by Zahra Girard
“Preacher’s found himself a sensible woman. Let’s put it to a vote,” Rog says.
Rog is sitting on Cassie’s leather couch, with his leg propped up on an ottoman and with Cassie sitting right beside him, with her head on his shoulder. Every once in a while, I catch them whispering about something and laughing.
Turns out Rog is single.
Good for him.
“All those in favor of Jessica’s plan?” Gunney says.
Each member of the club raises their hand.
“Good job,” Preacher whispers to me and I smile back at him.
“Ok, Jessica, fill us in on the next step: tell us how we get to Mason’s sister.”
Everyone’s attention is squarely on me. In any other situation, I’d be nervous having a half dozen men like the Kings MC staring at me, but not now.
“I know exactly how we get to Tracy. We’re going to walk right in there and take her out the front door.”
* * * * *
There are four main ambulance and EMT companies in the Reno/Sparks metropolitan area. One is attached to Reno General and works directly for the hospital. One works directly for the Northern Nevada Medical Center in Sparks. One is attached to the regional Fire and EMS for Reno and Sparks, it’s a shared service that is dispatched any time anyone calls 911, and it’s where Mark works.
There’s a fourth service. A private company. The Reno Community Ambulance Company. RACA. They charge exorbitant rates to any patient they pick up and usually prey on the elderly and unaware.
Sometimes they bring patients to Reno General and I’ve always felt sorry for the people they bring in, knowing they paid probably a thousand dollars more than everyone else, for what amounts to a five minute ride in the back of a van. And an old van, at that.
Everyone with a conscience in the medical profession dislikes working with those scavengers and they get dirty looks from everyone on duty when they happen to wheel a patient through the doors of our ER.
I still remember the time a patient of mine was threatened with collections by RACA. While he was still in the hospital and his insurance was still processing the claim.
They called his room line to threaten him.
So I don’t feel that bad about what we’re about to do.
There’s four of us standing in the dim pre-dawn glow outside the fenced service center for RACA’s ambulances, Preacher, Hazard, Ozzy, and myself.
The city is dead quiet, as is the service center. It’s early. Really early. So early that even the people who’d normally wind up in the ER are asleep right now — even the crazies and the addicts.
Cutting through the chain link fence feels like justice.
It takes all of five minutes for the guys to break into the building, steal some uniforms, and ride off with one of RACA’s ambulances.
It’ll be a few hours before they notice.
While on the road, I get everything ready. First, I help Ozzy onto the gurney that’s already set up in the back of the ambulance. He’s dressed in plain street clothes, with his cut stored on one of the shelves in the back of the ambulance.
“Ozzy, when we get to the hospital, it’s imperative you remain quiet. Pretend you’re passed out. Preacher, Hazard, the story is the two of you were called by a family member due to the patient having a severe fever, complaining of weakness, dizziness, and fluid in the lungs. He lost consciousness upon your arrival and is presenting a fever of 103.2. When you get to the ER, you’ll wheel him to one of the examination rooms that’s further back from the action. Back and to the left of the main intake area — the door to the ER admin area is just down the hall from there. After a couple minutes, the three of you will leave the room and head to that doorway. I’ll be waiting.”
Hazard, driving, parks the ambulance a couple blocks away from the hospital and I walk the rest of the way in. It’s just after dawn, the time my usual shift starts, and adrenaline is pumping through my body.
In less than half an hour, I’m going to kidnap my boss.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Preacher
It’s all working like clockwork. Damn, I found myself a smart one. If we get out of this alive, I need to lock her down at least for a little while. I’m practically humming the Pink Panther theme while waiting in the examination room with Ozzy and Hazard. A minute passes, by, then two. Then, there’s a quiet, quick knock on the door. That’s the signal: we move.
The three of us exit the examination room right on time: Jessica’s just up the hallway, hospital security keycard in hand. I don’t feel any anxiety or reservations about her being here. Honestly, looking at her, the way she’s standing there so confidently, there isn’t a hint of doubt in my mind — time and again she’s proven herself to be smart as hell and so much tougher than she looks.
I’m keeping her.
She scans us in, and we follow behind her as she leads us down the hall towards her boss’s office. This early in the morning, almost no one is back here and, what few people there are don’t even look up from their morning cups of coffee. We’re basically invisible in our uniforms.
Jessica steps into Tracy’s office first, we follow, and she shuts the door behind us and pulls the shades to the small window that looks out into the hallway.
Tracy’s seated at her desk. She’s petite, maybe in her early thirties, with brown hair and she’s wearing reading glasses. Her eyes don’t betray any hint of surprise as she looks casually up at us.
“Caplan, what is this about?” She says, in a tone of voice that says she’s got a pretty clear idea already what it’s all about. She slowly closes ledger in front of her and meticulously puts the cap back on the pen she’s writing with and places it in the holder on her desk.
“Tracy, you’re going to come with us.”
