Kellen's Redemption (Hell Raiders MC)

by Aden Lowe

  He quickly had the image attached to an email and on its way to her. "Can I ask you to keep this one private? I probably shouldn't be snooping, but it caught my attention."

  "Of course. Everything with you is private. Why would I expect this to be any different?"

  Kellen hurried and made an excuse to end the call before it could dissolve into a bitter diatribe expounding all his faults. Last thing he needed at the moment.

  Satisfied he'd at least made an effort at solving the puzzle, he took a moment to check on the club's investments. Their returns had seemed a bit slim last quarter and he'd made some changes in an attempt to counteract the losses. It looked as if he'd made the right choices and profits were up.

  Most of the others had no idea, and couldn't care less, that he invested a good portion of the club's assets in the stock market. Yet another reason why he needed Trip in the second chair instead of Hack. If something happened to him, Trip could handle the finances. Hack didn't know the stock market from the farmers market.

  With nothing more to occupy him, he wondered out to the big room that served as living room/bar/game room, and whatever else they needed it for. He hopped up on the counter that served as a bar and swung over to grab a beer from the cooler, then wondered over to where Crank and Fabio were engrossed in a documentary on the big screen tv.

  Crank looked up. "How's it going, boss? Better mood?"

  "Not so much. What we watching?"

  Fabio grinned. "Get this shit. They think aliens were here in like the Stone Age. All those pics on the ground in South America, they think are signs to try and get them to come back. And maybe the pyramids and shit, too." The big former Marine, with his interest in alternative history and conspiracy theory, might have some insight on the graffiti.

  Considering carefully, Kellen made some non-committal reply. Should he take the chance and show it to Fabio? And what about Crank? He might have something with all his martial arts stuff.

  Before he could change his mind, Kellen pulled the image up on his phone and passed it to Fabio. "Take a look at this, man. You ever see anything like it?"

  Fabio paused the tv and studied the screen carefully, zoomed in, and back out. Finally, he shook his head. "I've seen something similar, a few years back. Me and my guys were tracking some of Saddam's guns that went missing. Something like that kept showing up. We lost the guns, and the signs pointed to them going to Russia, but we never had proof."

  That rang a bell, but Kellen couldn't quite put his finger on why. Instead he passed the phone to Crank. "How about you?"

  Crank took the phone and stood to pace back and forth. Every so often he paused and turned the phone to a different angle. "Yeah, I've seen something like it before. Be careful, my man. This shit points to a Russian mob family, or whatever. Don't want nothing to do with them motherfuckers."

  Hmmm. "That makes sense, I guess." His finger landed squarely on the earlier bell. That detective had said Vicki's last name was Mihalovich. Sure as hell sounded Russian to him. He wandered over to one of the leather recliners and sat staring blankly at the aliens on tv while he turned the whole thing over and over in his mind.

  Chapter Six – The Next Day

  So maybe meeting the rest of the Raiders at the Rattlesnake wasn't his brightest idea. Kellen hadn't really thought trouble would come up, since they'd always met there before a run. But the Prospect, Dix, just recovered from the rattlesnake bite he'd received during that debacle out west, had said the wrong thing to that little Georgie.

  It would have been funny if he didn't need Dix in decent shape for this run. He'd had to step in and save the bastard from a real beating. Luckily, Georgie responded well to an apology and a please. Why the hell she'd gotten so mad at Dix for admiring her hair was beyond Kellen's comprehension. Most females liked Dix's clean-cut appearance and aw-shucks manners.

  Kellen swung onto his bike and started it, revving it hard, and put Dix's predicament out of mind. The others moved out at his nod and he took his place at the head of the double line of heavy bikes. The puzzle with Vicki had him tied in knots. The uncharacteristic desire to sweep in like a knight in shining armor and rescue her from whatever trouble sat in her lap worried him.

  And besides that, he couldn't get that body out of his mind, leaving him with a perpetual hard-on. Sexual frustration made him nasty tempered, so he was in a fine mood for the meet up with Jessup. Those boys better hope the deal came to a successful conclusion, or there would be bloodshed.

