SANGRE: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 6)

by Chiah Wilder

  “I recognized them. We were all in the same class, but I didn’t hang with them if that’s what you’re asking.”

  A thread of adrenaline wove around Wexler’s spine. “They were all in the same class? That’s damn important. Do you remember if they were friends back then?”

  Raising his gaze to Wexler’s, he shrugged his shoulders. “I wasn’t friends with any of them. They were part of the group who thought they were gonna be stars. You know the type—self-absorbed and stuck-up. There were a few of them in my class—like Jordan Burnside, who now goes by Isla Rose. Can you believe her? She thinks she’s hot shit because she’s in a rock band. Who the fuck cares? I don’t. She was part of that arrogant theater group who never had the time to even acknowledge anyone else.” He scrubbed his face with his open hands.

  Wexler glanced at Carmody, who sat open-mouthed, then back at Jeffers. Where the hell did that come from? “It sounds like you didn’t like Sharla Davidson, Lizbeth Kelly, or Taylor Prentice.”

  “I wouldn’t say that exactly. In high school I wasn’t crazy about them, but then, I didn’t like most of the kids in my school. I actually hated high school, and after graduation, none of them ever really crossed my mind again. I never thought about or spoke to Sharla, Taylor, or Lizbeth. I had no reason to. Sometimes I’d see them in the store, but I run into a lot of people I went to school with. Alina’s not that big. It’s no big deal when you bump into people around here.”

  “Did anyone else feel the same way you did about the three women when they were in high school?”

  “I dunno. I suppose there were kids who did. I know some of the girls were pretty pissed off that all the leads in the musicals, plays, and concert performances kept going to the same five.”

  Wexler’s heart pounded. “And who were the ‘same five’?”

  “Sharla, Lizbeth, Taylor, Carrie, and Jordan. They kept getting the main parts all through high school. Jordan’s the only one who left, and it seems that she’s the only one who made it sorta big. She’s in Iris Blue. I heard she’s back in town.”

  Wexler jotted down everything Jeffers said, underlining the words “Isla Rose” and “Iris Blue.” “What’s Carrie’s last name?”

  “I can’t remember, but she still lives in town.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “I think at one of the music venues. She’s a talent buyer. I bet she’s even more insufferable now than she was in high school.”

  The sheriff closed his notebook. “Try and think of other people, men and women alike, who didn’t care for these five ladies back in high school. I need your help.”

  A grin spread over the deputy’s face as he stood up. “I’ll get on it.” With his chest thrust out, he hooked his thumbs into his belt loops.

  “Go on and write up the report about the teens and the graffiti. I have to go over Carmody’s cases now.”

  “Sure thing.” He swaggered out and closed the door behind him.

  Carmody cleared his throat. “What the hell just happened?”

  “We got our first lead: Jefferson High, entertainment department, and our two victims both in the same class. Let’s start with that. Also, find out who this Carrie is. Call all the music venues in the county, but start with Alina. I’ll find”—Wexler looked down at his notes—“Jordan Burnside, a.k.a Isla Rose. I want to see if either woman can tell us anything that can help us. I also want to warn them because my instincts are telling me they’re on this crazed person’s hit list.”

  “I’m on top of it. I think we should also look at Jeffers. I mean the guy went loony when you asked if he knew the victims. Besides, why the hell didn’t he mention that he knew them?”

  Hating to think that anyone in law enforcement, let alone one of his deputies, could do something like that, he shook his head. “I admit the guy’s odd, but I can’t see him involved in this. We’ll check his whereabouts and such, but let’s not home in on him exclusively. If he felt that way about the victims back in the day, you can be pretty damn sure others did too. See if the theater, art, and music teachers are still at the school. If not, then find them. We’ve been looking in a totally different direction.”

  An adrenaline rush swept through Wexler’s body as he watched Carmody rise to his feet and leave the office. For the first time since Sharla Davidson’s murder, he felt that they had a bona fide lead in the investigation. Lightness spread through his chest as he swiveled in his chair. Facing the computer, he typed in Iris Blue and smiled broadly when the first link he saw read “Isla Rose Escapes to Hometown After Meltdown.”

