He turned in a futile circle, verifying nothing had changed in the past few seconds, taking in the nearly empty state of the rooms, then snorted and said aloud, “Maybe you shoulda shared those plans with your woman, you stupid fucktard. She got stupid shit in her head with you standing right beside her. What the fuck did you think would happen in three weeks with you two goddamned, fucking states away?”
Pulling out his phone, he checked the time. Too late in the morning to find her at the diner, because she would already be off shift there. He found her number and called it, noting the last missed call from her had been more than two weeks ago. He vaguely remembered a text and an unheard voicemail now buried under the ones from club members. Fuck.
Putting the phone to his ear, he growled when he got the tones saying her pre-paid piece of shit technology hadn’t been paid and couldn’t take a message. Fuck. Dialing another number, he put the phone to his ear, waiting. “Jase,” he greeted, and then hurried on, speaking over the return hello, “Hope said she was working at a couple different places for the club. Do you have a schedule for her?”
“Uh, nope. I trust our employees to keep track of their own work schedules.” He heard the humor in Jase’s voice when he asked, “You misplace your woman, Hoss? Damn, brother. Haven’t you learned you should do a better job keeping track of important things like that? Lost your woman, shit. Sucks for you.”
“Captain.” The tension in his voice quieted his friend’s laughter with the single word, and then he asked, “She talk to you about moving?”
There was noise on the other end of the phone then Jase’s voice, tight with sudden concern, questioned, “Moving? No, not a word. What do you mean?”
“I’m back in town, standing in the apartment, and her shit is all gone. Furniture is here, but nothing of hers. Some of Mercy’s things are even still here, but nothing belonging to Hope or Sammy. Nothing except the sheets from his bed, clean and folded in a pile atop the bare mattress. Her fucking phone’s disconnected.”
He walked to the kitchen. “I found bags of canned and boxed groceries on the counter in the kitchen. Did you have a prospect make a food run like I asked?” That was one of the things he had done alongside club business, making sure she knew he would be taking care of her, even if he weren't physically here. There was an affirmative noise on the phone, so he said, “Cut the fucking prospect, then, because it looks like all he did was dump the stuff and leave. Didn’t twig to the fact no one fucking lived here.”
“Fuck,” Jase said softly, and he nodded.
“Fuck, indeed. If you don’t have a schedule for her…fuck, Jase. I ain’t waiting on tomorrow morning to see if she’ll show at the diner.” Hoss turned a tight circle again, feeling caged. “Let me know if you hear anything. I gotta find her, man. With everything that went down recently…I can’t…she can’t be…” He swallowed, unable to continue the path that thought was taking him, and he heard an assenting noise from the phone. Disconnecting the call, he dialed another number and again held the phone to his ear.
“Hoss,” he said tightly, identifying himself for the man on the other end of the line.
“My friend,” Fury said, warm pleasure threading through his voice.
“Fucking kills me to ask this, but did you know Hope moved?” He clenched his jaw at the shocked suck of air he heard, knowing the answer even before the man spoke.
“No. What the fuck? She moved? When?” The curt questions, barked commandingly, made his hands curl into fists. He pushed his anger down, knowing where Fury was coming from was a place of sincere concern.
“I’m standing in her fucking apartment and all her shit is gone, man. I’ve been out of town on business for a few weeks, and her shit is gone.” Walking over to the kitchen counter, he picked up the objects he found there. “Looks like her keys are here. She ain’t coming back; that’s clear. Is she still working at Murphy’s?”
“Yeah. Give me five.” Without saying anything else, the call disconnected, and Hoss stood there, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Shaking his head, he took a jerky step backwards, leaning a hip against the countertop. Thumb moving quickly on his phone, he tapped out a message to Deke, hoping Mercy would know something.
Eyes unfocused, staring at the wall opposite where he stood, he found his gaze tracing the elegant lines of the woodwork that made up the cabinets. The delicate swirls etched into the door swept downward, a dark cherry stain fading to blonde wood where over the years it had been handled countless times by unthinking hands. Beauty waning down to worn and tired through lack of care. The buzzing of the phone in his hand startled him, and he lifted it so he could see the display. A text from Jase read, Call.
