Maybe because Beckett liked him, because I’d started to see an opportunity I hadn’t been open to before. Maybe because I’d let the man not just into my life but into my bed. Maybe because the guy was an asshole and deserved my wrath.
Whatever. I was pissed. It had been almost two days since Parris had walked away from us, and I hadn’t heard a word from him. Thirty-six hours of silence after such an intimate night. After breaking his promise to Beckett. After walking away with my heart.
“Can I ride my bike when we get home?” Beckett caught my eye in the rearview mirror, his smile hopeful. Yeah, he’d picked out a bike—a really nice one. He’d also gotten an upgraded seat, a helmet, and a GPS tracker installed so that I could follow him with an app on my phone. All on Parris’ dime. I wasn’t complaining—the gift was kind, thoughtful, and ridiculously excessive—but time was so much more valuable than stuff.
I pasted on a smile, hoping he couldn’t sense my irritation. “Sure, buddy. We’ll ride over to the restaurant. Show Uncle Gage and Aunt Katie your new bike.”
Beckett stared out the window for a minute, seemingly happy with my response. But then he said, “I hope Mister Parris comes back soon. I want him to see my bike.”
I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “I hope so too.”
I made a turn off the highway, heading for the mountains. Sam—my glassblower—had sent me a text that he was finished with a few more pieces and asked if I wanted to come out to see them. The drive, the trek through late fall in the hills, should have been good for us. My mood, though, seemed permanently soured by Parris. I’d even gone looking for him—showing up at The Jury Room that afternoon and questioning Deacon about where the man had disappeared to. I’d gotten nothing but a “you’ve been on his mind” line of BS. Not on it enough for him to actually call or text or…show up.
“That tree looks like a dragon,” Beckett said, dragging my attention away from my angry thoughts.
I glanced out the passenger side window. The late afternoon sun had cast deep shadows along the roadside, and the golden glow of the coming sunset gave the perfect backdrop for a tree stump that absolutely looked dragon-ish.
“You’re right. It really does.”
“We should take a picture with it.”
But night would be falling soon, and these mountain roads got a little dicey since there weren’t any streetlamps.
“Maybe on the way back, okay? I don’t want Mr. Sam having to wait on us. And only if the light holds. It’s going to get dark fast out here once the sun starts setting.”
“Okay. I’ll remind you.”
Of that, I had no doubt.
A truck in my rearview caught my attention. Odd—I was pretty sure I’d seen a red pickup in town as we’d left. That seemed awfully…well, odd. I rarely saw other cars in the mountains, let alone ones I sort of recognized.
Quit making something out of nothing.
I took a deep breath and refocused on the road. There had to be a bunch of red pickups in Justice and the surrounding area—everyone drove big vehicles, and red was a popular color. It wasn’t a motorcycle. Besides, so long as they didn’t try to roll up on my bumper, they were not my concern. Not today.
I slowed as we came to the final hill before Sam’s place. Turning carefully into his driveway. The little farm in the woods sat still and silent, doors to the barn open and smoke coming from the chimney on the house. Nothing unusual about the scene, but something in the air felt off. Out of place. Of course, I’d been feeling off since Parris had left, so it was likely just me.
“Come on, buddy,” I said as I unbuckled my seat belt and cut the engine, leaving the keys in the ignition. “Let’s go do some business. Mr. Sam is likely waiting for us—he texted me over an hour ago.”
Beckett cheered. “Yay. Mister Sam learned to text.”
“What?”
“Mister Sam doesn’t text, remember? You say that all the time. He calls, but you don’t like to use your phone for that. You complain that he needs to learn to text.”
He wasn’t wrong—Sam didn’t text. Never had. He called or emailed. But today, his message had come as a text. Odd for sure, and something that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. The texting and the red truck following me… I had a sudden urge to grab Beckett and run. To haul butt back down the mountain to the safety of Justice. But that was ridiculous. Sam wasn’t anyone to be afraid of.
