Thirty minutes from Whisper Springs, I pulled out my burner phone and dialed the number I’d programmed earlier.
“This better be fucking important to wake me at three in the morning.” Tango Rossi’s voice rattled through the phone.
“It’s Reynolds. I need your help.” More painful words had never escaped my lips.
“Dane?”
In the background, Slade asked, “Dane? What’s he calling for?”
At the same time, the little girl in my arms started screaming, another night terror taking hold. God damn not again.
I pulled to the side of the road, her tiny body convulsing in my arms.
“I need help. Right fucking now.”
“The fuck?” Tango growled.
“Need your buddy, Tucker. Need him now, and a woman. Tell him to bring a woman. Someone with a soft touch.”
“That a kid?” Tango’s anger fizzled.
My voice, however, rose to full panic mode, unrecognizable. “I’m out of my fucking element here, Rossi. She’s in bad shape.”
To his credit, the pretty boy didn’t mess around. I gave him my location, tossed the cell, and got busy with the rock, rock, rub, rub, shh, shh.
“You’re safe, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” I whispered over and over, until her breathing returned to normal, her body relaxed, and a set of headlights pulled up behind me.
Two bodies came into view, coming to my side of the car at a hurried pace. When I opened the door, a “Fuck me,” escaped, because I hadn’t expected to see Blondie ever again, and that woman was a sight that never failed to steal my wits.
Slade blinked at me with those wide-as-fuck baby blues, her pretty mouth hanging open. I gave her a minute to adjust to the scene.
“Reynolds,” Tucker said. “What’s going on?” He stepped around me, inspecting the child in my arms. “Jesus. What the hell happened?”
“Found her about fourteen hours ago. Sick bastard had her caged in a hole. She’s hurting. Inside and out.”
“Why didn’t you take her to the hospital?” Slade asked, no judgement, only concern.
“Not important. Need you to take her. Do that thing you do. Keep her safe. Find her family.”
“Name?” Slade asked, brushing trembling fingers down the girl’s back.
“Don’t know.” I swallowed a wave of nausea, bit back a slew of cuss words.
“Okay. Okay.” Slade nodded. “Give her to me. We’ll get her to Tuck’s mom. She’s a doctor.”
Slade held out her hands, waiting for me to pass the child over. My arms solidified, coiled around the tiny body.
“It’s okay, Dane. We’re gonna take good care of her.” Slade’s voice was soft, reassuring, and trembling a little, just like mine.
I whispered in the baby’s ear, “My friend Slade is gonna take you now. She’s very nice, and she’ll take good care of you.”
The child shivered, a full body tremble, then crawled up my chest, clinging tighter, her arms and legs hooking around me.
“Kid. They’re going to take you somewhere nice and warm. They’re gonna help you feel better.”
Face buried in my neck, she shook her head, tears wetting my shirt.
God.
Jesus.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Why me? Why fucking me?
“Okay,” Tucker said. “Give Slade your keys. She’ll drive your car. You get in the back seat with the girl. We can’t stay out here.”
“Keys are in the ignition.” I nodded to Slade before sliding into the back of the sedan and stretching the seatbelt once again around both of our bodies.
Tucker pounded the top of the car. “Go. Go. I’m right behind you.”
#
Blood curdling screams echoed through the hallway, bouncing off the mint green paint and driving deadly spikes through my temporal lobes.
Pace.
Pace.
Pace.
My fist met the wall. The pain jetting up my arm did little to distract me from the feral buzzing in my head. I’d stayed too long already. I should’ve left the second I’d laid her in that damn bed.
“I can’t do this.”
Tucker blocked my exit, standing stone still, arms crossed, brow raised.
“I did my part. I got her somewhere safe.” My pointed finger met his chest. “Now it’s on you!”
The guy didn’t budge, but damn, his jaw twitched hard enough to dislocate, the child’s pain clearly grating his nerves, too.
I pounded my head, and resumed pacing, the gut-wrenching screams driving me mad. “I need to hit the road.”
“Doesn’t work that way. We need to do a thorough exam. She’s not letting anyone touch her but you. So, whatever you got to do that’s so important can wait.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” I stopped dead, turning to face Tucker, ready to draw blood. “You don’t understand. I’m not built for this shit.” Then I realized my mistake—showing weakness. Stumbling, I hit the wall behind me and scrubbed the dirty hair out of my face.
The lines between his eyes deepened, his assessment of my appearance slow and thorough. “You look like shit.” Arms dropped to his sides, he stalked closer. “The fuck’d you get yourself into?”
“Dane!” Slade shrieked. “Get in here. Now!”
Tucker and I shared a stare down, violent tension stifling the air. He nodded toward the room. I shook my head in a slow no. Then turned to leave.
A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, halting my retreat.
Out of instinct I struck, hitting the blond bastard square in the jaw.
Tucker moved fast, landing a jab to my gut, just hard enough to prove he could hold his own in a fight if given cause. “Get your ass in that room. You assumed responsibility the second you pulled that little girl out of whatever hell she was living. Don’t let her down now.”