Dialing the number, he waited in silence, and then DeeDee’s soft voice filled his ears, soothing him. “Hoss, honey. Jonny knows something. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll call you with what I find out. But, they weren’t taken, honey. They were not taken.” Grunting in response, he disconnected the call, not wanting her to know how deep his fear ran.
The innocents on the fringes of club life were the ones who always paid the highest price when things went sideways, and the Rebels certainly had their fair share of sideways shit in the past few years.
Mercy was a prime example, because only a few months ago, a member gone rogue, exposed as a traitor in their ranks, had turned on her in his anger. He had been dealt with, but not until after he got his hands on her. The motherfucker cranked her up, getting her so high on the potent powder she nearly died from the overdose. Then he took his hands to her, choking and beating her until her features had been unrecognizable on her face for days.
Having confidence Hope had left of her own volition let him take the first free breath since he walked into the apartment.
DeeDee wouldn’t have said those words unless she believed them, because she knew the risk a relationship with a one-percenter bought, would know the fear he harbored the instant he knew Hope was gone.
His phone rang, the noise startling him more than the vibration had moments before. Lifting it to his ear, he said, “Talk to me.”
“She didn’t tell Dale anything about moving, but he said she’s been real quiet for the past couple of weeks. Withdrawn, instead of outgoing. Down. Sad.” Clipped and curt, Fury’s tone reflected the frustration Hoss felt. “He’s calling one of the cooks now, gonna see if she said anything to Green. Her fucking phone’s out of minutes, too.”
Sammy’s only request, his only ask was I not make Hope sad. Fuck. “Captain’s old lady called; her boy might know something. I’m waiting for a call back.” His voice cracked, but he clamped down on that shit. “Seems she didn’t tell anyone.”
“You didn’t catch wind of anything, man? I know you were out of town, but she didn’t let on she was leaving or moving or any shit like that?” Fury’s question stung, not because he meant it to, but because Hoss had been stupid, thinking she would know what he was planning because of a single statement he made days before he dropped out of contact.
“Didn’t talk to her,” he responded, voice low and quiet.
“Gone for fucking weeks and you didn’t speak to her?” Fury’s voice was unbelieving, and Hoss thought he probably deserved that.
“Club business is shit, man. Takes us away when we would least prefer, and for however long the club needs us. You of most should know how this shit works, what it takes to keep things under control and stable.” Fuck him. I’ll throw it right back at the man. “When’s the last time you fucking talked to her?”
“Oh, no, brother. You do not get to go there, man. You made it real fucking clear Hope was no business of mine, Hoss. Made it clear to me you felt you already had a patch on that. You’re veep of the local chapter of the club I’m looking to fold my men into. I am not going to fuck my entire club in the ass over a woman who runs from me to you, waking on my fucking lap with your name coming from her goddamned perfect mouth. Why the fuck would I go out of my way to talk to her, when all that was clear as a
fucking church bell ringing on a Sunday morning?” Hoss frowned at the tone, but he couldn’t argue with Fury’s words.
“You’re right, man,” he said quietly as his phone buzzed. Glancing at the display, he said quickly, “Got a call coming in. I’ll text if I learn anything.” He picked up the incoming call, eyes closed in concentration, brow heavily furrowed. “Yeah?”
Jase cleared his throat, anger clear in his voice. “Seems we have a problem, brother.”
“What the fuck?” Opening his eyes, he stared at the worn wood for a moment and then transferred his gaze to the scuffed toes of his boots. Everywhere he looked, things were used…damaged. Fuck.
“Well, seems Sammy don’t much like you. And, my Jonny? He says he don’t like you either, because you made Miss Hope cry. It sounds like you worked hard for about a minute and won her boy over, eh? Gave Sammy an idea you gave a shit about his mom, and him.
