EDGE OF REASON

by Barker, Freya

  When there’s no answer, I turn around and promptly drop the bowl on the floor when I catch sight of him.

  The boy who’d been so sweet and attentive with River when we were at the club, is now holding my son, pressing the barrel of a gun against his golden blond hair. I hardly hear it when my phone starts to ring, drowned out by the sound of my heart pounding in my ears.

  “Please…” The plea automatically leaves my lips.

  “Oh Lord,” Mom’s whisper comes from somewhere behind me.

  “Please, give me my son. You can have me.”

  His laugh is maniacal and my heart stops when River cries out when he’s shaken roughly. “Why’d we want you? You’re nuttin’ but a stupid vessel. The boy was ours all along.”

  Desperate, I take a step closer, reaching for my son, but Matt backs up, River screaming when he grinds the barrel into the baby’s skull.

  “Please don’t hurt him,” I plead, lifting my hands defensively.

  “Then don’t move.”

  Behind him the door opens and a blonde woman steps inside. “Give him to me.”

  My relief is instant when Matt turns the gun to point at me, but then he releases my child to the woman, who immediately disappears out the door, my baby in her arms.

  “No!” I cry, my only thought for my son as I take off after her, when something heavy slams my chest and takes me off my feet.

  The last thing I remember is my mother’s screams.

  CHAPTER 28

  Trunk

  ONCE AGAIN, WE’RE the last to arrive.

  We couldn’t have missed Chains’s place if we tried. The guys rode their bikes right up to the house. Not exactly a cautious approach, but that would’ve been difficult anyway in the middle of the day.

  “Give him up, Chains!” Ouray yells, standing beside his bike.

  Kaga and Red flank him on either side, all three with their arms crossed over their chests. The rest of the men have taken up similar positions beside their bikes. A challenge, making for easy targets, but at the same time letting the men inside know they’re facing a united front.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket but I ignore it.

  Movement from one of the front windows proves they’re keeping a close eye. I’m sure the men inside have their weapons at the ready, and it wouldn’t take much for one of them to start shooting.

  “Fuck off! Think I’ll hold on to him until you agree to my proposal! Send him back to you in parts to keep you motivated.”

  “Not gonna happen,” Ouray shouts back. “Push this agenda and you will go down.”

  “You’re challenging my club?” The wild cackle that follows sends a shiver down my back. He sounds like a man who’s so high on his own power; he’s lost touch with reality.

  “No. Just you. Your brothers aren’t here, Chains, why do you think that is? You don’t have the club behind you, how do you think we got here?”

  Ouray is walking a fine line, challenging and provoking him. I’m not sure it’s a smart move. Then I hear the sound of loud voices from inside the house.

  Maybe Ouray is smarter than I gave him credit for—they’re arguing. Divide and conquer, just like Chains tried with the Arrow’s Edge.

  The phone buzzes again.

  “Any of you can walk away free and clear, no consequences.” He’s clearly addressing the two other guys inside.

  “Bullshit!” Chains yells, followed by more arguing from inside.

  Voices are raised and snippets of the loud exchange drift out: “…I didn’t sign up for this…” and “…do as I say…”

  Then suddenly the sharp cracks of gunshots have everyone instinctively ducking for cover. Immediately all guns are out and aimed at the house.

  Sounds of a scuffle and then a voice we haven’t heard before yells, “He’s down! Don’t fucking shoot! I’m coming out!”

  I stay low behind the truck. This could easily be a ploy.

  Then the front door opens and a bunch of guns get tossed out, right before one of the guys comes in view, his hands raised high. The second guy is close behind him. A few of the brothers rush up and quickly secure them, while Ouray and Red disappear into the house, guns drawn.

  “Trunk! Get your ass in here!” I hear Ouray calling from inside.

  There I find him leaning over Yuma’s prone body, blood still actively flowing from a hole in his left shoulder. I vaguely register a second body nearby. “Whada you need?”

