by Debra Kayn
She'd never heard him refer to a missing person case as done. Reunited, yes. Ongoing, yes. Done seemed so final and negative.
"I don't know the details yet." He turned her and led her to the front door. "I'll know more once I catch up to the others."
She stepped in front of him, blocking him from opening the door. Once she walked into the house, her time with him would be over, and she'd lose him to his club.
"You kissed me in the driveway." She stretched to her toes. "My turn."
He dipped his knees. "Do your damage, Blue."
She flicked her tongue in the slit of his lips. He growled in such a sexy way, her legs vibrated. He hooked his arm around her waist and dragged her against his hard body. She leaned into him, wanting him to stay with her. Lately, this is what she lived for. She woke up wanting him. Craved him during the day. Obsessively clung to him at night.
"Nobody," he mumbled against her lips. "Nobody can tell me this is wrong."
He hungrily kissed her, swiping his tongue against hers. She opened wider, eager to take the attention he gave her. Knowing she came across desperate and needy, instead of rational and mature, she no longer cared. Glen was what she wanted in her life.
Glen plunged his tongue into her mouth. She greedily sucked, taking and taking, feeling calmer after worrying about their change in routine. He lifted her feet off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his hips and concentrated fully on him.
She thrust her fingers into his hair and held his head, tilting hers, and taking him deeper. His moan told her everything she needed to know. She was doing it right, and he approved.
He stiffened against her, pulling his head back. She blinked against the erotic pull and stared into his beautiful eyes.
"Glen," she murmured. "Be careful."
"Always." He set her on her feet. "Now, get inside and send Hanley out to me."
She stumbled back, almost losing her balance. She clamped her lips to keep from begging him to take her back to his house, to shut out the world, and pretend with her that everything was okay. Her heart cried instead when he whistled under his breath and opened the door and nudged her into the safety of the house.
Her mom seemed to come out of nowhere, and she leaned into a gentle hug. "I'm happy you're going to spend the evening with me."
She bolstered her attitude for the sake of pleasing her mom. "Me, too."
"Let's get you something to eat." Her mom waved her hand behind her as she walked toward the kitchen.
Apparently, her mom and Glen had teamed up to force her to eat. She set her purse on the floor by the front door. Glancing in the living room, she made eye contact with Mr. Hanley and waved. "Hello."
"Ms. Ingrid." Mr. Hanley turned his attention back to the window.
"Glen wants to speak with you outside," she said.
He marched to the door and went out. She raised her brows at his lack of conversation and hurried into the kitchen and whispered, "Is Mr. Hanley always so...on guard?"
Her mom nodded and whispered, "He seems to only say, 'Thank you for the meal, ma'am.'"
"Wow." Ingrid sat at the table. "He was basically calling you old."
Her mom threw the dish towel at her. "Cut that out."
Ingrid propped her chin on her hand. Her mom was the same age as Glen. Her dad was only a couple years older than her mom. The whole dynamics of how she communicated with each one came out differently. Her parents were authority figures who nurtured and loved her. While she had the same blood and DNA as her parents, there was a whole other set of emotions connecting her to Glen.
He was her light in the darkness. Her air she needed to breathe. Her motivation to live. The pulse that ran through her veins. Her moon at night. She rolled her eyes. And, obviously, without him, she was reduced to sitting at her mother's table making up stupid comparisons.
"Are you okay?" Her mom set a bowl of meatballs in brown gravy and lingonberry jam in front of her.
"Besides needing a mental evaluation?" Ingrid picked up the fork and stabbed a meatball. "Just dandy."
"Everything will work out with time." Her mom sat across from her at the table. "You know this to be true. You've seen it happen."
She nodded absently. Taking one day at a time since her dad's accident, she'd learned to grasp on to the littlest things that would make her believe in tomorrow. A good day was all she could hope for at the moment.
"What do you know about Stockholm syndrome?" she blurted.
