by Rie Warren
Hunter ranged toward a scrawny scruffy boy who looked more skin and bones than flesh and blood. “Hey, dude. You seen any action coming from that place tonight?”
Maybe it was because the four of us didn’t look one bit like we were part of a police sting operation—more like four scary MC outlaws—or maybe it was the precisely folded fifty dollar bill Hunter slipped the kid, but he squinted at the Money Pit and nodded.
“Closes at ten thirty on weekdays. Saw a car drive up an hour ago, ’round eleven o’clock? Looked like the guy was moving a rolled up carpet inside, know what I mean?”
I knew exactly what he meant. And it didn’t fucking bode well. I inhaled a sharp breath and felt for the Heckler stuck into the back of my pants.
“I got another fifty for you if you can get all these geezers away from the joint.” Hunter greased the kid’s palm.
The boy gave a lazy salute of two fingers before slipping the extra cash into his jeans. “BLAM! I am your genie in a forty-ounce bottle.”
“You realize you just contributed to the delinquency of a minor?” I watched the ratty-haired teen swagger off, corralling his homies and the streetwalkers.
“I’ll come back tomorrow night and cart his ass to social services.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a hardass, Hunter.”
“Yep. And about to get harder. Here’s how it’s going down. Brodie, you’re with me. We go in through the front. Boomer and Cole, you’ve got the back entrance. I take it one of you knows how to B and E?”
When he was met with silence from Boomer and Probie, Hunter grinned. “That’s what I thought. I’ll be checking your records next.
“We move in total silence, hand signals only. You do not engage unless someone’s life is in danger. I’m the only one calling the shots, hear me? Because I’m the one who’s gonna take heat.”
“Got it.” Boomer, Probie and I agreed.
“Our goal is to incapacitate Dirk and Leta, and extricate Kingston. I’m alerting all units right now. Ambulance, SWAT, Fire, and the hospitals in the area.” Hunter flicked his gaze to me. “We’ll have five, possibly ten, minutes tops before they get here, and trust me, Brodie, you will want them here when we find her.”
I swallowed hard and repeated roughly, “Got it.”
A few minutes later, after making a solid recon of the building, Hunter got us through the front door. The alarm light started flashing immediately, but he quickly disabled it, prying off the cover on the box and cutting through several wires. It was dark and dim inside, the only light filtering in from the lampposts out on the street.
What I saw when shapes started to form in the murky light could only be called a hoarder’s delight. Junkyard garage sale shit everywhere. The Money Pit smelled of mold and filth.
Hunter motioned me to keep to his rear, and I stayed slightly off his left shoulder. We picked our way through old furniture, stereo equipment, dusty jewelry display cases, sweeping both sides of the room as we traveled toward the back.
Punching his fist to the air, Hunter halted me in my tracks. He squatted down, and only then did I see why. There was a body on the floor, directly in front of him. A woman, by the shape.
Time stopped. My world stopped. I fell beside her on my knees, assaulted by the sight of drying blood spreading from a gunshot to her chest. My gaze moved higher. I didn’t think I could contain the gasping breaths threatening to break free of my throat. My eyes swept up over her neck and finally . . .
“Oh thank fuck,” I whispered. It was Leta. I shifted back on my heels, scrubbing my hands down my face. Thank fuck. It was Leta, not Ashe.
Hunter checked her pulse, shook his head. We stood and started forward again.
Adrenaline hummed through my veins. I saw everything more clearly, heard every single noise. The creak of wood, the sound of our low breaths, our boots sliding along the floor.
If Dirk had killed Leta—a woman he’d supposedly liked—what the fuck had he done to Ashe?
We advanced faster to the back of store, swinging from left to right.
“You bitch.” Dirk’s voice. It came from somewhere in front of us. The muffled thud of flesh meeting flesh was the next sound heard.
We stopped with the being quiet shit and sprinted forward only halting when we came to a door that had to lead to a storeroom or office.
“On my count. Ready your weapon. Fire for his gun arm or the legs only if necessary,” Hunter whispered.
He held up his fingers. Three. Two. One.
