The silence returned. Tears welled in my eyes and no amount of blinking could keep my vision from turning glassy.
I’d had a friend at the TV station in Seattle who’d made a big deal out of telling her husband she was pregnant by staging baby foods at home next to a onesie with Daddy stamped on the front. The morning after her announcement, she’d come to work and reported that he’d been overjoyed.
And I’d been jealous. I wanted the laughter. The excitement. The kiss after my husband learned we were making a family.
“Say something,” I whispered. The silence was breaking my heart. At this point, I’d take yelling if that meant he’d speak.
His eyes drifted up from the floor, and it was then that I saw true fear.
Dash spun on his boot. He ripped open the door, not bothering to close it behind him as he rushed to his bike. The sound of his motorcycle engine didn’t linger because he was gone in a flash.
“Goddamn it.” I walked to the door, blinking away the tears as I closed it and flipped the lock. If he did come back, he’d have to ring the doorbell.
Eventually, he had to come back. Didn’t he? He wouldn’t leave me forever. Right? The idea of doing this alone, of not having Dash to lean on, made my entire body ache. Would we get through this? Together?
We had to. We were better together. Didn’t he see that? Sure, I could do this alone. But I didn’t want to. I wanted Dash.
He couldn’t avoid me forever. Us forever. We lived in the same town. We were having this baby whether he was ready for it or not. Because maybe he’d pegged himself as the fun uncle, but I’d be damned if I let my kid grow up not knowing his or her father.
I wouldn’t let Dash turn into Draven, missing out on his child’s life until it was too late.
Walking to the counter, I pounded a fist on the granite. “Damn him.”
We’d have words. And soon. Before this baby came, Dash was going to man up.
I’d make sure of it.
Determined not to sit here and wallow, I picked up my phone and sent Mom a text, telling her I’d be over for dinner after all; I was feeling better. She replied with a string of happy-face emojis and confetti.
I shut off the lights in my house, taking my purse and a bottle of wine for Mom—I wouldn’t need it for a solid year. Then I went to my parents’ house, enjoying some time with them alone and doing my best not to think about Dash and the baby.
When I got home, I was exhausted and ready to collapse. I was so tired, I barely had my eyes open as I shuffled inside.
The house was dark, but I didn’t need the lights on to find my way to the bedroom. I liked the dark because it hid the basket of laundry on the couch. It hid the glass Dash had left by the sink.
It also hid the figure, cloaked in black, who’d been waiting for me to get home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Dash
“Morning.” Isaiah came into the garage, running a hand through his short hair. “You’ve been at it for a while. Stay all night?”
“Yep.” I slammed the door of the Mustang, a cleaning cloth in my hand.
After leaving Bryce’s place yesterday evening, I’d taken a long ride. Miles and miles had flown by as I’d tried to wrap my head around the bomb she’d dropped. She’d changed my world with one word. Turned the whole damn thing upside down.
Pregnant.
I couldn’t make that idea stick. We’d been careful. Condoms were required when I was with a woman, no exceptions. And though I would have loved to go bare with Bryce, there was a reason I’d kept us safe.
Some men were designed to be good fathers. Nick was one. But I’d done too many things, violent and vile things, to be a decent dad. No matter what Bryce said, how much I wanted to believe her, I wasn’t good.
I’d fuck up a kid of my own.
All my precautions, my strict rules for condoms, were pointless now.
Within months, I was going to be a father.
And it scared me to death. I didn’t know how to be a father. Look at the example I had to go by. A man who’d led murderers to his wife’s doorstep and kidnappers to his daughter-in-law’s bedroom.
I didn’t want to become my father. Which was a mindfuck since I’d spent thirty-five years following in his footsteps.
I’d joined his club. I’d sat in his chair. I’d taken over his garage when he’d retired. In thirty-five years, would my own kid look at me and wish he or she had forged their own path too?