  “You’re a doctor, do something,” he snaps, panic in his voice. I understand why, there’s no color left in Yuma’s face.

  “I’m a fucking psychologist!” I yell, struggling to remember first aid basics.

  Airway, check. Breathing, check, albeit shallow. Circulation…I try to find a pulse with the fingers of my left hand and locate a thready one. It isn’t much, but better than none. Now to stop the fucking bleeding.

  “Find me some towels.”

  Ouray rushes off but before he returns, a hand lands on my shoulder. One of Red’s men is leaning over me. “Move out of the way, brother. I’ve got this. Army medical corps.”

  Relieved, I scramble to my feet and glance over at the body of Chains. Except he’s not dead, yet. Blood bubbles up from his mouth as his body seems to fight for air, but his fucking eyes are wide open and staring at me. As I watch life slide from his eyes, once more my phone vibrates.

  Someone is clearly trying to get in touch with me, and suddenly a cold fist closes around my heart. I pull it out to see Jaimie’s home number.

  “Yeah?”

  “Trunk, it’s Joe. Fuck, man.”

  _______________

  I’ve never rode bitch before, but I’m grateful for the solid form in front of me.

  Being the only one with a truck, Honon had to get Yuma over to the nearest emergency care, but Ouray immediately pulled me to his bike. Taking charge at a moment when I was frozen with indecision.

  My mind conjures up images of Jaimie with a bullet hole in the chest, and I want to rush to her side, but I know Ouray is right: best thing we can do for her is find River. I’m sick at the thought of what might happen to James, or of that little man hurt or scared in any way.

  I don’t have the full story yet, but apparently Ezrah hid out of sight when Matt showed up at the house. He knew who Matt was and was able to place the woman with him as well. He identified them as the seventeen-year-old son and an older daughter of the Hinckle family his nana works for. They weren’t able to get much more from him—he was too scared and upset—other than to mention a gravel pit behind the big house. Joe told us local law enforcement in Moab and FBI had been dispatched and to let them do their job. He also mentioned Ramirez was taking Sandra and Ezrah to follow the ambulance to the hospital. The thought of Ramirez being there instead of me burned in my gut.

  “Let’s go get that baby,” Ouray had said, despite the fact it would be about a two-hour ride from Moab, and I shook off the irrational jealousy.

  Kaga stayed at the scene with a few of Red’s men to get what information they can from the two Moab Reds, but the rest of the guys, both from the Arrow’s Edge and the Mesa Riders, are right behind us.

  With nothing better to keep my mind occupied than imagining a world without the woman who owns my heart, I attempt to distract myself with the bits and pieces of information, trying to fit them all in some coherent pattern, but there are still big holes and question marks.

  I can only assume Matt landing on our doorstep was an intentional move. Especially after hearing that family name—Hinckle—the same family Jaimie’s ex was associated with. The same family whose bat-shit crazy daughter Margaret had it in for my sister just last year. James Hinckle, a former member of the Utah Senate, was already well-known to the FBI for his associations with militant and white supremacist groups.

  Couple him with Rob Sutherland and his American Nationalist League, and add the Moab Reds led by Chains, and the picture becomes downright scary.

  Power, radicalism, and weapons. A deadly
triad.

  Jaimie

  It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest.

  I groan at the pain when I try to suck in a deep breath of air.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” I hear my mother’s voice nearby.

  I blink my eyes open and squinting against the stark light, I can just make out her face looming over me.

  “Mom?” I croak, and immediately her hand is there, brushing my cheek.

  “It’ll be okay, honey. It’ll all be okay,” she murmurs. “You were so lucky. The bullet hit your sternum and deflected into soft tissue. They were able to remove it easily. You have a few stitches here and there, and probably feel like you were hit by a truck—not to mention the bump where you hit your head hard going down—but you should be fine.”

  I’m confused at first but torturously slowly the memories return.

