by Stacia Leigh
The soft lilt he’d added at the end of her name sounded so pathetic, so alone, it undid her. With a fist pressed to her mouth, she kept silent while her heart exploded into micro-bits against her ribs. What evil world was this? She’d wanted him—heart, mind, and soul—for as long as she could remember. Everything about him meshed with everything about her, and at each turn in their developing relationship, something catastrophic happened to keep them apart: a faux “fart” in the closet, an over-protective big brother, Cindy’s death…
Now, throw in kidnapping. What next? The planet would probably jerk to a stop on its axis if she ever got together with her soul crush, Will Sullivan. If you love something, set it free. It’s exactly what she had to do.
She pulled away from the broken window and skirted the concrete wall until it became beige siding, then she paused to jam her arms into her black leather jacket. Once again, adrenaline, fear, and anxiety pushed heat and sweat out of her pores. It didn’t matter because there was no way in hell she was taking this coat off. With it on, she transformed into a Hides of Hell biker; she turned into one of the guys. She didn’t have the big Hides of Hell patch on her back or the rocker for Washington underneath, but she was a legitimate tough girl, a biker brat ready to kick it.
What would her guys do right now?
Flossy was the observant type, so he’d case the perimeter, looking for weak spots. Ironically, Trip with his fake leg was a tracker and would tune into footprints, doughnut crumbs, and errant cigarette butts. Dad would head straight for Bill—who lived on his bike, always on standby—to rally a vengeful comeback. Owen would tap his anger and charge anything that moved like a strapped bull, tossing fists and busting chops. Liam carried anything and everything in his pockets…aside from his usual Zippo lighter and Leatherman multi-tool, he’d surprise her with a hairband if she needed one, a cough drop, and without fail, a working ballpoint pen. He was a regular yes-man. Liam, do you have an oil rag? Yes. Do you have the time? Yes. Are you ready? Yes…always.
But she wasn’t a man with bulging muscles or a gun-toting biker. She wasn’t her dad or her brother. She was a slim girl without any combat experience or weapons. She crouched and darted across the short expanse of grass to the tree line. Under the cover of blackberry brambles and tree shadows, her heart hardened and her confidence grew. She had a job to do.
Focus, girl. You’re Miki “Hot Bod” Holtz. What’s it gonna be?
Run.
The ground was springy with a mass of needles, twigs, and pinecones, and it crunched under her boots with each step. It was deafening in light of other sounds. Even the birds had gone quiet as they watched her clumsy efforts from the branches above.
All she had to do was follow the road back down the mountain, short-cutting across all the switch backs. How many miles had they driven? What if she got lost in the woods? Never mind all that. Once at the Powerhouse Inn, she’d find her saddlebags, her phone, her bike, and someone to help. But…did she have enough time? Where was Greer? Where were the other P-Skulls? The heat of the day felt like four in the afternoon. Did Greer leave to meet Valentina already? Would he ride a motorbike to Knotty Knolls or take the van?
The van.
Maybe running wasn’t the best plan after all.
Miki searched for the cabin’s tin roof above the thicket while she pushed through the dense foliage. She slipped in between the branches and with a shaky hand, tipped a broad leaf to the side.
There stood the log cabin bordered with yellow flowers. The white van had been backed into the driveway. Was it locked? What were the chances of finding keys in the ignition? A loaded gun in the glove box? A hunting knife under the seat? Maybe some rope?
Miki’s heart surged and swayed like it might fly out of her mouth. Oh, God. Failure was not an option. She clamped her lips together and swallowed the rising panic.
Calm down.
She pulled in a deep breath and focused.
The closest windows on the building were dark, but the place was a large rambler, so it was hard to tell if someone were milling around on the far side or if it had been locked up, cold and empty.
It was awfully quiet over there.
She dropped her hand, and the leafy branch sprung back into place, blocking her view. Okay, new plan. She’d sneak to the van, stay low, and check the doors. If they were unlocked, she’d sweep it for weapons or keys, never forgetting: elbows, knees, and boots. Those were the strongest points on her body.