Her mom choked, covering her mouth and coughing hard. When she finally caught her breath, her mom wiped underneath her eyes. Ingrid took a bite off her fork and raised her brows expectantly. "I once read something on the internet about a girl who was kidnapped at the age of ten and held captive for six years. She fell in love with her abductor. Even when the police found her at age sixteen, she refused to say anything bad about her relationship with the man who stole her childhood. I remember the news saying she even visited the man in jail after he was found guilty and she told everyone that when he got released, she planned to live with him again. Voluntarily."
Her mom's eyes widened. "Well, I don't think—"
"Pretty sick, right?" She cut a meatball in half, not letting her mom answer. "Except, I'm feeling what that girl felt and it doesn't feel sick or wrong."
"Ingrid, baby, you don't have Stockholm Syndrome," whispered her mom.
"I think I do." She placed her hands on the table and sprawled her fingers. "It really shows that somewhere in our psyche, beyond our intelligence to decipher facts and know the difference between right and wrong, love becomes uncontrollable. Like, people who do drugs haven't lost their ability to want to quit, they simply can't."
"Honey, are you talking about—?"
"Look at you and dad." Ingrid stabbed the fork in the air toward her mom. "The life you planned with him stopped immediately when he was in the accident. But, something inside of you continued to love him. You never left him, Mom. Not once did you step away from taking care of him every single day or decide that life was unfair and you deserved more. You never complained about the changes, and they were huge. You probably had a right to your own happiness. But, what did you get in return for taking care of dad? It wasn't the life you wanted for yourself or him."
"Now, wait a minute, Ingrid. What happened—"
"It doesn't matter." She put a meatball in her mouth and licked the corner of her lip. "I'm just thinking out loud."
Her mom blew out her breath and sagged against the back of the chair. "Is this about Evan?"
She jolted, and her gaze snapped to her mom's in shock. "What? No, of course not."
Her mom leaned forward. "Then, where is this coming from and who are you talking about?"
Ingrid set the fork down in the now empty bowl. "I'm falling in love with Glen, and before you list every reason why I couldn't possibly be having these feelings, I'd like you to know I have no control over how I feel. None of it. The same way you can't help loving dad when there is no physical return of his love, or that girl loved her kidnapper or the person who swears she'll stop putting drugs in her body but still reaches for a needle every night."
"You're dealing with a lot and have been living on the streets, Ingrid. Evan put you through a nightmare, and you're still dealing with the aftermath. You lived, surviving each day, with no one to help you. Things are going to feel a little confusing, and your thoughts are going to wander. That's all it is." Her mom reached across the table, grabbed her hand, and fervently blinked the tears out of her vision. "Glen helped you, and I'm thankful for what he's doing...more than you'll ever know, but you're in no position to—"
"That's what I'm saying." She bowed her head and calmed herself. "I tell myself that every second of the day that I shouldn't have these feelings or th-this insatiable need to have Glen, and given time my feelings will probably go away. But there's something inside of me that pushes all sense of reason to the side."
"You can't trust how you're feeling right now," sa
id her mom.
"I think that's the only thing I can trust." Ingrid raised her chin. "I'm in love with him."
"Oh, Ingrid," whispered her mom. "He's too old for you."
"Mom, we've tried to stop what was started. I can't. He can't." Her body gave up and slouched in her seat. "Glen stayed away and told me it's over. He brought me back here, and we were miserable being apart. I-I think he needs me as much as I need him, so explain that to me."
Her mom released her hold on Ingrid's hand and walked to the kitchen. Ingrid studied the silent strength in her mom's spine. A familiar pose over the years that she'd come to respect. Her mom never let anyone down. Not Ingrid. Not her husband. Not their family.
She'd witnessed her mom walk away to compose herself, gather her thoughts, and return to do battle for the ones she loved more times than she could count. Ingrid swallowed hard. And, for the first time, she realized how much she was like her mother.
"I'll be in my room," she mumbled standing.
