Biker's Heir Series Box Set

by Brooklyn Jones

  But he was only a member. It would've done nothing to vote against the group.

  “We have some other matters to attend now,” Flash said, looking to Gunner.

  Gunner had a big smile on his face. His cheeks were flushed from a little too much booze too early in the morning. Gunner had a problem but nobody wanted to admit it. Least of all Gunner. “We've been in need of a Sgt-in-Arms and I think we can all agree that we found our next one.”

  Flash threw something across the table at Trevor. He picked it up and flipped it over to see the Sgt-at-Arms patch.

  “Are you bullshitting me?” Trevor asked.

  “We wouldn't bullshit about this,” Flash replied. He took a long hunting knife out of his belt. The silver blade was attached to a worn black hilt. “The Dog Soldiers MC are promoting you to Sgt-at Arms.” He opened his palm and sliced the knife across the skin, leaving a trail of red. Blood trickled down onto the wood table as he closed his fist and squeezed.

  As the Vice President, Gunner was next. “Congratulations, Trevor.” He quickly sliced his hand and let the blood flow.

  Cameron did the same before handing over the knife to Trevor. He held the blade in his hand remembering the last time he cut himself for the club.

  It was the best day of his life. Trevor had been a prospect for the Dog Soldiers for two years when they finally patched him in. He almost cried at the table as the ritual blood sacrifice began. He gladly cut himself and let his blood join the club.

  Now he was just as happy as he was that day. But he knew he had a ton more responsibility now. He nodded to the other members and cut himself. Trevor watched as the red dripped from his wound and joined with the others.

  Flash smiled. “Let's welcome our new Sgt-at-Arms.”

  Chapter Three

  Karen landed at Phoenix International Airport with just a backpack filled with a change of clothes. She only needed the outfit she was wearing; black pants and a black blazer, the chosen uniform of female agents.

  A taxi picked her up outside.

  “Where are you headed?” the driver asked. The cab smelled like cigarettes and take-out food.

  “Jimstown,” Karen replied.

  The cab driver turned back to Karen and took his sunglasses off. “You sure?”

  She laughed. “Yep. Jimstown.”

  “Sorry. It's just I don't get many fares that want to go there.”

  Karen spent the drive in silence. Her parents could've picked her up at the airport but she hadn't told them she was coming home yet. She thought about it but couldn't get herself to pick up the phone.

  She actually thought that she might stay at hotel. She hadn't talked to her parents in a few months. Karen hung up on her mother the last time they spoke. Her mother wanted Karen to come home for Christmas but she was too busy on a case. She understood how her mom felt but there was nothing to do about it. Some things were said by both parties that they probably wished they could take back.

  Karen wouldn't be able to keep her appearance in Jimstown a secret. Word would get around to her parents and that would only make things worse.

  The cab pulled up to an old Victorian-style house. Tall slanted roof with long windows on both levels. A large white porch wrapped around the entire house. Karen had a lot of memories attached to this place. Some good and some bad.

  Karen paid the cabbie and he grunted a thank you. She stood on the sidewalk, unable to move. “Come on, Karen. It won't be that bad,” she told herself.

  She forced her way to the front door and knocked. Footsteps coming down stairs could be heard. The door opened and Karen's mother stood there with her mouth open.

  “Karen? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

  “Hi Mom. Everything is all right. I'm in town for work and I was wondering if I could stay here.”

  Lindsay Taylor smiled, wrinkles showing below her eyes. “What a surprise! Come in. Come in.”

  Karen walked past her into the entryway and Lindsay closed the door behind her. Everything looked exactly how she remembered it. The wood floors, the chandelier hanging from above, the side table against the stairs that held the phone.

  “The house looks great, Mom.”

  Lindsay led the way into the kitchen. Nothing had changed. The white-tiled island, the wood cabinets, and the appliances were all from the early 90's. “It's been a long time since you've been back home, Karen.”

  She knew that it wouldn't take long for her mom to bring that up. “I know. Work has kept me pretty busy.”

  Lindsay opened the fridge and brought out a pitcher of yellow lemonade. She didn't even bother asking Karen if she wanted any. She just poured two glasses and handed one to her. “Work. Work. Work. Don't you do anything else?”

  Karen took a sip and remembered the summers drinking lemonade in the backyard. “I like what I do, Mom. I don't need anything else.”

  “What are you working on now?”

  Karen knew this was a minefield. Not that she couldn't talk about it but more like she didn't want to talk about it. Last time they talked about her work, Karen's mom tried to convince her that her job was bad for her.

  “There's been a string of murders at the community colleges that I've been brought in to investigate.”

