The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club

by Davida Lynn

  Faith got her heart rate under control. She didn’t want to sound desperate, but she saw few options besides waiting for the Rising Sons to find her. She hadn’t spoken yet when Carlos tossed her cell phone back to her. Faith saw some hope, after all.

  “Dial your son. I want my money, and I don’t want to wait any longer. You tell him he has six hours. That’s two hours plus travel time.” There was frustration in his voice. He was speaking quicker than he had before.

  Faith looked down at her phone. It was flashing with notifications. She turned it on, counting herself lucky for putting a numerical code lock on it. She punched in Trask’s birthday and saw seven missed calls and messages, and several texts. Faith pulled up the texts. Most of them were from Trask and Hope, asking where she was and if she was okay.

  Carlos saw that she wasn’t exactly with it, so he growled, “Just make the call!”

  It shook her from the vague delirium, and she pulled up Trask’s number. It rang three times, and Faith’s heart jumped with each one. She didn't like the look that Carlos was giving her, and if it went to voicemail, he wouldn't be happy at all.

  When he picked up, Faith let out a sigh of relief. She could hear the wind, and it eased her heart further. They were on their way. “Oh, thank God, Mom.”

  Faith pushed the phone hard against her ear, not wanting to give more than half of the conversation away. Carlos would be looking for any advantage he could get. “Hi, Trask.” Faith couldn't hide the wobble in her voice. She fought against the emotion rising in her throat.

  “Where you at, Ma?” There was a determination in Trask’s voice. He knew the right questions to ask, and he was so good under pressure. Faith wanted to call her sister as soon as she could to thank her for doing such a good job raising a man.

  “I think I’m in Las Vegas.” She looked up to see Carlos nodding to her. “Trask, you know what they want.” Kidnapping only meant one thing—ransom.

  “How much, Ma?”

  “Half a million. Señor Maldonado says you have six hours. Is that something you can handle?” She tried to be as coy as possible. Faith didn’t have much information, but she’d get across what she could.

  “Oh, yeah, we can do it in less than six hours. Are you all right?”

  She laughed as she sucked back tears. “Yeah, I’m just bored. There isn’t much to do in this one-window basement.” She wanted to tell him more, but Carlos snatched the phone from her hands.

  “Listen here, pendejo. I’m growing impatient. Get the money and get the fuck to Vegas, or I’ll send your mother home in pieces!” He hung up. Faith didn’t think the man bothered to listen to Trask’s end. He would have heard the wind and guessed that the Sons were on their way already. Carlos pocketed the phone.

  He stood up and pointed down at her. “He better do what he’s told.”

  Faith stared up at him. “Can I get some water, or something?”

  He turned and headed out the door. Before he slammed it shut, he repeated her question with a snide dryness. “Can I get some water, or something?”

  The two-by-four came down to barricade Faith in. The walls didn’t close in as fast as they had before. She had every confidence that Trask and the rest of the Rising Sons would be closing in on her location. She laid back on the stiff cot. Trask knew she was in the basement, and that if the club arrived in less than six hours, they would have the upper hand.

  She looked up at the ceiling, and she thought that the water probably wasn’t coming. At least the Rising Sons were.

  Trask urged his Harley ahead with everything it had. They were getting closer and getting warmer. Two hours outside of Las Vegas, and he felt like things were on their side. The last month had been a tragic one for the club with the president in a coma and too many members dead in an attack. Kidnapping Faith was the final straw.

  He knew a message needed to be sent. Even if the club was hit hard, they’d come back stronger than ever before. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the fifteen bikers riding behind him. Those, on top of the twelve in the second group, were more than the Rising Sons had ever had at one time. Trask thought that perhaps their initiation was a little too strict. They looked good riding thirty-some strong.

  He leaned the bike toward Captain and shouted over the noise of the powerful V-Twin between his legs. “We hit the mechanic.”

  Captain nodded. He turned back and threw a hand forward, letting those riding behind know that they were ramping up the speed. They’d roll into Enterprise before noon. Once the mechanic led them to Maldonado, the Rising Sons would get the information they needed. They’d free Faith and find Vegas. Captain grinned and leaned into the wind. He was ready for a fight.

  Two miles back, Gunner got a text from Trask. 80. He didn’t bother responding. He looked over at Raven and gestured forward with his head. He throttled up, and she followed. The bikers following Gunner got the message and sped up to match with them.

  Gunner tried to do the math on how much sooner they’d get to Las Vegas, but he gave up in a hurry. It didn’t really matter to him when they got there, as long as they found who they were looking for.

