Wild Side

by Cynthia Ayman

  We stop before we reach the warehouse. It seems like the most likely choice because it is really remote. It didn’t suffer in the fire, unlike the houses, and logic says that if it had been a house, the witness wouldn’t have said building. It’s slim, but we have to start somewhere, and it makes the most sense at the moment.

  “Backup is on its way,” Drew says as we all get out of the cars. There are only seven of us, plus him, and I sure as hell hope we’re not walking into a trap. I also hope my president doesn’t tell us to wait.

  I wouldn’t. But going in there alone without support goes against everything I’ve ever been taught.

  Sly is already slipping between the trees, quickly and soundlessly thanks to the night goggles he always carries around with him. He’s an excellent tracker, discreet, observant. There is a reason why he is our enforcer and even though it is killing me, I know I have to let him recon first. We follow him at a distance, keeping the flashlights to a minimum and firmly on the forest floor. We eventually meet up with him as he stands with his back to us, a hand lifted.

  “There’s a car,” he murmurs, pointing with his chin towards his right. “Only one. Fits the tracks on the road too.”

  That’s good news. That means whoever is in there is either alone or that, at the very least, there can’t be any more than four or five people. We’ll outnumber them easily.

  “Apa, you look for Abby, alright? If she is scared, it’s better she sees you right away. We don’t need her hysterical,” Sly continues. “You let us handle whoever else is there.”

  I want to argue because I fucking want to handle whoever else is there, and with my fists preferably, but I know Sly is right. Abby needs me. My thirst for revenge will have to take the backseat until my woman is safe and sound. After, though? All bets are off.

  ***

  Abby

  I’m dozing off. I don’t know how I can fall asleep when I’m shivering with cold and everything in my body hurts, but it’s a struggle to stay awake. I force myself the best I can because the idea of being so vulnerable is frightening. Not that I could do much more being awake, seeing as I’m bound like a Thanksgiving turkey, but still.

  I think I’m dreaming when I hear the sound of firecrackers.

  It takes me a while to realize it might not be firecrackers. By that time, there are voices shouting but they still seem weirdly far away from me, almost like echoes. There is also a buzzing sound in my ears, and I’m pretty sure the room is moving around me. Even if I keep my eyes closed, I can feel my body turning around.

  I don’t understand what’s going on, and I find myself not really caring anymore. I just want to sleep.

  “Abby. Abby.” A hand on my cheek is warm as I struggle to open my eyes. Apa’s face is blurry, but I recognize his voice. I’d recognize it anywhere, even if I had never heard him use that particular tone. I’ve had the occasion to hear his teasing voice, his scolding one, his turned-on one, his sated one, but this one feels heavy with something I can’t really place. I’m past caring though, and the relief that washes over me makes me even dizzier. My stomach rolls.

  “I-” is all I manage to say before hunching over and throwing up.

  Chapter 24

  Abby

  “It’s Smith who will take her statement. Since I’m involved in the shooting, I can’t do it. Don’t worry, he’s a good guy. Everybody’s versions fit and if Abby’s does too, we’ll just forget about it. As far as everybody knows, we stopped a dangerous pervert and it will end there.”

  “Thanks, Drew.”

  Apa’s voice is rough and low. I don’t recognize the other man, and I’m still too tired to open my eyes. I allow myself to drift back to sleep because I just don’t have the energy to do anything else. The only other thing that manages to pierce through the fog in my brain is that something warm is covering my hand.

  When I gain consciousness again, it’s a little easier. My mind seems clearer, although it still feels like my brain is bathing in cotton wool. I’m a little more aware of my surroundings. It seems to be light wherever I am, even if my eyes are still closed. It’s warm and comfortable too, but my entire body is aching. Someone is holding my hand, and I smell antiseptic all around me. It makes me a little nauseous, and I really hope I’m not going to throw up. I have a vague memory of doing it recently and the awful taste in my mouth seems to confirm it. My teeth feel like the physical equivalent of nails on a blackboard. You know, it makes you shiver and squirm uncomfortably? That’s how my teeth feel. My throat is also on fire, my head is throbbing.

  Was I in a car crash or something?

  I must moan, because there is a sudden movement by my side. “Abby?”

  I try to speak but I can’t get a word out and only manage to sound like a frog in heat.

  “No, don’t speak.” Something presses against my lips. A straw. I take a long pull and oh my God it feels amazing. “Slow. Slow.”

  Slow? I’m dehydrated, dumbass!

  Apa takes the water away from me and I whine, opening my eyes to glare at him reproachfully.

  He smiles, but it’s small and almost trembling. Definitely not his trademarked dimpled grin. “Sorry, babe, but you need to drink slowly, or your stomach is going to be mad at you.”

  It reminds me that I probably threw up at some point and I’d rather not do it in front of him, so I nod.

  Big mistake. The simple movement sends daggers of pain behind my eyes.

  I rest for a few seconds, waiting for things to settle a little as I take a few deep breaths. “What happened?” I finally manage to ask.

  “I’m so sorry, baby.”

