Ranger Knox (Shifter Nation: Werebears Of Acadia Book 1)

by Meg Ripley

  ****

  Mona was awakened by a loud crash a few mornings after Ryan moved into Benny’s old house with her. She shot up in bed, surprised and instantly scared. “What was that?” she yelped.

  Ryan was sitting up beside her, awake and with large eyes as he looked at her. “I don’t know,” he said, throwing the blankets off of him. “It sounded like it came from the garage.”

  He and Mona quietly and quickly crept down the stairs towards the door to the garage that came off of the kitchen. He signaled with a finger for her to not make a sound and he opened the door just a crack.

  Sunlight shone through. The garage door was open! After a cursory glance around revealed that no one was in the garage now, Ryan pulled the door into the kitchen the rest of the way open. They didn’t even have to step inside the garage to see what had happened.

  “The Duke!” Mona shouted, shocked and horrified. “It’s gone!”

  The teal and white beauty, Benny’s pride and joy, was no longer in its place of honor in the garage. The door appeared to have been opened from the outside. Someone had clearly come in and stolen the bike. Someone who shouldn’t have access to the garage…

  Ryan rushed to the opened garage door, standing in its wide doorway. He looked around for any sign of who had been there. Suddenly, he saw something shining in a nearby bush. He reached down and grabbed it.

  It was the remote control garage opener.

  Mona instinctively reached back and touched her butt, feeling for her back pockets even though she was wearing silk pajama bottoms. “Oh shit!” she exclaimed. “Oh my god. It must have fallen out… I always had it. I… I made sure.”

  She started to cry angry tears. “This is all my fault. I’m so fucking stupid.” She crouched down on the short staircase that led from the kitchen down to the garage. Ryan came back inside and went up to her, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin against her back.

  “It’s going to be okay. It’s not your fault… Hey, it’s going to be all right. We’ll figure this out. You probably even had it on you and someone snatched it.”

  Mona sniffled and shook her head. “It was on me last night, but it… it could have fallen out anywhere, Ryan!”

  He thought about that. It was possible that she’d lost it while they were out at the arcade, or while they were riding to or from. He hadn’t seen anyone that he knew, anyone that they shouldn’t trust. Then again, they hadn’t really been paying that much attention to anyone other than each other.

  Ryan got out his cell phone and called the police. “This is the second police report we’ve had to file this week,” he said as he rubbed Mona’s back. “But whoever is doing this to us is being careless. These two motorcycle-related incidents this close together? It’s obviously someone we know who has a vendetta—Hello? Hi, yes, I need to report a theft. A motorcycle has been stolen from 2223 North Bishop…”

  He rose from his place on the steps and paced around the garage, pausing to listen to the officer on the line and speaking whenever he was asked for further details and information. “I’m the vice president of a motorcycle club. My girlfriend lives here. This is her house. She is the president and it’s her father’s motorcycle. Yes. Teal and white Harley Davidson…”

  He looked over at Mona. She watched him with her face slightly contorted in her grief. She’d lost her dad and now she’d lost his bike.

  What a terrible daughter, she thought miserably. “I can’t run his club without someone getting hurt. I can’t keep his bike safe…”

  Ryan looked up at her and pouted, shaking his head. “That’s it,” he told the officer over the phone. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch. Bye.” He ended the call and put his phone back into his pocket. “It’s going to be okay, Mona. I promise. We will get to the bottom of this and get his bike back.”

  “Weasel’s bike was destroyed,” she pointed out, stressed about that still as well. “There may be no chance of ever seeing Dad’s bike again.”

  He sat beside her on the steps again, pulling her into another hug. “Don’t be so negative. I will make this right again. Okay?”

  Mona nodded against his back. She felt like curling up into the fetal position and never leaving that spot, but soon enough Ryan carried her inside and set her down by the breakfast table in the kitchen.

  He fried some eggs for her and placed a plate of them, plus a tall glass of orange juice, in front of her on the table. She stared into space. She didn’t think it was possible, but she was now feeling even more depressed than before.

