HIS PROPERTY: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Iron Bandits MC)

by Zoey Parker

  A young agent in glasses walked up to Harbaugh, handing him a report. “Sir, Ms. Rosewood's car was just found in a parking lot at the edge of town.”

  Panzer's heart stopped for a moment as he waited for the agent to say that Billie's body was found with it.

  Instead, the agent said, “Another car from that lot was reported stolen. Take a look.”

  Panzer stole a glance at the photo included with the report the agent handed to Harbaugh. He instantly recognized Henry Sunday's car and cursed inwardly. If they were in that souped-up monstrosity, no one would be able to catch up to them.

  “They switched cars,” Harbaugh spat. “Damn it.”

  He stood up and addressed the rest of the cops and agents in the room. “Gentlemen, it appears as though we're looking for a different car now. We'll circulate this report so you all know what make and model to focus on, at least until they switch again. At this time, it's important that we consider this woman Billie Rosewood a willing accomplice.”

  “What?” Panzer exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. “What the hell are you talking about? She's not an accomplice, she's a victim of kidnapping!”

  Harbaugh's lip curled in disgust. “True or false, Sheriff: This woman lied to you about seeing these men in her bar earlier.”

  “She probably did,” Panzer stammered, “but...”

  “And true or false: She was waiting outside the bank for them,” Harbaugh said. “Even called out to one of them, according to bystanders.”

  “Well, yeah, but...”

  Harbaugh held up a hand to silence Panzer. “I've been chasing these kinds of characters for a long time, and I've seen this sort of thing before. Some bored local girl hooks up with a bunch of outlaws when they blow into town, maybe even helps them with the score. Then they ride off together, laughing. Later, when we close in on them, they do a bit of playacting to convince us the girl's a helpless hostage so we don't shoot through her to get to them, and they use her as a distraction while they get away. Of course, these girls always have elaborate stories after the fact about how they were brutalized and forced into cooperating...and in my experience, those stories are always bullshit, without a shred of hard evidence to back them up.

  “Well, I'm done falling for it,” Harbaugh concluded decisively. “I'm going to catch up to these hoods, and I'm going to see them dead or in bracelets. And so help me God, I'm not going to let some thrill-seeking bimbo stand in the way of justice. Not this time.”

  Panzer felt his heart sinking with every word. From the look in Harbaugh's eyes as he delivered this fiery sermon, Panzer had no doubt that he meant everything he said—he'd shoot through Billie if it meant taking these robbers down.

  “Now, I'm going to need to liaise with local law enforcement while I'm down here, since I'm not familiar with this area,” Harbaugh said. “Do you think you'll be able to keep up and lend a hand without tripping over your own shoes?”

  “I guess I'd better,” Panzer said.

  He desperately hoped he could somehow rescue Billie from these bikers and stop Harbaugh from hurting or killing her in the process, if it came to that.

  But he wasn't sure he'd be able to.

  Chapter 11

  Billie

  “So what should I call you?” Billie asked.

  They'd been driving without words for over an hour, and she felt like this would be the perfect time to poke at him some more. Earlier, she'd gotten a kick out of seeing how far she could push him with her questions and comments. She knew he expected her to act scared and helpless, and she enjoyed the idea of proving him wrong by showing how fearless she could be. She was no one's damsel in distress, and she was proud of that.

  “You don't have to call me anything,” the biker said, “because you're not supposed to be talking.”

  “Oh, come on,” she pleaded. “I've got to call you something besides 'biker,' at least in my head. What's your name? Is it something totally embarrassing? Is it, like, Aloysius, or Humbert, or Newton or something like that?”

  “I've got a perfectly normal name,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, “which I'm not going to tell you. You already know what my face looks like, so if you think I'm giving you more information that'll help the cops ID me later, you're an idiot.”

  “Suit yourself.” Billie shrugged. “But that just means I'm going to have to come up with a name for you myself. How about...Clyde? You know, like Bonnie and Clyde?”

  “We are not Bonnie and Clyde,” he snapped. She could see how much she was getting under his skin, and she cheered inwardly.

  “Well, no, obviously I'm Billie, not Bonnie,” she said. “But it's close enough, right, Clyde?”

  “Don't call me that.”

  “Fair enough, Clyde,” she smirked.

  He let out a frustrated growl, kicked the dashboard angrily, and fell into a morose silence.

  Part of her understood that she should be frightened, or at least nervous. Even if she didn't really believe he'd hurt her or shoot her, she was still being held at gunpoint by a criminal, with no idea where they were going or what would happen next.

  But the jitters she felt crackling through her body like lightning came from thrills, not fear. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so alive and excited. A handsome outlaw, a stolen car, and the cops on their heels...

  And besides, she reasoned, the authorities will catch up to us eventually.

