Wild Ways

by Tina Wainscott

She blinked when he’d mentioned her gun. “How did you know I’m armed? Oh, you overheard me talking about shooting.”

  “I’m military, trained to assess threats. I didn’t need to overhear you. You give yourself away, mami, which costs the element of surprise. Whenever I mention a threat, you do this.” He mirrored the action of her hand hovering near her gun. “You need every advantage when you’re dealing with these people. Let me be an advantage, too.”

  “No, thank you.”

  He released a long breath. Of course, she didn’t trust him. But she’d trusted that other guy. “Where’d you meet Kevin? Bodyguards R Us?”

  She almost laughed. Almost. “At a shooting range. I was getting in some practice, and he came up and complimented my marksmanship. When I told him I was looking for my sister, he offered to help.”

  Julian snorted. “For a price. Wait a minute. Missing sister. You posted a flyer at the gas station, didn’t you? The one in the window?”

  “I’ve been posting them everywhere.”

  “Give me one. I’ll watch for her on my way to Miami.”

  Keeping her eye on him, she backed toward her car, got in, and handed it to him through the open window. He could see the glint of metal and the muzzle of the gun she now held in her lap. She was about to meet with some guy whose aim in life was to join an outlaw motorcycle gang, and she was afraid of Julian. He shook his head as he lifted the flyer to the light. The girl in the color photo resembled Mollie feature-wise, with her big blue eyes and high cheekbones. But where Mollie had light red hair, her sister was a dark redhead. And she had the same glassy, lost look he’d seen in his ex-girlfriend’s eyes. Her escalating drug use had broken his heart and made him crazy at the same time. When she wouldn’t even try to go straight, he’d had to quit the relationship to preserve his own sanity.

  Beneath a date of birth and disappearance, it read, Diana Reagan, aka Birdy, last seen in the company of the Kings of Chaos during a bike rally in Daytona Beach, FL.

  He gestured toward the bar by pursing his lips, then realized she might not understand the Puerto Rican gesture and pointed. “You’ve been doing this kind of thing, hanging out at biker bars, meeting strangers?”

  She shrugged, keeping her gaze ahead. “It’s all I have. A lead here, a tip there.”

  “Mostly by yourself?” He tried to keep the surprise from his voice.

  “I’m the only one I can count on.” She started to roll the window back up.

  And the bicho who’d just left had proven that to her again. Julian waved the flyer in farewell and backed away. At least she was waiting in her car now. No doubt about it—the woman had cojones. Admiration and fear bombarded him as he glanced back at her car. She was watching him, though she quickly averted her gaze.

  She didn’t look one bit closer to reconsidering her plan or her refusal of his help. He’d seen that single-mindedness in soldiers he’d fought beside. They had a job to do, and it didn’t matter if they were creeping through enemy territory in the dark or, like that last mission, entering the compound of a well-armed enemy. For them, it was another day at the office, a challenge. For her, this was personal. Even more than the fact that it involved her sister. He’d heard her emotion when she’d told the idiot she couldn’t give up on Diana. Her words had wrapped around his bones.

  Who gave up on you, mami?

  Talk about getting emotionally involved. Julian mounted his bike. She looked the other way as he drove past her a minute later. Just out of sight of the bar, he pulled into an empty parking lot and sent Rath a text: Come on back, brother. Possible trouble. He doubted Rath would feel the vibration of his phone over the one on his bike, or hear the chain saw notification sound, but Julian figured he’d try anyway.

  He pulled the flyer from his pocket and called Chase. “Hey, it’s Julian. You said it was never too late to call.”

  “Not at all,” Chase said. “What’s up?”

  “You told us that sometimes your operatives bring a case to TJA.” He looked at the flyer. “I have one.” He gave Chase the rundown on the situation. “The gang might not show up, but I’m going to stick around just in case.” Julian stared at the bar in the near distance. “I want to help her. Not only right now, but to find her sister.”

  “This desire doesn’t have anything to do with her being, say, attractive? Or the damsel-in-distress syndrome?”