Jase scoffed, contempt clear in his tone. “Now? He don’t like you. Not at all. You told his mom you wanted them both to live with you, but then you went away, just like his daddy did. You left, and then Mercy left, and Hope somehow got it in her head they had to move. Not your direction either, but into a place that makes Sammy’s skin crawl with fear. And now? Now he thinks you both walked away, you and Mercy both, brother. A boy like that starting to depend on you, and you fucking walk away? No calls, no nothing? You don’t even ask me to talk to her and explain? What the fuck were you thinking?” Jase took a deep breath, blew it out in frustration.
Hoss clamped his lips closed, painfully aware he didn’t have any rebuttal, no position of defense, because everything Jase said was true.
After a minute, voice tight, Jase continued, “It sounds like he and Hope are living in some dive of an studio apartment far down on the south-east side. Either it’s all she thought she could afford, or she didn’t know the area yet, but it’s as if she intentionally picked the worst of the worst neighborhoods, man.”
He took a breath, and Hoss heard something in the background, and then Jase grunted. “We got a general location, but no address, brother. I’ve reached out to Reno. We’ll see if he can slap us an assist. He’s an officer of the club that owns that part of town. A pretty, golden-haired white woman with a little nub of a boy moving in where she did will have caused waves, and he’s our best bet to know where the fuck she is.”
He didn’t say anything, just disconnected the call. “Fuck,” he roared, his arm stopping short of sweeping the groceries off the counter and to the floor. He stood, quivering with rage at himself, because he didn’t know how to do this, didn’t know how to make this right. How to fix it when he found her.
Only vaguely aware of the days as they passed, he had been focused first on the business at hand, which had been ugly and dangerous, potential for fucking up hundreds of lives in the front of his mind every day, and then on arranging things for her in a way that filled him with sweet expectation. Meanwhile, she was back here in the Fort, doggedly making her own way, thinking he had walked out of her life. Walked away from them. Discarded her like her parents had done. Not worth the effort of even a text.
She had no one to count on in her past, no one to take her back ever, and he had been stupid to think she would understand or believe she could rely on him. He fucking knew better, and he still let the days slip through his fingers. Tick tock, winding down, stripping away any expectation of confidence and faith she might have had.
He knew Reno, knew the man was trustworthy. If he had any inkling Hope belonged to the Rebels, he would have issued a no-touch order soon as he knew who she was. That kind of order was only good as long as it was club, though. If there were bangers in her area, all bets would be off. And on the south-east side of town? Fuck, he thought, all bets are off.
His phone buzzed and he looked at the display to see names and times. Jase had tracked a schedule after all. DRT Transportation, a trucking company owned by Daniel Rupert, a friend of the club. Rupert’s brother, Dickie, ran the local office, and that’s where she was right now. He copied the text, forwarding it to Fury with a location to meet. Moving fast, he swung around the end of the counter, dropping the apartment keys back where Hope had left them, once again walking away without looking back.
***
“Thanks, Dickie,” Hope called, jumping into her car. “I’m sorry, but it sounds like Sammy’s not feeling well.” Lifting one hand in a brief wave at her boss, her car door gave a groaning creak as she pulled it shut and then buckled in. Focusing on traffic, she didn’t pay attention to the vehicles in the lane behind her, not noticing even when they followed her through several turns.
Gliding to a stop when the light ahead turned red, she finally recognized the ringing sounds of motorcycle exhaust pipes nearby, and her breath stopped in her chest when she glanced in her rearview mirror. Fury was there, framed in the small reflective surface, white teeth flashing in his deep red beard when he gained her attention.
He nodded and pointed to the right, so she was already turning that direction just as knuckles tapped firmly on the passenger window. Tap-tap-tap. Jumping in her seat, her heart raced fast, beating erratically when she saw Hoss right beside her car. He had ridden his bike up on the line separating the lanes and now sat, staring at her. Jaw set in a hard line, he had pulled his sunglasses off and his gaze traveled across her face, eyes narrowed, brow creased in a hard frown.