  He clicked on it and began reading.

  Chapter Ten

  It was eight o’clock at night, and Isla stood by the window looking out at the street. She saw a dark blue SUV pull up to the curb, where a man of medium height got out and walked over to Mark. She watched while the two men talked to each other, but when Mark went into his car, started it, and drove away, her heart sank. She knew that the man who had just arrived was relieving Mark in watching over her.

  For the past three days, she hadn’t heard a word from Sangre and had a feeling that he was mad at her, but she wasn’t quite sure why. He’d seemed more than annoyed when Benz had come over that night at the festival. It’d surprised her because she’d always thought that he didn’t want anything more from her than just friendship. But he was going to kiss me. I know it. If Benz hadn’t come by, she’d swear that Sangre would’ve kissed her. That thought made her stomach flutter and her head swim.

  She’d kissed him only once, years ago, when they’d gone to the Fourth of July picnic in Liberty Park. After that, it’d been awkward between them, and they stopped hanging out as much. Sangre had ramped up his hours at Elmer’s Shop and Go, and when she’d bring her car in for gas, he’d tell her that he needed all the money he could make because he wanted to buy a Harley.

  When her dad had announced that he’d decided the whole family was moving with him to California, she’d been devastated. She wanted to stay and see if something would ever come out of their kiss. Not wanting to talk to Sangre about it, she wrote him a letter, left it on his door, and drove away, her heart breaking. The whole ride to California, she kept hoping to hear from him but never did. Her eyes stayed glued on the blurring landscapes as they changed from state to state. There was no way she’d wanted her dad to know she was crying; he wouldn’t have been too sympathetic. For weeks, she’d rush home from school in anticipation of a letter, an email, or even a voice message from Sangre, but silence was all that had greeted her.

  And now, he’d wanted to kiss her again. Does he want something more than just friends, or does he want to be friends with benefits? Is that what I want? The truth was that she still adored Sangre even after all these years and not hearing from him. When they hung out now, it seemed like old times, like a span of thirteen years never happened. Won’t everything fall apart if I—we—cross the line? And what about Benz?

  Isla wasn’t the cheating type, and even when her friends dragged her to a nightclub and plied her with drinks, she didn’t go home with the first good-looking man who came on to her. Amy, her bestie in LA, had been livid with Isla and had told her that she deserved a good “revenge fuck” after she’d found out Benz was screwing not just one but two groupies in their bed. But she hadn’t wanted to get back at him by screwing a stranger; she’d just wanted to eat a pint of double chocolate ice cream with chocolate chips, wrap herself in a blanket, watch her favorite movie, and shed a few tears. The problem with the whole cheating bit that Benz had pulled was she hadn’t been that hurt about it. Of course, her pride was bruised, and she’d been madder than hell at him for banging the women in their bed, but it hadn’t been emotionally devastating to her the way she’d thought it should’ve been.

  When Amy’s two-timing boyfriend had been caught with his pants down, literally, Amy was inconsolable for weeks. She’d loved Jared so much, and she’d kept telling Isla over and over that she’d rather be dead than go on without h
im. Isla didn’t feel even one-eighth of the heartbreak that Amy had. For her, the anger had always been directed at the way he disrespected her. I wasn’t and still am not in love with Benz. I’m not sure if I even know how to love as an adult. Sangre was teenage love. Right?

  She’d taken Benz back because he’d been moping around after she kicked him to the curb, and the band was suffering because of it. So she’d relented, and Benz was thrilled; the band was back on track with great music and performances. Did she believe he’d reformed? Not for a second. She suspected that he hooked up with a few women while they were on tour before her meltdown. When she’d confronted him about it in a hotel in San Francisco, he went ballistic on her, and they had one of their worst, most dragged-out fights ever. It made for great streaming on YouTube and random online sites; Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook blew up with all the tags, tweets, and shares. If only their concerts could garner such intense response in such a short time.

