Gypsy King

by Devney Perry

  “What?” Her body tensed even as she trembled.

  “When I came to Denver, you told me something. You said your mom always called your father Prez. Well, that nickname was familiar and I . . . well, I sort of figured out who your father is.”

  Her head pulled away from mine. Her eyes got impossibly wide. “You did? Who?”

  “Before I tell you, please keep an open mind. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I’m begging you to trust me.”

  She gave me a slight nod. “Tell me.”

  I took a deep breath, then blurted, “Draven Slater did not kill your mother. I’m sure of it. I don’t have proof, but from the bottom of my soul, I think he genuinely cared for your mother and would not have harmed her.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “The police have evidence. He killed her. He lured her to that motel and stabbed her to death.”

  “She asked him to come to the motel because she had something to tell him. He’s your fa—”

  “No.” She closed her eyes, shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry. It’s true. He’s your father. Your mother asked him to come to the motel to tell him about you.”

  “No,” she hissed, the word a combination of anger and despair.

  “Draven was the president of a motorcycle club. They called him Prez.”

  “That nickname could be for anything.”

  “Genevieve.” I gave her a sad smile. “You have his eyes and his hair. You even look a little bit like Dash.”

  “Who’s Dash?”

  “My boyfriend. And your half brother.”

  She leaned away from me, twisting to look the other direction. Either I’d done the right thing by telling her the truth, or I’d pushed her too far. I only hoped that she’d inherited some of Draven’s strength because when I made a run for it, she was coming with me.

  “I think this guy, the one who took us, is the one who killed your mom.”

  She shook her head, her eyes still squeezed shut. When she opened them, a new wash of tears fell. “Why?”

  “I think it has something to do with Draven’s motorcycle club. Some old grudge that never got settled. Somehow, we landed right in the middle of it.”

  She swallowed hard, sucking the tears back. “I just wanted to see Mom’s grave.”

  “You will.” I scooted into her side. “We’ll get out of here. Dash will come for us.”

  I only hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  We sat quietly, Genevieve’s head probably spinning and mine frantic for some way to escape. I could run with my hands bound but not my ankles.

  “Do you think he can see us?” I whispered.

  “Maybe. But I can’t see him.”

  “We have to get our legs free. He used duct tape. We can probably unwind it or cut it or something. But if he can see us, I don’t want to try.”

  “Let’s go pee.”

  “Right here?” Gross.

  “Let’s tell him we have to pee. Maybe he’ll untie our legs.”

  “Oh.” I relaxed. “Good idea.”

  My leg was falling asleep and tingling, but changing position seemed to make the cold seep deeper into my bones. We waited until the man emerged from behind a tree about fifty feet away. I hadn’t seen him duck behind it. He walked toward us with sure strides, a man confident his infallible plan was coming together.

  Chances were, it probably was. We were probably going to die today, but not without a fight.

  “I need to pee,” I said as he got closer.

  “Then pee.”

  “Here?” I gaped. “And sit in it?”

  He shrugged. Minus a few words here and there, he’d been mostly mute.

  “No, thank you.” I gritted my teeth again, the anger roaring to new life. I wasn’t a violent person, but damn, I wanted to steal this guy’s knife and stab him in the eyeball. I squirmed. “Please? Call it a last request. Don’t make me die covered in urine.”

  “Fine.” He took that enormous knife from its leather sleeve and brought it over. The metal seemed to find the only flicker of sunlight, glinting as it came toward my legs. One fast swipe and my ankles were free.

  “Can I go too?” Genevieve looked at him with those big eyes, weepy and seemingly pathetic. She put on quite the act.

  He swiped the tape at her legs too, then motioned for us to stand.

  My legs were wobbly and stiff, my arms tingling with sleep. Walking would have been hard on a flat surface, let alone the uneven ground of the forest floor. Running would be disastrous. Shit. Even if we could catch a break and slip free, it wouldn’t take much for him to catch us again.

  Was this hopeless? Were we going to die soon?

