Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  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 And he wore a cut with the outdated Warrior logo on the back.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.

  Genevieve, 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. We didn’t need 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.”

  “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.

&nbs
p; “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 heart 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.