  The Hell Raiders seemed well-aware he balanced on a razor's edge, and avoided speaking to, or even looking at, him. They'd experienced his wrath a time or two before, and apparently had no desire to do so again. Normally, he kept it all under wraps pretty well, but once in a while, he lost it. When that happened, if no other targets presented themselves, the Raiders took the brunt of his temper.

  The hour ride passed quickly and the roar of the bikes effectively settled him and focused his attention on Jessup. By the time they arrived at the gated compound, disguised as a junk yard, he was all ready for business, especially if it meant cracking heads.

  The skinny kid on watch took a good look at them, then slid the heavy gate back to allow them to pass. More likely, Jessup had the gate wired so he could see whoever approached and let the guard know whether to open the gate or not. At least, that's what Kellen would do with the layout Jessup had.

  Slow and wary, Kellen led the way inside. Fuck, he hated this place. The approach between stacks of crushed vehicles made a perfect shooting gallery, and had been used as such more than once. Jessup was known as an unforgiving maniac, and anyone who crossed him ended up soaking in a barrel of used motor oil somewhere.

  But, unforgiving maniac or not, Jessup had the best setup for chopping cars in two states, so there really wasn't much choice for anyone in the hot car business but to deal with him. At least not if they wanted a guaranteed buyer. Other chop shops opened and closed on an almost daily basis, all lacking one vital element or another. Jessup had stood the test of time. Kellen needed the deal to go forward immediately. His system was getting backed up without a distributor.

  They finally rolled out the steel canyon and into an open area around the squat building that housed the office and the bays where parts were stripped from cars. Directly beyond lay the huge open shed where the meticulously organized parts waited for customers to need them.

  That was part of what made Jessup such a good choice. His legitimate business set up an excellent cover. People sold him their junk cars, his crew stripped usable parts from them for resale, and the remainder was crushed for scrap metal. So if a boosted car ended up in one of his bays, no one was any wiser. And that was where Kellen came in. He had the contact with the crew that boosted the cars and transported them. All he needed was an outlet.

  The Raiders parked, deliberately turning their bikes back toward the exit. In response to Kellen's signals, some stayed with the bikes, while the rest spread out and took up firing positions, just in case. Too damn bad if Jessup was offended. Kellen refused to just hand himself over on a platter.

  Hack and Kellen dismounted and headed for the door marked 'Office'. For the ten-millionth time, Kellen wished Trip was in the VP chair. Hack lacked even basic technological knowledge and wouldn't see even an obvious set-up. Kellen needed eyes with brains behind them in a situation like this one.

  Inside, the place gave him the creeps in a big way. It was always literally as cold as the damn North Pole. Actually seeing his breath in an office seemed odd, until he thought about it. Jessup was paranoid about being lied to or set up. With a person's breathing visible, he could rather easily determine if someone told the truth or not.

  Besides freezing, the office looked sterile as an operating room, all glaring white and polished steel. The temperature only added to that effect and made Kellen feel as if he were going under the knife. He hated going in the place, and he always made sure not to touch anything barehanded. The last thing he needed was for anyo
ne to have a full set of his prints and all those polished steel surfaces were perfect to hold a fingerprint and to lift one from. A guy like Jessup no doubt dealt in information and other high-dollar items, besides car parts.

  Jessup stood behind the counter, same as he had the two previous times Kellen had visited, dead cigar stub clamped between his teeth. He looked up, nearly white eyes giving Kellen the creeps all over again. "You're late."

  "No, I'm not. We said nine o'clock. It's eight fifty-three. Early." Kellen refused to give in to the attempt at intimidation. The guy relied on the creepy setting and his unsettling appearance to give him an edge in negotiations.

  Jessup shrugged skinny shoulders, his white coverall barely moving. "I had to wait, so you're late." He tapped the keyboard in front of him. "Get down to business and stop wasting my time. What can you deliver, and when?"

