by Paula Cox
And then, just as the door slammed shut, his gaze finally shifted up towards her. A quick moment of connection, a tiny nod. It was all she was going to get. The glass was black, so dark that she could hardly see through it, and if he was going to help her — Well, she didn’t know what he’d be able to do anyway as the SUV shifted into motion.
***
The thugs were at least decent. It was infuriating that she’d now had enough experience to rank thugs according to their behavior, but at the same time, the ridiculous bullshit of the past few days had to be worth something. At this point, she figured Keller was the worst, what with actually drugging her and transporting her to an undisclosed location. The Vipers were next, having locked her up with (as far as they knew) a stranger. These jackoffs were pretty decent, all things considered. They gave her a bottle of water when she asked, and no one hit her or chloroformed her. It was practically kind, for a kidnapping.
They drove her back outside of the city, and Lola idly wondered how many miles she had clocked in the past seventy-two hours. To think that when this whole adventure had started, she’d wondered about jilling off in front of Gunner in his classic car. Those were indeed the days.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where we’re going,” she said when she got bored of the endless silence inside the SUV.
The guy who’d given her the water bottle glanced over the back of the seat with what was practically a friendly smile. “Yeah, no can do. You know how it is.”
Well, that was more of a response than she’d actually anticipated. Worth continuing? Why the hell not, it would pass the time. “The funny thing is, I don’t actually know how it is at all. I may look like an international woman of mystery and intrigue, but I’m basically a social worker and a preschool teacher. I don’t know much at all.”
The guy gave her a look over the rims of his expensive black sunglasses. “Preschool teacher?”
Lola resisted the urge to hike up the neckline on her T-shirt. “Yup.”
“How’d you get caught up in this shit?” he asked. The driver glanced sideways, and Lola edited in a glance that was somewhere between irritation and worry. Don’t reveal our dastardly plot, she had the driver say in his head. Da boss is going to kill her anyway, the passenger replied. What’s the harm?
Yeah, on second thought that little daydream was anything except reassuring. She pushed at it hard, but without something more pleasant to replace it, the idea was sticky.
“Hell if I know,” she said because what else was there to say? “Cute guy, sweet kid, and here I am.”
“Ain’t it always the way,” the thug said, laughing, and it was seriously disconcerting. Big brutish guys who hustled women out of malls in broad daylight weren’t supposed to be jovial or friendly or really anything at all. Except for threatening and terrifying. Of course, she was doing her absolute damnedest to pass herself off as too cool for school, so was it really surprising that they thought she was completely fine with whatever the hell happened next?
“Do you know where the girl is?” Lola asked because hey, it was worth a try.
It was the wrong question, though. The thug’s face stilled, and after a moment, he turned back around, settling into his position in the front seat, and was silent.
There was no more conversation as they drove well outside the city, past the warehouses and into the low-built office buildings that were mostly deserted now, victims of the economic downturn in the area. When the SUV parked, she waited in the back until the driver-side thug opened her door, letting her out.
She briefly considered running but to where? She was way outside of her comfort zone on the city’s outskirts, she didn’t have an easy way to get help. Even if she called the police, where would she tell them she was? Besides, she’d gone out to the mall to meet Keller and try to find out more about where Grace was and how to help. Giving up now would mean she’d put herself in danger without even trying to get what she needed. So, when the first thug gestured towards the office building, its windows coated in dust and its doors rusted and hanging at odd angles, she started walking. It was an idiotic thing to do, but compared to all the other plans she could come up with in that hectic moment, there was nothing else to do.
Somehow, even though she’d been picked up by a nice SUV and men in suits, she still expected to be marched into yet another building full of tattooed men with shaved heads, sun-darkened skin, and mean looks in their eyes. Instead, this room — she was still marched, that didn’t change — was almost like a board room, if you ignored the plastic sheeting on the walls and concrete floors. There was a long, rectangular table, a bank of monitors that looked like it would operate as a projector, and a water cooler. There was even a table set up with one of those pod coffee machines and little servings of creamer and packets of sugar. She’d never been able to get the childcare center to set one of those up; they still used an ancient drip machine that no one ever washed properly.
There were four men around the table. They were all white, with hair that varied between shades of blond and brown, and differing amounts of gray threading. They were all older and wearing well-tailored suits in shades of dark blue. It was like staring into the face of white privilege in America.
They had clearly been waiting for her; they turned towards her as she entered the room, and offered her identical smiles that were as friendly as they were fake. There was one man seated at the head of the table who seemed slightly more powerful than the others, though she couldn’t exactly put her finger on why. It was just something about the set of his shoulders and the lift of his eyebrows. His suit was just as well-tailored, and his hair was sandy blond, threaded with a gray that would probably be called distinguished in a fashion magazine. He gave her one of those big smiles that men his age seemed to think of as reassuring, but that mostly felt paternalistic and annoying.
