Chapter
8
Ice
“Count is up to three this month. It’s increasing,” Hammer states to the room of Regulators.
Looking around the room, I take in the posters of naked pin-up models draped over Harleys. Then I move my attention to the large, hand-painted, wooden sign on one wall that bears our insignia of an eagle holding the sword of justice with ‘Regulators’ over the top of it. I feel that familiar sense of purpose wash over me.
This room is a far cry from the sort of ‘War Rooms’ we have been in the past—the numerous sterile rooms with their white walls and uniformity —but this is our ‘War Room.’ It is the place where we hold ‘sermon,’ otherwise known as the meetings where we decide whose ass needs kicking or what we are doing as a club next. Now my men are waiting for information on one of the biggest problems we have looked into since we hit the Miami area.
We sit around a large, rectangular, sturdy, wooden table with four chairs down each side and two chairs on each end. I sit at one end while Coal as the VP sits to my side. If Coal is considered my ‘right hand,’ then Hammer, as my Sergeant of Arms, is my ‘left.’ Big Jim, the large redheaded bastard who joined my Army Special Forces team when we were in the desert, sits at the opposite end of the table as my Road Captain. The rest of the men fill the chairs in between.
All of my men are ex-military, all of them green berets that have served with me, Coal, or Hammer at some time. No one who saw us now would be able to discern that. Some of these boys have taken to the role of becoming a mean-ass biker like a duck takes to water. Of course, we have been living this life for years. We have not only come to accept it, but we enjoy it. We are more than former military men now.
We are the Regulators MC, a group of men not to be fucked with. A band of brothers who have walked through blood, bullets, and war to come home and dish out our own kind of blood, bullets, and war. Only, this time, we don’t have some pansy ass commanding officer giving us orders. The boys have me, and as I stare at them sitting around the table, I know the respect they give me has been earned doing shit overseas that is far worse than what we do now.
We might put blood on our hands in different ways these days, but the perks that offset the life we live make it worth it. Freedom to run our shit the way we want to run it: pussy, booze, and no tight-assed dickwads issuing orders to us. Life is good.
Until this shit landed on our doorstep.
We watch as women keep disappearing randomly and regularly for over a year now. At first, the missing women didn’t stay on our radar because the victims were randomly spaced out. There was nothing to indicate that it was the same person behind all of the kidnappings. Then I came across some classified information, via Screech, that had the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.
Another Army brother of mine and Hammer’s, Lucas Young, was working a case with his nifty little black ops crew, the Ex Ops Team. They moonlighted as a private security force, but I had intel that indicated they were a hell of a lot more than that. As in, the men the government sent in to solve their worst problems without the public ever finding out. Not that I could tell Lucas I knew about his gig. No one other than the head of Homeland Security and the President are supposed to know about them.
When Screech told me they were looking for the person or persons behind the kidnapping of one ‘Laura Moore,’ a petite yet curvy, redheaded stripper who had gone missing from our area almost a year ago, I knew the problem was a lot worse than we originally thought.
When I got a call from Lucas asking some questions that raised my suspicions of their activities, I decided to take a chance. I slipped him the information about the missing women to lure his team down here. It might seem shitty to lure an old friend into a dangerous situation, but I knew Lucas could take care of himself. A team like theirs wouldn’t be filled with pansy ass-wipes who couldn’t complete a mission, so I had no qualms using them to my ends.
Having their team come down wasn’t because I needed them to solve our problem. No, it had more to do with the feeling I had that, if the Ex Ops Team came down here, it might help our own investigation. With what they were working on, I felt it was a mutually beneficial exchange of resources.
I offered them an undercover guise as men in my crew. Gave them cuts, bikes to borrow, and the information I had acquired on the string of missing women Screech had uncovered all across the south. In return, their presence and operation provided me a name to head in the right direction.
Lazaro Sandoval, head of the expanding Cuban Mafia.
We can’t say a hundred percent that he is the person behind the kidnappings, but it is a place to start looking.
