Oh my God.
“Timmy?” I whisper, my eyes running over his face, looking for any trace of the boy I left behind all those years ago.
“Ding, ding, ding. You finally fucking got something right!”
The entire situation is so fucked up, I don’t even know where to start. I drop down onto the dirty floral couch and stare up at him. He looks so different from the overweight, acne-ridden twelve year old I knew. But as I look harder, I see glimmers of softness where there are now hard planes. His hair is different, but I remember the twinkle in his eyes.
Timmy.
“You left me here with these assholes. You promised you'd be back. You said you loved me! But it was all a fucking lie.”
I reach for him, wanting to take the gun from his trembling hand and put it down somewhere safe so we can talk properly. “No, after I left, they told me I couldn’t come back. Mom and Dad, they—”
He flinches away from me, taking a step back and lifting the gun higher, the tremor more pronounced now. “Don’t you call them that! They were never parents to me, not to any of us.” His free hand scrubs his face. “They didn’t give two shits about what happened to us, but they’ll regret that now.”
He sits down across from me and looks out the window, the gun resting on his knee but the barrel now directed at the floor.
“Mommy and Daddy are going to get one hell of a homecoming when they walk through those doors.”
I close my eyes, saying a silent prayer that somehow, some way, I can figure a way out of this mess because if Timmy has a gun trained on me now, I have no clue what he has planned for when Mom and Dad arrive.
Maybe I can talk him down.
Or maybe Ryder will figure out I’m gone and come looking for me.
Fuck, I hope he finds me.
Chapter Nineteen
Tracker
I slam my phone down on the bar.
“Where's the fire, brother?” Storm looks over at me from his stool, draining his beer and signaling to one of the girls for another.
“Megan left me a message that her car had a flat. I’ve called her back five fucking times but she isn’t answering. Colt was in town so I asked him to drive by. He said her car is there, but she isn’t, and I’ve got this feeling I can’t shake.” I pace the floor, not knowing what to do next.
“Why don’t you have the IT guy see if he can trace her phone. What’s his name? Wrench, is it?” Storm nods toward where the brothers’ rooms are.
“All right, I’ll start there.” I walk toward his room. I’m not a guy prone to panicking, but I just got her back—I can’t lose her again.
I knock on the door but there’s no answer.
“Tracker.” I turn to see Cutter walking toward me. “Wrench is out on a run. You need something?”
Of course, he is. I tell Cutter about what's going on. “I don't know what to do at this point. I need to find her.” The sharp pain in my chest only becomes stronger. It feels like I have a knife stuck in me and with each minute someone twists it further and further.
My phone rings and I tug it out of my back pocket. “Megan?”
“Nope, just me,” Chrissy answers, the clattering of dishes in the background. My heart sinks. “When are you guys gonna be back? I was gonna order some food.”
“Have you talked to Megan at all today?” I blurt out, heading back down the corridor toward my bike.
The line goes quiet. “Um, no. Everything okay?”
“I don’t know where she is. I can’t say for sure, but I think something happened.”
I hate admitting that I’m helpless. That something could be wrong and all I can do is stand here. When Megan and I were together before, I could always tell that something was wrong. It was a sinking feeling in my gut, and I was always right.
That feeling is stronger than ever right now.
“I can track her phone if you want.”
I stop in my tracks. “You can do that?”
“It’s this app we have, ‘Find My Friends.’ We downloaded it in college after a safety seminar. Let me pull it up and I’ll text you where she is.”
“That would be great, thanks, Chrissy.”
“Can you just keep me updated?” Her voice has a small tremble in it.
“No problem.” I hang up and stare at my phone until I get a text.
Chrissy: It doesn’t give me an exact address but it looks like the phone is around Oak and Maple Street.
I tap the address into my phone. Half an hour away.
“I got a location on her,” I call to Cutter. “I’m gonna go check it out.”
“I’m gonna come with you. Storm.” Storm looks up. “Get your bike and come with.” The large biker doesn’t question the order, just hops down from his stool and pulls out his keys. Cutter turns to me, his hand coming to squeeze my shoulder. “Not saying there’ll be trouble, but there’s no telling what the hell we’ll find. Better to be prepared.”
We head out, and as the wind whips my face, the roar of my engine ringing in my ears, all I can pray for is that Megan is okay. She has to be. I keep racking my brain, trying to figure out what could have happened. There isn’t anything going on with the club right now that would put her in danger, and in the four months I’ve spent getting to know her again, I’ve realized she doesn’t have any enemies.
Everything inside of me is hoping that I'm overreacting; that I'll get to her and nothing will be wrong.
My gut tells me I'm kidding myself.
Fuck.
I’m pushing the speed limit and the guys are keeping up with me. When we finally get to the neighborhood I realize it’s where Megan and I used to live. This was our town; our street.
Why the hell would she be here?
I don’t even know what I’m looking for. There are a few cars on the street, but everything seems normal.
“I’m gonna call her phone again.” I pull the phone from my ear trying to listen for a ringing somewhere. There’s nothing to start, then I hear the faintest chime.