“Miss Sykes,” he said, gesturing broadly in a way that made her wrinkle her nose with distaste. “We’re so pleased you could join us.”
There were two courses of action here. She could cross her arms and let her sassiness be a shield, or she could play the good girl, simper and be afraid, and hope that she’d get out of this that way. She wasn’t honestly sure that either one would work, but damn, she didn’t know what else to do. And the sass was a hell of a lot more natural for her, no matter what she wanted.
She crossed her arms, let her left hip pop just a little, and raised an eyebrow.
“I didn’t realize I had a choice,” she said, pleased that her voice didn’t shake. “Your goons definitely made it sound like attendance was compulsory. If choice is at play here? I’d like a ride back to where you found me.”
The man’s eyes narrowed just a little bit, his smile cooling down just a couple of degrees.
“I wish it were that simple, Miss Sykes, I really do,” he said. “But unfortunately, with Mr. Keller deciding, yet again, to evade our conversations, we must speak to whoever we can find. That means you because Mr. Keller has made the unfortunate decision to continue to involve you in what was supposed to be a very simple conversation.”
“Keller hasn’t told me anything,” Lola said, and this time she couldn’t entirely control the fear in her voice. Dammit, sassy only worked if they believed you had no fear. She was too tired for this, too worn out. Too many shitty things had happened too fast.
“Sit down,” the man said, gesturing towards the chair closest to her. Lola wanted to give him the finger and stay standing, but it would be easier to hide the fact that her knees were knocking together if she just sat down. So, she stalked to the chair and flung herself into it. She wasn’t going to be ladylike about it, even if she was — for now — giving them what they wanted. It’s for Grace, she told herself. Stay focused.
“Cream and sugar in your coffee?” Back to business meeting etiquette, apparently.
“No, black, please.” She didn’t actually want black coffee, at all, but it was better than nothing, and it would keep h
er from thinking she was happy here, in this chair.
The man nodded to one of the other men seated at the table. She noticed that the other man — younger, less gray — got a little bit tight around the mouth before he stood and went to the coffee pot. Interesting. All was not well in paradise, it seemed. Of course, paradise was an abandoned office building on the outskirts of the outskirts. Trouble was probably already implied.
Still, he did get up, and he put the little pod into the coffee machine, pushed a sequence of buttons, and then stood while the coffee brewed. He carried a small mug over and set it down in front of her. The coffee smelled awful; sharp and bitter. She sipped it anyway. She needed something to do with her hands, and this was better than nothing.
“Now, Miss Sykes,” the man said, and Lola put up her hand.
“Ms, please, if you don’t mind. And I’d like to know your name. If we’re supposed to be equals here.”
His grin became positively shark-like. “Equals is an overstatement. Call me — oh, I don’t know. Mr. Black would be just fine.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She’d never heard a more cartoon villain name outside of an actual cartoon. “Absolutely, Mr. Black.” She didn’t spit. That was a victory. “What is it you need from me? People keep asking me questions I don’t know the answer to, and all I want is to help a little girl go home safely.”
“It’s more complicated than that, unfortunately,” said the man who’d gotten the coffee, earning himself a glare from Mr. Black. She liked him better immediately.
Black picked up some kind of remote and pointed it at the bank of monitors. They lit up, and after a few moments, each one cycled to a different picture that looked like a security feed. Black and white, grainy, flickering. She studied them for a moment, and then her eyes locked on the picture in the upper right corner.
“You see, Ms. Sykes,” Mr. Black said. “We know the girl is alive. We believe she has the information we need. But Mr. Keller has prevented us from being able to ask her some very necessary questions. All we want to do is ascertain whether or not the girl is any danger to us.”
“If she doesn’t know whatever it is you’re worried about, what happens then?”
“We apologize for the inconvenience, and send everyone on their way with our apologies and compliments.”
“And if you find out she does have information you need?”
Black’s smile got a little bit wider, animalistic. “Well, then things will get a little bit more complicated. Unfortunately. We’ll have to hope that we can all come to some sort of arrangement. I hope, for everyone’s sake, that it is possible.” The smile faded away like the sun as a cloud passed over it. “I’d hate to even think about what would happen if we couldn’t.”
Lola tried to hide the shiver that ran down her spine. “And what does Keller have to do with all of this? Surely if your intentions are as innocent as you say, then he should want to bring the girl to you.”
“If only Keller were as rational as you,” Black said, smiling that shark smile again. “Unfortunately, he seems to have his own opinions. He’s taken the girl somewhere else. I want you to get her back. I’ll ask my questions, and you’ll be on your way.”
Her mind spun as she tried to think of a way out of this or a way through it. There was nothing she could think of, other than sheer, blind obedience. At least for now.
“Okay,” she said, feigning frustration and acceptance. “Fine. I’ll do what you want. For Grace’s sake.”