We busted inside to find Dirk grinning like a maniac over a broken and bleeding Ashe, his pistol in hand.
Hunter shouted into his walkie-talkie. “Officer down. Repeat, officer down! Last coordinates given.”
Dirk swung his gaze to me. “’Bout damn time. I mean, I held off killing her waitin’ for you to get here. Next time I’ll have to leave fuckin’ breadcrumbs or somethin’. Maybe do somethin’ serial killer-like mail you a few chopped off fingers.
“Drop the gun, Dirk.” The command came from Hunter.
I couldn’t take my eyes off Ashe. Her body was crumpled. There was blood on her face, matting her hair. I couldn’t tell if she was breathing. Terror clawed through my body.
“I like my gun. Had to use it on Leta, but I guess you already saw that. She kept mouthing off. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Detective Kingston got to her. Had to shut that shit up.”
“You sick fuck!” I aimed my gun at Dirk’s chest.
“Brodie, you do not want to do that.” Stepping between Dirk and me, Hunter attempted to keep me away.
“Like hell I don’t.” I pushed him aside, intent on plugging a bullet right through Dirk’s chest.
“Uh uh. I agree with Hunter. Yeah, I’m onto you, Mr. Special Forces Fuckface.” Dirk trained his gun on Ashe’s head. “You keep moving forward, Brodie, and a bullet goes through her head. She’s still alive, ya know, even though she looks like crap, right?”
“What do you want?” I said with cold steel in my voice.
“A fifth of whiskey? An island named after me?” He shrugged. His greasy hair clung to his head. Dirt, sweat, and blood stained his flannel shirt. He remained where he was, slavering and slobbering over Ashe’s prone body. “I wanted to rough her up. So I did. I wanted to prove to her once and for all I’m the big man. I wanted to hurt you. Fucking golden boy with his perfect family.”
“You’re messed up. My folks died. There’s nothing golden about my life.”
“Boohoo, fuck you. Always lookin’ down on me. All of you think I’m stupid. Guess what? I ain’t. I run this city. I own the pussy in it. I deal the drugs from up on high. And I’m gonna stop this bitch from running her mouth and ruining my life ever again.”
I roared at him, my muscles straining as I stayed put.
“Drop the weapon.” Hunter’s voice lowered as he edged slightly closer.
Dirk cocked his gun, keeping it aimed at Ashe’s head.
“She has a fucking kid!” I snarled.
He merely smiled at me before grinding his boot against Ashe’s hand. “Wake up, Officer Cunt. You’re boyfriend’s here. I want you to watch his face when I kill you.”
“DROP THE FUCKING WEAPON!” Hunter shouted.
Dirk pulled back to kick Ashe, his face sickeningly happy. My muscles flexed, ready to pounce. The door behind Dirk opened silently. Boomer slipped through it, Probie directly behind him. Dirk let his kick fly, but before his boot made contact with Ashe’s body, the two men crashed into him.
With an almighty yell I charged forward. I landed on Dirk, bringing us all down in a tangle of arms and legs and live guns.
A bullet fired, whizzing past my ear.
I was aware of the chaos around me, but all I felt was rabid anger. Rolling Dirk away from the others, I slammed his gun hand to the floor over and over again. When the weapon clattered away, I dragged him up to me with one hand wrapped in his shirt. Then I pounded. Nose, cheek, chi
n, mouth, nothing stopped me. Not even the sickening crunch of his bones beneath my knuckles as he bleated. Not when he tried to cover his head with his arms to stop his skull from being cracked wide open by my punches. Not when his blood splattered my shirt and the sound of my rings bluntly echoed off exposed bone.
“I’ll kill you. I will fucking kill you!” The rage came from so deep inside nothing would ever stop me. I’d put him in his grave.
Voices battered against my ears:
“Ashe needs you, Brodie.”
“Brodie.”
“BRODIE! ASHE IS ALIVE. SHE NEEDS YOU NOW!” Boomer hoisted me off the piece of shit whose face was now a meaty pulpy mess.