“We need to find that phone.”
When her voicemail picks up, I dial again. The three of us spread out. A car pulls up to a house and a middle-aged couple get out, their backs to us. I watch them, something about them familiar. They walk into the house across the street.
My old house.
“It’s here.” Storm shouts over to me, peering in through the window of a non-descript sedan. I race over, seeing Megan’s purse in the back seat, the contents spread across the floor.
Two loud pops crackle through the air.
Gunshots.
My chest seizes. It’s not a new sound to me, but hearing it so close to where Megan is, brings a cold sweat to the surface of my skin. I look at the guys. “It came from that house.” Cutter nods to my old house.
“That’s the house we used to live in.”
I move across the street, keeping low, out of sight. I get to the fence, I stop. Cutter comes up behind me and Storm takes his position on the other side of the gate. “I’ll go in the front. You guys take the back door.”
Cutter and Storm nod.
I can hear yelling as I creep up the steps. With my back to the wall, I glance into the window.
Megan.
She’s on a couch, tears streaming down her face. Her lips are moving like she’s talking, but from this angle I can’t see anyone in the room with her.
Fuck.
I send Storm a quick text, letting him know she’s in there.
My hand goes to the doorknob and I turn, feeling it click and open. One push and the door swings wide open.
Whoever is in there will regret the day they decided to fuck with my girl.
Chapter Twenty
Megan
Heavy footsteps followed by the click of heels sound on the wooden floor, echoing through the quiet house. I hold my breath.
They’re home.
Tim stands off to the side, out of eyesight of anyone walking into the room, the gun trained
on the doorway. I open my mouth but his eyes come to me and he holds a finger to his lips, nodding his head to the gun.
“Megan? What in the world are you doing here?”
Mom walks into the room, pulling off her coat and hanging it over the back of the chair. My father comes in behind her, his eye widening when he sees me.
“Mom, I—”
The click of Timmy cocking the gun makes them both turn.
“What is going on here?” My father moves deeper into the room, closer to Timmy.
“What's wrong? Don't recognize me? That's okay, Megan didn't, either.” Tim laughs a maniacal breathy laugh that leaves me cold. My lower lip trembles and a lone tear falls down my cheek. “Just one of the reasons why you were such shitty parents. That's okay, though. I told you the day you kicked me out I’d be back.”
Timmy looks over to me with such hate in his eyes. “Unlike you, sister”—the word drips with distain—“I keep my promises.”
He turns back to my parents and with two quick shots, drops them both to the floor, their bodies landing with a hollow thud.
Neither of them make a sound.
My hand covers my mouth. I try to scream but I’m frozen, paralyzed by what I’ve seen and the thought that I’m next.
“Don’t cry for them. They were horrible people. You lived here, you knew that. They don’t deserve your sympathy.” He walks closer to me. “You know who deserves your sympathy? Me! The boy you left in this hell hole without so much as a second glance.”
His face drops to mine and the acrid smell of his breath makes my stomach turn.
“You were the only person I ever loved. You pushed and pushed and made me trust you. Then you abandoned me.”
He raises the gun and I close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose.
The sound of the door crashing against the wall startles me. I open my eyes and see Ryder standing in the doorway, his eyes ablaze.
“Look who’s here. The asshole who ruined it all.”
Timmy keeps the gun trained on me but his eyes are on Ryder as he steps into the room. “Make one more move and I’ll put a bullet in her head.”
Ryder freezes. “What’s going on?” His eyes move to the bodies on the floor.
“This isn’t Connor, this is Timmy. My foster brother,” I whisper.
Ryder’s face is blank for a minute but I see the moment it clicks because his face hardens.
“The kid whose life you fucked up when you came and took away the only person who ever loved me.” Timmy’s eyes are so big, it looks as if they might burst out of his head.
“Why don’t we just put the gun down and talk about this?” Ryder’s gaze trails over me and I can tell he is trying to see if I’m okay. I give the smallest nod of my head, not wanting to do anything to upset Timmy.
“Fuck you.” Timmy turns, training the gun on Ryder and squeezing the trigger.
My heart stops. Time slows.
I jump to my feet and bolt to Ryder, not caring if I’m next.
But Ryder is on his feet, his arms coming around me and pulling me close. My hands run over him, looking for a wound, my breath coming fast. When I find nothing, my eyes go to a third body on the floor.
Timmy.
He’s clutching his leg, his bloodcurdling screams reverberating off the walls, dark red liquid seeping from between his fingers, pooling on the floor beneath him.
Storm and Cutter walk into the room and kick the gun out of Timmy’s hand.
My legs collapse beneath me and my whole body goes cold. Ryder follows me to the floor, breaking my fall and holding me close as I cling to him, shivering. Finally feeling safe, the adrenaline fades and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry.
Everything around me starts to get hazy. The voices around me are distorted; garbled.
I try to focus on Ryder but black clouds the edges of my vision.
Then everything goes black.