  Raven was on his mind most of the trip. Every time he went through a possible scenario, he thought about her safety and his own. For the first time he could remember, Gunner had someone else to think about. Trigger was his younger brother, sure, but Trigger was plenty good at taking care of himself.

  Gunner thought about what might happen if he got killed. Before, he had accepted it as the end of a hard, fast ride. On the highway heading east, death became something more to him. It became about another person, and how his death would affect Raven. The last thing he wanted was for any harm to come to her, and he realized that harm to him was harm to her.

  What made him and Raven any different than Bear and Faith? Gunner could see himself easily in that bed, unconscious with Raven leaning over him. The thought made his heart ache. He’d lived for the fight all his life, but she was making him question that. She could handle her own—he knew that much. She was tougher than most men he knew, let alone any women. She was a great leader, but she also knew when to bow down to others.

  Love was making him question everything. Gunner hated that, especially after having been entrenched in his own ideals for nearly thirty years. He knew that after this, he’d have to do some soul searching about what his life really meant to him. He dreaded it, but there was something good about it at the same time.

  He looked over at Raven. She looked focused on her way to Las Vegas. Gunner wondered if she was having the same thoughts about the future. He shook his head and laughed at himself. He really had changed if questions like what are you thinking? were running through his mind.

  Vegas sat alone in a different motel room. He stared down at his shoes. An empty pill bottle sat on the table. He’d already run his finger around the bottom and rubbed the dust on his gums. His heart was racing and his palms were clammy.

  Fuck. He thought. He knew he was hooked, and hooked good. He raised a hand to look at it shake. He cursed it. He cursed his body and his brain while he was at it.

  With great effort, Vegas raised himself from the chair and dragged his trembling body to the bed. He fell onto it and rolled over onto his back. He laughed at the dark comedy that was his life. It was crests and troughs—nothing in between. He marveled at how fast the shit had changed his mind. How quick it had become a need. He was losing focus on everything he’d worked toward over the past two months.

  The knock came to the door just as he got settled. “Fuckin’ figures.” He pulled himself upright, his heart thudding in his lower back. He was dying for a fix. It was the only reason he headed for the door. “Gimme a sec.”

  After he got himself standing, Vegas slid the swing bar out of the way and pulled the door open.

  A tall blonde stood before him. She was dressed in all black with leather boots that came up past her knees. A red purse hung from one hand. She blew a bubble of pink gum, accenting the
bright red lipstick painting her full lips. Even if it were evening on the strip, there was no missing that she was a hooker. First thing in the morning on the outskirts of town, she might as well have been skywriting.

  Vegas jerked his head toward the inside of the room. The woman popped her gum and stepped inside. He gave a quick glance out the door to either side, not that anyone gave a shit. Not that he gave a shit. A woman was folding some sheets over the railing of the second floor across the courtyard from him. Vegas decided she could go to hell and stepped back inside and closed the door.

  When Vegas turned back down the small hallway, the woman was sitting on the bed, pulling a cigarette from a silver case. He worked to minimize the limp. It made his back ache more. “Got another?”

  She opened the case and lifted it to him. Vegas took one and sat in the chair opposite the bed. After she lit hers, she passed him the lighter. He took a long drag and felt a hint of relief.

  “Name’s Vegas,” he said, blowing out the smoke.

  She gave him a confused look. He could tell right away that she wasn’t the brightest star on the Walk of Fame. “You’re name is Vegas, like Las Vegas?”

  “It’s a nickname.”

  “Not very original,” she said with a smile that was supposed to put him at ease.

  “And yours?”

  She leaned in, spreading her legs a touch. “Candy.”

  Vegas laughed. “Not very original.” She shrugged and smiled. “Look, I’m gonna be honest: I don’t want sex from you.”

  Candy nodded. “I get that a lot. You want me to watch or call you names while you jack off? I didn’t bring any of my dominatrix stuff, but we can always improvise.”

  Vegas leaned back in his chair. “Whoa, whoa. Cool your jets. I’m not lookin’ for anything sexual. I need some pain killers. Hate to be presumptuous about your profession, but I figured you might be able to help me out.”

  Candy leaned back on the bed and let out a sigh of bluish smoke. She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. First of all, you’re paying me the cash we agreed on over the phone. Second of all, yeah. I can get you whatever you’re looking for.” She spotted the bottle on the table. “Give it to me. I’ll make a call.”

  Vegas grabbed the bottle and tossed it to her. After looking at the label, Candy smiled, “Ryan.” Her voice sounded sing-songy. Vegas just looked away. She pulled her phone out of the red purse. After popping her gum, she put the phone to her ear.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Can you get me some…” She looked at the label again and read it slow and deliberate. “Demerol? I’m outside of Silverado Ranch.”