She pulled the branch down again to gauge the distance and to visualize everything working out. See how easy? It’s a no-brainer. You’re a girl, not a chicken. Get going! Get over there, and do it. There’s no more time to waste.
Like now!
Right. Elbows, knees, and boots. She sucked in a deep breath and held it as she jogged across the lawn—doing it—doing it—doing it! At the van, she leaned against the solid metal and clutched at her heaving chest with both hands. Having…a…heart attack.
Sweat trickled down her back, and her tongue darted out nervously to lick her lips as she turned to spy in the van’s passenger window. Through the cab, she could make out the shadowy front porch of the cabin but little else. There was no movement, no lights on, no faces in the window, and—her eyes dropped to the ignition—no keys.
Open the door.
It was unlocked. Okay, doing it.
Her hand shook as she scanned the oily carpet under the seat with her finger tips. Crumbs, wrappers, small screws, a little thing that was smooth and round…
A shelled peanut.
She flicked it aside and bent to peer under the seat. Score. A plastic box. What is it, a gun case? Please-please-please don’t be a first aid kit.
She reached under again, her fingers searching for a handle. Before she could tug it free, gravel crunched on the other side of the van, and the driver’s side door opened quickly, pulling a breeze through Miki’s hair. Her eyes flew up and met with Greer’s across the cab. There was an odd moment of silence where the only thing that could be heard was her loud gulp as she painfully swallowed back a terrified scream.
His eyes went wide with surprise, and his whiskery mouth hung open, inviting a sparrow to take roost. When his lips slowly closed, he took on a shifty look. Miki waited. If he went left, she’d run right. If he dove straight ahead over the seat cushions, she’d slam the door in his face. Her hand was still hidden, clutching the plastic handle. Her breathing came faster as anticipation for his move hung in the air. She wiggled the box back and forth, finally dislodging it. When he lunged into the van, she pulled it free.
Miki screamed and bolted across the lawn. It was back to her original plan. Run!
The black box swung at her side, and by its weight, she was fairly certain it held a gun. Her legs shook, her chest was on fire, yet her body felt bionic. She flew through the air, her feet touching the earth twice before the tree line was within reach. She sprang up again. Only this time, Greer was right beside her. He grasped her leather sleeve and jerked, spinning her in a one-eighty. She let the box follow the momentum and clocked him right in the temple. The box opened and silver drill bits sprayed out like buckshot onto the grass.
He fell to his knees beside a corded hand drill, but his grip remained strong, and he used it to quickly right himself. Miki screamed louder this time with equal parts fear and frustration and brought the empty box up again. The plastic edge clipped his cheek and sent his long greasy hair to one side. She reared back to dispense another blow.
But Greer gripped her wrist with vice-like fingers and twisted until her flimsy weapon dropped to the ground. His black eyes glinted like a coiling snake, ready to strike. He twisted her wrist again until she whimpered. If she didn’t act, he’d break it, and probably her neck, too, and all with that dip-in-his-lip smile.
Elbows, knees, and boots. Now! Do it!
She bent her leg, ready to administer damage, but he pulled her into his broad belly, so instead, she raked the sole of her boot down his shin wit
h as much force as she could muster.
“Son of a bitch!” he roared. She pushed into him, and when he stepped back, she drove her knee up to the moon. Wham! A sharp pain surged through her knee cap as her joint met the vertex of his legs. His grip went limp and slid away as he folded in half next to her feet, squirming and gasping for air.
Should she kick him again while he’s down?
She stepped back and wiped a sweaty palm through her hair. Part of her wanted to, harder this time, but the other part screamed, Get the hell out of there while you can! His eyes were pinched tight as he rolled to his side.
“I’m a…kill…you,” he choked out and spittle flew from his mouth with some clinging to the stubble on his unshaven chin.
Kill? A second nut shot wasn’t worth it. She flung herself into the trees and ran as fast as she could, dodging low branches and jumping over roots.
She didn’t stop to catch her breath or look over her shoulder. She sped through the mishmash of leaves and limbs like he was hot on her heels. Her fuel tank was filled to the brim with adrenaline, and it drove her straight down the mountain in survival mode, mindless of where the road was.