Jessica says it like it’s a foregone conclusion.
I shoot a look and a subtle nod at Ozzy and Hazard. We each shift a bit, moving back, letting Jessica run this show. I’m proud of her, I couldn’t have asked for a better partner — a woman that’s strong and isn’t afraid to show her backbone when she needs to. She’s tough, and though I’m always going to do everything I can to protect her, I know she’s capable enough that she can look out for herself, too.
It’s a good feeling. I watch her with pride.
“Or what?” Tracy says. Her voice sounds like she’s ordering her morning coffee or telling the waitress at a diner that she wants her eggs over easy instead of scrambled. She’s calm, reasonable, unsurprised.
“We know who your brother is: Mason Shaw. We also know where your home is. And if you think these three are the only Kings MC members in town, you’re mistaken. We have people right outside your home, right now, ready to make a move if you don’t come with us. They will take your husband and you will never see him again.”
Jessica’s voice is ice cold.
Tracy blinks.
I know I’m supposed to keep a straight face, but I can’t help smiling just a little bit. When Jessica went over the plan with all of us, she was absolutely adamant that her boss was a harder case than her librarian looks let on. It wouldn’t be enough to just march in there with a few guys and demand she take a walk. We needed to hit her boss hard. So she came up with a plan and told us how there were only two pictures on Tracy’s desk: her brother and her husband.
And while she wasn’t hesitant to show her picture of her and her brother, she hesitated showing her husband. She wanted to protect him from being seen by someone who might be wrapped up with the club’s enemies.
He’s her weakness.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says.
Jessica shrugs nonchalantly. “You think so? You told your brother’s club that I was looking for them. They sent someone to kill me. You think I’m going to just let that slide?”
Tracy’s spent years wrapped up in the MC life, knowing and condoning the things her brother does. She expects people to treat her the way that Jessica’s threatening because she’s seen it tim
e and again.
She crumbles.
It hardly shows — her face doesn’t crack, her tone of voice doesn’t change from sounding defiant — but there is this slight flicker of fear in her eyes.
It’s beautiful to watch my woman crack this bitch with just a few hard-edged words and some attitude.
Yeah, I fucking love her.
“What do you want me to do?” Tracy says.
Jessica nods like this is exactly the outcome she expected. “There’s an examination room just down the hall. Third door on the left. It’s empty. I’m going to take you there, and you will go, quietly. We’re going to change your clothes and put you on a gurney, just like a patient. Then we’re taking you with us. One step out of line, and your husband will pay the price.”
It’s the hardest thing in the world not to kiss her right now. She’s the woman I want not just for a night, but for life.
Jessica marches Tracy down the hallway while the three of us wait for a minute or two to give her a head start and Tracy time to change. When it’s time, we march down the hallway, into the room, and set Tracy up on the gurney.
Jessica slips a breathing mask on Tracy, obscuring her face. “You try anything, your husband will die in a way that’ll make you feel ashamed for the rest of your goddamn life,” she whispers in Tracy’s ear.
Then, satisfied that our captive is secure, she looks to the rest of us. We’re standing at attention, waiting for her orders. Hazard and Ozzy both have grins on their faces, and it makes me proud for them to see and appreciate just how capable my woman can be.
“Ozzy, go get the ambulance started and up to the doors. Anyone stops you, or asks what you’re doing, tell them RACA called you in for emergency OT because they don’t have their shit together. Look pissed about it. We’ll be outside in a minute,” she says. “Preacher, Ozzy, give him a minute to get ready, then we’re wheeling Tracy out of here. Act urgent, but in control.”
He starts off at a quick walk. We give him to the count of thirty before we start our part of Jessica’s plan.
She then looks to Hazard and me. “Keep your heads down, keep a tight grip on the gurney, and let me do all the talking. Now, let’s get this bitch out of here.”
My heart pounds while we roll Tracy down the hallway. I keep expect someone, anyone, to say something and for the situation to get messy, but Jessica keeps everything in control and nobody even looks up as we roll her boss out of the ER and into the waiting ambulance.
We’ve got our bait. Now to set the trap.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jessica
I’ve just kidnapped my boss. With the help of my biker boyfriend. And the other members of his MC. I sit in the back of the ambulance, with my boss, Tracy, tied up on a gurney, and try to process that while Ozzy drives us to our next destination.
I try, and I fail.
There’s so much that’s happened in this past week that I just can’t get my head around. Stuff that’s hurt me to my core, stuff that’s frightened me more than I thought possible, stuff that’s changed who I am. I’ve nearly been killed — twice — and I’ve learned that my father was every bit the man I thought he was. And that his partner, the man he trusted with his life, was not a damn bit worthy of that trust.
And I’ve learned that I probably wouldn’t have made it through any of it without the man sitting by my side in the back of this ambulance. Preacher. He’s a source of strength, someone that I know that I can count of, and the flashes of good that I see in him inspire me along with my father’s memory to keep being the best person I can be.
