by Chiah Wilder
Sangre slowly took her clothes off, piece by piece, kissing and caressing her skin as he revealed it. His gentle yet arousing movement stole her breath. Isla reached out and ran her fingers through his hair as his fingers slipped between her legs to tease the slick, puffy folds of her sex.
A throaty moan fell from her lips. “The sounds you make get to me,” he rasped.
A ball of fire rushed down her spine to right between her thighs. “I need you inside me.” She pulled his hair.
“Not yet, honey. We’ve got all night.”
Isla sank deeper into the mattress and let all sensations overtake her.
* * *
The following afternoon Isla sat on the couch, a book in hand and face scrunched up, writing lyrics for a new song that had come to her that morning. Her phone vibrated and she leaned over and picked it up.
Sangre: Dinner at 6?
Isla smiled. Sangre had gone into the office early that morning to help Eagle figure out the scheduling. He had told her that Saturday nights and Sunday mornings were when people called off work the most. She’d wanted to make him her famous pancakes, but she overslept and he was gone before she woke up.
Isla: Sounds good.
Sangre: Whatcha doing?
Isla: Writing a new song. U inspire me.
Sangre: And u fucking slay me. Later, babe.
Isla: xoxo
A large smile spread over her face and she picked up her pen and went back to writing. The chime of the doorbell broke her concentration, and she jumped up from the couch and went over to the door. Looking through the peephole, she chuckled when she saw Colt standing there. She swung open the door.
“Those girls of yours are killing it. Are they out of lemonade already?” She opened the screen door, motioning him to come in.
“What can I say? The customers love your lemonade.” Colt closed the door behind him. “Am I bothering you?”
“No. I was just writing a new song, but you actually gave me an excuse to take a break.” She went into the living room. “Have a seat. It won’t take me long to whip up another batch. Do you want something to drink while you wait?”
“I’m good. What’s your song about?”
“Love. Isn’t that what most songs are about?” Isla laughed. She bent down to pick up her notebook, and for some inexplicable reason, a finger of nausea poked her stomach. The room was perfectly quiet. She straightened up and turned around startled that Colt was right behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. A dark thread of unexplained fear wove through her consciousness.
“I’ll make that lemonade now.” Colt took a step closer to her, pulled out an envelope from his shirt’s pocket, and handed it to her. “What’s this?” she asked, taking the envelope.
“It was delivered to our house by mistake.” His voice was strange and ominous.
Something told her she needed to get away from him. She tossed the envelope on the coffee table. “Wait here. I’ll be right back with a fresh batch of lemonade.” She turned to leave but he blocked her way.
Colt bent down and picked up the envelope handing it to her again. “Read it.”
Isla took the envelope in her shaking hands, her eyes widening when she saw the all too familiar handwriting on it. She looked at Colt and his gaze was cold. She ripped it open and took out the piece of notebook paper from inside. She read it: “Got you.” Isla’s hand flew to her mouth, suppressing a cry from her lips. Her heart hammered against her rib cage, and she jumped away from him.
Then he came for her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“The new uniforms have come in,” Eagle said, carrying a big box. “Where do you want me to put them?”
Sangre went over to the corner of the room and picked up the box his mother had given him. “You can put it here.”
Eagle but the container down. “What do you have in there?”
“Some old shit my mom gave me. I don’t even know what it is.” Sangre took the lid off and shook his head. “It’s just a bunch of old yearbooks and junk from when I was in high school.”
“Oh yeah?” Eagle came over and picked up one of the yearbooks. “I wanna see what a nerd you were in high school.” He laughed.
Sangre grabbed the book from him. “I haven’t looked at this in years.” He thumbed through the pages and found Isla’s class picture. The sixteen-year-old’s bright eyes and small smile stared at him. He brushed his thumb over her photo, memories flooding his mind.
“From the look on your face, I figure you’re looking at Isla.” Eagle came next to him. “Damn. She was even hot in high school.”