  She was sure it wouldn't be Panzie who finally brought the hammer down, since he was such a useless ass of a sheriff. But still, based on the true crime TV shows she often watched, guys like these bank robbers rarely went unpunished. Once that happened, she'd enjoy getting even more attention as the police took down her statement and the news crews interviewed her about her harrowing ordeal. For a while, she'd be more than just some barmaid. She'd be a local celebrity.

  Once all that starts to die down, she thought, who knows? Maybe I'll even write some steamy love notes to him while he's in prison, and People magazine will do a story on us.

  She laughed to herself at this thought.

  “What's so fucking funny?” he asked sourly.

  “Nothing, Clyde,” she replied. “Just thinkin' me thinks, that's all.”

  “I told you not to call me that.”

  “Then tell me what your name is and I won't keep calling you Clyde, Clyde,” she teased.

  He shot her a withering look.

  “Okay, how about this,” she offered. “Just tell me the first letter of your name, and I won't bug you about it anymore, I promise.”

  He sighed. “Fine. C. My name starts with a C.”

  “There you go!” she exclaimed. “That wasn't so hard, right? Okay, so it starts with C, but it's not Clyde...”

  “You promised you wouldn't bug me about this anymore,” he pointed out. “You literally said that two seconds ago.”

  “Well, I was obviously lying, wasn't I?” Billie countered. “Jeez, for a professional criminal, you sure do take people at their word way too easily. Let's see. Chet? Chas? Casper?”

  “Even if you guess, I'm not telling you,” he said. “Are we almost in Blue Lace yet, or should I just tuck and roll out of the car now and pray I land on something hard?”

  “It'll be coming up in the next few minutes,” Billie assured him. “Look, there's even a sign for The Whippoorwill on the right. It's less than a mile from here.”

  “Good. Turn off at the next road.”

  “Why?” Billie asked. “We're not there yet.”

  “Because by now, this car will be reported stolen too. So we can't just park it in front of a motel for people to see, can we? We have to ditch it and walk the rest of the way.”

  “Fair enough,” she agreed, pulling the car onto another country road. “That makes sense.”

  “I'm so glad you approve,” he answered. “See that deep ditch alongside the road, next to that corn field? Pull up next to it.”

  Billie complied and “Clyde” leaned over, yanking the twisted
wires apart. The engine shut off.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now we're going to push this thing into the ditch and try to cover it with some corn stalks,” he said. “It won't be perfect, but it should still throw the cops off our tail a bit and buy us some time. Hopefully, the other two did something similar with their bikes. Oh, and don't go thinking you can try to run away while we're doing this, either,” he added. “That's not going to go well for you, believe me.”

  “I'm having too much fun to run off now,” said Billie. “Besides, then what? I'd just be stuck out here in the hundred-degree heat instead of an air-conditioned motel room.”

  “For fuck's sake,” he grumbled. “Is this all one big game to you or something?”

  “Pretty much,” she laughed. “I mean, you must get a real kick out of all this bank-robbing, running-from-the-law stuff too, right? Otherwise, why would you do any of it? And anyway, when the cops catch up to us, it's not like I'm the one who's going to be in trouble. So in the meantime, I may as well ride along and have some fun.”

  Clyde opened his mouth as though he was going to disagree, then closed it again. “If that's how you feel about it, fine,” he said. “Help me shove this thing into the ditch.”

  They both braced against the trunk of the car and pushed as hard as they could. Slowly, the sedan started to roll forward and to the side, until the right front wheel went off the edge and the others followed. The car crashed down through a patch of reeds and sank into the brown water of the ditch up to the tops of its tires, settling in like a hippo wallowing in a watering hole.

  Clyde started to gather armloads of tall, dried corn stalks from the edge of the field, and Billie followed suit. They tossed the stalks on top of the car and spread them out a bit.

  “Well, it helps that the thing is dirty as hell,” Clyde said. “They probably won't find it for a few hours. That'll give me a chance to catch up to the other guys, and then hopefully we can all get some distance between us and the cops. Now let's start walking. And again, don't try to make a run for it, or we'll have some serious problems.”

  “I told you...” she started.

  “I know what you told me,” he said. “But maybe I'm done taking people at their word so much, professional criminal that I am. So just walk a few steps ahead and don't make any sudden moves.”

  Billie rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  They started to walk along the muddy back roads and rocky footpaths as the corn stalks swayed around them.

  Chapter 12

  Billie

  They made their way through fields and scrubby wooded patches for almost thirty minutes until they saw the sign for The Whippoorwill, depicting a cheerful-looking cartoon bird perched on top of an alarm clock. Billie glanced around the parking lot, but she didn't see any motorcycles.

  “Looks like they got rid of their bikes, like you said,” she pointed out.

  “That, or the cops caught up to them,” Clyde replied. He sounded worried.

  “Assuming they didn't, how will we know which room they're in?” she asked. “I'm guessing asking at the front desk isn't an option.”