“Good,” Black replied. “Excellent choice. I’m so glad that we’re going to be working together, Ms. Sykes.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gunner was on the road again, the wind hard in his face. So many times over the past few days he’d been on his bike. It was where the world made the most sense, and where things were easiest to cope with. Especially hard things, like this—when the Viper had shown up at the clubhouse, spinning a tale about Lola being walked out of the mall by men in suits.
Horse had half a mind to dismiss it, but the Viper member had described the outfit Lola had been wearing to a T, and what reason did he truly have to lie? Gunner had taken to the road with half the Breed at his back, and half the Vipers on their way. The Viper had sent the location where the SUV had taken Lola to his club and led Gunner and the Breed there personally.
Outside the old office building, he took just a moment to make sure that everyone was ready. And then they rushed the door.
Gunner had been in more than a few firefights in his life, but he’d never enjoyed them. He’d never felt good about firing a gun, and he’d never been entirely sure if he’d killed another person. He didn’t want to know. He’d been sick enough over the various beatings he’d given. But this was his daughter, and the woman he—Well, loved was an awfully strong word. But he cared about Lola. He cared about her a lot more than made any sense given the short time he’d known her. And if he had to kill someone because they meant her harm, well, then that was just what was necessary to keep her safe.
With his siblings at arms, he rushed through the door, through a confusing series of corridors and old cubicles, coated with dust where they weren’t draped in plastic sheeting. The building smelled like mouse shit and something else, darker, that he couldn’t quite place.
There were clear tracks through the dust to follow, and he followed them easily, letting them lead him deeper into the dark maze of a building. He could hear voices, and after a few turns, lights. He held up before he and the rest of the club members rushed the room, spending a moment getting an idea of what was happening.
He could see a long conference table. Several suits around the table, who looked lazy, soft. One at the head of the table who looked like a hell of a snake, but not the kind who would be a threat in a fight. More you wouldn’t want against you — Well, at a table like this one. There were guys in suits all around the table, the kind who wore dark sunglasses inside and had their fancy suits cut so that they wouldn’t betray the shoulder harness worn underneath them. And at the end of the table was Lola. He recognized her from the hall of her dark, curly hair in its ponytail, and the set of her shoulders. She was nervous, but not as much as she could’ve been. He waited until the others with him were close by, guns out. His heart throbbed in his ears as he took a deep breath, let it halfway out, and then nodded.
They boiled into the room in a rapid wave. He couldn’t track each moment as it happened; he reacted on instinct and movement, rather than consideration. There were shouts around him, of “Don’t move” and “On the ground” and “Listen up scum.” He saw one of the standing suits go for a gun and saw him fall backward, clutching at his shoulder. Another moved, close to Gunner, and he brought back the gun before bringing it down hard across the man’s temple, crumpling him to the floor like a sack of potatoes. It felt like ages, but it was just a few moments before the men were surrounded, put in their places, hands up in the air or down on the ground. Horse seemed to have the situation contained, and when he shared a quick nod with Gunner, Gunner let himself go to Lola.
She all but flung herself up out of the chair, wrapping her arms around his neck and throwing her weight so hard against him that he wavered slightly on his feet.
“Hey,” he let himself murmur into her neck, looking up at the ceiling so that the stinging in his eyes wouldn’t turn into something embarrassing. “Hey. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
“Damn right I am,” she whispered back, and he could hear choked wetness in her voice as well. “But I’m getting really tired of this damsel in distress routine. Real tired.”
“Well, tell you what,” he said. “Next time, you can rescue me. Deal?”
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
He pulled back enough to see her face and give her the shit-eating grin he knew she loved. “So how did a pretty girl like you end up in a—” He looked around, considering. “Crappy broken down office building like this?”
Instead of laughing, though, the joy
on her face stilled down into something between fear and worry.
“They have Grace,” she said. “Or they know who does. But they don’t know where she is. And Gunner… we have to get to her first.”
Something inside of him twisted in a knot, and then let go with a sharp and sudden wave of emotion. “We will. I promise. Tell me what you know.”
He listened while Lola told him about the man who’d kidnapped her the previous day, who she’d seen at the mall, and who these men had told her had taken Grace and Laurel both, trying to find out if they knew anything about whatever Sam had been mixed up in so many years ago. He listened, but if he was completely honest, he struggled to actually hear any of the words.
All this time, Sam had haunted him, her belief that Gunner’s love of bikes, riding, and being with people who loved it just as much as him, would get their baby killed. It had nearly broken their relationship dozens of times, and he had to admit that he’d wondered now and then if it had gotten Sam herself killed. But it hadn’t. None of it had shit to do with him. It was all about Sam, and her relentless passion and drive to right the wrongs of the world. It felt like a weight he’d carried for so many years was shifting off his chest, and he had the ability to draw a deep breath for the first time.