After the long ride, I’d come back to the garage. It was dark, but Dad and Emmett had still been here, talking over Warrior names. I’d come in, not saying a word, and gotten to work on the Mustang.
Eventually, they’d realized I wasn’t here for talk and they’d left me alone.
The hours flew by as I’d finished the final tasks on the car. Then I’d detailed the inside. I’d do the same to the exterior next and call the client to arrange for pickup.
I needed this car out of my garage. I had this gut feeling that the night I’d fucked Bryce on this Mustang, I’d also gotten her pregnant.
“Got it finished?” Isaiah asked, running his hand over the hood.
“Almost. Sorry if I kept you up last night.” I hadn’t really thought much about Isaiah in his apartment above the garage as I’d been working. The guy had probably heard me crashing around down here all night.
“No worries. I don’t sleep much anyway.”
“Insomnia?”
He shook his head. “Prison.”
Isaiah hadn’t told me much about why he’d been locked up, only that he’d been convicted of manslaughter and spent three years in prison. I hadn’t asked for details. That was how it went here because that was how it had been in the club.
We asked enough to know what kind of man we were dealing with. Then we judged based on character, not past mistakes.
This garage was its own sort of brotherhood—though brother wasn’t the right word, considering Presley was as much a part of this family as Emmett or Leo or Isaiah.
“So, are you, uh . . . you doing all right?” Isaiah asked.
I cleared my throat, ready to brush it off, but the truth came out instead. “Bryce is pregnant.”
His eyes widened. “How do you feel about that?”
I let out a dry laugh. “I have no goddamn clue.”
“And Bryce?”
“I didn’t stick around long enough to ask,” I admitted. I’d fucked up as boyfriend last night. And as expected, I was already fucking up the fatherhood gig too. Tossing my rag to the floor, I leaned against the car. “I don’t know what to do. How to deal with a kid or a pregnant woman.”
“I’ve only known one pregnant woman.” Isaiah paused. “She was . . . special.”
Was. Maybe it was someone he’d known once. But I had a feeling it was someone he’d lost.
“It terrified her,” he said. “The idea of being responsible for another life. She was excited too, but scared. And brave enough to admit it.”
“Terrified seems about the right word.”
“I bet Bryce is too.”
“Yeah.” I hung my head. I’m sure Bryce was scared too. Especially home and alone, dealing with this thing by herself.
What was I doing here? There was one person who held the power to ease my fears. And I wouldn’t find her in the garage.
“I gotta go.” I pushed off the tool bench, waving to Isaiah as I walked out the door. When my phone vibrated in my pocket, I fished it out. An unknown number had sent a text, so I slowed my steps, opening it up to see the picture attached.
That’s when my heart stopped.
Bryce was on her knees. Needles and leaves were scattered on the dirt beneath her jeans, thick tree trunks crowded behind her. The photo was dark but there was enough light to see the terror on her face. Her mouth was gagged with a filthy rag tied around her head. Her eyes were red and her cheeks tearstained.
There was a gun pressed against her temple.
“Oh, Christ.” I stumb
led, losing my balance and collapsing on the cement. No.
I took a long breath, trying to focus. Then I turned again to the photo, my eyes narrowing at the person holding the gun. It was a woman. She was in profile, her arm held tight.
Who was she? Why did she have Bryce?
I went back to the text, looking for any kind of message, but there was nothing. Only the picture.
“Dash?” Dad was running my way. I hadn’t heard him drive up. “What’s wrong?”
I blinked, snapping myself out of the haze as he helped me to my feet. Then I shoved the phone into his face. “Who the fuck is that woman?”
“What woman?”
“Her.” I pointed to the picture. “With the gun to Bryce’s head.”
Fear turned to rage. My hands fisted and my heart rate slowed. The murderous feeling I hadn’t had in years came roaring home with a vengeance, settling into my bones. Fury boiled my blood.
That woman was dead, whoever she was. And the person holding the camera. Dead.
