Lost MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 4)

by Bella Knight

  “You just gave a woman who shoots people who are already dead a loaded gun,” said Saber.

  “As long as she’s not shooting live ones,” said Wraith.

  Inola would only permit Ivy to touch her. A black SUV miraculously appeared at the end of the drive; it couldn’t get past all the bikes. Ivy threaded Inola through them, and got her into the truck, got in with her, and slammed the door. It sped off.

  Very Special Agent Rasker, Wraith’s boss, came into the former Talamates den, fuming. “They’re all dead,” he said. “We needed some live ones for questioning.”

  “Not all,” said Wraith. “We’ve impounded the plane. Raided it. Found two dozen keys already of cocaine and lots of little pink pills. Sent them off to the lab. Looks like a new designer drug. A box of plastic baggie with a unicorn emblem was found next to it. Looks like they were targeting teenage girls.”

  “What about…” asked Rasker.

  “I’m not finished,” said Wraith. “Guess who the pilots were?” Both their missing people, Gonsalves and Rubio, were ex-military and had flight training. They were pretending to be from another army entirely.

  Rasker nearly folded himself in half with relief. “Way to bury the lead, Agent Jensen.” He took a deep breath. “And their reason for being incommunicado?”

  “First flight,” said Wraith/Jensen. “They’ve been at a cartel training camp. No phones. They have lots of intel, even took pictures,” she said, proudly. “They’ll get promotions out of this.”

  “No doubt,” said Rasker. Agent Jensen gave him the side-eye. “I’ll get it done,” he said. “Now, what did you find here?”

  “Most of it is bagged and tagged,” said Jensen. “I kept the best for you.”

  Hidden inside a memory-foam mattress in each bedroom were bricks of money and coke, and boxes of handguns and ammunition.

  “Terrible thing to do to memory-foam,” said Agent Jensen. “ATF is having a field day with these guns. Looks like they’re prototypes. Not supposed to be anywhere near on the market. Some heads will roll because of that.”

  “Yes, we are,” said Saber, coming up behind them.

  “Agent Thanh, AKA Saber, ATF, meet Very Special Agent Emil Rasker.”

  Agent Thanh/Saber shook the man’s hand. “Very nice to meet you, Sir,” he said.

  “Likewise,” said Rasker. “So, are we done here?”

  “The refrigerator had the same thing, but, yeah, that’s about it,” said Wraith/Jensen.

  “Finish your paperwork,” said Rasker. “I want it on my desk by nine tomorrow morning. Then, take two days off. Dismissed,” he said, then he himself left the room.

  They headed toward the door. “Two days in Vegas. Whatever shall I do with my time?”

  “I can think of something,” said Saber/Thanh. They both laughed.

  Agents

  “Paperwork,” said Wraith/Agent Jensen. “Want to do it together?”

  “I guess we could write our reports together,” said Saber/Agent Thanh.

  He ran his hand through his hair, causing it to stand up on end. His eyes were rimmed with red, the same for her. It made him look like a demented biker. It made her blue eyes even more blue. She looked dangerous, although he knew she’d probably had even less sleep than he had.

  “And eat. I know an all-night diner.” He laughed. They turned over the weapons they had fired, said, “goodbye” to their superiors, separated to pick up their laptops, and met halfway between their offices.

  They banged out their paperwork, filled out electronic forms under the harsh lights of the diner. Wraith slipped on wraparound shades; they made her look terrifying, like a stone killer. He put his on too; it cut the glare. They went for farmer’s breakfasts of hash browns, bacon, eggs, and biscuits, with a side of fruit they shared. They discussed wording, timing, tempo, with one aspect of the investigation leading to the other. Then, the coordination of the biker groups, all the intel and sources, the race to find Talamates, and the kidnapped victims.

  “No one’s going to believe this,” said Wraith. She sucked on a grape, swallowed it.

  “We have left some things out. And you look like a crazed corpse-shooter.”

  “Had to be sure,” she said, her fingers flying across the keys of her laptop. “Neither one of us is from here,” she said.

  “Haven’t even gotten a hotel room,” he said.

  “I’ve got an ugly room at a residence-style inn,” she said, sliding over a second key.

  His hand closed over hers. “You sure?”