However, if I’d known having Lucas and his team coming here would cost me Kara, I probably wouldn’t have slipped them the tip they needed. Call me an asshole, but a man knows when he has a good woman around. Too bad I wasn’t the man meant to keep her.
Our area has the usual homeless population; as a result, the slow rise of middle class women going missing is alarming. Add to it the most recent climb in numbers, and the hair on my neck is standing up. The targets aren’t housewives or upscale citizens, but they are working women—strippers, to be exact. The hookers and street whores selling pussy for dope are accounted for, for the most part. In narrowing down the subjects, it seems to be focused on young, female strippers.
“Latest one isn’t even legal or stripping,” Coal adds, shaking his head in disgust. “She got her job with a fake ID, according to her friend. She’s only seventeen. Dad was molesting her. Mom didn’t believe her. She ran away, got a job waitressing at Paisty’s. Now, she’s been gone nine days. Her roommate says she hasn’t been back at all. Nothing missing, nothing touched, and her purse with her real ID is still at home.”
“We have any leads on how she was nabbed?” I ask. If we did, the boys would have piped up with the information, but I am desperate for something.
“Nothing. She’s a ghost, just like the others.”
“We have spent months trying to find the pattern to the disappearances. Obviously, we aren’t going to be able to prevent the next one from turning up missing. We need to get a lead on where the girls are being held,” Rocks pipes in.
“Well, maybe you aren’t dumb as rocks after all. Who’s to say they are being held, though? Realistically, these girls could have been raped, killed, and the bodies dumped in the damn ocean. All we have is one instance of one of the girls, Laura Moore, being found in the hands of the Rivera Cartel by the Ex Ops Team. All the other girls are dead ends. Laura’s not exactly breathing these days, boys; we can’t count on the fact that the other girls are breathing, either,” Hammer says, bringing up the worst case scenario.
“No, word would get out on the street. Plus, if it was happening like that, it would be a one man show. By this point, he would have slipped up and made a mistake. Whatever this is, it’s big, and it has to involve some key players and multiple people. They are targeting women the cops wouldn’t waste their time on, women who don’t have family or friends with resources to do big search parties. This is meticulous and well thought through as to not draw attention from the boys in blue or the locals.” I look at Coal so he can see where my thoughts are going.
“That description certainly fits Sandoval.” He nods.
“Exactly what I was thinking. This is why we’re going to stay on Sandoval’s trail. We may not have all the proof we need, but at the moment, he’s still our best bet. Let’s call a meet. He’s in bed pretty deep with us now on the drugs and guns. Let’s see if he will sell us some pussy. You have the way in for us there, Coal. Make your call, get me in.”
Coal has a dark past. He doesn’t have sex he doesn’t pay for, and for once, that is going to pay off for us all, I hope. Sandoval has a pimp pushing his girls on the streets. When Coal doesn’t want it from our girls, he has used theirs. Sandoval doesn’t know that we are aware it is his stable, but he will soon find out.
If I can g
et Sandoval to sell me some of his girls to come work for me, maybe I can link them to at least one of these missing women. One break is all we need. We only need to find one of these women alive and go backwards to sort out how they were taken.
With a new angle to follow, we break the meeting so the guys can get back to their jobs, and I can sort my own shit to be ready for Sandoval’s next available time to negotiate. If I am able to work a deal for some girls, we need to be prepared.
“Coal, get Crissy to ready some space. Just in case we can get a girl, we need to have a place for her.”
Lining up our plans is one thing; the hard part of waiting is another. Will Sandoval open this avenue of his business to us? Everything has to be a calculated risk. Normally, I wouldn’t push further into his world this soon, but the disappearances are coming far too frequently to sit back and wait.
My stomach tightens. This whole business disgusts me. It is one thing for us to save women from their own addictions and shadows of their pasts. They willingly sell their bodies. Whoever is taking these women and doing who knows what with them, is taking away their choices.
