electric service, but wind turbines and solar panels made it virtually self-sufficient. During the remodel, three of the bedrooms had been combined to make a barracks. A fourth had been turned into a shower room with urinals and stalls. With rows of triple bunk beds in the barracks upstairs, and room for more in the basement, they could easily house half of the club.

  Michael let Rose pick from the remaining four single bedrooms and claimed the one next to it for his own. He put away his clothes and a cooler’s worth of refrigerated items, but left the boxes of shelf-safe groceries for when he and Rose could work on them together. That way, both of them would know what went where.

  He assumed that she could cook, or at least knew what to do with the sour dough starter that Maureen—Mama Mare—had sent. If not, they could split kitchen duties. He could fix meals, and she could do the dishes. Or they could do them together. She’d wash, and he’d dry. Whatever. They’d work it out.

  Poor thing slept the morning away. She shuffled into the living room where he was watching a movie from the collection he’d brought, played through his laptop. There was no such thing as cable service here. Local stations were it. They might get three or four channels on the antenna, if the weather cooperated. Right now, he had the first of the Bourne movies playing on the forty-inch flat screen television.

  “I went ahead and ate,” he told her. “Nothing fancy. Pulled pork barbeque on toasted sourdough, baked beans, and fried apples. Leftovers are in the fridge. Can I get you anything?”

  She bit her lip and tucked her coppery hair behind one ear. “No. Thanks. Sorry, my stomach’s still in fasting mode. You’d think I’d be hungry after going without, but right now, nothing even sounds good.”

  Michael had been so focused on her face, and those expressive green Irish eyes of hers, he’d failed to notice how loose her jeans were on her. Goddamn those Demon bastards all to hell.

  “What about an apple and cashew butter?” He’d never seen a pickier eater than Rose was as a child. She’d practically lived on fresh fruit, nut butters, fried chicken legs, cheese, and chocolate. “I opened a can of apples for lunch, but it would be best to eat the fresh ones first. Save the canned for when they’re gone.”

  “Sure,” she said, almost absently. The action on the screen seemed to have more appeal than eating. Marie had just been given a chance to part ways and had fastened her seat belt instead. The big chase scene was about to get under way.

  “Peeling on or off?” he asked. She used to make her mom peel them.

  “On is fine.”

  Well, well. Times, they are a-changin’ and so had Rose.

  “Have a seat. I’ll just be a minute.”

  Michael washed the nicest apple he saw, found a paring knife, and went to work, quartering the fruit, cutting out the seeds and ends, and running a blade through each piece to create two long, wide slices. Spreading cashew butter on the bottom piece, he topped it with the other, making a little sandwich of sorts. With three more pieces prepped the same way, he put them on a salad plate, ran a glass of filtered water, and carried everything into Rose.

  He stopped at the door, his good intentions brought to a screeching halt by the action on the screen. Jason had just dyed and cut Marie’s hair, and the only sex scene of the movie was about to commence.

  God damn, this was awkward. He was used to viewing Rose as a girl, but his best friend’s little sister was nineteen, more than old enough to be doing what was happening in the movie.

  Fuck.

  Michael waited until the morning after sequence before making his presence known. “Here you go, princess.” He set the plate on the coffee table, grabbed a coaster, and slid it under the glass of water. “Bon appetit.”

  “Merci,” she quipped, taking the apples he’d fixed and settling back onto the sofa. Snagging one of the quarters, she took a bite and quickly raised the plate beneath her chin when the cashew butter wanted to squeeze out. She chewed slowly, savoring the taste before swallowing. “Oh, my God,” she moaned like a woman in the throes of ecstasy. “I’ll never do peanut butter again. Oh, Michael…thank you! This is perfect!”

  Crap. Her face.

  Rose wore the expression of someone at the peak of pleasure.

  It was…unsettling.

  Even more disturbing was how much he liked that look on her face, knowing he’d helped put it there.

  Fuck.