  Kellen concealed his scowl. An old hand at tense discussions with any number of dangerous men, he refused to allow a nerd's theatrics to make him give anything away. "I can deliver anything I want, whenever I want, but that's beside the point. The way this works is, you tell me what you can move, I tell you if my crew will get it for you." No fucking way he was going to let the weird little bastard take over the negotiations. "And then I tell you what you'll pay me for it."

  Jessup shrugged again, apparently conceding for the moment. "I can use any soccer-mom models, any time, and I pay four hundred each."

  "Bullshit. I can junk them anywhere for that. Not worth my trouble." Bastard. "I won't risk my crew for that."

  Another shrug. "They're a dime a dozen." The white eyes rolled up to stare at him. "Cars and crew."

  The attitude pushed Kellen's buttons. Keeping his temper reined in presented a challenge at the moment. "Junk cars are. Running vehicles with good parts, you'd get a grand each at least. And just FYI, good crews are priceless. I won't risk mine for no profit."

  Another eye roll accompanied the shrug this time. "And I have all the overhead. Five each."

  "Seven."

  Finally, after some back and forth, they settled on six hundred each for what Jessup called the soccer-mom cars. They worked out other prices for the various other models Jessup could use. All in all, the deal pleased Kellen, and by the time they shook on it, his mood had brightened considerably. He came out considerably better on the deal than with his previous partner in that part of his business.

  He reminded himself not to let his guard down. Dudes had disappeared into Jessup's yard before. With the details settled, he and Hack left the office to find everything as they'd left it. The others returned to the bikes, wary as hell, ready for anything. Kellen didn't breathe again until that fucking gate closed behind them and they rolled safely onto the road again.

  Not long into the ride home, they came to an intersection. Straight ahead would take him home to Stags Leap. A right turn would take him the scenic route to Vicki's town. Of course, he had no clue where she lived, so it would be a shot in the dark.

  The Raiders waited behind him, engines idling, while he reasoned through the temptation. They would do whatever he asked, whenever, no questions asked. The responsibility weighed heavily on him, but he never shirked it. At the moment, though, he'd rather not have to consider anyone else.

  He signaled Hack then spoke above the engine noise. "You take the boys on home. I'm making a side trip."

  The question flickered through the VP's eyes, but at least he didn't voice it. Maybe the bastard was smarter than Kellen gave him credit for. Hack nodded and lifted a hand to signal the Raiders to follow, and headed out.

  As the tail lights faded with distance and terrain, Kellen sat there, still trying to convince himself not to head toward Vicki. Even if he knew where to find her, a woman like her definitely had no trouble finding willing men to do whatever she needed. Most likely she had some slick lawyer or stock broker or something in her bed right at that moment.

  Jealousy speared him. He had no intention of surrendering her to some sleazy half-man without a fight. He wanted more of her first.

  Decision made, he gave the bike some gas and eased it into the right-hand turn. He would decide how to find her and what to do when he did. For the moment, he settled back to enjoy the solitary ride through the night.

  Chapter Seven

  Kellen almost regretted when the narrow rural roads gave way to smoother, wider pavement, and then to extra lanes and wide shoulders. He always enjoyed riding alone on a deserted stretch of road with nothing but the sound of his engine tearing through the night. It was like therapy for him, allowing him to work through whatever problems or stress he happened to be facing at the moment. Better than therapy, considering it only cost him a couple bucks worth of gas and he didn't need to put up with some idiot analyzing him. Yeah, way better.

  The outskirts of town, with tightly packed subdivisions and strip malls, signaled time to slow down. He very nearly swung around and headed back the other way. The lure the solitary night exerted on him very nearly overpowered his need to learn more about Vicki. At the last second, he resisted, and pulled into a gas station.

  Inside, the clerk watched him warily as he headed for the Mens Room. Careful not to touch anything with his hands, he gratefully left the disgusting pisser and found the drink coolers just to the side. At the counter, the clerk kept one hand out of sight as Kellen paid for his bottled water.