She was all I thought about back then … and now. Isla. “She was in all the musicals. I’m pretty sure there are some pictures of her in those productions.” As he flipped the pages, people he hadn’t seen or thought about in years rushed past him. His eyes landed on several photographs of Isla in different costumes for different musicals. “I saw every one of these pansy ass plays.” He chuckled.
“Grease? Cats? You must’ve really had it bad for her back then, dude.” Eagle smacked him on the shoulder.
I did. But I’ve got it worse now. Sangre stared at the picture: it was like he’d been transported to the past. He was just ready to flip to another page when someone in the background caught his eye. “What the fuck?” he muttered.
“What’s wrong?” Eagle asked.
“This kid looks familiar,” he said, tapping his finger on the face.
“He should. You went to the same damn high school.” Eagle moved away.
“No. Like I’ve seen him now. You know all grown up, but I don’t know where.” His chest tightened as he put the yearbook down and started rummaging through the things in the box. “Here it is,” he said out loud, taking out the program for Grease. He scanned the names, and his eyes fell on the name Justin Colt Varner, Crew. He jerked his head back. “Fuck.” He picked up the yearbook again and went through all the pictures in Isla’s class. He saw Madison Cartwright, Sharla Davidson, Lizbeth Kelly, Carrie Nolan, Taylor Prentice, Lexi Strobe, and Justin Colt Varner. “He’s her neighbor. He told her he wasn’t from Alina. He’s the fucker.” Sangre threw the book down and grabbed his phone.
“What’s going on, dude?”
“Isla’s neighbor lied to her. Said he was from Omaha. Why the fuck would he do that unless he’s the sonofabitch who’s been sending her the letters.” Sangre rubbed the back of his neck. “Pick up, Isla,” he said under his breath.
“Let’s bring the asshole in for questioning,” Eagle said, his hands clenching.
“My thoughts exactly, bro.” He tapped in Mark’s number. “Did Isla go out?”
“No. She’s still inside. Something wrong?”
“She’s not picking up.”
“The neighbor from next door is with her. Maybe that’s why.”
White, icy cold fire flowed through his veins and he picked up the yearbook and hauled it across the room. “Is it that bastard with the girls selling Isla’s lemonade?”
“Yeah. Their dad. What’s going on? Did I fuck up?”
“No. I did. Shit!” He pounded his fist on the desk. “Isla’s in danger. Do you have a gun on you?”
“No. Do you want me to call the cops?”
“No fuckin’ badges. I’m on my way. Get inside that house, but be careful. The fucker carries a knife and is dangerous. Go now.” Before Mark could answer, Sangre had the phone in his pocket as he raced out of the building, Eagle at his heels.
“I called the brothers. They’re on their way,” Eagle said. He grasped Sangre’s arm. “We’ll get to her in time.”
Tension choked his nerves. “We fucking have to.”
The motorcycles sped out of the parking lot.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Colt’s been sending me the letters? Isla’s mind couldn’t comprehend it. She scrambled over the couch and ran into the kitchen heading for the back door. Cold hands pulled her back and she screamed.
“S
hut the fuck up, Jordan.” She pushed away but he quickly pinned her against the granite counter. “You scream again, and I’m going to cut your fucking throat.”
Isla raised her hands. “Okay … okay … just relax.” Colt stepped back a little and stared at her. “Why did you call me Jordan?”
Colt shook his head. “You don’t even remember me.”
“How could I? I’ve never been to Omaha.”
“Does Justin Varner ring a bell in that stupid head of yours?” His eyes flashed angrily.
He wants to hurt me or kill me. I have to stay calm. Do I know him? I don’t.
“Do you know the name or not?” Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth.
“No,” Isla said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“You fucking bitch!” he screamed, his face mere inches from hers.
Anger shot through her. “Just fucking tell me.” A loud crack bounced off the walls as the sting of his hand across her cheek shot through her.
“You’re the same as you were in high school—an arrogant, diva bitch.”