  “Who keeps doing these awful things?” she said with a sad sigh and a shake of her head.

  The universe responded with a knock on the door. Ryan and Mona both jumped, and the air was thick with tension. They stood silently in the kitchen for a moment, but the knock came again, and Mona finally started to move.

  Ryan got to the living room just as she opened the door to Lance Olsen – the tall, slim redhead with the silver tooth.

  “What do you want?” the couple shouted.

  Lance laughed and looked between them, his copper-colored eyes wide in mock amazement. “Wow, in stereo and everything! Did you two practice that?”

  “What do you want, Lance?” Ryan repeated.

  Mona stepped back to let the traitor in, her face grim. “Come in.”

  Ryan fixed a glare at Lance, who was now politely examining the colorful Chihuly vase next to their fireplace while they spoke to each other in hushed voices.

  “Is he really this stupid?” Mona whispered.

  “Have you met him?” Ryan shot back.

  Lance had never been friendly, but he’d never been unfriendly, either. Ryan realized then that this was why he’d taken so long to realize Lance was a problem. Lance walked the fine line between charming and alarming better than anyone Ryan knew, and it had gone unnoticed by everyone but he and Mona so far. It had even gone unnoticed by him until Benny died.

  Ryan looked at Lance now, sitting with one leg crossed over his knee and humming something under his breath. Was Lance Olsen there to hurt him again? Was he there to hurt Mona?

  Ryan strode over to him, and Mona followed close behind. “Talk.”

  Lance gazed up at him and smiled, his rodent-like face twitching in delight. “Nice to see you too, Ryan. You as well, Mona. I didn’t expect to find you both here together. How interesting. How… new.”

  Mona scoffed. “Just stop messing around and tell us what you want, you jealous rat.”

  The smile dropped from his face so quickly that Ryan’s blood turned cold. “Now now, is that any way to treat your old friend? Your dad’s old pal?”

  Mona lunged for Lance, but Ryan caught her around the waist. “Calm down!”

  “This is my house! I can hit him if I want to!”

  Lance laughed smugly. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

  Mona stopped struggling to be released, and Ryan immediately dropped his hands. “Yes. Tell us, and then get out.”

  She and Ryan both felt convinced that they already knew that Lance had stolen the bike. The question was whether he was going to be quiet about it or gloat.

  Lance sighed. “When are you going to be nice to me, Mona?”

  Ryan wanted to spit in his face. “Never. Tell us what you want, then leave.”

  Anger flashed in Lance’s eyes, and he closed them. “I want to race,” Lance said, keeping his voice steady and cool. “One or both of you.”

  The room was silent for so long that he opened his eyes to find them gaping at him in shock.

  “Well?” He prompted.

  Ryan laughed, and it had an edge of hysteria. “You came over here to offer us a race? Lance, you’re not even on our team anymore. You’re also rude as hell. What could either of us gain from racing you—besides getting you to shut the fuck up for a while?”

  Lance smiled. “Remember The Duke?”

  Mona let out a soft gasp; there was the confession they were hoping for. Ryan had half a mind to
call the cops right then and there, but he held fast. He wanted to see what Lance was brewing up first. They would be able to nab him better if they knew the motive and where the bastard was keeping the bike…

  Mona stepped close enough to Lance to smack him if she wanted, and Ryan didn’t bother to get near enough to be able to stop her. “You found The Duke?” She kept her voice slightly more casual, not accusatory, in the hopes that they’d get more information out of him.

  Lance’s smile became smug. “Well, found isn’t the right word. I have it.”

  “You stole it,” Ryan said immediately. “You slimy asshole. You stole from Benny. You stole from Mona.”

  The redheaded man shrugged. “I did what I had to do.”

  “Why did you have to do it?” Mona demanded, and there were angry tears in her eyes. “Why’d you have to fuck your family over?”