  The boy’s bloodied face, except it had been a ruse. The gun in his hand pressed against my son’s silky, white-blond hair. The large, fearful eyes taking up all of River’s little face. The strange woman taking him and running from my house. The sharp impact even before I heard the shot; followed by Mom’s screams.

  “River?”

  I feel her hands wiping the tears from my face.

  “They’ll find him, sweetheart. You’ll see. Trunk won’t rest until we have our baby back.”

  “Trunk?” I’m desperately trying to grab onto any single one of the many things tumbling through my brain.

  “Joe talked to him.”

  I nod, a sharp stab radiating from my head down my spine which I ignore as I try to sit up, working my unwilling legs over the edge of the mattress.

  “Whoa, Jaimie. You need to stay put.” In my dazed state, I’m not even surprised to see Tony Ramirez walk up to me. He firmly lifts my legs into bed and pushes me back down.

  “I need to get out,” I mumble, incoherent even to my own ears. “My baby,” I try to explain.

  “Listen to me,” he says leaning over me. “Everyone is out there looking, and aside from that your mother is right: Trunk will not stop until he finds your son.”

  “You can’t know that,” I cry out, trying to push him away, but he grabs my hands and carefully brings them down to my sides.

  “I can, because that’s what I would do.”

  I don’t have a chance to examine the sadness flashing in those normally playful brown eyes, when a nurse walks in and the detective takes a few steps back to make room for her.

  “Good to see you awake,” she says much too cheerfully. “Let me have a quick look.”

  “Where are you going?” I ask Mom, when I see her moving toward the door.

  “I’ll be right back. Just checking on Ezrah.” Before I can protest she slips out of the door.

  “He’s with Luna in the waiting room,” Tony clarifies, as the nurse straps a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

  Guilt wars with the almost paralyzing fear, realizing I hadn’t even thought of him yet. “Jesus, Ezrah.”

  “He’s fine.” I can only hear Tony’s voice since the nurse is shining a penlight in my eyes.

  “The doctor will be in to check on you shortly,” she says as she leaves, apparently satisfied with her findings.

  But my focus is on Tony, who continues talking the moment she disappears through the door. “Without that kid we wouldn’t have the first clue where to start.”

  I listen in shock when he tells me what the boy shared. I recognize that name quite well and red-hot anger shoots through my veins, making my head throb. Fucking Rob Sutherland.

  The flare of rage disappears when the door opens and Mom leads a scared-looking Ezrah in the room.

  “I thought he should see for himself you’re going to be okay. He didn’t really believe me.”

  My eyes fill when I see his do the same.

  “I’m going to be fine,” I tell him. “I promise.” He nods his head, even as his bottom lip quivers and a thick tear rolls down his face. Poor kid is breaking my heart. “Come here, buddy.”

  He shuffles toward me until I can reach his arm and pull him closer. His head drops to my shoulder and I wince, but keep him right there, my hand resting on his dreads.

  “S-sorry,” he hiccups, his shoulders shaking.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, honey. Not a thing.”

  “Shoulda told ya, but I was scared.”

  Mom walks up and sits in the chair beside the bed, gently turning Ezrah toward her. “You heard Agent Roosberg, right? She’s going to make sure nothing happens to your nana or your sister. You did good, telling her everything.”

  “What about River?” he asks.

  I answer this time, letting the same confidence Tony and my mother feel fill my heart.

  “Trunk will bring him home to us.”

  An impish little smile forms on his lips. “Yeah. He’s badass.”

  Trunk

  Fucking cried like a baby.

  The moment we arrived at what looked more like a reformatory school than a house, Red was off talking to some police officers he apparently knew. The whole place was lit up like Christmas against a darkening sky, and the presence of law enforcement was visible everywhere.

  An FBI agent with a familiar face walks up to us, lifting his chin to Ouray before focusing on me.

  “We met at Ms. Belcamp’s house,” he says by way of introduction. “The Ken doll?”

  Right, now I remember him.

