by Penny Dee
I felt a male presence, felt his rage, felt the smash of his knuckles and the break of my nose before the darkness claimed me once again.
It could have been minutes later, it could have been hours, I had no idea what the time was, the only thing I knew was the numbed pain of a broken nose and two very puffy eyes. I was slumped against the pillows, my brain rattled and dazed from the earlier blow to my face. I licked my lips and felt the metallic tang of blood on my tongue. My mouth was dry and my throat sandpapery, and I realized as I struggled to swallow that the chloroform hadn’t just burnt my lips, my kidnapper had used enough to burn my mouth and my throat. I needed water. I needed to get free before he killed me and my baby.
Panic tore through the haziness of my post-anesthetized brain and I pulled on the ropes again, suddenly terrified. Because if I didn’t get free, I was most definitely going to die.
CADE
I woke everyone up. Bull. Chance. Caleb. Hell, I was going to wake up the whole goddamn club because we needed to find Indy, and we needed to find her now. Because whoever was behind all this murdering bullshit was also responsible for wherever she was.
I was a mess and I knew it. And I couldn’t afford to be. I had to keep my wits about me for Indy’s sake.
I went down the hallway of the MC clubhouse pounding on the doors of my brothers, waking them up and hauling them out of bed. I rang my brother Chance, and then Caleb, and then I rang every other King on my phone, and I kept ringing until they all answered.
“You need to keep calm, son.” Bull sat a shot of bourbon in front of me.
I looked at it and then slung it back. He was right. I was spiraling when I needed to keep calm and think straight. I needed to put the pieces together and work out who was responsible for this mess.
“The guy Viper and Barney were talking to . . . I want to talk to him.”
“Already on it,” Bull said sitting across from the chapel table. “Viper is chasing it up as we speak.”
Grunt’s hand found my shoulder. “You’ve got the power of the club behind you, Cade. We’re going to get this asshole.”
I poured another bourbon and slung it back. But the alcohol didn’t calm me. The heat only fueled my slowly simmering rage. I gripped the empty shot glass. When I find who did this, they will die. Veins popped in my forearms and the shot glass shattered in my hand.
“Is everyone here?” Bull asked Grunt.
“Everyone except Cool Hand, Joker, and Elias,” he replied, handing me a cloth to wrap around my hand. I probably needed stitches, but there was no time. And my panic far outweighed any pain I should be feeling.
Bull looked at his watch. “Cool Hand is probably five inches into heaven with his new Swedish girlfriend by now. Keep trying his cell. The fool’s got to come sometime.”
Grunt nodded and flipped open his phone.
“Elias said he was visiting some out-of-town pussy last night. He left just after chapel and said he’d be back later this morning. And Joker . . . he could sleep through an atomic bomb. Send the prospect around to pick him up.”
Grunt grunted and disappeared.
I stared at the bloody cloth wrapped around my hand, panic tearing through me despite the two shots of bourbon. If Indy was hurt, or worse . . . I sucked in a deep, angry breath, my nostrils flaring as I forced the worst out of my head.
I wouldn’t think it.
I wouldn’t imagine a life without her because I would go insane.
I squeezed my bloody hand into a fist but felt nothing but the panic in my gut. I needed to speak to the informant who had told Viper and Barney about the lone biker who had bragged to him about the killings in Destiny
Bull’s phone buzzed. No caller ID. Normally he wouldn’t answer an unknown number, but in this instance he was ready to make an exception.
On the end of the line was the informant Viper and Barney had been talking to. Bull put him on speaker.
“Can you give me a name?” he asked.
“Ben. Beckett. Something like that. But it was probably some bullshit alias. This guy was a real tweaker.”
“Can you give us a description?”
“I can do one better than that. I can give you pictures.”
Apparently he had photos on his phone from the night he met the elusive biker.
“Send them to this number, right away.”
“Already on their way.”
Bull’s phone pinged.
For a moment he studied the image on the screen, but then threw his phone down in disgust. “It tells us nothing. Fucking nothing.”
I grabbed the phone off the table. The image was of a guy at a bar, grinning into the screen. The lighting was bad and Bull was right, it really showed us nothing. The guy in the picture may or may not have anything to do with any of this. We didn’t know who he was, or if or how he was involved. We didn’t even have a name.
I slid the phone across the table and sat down, shoving my head into my hands.
We were no closer to finding Indy.
Bull stood up and kicked a chair. “Fuck!”
But I didn’t flinch. Instead, I lifted my head with a sudden realization.
“It’s not him,” I said, calmly.
Bull swung back. “What do you mean?”
I stood up. This wasn’t about some tweaker up in Kansas. This was about revenge. Whoever was doing this wasn’t about to get drunk and admit his crimes to anyone, let alone run his mouth off in a bar that was frequented by a chapter of the Kings of Mayhem. He was too calculating for that.
And I had a feeling it had something to do with the girl who fell off the water tower all those years ago.
Talia Bennett.
“I need to get something from home. I’ll be back.”
Bull tried to stop me. “You shouldn’t be out there alone. I’ll come with you.”
“No.” I headed for the door. “I’m probably the safest person in the club right now. He has Indy, so the last person he wants to cross paths with is me.”