  The man took his gun from his holster and pointed it at my nose as I found my balance. “Go.”

  I nodded, shuffling two steps away. “What about my hands? I can’t get my jeans undone.”

  He frowned and came over, but instead of releasing my hands, he jerked the button and zipper on my jeans free and dragged them down to my knees. He did the same for Genevieve.

  It was humiliating, having this man see me squat, my bare ass freezing in the cold air. Genevieve took her steps in the opposite direction. Her eyes squeezed shut as she squatted.

  I did the same, pretending I was hovering over a toilet in The Betsy, not a pinecone. When we were done and he’d yanked our pants back in place, he pushed us back into the tree.

  Please don’t tape us again.

  He reached for the backpack he’d brought, likely going for the tape.

  “You sent that picture to Dash, didn’t you?” I hoped the question would distract him. Maybe if I could keep him talking, he’d forget the tape.

  “I did. Left him enough clues to find your body.”

  My heart jumped into my throat. “You’re going to kill us and leave us here?”

  “Just you.” He pointed to Genevieve with the gun. “Dash will kill her for killing you.”

  I didn’t need to ask why. This asshole was clearly good at framing others for murder, and he was banking on the fact that Dash would take his revenge, that no matter how much Genevieve pleaded and begged for her life, he’d kill her.

  “But why her? She didn’t do anything.”

  He stared at her and the muscles in his face behind the mask seemed to tense. “I have my reasons.”

  This had to be about Amina, right? Her murder had started this whole thing. I’d thought all along she was the key, but I was missing the connecting piece.

  How had this man known when Genevieve was going to be in Montana? Did he know she was Draven’s daughter? The paper hadn’t gone out yet. If he did know, it meant someone in the garage had been talking.

  But I couldn’t believe that Emmett or Leo would let it slip. Had Draven told anyone? Maybe he’d confided in an old friend that he was a father to an unknown daughter.

  Dad’s face popped into my mind. Did he wonder why I hadn’t shown up at the paper for delivery prep this morning? Was he worried? Whatever happened, I hoped Mom and Dad knew I loved them. If I did die today, I was glad we’d had dinner last night. A few hours, just the three of us.

  I pushed away the thought of never seeing them again and focused on keeping this guy talking. He hadn’t gotten out the tape yet. “Are you doing all this to start up an old war between clubs?”

  “Not start. Win.”

  Then what was he waiting for? Why not kill us now and disappear? I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d sent Dash the picture, but it had to have been at least an hour.

  He shoved his gun in his jeans and took out his phone. “Think we’ve waited long enough.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  He nodded to Genevieve. “For them to find her and kill her. Can’t have her get too far away.”

  Genevieve flinched, leaning closer to my side.

  “Stand up.” He reached for Genevieve, dragging her to her feet.

  Then he did the same to me, hauling me up so fast I was dizzy. My h
eart raced. We needed more time.

  Hot streaks raced down my cheeks. Tears streamed down Genevieve’s too.

  “Get on your knees,” he ordered, taking out his pistol.

  I was too scared to defy him. I dropped onto my knees but kept my eyes on Genevieve. She was going to see the worst, wasn’t she? He’d make her pull the trigger. He’d make her see the blood and watch me die.

  I gave her a sad smile. “It’s okay.”

  A sob escaped her lips and her shoulders shook violently as he cut the tape to free her hands.

  The man wrapped his arms around her, making her cry out. She fought him, twisting and turning, but he was too strong. With a tight squeeze, he held her to his body until she gave up the fight. One by one, he put her fragile hands on the gun. She shook her head, over and over, her hair falling into her face.

  I was glad for it. I didn’t want her to see.

  I closed my eyes, challenging my thoughts to my lower belly. I’m sorry, tiny one. I’m so sorry.

  In my mind, I pictured a little girl. She had hazel eyes and unruly hair. She had a wide smile and soft cheeks. She’d squeal when Dash threw her into the air and giggle on the way down.