With a jerk of his head, he motioned forward, rolling his bike up past, and then roaring ahead of her when the light turned green. She followed him, aware of Fury riding feet from her rear bumper, the two men bracketing her in the heavy, mid-day traffic. When Hoss turned off the road into a shopping plaza parking lot, she drove in behind him, letting him lead her to an empty corner of the lot.
With a practiced gaze, she swept the area, seeing there were two different exits from this section of the lot, noting it would be only dimly lit at night. Hands automatically reaching for her seat belt, she shuddered at where her thoughts had taken her then jumped and cowered away from her door when a sharp rapping sounded next to her head. Tap-tap-tap.
Hoss was already off his bike and leaning against her car. Hands bracing him, palms pressed to the metal strip next to the window, his head was lowered so he could look inside the vehicle. Look at her, fierce emotion twisting his features. Through clenched teeth, he demanded, “Hope, open the goddamned fucking door.” Crap, he sounds pissed. “Right the fuck now, Hope.”
She reached out and slipped the keys from the ignition, pushing them deep into the pocket of her jeans before unlocking and beginning to open the door. The handle wrenched out of her hands when he jerked the door wide, and then his hands were on her upper arms and she found herself pulled from the vehicle to her feet. Gaze locked on his face, she felt as if there were a vacuum around her, and his voice calling her name came from far away. He is so mad at me, she thought. Why is he so mad? I haven’t seen him in weeks and he’s mad?
“Shit, Hoss. I’ve seen that look before. She’s gonna faint, brother.” Fury’s voice was close, but she couldn’t pay him any attention, because Hoss’ face filled her vision as much as the pain filled her head, and she watched as the anger and hurt on display there dissolved into a sharp, worried fear before fading away entirely.
“Hope?” This came from nearby, the concerned question sounding right above her head. She struggled to open her eyes, lids fluttering for a moment before they opened partway. “Baby, you with me?” Forcing her eyes wide, she saw Hoss’ face inches from hers and flinched back in surprise. “Hope, baby…what happened?”
Turning her head, she saw she was on the ground next to her car, lying on the hot pavement. Twisting the other way, she saw Fury squatted down a couple of feet away, concern clear on his face. He lifted two fingers in a brief wave then his hand fell, elbow propped on his knee, the intense blue of his gaze never leaving her.
“I’m okay. Let me up.” Struggling against Hoss’ hands, he had gotten down on his knees next to her,
one strong arm underneath her shoulders. “You startled me; that’s all. Let me up,” she repeated. “I have to go. Hoss, let me go.” She heard the tears in her voice. Her eyes dipped closed again as pain bloomed behind her forehead, and she drew in breath with a hiss.
“Baby.” She heard Hoss say something to Fury then his hands were moving on her, setting her on his lap, positioned so she was leaning into him. “Where were you headed?” She winced; his voice was so loud, echoing in her head, setting up a painful resonance there.
Squeezing her eyes shut tightly, she gritted out, “The Foundation, they called DRT and said Sammy needed me.”
Fury said, “Brother? You think that was Captain?” The pain was ebbing as quickly as it came on, and she squinted, seeing Fury with his phone to his ear. “Captain? It’s Fury. I’m with Hoss. Did you call—” He paused, then said, “Gotcha. ‘S all good, then? Yeah.” With a grin at her, he said, “They were trying to find you. Everything’s okay. Your son is fine.” Attention back to the phone, he said, “Yeah, we got her.” She pulled in a breath then twisted to see Hoss looking down at her.
“Let me up.” Even to her ears, her voice sounded thin, reedy and weak, so she wasn’t surprised when he shook his head, rejecting her request.
“Not until you get a little color back, baby.” His hand lifted to her face, fingers gently pushing the hair out of her eyes. “You’re looking better, but you scared the fuck outta me, Hope. I nearly didn’t get my arms around you in time to stop your fall.” He leaned in, clearly going for a kiss, and then frowned when she turned her head slightly, his lips touching her jaw instead of her lips. “What the fuck, Hope?” His question and tone revealed he was angry again, his worry for her suddenly swept away by returning frustration.
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