Hopefully, pushing for more doesn’t arouse any suspicion from Sandoval. The whole mess feels as if we are getting further in bed with the devil.
Morgan
It has been three long days and three even longer nights, without any word or sign of my sister. I have cried, I have paced, and I have prayed for any clue as to where she is. Brooke hasn’t heard from her either, only heightening my concerns. I am borderline hysterical when I leave to go see Casey. I don’t know what she can do precisely, but maybe she can give me some direction to follow in the seedier parts of town.
Arriving at the club, I didn’t give a second thought to Casey’s job. After a quick text, she greets me outside. A silk robe covers her body, and she is wearing sky high stilettos that I am sure I would fall and break my neck if I wore.
“Still nothing?” she asks as I climb out of my car.
The dam on my emotions burst, and I can’t hold back the barrage of tears any longer. As my body shakes in sobs, Casey takes my hand and guides me inside the back entrance and to the dressing room. She hugs me close until I am able to settle enough to pull away and look at her.
“I called the police. They said because she is eighteen they won’t help me, which I sort of knew would happen, but I hoped they would help anyways, since she just turned eighteen not that long ago. Why won’t they help me, Casey?”
“They’re assuming she’s a runaway, and you know what they say about assuming. The cops around here are nothing but asses, honey. Since she doesn’t live at home with your parents and she is of legal age, what more can they do?”
There is a change in music and Casey’s eyes grow big. I stare at her in confusion, although before I can ask her what is wrong, the dressing room door opens.
“Why the fuck do I have music playing and no headliner?” the biggest jerk of my world barks out angrily.
Why is he everywhere I don’t want him to be?
“I… I… I…” Casey stutters.
Gathering my courage, I clear my throat, pushing down the lump that has formed. “It’s my fault. I was having a problem, and Casey is my friend. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.” I start to get up to leave.
“Damn right you shouldn’t be here. I sell beautiful women, and tonight, you are far from beautiful.” He takes in my appearance of yoga pants and a T-shirt. My hair is in a messy knot on top of my head, and I am certain my eyes are swollen and face splotchy from all the crying.
“Don’t go anywhere, Morgan. I’ll be four minutes and thirty-eight seconds.” Casey looks at me, pleading for me to hang tight.
“The hell she will. I’m sorry some fucker in a suit broke your heart, but you two can whine over some ice cream another night. Casey, you have a job to do, and she is a distraction, one that’s costing me money. Get your ass to work.” Glaring at me, Ice adds, “You, get your ass out of here unless you plan to doll up and work a pole.”
“My sister is missing. She’s been gone three days,” I explain. I don’t know why I am sharing this with him, but it ticks me off that he assumed I would bother Casey at work over boy problems.
“She’ll turn up,” he states before turning back to Casey. “Ass. Pole. Now,” he clips before exiting the room.
“Stay put, Morgan. Let me get through this dance, and we’ll talk to Hammer.”
“Fuck no,” I firmly state, causing Casey’s eyes to go wide at my language. “I want nothing from that man or his friends. He has been rude to me more times than I care to count. I don’t know him, and I haven’t done anything to him. Plus, there is no way in hell he will help me find Madyson. He can’t even stand to be in the same room with me.”
“Things aren’t always what they seem, Morgan. He’s not all bad. Hammer is easier to talk to. I promise, he will listen.”
Before I can respond, we hear Ice bellow her name from down the hall.
Casey takes off out of the room. Looking over her shoulder one last time, she calls out to me, “Stay put.”
Should I stay? Probably. Idle waiting is not getting me anywhere, though. Needing to feel like I am doing something for my sister, I leave Casey a note promising to call tomorrow. Tonight, I need to hit the streets and find my sister.
Chapter
9
Ice
“Could he be expanding his victim profile?” I ask Hammer and Coal as we sit in my office, trying to sort out what may have happened to Madyson Powell.
Coal shrugs. “Not sure. Could be.”
