by Penny Reid
But Claire knew me too well. Her eyes narrowed on my lip and she tilted her head the other way, her assessment becoming full-on scrutiny.
“Jessica, what are you hiding?”
I shook my head faster.
“What’s going on? You’re miserable and it isn’t your aunt and it isn’t inheritance guilt. Something has happened.”
I shook my head even faster, but now Claire was a blur of red hair and white skin, because my eyes were filling with tears. And, crap, I just sobbed.
She reached forward and pulled me into a hug, stroked my hair and held me tight. “Goodness gracious, what is going on? You’re shaking.”
I grabbed fistfuls of her shirt and cried on my friend. Cried and cried. I don’t know how long I cried, but it was a good while and it was embarrassing. She hushed me and spoke soothing words. Her shirt at the shoulder was soaked by the time the tears ebbed.
“Can you talk now? Can you tell me what happened?”
I opened my mouth to speak but hiccupped instead. I needed a moment, or an hour.
Therefore, I straightened away and grabbed letter number seventeen from my desk; I handed it to her, and managed to squeak out, “Read this. I’m going to wash up,” then hurried from the room.
I took my time in the bathroom, scrubbing my face, blowing my nose, giving myself a mirror pep talk. I felt a bit less pathetic when I stepped back into my bedroom. Crying and being sad is like an upper respiratory infection; snot makes me feel pathetic, and the absence of snot makes me feel less pathetic.
“Oh, Jess. I’m so sorry.” Claire looked both sympathetic and confused when I entered the bedroom. She crossed to me and squeezed my shoulders. “I feel like I pushed you into this thing with Duane. But I just can’t imagine… I would never have… He left you in a sheet?” She sighed, befuddlement winning out over sympathy.
I finally felt stable enough to explain the entire situation, so I did. We sat on my bed and I told her everything—about how I’d called him from Texas, how I’d tracked him down to the cabin, how we loved each other, how he was using honor to abandon me to my empty dreams. When I finished Claire was staring at me, her fingers halfway covering her open mouth.
I shrugged, not sure what else to do. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine.”
She nodded, frowning, and it was clear she didn’t believe me. “Fine. You’ll be fine. You pack a bag, come stay with me tonight.”
I gave my friend a small smile. “That actually sounds really nice.”
Claire’s frown intensified, then she tsked. “Well, come on. Let’s get a bag packed. We’ll stop by the Piggly Wiggly on the way for some ice cream.”
***
We were just pulling out of the store parking lot when my phone rang. I glanced at my screen, but didn’t recognize the number. I stared at it for one ring longer then swiped my thumb across the display and answered, figuring it was likely a wrong number.
“Hello?”
“Jess? Jess, is that you? Jess, it’s me, Tina. I…your help…real big trouble. I need you to…totally fucked…and they found…”
“Tina, wait a sec. I can’t understand you, you’re cutting out. Where are you?”
I heard some static on the other line, then she said, “…the Dragon and you have to hurry. I stole this phone and…”
“Are you at the Dragon Biker Bar? Do you need me to come get you?” I glanced at Claire, found her watching me with alarm.
“Yes! I need—”
But that’s all I got, because her side clicked twice then the line went dead. I brought the phone to my lap and pulled up the recent calls list. Not only did I not recognize the number, the area code wasn’t local.
“What was that all about?”
“I’m not sure. It was Tina and she sounded frantic. I think she was calling from the Dragon Biker Bar, at least she said yes when I asked. She wants me to come get her.”
“She wants you to go to the Dragon? To pick her up?”
“Actually, she sounded like she was in trouble.”
I took a deep breath, staring at my phone for a stretch, trying to figure out what to do. Then I dialed Jackson’s cell number.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling Jackson. I’m going to ask him to meet me there.”