My chest heaved as I scrambled away from Boomer. At Ashe’s side, I shoved down the hatred about to swallow me whole. I touched her as gently as possible, resting my fingers against her un-swollen cheek. Containing everything inside—the violence, the raw anger, the fear—I skimmed a hand down her neck so I could feel her pulse beating against my skin.
“I love you, Ashe. I need you. Cara needs you. You’re a fighter. Fight for us now.” I curled over her body. She was so pale. Bruised all over. Too still. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”
The EMT kneeling on the other side of Ashe touched my wrist. “Sir, you have to move.”
I shook my head.
“Sir, you have to move, now!”
The whole scene exploded in an instant. Boomer moved me out of the way so they could work on Ashe. I only caught snippets as the EMTs took stock of her injuries:
“Blunt force trauma to the head.”
“Swollen abdomen.”
“Possible fractured or broken ribs.”
“Vitals weak but holding.”
I stood against the wall as they brought in a stretcher, my eyes never leaving Ashe.
She didn’t wake up.
They hung IVs and placed monitors.
She didn’t wake up.
From the moment I’d reluctantly moved from Ashe’s side to the time she was rolled out on a gurney, I felt like I was in a fog.
When they pushed her into the waiting ambulance I snapped back to life. “I’m getting on that goddamn rig with her. I’m next of kin.”
The paramedic made a million excuses, but I stood my ground.
Boomer bared his teeth beside me. “You heard the man.”
Chapter Nineteen
Vigil
A FULL SQUAD OF Crown Vics and police cruisers met the ambulance after we sped to the same goddamn hospital downtown that had seen the birth of Jolie Stone and the death of Myra Loveland.
They wheeled Ashe’s stretcher straight back between two swinging doors, the paramedics shouting all kinds of medical info to the nurses and doctors who had run out to meet her.
Within minutes of her disappearing behind closed doors, I paced the waiting room, staring at my cracked, bloody fists.
When I saw Davies making his way toward me, I sprang like an uncaged beast. I shoved him against the wall, snarling in his face—the one that was unbruised, unharmed, and still goddamn fucking clean-shaven.
“Where were you? Where were you, you useless . . .” I tore myself off him with curse. I wanted to call him pig, but that would disrespect Ashe, too. I jabbed his chest with two hard fingers. “Where were you, Davies, when Ashe was getting kicked and hit and abused? Where the goddamn motherfucking hell were you when she was rolled inside a stinkin’ rug and shoved inside a car trunk?” I pushed my face against his. “WHY WASN’T IT YOU?”
The spit-shined Boy Wonder blinked at me and swallowed. He looked at the floor then back at me, and his lips set in a grim line. “You will never know how much I wish it was me in Kingston’s place.”
His cop cronies watched us as they took up more and more space in the small room. They waited to see how this would play out. With more blood spilled or . . .
We all had one thing in common. Concern for Ashe. That was the only reason I stepped back from Davies.
I rolled my neck. “If I’m not around, I expect someone capable to look out for Ashe. If that isn’t you, she needs a new partner.”
“I understand.”
“Just so we’re clear? I will end your fucking life if something like this happens again while you’re on watch with my woman.” I made my parting shot.
After an endless amount of clock-watching, Boomer, Cole, and Hunter stomped inside the white-tiled, white-walled room. The three big dudes in black leather looked as beaten up as I felt. They cut a path through the milling cops.
We exchanged hard hugs. Even though Cole wasn’t yet cut from the same MC cloth, he was part of the brotherhood now.
“Tell me about Dirk.” I led the way to a huddle of chairs in the corner.
“In custody. Different hospital. Twenty-four-hour guard.” Hunter dropped into a seat like the weight of the world pressed him down.
“I didn’t bash his brains in then?”
“Near enough.” Boomer sat tense in his chair, a lethal weapon still waiting to be uncoiled.
“What’s next with the cunt?”
“Trial. He’s not getting out of this.” A muscle flexed in Hunter’s jaw.
“I’d prefer it if he wasn’t getting out of a pineboard coffin,” I said.
“Could still be arranged.” Cole’s eyes glittered with a feral light.
Probie was growing on me.
In return for the info about Dirk, I filled them in on what I knew about Ashe’s condition, which so far was absolutely fucking nothing and about to make me mental.