INDY
I had blacked out again. I’m not sure when, or why. But when I woke up, morning light slid into the room via the small window on the far wall. My body was stiff and my wrists stung from the bindings. I was also dying to pee.
I tried calling out, but my throat was so dry I barely made a sound. As if on cue, the door to the room opened and I felt the same familiar male presence as before. I braced myself, waiting for another attack.
“I need to pee,” I croaked, now fully aware of my aching bladder. “And if you don’t want me making a mess of your sheets . . .”
He said nothing. He simply made sure my blindfold was secure before leaning down to undo my wrist binds.
I took the moment to try to work out who he was. Was that a familiar smell? Did I recognize it?
Yes, he smelled familiar.
“Get up,” he said gruffly when I was free.
Not sure if he was going to hit me again, I cautiously sat up. My head spun with pain and the blood whirling in my ears, and I had to bite back my fear as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Gingerly, I felt for the floor with my feet.
Where was I?
A pair of hands pulled me to my feet and then settled on my shoulders. With a shove, he pushed me across the room and through a doorway. Placing his hands back on my shoulders he hustled me along a corridor. I pushed my hands out in front of me, feeling in the air for anything I might walk into. My breathing was heavy and my pulse thumped wildly in my neck. Keep calm. Keep calm. Take in your surroundings. When my palms hit the doorframe in front of me, my captor shoved me again so I stumbled into the bathroom and fell.
When I climbed to my feet, he was right behind me.
“Don’t try anything stupid,” he whispered in my ear. I felt the unmistakable coolness of a blade against my throat. “Or I might have to get creative when I catch you.”
The door closed and I took a moment to calm myself. When I was sure I was alone I quickly ripped off my blindfold. Light stung my ey
es as I looked around me. I was dressed in nothing but my tank top and a pair of panties. My legs were cold and I was desperate for a drink, but I was more desperate to escape. I swung around, checking for a window to escape through, but the only window in the room was bolted closed.
Right. If escape wasn’t an option, then I needed to arm myself. I scanned the room for anything I could use as a weapon. Anything. But the room was sparse. I went to the medicine cabinet, hoping for a razor blade, a pair of scissors—something! But apart from a cake of soap, a tube of antiseptic cream, and some kind of body balm, there was nothing.
I closed the mirrored cabinet door and felt suddenly overwhelmed by the situation. My head dropped to my hands. I had to find something to protect myself with because this might be the only chance I got. Who knew what hell waited for me when I left this room?
Lifting my head, I stared at my gaunt reflection in the tarnished mirrored door. The wound to my lip had been deep but it had scabbed over. Blood from the pounding I had taken to my nose had caked beneath my nostrils. Both my eyes were black and I was already showing signs of dehydration.
I turned on the faucet and bent down so I could hungrily gulp back mouthfuls of cool water until I was breathless. Straightening, I wiped the water from my chin and tried to steady my nerves. I lifted my eyes to look at myself in the mirror.
You have to get out of here.
You have to fight.
My gaze shifted to the dirty hand towel hanging by the basin and a plan quickly formed in my mind. Grabbing it, I wrapped it around my arm before I took aim at the mirrored door with my elbow. I had no idea if this would work, or if it would alert my capturer to the fact I was disobeying his don’t try anything stupid demand. But I had to try.
I coincided a well-timed cough with smacking my elbow into the mirror. Pain shot up my arm to my jaw, and for a moment I saw stars, but my reward was the muffled crack of glass. Thankfully, it didn’t shatter into pieces and simply cracked at the point of contact.
With fingers caked in dried blood, I loosened a shard out of the mirror and rolled it about in my hand, getting a feel for it. Granted, it wasn’t a knife. Or a gun. But it could mean the difference between me surviving, or me dying.
Taking care of my need to pee, I considered my plan. As soon as my captor was close enough, I would stick the shard straight into his neck and run for my life. But I only had one chance, so I had to get it right. I would aim for the jugular and I wouldn’t miss. It would be quick and it would be lethal.
When I finished peeing, I stood up and headed for the door.
I drew in a deep breath. I didn’t know what waited for me on the other side, but whatever it was, I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Okay, you son of a bitch, let’s do this,” I whispered.
I opened the door slowly, inch by inch, holding my breath as I waited for it to be ripped open by my kidnapper. But as the second-story landing slowly came into view, I realized he wasn’t there.
I was alone.
I stood there for a moment, barely able to breathe, barely able to control my pounding heart. My eyes scanned my surroundings. I was on the second floor landing of what used to be a family home. But there was something old, faded, and unloved about the place. Pictures were missing off the walls and everything seemed yellowed and dusty in the dim light. It seemed lonely.
This is a trap.
To the right of me, a stairway led down to the second level.
Probably straight to the front door.
I strained to listen, trying to work out if my kidnapper was nearby, but the house was still and quiet.
Careful not to make a noise, I crept along the landing, gripping the makeshift shiv firmly in my hand, ready to use it. Taking each step with caution, I slowly made my way down the stairs, my knees weak and my heart pounding like it would beat out of my chest at any given second. I was almost at the bottom of the stairs and the front door was in sight. Two more steps and I could make a break for it—for freedom. The front door was glass and I was more than game to crash through it if it was locked.