“That’s . . .” Dad slid the sunglasses off his face, squinting at the phone. Then his jaw dropped. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“It can’t be.” He shook his head.
“What?” I roared, directly into his ear, making him flinch. “Who the fuck is that woman?”
“Genevieve.” He gulped. “I think—Amina showed me pictures—I think it’s Genevieve.”
“Your daughter?” I seethed. “Your fucking daughter took my woman and held a gun to her head?”
“No, it can’t be. It doesn’t make sense.” Dad ran a hand over his face.
Sense or not, she was dead.
“What’s going on?” Isaiah rushed to my side.
“This.” I showed him the picture. He hadn’t been part of the club, but this was not the time for secrets. Not when I needed to get to Bryce. Isaiah let out a string of curses as I pulled back the phone, calling Emmett. He answered on the second ring. “Get here.”
“Ten minutes.”
I hung up, making the same call to Leo, then turned to Dad. “Why would she take Bryce?”
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“She must know about you. She thinks you killed her mother. Could she have taken Bryce for revenge?”
“No,” he insisted. “She doesn’t know I’m her father. Amina swore she never told her.”
“She lied. This woman fucked her best friend’s husband and stayed quiet about his kid for twenty-something years. I’m not taking her word for gold.”
“Unless Bryce told her already.”
“Doubtful,” I told him. “They weren’t supposed to meet until midmorning. And it’s dark in this picture.”
I risked another glance at the photo, ignoring my rolling stomach. I clung to the fact that Bryce was alive. Or she had been. Was the next text going to be Bryce’s lifeless body?
No. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the mental image away until all that was left was black. Bryce had to live. We had things to work out. Things to talk about. A pregnancy to survive.
A kid to raise.
Together.
The roar of an engine came racing to the garage, Leo barreling in and skidding to a halt. Emmett’s ten minutes was less than five as he pulled in moments later.
It didn’t take long to catch them up.
“She must have come in from Denver early,” Leo said. “Waited for Bryce to be alone.”
Alone because I hadn’t been there to protect her. I’d been too busy here, brooding about shit that was just as much my doing as it was hers.
If she survived this, I’d beg for forgiveness.
But maybe we’d all be better off if she didn’t give it to me.
“Fuck!” I roared. Beside me, Isaiah flinched.
This wasn’t happening. Not now. Not to Bryce. She was it for me. She was the woman I hadn’t known I’d needed. My partner in crime. My confidant. My heart. Whoever did this to her would pay. I’d have my vengeance and it would be bloody.
If she didn’t come out of this—no, I couldn’t think like that. She had to come out of this unharmed. And for every scratch, every bruise, I’d deliver the same punishment tenfold.
“It doesn’t make sense.” Dad had been saying that over and over.
“What doesn’t make sense?” I snapped. His muttering was grating on my last nerve.
“Why would she do this? How does she even know about us? If she wanted revenge on me for Amina, why go after Bryce?”
“We’re missing something important,” Emmett said. “She’s mixed up in this somehow. Has probably been since the beginning.”
“And she what, killed her own mother?” Dad huffed. “Doesn’t figure right.”
“What if she was angry at her mom? Maybe Amina and her had a falling out. Someone is holding that camera.” I shook my phone. “She might not have been the one to hold the knife, but we all saw a Warrior break into the clubhouse. My guess is that same Warrior is the one behind this photo. And my sister is calling the shots.”
“What do we do?” Emmett asked. “We can’t sit here and wait. Bryce could be—”
“Don’t.” I held up a hand. “Don’t say it.”
The thoughts in my head were bad enough. I didn’t need him adding horrors to my ears.
“We need to find her. She’s alive.” She had to be alive. I wasn’t living the rest of my life miserable and alone.
I was going to find Bryce, lock her in my house and never leave her side again.
“Dad, call Tucker. Let’s hope he’s got more information than he was letting on.”
He nodded, the phone already out from his pocket.