  The woman scowled as she counted his change, and Kellen suddenly had enough. "You know, just because I wear leather and some patches doesn't mean I'm going to murder you."

  Her frown deepened and she looked pointedly at his arm, where the short sleeve of his t-shirt revealed a little ink. Then her gaze flicked to his gauged earlobes, and her mouth tightened in disapproval.

  Kellen shook his head. "Some people are just fucking ignorant. I'd slap the piss out of a bitch like you even if I didn't have ink. But, I'm a civilized human being, for the moment at least, so I'll refrain." His hand itched to make good on his threat, but Kellen forced himself to turn away and walk slowly out to his bike.

  Probably best not to linger long enough to drink the water and call Vicki. Idiotic bitch in there had probably already called the cops. Just to make a point, he let the bike scream out of the lot and headed on down the road.

  Just a half mile further, a well-lit truck stop advertised the best coffee in Ohio and free wifi. Coffee sounded better than the water he'd bought at the other place, so he stopped. Inside, the service was far more amenable, and he returned to his bike with a smile and the young clerk's phone number. She might offer an interesting diversion if things didn't pan out with Vicki.

  A smokers' bench at the side of the lot offered a seat and Kellen accepted. After a sip of the steaming brew, he lit a cigarette while he dug his phone out. Call or text? Would she even answer?

  He'd never know unless he tried. Before he could change his mind, he hit the call icon, and waited, tapping one foot and taking a heavy drag of smoke. Her phone rang half a dozen times and went to voice mail. He started to hang up without leaving a message when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. Just his luck. He ended Vicki's call and answered the other one.

  "Hey, baby, I'm sorry, I was on another call and missed you." Her voice reached through the phone and eased away the frustration of the last several hours.

  "You busy, little girl?"

  "Not yet. Where are you?"

  "Uh, I'm actually not too far from where I picked you up the other night. I was in the area for some business, thought I'd see if you'd like some company." Kellen carefully kept his voice neutral, as if he didn't give a damn how she replied. No matter that his heart was in his throat. He refused to let her know it.

  She took a long time to answer, and when she did, she sounded small and frightened. "I'd really like that. A distraction would be good right now." She gave him directions to her apartment and promised to be waiting.

  The coffee might be the best in Ohio, but Kellen tossed away a nearly full cup before he swung back on
to his bike and roared out of the truck stop with his pulse racing. If any cops happened to be sitting around, they'd have him for sure, since he ignored the speed limit and let the bike fly.

  Twelve long minutes later, he followed Vicki's directions and rolled into the secured parking garage. That whole operation rubbed him the wrong way, but he consoled himself with a reminder that at least nobody would fuck with his bike. He backed into a full-sized slot near the door into her floor, and out of sheer habit, aimed straight for the exit sign.

  After a deep breath, he turned his baseball cap around to keep his face obscured from any cameras that might be pointed his way, and headed for that door. A buzzer sounded as he reached for the handle, startling him a little. She'd said the building had pretty tight security. She must not have been joking.

  On the other side of the door, a uniformed guard stood beside a desk, waiting for him. "Good evening, sir. The lady in three-fourteen said you would be stopping by. It's the fourth door down on your left." Even while he spoke, the man made notes in a thick ledger.

  Kellen didn't much appreciate anyone writing anything about him, but if he wanted to see Vicki, there probably wasn't much choice. He headed down the broad corridor, taking note of the camera located up near the ceiling. Once within range, he made sure to keep his head down and let the baseball cap do its job. The thick creamy carpet that kept his heavy boots silent would probably bear permanent stains from the oil and road grime he'd tracked in. Not that he cared or anything.

  The heavy door with the ornate three-fourteen embossed on its surface swung inward when he stopped in front of it. That shit was starting to mess with his head. In his world, doors didn't read his damn mind. After a second's hesitation, he walked into the apartment, wary as hell.

  Inside, low light led him toward what turned out to be a living room. Vicki sat cross-legged in the middle of a big sofa, tousled hair spilling across the back, eyes closed and papers spread across her lap and the coffee table before her.