“At the Dragon? You want to go to that hell hole?” She sounded incredulous and a little panicked. The bar served as the club headquarters for the Iron Order. Since her daddy was the club president and her momma was his old lady, Claire had spent much of her early adolescence at the infamous biker bar with the MC members and club girls.
If memory served, she hadn’t seen or spoken to her folks since marrying Ben McClure years ago.
As I waited for Jackson to pick up, I tried to calm Claire. “Listen, don’t come. Just take me back to my house and I’ll drive over on my own.”
“The hell you will. You’re not going there by yourself.” She glanced in her rearview mirror and started her car. Backing up, she maneuvered the small parking lot. “But we’re stopping by my house first, I need to get something.”
“Claire, take me home. I know that place doesn’t have good memories for you.” Jackson’s phone clicked over to voicemail, so I hung up and decided to text him about what was going on first.
Her grip on the steering wheel tightened and I noticed her eyes were a bit wider, but she dismissed my suggestion. “No. I’ll go. It’ll be…fine.”
I didn’t know if she was trying to convince me or herself.
CHAPTER 26
“Never travel faster than your guardian angel can fly.”
― Mother Teresa
~Jessica~
As I waited in Claire’s truck for her to grab whatever she needed from her house, I called Jackson again and this time I left a voicemail. Then I called my daddy and did the same. I rationalized it was sufficient they know where we were. It wasn’t unusual to get their voicemail, especially when they were on duty and driving around the mountains; and most especially on a holiday weekend when all the drunk drivers were celebrating by smashing into trees.
Finished with my messages to the law enforcement members of my family, I looked up just in time to see Claire coming out of her house. She was carrying two handguns.
Wordlessly, she opened the driver’s side door, leaned over me, and put them both—and an extra magazine—in the glove compartment. Then she buckled her seat belt, started the car, and backed out of her driveway. Meanwhile I was staring at her the whole time wondering what the heck she was thinking.
About two minutes down the road I finally asked, “What the heck are you thinking?”
Her eyes flicked to mine, then away. “I’m thinking I’m not going near that place without a gun.”
“Claire!”
“I have a concealed weapons permit.”
“So do I, Claire. But I’m not bringing my gun to the Dragon Biker Bar.”
“I’m not taking any chances, okay?”
“I said I’d go by myself.”
Claire slowed at the stop sign—one way leading us down to Green Valley, the other way leading us up the mountain to the Dragon Biker Bar—and turned to face me. Her jaw was set, her eyes were determined, but the panic fraying the edges of her typically calm demeanor made me nervous.
“Look, I know these people. I grew up in that place. I know what it’s like to be inside that compound with no way out. We’re not going in there and we’re not getting near the place without a plan, a weapon, and a means to escape, and I’m not letting you go without some kind of protection.”
“I called my brother and my dad. They know where we’re going. You can’t tell me these guys are dumb enough to do anything to the Sheriff’s daughter?”
“Honey, they’re dumb enough and dangerous enough to do just about anything.”
“Then what should we do? Should we wait for Jackson or my daddy?”
She sighed, her fingers flexing on the steering wheel, then turned the truck up the mountain.
“No. No, we need to go get Tina before it’s too late.”
“Too late? Should I call 911?”
Claire hesitated, then shook her head. “We can call 911 when we get there, but maybe it won’t come to that. Maybe just the threat of your brother and father being on their way will be enough for them to hand over your stupid cousin. Plus they won’t do anything to me, nothing lasting anyway.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“It means I know too many of their secrets.”
***
Claire pulled her Nissan truck into the parking lot of the Dragon, choosing a space near the edge of the lot and far from any of the motorcycles. It was cold and the weatherman had threatened snow on top of the mountain. Exiting Claire’s truck, a gust of frigid wind whipped my hair in all directions.
It was going to snow, sooner rather than later. That meant all the leaves would fall and autumn would officially be over. I would miss the vibrancy of color, but part of me was looking forward to the white blanket of winter, when everything is either desolate or covered. It would match my mood.