Besides, I had a job to do. “Texts or calls or emails, there’s still work to be done, so let’s get to it.”
“Then we’ll take pictures with dragons.”
“Then we can take pictures with dragons, yes.”
Beckett practically skipped around the front of the truck, chattering on about all the trees and the land and the view. Me, I still had a sick feeling in my stomach. Sam hadn’t come out to meet me. Not super unusual—he was often busy in his workshop and missed my arrival—but that little detail along with the text and the truck bugged me. I gripped Beckett’s hand as we approached the open barn doors, keeping him right beside me just in case.
Just in case ended up being a mountain of a man standing in the shadows. I barely had time to make a sound—only caught a glimpse of him—before he was on us, shoving me to the ground and snatching Beckett away.
He took my son.
“No,” I cried on some instinct, pushing myself back to my feet and running those few steps toward the man who held my baby. Who was a threat to both of us. “Give him back to me.”
But the man didn’t look as if he was going to drop my shaking son anytime soon. And when he moved, when he angled himself just right, my world went completely gray. He had a knife to Beckett’s throat.
This was bad. This was so very bad.
“You must be Parris’ girl,” the guy said, which turned my stomach to lead. “Fitting that I kill you with a knife stained with his blood.”
Oh shit. No, no, no.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I edged closer, wanting to reach for Beckett. Fighting hard to keep my heart from beating right out of my chest. “Just hang on, buddy. Everything will be fine.”
“See, I don’t think lying to your kids is a good idea. And I especially don’t think lying to me is either. Your Parris’ girl—he nearly jumped out of his skin yesterday when I mentioned coming to see you.” The man glanced down at Beckett and grinned. “I found the fucker’s weakness.”
“Mommy.” Beckett wriggled in the man’s arms and started to cry. Breaking my heart and sending more adrenaline shooting through my veins.
“Please,” I whispered, trying so hard not to scream. “He’s just a little boy, and he’s scared. Just put him down.”
But the guy didn’t let Beckett go. Instead, he tugged him in tighter, making my son squeak in what sounded like pain. “Quit being such a baby. I’m not hurting you.”
Beckett sobbed a little louder, and my temper that had been burning all day because of Parris turned into an inferno. Fuck this guy—he was not hurting my son. I’d kill him myself.
“Give me back my son,” I said, trying my hardest to keep my voice level. “We can figure out some other way to get you what you want.”
“What I want is Parris’ head on a platter.”
The guy took one giant step toward me, dropping Beckett into my arms and shoving me forward. There was no time for relief—no chance to celebrate. I clung to my baby and followed this man’s directions, hoping like hell I could figure a way out of this. I didn’t have anything useful on me—just my phone. If I could get enough signal to call for help or make it to the truck where I’d left my keys, I might be able to get help. Unlikely, but maybe.
But as soon as my feet hit the porch of the house, the man stopped me with a heavy hand to the shoulder.
“Give me your phone.”
“Mommy,” Beckett whispered, clinging to me.
Opportunity—lost. “It’s okay, baby. We’re going to be okay.”
But I doubted—
I doubted so hard.
“Phone,” the guy said, sounding far more menacing this time. “Now.”
With a shaking hand, I did as he asked, tugging my phone from my back pocket and setting it in his hand. I had nothing—no way to call for help and no possibility of an easy escape. I could try to walk out with Beckett, but if the man didn’t stop us, the mountains would. Especially at night, which was quickly falling. It was dangerous out here. In a lot of ways.
“Inside.” The guy pushed me into the house, forcing me down a hallway. I held Beckett to me, thankful to have him in my arms but also kicking myself for bringing him. I should have left him with someone else, should have dropped him off at the restaurant to play with Katie and Gage. I should have done anything but expose him to this insanity.