One step.
Two steps.
As soon as my feet slapped the tiles, I made a run for the door and reached for the handle.
That’s when I heard him. His voice came from behind me.
“Nice of you to finally join me.”
I spun around and felt my brain tilt. My knees weakened and I dropped the shard of glass in my hands.
“You,” I breathed with disbelief.
CADE
The scrapbook was sitting on the dresser in our bedroom. Forgotten during the craziness of the last few weeks. My suspicion that all of this had started because of Talia Bennett’s death had returned. I could be wrong. The chances were farfetched. But I had to check it out and either eliminate it or pursue it.
I picked up the scrapbook. The top drawer where Indy kept her panties was slightly open, and when I glanced down to close it, something caught my eye. Tucked under a pair of white lace panties, the corner of it just visible, was a photo. I pulled it out and studied it. The image was grainy, all grey shadows, and in the corner it said, Baby Calley—9 weeks.
The realization hit me like a tsunami.
It was a sonogram.
Indy was pregnant.
The growl that erupted from somewhere deep inside me was as primal as it was fierce. In that one moment, I was insane with grief. Panic. Anger. Fear. It all collided inside of me, turning me feral with a need to do so many things. Find Indy. Protect her. Hold her and tell her I loved her for so many reasons, but also because she was having my baby. Then I wanted to kill the person who was behind all of this. Of all the pain and grief. All the agony. I would close my hand around their throat and watch their life drain away, my vengeance realized when their eyes stared into mine as their life ended.
I looked at the sonogram and images of a broken Jacob swung before my mind’s eye. Of him on his knees in front of Mirabella’s coffin, his head tilted back in agony as he cried for his dead, pregnant wife. My fear roared through me. But the warrior in me stood fierce against it. Whoever killed Mirabella had Indy, and I had to work out who it was.
I looked at the sonogram of my baby and felt a fierce protectiveness like I’d never known pulse in every beat of my heart. For a moment I was knocked on my ass by the thought. Indy hadn’t said a thing to me about it, but I knew why. She wouldn’t have wanted to distract me until my trip to Kansas was over, and the thought sent a rolling wave of guilt crashing through me. I looked at the date printed on the sonogram. It was from yesterday. Last night, when I had made love to my queen, she knew she was pregnant with my baby. But I was so focused on my quest for revenge, she didn’t tell me.
Gently putting the sonogram into the breast pocket of my cut like it was a delicate treasure, I opened the scrapbook and flipped over the pages until I found the news article of Talia Bennett’s death.
I studied the black and white image of a smiling Talia and the familiarity of her smile struck me. My skin prickled. I had seen a smile just like hers recently. But where? Frustrated, I peeled the newspaper article from the scrapbook and shoved it into my back pocket. As I rode back to the clubhouse, the question rolled around in my brain. Then Churchill’s came back to me.
Sometimes the very thing we should be afraid of is in our own home.
That’s when it clicked. That’s when the pieces slowly started to move together.
“You took your sweet time,” Bull said when I arrived back.
I didn’t answer. I brushed past him, Caleb and Maverick and thundered through the clubhouse toward the long corridor where we had our showcase. Behind the glass was a ton of memorabilia of past and present club members. I scanned past the rows of scrapbooks, framed photographs, and the dog tags and cuts of the original seven who were now dead, until I came to a couple of photographs side by side. One was of a GI, his body rigid, his face severe with focus as he looked into the scope of his sniper rifle. Beside it was
a smiling photo of the same GI. I held the photo up of Talia until their smiles were side by side.
They were the same.
INDY
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The monster who had kidnapped me and kept me tied to a bed for a day wasn’t a monster at all. He was a friend.
“Surprise.”
Elias Knight sat in a chair with his arms folded, his legs parted, and a smug look on his face.
I felt dazed.
Elias. The mild-mannered biker whom I had grown so fond of.
My shoulders sagged.
“No . . . ” I whispered.
His smug grin grew. “Afraid so, Indy.”
I felt gutted.
“Why?” Momentarily my fight left me. I thought we were friends.
Elias looked perplexed, like he was genuinely surprised that I hadn’t worked it all out yet. “You really haven’t figured it out?”
I shook my head. “No.”
I tried to swallow but my mouth was too dry and my throat too parched. Elias’s eyes darkened as they focused on me and his grin slowly faded.
“She was my sister,” he said with a dark edge to his voice. “My twin sister.”
It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about, and with the realization came a rush of panic and confusion. “Talia?”
His brows dug in. “Yes, Talia.”
My hungry, dehydrated brain struggled to process what was happening. I shook my head as if I could dislodge some of the fog. “So this was all about revenge?”
“Somebody had to make them pay for what they did,” he said, his eyes hard and sharp.
I felt dazed. “But they didn’t kill her.”
“They might as well have.”
“They were your brothers,” I whispered. “You rode beside them for six years. Six years, Elias.”
“What can I say, I’m patient,” he said with a weird calm.
Again, I shook my head to try and clear the fog. “Why did you join the club that you blame for your sister’s death?”