  “As long as you don’t mind me snoring.” He laughed.

  She finished her last report along with the last of her bacon. “We’ve gotta go back to our offices to file these.”

  “In triplicate,” he joked.

  “This inn is on Paradise. See you there.”

  He nodded. “As soon as I escape their clutches.” It was her turn to laugh, a burst of high notes that were full of exhaustion.

  They were both careful, exhaustion warring with adrenaline, driving back to hook into their secure networks. They shot out the reports, gave verbal summaries to superiors, made some phone calls and left some messages. They made it back to the residence-style inn alive.

  She was there first, brewing hot water for tea when he entered. Her boots were by the door, so he kicked his off and put his beside hers.

  “Generic,” he said, looking at the tan couch, the brown coffee table, the flat-screen TV, the brown kitchen, and the white tiles.

  “Identical to every single one I’ve ever been in, from Dallas to Detroit,” she said. “Except for that picture.” It was a desert scene, some cacti in front of mountains, the teal picture frame the only color in the room. Wraith poured hot water over the tea. “Orange-lavender tea,” she said. “Want some?”

  “Got that lime water you like so much?” She laughed.

  She took one out of the refrigerator and put the drinks on the tiny breakfast bar. He dropped his duffel, walked over to the counter, sat down on the bar stool, and popped the top. She put honey in her tea, stirred it, and bent down. She took off her double leg holsters, her gun, and knife, and laid them on the counter.

  “I think these are yours,” she said, taking off her back holster.

  “I talked to my boss about it. All of this was seized. So, in the interest of inter-agency cooperation, I suggested you keep them.”

  “Really?” she said, her happiness as shiny as a child at Christmas.

  He beamed wearily at her as he took off his own holsters, one in his pocket and one in his back holster. She took hers into the bedroom, took out a case, and put them in there and locked the case.

  She opened a second case, and he put his in it. She gave him the code. “Yours,” she said.

  “Nice,” he said.

  They went back in the other room, finished their drinks, and cleaned up. She washed out her cup, dried it, and put it away. She turned, grasped his hands, and looked up into his eyes. She stroked his face, kissed him. Her kiss was fierce, bright, like a sunburst. She tasted of orange and cinnamon and lime, and something sharp, a spike of fierce pride.

  She had his leather vest off and hung up on the back of one of the stools before he’d registered that they were moving backward. Her lightweight leather jacket with venting was off and hung up on another chair before he realized she was undressing. She pulled his shirt off over his head, and he pulled off hers. They began littering the floor with clothing, moving backward toward the bedroom. He managed to get his jeans off without tripping. Hers she peeled off. She pulled off his boxers, then pulled off her camisole bra. She kept stepping and stepping, and stepped him right out of his underwear.

  She pushed him onto the bed, and he fell like timber. She crawled on him. He heard a drawer open, then close. She had a condom in her hand. She tore it open, slipped it on him, still kissing, still ripping at his mouth with her tongue. She grabbed his face as he circled his arms around her waist, then looked into his eyes as he lifted her
and set her down on him. She tightened to the point where he moaned, and he arched his throat. She devoured his neck with kisses and scrapes with her teeth. She tilted forward and pushed him farther into her. She went faster, faster, scratching his shoulders with her claws. He came, violently, trying not to buck her off. She came, screaming into his throat.

  She opened the drawer again, came out with wet wipes. She wiped them both down and threw the trash in a trash can by the bed. They fell asleep then, unable to move, on top of the sheet, the light comforter. With her leg and arm over him, his nose in her hair, and his arm holding her close.

  Crushed Flower

  Ivy didn’t leave Inola’s side. She held the hand that wasn’t holding the gun very gently, cradling her left side. She knew some bones in Inola’s hand were probably broken, so she used her own hand as support. She reached out with her other hand, grabbing the first aid kit Gregory handed over the back. She handed gauze to Bella on the other side, who dabbed at cuts and tried to stem the bleeding, with pads on her head, hands, and legs. Ivy sucked in air through her teeth when Inola twisted her head away from the alcohol swab and Ivy saw the bruises around her neck. She had been choked repeatedly.