Time was elusive, and what felt like thirty minutes could easily have been eight seconds for all she knew.
Her bionic powers had left her a mile back, and now her feet were finding every gopher hole in the vicinity. God, she needed a break. She stepped behind a broad tree trunk and in between gulping breaths, listened to the forest noises: mosquitoes humming, squirrels jumping in the branches, a crow cawing. The muscles in her legs quivered, so she took a moment to lean against the bark, to wait before peering back. When she did, there was nothing.
No crunching and crashing of twigs.
No thundering feet.
No Greer.
It was eerily quiet after the horrible excitement she’d endured, but if she stood here and thought about it too much longer, she’d lose her mojo and have an epic meltdown. Will was still locked up, and once Greer recovered from getting kneed in the speed bag, he might go full throttle for Will.
Run. Keep running. Run and run and run. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Will’s life depended on it. She pointed herself downward, hoping that if she went straight and to the left, somehow she would wind up on the road or close to the Powerhouse—
A peripheral movement caught her attention, and she stumbled as a hand lurched out of the shrubs to grip her leather collar. She went airborne, her body flying in a downward arc. Her hands skidded in the damp soil, and a shocked breath was knocked out of her middle. She grunted on impact, then thrashed wildly to escape the grip. Oh God! It was Greer! He was going to kill her!
Before she could claw at the dirt and leaves and scream bloody murder, someone straddled her backside. Strong hands pushed her shoulders down and a deep voice hissed next to her ear, “Shut up! Or I’ll kill you myself.”
CHAPTER 18: Unraveling
Thirsty. Dirty. Hungry. Face-down in the muck. Completely exhausted. Miki’s hands were free, buried under a blanket of dead leaves, and even though she could push off the ground anytime she pleased, she didn’t. A single moment to process her life was required. Her muscles ached. They were limp. Shaky. Yet overall, she was supremely relieved to be in the position she was in.
“Have I told you lately that I love you?” she whispered hoarsely to the weight on her back.
“I told you to shut up,” Owen growled, still sitting on her rump, pinning her down. “Listen. Hear that?” he asked with a strained voice. She could hear jack squat, only the blood pumping in her ears.
“All clear,” someone whispered loudly from another hiding spot. It had to be Flossy. Was Trip here, too?
The sudden release of anxiety and fear gushed through her system, and tears flooded her eyes. They spilled over and flowed warmly across her skin, plip-plipping off the end of her nose. She was surrounded by her men, her family. She’d found help.
“Thank God.” Owen rolled away from her, then pulled her upright. “Hey, you okay? Are you hurt? Who do I have to kill? Mik, look at me.” She lifted her watery eyes to her brother’s dark brown gaze.
Normally, she would have laughed at the sight of him, all concerned and gentle. She might have even called him an emotional weenie for a guaranteed reaction. This time, it made her cry harder. What was one more crying jag? Might as well do it in front of her big brother, too.
“This summer sucks!” She choked on a sob, and he pulled her into his pin-striped vest for a rough hug.
“Don’t get snot on my lapel,” he murmured, patting the middle of her back with a heavy hand. He dropped his arm to dig a phone out of his rear pocket.
“We have to go get Will.” She raked the hair away from her face and swept the grit off the front of her leather jacket. She could really use one of Will’s hug-bombs right now. His arms around her. Cozy. Safe. Connected. “He’s still trapped in the basement, and that Greer guy will kill him.”
“We’re on it,” Flossy said as he crouched beside her. He assessed her with his brown eyes, doing a full body scan from the top of her head to the toes of her boots. His polished turquoise ring glinted against his wiry beard as he stroked the length of it out of habit. “You good to go?”
She sniffed and nodded, finger-swiping under each eye.
“‘Atta girl. At least you don’t bounce like a dead cat,” Flossy said.
No crumbs and no dead cat bouncing. Dig deep, Miki “Hot Bod” Holtz. Find your inner strength. Ignore the blisters, the sweaty pits, and the dirty hair. Ignore the thick tongue and dry mouth. Don’t you dare think about a drink of water or a Badger Paw cheeseburger until Will is out. Now, get your ass back up that mountain and find the cabin. Go save Will!
