by Debra Kayn
"Watch yourself, Prez." Brage clasped Roar's hand. "Stay alert."
Roar nodded. "Ride steady."
"Mhm," muttered Brage.
He lifted his arm and circled his hand in the air. Every member in his crew sat their seat. Getting on his Harley, he heard someone in the back start the chant.
"Slag."
"Slag."
"Slag," said Brage, joining the others.
Helmet strapped. Sunglasses on. He brought the motorcycle to life and led the men forward. All his attention on the game ahead of him.
Roar signaled. He accelerated, taking the first section of Slag members onto the interstate. Vehicles passed him. He rode around the trucks in the slow lane. Hell, he watched the fucking clouds in the sky, trying to predict every inconvenience before it could happen.
Twenty minutes later, his cell in his shirt pocket vibrated against his chest. He looked at the nearest exit sign. Right on time.
There would be no more reminders. He held his men at the same speed. The early morning hours afforded them less traffic to deal with. He signaled, taking everyone off the highway.
Until they pulled onto the Interstate again, they wouldn't come into contact with Brikken members. They'd have no clue they were going to get stopped with a visit from Slag.
Riding on the backroad for five miles, he led his crew back onto the Interstate. His gaze committed to looking in the side mirror, he cut his speed down to fifty-five miles an hour.
Three minutes later, a semi showed up in his view. He looked over his shoulder. Shit.
There was a lone car traveling in the fast lane. If he waited for the vehicle to pass, it would put them behind schedule. Making a decision for the club, he signaled for everyone to spread out and take up both lanes going south.
Keeping an eye on the car, he would have to hope the driver pushed through. Most times, seeing a large group of bikers, people would hang back, afraid of passing them.
The semi shifted. He gritted his teeth. Brikken was going to try and run.
He circled his hand in the air, making eye contact with Viktor riding to the side of him. Patting his stomach, he then dipped his hand in the air, relying on signals, and pointed. They'd need to let the car go past.
The Slag members moved into one lane. He slowed, checking his speed. They were down to thirty-five.
A gray vehicle sped by. Thankful for the reprieve, he locked his brakes and turned his Harley coming to a stop. The others followed him.
Totally blocking both lanes, the Slag members stood in solidarity. The Brikken semi would have to plow through them all to get away.
The space between them shortened. In the distance, black dots appeared on the highway. He inhaled deeply. The approaching Slag members were locked into position.
With an eighty-thousand-pound semi-truck and trailer headed straight toward him, his mind slipped to Dinah back at the clubhouse. Would she be okay on her own if something happened to him? Would she find her happiness? Would the Reed brothers and Moroad leave her alone to live in peace? Would she ever find the family she desperately needed?
The grinding of Jake brakes came through the rumbling of the motorcycles. The tension about dying and leaving Dinah on her own eased, replaced with a hyper-awareness of the situation going down.
The fifty-man Brikken crew pinched between the Slag riders surrounded the semi and slowed. Brage's hand tightened, and he stretched his fingers, fighting the urge to grab the pistol at his back.
He glanced at Roar and the men blocking the lanes, making sure no upcoming vehicles distracted the meeting. They only had minutes, if not seconds, to make their presence hit the other MC hard.
At a stop, one Brikken member got off his motorcycle and stormed toward Brage. He took in the situation and recognized Jett Stanton, the club's president.
"Move the fucking bikes." Jett held a pistol in his left hand.
A few years back, there were rumors about Jett injuring his right hand in prison, leaving it useless. The way he held the gun and the confidence behind his ability to use his left had made Brage doubt the stories.
Brage strode forward. "Recognized your colors, man. Wanted to check in and give our welcome."
"It's not Slag territory." Jett stopped ten feet from him. "Move, or we spill blood."
"Respect, Stanton." He let his gaze travel to the semi. "I don't think you want to risk your load." He stepped toward the truck and swung back around to face Jett. "What's a shipment bring to the club? Twenty...thirty thousand a load every six weeks?"