  Michael reminded himself that she was Mad Dog’s little sister. Her father had given her into his care. They trusted him to take care of her and keep her safe...and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, managing to sound patently neutral. “Let me know if you need more, even if it’s just a quarter, or half an apple. It’s an easy enough split.”

  She finished what he’d fixed and asked for another half. Michael returned to the kitchen and made two more little nut butter and fruit sandwiches. Putting the remainder of the apple in a sandwich bag, he stuck it in the refrigerator that held mostly beer and brought Rose her second course.

  The movie was to the point where Bourne and Marie had fled Paris and were at Eamon’s house, seen through a sniper’s scope. He tried handing Rose the plate, but she didn’t take it. Instead she sat, trembling, eyes closed against what was playing out on the screen.

  Fuck.

  He paused the movie, turned off the TV display, and sat down beside her. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly. She might not be ready. Might never be ready. Strange, how some people could bottle things and never open them up, unable to deal with them or living in denial until something happened to force it out into the open.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered, torment in her voice. “For my family. My friends. That could be the clubhouse, right now, with the Demons just waiting to take somebody out.”

  “They’re not alone,” Michael assured her. “Krissy’s uncle owes them, big time. The Avenging Angels will have eyes and ears and help that the Demons won’t see coming until it’s too late. All we have to do is sit tight, and wait until it’s done. It’s only a matter of time, princess. The Demons are going down.”

  “I should be there.” Her voice cracked. She turned away, but not before he glimpsed the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  It struck Michael that he’d never seen her cry, not even as a kid when she’d get hurt. She was always trying to prove that she was as tough as her brothers—and she was, probably more so—but no one could be strong all the time. At some point, everyone was vulnerable.

  She buried her face in her hands. “I should—”

  “No, you shouldn’t.” He set the plate in the middle of the coffee table and sat on the end in front of Rose. Refusing to let her hide, he took her wrists, pulled them down to her lap, and made her look at him. “Having you here, and safe—it’s one less thing for your dad to worry about,” he told her, his thumbs rubbing her pulse points. “He’s got enough on his mind. Enough to do without adding distractions. He’s got to be wise about all this, princess. Any move that he makes has to be planned to the last detail and executed to perfection. Whatever goes down, you can bet that they won’t leave evidence to come bac
k and bite them, and they’ll damn well have ironclad alibis. One way or another, they won’t stop until any threat from the Blackwater Demons is neutralized. They’ll cripple the chapter here or destroy it, same as the Midnight Raiders are doing in Minnesota.”

  Rose shivered. “I saw a little on the news. One time, when they let me upstairs. It sounded like that’s where Sig went. Reaper was saving me for him, after he found out—”

  She stopped abruptly and averted her gaze, biting her lip and blushing furiously.

  Every hackle raised. “Found out what, Rose?”

  She refused to meet his eyes when she answered. “He was waiting to hear when Sig got back. I was going to be his reward for whatever club business he was doing.”

  Damn it. She was lying. Well, maybe not lying, but she sure as hell wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

  Michael thought about pressing her, but decided against it. She had enough to deal with right now, processing, adjusting and readjusting, getting settled in with him for however long they’d be here.

  “Well, that’s not going to happen,” he said firmly. “You’re here. You’re safe. You’re going to finish this gourmet lunch that I fixed for you, then we’re going to work in the kitchen and put away all those fucking groceries that I hauled in so that both of us know where things are. There’s a walk-in pantry to fill, and more space in the basement if we need it, where the doomsday prepper stuff is cached. Swear to God, the two of us could survive a nuclear winter with everything that’s down there.”

  “That’s my mom,” Rose shook her head, but at least she was smiling. “She freaks if we run low on anything. Always makes sure to have multiple extras on the shelves. I don’t know if she likes sourdough bread any better than regular yeast bread, but as long as you keep feeding the starter, you’ll never have to worry about running out, even if you have to wait for the batch to bake.”

  “The starter’s in the fridge. She made me swear to bring that in first thing after you.”