  They got to the hospital, two of the Iron Knights ahead of them on bikes, and they pulled up to the emergency room. Both Iron Knights parked their bikes and dismounted. One ran in the door, shouting for a gurney. The other one opened the door to the SUV and helped Bella out first, then helped them support Inola as they took her out.

  The gurney arrived, and Ivy, Bella, and both Iron Knights helped lift her up. A nurse ran out, checked her vitals, and they all started walking into the sliding doors. Ivy held one hand, Inola still held the gun, and Bella stroked her hair. They walked with her into the bay.

  “You’ll have to leave,” said another nurse, running up.

  “This is a rape and torture victim, and we’re her family. We’re not going anywhere,” said Bella, her voice a low growl. “Sorry, baby,” she said, stroking Inola’s hair. “Didn’t mean to raise my voice. You rest now. You’re okay.”

  A doctor rushed up, taking off her stethoscope. “It’s okay, Kim, don’t want her to get upset.”

  “What?” said the nurse.

  The doctor glanced at the gun, then back at the nurse. They screamed and jumped back. “Ohmygod! I’m calling the police.”

  The Iron Knight that had followed them in said, “I am the police. Ma’am, I’m Officer Tharee with the Domestic Violence Unit. Now, normally we don’t permit this, but she’s been held hostage, and I suggest we just treat her and worry about the gun later.”

  She hardened her voice. “And I suggest you have nothing to do with treating this woman.”

  “I’m Doctor Nguyen,” said the doctor, a diminutive woman with big, brown eyes and a tired half-smile. “Let’s get the curtain up. Kim, go work with Bed 2. Karen, you stay here and help me.”

  Once again, Bella and Ivy helped move her to the bed. “I need x-rays,” snapped the doctor. “And ultrasound. I need a CBC, a chem panel, saline, and someone get me a god-damned blanket.”

  Inola never cried during the exam. Bella kept rubbing her hair. They took samples and a rape kit, although Officer Tharee said it wasn’t necessary, that the rapists were dead. Bella put a stop to it, saying the next person that touched Inola in any way except to treat her medically, she’d personally put in another hospital bed. The tech gave Bella a flat look, then took a look at Ivy’s iron glare and quailed. She left.

  They set the bones in her hand, taped up her ribs, sewed up her lacerations, and put her in a cast. They went to move her to her room. Ivy asked if they were going to Henry’s room, and they said “no.” Ivy demanded that Inola be put in Henry’s room. They refused. She asked for hospital administrator and was refused.

  “Then, she and Henry are both being moved. We’ll find another hospital that won’t separate family.” She called around and found a hospital in the far north of the city that would put them in the same room. She called for the SUV for Inola and an ambulance for Henry. Bella and Ivy used wet wipes to wash Inola as best they could.

  They wheeled them both out, and then took them to the other hospital. An administrator personally met them and helped them settle in, and also got Inola a shower, after sealing off the limb with plastic. Bella bathed her, crooned to her. Ivy texted for someone to bring pajamas or scrubs for Inola, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and little bottles of shampoo and conditioner. Katya was dispatched to deliver it all, as Gregory was finally able to get some sleep. Katya had been at the clubhouse sleepover.

  Henry’s doctor came in to check on him. He slept fitfully, in stops and starts, waking from nightmares.

  Ace stood at his side, repeatedly saying, “We’ve got her. Inola is alright.”

  David Chasing Hawk, Henry’s best friend, came to relieve Ace. “Ace, go home,” he said. “I will stay with my old friend. Tito is downstairs to drive you.”

  “Thank you,” Ace said. “He won’t talk. Just mumbles and cries out.”

  “I will take care of him,” said David. “I am the medicine man for my people. I will give him good medicine.”

  “Thank you,” said Ace again, stumbling out the door in exhaustion.

  Katya came in and helped Bella and Ivy move Inola to the bed. They got her in, IV and all, and Bella carefully covered her. Katya moved a chair over in between Inola and Henry. Ivy and Bella undid the brakes and move the beds as close as they could while still leaving everything hooked up. Katya took Henry’s hand in one hand, and Inola’s in the other, a conduit between the two. David sang, his voice rising and falling, in Paiute.

  “Go home,” Bella said to Ivy. “You took care of us. Thank you.”