  I blew out a deep breath, holding my chin high. I was here because I’d wanted a story. The story of my lifetime. Everyone had warned me away from the Tin Gypsies, and I hadn’t listened. I could be safe and home, right now. I could be at the newspaper, working alongside Dad.

  But I wouldn’t regret my choices. I’d do it all over again for the chance to fall in love with Dash Slater.

  Another sob broke from Genevieve’s mouth and I blocked it out. I stayed in my happy place, imagining his face. How it felt to fall asleep in his arms. I was there, curled against him in my bed, when the trigger squeezed and a bullet ripped through the gun.

  The boom made my entire body seize. I’d expected nothingness. Death.

  But as a fresh wave of cold crept up my skin, I opened my eyes to find the world moving in slow motion.

  Genevieve slumped in the man’s grasp, sliding her hands free of the gun. Her knees landed hard on the dirt.

  The man kept hold of the gun, cursing as he swung the barrel toward the trees. He fired, the blast making me flinch.

  “Bryce!” Genevieve reached for me, taking my arm as I struggled to stand.

  “Go.” I nudged her with my shoulder. “Run!”

  Another gun fired. The shot whizzed by us and the bullet slammed into the tree at my back. The bark flew, sticking into my hair.

  “Go, Genevieve,” I said as we both rushed for the trees.

  She kept a grip on my arm, lending me her balance. One second, her hand was there, the next she was flying backward. The man had grabbed her by the hair, pulling her to his front as a human shield.

  “No!” I spun to go back for her, but more bullets went flying. Two from the man’s gun, another from the distance. It slammed into his shoulder, making him stagger.

  “Dash!” I screamed, knowing he was out there.

  “Get out of there, Bryce.” His voice came from deep in the trees.

  Genevieve ripped herself away from the man and took off in the other direction, sprinting toward the old cabin.

  I couldn’t follow her, not if I wanted to get free.

  Another bullet went flying and I wasted no more time. I ran, tripping on branches and doing my best to stay upright with my hands behind my back. My hair snagged in my mouth as I kept looking forward at my path and backward for the man.

  He was moving my way, his gun outstretched as he ducked behind a tree.

  I did the same, hoping he’d lose sight of me. When I looked back again, he was gone. Where is he? I checked to my left, then my right. I looked over my shoulder again but there were only trees.

  But he was out there.

  Too busy looking for my kidnapper, I didn’t watch where I was running. My flip-flop caught on a rock and the forest became a blur. This is going to hurt. I braced for impact, except I didn’t fall.

  Dash caught me.

  A sob broke free from my chest as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me to my feet.

  “Are you hurt?” His hands touched me from head to toe. The touch was almost too hot against my frozen skin.

  “No,” I croaked, collapsing into his warmth. “No, I’m okay.”

  He pulled me in closer, his hands running up and down my back to create some friction. “You’re freezing.”

  I nodded, huddling into his body and letting my knees give way.

  He held me tight, speaking over my head. “Find them and kill them.”

  Them? Had there been two kidnappers? I’d only seen the one man. Had someone else helped him take me and Gen—

  “No. Stop.” My teeth chattered so loud they rattled in my ears. I found the strength to stand, pushing away from Dash. Isaiah and Leo were only a few feet away. “It’s not her.”

  “She tried to kill you,” Dash snapped.

  “No.” I shook my head. “It’s not her. He took her. He posed it all. It’s him. Find him.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Don’t hurt her. Please, help her.”

  Draven and Emmett came running over from the trees at our other side.

  “Find him,” Dash ordered when they reached our huddle. “Whatever it takes.”

  Draven put one hand on my shoulder. The other was holding a gun. They were all holding guns. Dash had one behind my back, in the hand of the arm holding me up.

  “Genevieve ran toward the cabin.” I spotted it in the distance. “Don’t let him get her again.”

  “I’ll find her,” Isaiah said.

  Dash nodded. “I need to get Bryce out of here.”

  “Go.” Draven jerked his chin toward Leo and Emmett and the three of them began creeping through the trees, their guns extended and ready to fire.

  I lost sight of them in seconds.