  “The news of that has been spreading around. It's just terrible what's been done to those young girls. I can't fathom a man or woman could do that to another human being.”

  Karen had seen it all too much. Humanity was capable of doing anything. “Do you know any information that might help me?”

  She knew the minute it came out of her mouth that it was going to be taken the wrong way.

  Lindsay put down her glass and scoffed. “Do you think I associate with murders and rapists?”

  “Of course not, Mom. I was just hoping you had maybe heard something.”

  “How long do you need to stay here?”

  That was it. It didn't take long for Karen to overstay her welcome. “I'm not sure. As long as the investigation lasts. But if you don't want me to stay, I could go to a hotel.”

  “Hogwash! I won't have it going around town that my own daughter is staying at a hotel. You can stay in your old room. It's just the way you left it.”

  “Where's Dad?”

  “On another of his business trips. Said he was going to be gone a few days.”

  Karen grew up believing that her father really was going away on business. She realized it when she got older that he was taking little vacations to get away from her mom.

  “Where did he go off to this time?”

  Lindsay left Karen alone in the kitchen to drink her lemonade. She knew that it was going to be tough coming back home and she was completely right.

  Karen lugged her backpack up the steep stairs and went into the first door on the right. Her mom wasn't kidding. The room hadn't been touched since she left. A movie poster of Silence of the Lambs still hung above her bed. It was the one movie that made her feel that woman were powerful and could accomplish anything. It was the movie that inspired her to join the FBI.

  And now she was on the hunt for her own serial killer.

  Chapter Four

  Karen crouched down in the hot sun and examined the pavement. A dark blood stain was the only thing left of Felicity Glen.

  She looked up at the large community college standing before her. The whole place had been built after she had left Jimstown. The town wasn't as small as she remembered. Students ran by, almost knocking Karen over.

  The file told Karen that the time of death was estimated around 8:30 pm. “What was she doing here so late?”

  The young cop didn't know if Karen was talking to him or was asking a rhetorical question. She looked up at him and Randall Hillsby knew he needed to answer. “I'm not sure,” he replied with a shrug.

  Randall was a fresh face on the police force. Barely out of the academy and the station pairs him up with an FBI agent on a big-time case.

  Karen knew what was really going o
n here. The local cops wanted to solve this case on their own. The only help Karen was going to get was from a rookie cop who was barely wet behind the ears.

  “Do you know when the last classes of the day end?” she asked.

  Randall scratched his goatee. “I believe 10:00 pm.”

  Karen stood up and stretched her back. “So it's entirely possible that she could've been here attending a class.”

  Randall nodded.

  “I'd like to see the body now.”

  “But the captain told me that nobody is to see the body.”

  Karen flashed her badge. “Do you see this, Officer Higsby? This is my I-Get-To-Do-Whatever-The-Fuck-I-Want Badge.”

  Randall didn't even try to argue.

  –

  The morgue was small and cramped with dead bodies. Even though the town had grown in the past years, the morgue had stayed the same.

  A short bald man with a gray apron on pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But Officer, I'm not allowed to let anyone in here.”

  Karen pushed past him and shoved her badge in his face. She did it with a smile too because this was the best part of her job. It made all the hard training at Quantico worth it.

  She squinted at the coroner's identification. “You're going to let me in, Mr. Kipper. And you're going to let me in right now.”

  The FBI badge did its job. Kipper took Karen and Higsby to a body draped with a white cloth. He flipped the cloth off the corpse and revealed a young girl with grayish skin. The smell was bad but Karen had been around enough dead bodies to be used to it.

  Higsby bent over and puked his breakfast all over the clean floors.

  “Well that wasn't very nice,” Kipper said.

  “Higsby, go outside and get some air.”

  He nodded, holding a hand over his mouth.

  Karen returned to the body and pulled the rest of white cloth off her. Felicity was skinny and definitely in shape.

  A dark purple slash across the neck was the only visible wound on the corpse. “What can you tell me about the victim?” Karen asked.

  The coroner walked to the other side of the table. “Victim was killed was a single slash across the neck.” He flipped over her arms and revealed black bruises. “The victim was being held against her will but there are no defensive wounds on her hands.”

  Karen looked closely at her hands and concurred. “What does that mean?”

  The coroner took off his glasses and cleaned them. “In cases like these where a knife is the primary weapon, the victim will put up their arms in defense to stop the blade.” The coroner put his hands up to mime the position. “The fact that she has no defensive wounds means that the knife was a surprise.”

  “Any signs of rape?” Karen knew that it was common in serial killers of women. Especially when they were younger.

  “Not in any of the victims.”