“Fuck you.” Tucker was right, but still, I didn’t appreciate being told I was wrong. And damn, why was I facing off with the guy? We were on the same side. Her side.
I turned on my heel and entered the room where Tucker’s mom, Leticia, attempted to examine the hysterical child while Slade held her down. Slade was wiped, her face pale and stained with tears, her hair a ratted mess, scratches marring her neck and arms.
God, they were gonna break the tiny thing. Two strides and I scooped the baby into my arms. Hands fisting my hair and pulling tight, she buried her face in my neck. Her breaths steadied when I rubbed her back in slow circles.
The women in the room shared nervous glances, and Slade fell into one of the chairs, rubbing blood off her cheek with the back of her arm.
“Okay,” Leticia whispered, stepping closer. “We need to get this dirty shirt off and clean her up a bit.” She lifted her pale blue eyes to mine. “Can you help me with that?”
“You want me to undress her?” I choked on the words.
“No, Dane. Just hold her. I think she’ll let me do what I need to do if you’re holding her.”
How was the woman so calm?
I nodded, then moved to the bed, settling on the edge and resting the girl’s weight on my thigh.
Slow and steady, Leticia lifted the shirt. Inch by inch she revealed the bruises, the sores, and when the child’s hips came into view, I pinched my eyes shut.
I’d lose my shit if there was evidence of what I’d suspected Wilson had done to the little girl.
Leticia tapped my arm, then tugged the shirt higher, and we managed to remove the article of clothing.
The next hour was pure torture. We weighed the child. Bathed her. Dressed her in a small hospital gown. And finally. Finally. Thank fuck. Leticia gave her a sedative, and damn, I was jonesing for some of that shit, too.
Even in her drug-induced rest, the child didn’t release me. So, I maneuvered into her small hospital bed, lay back, and waited for her body to go limp.
Soon as I could pry myself from her side, I would leave. Hit the open road, and never look back.
; #
“Dane,” a soft voice whispered. “Dane.” Small fingers nudged my shoulder.
Between my arms, someone stirred, something small and bony striking dangerously close to my groin. I peeled open one eye, and then the other, the dimly lit room coming into focus. Soft hair tickled my nose, my senses waking with the scent of sweat and antiseptic.
“Fuck.” I grumbled, my stretch halted by the dead weight on my arm, the small, unconscious child breathing shallow breaths against my neck.
“Dane.” Slade and her bewitching smile came into view. “Here. Let me help.”
“Don’t wake her,” I growled.
“A high school marching band couldn’t wake her right now. She’s sedated. She’ll sleep through most of the day.” Slade curled the girl into her arms, allowing me freedom to roll off the small bed.
I stretched the kinks from my spine.
“You did a good thing last night,” she said, laying the girl on her back.
My stomach revolted, the child’s terror too fresh in my mind, my flesh sore where she’d carved grooves with her dirty little nails.
Slade tucked blankets around the sleeping kid. “We called the psychologist. She’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Good. That’s good.” I nodded, calculating how far I’d be from Whisper Springs by then, the girl nothing but a fading nightmare.
“C’mon.” Slade nodded toward the door. “I made you coffee.
“Thanks. But I need to hit the road.” Last thing I needed was to hang out with Slade, the woman a blaring reminder of all I’d lost.
“No.” Hands to hips, she gave me a motherly scowl. “You need breakfast. Coffee. Then you can go.”
“Thanks, Blondie. But I’m good.”
“Dane. Please.” She dropped her arms, pleading, “Stay.”
A thick lump stuck in my throat. Only good thing I’d done in my life was help Slade get my pregnant cousin free of my piece of shit father.
We hadn’t saved Addy from the crazy that cursed my family, but her son, Rocky, thrived with parents who would give him the world and who would die to protect him. I couldn’t have asked for more, aside from being in his life, which was a no-go because I would die to protect him, too. And he would never be safe if the club knew he was my flesh and blood, or that I’d taken part in setting him free.
I stared at a dent in the newly polished hardwood, the back of my eyes prickling, my throat thick, raw. “Thank you.”
Blue painted toenails came into view, and I caught a whiff of something akin to peaches, a scent that suited Slade. “Thank you for what?” she asked, too damn close for my liking.
I stepped back, meeting her soft gaze. “You know.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Rocky,” was all I needed to say. She’d raised Addison’s son as her own, giving him the life I never could.
“Dane.” She sighed, stance softening.
“I have to go.” I stomped out the door and down the hallway, not a fucking clue where I was headed, but fuck me, I needed to blow before my head exploded.
“Dane. Wait,” Slade called, flip flops smacking an erratic rhythm behind me.
“Take care of that little girl.” I waved a hand over my shoulder and slammed past Tucker, and through a heavy wooden door that led to the kitchen. I dodged the massive island and headed straight for the back door.
I was at the car, so damn close to escape, when I heard, “Reynolds.”
The East Coast accent was unmistakable.
I mumbled, “Moretti,” over my shoulder, surprised to see the guy, but in no condition to shoot the breeze.
“You takin’ off?”
“The fuck’s it look like?” I answered, fingers curled around the door handle.
The guy was crazy, like me. Didn’t like him much, but we shared a mutual respect, the kind only two twisted fuckers could share, so I turned to face him.