High school? “I thought you were from Omaha.”
“I’m from here, Jordan. I was in your goddamn class at Jefferson, but you were so busy thinking you were hot shit because you were the lead in all the musicals that you didn’t pay attention to anyone who wasn’t in your circle.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t belong to a circle. I just loved to sing. And why didn’t you tell me you went to Jefferson? Why the lies? Why did you send me those letters?”
His nostrils flared as he jabbed a finger in her face. “You thought you were so damn clever hiring bodyguards, but they weren’t around when I slashed your tires, or when your car broke down, or at the gym.”
“That was all you? Even when I was in the pool?”
“The inept guy at the front desk believed my lie about one of the machines not working. He left his post. It was so easy.”
“Why? I still don’t understand.” How am I going to get away from this nut? I have to buy time. Wait … what the fuck am I buying time for? No one knows I’m in danger. Her chin tremored and she bit the inside of her mouth to stop it. I can’t just let him hurt me. I have to figure out a way out of this craziness.
“Remember a chubby guy who everyone bullied at school? That was me. The only time I had any peace and felt like I was a part of anything was when I worked on sets for the theater and music department. I fucking asked you out and you said yes, but you never showed. I sat at the counter in Bartell’s Drugstore for two fucking hours! You made a fool out of me. You all did.” He leaned in close again. “Now who’s the fool?”
Isla could smell the musky sweat rolling off him as she felt the color drain from her face upon the realization that the man responsible for cutting short the lives of Sharla, Taylor, Carrie, and Lizabeth was in front of her. She had no doubt in her mind that he planned the same fate for her. If only I could contact Sangre.
“Do you remember me now, Jordan?”
Think. My damn life depends on it. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”
“Bullshit! That’s what Taylor said before I drained the life out of her. Sharla, Carrie, and Lizabeth always looked at me with disdain. Did you know I volunteered to do the sets for the play Sharla was in? She wouldn’t even talk to me during rehearsals. Acted like I was a fucking untouchable. What a bitch! They all were. They knew who I was and they acted like they were better than me when I’d say hi to them on the street or see them in social situations. They didn’t change one fucking iota from high school. They got what they deserved.”
“I never treated you like that. I’ve always been friendly to you, Colt.”
“I’m Justin.” He rubbed his temples. “Don’t fucking mix me up. You’re the same bitch as you were in high school. You don’t even remember me.”
“Did my moving back to Alina trigger all this with you?”
“No. It was just luck that you moved in next door. I was planning to go to LA and pay you a visit. I even told Faith I had to go to Southern California on a business trip, but then you came to me. At last.”
From the recesses of her mind, a shy, pudgy boy crawled out. I remember him. He used to stare at my breasts all the time. He creeped me out. There’s no way I would’ve made a date with him. “I do remember you, Justin. Just now. You worked behind the scenes, and I was nice to you.”
“You fucking teased me. Just like you do now with your shorts and tits.”
“I never made a date with you. I was going out with Jay.”
“You’re a whore. You dated him and now are screwing Steve.”
Think back. Then the fog cleared. I remember. I bumped into him in the hall and he asked me if I wanted to go and get a milkshake with him the next day after school. I said yes, but that night Dad beat the shit out of me. I didn’t go to school for two weeks. “I remember now,” Isla said softly. “I didn’t stand you up to be mean or because I was teasing you. I couldn’t go because my dad … well … I got in trouble and was grounded for two weeks.” You can’t even tell the truth about what Dad did to save your own life.
“I don’t believe you. You always flirted with me. You were like my girlfriend.”
Isla knew it was hopeless to explain things to him; he was in too deep. His delusions made him remember things that never happened. She put her hands behind her on the counter, and that’s when she felt the cable. My microphone. Slowly, she inched her fingers toward it.
The front doorbell rang. “Open up, Isla.” Mark’s voice soothed her, connecting her to the real world and giving her hope.