***
The room around me comes back into view and the first thing I notice is that I’m not at home anymore. Just as my heart begins to race, I spot a flag on the wall. I recognize it.
I’m in one of the club rooms.
“Hey.” Lucy sits up straighter in the chair. With dark circles under her eyes and her hair thrown up in a topknot, she looks like hell.
“What happened?” My voice is croaky, my throat dry. I look around for Ryder but other than the two of us, the room is empty.
“I don’t know the whole story, but the guys brought you in about an hour ago. Doc looked you over and said that you were fine and you just fainted. I’ll go grab Tracker.” She rushes from the room. I look around for a glass of water and find an ice-cold bottle next to the bed. It takes me a few seconds to unscrew the lid but eventually I’m able to take a few small sips.
I wait a couple minutes but when no one comes, I swing my legs over the bed and stand up. I sway slightly, clutching the bedside table for support. I know I should get back in bed but I have too many questions that need answering.
What happened?
Is Timmy okay?
Did he get arrested?
Do the cops need my statement?
I run my hand along the wall as I make my way down the hallway toward the main room. And then I hear it.
Screaming.
Not a regular scream. This one is raw and intense and full of agony.
Following the sounds, I make my way down an unfamiliar hallway. The part I never had a reason to go in because I was working in the office.
Opening the door, I’m hit with a strong metallic smell, and something else that burns my nostrils, the mixture of the two so bad enough that I almost choke and I have to breathe through my mouth to stop myself vomiting. I step into the room and gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.
Hanging in the middle of the room is Timmy, his entire body covered in blood, his shoulders angled in a way that even without any medical training I know they must be dislocated.
With my hand over my mouth, I take in the room around me. Everyone has stopped what they’re doing and all eyes are on me.
The first person I recognize is Cutter. His white T-shirt is spattered with blood and in his fist is a knife; a knife that clatters to the floor as he moves toward me. I quickly look for Ryder and see him behind Timmy, something clutched in his hand. He moves to his left and suddenly the smell in the room makes sense.
A blowtorch.
I bend over, completely emptying my stomach of its contents.
Cutter scoops me up, carrying me out of the room and bringing me back where I came from.
I don’t even fight him.
All I can see is Timmy’s body, hanging there.
And Ryder holding the blowtorch.
A second later the door opens and Ryder walks in.
“You need to handle your shit.” Cutter puts his finger in the center of Ryder’s chest and then walks out of the room.
“What the hell were you doing, Megan? Lucy told you to stay here.”
“You’re mad at me? What were you guys doing in there? Why isn’t he with the cops?”
The fact that he would even consider being mad at me after what I just saw is unbelievable.
“We don’t call the fucking cops . . . ever.” He paces in front of my bed. “That asshole deserves everything he’s getting. This is what happens to people when they touch club property.”
“Did you just refer to me as property? Like I’m something you fucking own? That is not some random stranger in there, you know him—we know him.”
My eyes fill with tears as I remember what Timmy looked like hanging there because despite the blood and the broken bones, all I keep picturing is the Timmy from my childhood. The boy who came to me if he skinned his knees, and who would crawl into my bed at night if he had a bad dream.
“That psycho was going to kill you!”
“So you do what normal people do and call the cops. You don’t kidnap him and then do whatever the hell you’re doing.”
“Newsflash, princess, we aren't normal people. I told you there are things about the club that aren't always pretty, or legal, or something you'd agree with. This is one of those times. Now you need to stay in this room and rest.”
He moves toward the door then stops.
When he turns around the anger is gone. “You have no idea how fucking scared I was when I saw that asshole’s gun pointed at you.” His long legs eat up the distance between us until he’s right by me, taking a seat on the bed. “You are my fucking life, Megan. You have been since the day I met you. You might not always agree with everything I do, but just know I do it all because I love you.”
I still as the words leave his mouth. We haven’t said it, even though I think we’ve felt it the entire time we’ve been back together. Maybe we were afraid to.
“I love you too,” I say, adding, “I think my days of roaming the clubhouse are over.” He kisses me, and for a minute everything fades away and it’s only us.
Chapter Twenty-One
Megan
It’s been two weeks since everything happened with Timmy. I never asked Ryder what happened to him.
I don’t want to know. I’m living in my happy little bubble and I don’t want to invite anything in that may pop it.
I used some vacation time I had built up at work, but I go back tomorrow. I told them that my parents had died and nothing more. They were more useful in death to me than they were in life. I know the first thing I’ll notice will be Timmy’s empty desk. To think that he was that close the whole time and I had no idea. I dread to think about the rumors and I don’t know if I’ll be able to listen to office gossip about what happened to him and having to pretend to be naive.
I don’t want to think about any of it.
Ryder and I have been happy, but what happened still hangs between us. I know that will fade with time but I’ll also always wonder what else will happen in the club that I won’t know about.
I look around the clubhouse, seeing a few familiar faces; some I like, some I definitely don’t. What has gone on inside these walls and can I live with it?
Sever (Deathstalkers MC Book 6) Page 9