The man directed us into what looked like a storeroom, shoving me by the shoulder when I paused at the door. I stumbled forward, one hand reaching for the shelves across the way and the other still clinging to my son. Before I could even truly regain my balance, the door slammed behind us, the click of some sort of enforcement locking us inside. But that wasn’t the worst of it—Sam lay on the floor in the corner, bloody and bruised. Raspy, shallow breaths coming slowly, the only sound in an otherwise silent room.
And we had no way out.
The roar of a bike starting had me tucking myself into the corner, trying to shield Beckett as much as possible. The bike wasn’t coming, though—it was going. The man who’d locked us in here was leaving. Were we alone?
“What are we going to do?” Beckett whispered into my ear, shaking in my arms.
I patted his back, looking for something. For some possibility of finding safety. For anything I could use as a weapon or a battering ram on the door. A tool to take apart the handle set so I could release us.
There wasn’t much in the way of options, but I refused to go down without a fight. “We’re going to get out of here.”
“How?”
I shook my head, wishing Parris were with us. He’d know what to do. But Parris wasn’t there, didn’t even know we were in trouble or missing, and therefore wasn’t about to be the knight on the noble steed coming to save the day. I was going to have to figure out how to get us out of there alive. On my own. As usual.
My kingdom for a damn screwdriver.
“I don’t know yet. But we’ll think of something.”
Chapter Eighteen
PARRIS
THIRTY-SIX HOURS. I’d been missing my girl and my little man for a full day and a half, much of which had been spent dealing with other people’s bullshit. All day, I’d put up with Ravel and his mouth, following him out to who-the-fuck-knew-where to pick up this delivery that was so important to Cartel. He’d finally left once we had our hands on the goods, giving me a blessed hour of silence before I’d hit the road myself. Guns and drugs received—job completed. I’d spent over ten hours between being on the road and waiting for the shit. I wanted to be done. My new life was right there, totally within reach. I could see the finish line.
I wasn’t done with Vegas yet, though. I still had a couple of things to do to pull myself away from one life and lean into a new one, to stop being a spy for Cartel and move fully into the nomad status I deserved. One of those things was telling Edge he could go fuck himself. I really didn’t think I had too much to worry about in terms of retaliation. It should have been a relatively easy—though slightly dangerous—conversation, so long as the bastard was even the slightest bit sober.
At least, that’s what I thought until I rolled into camp and saw the chaos the place had descended into.
Tents had been flattened, left on the ground with garbage strewn around them. Campers and bikes were gone or going, everyone trying to get on the road. Trying to leave. And as much as I liked the sight—anything to get these fuckers out of town and away from my girl—the scene chilled me to the bone. Something had gone very, very wrong here.
“Yo,” I yelled to a younger rider—Knuckles—as he stood in the bed of his truck, strapping his bike into place. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Someone hit camp.”
Which could mean guns, bombs, or…anything, really. “What are you talking about?”
Knuckles jumped out of the bed of his truck, his face grim. Not stopping for a single second as he headed for the driver’s door. “Edge and Ravel are dead—gunshot wounds. We’re leaving.”
“Tiny make that call?” He was next in line with the president and VP down. No one should have been making a single move without his say-so.
But Knuckles shook his head. “We can’t find Tiny. Look, we know it’s not procedure and all that, but no one really expects to find their president and VP shot to death, you know? We made the decision as a crew—we’re out.” He hopped into his truck, slamming the door closed before rolling down his window. “I don’t know where we’re all going—”
“Vegas.” I shot him a strong look as his jaw snapped shut. “It’s time to say fuck this. Spread the word—with our executive board unable to convene, I’m making the call. Go the fuck home.”
The kid almost smiled. “Thanks, man. I’ll let everyone know. See you in Vegas.”
Yeah…that wouldn’t be happening. But I didn’t need to tell him that. In fact, the only man I should really be seeing, considering Edge and Ravel were dead, was Tiny. And fuck my life, that made things harder. The man had stabbed me only the day before.