  He holds out his hand and I shake it. “Name’s Dylan Barnes. I just got some good news I wanted to pass on, in case you haven’t heard.”

  I could do with some good news.

  “Agent Roosberg—Luna, he corrects himself—called to let us know it looks like Ms. Belcamp will be okay. She’s awake and talking.”

  That’s when it happened.

  Shee-it.

  Hot tears spill over and carve a path through the dirt accumulated on my face after two hours on the back of a bike, without protection from the elements, with the fear of Jaimie dead driving me to the edge of reason.

  “I need a fucking smoke,” I mutter, pulling the pack from my pocket and lighting it up.

  “Gimme one,” Ouray holds out his hand.

  Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and try to collect myself.

  “Thanks, man. That’s…that’s a fucking relief,” I tell the agent. “What about the baby? Any news?”

  “Highway patrol, in conjunction with various other agencies, has set up roadblocks along Highway 191. It’s a waiting game. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  He jogs away, just as Red returns. Ouray quickly fills him in.

  “Fucking great news, brother,” he booms, clapping me on the shoulder. “Ready for some more dirt? This place is insane. Hinckle has four kids. Three girls, one boy, all adults, and one of the girls is in jail. Yet they found five unidentified males between ten and sixteen in the house. All fuckin’ dressed in some kind of camo uniform, and get this: they all fuckin’ look identical. Blond hair, blue eyes, ice cold.”

  Just like Matt. That’s the first thought that pops in my head. The next one is: and like River. A shiver runs down my spine, and I’m not sure whether it’s this place or the bad weather that’s been threatening all afternoon.

  “…Some kind of training facility. They’ve set up some kind of parkour in the gravel pit behind the house, with moving targets for crying out loud.”

  I try to keep track of what Red is saying, but my mind drifts to Jaimie and how scared she must be. Fuck, I’m scared.

  A black SUV comes down the drive a few minutes later. The passenger window rolling down as it stops beside us. Agent Barnes is behind the wheel.

  “Hop in. Highway patrol just stopped them north of Monticello.”

  I don’t have to think. I’m in the passenger seat in a flash, not even thinking about the brothers I leave standing beside their bikes.

  My family comes first.

  CHAPTER 29

  Trunk

  “FUCK.”


  I feel Agent Barnes’s eyes on me as I dig my phone from my pocket.

  “What? Forget something?”

  “You could say that.”

  These past hours my thoughts have been so preoccupied with Jaimie and River, I dropped the ball.

  “Talk to me,” Ouray answers.

  “Ezrah’s grandmother and baby sister. Find out about them? Can’t believe I fucking forgot.”

  “Give yourself a break, brother. Been a hell of a day.”

  “Not over yet,” I remind him, adding, “Hang on a sec,” when Barnes holds up his hand.

  “Tell him to get hold of Special Agent Grand. He’s in charge of the scene there.”

  I relay the information to Ouray, who promises to take care of it.

  “How’d you get here so fast anyway?” I ask the agent when I end the call.

  “I was already in Monticello. I’ve been part of a task force investigating the Hinckle family since your sister became a target last year. We already had search warrants ready to go, and were in the middle of strategizing our approach, when the call came in about the baby. It just moved our agenda up by a few days,” he explains.

  “Did you know about the kids?”

  “Not until we went in there. We knew they had some kind of training facility, but had no idea it was kids they were preparing for warfare. Pretty disturbing. My wife and I have four boys, it hit a little too close to home.”

  No shit. My professional brain is trying to process what would be required to undo the psychological damage done to those kids. I can see it now, they’d likely targeted kids from broken families—maybe from the street—who craved some guidance, some place to belong. It wouldn’t be hard to turn boys with that need for connection into a devoted army of men.

  A ping on my phone has me look down at the screen.

  Ouray: Talked to Grand. Grandma and girl safe in FBI custody. Stickin around ‘til I know where they’ll be.

  We make it to the roadblock in half an hour. The moment I see the large number of flashing lights up ahead, my heart is in my throat.