  “What happened?” I repeat, because my head is drawing a blank. Like, a complete and utter blank. Last thing I remember was leaving a note on his bed. I force my memory, retrace what happened next. I got into my car while Spike was snoring his head off on the couch. I managed to move all my belongings, and he didn’t even stir. They might want to reconsider appointing him as guardian of the house, I’m pretty sure Scooby Doo would do a better job.

  I see myself driving and sobbing and finally pulling over.

  “There was a man,” I start but Apa cuts me off.

  “Don’t worry. He’s dealt with.”

  That… doesn’t make me feel any better. What does “dealt with” mean anyway?

  Apa sighs. “He started shooting once he realized we were there. Drew summoned, he didn’t stop. It was self-defense, no one is gonna get in trouble for that.”

  Woah. Self-defense? The guy is dead?!

  We’re interrupted before he can elaborate and a doctor walks inside the room. He beams at me. “Good. You’re awake.”

  He points a light in my eyes, makes me follow his finger as he moves it around, checks my blood pressure and a few other things that I do without really thinking about it.

  “You have a concussion,” he eventually explains. “You were unconscious for about twelve hours.”

  Holy shit. “I don’t remember much.”

  “That’s normal. It might come back to you, but I’d be surprised if you remember everything that happened before you lost consciousness. You have a sprained wrist and bruises, but you don’t seem to suffer from any other trauma.”

  The doctor looks pointedly at Apa. “I’d like to talk to my patient alone.”

  Apa’s jaw tightens. He’s been silent ever since the doctor walked into the room, hovering near my bed and watching with eagle eyes.

  “Aaron, please,” I say, because I’m feeling tired again, and I’d like to go back to sleep. Whatever the doctor wants to tell me, I’d rather he does it quickly, and I’m not in the mood for a confrontation.

  Apa looks at me then lifts my hand and presses a kiss on it. He nods and leaves without a word, and I let out a sigh of relief. Not that I want him out, but I can feel my brain is already having a hard time following the conversation.

  “I have to ask you a few questions. We examined the visible wounds, but we didn’t proceed with a more
thorough examination.”

  “OK.”

  “Is it necessary?”

  I frown because I honestly have no clue what he’s talking about.

  “Were you assaulted? Sexually?”

  “Oh. I… No?” I don’t remember anything like that, but there is also a gigantic blank in my head right now. My heart rate picks up as I start to panic. Do they have a reason to believe that… was I…

  “When you were brought here, you were fully clothed. We had to change you into a gown, and we noticed a few bruises in the shape of hands or fingers. I can ask for one of my colleagues to proceed with an exam if you want to.”

  I try to think. The bruises don’t send me into a frenzy. They’re probably from Apa, and everything has always been consensual between us. He does have a few himself too. I do remember being alone in an empty room, but I was fully dressed all the time.

  “Your boyfriend says they found you exactly the way they brought you here.”

  I remember now. Just a few glimpses, but I remember seeing his face. I was curled up in a fetal position, and yes, my clothes were on. I take a deep breath when I realize that nothing feels weird either, down there. “No. I mean yes. Everything I remember… I’m always dressed. And shouldn’t I… feel something if…” I can’t even say the word.

  “Most women do feel sore, yes. If there wasn’t the matter of the bruises, I’d be-”

  “The bruises are from yesterday. Or the day before. I’m not sure anymore but… my boyfriend has a matching pair,” I explain, feeling my face flame up.

  He nods, his face remaining a mask of professionalism. “Very well, then. Is there anything else you feel more comfortable sharing with me while we’re alone? Any questions?”

  I think about it for a few seconds but, really, all I want is to sleep. “I’m just really tired. And my head is killing me.”

  “A nurse is going to give you some painkillers. But we still have to wake you up every couple of hours. We did it already, but you probably don’t remember.”

  I want to reply, but I’m exhausted. I don’t even see him leave the room, I’m already asleep.

  It’s night time when I finally feel like the fog in my head has cleared. Apa is on a chair beside my bed, playing on his cellphone.

  “I feel like crap,” I moan, bringing his attention to me. He puts his phone back in his pocket then leans forward and, again, gently grabs my hand and pulls it to his lips.

  “Concussions will do that to you.”

  “What happened?”

  He sighs, his eyes drifting on our joined hands. “Remember how I told you something had happened the first week you spent at the clubhouse?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Someone stole something from us. Something that wasn’t ours and that we were supposed to deliver to another club. It made us look bad. It took us a week to figure things out but… we eventually did. A hang-around from our Arizona chapter had figured he could help himself to some and that we’d never find out.”

  “Hang-around?”

  “Yes. Someone who hangs with the club but isn’t a prospect or member.”

  I nod. I’ve seen a few different people during the parties, even though we never stayed really late. I figured they were family or friends of members, and I never really asked about them. “I take it you found out?”

  “Yes. He got lucky too because he wanted to keep it all for himself so only a small bunch was missing. We replaced it, delivered it.”

  “Is it drugs?” I ask because even though I know the rules, hell, if I got kidnapped because of that, I have the right to know.