I rolled through camp, heading straight to Edge’s trailer. Assuming that would be where the bodies were. Edge had always been a man of his habits—both good and bad ones. He would have been in his trailer tonight, popping pills and fucking women. No doubt about that.
When I pulled up at the RV, I didn’t even need to worry about how to find the bodies. They’d been set up in metal lawn chairs right at the front of the vehicle. Both men seemed to be relaxing in the night air, save for the fact that they were covered in blood. Their own, I had to assume. Pills, powders, and syringes created a druggie’s wonderland on the ground around them, spreading what looked to be six feet in diameter. Someone had had a little fun with this.
I had a feeling Deacon Mann was involved, and I was going to wring his neck for fucking up my escape.
“Parris,” someone yelled, forcing me to push down my ire. Another younger rider—Nash—hurried over. “Cash says we have to get this shit cleaned up.”
Cash. Of course. The little fucker always had thought he was in charge.
“Cash isn’t boss.”
Nash frowned, glancing at the two bodies behind me. “Uh, yeah, but…the bosses are dead.”
“There’s a hierarchy in clubs, son. Cash isn’t the next in line. Anyone on the executive board make a decision on what to do as a club?”
“I don’t know. We found the bodies, couldn’t get in touch with Tiny, and people started running. Cash sort of took over and said deal with this.” He looked behind me again, likely seeing the same thing I did—prison sentences if the cops decided to pin any of the death or drugs on one of us. “I’ve never been on cleanup before.”
“And you’re not now.” I stalked back to my bike, knowing exactly how to play this one. “Pack up and get to Vegas. Tell everyone you see to do the same.”
“You’re pulling us out?”
“The fucking Soul Suckers come walking into camp and slaughter our prez and VP? Yeah, kid—I’m protecting my crew. Everyone needs to go home. Now.”
He almost looked excited. “Understood. I’ll spread the word.”
As would I. But first, I had a few things to do.
I waited for Nash to leave before slipping into the trailer. No sign of anyone else around, though the party that had been raging for days had definitely been continuing in my absence. I hurried to the back, sliding on my gloves as an extra precaution. Every drawer, closet, and cubby, I opened. Every possible nook to hide something in, I investigated. Anything that looked to link Jinx or her mom to this crew, I stuffed into my pockets. One last gift to
the girl I couldn’t protect—a relatively clean slate to start over with.
It was in the glove box that I found a little black book sitting under Edge’s wallet. Inside was a list of names and numbers, contact information for the Black Angels. My info—legal name included—sat toward the front. I found Wolf’s in the middle, but what caught my attention was another name. One I’d been hunting for as well. Coyote. That was good info to have, and definitely not something to be left for the cops. I pocketed the book before walking outside.
A couple of riders I didn’t really recognize caught me as I was about to roll out of camp, giving matching chin nods toward the RV Edge had been staying in.
“Nash said you pulled the retreat flag,” the darker-haired one said as soon as I’d cut the engine on my bike.
“I did.” And no way was I backing down on that order.
“Cool. Anything you need us to do here before we go?” The one elbowed the other. “We’re pretty good with gasoline and matches.”
Perfect. “Do it. I don’t want evidence left behind.”
“You know who killed them?”
Definitely, but that wasn’t the question I answered. Mine was more for a question of Do you know who you’re going to pin this on? “Absolutely. And I’ll be taking care of that.”
“We’ll light it up, then.” The bigger guy held up his fist, bumping knuckles with me and reminding me so much of Beckett that my chest ached. Time to tie up all these loose ends.
I left them to their work, starting my bike and tugging my face shield into place before rolling toward the driveway. I needed to get to Justice, to tell Deacon and Zane that the Black Angels were leaving, and to figure out the most advantageous way to spin this. I also needed to set a couple of small-town soldiers straight on when to murder a biker. If anyone had seen them, if anyone even suspected Deacon or Alder or whoever from Justice had been the ones to kill the prez, the Black Angels would have burned their entire town to ash.
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