  Lance laughed, but the sound was harsh to Ryan’s ears. “None of you are my family. You’ve never been my family. I’ve been in this group for five years, and none of you knew my last name until two years ago. You don’t respect me, you don’t praise me, you don’t laugh at my jokes—there’s no positivity from you people at all!” His voice had nearly risen to a shout, so he paused to take a breath. “Anyway, I knew I’d need a bargaining chip when one of you fucked up—well, initially, just Ryan.”

  “Why not me?” Mona asked.

  Lance smiled. “Because I had a thing for you, Mona. But you never noticed…I guess because you hardly noticed me.”

  Mona made a face of pure detestation.

  Ryan cut in to save Mona the hassle of coming up with a retort worthy of vocalizing. “So, let me get this straight… You want to race me in order to reclaim Benny’s bike.”

  “Uh huh,” Lance said, putting his hands on his hips. “Are you game or are you chicken?”

  That made Ryan smile wryly. “Oh, I’m definitely not chicken, you asshole… Your rules or mine?”

  It felt ridiculous to have to race the cocky son of a bitch over Mona’s motorcycle. Especially because there was already a police report on the theft. Ryan didn’t want to let this threat go, however. There was a chance that he could beat the smarmy smile off of Lance’s face and ‘win’ the bike back before the police even needed to intervene.

  Ryan didn’t back away from a race, even though he should know better than to race using Lance’s rules…

  Lance sniffed. “You and me, no spectators – except the pretty Miss Mona Myers, of course.”

  She spat at his feet, crossing her arms in front of her chest and refusing to look at him any longer. Lance Olsen was the worst kind of cretin. She wanted to bash his nose in for laying a finger on her dad’s bike.

  “We start in the alley behind Hog’s Grogs,” Lance continued. “Tomorrow night, eight p.m. sharp. No late arrival. You arrive late, you don’t bring home The Duke. Sound good?”

  “No,” Ryan spat. “But it will have to do.”

  She nodded in agreement with Ryan, and anxiety started to eat at her muscles. “And if we lose?”

  Lance clapped his hands together. “Ah. If you lose…then you leave.”

  There was silence again, and Ryan looked at Lance for a long time. He saw that he was still basically a kid—only three years younger than him, but still so full of malice and cunning that it was difficult to look him in the eye. Lance was a monster—but Ryan also needed that Harley more than Mona knew. He’d dreamed of getting it back for her and proving to her that he was the man who could help her out and make her happy again. He wanted to impress her, sure, but he also really wanted her to trust that he had her back.

  Mona wasn’t having any of it, though. “Get out. Now. Or I’ll hit you again, and I won’t stop this time.”

  Lance stood up, and for a moment, he towered over Mona and looked down at her with such hatred and disgust that Ryan started to move between them. But he moved past them both and strode toward the door, his shoes smacking on the wood floor.

  He paused at the entryway with his hand on the knob. “See you tomorrow night at Hog’s Grogs for the race, then, Ryan?”

  Mona started to move toward the door, but Lance slipped out and slammed it behind him. She took one deep breath, then another, then several more while Ryan stood there, staring into space as he turned over what had just happened in his mind. Mona walked over to him and slumped on the couch, burying her face in her hands. At the same time, Ryan finished thinking, and his heart felt lighter for having a plan. He wasn’t going to let Lance get away with this—and he also wasn’t going to let the bike get away from them again.

  “What now?” Mona asked, her voice numb with shock.

  Ryan sank to his knees and took her hands in his. “Now? We get your bike back, and we get that motherfucker out of our family.”

  Mona’s mouth opened in surprise, but her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “There’s my tough guy.”

  ****

  The following evening, Mona and Ryan stood in the alley behind her bar, as planned. He had his CopyCat all shined and ready to rumble, but she was starting to worry that they’d been tricked into being there.

  “Is he going to show?” she asked Ryan.

  “He’ll show,” Ryan said with a nod. “He’s too cocky to let an opportunity like this pass by.”

  “If that bastard even gets one microscopic dent on that bike—”

  “Surprise surprise,” Lance’s voice said from behind them, “I’m a few minutes late and you’re already talking shit about me.”

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at him. “You said we had to be on time,” he pointed out.

  “I guess that means you lose and we get The Duke back,” Mona added.