  “Wanting to help might be because she’s pretty, and yes, she’s in distress. But the need to help—I think it has to do with family. Being cut off from my family is hard. I get the impression her connection with her sister is the only true one she has.” He sensed that Chase was perceptive, and Julian vowed to be aboveboard with him. He’d spent enough of his childhood lying and scheming, well trained by his loving family.

  “Are you still with Rath? I’d feel better knowing you have backup.”

  “Rath just took off, but I sent him a text to roll on back. I’ve handled six or seven bad guys at once by myself. I can handle a bunch of tweaked-out bikers, if it comes to that. It’s the woman I’m worried about. Because she isn’t going to like my butting in one bit.”

  Chapter 2

  Greaser held a .38 to Billy Bob’s head, waiting for the club’s president to give the go-ahead. Waiting anxiously, judging by the way his eyes kept going from the gun to his boss, like a dog waiting for the attack command. Scotch, a nod to his Scottish heritage and drink of choice, gave his sergeant at arms the signal to hold.

  He stood in front of Billy Bob, who was on his knees. “Did you tell the Reagan woman that the Kings still had her sister?”

  “No.” Billy Bob shook his head so hard that his neck crackled. “I wouldn’t say something like that.”

  “But you were willing to give her information. Without consulting me. Why is that, Billy Bob?”

  “She’s been looking for her sister, and my sister was kidnapped when I was a kid. Never did find her, and it tore my family apart. I felt sorry for Mollie, ya know? She said Birdy called her a month ago, wanting to come home. I wasn’t going to give away any incriminating information, Scotch. I swear.”

  The prospect was putting his feelings above the club’s interests. That wouldn’t do. Scotch remembered Birdy—their nickname for the sister—making that call. She’d sneaked off with Boner’s cell. Boner had cuffed her before she was about to give away their location. Then he’d given her more crank to shut her up. Good thing they used untraceable cell phones.

  “This woman’s been dogging the chapters for a month now. If she finds out anything about her sister, it’s going to make trouble. We don’t need trouble, unless we’re causing it.” He smiled at Greaser. “Ain’t that right?”

  “Yeah, boss. Sure is.”

  Billy Bob’s breathing was erratic. “I figured since you talked to her, it was okay to help her out.”

  “But see, Billy Bob, here’s the thing. I’m the president. I can make those kinds of decisions. And I was getting rid of her. I sent her to our rivals, the Purgatory Posse.” They vied with the Kings for the title of most violent motorcycle club. “I figured once she started sniffing around, they’d take care of her. But nope, ’cause here she is again, like an outbreak of VD. See, clubs don’t like nosy people.” Or nosy members. Scotch had gotten wind of Billy Bob’s inquiries. “What have you already told the Reagan woman?” Scotch kept his voice modulated, nonthreatening.

  “Only that she and Brick were gone. I didn’t say nothing about how it went down.” He shuddered, probably remembering Brick’s screams of agony.

  The guy was definitely too soft to be a King. Scotch had had his doubts from the beginning about Billy Bob being patch-worthy. Lots of guys wanted to become part of a society that would protect them, stand by them. Most didn’t have the grit to ride with the Kings.

  Scotch had much fonder memories of Brick’s departure. “So you were going to meet her tonight and tell her what?”

  “Just that Birdy was with one of our sister chapters and doing okay. I figure
d Mollie would be happy knowing that. Maybe she’d go home.”

  “You’re talking out your ass, prospect. That kind of information is only going to spur her on. Then they’d get pissed that we sent her.” He scratched his beard, his fingers sliding against the greasy strands. “Margie said you were planning to meet the sister back at the bar at two, when we were supposed to be heading over.” Good thing the bartender was his ol’ lady. She’d overheard the prospect’s call with Mollie Reagan, so Scotch had changed the plan.

  “Yeah. But I can tell her anything you want. I was mistaken, it wasn’t Birdy. Or even better, send her to the Vipers’ nest.” Billy Bob’s laugh was as hollow as his balls were. “Maybe those boys’ll take care of her.”

  “I have a better idea. I’ll deal with her myself.” He gave Greaser the signal.