  When they’d come back to LA, Benz kept pressuring Isla to forgive his outbursts—although he never did admit to his infidelity—as haters were saying awful things about her on social media. Kent was beyond pissed at the both of them, and reporters for online gossip magazines hounded her. It had all been overwhelming, and on top of that, the band had four shows to perform in Southern California before leaving on another four-month tour. The stress had been unbearable, and she’d turned to the only thing that made her feel empowered, euphoric, and energized: cocaine. By the time the band had performed the fourth show, she was so damn high, her brain on mega-alert even though her body was exhausted from lack of sleep, and she’d had a nosebleed for days. After she’d taken the last bow of the night, she walked off the stage and collapsed. Isla was a damn mess, crying and yelling at the same time as the staff tried to help her. She thought they were trying to kill her. The hallucinations had been severe.

  Shivering, she folded her arms around herself. God, I was so out of control. I never want to be that way again. Being back in Alina brought her such a deep sense of peace, but now the stirrings of panic nipped at her nerves whenever she thought of touring, Benz, or going back to LA. Since Benz had come to Alina, she’d had to call her recovery coach a few times when the cravings for coke began to escalate.

  Glancing at the street again, she saw the replacement sitting in his vehicle, his eyes fixed on her home. She turned away and took out her phone. Tapping her finger on the windowsill, she waited until Sangre picked up. Maybe he doesn’t want to be friends anymore.

  “Isla. What’s up?”

  His voice startled her and for a second she couldn’t talk.

  “Did Keith show up?”

  “Yeah.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, he’s here. How’ve you’ve been?”

  “Busy. How’s the recording going?”

  “Good. I was in the studio all day yesterday and today.”

  She waited for him to respond, but silence stretched between them.

  “Are you mad at me or something?” she asked.

  “No. Why would I be mad at you?”

  “I don’t know, but I have the vibe that you are. You seemed pissed about Benz.”

  “Benz? Oh … the ass wipe you’re dating. It doesn’t make any difference to me who you go out with. I was pissed by his attitude and the way he acted toward me and you. Disrespect is something I don’t tolerate. It’s over. No big deal.”

  “We got in a big fight over you that night.”

  “No shit? Why?” She heard the satisfaction in his voice.

  “Benz thinks I have a thing for you. I’ve told him many times that we were friends. He got pissed because we were sitting so close together when he came over.”

  He chuckled. “Do you have a thing for me?”

  “As much as you do for me,” she said casually.

  Silence again. Why the fuck did I have to say that?

  “Was the make-up sex good?” he asked.

  “There wasn’t any. I was so pissed and not in the mood, I told him to leave. He stormed out and has been giving me the ‘talk only about music’ treatment right now.”

  Silence again.

  “I’m not all that into him, really. We broke up about eight months ago then got back together, and it’s not working. At least I don’t think it is. He wanted to stay with me at the house when he first came to Alina, but I wanted my space and told him so. He stays away when he gets mad at me, which has been for most of the time he’s been here.”

  “He’s a fuckin’ jerk. You deserve better. You wanna go out for a drink?”

  “That’d be wonderful. I could use one. Recording can be pretty long and grueling, so I definitely need to get out. Should I meet you?”

  “I’ll come by and pick you up. Can you be ready in a half hour?”

  “Yes.”

  “See you then.”

  Happiness and excitement zigzagged through Isla as she put the phone down. She rushed upstairs and changed into a black, off-the-shoulder crop top that laced up and a pair of distressed jeans. Parts of her butterfly tattoo peeked out from under the front lacing of her top. The crystals from her navel piercing shimmered under the recessed lights in her bedroom. She fluffed her hair with her fingers and freshened up her makeup: brushed on another coat of black mascara, added a bit more rose-tinted blush, and applied a light mauve lipstick. Grabbing a slim wallet, she slid it into her small clutch bag along with her lipstick and gloss and left the room.