  “Not hard drugs. We don’t do hard drugs.”

  Weed then. It’s probably weed. “That’s the not-so-legit part of the club, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I can deal with that. As long as it stays somewhat away from me, I can deal with that if it’s the worst they do. Weed is legal now, even if I know that they probably deal with a lot more than what is allowed.

  Also, I always wanted to try pot brownies, so maybe we could make an arrangement or something.

  “What did you do to the guy? The one who stole?”

  “Abby…”

  Oh shit. “Did you kill him?” I ask in a whisper.

  “No. Not for… no. But we’ve been keeping him in one of our warehouses. Teaching him a lesson, so he can send the message that you shouldn’t fuck with us. He’s young, too, so that probably saved his ass.”

  I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what this lesson is they’ve been teaching him, so I move to my next question. “What does it have to do with me, though?”

  “His brother knew we had gotten him. He was hoping to make some kind of exchange. You for his brother.”

  “But why me? I’m not even part of the club, it makes no sense.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know either. Maybe because you seemed like the easiest target?”

  Something is tickling my drug-induced brain. It takes me a little while to point it out. “He said I made it easy for him. That he was ready to follow me to Huntington.”

  “How did he get you?”

  “I pulled over.”

  “Why? Was something wrong with your car? Do you think someone tampered it?”

  “No.” I sigh and lick my lips. They’re awfully dry and I’m pretty sure they bled at some point. “I was crying, OK? I wanted to get a hold over myself. He pulled over behind me and called out, asking if I was in trouble. I rolled down the window, told him I was fine, then I don’t remember.”

  “He probably knocked you out. The doctor said you have two bumps on your head. He’s not sure if you got the concussion with the first hit or the second, though.”

  I shrug. It doesn’t make a difference to me. I still have a concussion. “I woke up in that room. He let me use the bathroom then he threw me on the floor. That’s when I hit my head again. He tied me up again and everything is really fuzzy after that.”

  “I found you there.”

  “He called you to make the exchange?”

  Apa snorts. “No. We found him first. I think he wanted to find the right spot beforehand. If what you’re telling me is true, and he was indeed planning on following you to Huntington, he probably didn’t have a precise plan.”

  “How… how did he know, though? Where I’m from? Or that I was leaving?”

  That makes Apa pause. “I have no idea. He might have asked around town. People know you make desserts for Maisie, he might have just asked if you owned a shop and… it’s incredibly easy to gather intel just by gossiping, you know. For the rest, you were about to head onto the 180, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you might have been heading back home.”

  “Yeah. I guess so, yeah.” Something still doesn’t sit right with me. But it might just be that I’m not exactly used to being kidnapped and held hostage. I might be cooler with the whole thing next time. “Wait,” I say suddenly. “If he didn’t call you, how on earth did you find me? My note told you I was going home, so it’s not like you knew something was off.”

  Apa lets out a low chuckle. “Abby, babe… I was coming to get you.”

  I blink. “You… what?”

  “I found your note and decided it was bullshit. I was coming to bring your ass back with me.”

  Caveman biker strikes again. “You decided it was bullshit?”

  “Yup.”

  “Aaron, I’m sorry but I can’t… I can’t do this.”

  “What is this, exactly?”

  I wave between us. “The two of us. Our relationship, which isn’t really a relationship. My life on hold. Your pick, really.”

  “Our relationship is a relationship, babe.”

  It’s so tempting to cave in. So, so tempting. “Aaron, we’re in limbo.”

  “We were in limbo. Not anymore. You’re my old lady, so that settles it.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You’re my old lady, so that settles it?” I repeat. “I don’t think so, mister. And especially no
t because of what happened. I will tell the police I don’t remember anything. He knocked me out, I woke up once to pee, then he knocked me out again. I have no idea who that guy is, but I’m really lucky I escaped a probable serial killer. You guys can sleep tight, you won’t get in trouble.”

  “You think I give a flying fuck about that? We already sorted out our story. Your version is better, though, so that’s great. We were going to ask you to say something similar and keep to yourself anything he might have said about the club.”

  Oh my God. I can’t. I can’t do it. I want to stay, but I can’t. “Aaron, I love you,” I say, begging him to understand how cruel it would be to ask me to stay. He has to let me go, let me lick my wounds and sob my heart out in front of Bridget Jones with Val. Then, in a few months, I’ll burn his pictures in the sacred ceremony of “I’m over the asshole,” like all our ancestors have done before us ever since Adam blamed Eve for his own lack of balls.

  I have it all planned. He’d better not ruin it.

  “I know.”

  Of course, he fucking ruins it. Condescending asshole. He’s used to women falling for him.

  “Abby, I love you too.”

  I’m already opening my mouth to give him a piece of my mind and bring him down a peg or two by reminding him that he never rinses the sink when he grooms his scruff and, really, if that isn’t the ultimate proof that he isn’t exactly a catch, I don’t know what is. Then his words register.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.” He’s looking at me with a smile, dimples on full blast.