  Lance laughed harshly, more like a bark than a human laugh. “You wish,” he said. He was leading the teal and white Harley into the alley with him. It shown in the light of the streetlamps, just as beautiful as Mona remembered.

  Oh, please don’t let him hurt my baby…

  Kicking one leg over The Duke, he got onto the motorcycle and snapped his helmet in place atop his stupid orange-haired head. “You ready to go, Kirby? Or do you need a permission slip from your mom?”

  “Oh, cut the shit, Lance.” Ryan got onto his sleek, black bike and put his helmet on as well.

  Mona hoped that this race would be over quickly and that no one would end up hurt… At least, not Ryan. Lance, on the other hand, could use a few broken limbs. Maybe a broken face…

  “Ready?” Lance called out.

  The two young men lined up their bikes so they were starting the race from the exact same place, parallel to a set of dumpsters.

  “On your marks,” Mona shouted. “Get set… GO!”

  As soon as the two pristine Harleys were off down the long stretch of road, Mona got out her cell phone and, sticking to Ryan’s plan, called the police number he’d used before.

  There was no way she and Ryan were going to let this race end in a victory for Lance Olsen. If everything went right tonight, he was going to be ending this race in handcuffs.

  Ryan shot up the hill, but Lance was surprisingly able to keep his pace given that The Duke probably hadn’t run in a while. Ryan looked over at Lance, and Lance held up his gloved middle finger and shouted something unintelligible.

  “What?” Ryan shouted back when he was close enough beside the other rider.

  It was another stretch of time before they were able to hear each other again. “I saw your girlfriend on the phone!” Lance yelled. “You call the cops on me, the deal is off!”

  Lance took a sudden swerve and went off in a direction that Ryan hadn’t anticipated, down a different alley and onto a large and populated street.

  Surprised, Ryan pulled back and turned so he could follow Lance. He suddenly smiled when he realized where they were and how close they were to the city center.

  Lance seemed to have forgotten what could be found in the city center.

  Several police stations.

  Ryan could h
ear the sirens before he saw the police motorcycle following Lance at top speed. The dumbass didn’t stop, but instead sped up, trying to outrun the cop in a highly-populated area.

  The race was over between Ryan and Lance. Cutting off his engine, all Ryan could do now was sit and wait for the results. He pulled out his cell phone and noticed that he’d received a text from Mona about ten minutes ago.

  “All cops are on the lookout for The Duke and The Dick who’s riding it.”

  Ryan grinned down at his phone. God damn did he love this girl.

  Lance was being pulled from The Duke by two policemen not much bigger than him. Ryan heard Mona running up behind him, and he removed his helmet. They exchanged proud grins and stood together watching from a distance as the cops confronted Lance in tense silence. They shared a look before Ryan dismounted, walking hand in hand with Mona over to the squad car so they could hear the conversation better.

  “Here! Here’s my license!”

  The cop was unimpressed. “Hm. That’s funny; this says Lance Olsen. This bike seems to be registered to a Benny Myers.”

  Lance started to speak, but he stopped mid-word. “This is my bike.”

  The other cop grinned. “Really? Think I should run the plates again?”

  Lance bristled. “You just got here. How did you have time to run my plates?”

  “This bike has been reported stolen, son,” the first cop said breezily. “Just yesterday, as a matter of fact—I don’t suppose you knew that, did you?”

  Ryan didn’t think it was possible to see Lance go any paler, but he did. Then he turned around and saw Ryan and Mona standing side by side. Mona waved flirtatiously, and Ryan smiled.

  “They lent it to me!” Lance said, and Ryan was impressed; he only sounded a little desperate, and he might have been convincing if his voice wasn’t shaking. “They lent it to me the other day. I guess they forget to tell you they found it.”

  “I guess they did,” the cop said. “When they reported it stolen yesterday morning, and mentioned you as a primary suspect.”

  The second cop started to put Lance in handcuffs. As he was being told his rights, Lance started to laugh—it was barely a laugh at all, more of a jagged scream filled with hatred.