  Karen tried to picture what would've happened the night Felicity died. She imagined Felicity walking home after class ended. It was night time, not very many lights. A man in the shadows followed behind her. She turned to confront him and that's when they struggled and he bruised her arms. A knife came out of nowhere and cut her across the throat.

  She died almost immediately from bleeding out.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about the knife?”

  “This wound was done by a long blade. Could be a hunting knife or large kitchen knife.”

  “Seems more likely that the killer wouldn't be caring around a kitchen knife in the middle of the night.”

  “Is the school going to be closed?” the coroner asked.

  “That was going to be my next call. Four women from the community college are already dead. That should've happened before I even arrived here.”

  Chapter Five

  “I don't think you're understanding what I'm saying, Principal Reeves.” Karen switched the cellphone from one ear from the other. “Four girls from your college have died. There's no indication that this is going to stop.”

  “I don't think you understand what you're proposing. Closing the college down isn't something that can just be done with a flip of the switch. If we close the school down, students are going to go somewhere. Even the ones that stay are going to be afraid of returning. Not to mention, the school wouldn't get the money it needs to continue. It just can't be done, Ms. Taylor.”

  Karen pulled the phone away from her ear and took in a deep breath. This guy was turning out to be a complete asshole. He didn't give two shits about the wellbeing of his students. He only cared about money.

  “Let me put it this way, Principal. If you don't close down the college, more girls are going to die. The newspapers would love to hear that you had a chance to stop it but instead allowed the killings to continue.”

  Karen could hear the man changing his mind over the phone.

  “I will notify the school that we will be closing tomorrow for just a few days. That way nobody will freak out. It will be easier to convince the parents.”

  “Fine do whatever you have to. But make sure the school is closed until this case is solved.”

  Karen hung up and collapsed onto her bed at home. The twin-sized mattress hadn't been changed since she was a kid. Even the flowery comforter with it's pinks and purples was the same.

  Her mom was already asleep for the night when Karen got home. The house was quiet and Karen was exhausted from the day but her mind was still running a mile a minute. She needed to get her mind of these girls. She needed a drink.

  Karen grabbed her purse and the keys to the rental car the FBI had provided her.

  –

  The only bar in town was the Eight of Spades. Karen had been too young to drink when she still lived in Jimstown. There was no better time than now to try it out.

  The parking lot was packed with trucks and rows of motorcycles. The one-story building needed to be condemned. The roof was about to collapse in on itself and many of the windows were boarded up. A neon sign with an eight of spades playing card blinked brightly. They definitely didn't have bars like these back in Washington DC.

  Karen was almost ready to turn around and go home. This wasn't her usual scene. But the heaviness of the day couldn't be escaped.

  She pushed through the creaky wooden door and was bombarded by the smell of cheap liquor and ear-splitting loud rock.

  The Eight of Spades was the only bar around Jimstown and was a safe haven for the criminal and undesirables. There were no tables or chairs, save the stools at the small bar on the far side. Everyone gathered around pool tables, holding large beer steins.

  Karen was definitely out of her element but nobody seemed to notice as she walked through the crowd of bikers with their leather jackets. Peanut shells crunched under her shoes. She shouldered her way to the bar and caught the attention of the blonde bartender wearing a short leather skirt and only a bikini top.

  The deafening music made it hard to hear but Karen understood that the bartender was asking what she wanted.

  This wasn't the type of place to order a cosmopolitan. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Whiskey on the rocks.”

  The female bartender nodded and got to work. Karen spun around and looked at the crowd. These definitely weren't the type of people that she normally would associate with.

  The bartender handed her a short glass filled to the brim with whiskey and ice. Karen took a sip and tried not to cough. She wasn't used to drinking straight alcohol and she'd have to baby this one or else she'd have to be carried home.

  Karen went to take another sip when a man bumped her arm and the drink spilled down her white blouse. The cold icy liquid was a shock to her system as it ran down her chest. She was about to curse until she saw who bumped into her.

  The man was huge with a closely shaved head and blue eyes. He had the perfect amount of stubble that framed his square jaw. A white wife-beater barely contained his bulging pecs.

  The man leaned over to her ear. “Sorry about
that. Let me buy you a new one. What are you drinking?”

  Karen tried to speak but couldn't. Her brain wasn't sending her the right signals. The man just stared at her with a smile as he eyed her up and down. Karen gulped and replied, “Whiskey please.”

  The man snapped his fingers and the bartender was able to hear it over the music. She came over and the two of them shared some pleasantries. The bartender laughed and slapped his shoulder. Karen felt a jealousy that was foreign to her.