  The bullet exploded through the prospect’s head and left a mess all over the floor. Gunfire in this part of town wouldn’t even cause a ripple of interest. That was why the chapter had chosen this area for their clubhouse. Lots of abandoned houses and drug activity where outsiders and Feds stood out like sore thumbs.

  Greaser wasted no time going through Billy Bob’s pockets, taking his wallet, motorcycle keys, and then his watch.

  Scotch called Margie. “Is the woman there yet?”

  “She’s outside.”

  “What about the two guys you said came in earlier?”

  He didn’t like the Reagan woman showing up on the same evening as two unknowns. Margie called him whenever strangers wandered into the Ship’s Inn. They wore no colors, but that didn’t mean they weren’t rival members scoping out the territory.

  “They left a short while ago,” she said. “I think they were what they said, two vets out to clear their heads. They didn’t ask any questions, just sat with their backs against the wall, shot some pool, and minded their business.”

  “So there’s only Kings at the bar?”

  “Yep, Blazer and Mooney playing pool with some guys from the Saint Louis chapter.”

  The fewer witnesses, the better. Even his own brothers.

  “Go out there and tell her that Billy Bob left a message to wait around back. He’s on his way.”

  * * *

  Mollie Reagan watched the sexy Latino’s lights disappear, his engine fading into the sounds of the city.

  Sexy? Had she really thought that? No, more like scary, disturbing, intrusive, and … okay, sexy, if you liked the bad-boy biker type. Which she did not. That had been her sister’s failing, being drawn in by the mystique. Mollie went for the underdog, down-and-out types. Neither had proved reliable, but at least her choice of men wasn’t dangerous.

  Oddly, she felt regret at letting the Latino leave. He had seemed to be trying to help, with his advice about not giving away her gun’s presence. And he’d offered to stand by her. She’d liked the idea of having someone at her side when she met with Billy Bob, even if she did have to pay him. A check of her surroundings showed that the guy on the bike was, indeed, gone. You made sure of that. Stung by Kevin’s abrupt departure, she hadn’t been very nice to the guy who’d offered his assistance. Who had seemed to actually care.

  Don’t get sentimental. He probably would have asked for some huge sum of money. They usually did if they had something to offer. Most of that information had turned out to be dead ends, or in the case of Scotch, wild goose chases. More like a wild alligator chase, given the people he’d sent her to.

  She watched the bar’s stained door, uneasy about being here so late at night. All right, more than uneasy. Nervous. Scared. She’d approached Billy Bob during the day when he’d been doing what he said was prospect duty—guarding the club’s bikes parked outside. He’d told her that the guys were planning on being there that night, and he’d no doubt be pulling duty again. It would be safer if they talked outside, since the guys knew who she was.

  She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, tension tightening all the muscles in her body. How long should she wait? Billy Bob and the gang were very late now. Part of her whispered, Go, get out of here, but it was so damned hard to let go of a possible lead.

  The door opened, and a skinny woman walked out and headed right toward Mollie’s car. She lowered the window.

  The woman brushed straw-like hair from her gaunt face. “You Mollie?” Her voice was as rough as the rest of her.

  Scanning the area and seeing no obvious threat, Mollie stepped out. “Yes.”

  “Billy Bob just called and asked me to give you a message. The guys are heading elsewhere, but he’s going to slip away and meet you for a few minutes. It’d be better if you pulled around to the back of the building, so the guys inside don’t see him talking to you.”

  As the woman started walking back, Mollie asked, “Have you seen Birdy?” She handed her a flyer. “She’s my sister, was hanging with the Kings.”

  The woman barely looked at the paper. “I don’t see anything around here. It keeps me alive. And sane.” She scurried back into the bar.

  Mollie wanted to understand what drove these women to join the clubs so she might have a clue to understanding her sister. Most would barely talk to her.

  Molly knew that Billy Bob was taking a chance by talking to her, but she sure didn’t like the idea of parking around the back. The area was somewhat of an industrial park, or had been years ago. The closest building looked to be some kind of manufacturing facility, though there was no activity at this time of night. Farther down the road was a stripper bar, with a garish neon sign flashing the silhouette of a curvy woman. On the other side of a large vacant field was a shopping center with a liquor store at one end, an all-night self-serve laundry at the other, and empty shop spaces in between.