  Dash ducked behind me, bringing his teeth to my wrist and tearing a slit in the tape. He ripped it all free, probably taking some hair along with it, but I was so cold, I didn’t feel the sting. Then he scooped me into his arms and carried me away.

  I curled into his warm chest. “H-how did you find us?”

  I knew the man had left enough clues for him to get to us, but he must have come faster than expected. Otherwise, I’d be dead and they’d be hunting Genevieve.

  “Talk later.”

  “Okay,” I whispered, closing my eyes as he walked.

  He stopped only once to shift my weight in his arms on the long walk to where he’d parked his bike. It was no wonder we hadn’t heard their engines. And now it made sense why Dash was so warm and his T-shirt slightly damp. They must have sprinted through the woods.

  “Here.” He set me down next to his bike, running his hands up and down my bare arms. Then he dug into a compartment on the bike, pulling out a sweatshirt and yanking it over my head.

  “Thanks.” My muscles were convulsing from the cold, adrenaline leaving my system.

  “Kick off your flip-flops.”

  “Huh?” I asked as he began toeing off his boots. “W-what are you doing?”

  Dash didn’t answer. He took off his socks and guided me to the bike’s seat. Then he put his socks on my feet, stowing my flip-flops away. “Just an hour. Hold on for an hour, baby, and we’ll be home. Can you make it?”

  “Yeah.”

  He kissed my forehead. “Goddamn, you’re tough. Strongest woman I’ve ever known.”

  I had a lot to live for.

  I settled behind him on the bike’s seat, wrapping myself around his broad back and pressing my cheek to his shoulder. The smell of his shirt—the fabric softener, the wind, the spice of his sweat—filled my nose and chased away the forest stink.

  “You found me,” I whispered in a voice I didn’t think he’d hear over the engine.

  Dash twisted, taking my face in his hands and dropping his forehead to mine. “And I’m never letting you go.”

  Chapter
Twenty-Five

  Dash

  “Hold on, baby.” I pinned Bryce’s hand to my chest, driving whenever I could with one hand. “We’re almost there.”

  Bryce nodded against my shoulder. Her entire body was shaking. It had been like that for the last thirty miles into Clifton Forge and I was worried that she might be on the edge of getting hypothermia. Or worse, that the stress that bastard had put her through had hurt the baby.

  Damn it. The bike was a habit and had been faster, but I should have stopped and taken my truck.

  We were close to my house, so close that I wanted to gun it and just get there. But I was nervous she’d fall. Except for the few times when I’d had to use both hands to get us around a tight corner or a rough patch on the mountain, I’d been holding her to me for most of the ride. A few times, her weight had gotten so heavy on my back, I’d looked over my shoulder to see she was nearly asleep, so I’d woken her up.

  She was exhausted.

  When my house came into view, I exhaled. Finally. I pulled into the driveway and onto the grass, parking next to the front porch. I shut off the bike and slowly unwrapped Bryce’s arms from around me, then I stood, making sure to keep a grip on her hand.

  “Where are we?” Her gaze was slow and heavy as she took in the house.

  “My place.” I scooped her up and walked to the door. Her forehead felt like ice when she burrowed it into my neck.

  Walking straight for the master bathroom, I didn’t set her down as I turned on the shower to lukewarm. We’d slowly crank the temperature until the steam seeped into her bones and chased away the cold.

  Should I have taken her to the hospital?

  Carefully, I set her on the vanity between the double sinks. As she glanced around, her lips nearly blue, I began to pull off her clothing.

  The chattering in her teeth was gone. Either she had warmed up a little or things were much worse.

  “This is nice,” she whispered. “Not what I expected.”

  I was too focused on getting off her clothes to respond.

  She’d probably expected a bachelor’s bathroom with towels tossed on the floor and toothpaste splatters on the sinks and mirrors. But I’d spent a lot of time and money designing this place. I had a heated marble tile floor and coordinating countertops. The tiled, walk-in shower could hold five people with room to spare. There were double spouts and a rainfall head in the center.