As if he knows that I’m thinking about him, he reaches over and takes my hand.
“That was impressive,” he says. “Good work. Really good work.”
“Thanks.” I smile. “It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. Probably because I knew she told a bunch of killers about me and if I failed, I’d probably die.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, in this life, there are plenty of times where ‘do or die’ is fucking literal.”
“How do you deal with it?” she says.
“Pretty simple: I don’t want to die, and I don’t want anyone I care about to die either. We care about the people around us. Our families, our friends, our town. We do what we have to do, because it’s a fucking hard world.”
He gives my hand another squeeze and I squeeze him back. I’m still somewhat amazed that Preacher’s club took so quickly to my plan. These men came here to this town with heavy weapons and looking for revenge. They’re ex-soldiers, they’re dangerous, but they’re a family, too. They’re people, they care about one another, and they took to my plan because they saw the merit in doing it in a way that didn’t involve so much violence.
They live a different kind of life, one that has it’s own rules and very real consequences for breaking the rules, but they’re trying to do good for those around them, in their own way.
I feel so much better about being with the man beside me. That the good side of him isn’t a fluke or the result of him being away from the rest of his club. The other men in his club have some good in them, even if it’s beneath a rock-solid and violent shell.
I can see myself building a life with him. And after everything that’s happened here in Reno, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay around once this is all over.
The ambulance pulling to a stop jolts me out of my reverie.
We’re here.
This is where it all comes together. Or we die.
Ozzy gets out and comes around back to throw open the doors, revealing a large home, with a perfectly-manicured front yard surrounded by privacy hedges fifteen feet tall.
The house is set well back from the main road in an isolated neighborhood on the outskirts of Reno. Stepping out onto the pavement, the only sound I hear are the chirping of a few birds hiding from the hot desert sun in one of the hedges, and some random creaks from the ambulance and it’s old engine.
Hazard and Preacher take hold of the gurney and haul it out of the back of the ambulance. They’re not careful. The gurney crashes to the ground and nearly tips over.
Preacher yanks her off the gurney and I reach out, helping to steady Tracy on her feet. There’s fear in her eyes, and also searing anger.
She’s thinking about how good it would feel to have me killed.
She is a monster, just like her brother.
I smile at her.
“Welcome home.”
Chapter Thirty
Jessica
We march Tracy into her own home in the same way I imagine my father marched countless criminals into the station. Up the little brick footpath from the driveway to her front door, with her hands tied behind her back, and her head forced down.
Inside, it’s a nice house. The door opens into a short hallway, with a mud room off to the side, and the hallway leads into a large central living room, with hardwood floors and large windows looking out into their back yard and there’s a stone fireplace against the back wall.
Her husband’s here. Kneeling on the hardwood floor. Hands tied behind his back. Gun pressed to the base of his skull.
Gunney stands over him, perfectly still, stern and watchful expression on his face like a statue of imminent death.
Rog is here, too. Sitting on one of Tracy’s sofas, his leg propped up, and a pistol in his hand. He looks disturbingly casual.
Some rustling noises come from the kitchen. Bear.
“Glad you could finally make it,” Gunney says.
“Let my husband go,” Tracy shouts. It’s like the sight of him in that position destroys any sense of calm she clung to. She struggles briefly against Hazard’s grip on her, before the man puts both hands on her shoulders and forces her down her knees.
“What the fuck is going on? What the fuck are you people doing to my wife?” Tracy’s husband bellows. He makes no movement to stand, only turning his head a little to look at his wife. There’s a nasty-looking bruise forming around his right eye. He must’v
e been taught a lesson.
“Get her phone,” Gunney snaps.
Preacher opens Tracy’s purse and snatches out the phone.
“Tracy, you’re going to call your brother. You’re going to tell him there’s a family emergency and you need him to come over. Alone,” Gunney says in the same kind of quiet-calm voice I can imagine him having used on Marine recruits that needed to be warned to tread lightly. “If you deviate from this, if you say anything that even sounds fucking suspicious, I will blow your husbands fucking head off and grind his fucking brain matter into your hardwood floor. Do you understand me?”
“Why are you people doing this?” Tracy’s husband says.
Big mistake.
In the blink of an eye, Gunney shifts his grip on his pistol, and brings it down on the man’s head like a hammer. There’s a bone-breaking snap and the man collapses forward, face to the floor. Without skipping a beat, Gunney leans over and yanks the man back to his kneeling position.
Blood trickles down his forehead.
“Enough dicking around. One more wrong word and we redecorate your living room with your husband’s blood. Call your shitbag brother,” Gunney says again. “Now.”
Preacher dials then holds the phone to Tracy’s face
Years of living a double life, of keeping a smile and projecting the image of having perfect, simple, domestic life have turned Tracy into an incredible liar. Her voice doesn’t break, she sounds perfectly believable when telling Mason that she and her husband are having a personal crisis and that she needs him over there, right away.