Doing it.
“Okay. I’m ready, but we should hurry.” Ignore those aching joints, too.
Flossy stood and searched the trees with his hands resting on his hips. “Any word from Trip?” he asked, not looking down.
Owen slid his finger over the length of his phone, reading a text message. “Let’s see…he says, ‘I don’t have the right foot screwed on. Kept slipping on the rocks. Turned back. Yadda-yadda.’ I guess that part means he’ll hide down there and wait for the drive by.”
“Drive by? You mean Dad?”
“Get up, Mik. You always wanted to be one of the guys, so now it’s your lucky day. You lead the way.” Owen held out a calloused hand, and when she took it, he jerked her to standing with a fast pull that set the pace. With each step toward Will, she felt stronger. God, she couldn’t wait to see his face! His brown eyes, his long brown hair, that beauty mark on his cheek. Where does it hurt, Will? Looks like you’ve got a bad case of hairy-mole-itis—
“Dad and the guys are with Bill and Liam,” Owen said. “They’re heading this way, thanks to Trip. He found your saddlebags in the shrubs and part of a scratching stick, something he’d carved for Will.” He jabbed her in the back forcefully and muttered, “I’m pissed at you, as usual, but glad we found you in one piece.”
“Bill and Liam are alive?” she asked over her shoulder. Her heart lightened at the good news causing the pain from her blisters to melt away. She trudged up the incline step by step with renewed energy.
“You put too much faith in the P-Scums,” Flossy murmured. “Hides of Hell are chasing their pipes all the way here. Bill wants to see his kid alive, so we’ll make it happen.”
“The guys were surrounded and stuck in BFE with no cell coverage…still doesn’t keep a brother down,” Owen said. “Apparently, Liam played bait, while Bill out-maneuvered the P’s to put the call out. He’s wily for an old dude.”
“Old dude.” Flossy chuffed out a laugh. “Tell it to his face when he shows up. Then, watch out. Bill knows how to make things turn and burn. A sight to see, and one you don’t wanna be here for,” he said to Miki.
“Nope.” Owen agreed.
No, she didn’t. Not if it involved baseball bats and duct tape. Besides, once she had Will in her gra
sp, she’d get as far away from this town as possible.
“I just want Will out, safe. Then, he and I’ll be on our way,” she said. “Is my bike still parked at the Powerhouse Inn?”
“We doubled up and hid our bikes down below. Trip’ll ride it,” Owen said. “Don’t worry. We called Shorty for backup, and he’s on his way, too. Give us the low-down on the sitch. What can we expect?”
“Four guys that I know of,” Miki said, ducking under the mossy branches. “One’s in a roofie slumber down in the basement with Will. One’s bogarting the bathroom with a bad case of the green-apple-quick-step, and Greer is the one I kneed in the junk—
“Jesus,” Owen muttered and hissed in a breath between his teeth.
“I left him praying to God on the lawn, and there was another guy who drove the van, but he’s an unknown. I haven’t seen or heard of him since they dropped us off.”
“Sounds like a cakewalk,” Flossy said. “Let’s step it up. I wanna be done in time for happy hour.”
* * *
Will pulled on his green hood and rested his forehead on his cast, ready for a mind-numbing doze. The rough texture pressed into his skin and would probably leave an angry imprint, but he didn’t care. Pain was familiar to him, whether physical or emotional. He was truly alone, and the chill went bone-deep.
There were no ashes, and the running bathroom fan reminded him there was no apple pie.
Will leaned his head back against the concrete to study the crack in the opposite wall. Mom used to put grated cheddar cheese in the crust, just the way he liked it. It was the very last thing she’d ever baked, so he could never imagine eating it, and later, he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. For months, he’d stared at the clear plastic container in the middle of the kitchen table. When it started getting black spots, Liam snapped. He’d tossed the entire thing in the garbage can, throwing her away along with empty egg cartons and used coffee grounds.