  Mollie had scoped it out before she’d come to the bar, taking note of places she could run to if she needed help. Though she wasn’t sure who would go up against the Kings if it came down to it. Probably no one.

  She looked at her sister’s face smiling up from the flyer. Below the main picture Mollie had included two smaller ones. One was of the two of them as children. Mollie wanted people to see the innocent girl Diana had once been. The second picture was the polar opposite, taken from her Facebook page before it had been closed down. It was a selfie, from her cell phone as she held it out in front of her. She looked happy, if drunk. The background revealed guys with beards, tattoos, and black leather vests with the Kings logo. Mollie would go around the back of hell if it meant bringing her sister home.

  The old sedan she drove fit in well in the places she found herself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t completely strategic. It was all she could afford now, especially since she no longer had a job. Her employer could only tolerate her absences for so long, no matter the reason. And people weren’t particularly sympathetic when they learned her sister had run off with a biker gang. Even her own family.

  Mollie held back the wall of despair that threatened to crash down on her. She didn’t need anyone’s help. She didn’t need anyone at all. Well, that’s good, since you don’t have anyone.

  And there came the Latino popping into her mind again. She pushed him and his warnings away as she pulled around to the back of the building. The windows had been filled in with concrete. Though the front of the bar had some semblance of being clean, the back sported bottles, cigarette butts, and stains that looked as though the wall had served as a handy urinal. As soon as she doused her headlights, most of the debris melted into darkness. Distant lights cast a dim glow, so she could still see her surroundings.

  She pulled out her Ruger and felt the reassuring weight of the small revolver. God, would she have ever thought that she’d own a gun? That she would have taken a concealed permit class? That she’d have lost her sister?

  Twenty minutes later, she heard what was now becoming a familiar rumble as one headlight swept around the corner. Her heart thudded, feeling as though it weighed fifty pounds in her chest. The twist of hope and fear was becoming almost normal. She tucked her .38 Special away an
d made sure the fifty-dollar bill was still in the pocket on the other side. She’d wasted a lot of money paying for information that had led to nowhere. But if there was a chance of finding Diana, she would spend her last dime.

  She got out of the car, squinting at the blinding headlight. Her engine was still running. The silhouette behind that light took his time killing the engine and dismounting. As he approached, she could tell that it wasn’t Billy Bob. The guy was too big. Adrenaline buzzed in her veins. She stopped herself from holding her hand over the gun but kept it close.

  “Mollie Reagan?” he asked.

  She wanted to ask what happened to Billy Bob but didn’t dare say his name. “Yes.” She also knew there was no point in asking for this person’s name.

  “Billy Bob got tied up, so he asked me to relay a message.”

  The back door of the bar opened, and another man stepped out. He lit up a cigarette as he closed the door and headed toward the vacant lot beyond. Her instincts were screaming now.

  She curled her fingers over the door handle. “I didn’t want to get him in any trouble.”

  The guy who’d been on the bike laughed. “Oh, he’s not in trouble. Dude doesn’t have a care in the world. But you do.”

  She drew her weapon. Being a double-action revolver, it had no safety or hammer to cock. “Back off.”

  She opened her door and dropped into the driver’s seat. As she started to throw the car into gear, she had only a glimpse of a shadow, the smell of body odor, before someone grabbed her from the passenger seat. The guy who’d walked out had slipped into her car!

  One nicotine-scented hand latched on to her gun; the other tried to wrap around her throat. Her door opened, and the first guy yanked her out of the car.

  “I haven’t got her gun yet, Greaser,” the guy to her right yelled.

  A gunshot split the air. They were shooting at her! But the gunfire had come from a short distance away, and the guy at her door dropped with an oof. Blood splattered across her arm. The guy to her right took advantage of her shock and lunged for her gun. Another shot shattered the rear window and tore through the headrest of the passenger seat. He screamed and released his hold on her, ducking down as he held his head.