Colt turned around and that’s when she grabbed her mike and slammed it with all her might against his head.
“Ow! Fuck!” Blood streamed down the side of his face as he brought his hands to his head.
Isla bolted from the room and dashed toward the front door, but Colt recovered faster than she’d anticipated, and he came running out of the kitchen. She took the stairs two at a time and went into her bedroom and locked the door behind her. Her pulse raced, and the sound of her heartbeat thrashed in her ears. Breathing heavily, she sprinted over to the French doors, flung them open, and stepped out onto the balcony.
“Mark! Help me. Break the windows. He’s coming for me.” Isla looked down, but the drop was too far. The door groaned as Colt slammed his body weight against it over and over. She ran into her walk-in closet, closed the door, and hid in the corner, praying that he’d think she’d climbed down the balcony. She took out her phone and called Sangre. No answer. She called 911, but hung up when she heard the door splinter. Her heart leapt in her throat as she sat in the dark waiting to see if she would live or die.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When Sangre arrived at Isla’s house, he saw Mark on the porch throwing a chair through the window. He jumped off his bike and ran over. Eagle was behind him, and in the distance, he heard the low rumble of motorcycles.
“Isla’s in trouble,” Mark said as glass shattered everywhere.
Sangre grabbed the other chair and threw it, breaking a second window, then climbed in, the glass ripping his jeans and cutting him. Ignoring the blood dripping down his arm, he heard noise coming from Isla’s bedroom. He took his Glock 9 mm out and carefully walked up the stairs. From the sound of glass dropping on the floor, he knew that Eagle had followed him. Sangre looked over the banister and saw Eagle turn the lock on the front door. The house walls shook as the roar of bikes permeated the neighborhood.
“Where the fuck are you, bitch?” a deep voice screamed.
Eagle was behind him as they plastered themselves against the wall, inching toward the doorway. Heavy footsteps thudded in the foyer, and Sangre saw Diablo, Goldie, Crow, Shotgun, Army, Skull, and Rooster standing at the bottom of the stairs. Sangre held up his hand indicating for them to stay where they were; they nodded their heads, their bodies poised for action.
Sangre heard a bang in the bedroom then Isla’s scream. He and Eag
le ran in, and he found Colt in the closet with his arm in the air and a knife in his hand. In the distance, the wail of sirens pierced the air. Not sure where Isla was, Sangre didn’t want to fire into the closet, so he stormed in, knocking Colt down on his face.
“What the hell?” Colt cried out. “Ughh … I’m hurt.”
Sangre kicked him hard in the side with his steel-toed boots, the sound of splintering bones bringing him a modicum of satisfaction. “Isla?” he said.
“Sangre.” She came out of the corner of the closet and threw herself into his arms. Eagle had the fucker pinned down on the floor. Behind him, he heard the rush of footfalls.
“Everything okay here?” Diablo asked.
“Yeah. The badges are on their way. Go ahead and take off. We don’t need this to be more complicated than it already is.”
“You sure you don’t want us to take the fucker?” Goldie said from the doorway.
“I’m pretty sure he’s a goner,” Eagle said as he switched on the light. Colt’s body lay still on the blood-soaked carpet.
“Asshole fell on his own knife.” Sangre kicked him again and a low grunt emitted from the listless man.
“Poetic justice,” Isla whispered. “You came. How did you know?” She buried her face into his chest.
Sangre stroked her hair. “I told you I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, honey.” He kissed the top of her head and walked out of the closet with her tucked by his side. Eagle handed him a towel, and Sangre wrapped it around his bleeding arm.
By the time Wexler, Jeffers, and Carmody arrived, the only Night Rebel in the house was Sangre. The sheriff called the paramedics then asked Isla what had happened. As she told her rendition of the events, Wexler locked eyes with Sangre then tilted his chin slightly. Stone-faced, Sangre stared back at him, but he knew the sheriff was grateful that the reign of a madman had come to an end.