Claire put both weapons in the back of her jeans along with the extra magazine, covering them all with her bulky sweater. We walked to the main entrance together, holding hands. I’m not sure which of us reached out first, but I was glad to have her next to me. I’d never been to the bar before, though I knew where it was located, perched at the tippy top of the highest peak. Everyone knew where it was, and what it was about, and to avoid it unless you were looking for trouble.
A giant dragon was painted along the front side of the cinderblock building, and not one of those friendly Chinese dragons used in parades. This dragon looked mean and it had metal spikes coming out of its tail and the top of its head as horns; its claws were also metal spikes. I surmised all the metal spikes were iron, which explained the name of the club. The dragon was in the midst of decapitating a person, blood gushing over the mystical creature’s claws in a gratuitous display of artistic violence. Real nice.
Row after row of motorcycles were lined up in front and loud music reverberated from behind the closed doors. A rough interpretation of the Iron Order emblem hung in the window as a neon sign right next to two other neon signs advertising Bud Light and Jack Daniel's.
Certainly, the music, the murderous dragon mural, the rows of motorcycles, plus the austere cinderblock exterior gave a less-than-friendly aura to the place. But the outside was tidy, no trash in the lot or littering the building, and the surrounding area was covered in trees and underbrush.
As we approached, I spotted two men coming around the side of the building, apparently deep in discussion and also apparently related to giants. These men weren’t big. These men were huge. Like, basketball-player tall plus rugby-player wide. I was more than a foot smaller than the shorter of the two. Claire must’ve seen them as well because I felt her stiffen, then pull us abruptly to a stop.
“We’re close enough,” she said, even though we were a good twenty feet from the building.
I glanced at her in question, but her eyes were fixed on the two men and her stance was rigid, primed to flee.
“Listen, you go back to the car and I’ll—”
“No. You’re staying right here, with me.” She shook her head, but before I could object she called out to the men. “Catfish, Drill. Hey. Over here.”
The two giants—who apparently called themselves Catfish and Drill—glanced up. Neither frowned, nor did they smile. But it was obvious they were surprised as their gazes moved over Claire.
Almost reluctantly they broke away from the side of the building and crossed to where we stood. They glanced behind us and around at the woods lining the perimeter of the lot, as though checking for a trap or potential hidden accomplices.
“It’s been a long time, Scarlet. You here to see your daddy?” the shorter of the two asked. His head was bald and his eyes were a sharp blue color. Maybe they appeared so sharp because he was dressed in all black—black leather pants, black leather jacket, black leather boots, black shirt beneath.
“That’s close enough.” She lifted her hand when they were about ten feet away, her tone stern. “I’m not here to see anyone. This is Jessica James, her daddy is Sheriff James and her cousin called her earlier from inside the Dragon, wants to be picked up.”
The two men stopped where she’d indicated, approximately ten feet from where we stood, and their eyes moved over me again. The shorter one asked, “Your daddy is the law?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. But all we want is my cousin. She called about twenty minutes ago.”
“What’s her name?” This time the taller one spoke. His skin was dark brown but his eyes were nearly hazel, and his voice was so baritone it was almost too deep for my ears, making his words sound slurred together.
“Tina. Her name is Tina Patterson,” I supplied.
“She dances at the Pink Pony,” Claire added and I saw recognition ignite behind both of their expressions. Claire continued, her explanation sounding like a command. “She called. She wants to leave. We’re here to get her.”
The two men exchanged a look that I didn’t understand, then the shorter one made like he was going to reach out and offer his hand to me. “I’m Drill, this here is Catfish.”
Automatically, I moved to step forward, but Claire pulled me back and somewhat behind her. She had steel in her voice as she ground out, “She don’t need to shake your hand. She just needs her kin.”