His glower spoke volumes, his silent assessment rattling my nerves. “What? You expect me to invite you out for coffee or some shit?”
He snorted. “Yeah. Good one.” Tito came closer, a thousand questions in his eyes.
“Fucking hell man, what?”
He rested a hip against the car and tilted his head, the scarred side of his face in full view. “Where are your brothers?”
Yeah, I was done with the chit-chat. “I gotta go.”
“You fuck up?”
Every muscle in my body coiled tight. “Stay out of my shit.”
“You did.” He pushed off the car, came toe-to-toe, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You fucked up for that little girl.”
“It fucking matter?” Christ, I needed a cigarette.
“I couldn’t give a shit.”
“Great. Then I’ll be on my way.”
Tito stepped between me and the car door. “Just saying. This place is off the grid. You need to ghost. You can haunt this house for a bit.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Fine. But before you disappear, I need details about that girl.”
Jesus. The girl and Whisper Springs needed to be in my rearview. “I’m sure you can figure out what she’s been through without hearing the gruesome details.”
Tito’s voice wavered, just a tick. “I need to find her family, man. Anything you can give me helps.”
Fuck. I needed to be done. “Her mama’s name was Mick. She’d dead. That’s what I know. Lived in and out of shelters. Frequented the Prairie Point Women’s Haven in Missoula. Check there first… They should be able to give a full name.”
“Anything else I should know?” He moved away from the car, giving me space.
I reached for the door handle. Yanked it open, then slammed it shut. “The guy I found them with, Wilson Kyle, he’s dead, too. Real piece of work, that one, and it was a pleasure doin’ that sick fucker in.”
“You took care of him?”
“And then some.”
“Good.” He nodded, looking over his shoulder at the house, then meeting me with a hard glare.
The fucker had something to say.
His hesitation gave me time to blow him off. “Listen. I gotta go.” I reached for the door again.
Tucker slammed a palm against the window. “Not yet. You and me got some things to discuss.”
Moriah
“Discussion over.” I steadied my voice, considering my surroundings. “I can’t make the dinner tonight. I’m sorry, but I don’t know how many more visits I have left with her.” I bit my lip, fighting the swelling tears.
“Everybody is bringing their significant others, Moe. How do you think that makes me look every time you bow out?”
“Matthew,” I warned. “We’ll talk when I get home.” I ended the call, lacking the energy required to argue with that man.
Three deep breaths, composure gathered, I entered her room. “Mom.” I pressed my lips to her forehead, eyes closed, inhaling her scent.
“Baby,” came her weak reply, head tilting up in greeting.
“How you doing today?” I asked, tucking the blankets tighter around her frail, weathered frame.
“Mmm,” was all she managed.
I scooted the rocker closer to her bed and settled in. “I brought The Silent Girls today. I think you’re gonna like this one.”
Mom loved her horror novels.
I read. Mom drifted in and out of sleep. The nurse came and went. I sat until the sun made its descent, then kissed my mother goodnight. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Baby,” she whispered, voice strained, lips sallow.
“Yeah, Mom?”
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
“Oh, Mama.” My chest caved. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I couldn’t find her for you.”
God, my heart. I gripped her hand in mine and brought it to my chest. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find her for you, Mom.”
“She’s a good girl, just like you.
She just fell in with the wrong man.”
Ha, the wrong man. I refrained from laughing. Bless my mother’s well-meaning heart. That man had led my sister straight to hell. That man had convinced her twice to leave rehab because he was lonely. That man stole her identity. Her soul. Bled her dry, then disappeared, dragging her deeper into the bowels of hell. That man wasn’t a man at all, but a monster.
I hadn’t seen my sister in over seven years.
“I won’t stop looking for her.” I raised mom’s knuckles to my mouth for a kiss. “I promise.”
“It’s time to stop. You have to live your life. For you. Promise me. No more looking. No more worrying.”
Her eyes fell closed in exhaustion, her chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. I was tired, too. But I would never stop looking for my sister. How could I?
So, I lied to my dying mother. “I promise.” I kissed her sunken cheek, laid the book on the nightstand, and adjusted the thermostat.
It wasn’t until I was safely belted into my car that I let the tears fall, opening a new box of tissues, tossing the empty box behind my seat where it landed with the others.
When my sobs slowed, I drove home. I crawled into bed. Matthew rolled over, kissed my head, then tucked me against his chest. Always the same routine.
I couldn’t sleep, the weight of Matthew’s arm stifling. I pried myself free and stood at the open window. The rush of the river outside offered no solace, neither did the rustle of trees, or the drone of cars passing on the highway in the distance.
The heaviness in my heart weighed me down, that tiny organ swelling inside my chest, filling with vile, poisonous worry. Sometimes I feared the only way to make it stop growing was to pierce my heart, release the pressure, bleed out the pain.
Love wasn’t supposed to hurt, or make you sick with unease, or fear. God, how I wanted to take a knife, punch it through my breast and release some of the damn pressure.
Matthew moaned in his sleep, reaching for me. “Moe,” he grumbled. “Come to bed.”
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