  After a few seconds, she turned the bottom of the phone away. “Gonna be an extra two hundred bucks, Vegas.” He nodded and gave her the hurry up fingers. “He’s good for it. How long?” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll text you the address.”

  She hung up the phone, then tossed it to Vegas. “No judgments from me. Text the man the address and give him a half hour.”

  Vegas typed in the address to the motel and sent it to The Muscle. He stretched in spite of the pain and handed the phone back to Candy. “And now we wait.” He smiled, just the thought of relief seeming to calm the need throbbing within him.

  “I applaud your loyalty to family. I really do. But Mike, I’m not gonna ask you again.” Captain had already broken two of the mechanic’s fingers. He was getting impatient.

  He pulled a handgun that was tucked into the back of his jeans. He pushed the barrel to Mike’s knee. Mike was sweating, and Captain knew it was running into his eyes. The mechanic was squinting and trying to clear the sting, but his hands were bound to the chair, and one of them was disfigured. He wouldn’t enjoy wrenching for the next few months.

  “I’m dead either way. Do you understand that?” Spit ran down his chin as he pleaded. “Carlos will kill me.”

  Trask turned around from the workbench. “We’ll kill you. Do you not get that? Jesus.” He threw up his hands and walked out of the garage.

  Captain smiled and looked back to Mike. The mechanic was breathing heavy and shaking his head. Trask still has a thing or two to learn, he thought. He got down on his haunches, eye to eye with Mike.

  “Sure, we can kill you now for being a big man, and if we fail and Carlos traces us back to you, he’ll kill you. Those are two options, but they aren’t the only two options. The third option—and my personal favorite—is that we find Carlos, and we kill him. That would leave you to go back to your normal nine-to-five life down one worthless cousin.”

  Mike spit to his side, careful to avoid Captain. He noticed that bit of respect.

  “So if my math is right, that is a sixty-six point six percent chance of you dying, which is quite a bit lower than your estimate of one hundred percent. And that’s just playing the numbers. Let’s say you tell us where to find Carlos. We head there and either he dies, or we do. That brings your odds to fifty-fifty. We’re getting there, huh, Mike?”

  “Come on, man.” Mike was drained. Captain knew it, but he also knew when he was getting close.

  “Now, it might be fifty-fifty if it was one on one, but it ain’t, is it? Tell me how many guys he’s rolling with.” Mike hadn’t answered the question before, but Captain had a better feeling this time around.

  Mike tried to raise his head, but his strength was fading. “Ten or fifteen, I don’t know for sure.” He whined the words out, as if his cousin was already sliding the knife in.

  “We’re riding thirty strong, so that just tipped the odds in our favor. I ain’t all that good at math, but things are sure lookin’ sunny on your side of the street, Mike.” Captain was close. He knew it. He saw Trask in the doorway leading from the office to the garage and raised a finger, making sure he stayed put.

  A tear rolled down Mike’s cheek, turning pink as it ran through the blood around his nose. “Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you.”

  Captain laid a tender hand on the mechanic’s shoulder. “You’re safe now, Mike. No more harm will come to you. I give you my word.”

  Mike found the strength and looked up at Captain. He was laughing through the pain. “You can’t protect me. Carlos can’t protect me. You can’t even protect yourselves. I’ve seen that man. I’ve looked into his eyes and seen pure evil. Go with God, my friend. Go with God.”

  Captain stood up. He pulled out his knife and flicked out the blade. Cutting the duct tape that bound Mike’s hands, he freed the man. “I’ve looked in the same eyes. I didn’t see nothin’ in them that I haven’t seen in a mirror, amigo.”

  Mike took his broken hand in his good one and stared as Captain walked away.

  Trask had a wide smile on his face as he stepped out of the fix-it shop. “We got an address. We ride.” He pointed out two of the recruits. “You two—you stay here with Mike. He’s gonna wanna get word to his cuz. Once you hear from us, the mechanic can seek the appropriate medical attention. Until then, don’t let him go, blah, blah, blah.”

  The two men, both looking hurt at the loss of any real action, nodded and headed inside the garage. Trask turned to the group of bikes parked in the dry parking lot. Everyone was waiting for his word. He looked around through the dark sunglasses.

  Enterprise was a wasteland on the outskirts of Sin City. Trask could just barely make out the glass high rises of Las Vegas from here. They’d be heading a bit south of the strip, the bright and shiny illusion of luck watching over them as they did. The address Mike gave was on East St. Louis Street, and Trask couldn’t help but laugh to himself.

  They were heading for trouble in Las Vegas, but the fighting spirit of East St. Louis would be there, too. Gunner came over and leaned in. “We got what we need?”