Jett remained close-lipped. Brage whistled. It would be a huge boost to the pot.
"There're a lot of risks..." Brage clicked his tongue. "Between what? Tacoma and Northern California?" He looked Jett straight in his dark eyes. "A lot of fucking risks along the way."
"Is that a threat, Olden?" Jett's gaze narrowed.
"Just a friendly observance." Brage held up his hands and backed up a step. "Be careful on your route. There's a lot of hidden dangers out there. The Feds and shit get wind of your load, you'll be gripping prison bars with both hands instead of your Harley."
He turned, giving his back to the Brikken president. Confident all Slag members covered him, he threw his leg over his motorcycle and revved the motor. Signaling the men, he looped across the lanes and rode off.
In his side mirror, the other Slag members came up from behind and mixed as one solid group. They'd travel together for ten miles and get off the Interstate, making a loop before getting back on the interstate.
For now, they were safe. Brikken wouldn't leave their cargo. And, Slag succeeded in bringing more attention to themselves and away from the Seattle Chapter.
Chapter 25
Dinah closed the online banking app on her phone and sighed. She only had three hundred and forty-eight dollars left in her checking account after paying last month's rent, unsurprisingly Tony never paid, and this month's rent.
Of course, she had a pile of cash in Brage's dresser drawer that she'd earned through wages and tips working at The Fire Ring. Thankfully, she hadn't sent that to Tony or Brad, or she'd be in a worse position.
Money was good working for Slag Motorcycle Club. She had enough to get to Idaho, first/last/security deposit on a new place to live, and probably two weeks of savings before she would need a job.
Or, she could continue living in her apartment and simplify her life. Her gut told her not to take the easy route because Tony would be able to find her and Brad would know where to go after he got released from prison next year. She'd prefer to go somewhere else within Coeur d'Alene. Somewhere they couldn't find her.
Going forward, she wouldn't have to be choosy about where she went to work because she wouldn't need the extra money for Brad in Prison every month. She mentally cut them out of her life the way they'd cut her out of whatever life she was born for when they stole her.
Stole her.
She closed her eyes. Child abductions happened to other people. Children from other areas. Kids, despite viewing their pictures hanging on telephone poles, she'd never find.
Because of that, she never thought of the devastation of someone losing a child.
She typed on her phone, using Google to find the Idaho State Patrol website. While she waited for the website to load, the train outside whistled, filling the room with noise. It'd been days or even longer since she paid attention to the irritating sound.
Scrolling through the index on the page, she found the link for missing persons. Not knowing what she'd find or exactly what she was looking for, she checked out the search fields and filled them in using her information.
Not sure of her actual age anymore, she covered a wide range of years, and clicked the button. How many times had she tried to remember the years she attended Kindergarten and First grade. A teacher's name. Learning to read. All those years when everything was new, but it's like she'd blocked them from her mind.
She'd wondered about those missing years before but chalked it up to
having a bad memory. It had seemed strange when other kids at school would share how old they were when they rode a two-wheeled bike for the first time, swam on their own, or attended their first sleepover. She simply couldn't remember when she'd done those things. Those were memories other people had of their life and took for granted.
Being raised by two older brothers...men, she just felt different. It hadn't helped that her home life was stressful. She pretty much supported herself. From cooking to cleaning to being a latchkey kid.
She moved her finger along the screen, looking into the faces of children. One hundred and sixty-eight people went missing within three years. Her heart pounded. That seemed like an awfully lot. How can people just disappear without someone noticing?
Had no one looked for her? Tony mentioned her father was killed, but she had to have a mother. The woman in her dreams could be her.
She rubbed her temple, wishing she could remember.
None of the faces looked familiar. The children were not her. It could be possible that she lived in a different state when she was little. If that were the case, it would take her weeks to find records.