  Ivy hugged Bella, tenderly kissed the sleeping Inola, and kissed Katya on the forehead. She came around to David’s side and touched Henry’s head.

  “Come back to us, old man,” she said, kissing his temple. “We need you.”

  Regroup

  Ivy rode her bike carefully, knowing the adrenaline was about to flow out of her. She stopped at Sonic and drank a lime ice and ate some chicken fingers and fries. She wondered when she’d eaten last, and threw in a small sundae.

  She made it home, to find Callie in bed, the laptop at her side. The girls were in their little pods; Daisy asleep on her little pillow beside them. Ivy showered and put her clothes directly in the washer. She put on underwear and a cami and slid into bed.

  Callie woke. “Come here,” she said, pulling Ivy into her arms. Ivy found herself crying great, gasping sobs. She let it all go and found herself shaking.

  Callie wrapped both her arms and legs around her.

  “I thought I was going to lose them,” she said when the sobs subsided. “I thought I wouldn’t be fast enough, that I was never going to see them again.” Callie gave her a wet wipe to wipe away her tears. “I tried so hard, and you and Daisy Chain, and Ace, and Gregory… and those agents.”

  “Agents?” asked Callie.

  “One was DEA and one was ATF. They went after that asshole Talamates like gangbusters.” She sighed. “Inola went a little nutso with a gun. She shot all the dead people.”

  “Is Talamates dead?”

  “Sadly, yes, for the ATF and DEA people. They want his daddy. He’s some Mexican cartel guy.”

  “Ivy,” said Callie, slowly. “Will Daddy get angry because Junior is dead?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ivy, “but I did it.” She took out her phone and texted for everyone to sleep, but to have guards at the hospital. “In the morning,” she said, “you and the girls will have a field trip. Sedona. Disneyland. Wait, the water park. They love it there. As long as they’re coming after me, you’ll be safest away from me.”

  “Well, then,” said Callie,” let’s make tonight count.”

  She took off Ivy’s cami and held her tightly. She stroked Ivy’s face, kissed her tears away, kissed her neck, and nibbled an ear lobe. She flipped Ivy over, herself on top. She kissed the t
ops of Ivy’s breasts, stroking them, giving her breasts butterfly kisses before sucking the nipples, one by one. Ivy arched her back and groaned. Callie put her fingers on Ivy’s button, and stroked it, pushed on it, vibrated her fingers. Ivy came, gasping, shaking with more than spent adrenaline. She came in gasps. Callie backed off, kissed her, licked her breasts, and held her.

  Callie cleaned them both up with a wet wipe, then held Ivy with both her arms and legs, wrapping herself around Ivy, stroking her shoulders, then her back. Their next time the kisses were harder.

  Ivy flipped over, Callie now the bottom. Ivy kissed Callie’s forehead, neck, and shoulders, then nibbled and sucked her breasts. She slid her tongue down Callie’s stomach and slid one finger, then two, deep inside. Ivy kept her strokes deep, hard. Callie came in a screaming rush. Callie slipped her fingers inside of Ivy and made her come again and again. Ivy finally stopped shaking. Callie held her close, and they fell into an exhausted sleep.

  They repeated the lovemaking in the morning, both so exhausted they could barely hold one another. They kissed, running fingers up and down each other’s skin. Ivy slid her fingers in from behind, deep into Callie. Callie rocked back and forth, grinding her hips into Ivy. She came, explosively. Ivy cleaned them both up with a wet wipe.

  They held each other, and Ivy cried again, this time for a man she loved who had heard his grandniece tortured, and had been able to do nothing, and then for a wild flower crushed by evil fingers. She cried for Bella, who would gladly put her life on hold to help Inola heal. She cried for the community, and for the people she was just beginning to know. For their losses. And that one man was willing to break people to get what he wanted, to bring a dangerous world to a peaceful place. She cried because they had been alone, and she had not been fast enough to stop it.

  She checked her messages and got an “Everyone’s alive” text from Bella at the hospital. Callie put on a robe and saw to the girls’ breakfast. The grandmother took both girls while Ivy and Callie slept some more, with arms and legs splayed over each other’s bodies.

  Ivy finally got up, stole Callie’s laptop, and planned a road trip to the coast to San Diego for Callie and the girls to visit a water park.