Gypsy King

by Devney Perry

  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 stumbled, 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 p
icture 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.”

  I clamped my teeth together—my molars grinding so hard they could have pulverized diamonds. I wasn’t obeying his order. I was freezing cold and wanted to keep them from chattering. My toes and fingers had gone numb hours ago. At least, I think it had been hours. I had no idea what time it was. The sun was up but not high enough to burn the chill that clung to the misty forest air.

  Beside me, Genevieve sniffled. Her arm was pressed against mine, trembling. She was shaking head to toe, the body-racking kind of shakes that were pure fear.

  Hours ago, I’d been scared too. When I’d been taken from my home and shoved in the trunk of a car, I’d been terrified. I’d cried until there were no more tears.

  Then, lying in the dark trunk, my hands and ankles bound, the fear had vanished. I couldn’t afford to be afraid. I had another life counting on me to get my shit together.

  My anger was keeping me alive. It kept my blood from turning to ice, fueling the fire in my heart. Because I had to hang on. To fight. I was finally getting a piece of the future I’d hoped for, a child I would love unconditionally. This asshole wasn’t going to take that away from me.

  Fuck this guy. He was the same man who’d broken into the Tin Gypsy clubhouse. I assumed as much based on his clothing. He wore black jeans and a black long-sleeved thermal. His ski mask covered his hair and his face. Black leather gloves stretched tight across his hands. And he wore a cut with the outdated Warrior logo on the back.

  His eyes were covered with sunglasses, even in the dim light, the lenses and frames black. He showed no skin except for plain lips poking through the mask.

  He was of average build, meaning even if we managed to get out of this situation—unlikely—there’d be no providing the police any identifying information. His dedication to keeping himself hidden actually gave me hope. If he was just going to kill us, why hide?

  Maybe I was grasping for hope.

  Around us, the forest was shadowed and eerie. The smell of pine and earth was heavy. This place he’d brought us to was so thick with evergreens, I doubted it ever got bright.

  It was creepy as hell, but the low light might work to our advantage if we could figure out an escape. Maybe we could hide under some bushes or something. I grimaced at the thought of curling up with decaying leaves and needles.

  Behind us, there was an old cabin tucked into the trees. I’d spotted it when he’d pulled us out of the trunk. It was menacing and the windows were blacked out like someone had boarded it up a decade ago and forgotten it existed. It was straight out of a horror movie, the type of place where human bodies were butchered in the basement. If I did get free, I’d be heading in the opposite direction of that cabin.

  A phone chimed in the man’s pocket. He turned away from Genevieve and me, disappearing deeper into the trees where we couldn’t see him anymore.

  But he was there. Waiting. Watching.

  “What’s he going to do to us?” Genevieve asked through chattering teeth.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “But just hang tight.”

  Dash would find us. This guy had set it up that way. He wanted Dash to find me. But why? And why Genevieve? How had he known about her? Why was she here?

  After the man had taken me from my house, he’d loaded me in the trunk, and I’d been jostled around as he took turn after turn, probably navigating through town. Then the whirl of tires against the asphalt became high-pitched as he sped down a smooth stretch of road.

  Exhausted and emotionally wrecked, I fell asleep. Maybe for ten minutes, maybe an hour, I wasn’t sure. I jolted awake when we stopped. I waited, barely breathing as his car door slammed, but he didn’t come for me.

  I waited, my heart hammering in my chest, until finally, the trunk opened. I squinted against the parking lot light above the car, adjusting my vision just in time to see the man heft another struggling body into the trunk.

  Ge
nevieve, gagged and bound, took one look at my face and stilled. We had only enough time to recognize each other before he slammed the trunk closed and the light was gone. We were sandwiched in tight with no room to move even though the trunk was larger than that of any car I’d owned.

  With the gags, neither of us could talk. Instead, we both cried silent tears for hours until the car slowed and we were bounced around on a road so bumpy it couldn’t have been paved.

  It was still dark when he hauled us both from the car, threatening to slit our throats if we tried to run. With the enormous knife sheathed on his belt, I believed him.

  Then he made us walk uphill for what felt like a mile, bringing us to this spot and shoving me to my knees. He untied Genevieve and put a gun in her hand, promising it was unloaded so she shouldn’t try anything. Then he pushed her into position so the gun touched my temple in her shaky grip.

  Her gag was stripped. The tape was removed from her wrists and ankles. And he told her to hold still. Stop fucking crying.

  After all, Genevieve was supposed to look like my murderer.

  He took a few pictures, then taped her up again, setting us both next to this tree. Thankfully, he pulled off my gag too. It wasn’t like we needed them. Out here, no one would hear us if we screamed.

  He disappeared for a while, but I knew he hadn’t gone far. If we tried to run for it, he’d see. If we tried to get our hands free, he’d see.

  So we sat, both of us in shock, until he returned and stood over us, watching silently.

  I kept my head down, not wanting to provoke him. Every minute, we got colder. I was in flip-flops from dinner at my parents’ place. Genevieve was barefoot and in a pair of black silk pajama pants. He must have taken her from the hotel where she’d been staying in Bozeman. Her white top was thin but at least it had long sleeves. The back was open, showing her strappy green sports bra. When she leaned forward, there were angry red scratches from the tree’s bark on her skin.

  Her feet were practically raw from the long walk through the forest.

  She sniffled. “Why is this happening?”

  I leaned toward her, letting my temple rest on top of her head. It was the best hug I could give her at the moment. “I need to tell you something.”