She pulled out her phone and connected the call to Glen by the time she shut her bedroom door.
"What's wrong?" answered Glen.
"I'm falling in love with you." She left the light off in her room and walked to the window, wishing she could see him at the end of the street, protecting her, and knowing he wasn't there. "I realize I'm throwing this out at you and you have something more important you're doing, but—"
He grunted. "Nothing is more important than you."
His rough, deep voice soothed her. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. "What we have together can't be explained, but I'm going to hold on to it and never let it go," she whispered.
Traffic noise came over the cell phone. She opened her eyes and stared out at the night, warm and safe inside her childhood home. Even with all the comfort surrounding her and Glen validating her feelings, apprehension curled tight in her chest.
"Hurry back to me," she said.
"Ingrid?" Glen paused. "Fight for us. Whatever happens, keeping fighting."
The call disconnected. She folded her arms in front of her and held the tremors from breaking free.
Chapter 38
A Cyclone fence, downed in spots, surrounded an abandoned building resembling an airplane hanger provided shelter for Evan Kingsley. Glen peered into the darkness, taking in several wooden eight-foot climbing walls erected one after another to the left of the building.
"Are you sure Kingsley's in there?" Glen asked.
"We watched him take his car off the road and enter through a downed gate on the east side. He parked at the back of the building." Wayne picked up a metal sign that used to hang on the fence and turned it around to Glen.
Property of St. John's Police Department. Not open to the public.
Trespassers will be prosecuted.
"I remember the place," said Glen.
Years ago, the building used to be used by the police academy. It'd been at least ten years since the facility closed. With budget cuts, the cadet training merged with the class taught by the Portland Police and took place in the city.
"He could be anywhere inside." Chuck walked twenty feet along the fence and returned. "If it's like the new academy, there will be situation modulars inside for training practices."
Glen turned away from the building. Marine Drive ran parallel to the property. There were no other buildings, homes, businesses in sight. Ever since learning why Ingrid ran, he'd pictured Kingsley staying in public view. To pick such a private spot made no sense. Kingsley had no reason to hide, considering the report Ingrid made with the P.D. wasn't worth shit.
Unless Kingsley needed privacy because he believed he could get rid of Notus Motorcycle Club and get rid of those stopping him from reaching Ingrid.
"I'm going in." Glen turned back around. "Run through what will happen."
"We're entering private property." Wayne undid the front of his leather vest.
Glen rubbed his tongue against his upper lip. "So, is Kingsley. That doesn't give him the upper hand. He'd be charged with trespassing, too, if something goes wrong."
Thad removed a pair of bolt cutters out of the duffle on the back of his Harley. "There could be cameras. Regardless of the state of the building, the city still owns the place. They'd protect their investment."
Glen swept his gaze along the length of the building. It was too dark to see any type of security from two hundred feet away. "There's a fifty percent chance the place is wired to an automatic system. It'd take at least twenty-four hours for the tapes to be viewed if the cameras worked. If I remain alert to the normal areas where there could be working cameras, I can keep the actual crime of getting ahold of Kingsley from showing."
It was a gamble.
He had a fifty percent chance of being wrong.
He couldn't risk the lives of his MC brothers.
Glen reached into his pocket, removed a few sunflower seeds, and popped them in his mouth. "I need a favor."
Wayne, Thad, and Chuck nodded. They'd sworn to support each other as long as they wore the Notus patch, but their lifelong bond of being friends made them more than club members.
"Take care of Ingrid and her parents. Make sure they remain safe and shelter her from the things she'll hear about me." He pulled his pistol out of his shoulder holster and flicked his thumb over the safety. "I need to know Notus will be there for them."
"Fuck," muttered Wayne. "Don't do it, brother. Let us come up with something else."
Calm washed over Glen, and he looked to his president, his best friend, his brother. Wayne had found the reason for living in Clara. He wouldn't be the one who took that gift away.