“Come inside, Scarlet. Have a drink. I’m sure your daddy would—”
“What’s going on here?” A third male voice interrupted Catfish’s overtures, walking quickly from the entrance of the bar to where we stood. He was about six foot, no taller, and was older than the other two, but they both stepped to the side as though deferring to his authority. I recognized the newcomer almost immediately as the biker who’d been talking to Duane the night we stopped by Daisy’s Nut House for pie.
His dark brown eyes snagged on mine and his steps faltered, his mouth parting. He was definitely surprised and he definitely recognized me.
“Scarlet is back and she brought a friend,” Drill motioned to me.
“I am not back.” From my vantage point I could see Claire was speaking through clenched teeth and her blue eyes flashed as she appealed to the newcomer. “Repo, this is Jessica James, and her daddy—”
“I know who her daddy is. What are you two ladies doing here?” The man Claire had addressed as Repo still hadn’t taken his eyes off me, and his stunned surprise seemed to have morphed into disapproval and anger.
“We’re here to pick up my cousin, Tina.”
Repo’s eyes narrowed and he didn’t respond for several seconds, opting to scrutinize me instead. Meanwhile Drill and Catfish were looking at Repo as though they were waiting for direction.
“What makes you think Tina is here?” Repo finally asked.
“She called me.”
“She called you?” He sounded doubtful.
“Yes. So I called my brother and my daddy, told them I was coming up here to pick up my cousin.”
At this news, Repo’s glower turned into a smirk. “You called the sheriff and the deputy? They know you’re up here?”
“Yes, Mr. Repo, they do. Now, for the fourth time, could one of you please bring Tina out? Then we’ll be happy to leave.”
His smirk widened into a smile when I called him Mr. Repo. Then he chuckled, like he thought I was funny. “Smart girl,” he said under his breath, shaking his head. He turned, the smile waning from his face, and lifted his chin to Drill. “Go get Tina. Bring her here. And don’t go volunteering that Scarlet is here. That ain’t nobody’s business.”
Drill seemed surprised by the orders issued, but said nothing to contradict. He nodded once, then Catfish and Drill walked back to the building. They didn’t use the main entrance; instead they took the same path they’d come from and disappeared around the cinderblock corner.
This left Claire, Repo, and me st
anding outside the bar. Claire was glaring at Repo. Repo glared at Claire. I split my attention between the two of them. I figured we were going to spend the next several minutes in silence as we waited. Neither of my companions seemed inclined to talk. Dislike as thick as sausage gravy rolled off my friend; whether her ire was pointed at this man, or this place, or both, I had no idea. She didn’t discuss her childhood, just a few slips and scraps of information here and there, enough for me to extrapolate that she’d never had it easy and considered the Order part of a dark past.
But then Repo cleared his throat and said to me, “I heard your…uh, your aunt died.”
I nodded once. “That’s right.”
He studied me for a long minute, so long I thought he was finished. Unexpectedly, he said, “I knew her when we was kids.”
I’m sure I looked as surprised as I felt. “My aunt?”
“Both the Franklin sisters, in Texas. Your granddaddy was my daddy’s boss.”
“At the ranch?”
“That’s right.”
“Huh.” I frowned at the coincidence and said, “Small world.”
“Not so small,” he mumbled under his breath, but I caught the words.
My curiosity was piqued. In fact, a prickle of cold something slithered down my back, so I asked, “So, what was she like? My aunt?”
His small smile was framed by a well-groomed salt and pepper goatee, and reflected in his dark eyes. “She was very pretty—beautiful—and smart. Smarter than me. And she was funny, she used to make me laugh.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, the cold slithering something settled in my belly. “Really? How’d she do that? What’d she do that was funny?”
“Play tricks, pranks mostly. She got me good a few times.”
I huffed a humorless, disbelieving laugh. “I can’t imagine Aunt Louisa being funny.”
“She was…she was wild, and she sure liked to piss off her daddy,” he responded absentmindedly, like he was talking to himself. His gaze lost focus, turning inward with nostalgia.