“Emmett, find out what you can about Genevieve. When she got to Montana. Where she’s been hiding out.”
With one short nod, he ran for the clubhouse.
“There’s something—ahh.” Leo dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t place it.”
“What?”
“Something’s familiar about that place.”
“What place?”
“Let me see that picture again.” He walked over and took the phone from my hand. Then he narrowed his eyes, his fingers zooming in on the far edge. “There. See it?”
“What am I looking for?”
“That building in the distance. See it?”
I’d been so focused on Bryce and the gun, I hadn’t studied other parts of the photo. But there it was. In the distance, an old log building was nearly invisible within the trees.
“Do you know that place?” I asked Leo.
“It’s familiar.” He closed his eyes, thinking for a few aching seconds. Then his eyes popped open and he snapped his fingers. “It’s up off Castle Creek Road, about an hour from here. Way the fuck up in the mountains on a steep old trail. I haven’t been there in ten years but that building looks like the old Warrior hideaway a couple guys and I staked out back in the day.”
“You’re sure?” We couldn’t afford to drive an hour into the mountains on a hunch. Bryce might not have any extra time, and if a call came in for ransom money, I wanted cell service.
“Yeah, brother. I’m sure.”
Dad came over, his jaw clenched. “Tucker swears it’s not the Warriors.”
“Did he know anything about Genevieve?”
“Nothing.”
“He’s fucking lying,” Leo bit out, ripping the phone out of my hand to show Dad the cabin. “Remember that cabin you had me, Jet and Gunner stake out? This is it.”
“Fucking Tucker,” he cursed.
“I’m going.” I pointed to Leo. “Lead the way.”
“Wait.” Dad grabbed my arm, stopping me. “Could be a trap. Tucker knows we think a Warrior is behind this. He could have taken Bryce. Genevieve. Set it all up.”
“Or Genevieve’s a fucking psycho. Maybe she’s not even your kid. Maybe this has all been one clusterfuck setup because you couldn’t keep your dick behind your zipper. Who knows? What I do know is that Bryce is in danger and
I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep her alive. If she’s by that cabin, then that’s where I’m going.”
He blew out a long breath. “I’m coming too.”
“We all just believed Amina’s story, but it might not be true. We’ve been sloppy. We’re all over the damn place and missing something major.” I looked between Dad and Leo. “We’ve been on the defense from the start, and it’s time to remember who we are. No one fucks with us, whether the club is gone or not. Someone’s going to pay for this. Shoot first. Bury later.”
Leo’s face hardened. “Damn straight. Fuck this bitch.”
Dad wasn’t as quick to condemn Genevieve. “I’d like to talk to her.”
“If she hurt Bryce, you’ll have to live with the disappointment.”
This was his chance to pick a side and it had sure as hell better be mine.
“Okay, son.” He slid his sunglasses on his face. “Leo, lead the way.”
Our boots pounded on the pavement as we went to our bikes. As I walked, I called Emmett, telling him to leave the clubhouse and catch up. As I shoved my phone in my pocket, movement at my side caught my eye.
“I’ll come too.” Isaiah was running toward his motorcycle.
Shit. This could get ugly and probably wasn’t the place for him. “No, you stay.”
“Please. Let me help.”
I didn’t have time to argue. “Your bike ready?”
“It’ll keep up.”
“Good. Because we’re riding hard.” I got to my bike and unlocked the storage compartment under the seat. I took out my Glock, tucking it into the waistband of my jeans. Then I took out another pistol, handing it to Isaiah. “You know how to use this?”
“Yeah.”
“You get a clear shot, you take it.”
I didn’t care how much blood was spilled today.
As long as it didn’t belong to Bryce.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bryce
“Dash will come for me.” I clenched my fists, pulling on the duct tape that bound them behind my back.
“I’m counting on it.” The man standing before me, dressed in black, crossed his arms over his chest. “Now shut up.”
Spring Romance Page 42