"This is bullshit," said Thad. "We never go it alone. We go in as a club and come out as a club. That's the way it's always been. It's the way it's supposed to be."
He wouldn't take the others down with him. Not this time. If things went to shit and they all ended up in prison, no one would be on the outside. Ingrid would need support. Clara and Gracie needed Wayne. Thad and Chuck needed to find Rich before they lost their MC brother completely.
Chuck stared him down. If any one of them were in his place, they'd do what had to be done.
Alone with the men he trusted, he said, "I need her."
His admission came easily once the confession was out in the open. No matter how fucked up his reasons for not hiding his intent to kill Evan Kingsley, his freedom was worth it if Ingrid was safe and the crimes against her were paid.
Wayne pulled on his beard and looked away. "Call or cover?"
"Call." Glen patted the patch over his heart on his vest.
The others shook their heads. They might not like the decision, but they'd have his back. Their silence gave him the vote.
He wanted law enforcement called to pick up Kingsley's body when he finished and he, alone, would take responsibility for killing him. With Evan being a son of a cop, Glen wanted no chance of something going wrong. By the end of the night, Kingsley would be out of Ingrid's life permanently.
Thad stepped up to the chain linking the gate to the fence, and using the bolt cutters, snipped through the barrier. Glen grabbed his flashlight out of his bag on his Harley, pushed the gate open, and walked through alone. Notus Motorcycle Club stayed behind to fulfill their promise.
Glen veered to the left, heading for the end of the building where he suspected there was a door. A jet flew overhead taking off from PDX a few miles down the road. The force of the jets muffled any noise coming from the inside of the building. In the dark, he was within ten feet of the middle of the building when he spotted the door. His thumb moved over the safety of the pistol in his right hand, double checking.
He peered back at the gate, unable to make out the shapes of his MC brothers or their bikes. Nevertheless, he knew they were there. Turning the knob, he walked inside.
Darkness blinded him. He stood listening, hoping his vision would adjust enough for him to move forward without using a flashlight and making himself a bigger target. Ex
cept, he got no break. There were no windows in the building, and the interior remained dark.
He held the flashlight in his left hand and straightened his arm out to the side away from his body. Raising his gaze until he believed he was looking forward at the height of a six-foot man, he pushed the button. The beam of light coming from his hand gave him a glimpse of a completely bare warehouse before a spotlight shined in his face and blinded him again.
Dropping the flashlight, he stepped back until his boot hit the wall. Squatting down trying to get out of the light, he squinted to the side hoping to find anything—a desk, a crate, a door—to use as a shield.
"It took you long enough," said a male voice, he assumed was Evan Kingsley.
Without lowering his pistol, Glen raised his other hand and shielded his eyes. "I take it hurting women is more your speed, and instead of facing me yourself, you have to be a pussy and shine a fucking light at me."
He kept his gaze down, aware if he looked directly into the light, he'd be inhibited with a black spot in his vision if the situation changed. He couldn't even get a good idea which direction Kingsley was in, going by his voice because every damn thing echoed in the empty building. All he knew was somewhere on the other side, Kingsley thought he had Glen right where he wanted him.
"You want the light off?" The light disappeared. "Better?"
Either way, he was fucked. "Turn it away from us and show yourself."
"Why?"
Glen walked forward, knowing nothing stood between him and Kingsley, except a hundred feet or so of blackness. "Why don't you start by telling me why you abused a woman?"
Kingsley laughed, the sound bouncing off the metal pre-fab walls. "Is that what she told you?"
"You like to throw chairs and dishes at her." He slowed his steps. "You like to throw threats out and see her scared.
The closer he got, the easier it would be for Kingsley to tell his location. As long as the light stayed off, he could figure out his best chance at making a move. His pistol held eight bullets. One in the chamber, seven in the clip, and he had an extra magazine in his back pocket. He could put a hole every six inches in a big enough span, it'd guarantee a hit. The darkness wouldn't stop him.