  As Isla came down the stairs, her front doorbell rang. She looked out the peephole, her belly twisting when she saw Sangre standing on the porch. After disengaging the alarm, she flung open the door.

  The light from the street cast a glow over Sangre, making the highlights in his hair a deeper copper. Dressed in a gray T-shirt that fit his body like a second skin, snug black jeans, killer black boots with silver buckles, and his black leather vest with patches on it, he exuded alpha masculinity and pure sex. Damn, I’m drooling … but any woman would if he was standing on their porch. Close your mouth now and stop acting like you’re back in high school.

  “Hey,” she said a bit too cheerfully as she opened the screen door.

  She heard his sharp intake of breath as his gaze slowly traveled over her body, examining every inch of it. Her skin tingled as if he were touching her.

  “You look hot. I mean good,” he said hoarsely.

  “I like hot better.” Their eyes locked as they stood staring at each other while the crickets serenaded them from the trees. Isla could feel his body heat and smell the night air on his skin. Her body hummed, and it took every ounce of control to not throw herself into his sculpted arms. Then her damn phone rang, breaking the intensity of the moment. Cursing under her breath, she looked down at the screen and grimaced when she saw Benz flashing across it.

  Sangre nodded at her phone. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

  “No.” Regret wove through her as she saw him start down the steps. “I’m going to set the alarm. I’ll catch up with you.” She went back inside, activated the alarm, and then closed the door behind her. As she approached Sangre’s car, she saw him talking to Keith. She leaned against Sangre’s car and tilted her head back, loving the way the cool breeze felt against her skin.

  “You ready?” his deep voice startled her.

  Straightening out, she threw a smile at him and placed her hand on the passenger door. “Yes. I’m surprised you didn’t bring your Harley.”

  “It’s supposed to rain later tonight.”

  She settled on the seat. “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “Have you forgotten the weather around here? It changes all the time. It can be sunny one minute then a hailstorm the next.”

  “I’d forgotten about that. I’d say riding on a Harley in a rainstorm isn’t very fun.”

  “Nope, and it can be dangerous as fuck.”

  “Which bar are we going to?”

  “Cuervos. Steel, our prez, is part owner. It’s a decent place. If you’re hungry, they have s
ome kickass wings and great nachos.”

  “I may try the nachos. I have to admit I’m obsessed with them, but I rarely eat them because I’m always on a diet.”

  He looked at her sideways. “You’re fuckin’ kidding, right?”

  “No. You have to look a certain way, especially in LA. Anyway, I was always a chubby kid.”

  “No, you weren’t. Your dad kept telling you that, and I kept counteracting it. I’m telling you now that you don’t have to be worrying yourself over dieting. A man likes to grab something when he’s with a woman anyway.”

  Good ol’ Sangre. He used to always build me up when Dad tore me down. She laughed. “I’m going to have to remember that when I get back to LA. My friend, Amy, is always dieting. I mean the girl eats nothing but salad and protein shakes. She’s tried every diet around, and she’s skinny as hell.”

  The touch of his fingers stroking her cheek made her quiver, but before she could grasp his hand, he placed it back on the steering wheel. “When are you going back?”

  She inhaled deeply then let her breath out slowly. “I’m not sure. The band wanted to finish the album in a month, but it’s taking us longer, so maybe a couple of more months.”

  “You looking forward to getting back?”

  No. I don’t want to leave you so soon now that we’ve reconnected. “I guess. I don’t know. My life is pretty hectic, and I don’t look forward to all the stress. Life is slower and simpler here. It’s been great to just decompress.”

  “Stress will kill you.”

  “Thanks, doc.” He laughed and she joined in, and before she knew it, he was pulling into the parking lot of the bar. “I keep forgetting how close everything is. In LA, or anywhere in Southern Cali, everything is so spread out, and the traffic is horrendous. I always plan on tacking an hour or two just for travel time whenever I go anywhere that isn’t right around my condo. It’s nice not to have to deal with all that congestion.”

  “I’ve heard LA can be a pain in the ass to get around.”

  “You’ve never been?”