Finally one of the doctors I recognized from earlier swept through the pair of doors. “I’m looking for Broderick Steele.”
“That’s me!” I raced to her, almost plowing her down.
“Mr. Steele, I’m Doctor Delaney. Detective Kingston has some internal bleeding in her abdomen so we’re prepping her for surgery now. She has several deep lacerations on her head, and we’re keeping an eye on those for the moment.”
“How long will surgery take?” I forced the words out through numb lips.
“We’re not sure, but please know she’s getting the best possible care.”
I watched the doors shut behind Doc Delaney, and I’d never felt more helpless in my life. I growled and pulled my fist back to punch the wall, but Boomer caught my arm. “I got a better idea than going ballistic. Go get those hands taken care of.”
The thought of leaving my vigil for Ashe made my stomach churn.
“Brodie. You can’t do anything here right now. When she wakes up, she’s gonna need you. You really want Ashe to see your hands all messed up because of what went down?”
“Yeah. All right. Do me a favor while I’m gone?”
“You got it, bro.”
“Call Cat and let her know what’s going on?” I rubbed my forehead. “I feel so bad. I forgot all about Cara.”
“Hey, you’ve been a little preoccupied. I’ll take care of it,” he said.
I got my cuts cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. I returned to the waiting room. It was a sea of cops in standard issue dark blues, some of the plain clothes I recognized from the station, and my MC dudes clad in black leather. Bikers usually got a bad rap from police and generally felt the same in return. Not this time. They sat together and stood talking quietly, everyone brought together by shared concern for Ashe.
I noticed quite a few of the guys—mine and theirs—had small gauze squares taped to the insides of their elbows. They’d been giving blood. I asked for an update from Boomer, but he had nothing so I went in search of Tucker.
Upstairs in the donor center, I found him. I lowered down beside him. He didn’t say a single word as he squeezed the little rubber ball in his hand to keep the blood flowing from his veins. He merely reached over, patted the side of my face, and then brought my forehead to his.
We sat that way for a long time, until I nodded and quickly used my sleeve to dry my eyes.
Sipowicz cornered me in the waiting room when I went back
down. His polyester suit was even more wrinkled than usual, and the bags under his eyes were puffy. “I don’t condone what you did. But I’m damn glad you did it.” I shook the hand he offered and started to walk away, but he wasn’t about to let me off the hook just like that. “Now you have to go give your statement.”
Fuck. That was so not what I needed after an endless night that was beginning to turn into a new day, still with no word on Ashe’s surgery.
I had no choice but to go along with Sipowicz, who escorted me to another hallway, with yet more closed doors. Hunter and Boomer exited opposite rooms, and I assumed Cole was being held up somewhere, too. In my own special cubicle of hell I sat across from two cops, tapping my fingers on the table. I had to hand it to them, the officers kept my questioning brief and to the point, and I was done and dusted within half an hour.
The waiting room now packed to the gills, I asked every nurse, orderly, or doctor-looking person I could find for any news on Ashe. They had nothing, and my nerves were starting to shred. My head pounded. My lips got tighter and tighter. I really needed to lash out at something. Someone. Maybe locate Dirk and kick the shit out of him a second, third, fourth time.
I was considering the smarts of going that route when I heard, “Brodie! Brodie! Where’s my mom?”
I turned to see Cara weaving through the cops and bikers, Cat and Nick right behind her. Crouching down, I captured her in my arms as she barreled into my chest. Tears streamed down her face, wetting my shirt as I held her.
“Where is she? Is she okay?”
“Shh, baby girl. She’s going to be fine. She is.” I buried my face in her hair and rocked her, reassuring her while not feeling one bit sure myself. “Hey, let’s go grab a seat, okay?”
The guys parted the way, and I sat with her in my lap. Cat carefully took my hand, and Nick angled in close on her other side. I gave Cara a very clean, PG-version of Ashe getting hurt in the line of duty, working to keep my emotion deep inside so I didn’t scare her.
The minutes ticked by, and I felt them in every pulse of my heart. Stroking Cara’s hair, I watched the swinging doors, almost unblinkingly.