  “You guess right,” he said. “We reserved a specific room in advance under a fake name, just in case we'd need to meet up here after the heist. Number 17.”

  They found the room and Clyde stepped up to it, about to knock.

  “But what if the cops did grab the other two?” Billie asked. “Aren't you worried that they might be in there, waiting for you to knock on the door so they can arrest you?”

  Clyde considered that, then stepped back. “You've got a point,” he said. “Stand here, in front of the door.”

  “Okay,” she said, taking his place. He stood behind her, and a moment later, she felt the barrel of his gun pressed against her back.

  “Now if it's the cops, I've got a hostage at gunpoint,” he said.

  “That makes sense,” Billie said, nodding.

  She was learning a lot about the procedures robbers followed in real life. Movies about thieves could be a real hoot, but they rarely focused on the procedural details, and she found this information fascinating. Maybe I could even write a book about all of this when it's over, she thought.

  “If it's cops, do you want me to say or do anything specific?” she asked. “Like, should I start screaming and crying, or tell them you're a desperate man and they'd better do what you say? That kind of thing?”

  Clyde stared at her in disbelief. “Wow. You seem like you watch way too much television.”

  “Hey, you saw the town where I live,” she said. “There wasn't much else to do there.”

  “Fair point. Now knock.”

  She rapped on the door with her knuckles, and a gruff voice answered. “Who is it?”

  “It's me,” Clyde answered. “Open up.”

  The door opened, revealing the faces of the short blonde man and the scarred redhead who'd been drinking with Clyde the previous night. Both of them had grins of relief which immediately curdled to confusion and anger as they saw that she was with him.

  “You brought her here?” the redhead hissed at Clyde. “Have you lost your motherfucking mind, man?”

  “Come on, let's get her inside, quick,” the blonde said, looking around outside to make sure no one was watching them.

  They pulled Billie into the room and Clyde followed, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

  “What the fuck is the matter with you?” the redhead continued angrily, shaking a stubby finger at Clyde. “It's not enough she knows what our faces look like, now she knows our rendezvous spot too? Do you have rocks in your head, you stupid piece of shit?”

  “What was I supposed to do with her?” Clyde asked, shrugging expansively.

  “You know goddamn fucking well what you were supposed to do,” the redhead snapped. “You just didn't have the balls to do it.”

  “You guys can all take a deep breath and relax,” Billie said, trying to sound reassuring. “I'm not going back to tell the cops anything about you. I'm having way too much of a good time to bail out now. I figure I'll just ride along with you until they catch up, and after that, it won't matter what I say to them, right? You'll be headed to prison either way, and I'll go back to my boring old life, and that'll be that.”

  “I ain't goin' to prison,” the blonde said in a small, quavering voice. “Not ever again.”

  “Oh, 'that'll be that,' huh?” the redhead snarled at her. “So you really think we're gonna just keep draggin' you along with us so you can slow us down, is that it, you ridiculous cunt?”

  “Don't go calling me a cunt!” Billie answered hotly. She'd always hated that word and the kinds of men who used it. “I'm trying to tell you that you don't have to worry about me. I'm on your side.”

  The redhead shot a vicious look at Clyde, who responded with a now-you-see-what-I've-had-to-put-up-with gesture.

  “Let's get a few things straight here, sugar tits,” the redhead growled, grabbing her by the wrist and twisting it. She let out a yowl that was more surprise than pain. Why was he being so nasty to her?

  “First of all, you ain't 'on our side,'” the redhead continued. “We're crooks an' you ain't, which puts us on opposite sides. Second, you're really dumb enough to think when all this is over, you're just gonna go back to the way things were? Bullshit. You knew we were gonna knock that bank over an' you didn't tell no one. You even helped us get away. Those pigs'll book you as an accessory faster than you can spit.”

  Billie felt an uneasy flutter in her stomach. She'd been so caught up in finally having an adventure that she hadn't thought about that part. Hadn't she suspected them enough to wait in her car next to the bank? For that matter, hadn't she lied to Panzie about seeing them in the bar earlier yesterday? In retrospect, she realized that it would be hard for her to claim she was an unwilling hostage or a victim of circumstance. She might be in real trouble.

  “Yeah, didn't think that through too good, did you?” the redhead sneer
ed, seeing her expression change. “An third, you've seen what we look like. Which means if we turn you loose, you can give detailed descriptions to the cops, an' they can do a quick search for guys with records who match those pictures. An' then our rap sheets are pinned to the walls of every police station an' FBI field office from coast to coast, an' we're screwed. So just what the blue fuck makes you think we'd let you live, huh?”

  Billie felt her previous excitement quickly drain out of her, replaced with genuine fear. She hadn't believed that Clyde had it in him to kill her, and she wasn't sure the short blonde man would either. But as she looked into the redhead's eyes, she realized she couldn't bring herself to think the same of him. He seemed like someone who would commit murder easily if it suited his purpose, and she felt herself start to tremble.