In the Clubhouse, a baby cried outside the bedroom.
Frustrated over not finding any answers, she tossed her phone to the bed and walked out of the room. With the majority of the Slag members gone, including Peer, Holly was in charge of babysitting Tyr. The least she could do was check on them and if Holly needed a break, give her one. Staying busy helped keep the tension out of her day.
Holly walked the floor holding the baby. She approached them, peeking at Tyr, whose face was scrunched up like a wrinkly raisin.
"Is he in a bad mood?" she asked over the warbled cries.
"Him and me." Holly bounced him on her shoulder. "I've fed him, changed him, and wound up that little bird toy he seems to like, and he's not having any of it. Nita's better with him than I am when he's cranky, but she's doing laundry with the other ladies, and I don’t want to bother her. Do you want to try and get him settled?"
"Oh, um..." She looked around the empty room. "I don’t know how."
"Just hold him and move around." Holly held Tyr out.
"He's so little." She hesitantly put her arms in front of her. "I've never held a baby before."
"Well, pretend he's a sack of tomatoes that you can't drop." Holly wiped the hair off her forehead. "I'm going to run and go to the bathroom and grab a sandwich. Then, I'll come back and take him from you if he hasn't calmed down."
"What if he doesn't stop crying." She held him close, surprised at how light he was even with a blanket wrapped around him.
"Crying never hurts babies. It only makes adults go insane," said Holly.
Cradling Tyr, she looked down into his upset face. "Okay, little guy. It's you and me. Let's see if you like the way I walk."
She weaved around the tables slowly, swaying side to side the way she'd seen the others do it. His poor little body was like a bundle of heat against her. Cradling him in the nook of his arm, she loosened the tightly wrapped blanket around him.
Catching one of his waving hands, she put her pinky in his palm.
He latched onto her tightly. She stopped moving. His grip was strong.
"My, my, my, you are going to grow up to be strong like your daddy," she said.
Tyr inhaled a shuddering breath and stopped wailing at the sound of her voice. She smiled and held still, letting him look at her.
"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Tyr." She slowly moved to the nearest chair and sat down. "I'm Dinah. You've got a lot of people here who love you. Yes, you do."
She opened up the blanket all the way and lifted him out and put him on her chest. His head went right to her shoulder. With his body free to move, he kicked his little sleeper covered feet against her.
"Are you trying to walk?" She rubbed his back, inhaling his sweet scent. "You have months before you have to worry about that. Right now, you get to be a baby."
She rocked back and forth in the stationary chair. Proud of herself for getting him to calm down, she was amazed that such a tiny human could make so much noise.
Holding a baby wasn't too difficult. It was like getting a hug.
Holly came back into the room with a plate and approached the table, taking one of the chairs. "He likes you."
"I think he noticed someone else holding him and doesn't know what to do." She laughed softly.
"Do you want me to take him from you?" Holly chewed a piece of her sandwich.
"Go ahead and eat. I'll hold him as long as he's happy with me." Afraid to change what she was doing, she rocked and rubbed, rocked and rubbed.
"Have you eaten dinner?" asked Holly.
"Not yet." She hoped Brage would come back and she could fix them both something to eat. "Do you know when the guys are supposed to return to the clubhouse?"
Holly shrugged. "I haven't heard."
Taking in the sandwich, she asked, "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"I've noticed that everyone here doesn't use two pieces of bread on their sandwich. Why?" She eyed the bread with two slices of tomato on it and a piece of meat. "Is it a Norwegian thing?"
Holly's studied the sandwich. "I don't know. It's how we always eat. There's no reason for two pieces of bread."
"It makes sense, I guess." She rubbed her cheek against Tyr's bald head. "I think he went to sleep. Should I put him down?"
"Do you want to?"
"No," she whispered. "I like holding him."
"Then, that's what you'll do." Holly wiped off her mouth. "Now, it's my turn to ask you a question. Do you love him?"