“Brooke is freaked the hell out. She swears there is no way Madyson would just disappear like this. According to Brooke, Madyson may have hated her parents, but she loves her sister. She wouldn’t do this to her,” I murmur while rubbing a finger absentmindedly over my bottom lip.
Hammer laughs sarcastically at me. “Well, asshole, if you had been a little more hospitable, the chick might have considered sticking around last night rather than taking off.”
“I thought she was being dramatic about a break up, not that her sister was gone. Bottom line, Casey missed her cue, and we were packed. Morgan brought her shit to our doorstep and cost us money.”
Coal shakes his head at me. “This is not about the money. You know Casey missing one cue doesn’t make or break the bank for you, the business, or the club. Cut the shit, Ice. This girl shakes you up.”
If I am honest with myself, yes, she does. There is an innocence to Morgan Powell that isn’t found in anyone else. She has a genuine sweetness that comes off her in waves. Reaching down, I adjust my cock to remind me that I have one. In my line of work and in my life, I can’t afford to be soft for anyone or anything.
“Call Casey in here. Let’s see what we can do to sort this out.”
“Yup, Miss Prim and Proper has you shaken up,” Hammer laughs.
“Not the time, fucker. I’m not shaken. I have a business to run. Between her sister and her, I can’t run my business, that’s all.”
“You need to get laid, asshole. Let off some steam, work out some aggression.” Hammer’s still smiling at me as he walks out the door to get Casey.
What my Sergeant of Arms does not know is that I have already tried to blow off some damn steam to try and unwind. Hell, I know I am wound tight. But the very reason I am wound so tight is also the reason why I walked out on the barfly who was on her knees ready to suck my dick. Because I looked down at the barfly’s face, over done with eye makeup so dark she looked like a fucking raccoon, and all I could think was that I would rather be looking down at Morgan’s naturally pretty face instead. The woman is starting to get under my skin and I have no idea how she got there. I don’t have time for this shit.
“If Madyson Powell was taken under the same circumstances as the other missing strippers, then this whole thing has become personal,” Coal states, bringing us back to the severity of the situation. “It’s one thing for us to be looking for missi
ng strippers around the area, but to be looking for one of Brooke’s friends, that’s too close to home for my liking.”
A knock on the door draws all of our attention.
“Enter,” I call out.
Only a moment later, the door opens and Casey enters. “Am I getting fired? I’m sorry I missed my cue. Morgan needed me. I couldn’t just take off. It won’t happen again.” Her job obviously means something to her for her to get this worked up over one infraction.
“Breathe. You aren’t getting fired,” I state, trying to calm her down. “Today.”
Before I can start to explain the reason for calling her in, she is spouting off excuses at us again.
“If you’re writing me up, I understand. Please hear me out, though. Morgan, she’s not one to get upset easily like that. Her sister is wild, but not stupid. She wouldn’t just disappear. And, see, Morgan has some really strange parents. Her home life, it’s not what you or I would call normal-.”
I throw my hand up to stop her. “You’re not one to bring up someone else’s home life.” I know her history. Her upbringing was far from normal. “I don’t need the autobiography of Morgan Ann Powell. I do, however, need to know what happened to her sister or, at least, what she thinks happened.”
“Honestly, I haven’t been able to get her to answer her damn phone since you ran her off. When I went by her apartment, she wasn’t there. Morgan isn’t close to many people. She doesn’t have anyone to turn to for this. I don’t know where she is now or what she’s doing.”
Everything inside me goes tight. What does Casey mean she can’t find her? I may not like the woman, but I certainly don’t want her caught up in this shit.
Tipping my head back to look at the ceiling, I wonder if anyone upstairs can answer just one question for me.
Why the fuck are women so damn frustrating?
Morgan
“Miss Powell, as we have stated previously, your sister is eighteen. It doesn’t matter that she is still in high school; she is a legal adult. We will file your missing persons report; however, understand that our priorities will be to find her, not to bring her home.”
Ice Page 7