"Who?" She knew who.
Holly dipped her chin and looked at her under lowered brows. "Brage."
"I..." She looked away from the woman's imploring gaze. "There's a lot going on."
"When isn't there?" Holly sat back in her chair. "I wish I had the days back when my husband was alive. I wouldn't mess around. I'd live every second as if it was the last and do the things that make my heart fuller, instead of worrying about the small stuff."
Guessing Holly's age around forty-five years old, she was surprised to hear she was a widow. "I'm sorry about your husband. I didn't know."
"It's been ten years. You'd think I'd move on and find another man, but..." Holly tapped her head. "...in here, I still belong to him. Nothing I've tried changes how I feel."
She understood having a head full of longing and loving. There would be no other Brage in her life. He was the first man to treat her like she was valuable and should be cherished.
"But, I have my Slag family." Holly smiled. "My husband was a member, and so I stay with them and try to help out where I can. We never had kids of our own, and I don't have the experience a lot of the women have with babies, but I'm sure enjoying the heck out of taking care of the little one while Peer is busy with club business."
Tyr's little body had grown heavier on her chest.
"He's a sweetheart," she murmured, rubbing Tyr's back. "Not a care in the world now that he's sleeping."
Eventually, some of the women wandered back to the main room. Dinah continued holding the baby, reluctant to move and wake him if she tried to put him in the crib.
Holly's conversation kept coming back to her. Not knowing how Holly lost her husband, she worried that it was one of the hardships of being a member of Slag. Brage hadn't told her what he was doing today away from the clubhouse.
But she knew Brad and Tony would often come back from rides with Moroad MC battered, bruised, or not come back at all because they were thrown in county jail, awaiting a prison sentence.
The longer she waited for the riders to return, the more her anxiety grew. She needed to see Brage.
Holly was right. Life was short, and she'd learned how fast it could change on her. She wasn't ready for Brage to leave her yet.
"Riders coming in," shouted the young prospect before walking back out the door.
She swiftly inhaled. A wave of relie
f came over her.
Being careful not to wake Tyr, she slowly stood holding him securely in her arms. She couldn't go outside with the baby. The noise from the bikes was often overwhelmingly loud to her when they all were started at the same time, she couldn't imagine the damage it would do to a baby's tender eardrums.
Holly stood beside her. "There's nothing like hearing them return."
Her throat closed and she nodded. As long as Brage was okay, she could look back at his arrival as a good thing. A reason to celebrate.
The door swung open. Men poured in chanting.
Dinah raised her hand and cupped the baby's ear, leaning her head over him as if she was capable of keeping Tyr safe. Lost in the chaos happening, she searched the members, looking for the sexy man with magnetic eyes and a beautiful voice.
When she spotted him, he was already striding toward her with the most intense look she'd ever seen. She watched his gaze lower to the baby in her arms, and he never missed a step.
Then, he had his arms around both of them. She tipped her chin, and he captured her mouth, kissing her hard and deep. Her knees weakened, but she had nothing to fear. He supported her and Tyr.
"Missed you, babe." He kissed her forehead. "Did that little boy take my place while I was gone?"
She smiled, proud of herself for stepping out of her comfort zone. The benefits of holding a baby outweighed her fear of dropping him. It wasn't as hard as she'd thought.
"He did." She soaked up the warmth coming from the baby. "I could hold him all day. He's such a cuddler."
"I see how it is." He caressed her cheek. "I'll share you with him."
She laughed softly and then grew serious. "You're okay?"
"Ja," he said quietly. "I need a shower, a nap, and something to eat."
Peer approached them. Dinah turned, ready to give Tyr to his daddy.
"Hey, can you watch him until I grab a shower?" Peer looked between her and Brage, then leaned over and kissed the back of his son's head. "Five minutes. That's all I need."
"Take your time." Dinah waited until he was gone and said, "How does that work out with so many members needing showers at the same time?"