Rather Be Wrong: Ronacks Motorcycle Club

by Debra Kayn

  Condoms.

  Party at the clubhouse.

  Rod was almost done working in the garage.

  Her day finally started looking up, and she was excited about tonight.

  Inside the house, she keyed in the code to shut off the alarm. She opened the backdoor. "Come on, Girl."

  Craning her neck outside, she looked left and right, studying the overgrown bushes at the side of the yard where Girl had gone when she was let out. The dog was nowhere in sight. Heather closed the door to go look in the garage again. Knowing Girl's attachment to Rod, the dog probably found her way around the house and she'd missed her.

  Halfway into the kitchen, she pivoted around and went back to the door and set the security alarm again. She could always come back inside and let the silly dog in if Girl had an issue coming inside for her and wanted to play musical doors.

  She set the box of condoms on the counter. The air changed in the house, and she stilled. A strong hand covered her mouth.

  "Don't make a sound," said a male voice in her ear.

  She jabbed her elbow back into a solid body and brought the heel of her foot down on the man's foot. Crying out in pain when her elbow made contact, panic set in when the man's hand never left her face, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, picking her off the floor.

  "It's not smart to fight me." His ragged breathing blew hot on the side of her face.

  She struggled against his hold, trying to remember every move she'd learned in self-defense class as part of her training at the women's shelter.

  Keep calm.

  Make lots of noise.

  Fight.

  With her uninjured arm pinned against her side, she only had one hand to use. She went limp, inhaled deeply, and screamed through his fingers while grabbing the man's hair.

  Broke loose from his hold, she swung her arms and kicked out. Rod's brother filled her vision, and she fought harder. "Ro—!"

  The air compressor clicked on muffling her scream for help. She backed away and hit her hip against the counter in the kitchen. Scrambling for the drawer where Rod kept a pistol, she tripped and fell against the cabinet.

  Tim landed on her, holding her down, and a ripping sound paralyzed her. She shook her head. "Please. No. Don't."

  He wrapped Duct Tape around her head, covering her mouth, silencing her. She bucked against his weight and struggled to keep her arm out of his grasp, but he overpowered her. Unable to fight against him, she watched with tears in her eyes as he wound tape around her wrists in front of her until her hands tingled.

  She kicked out as he dragged her into the living room where he planted his knee onto her thigh. Her stomached clench in pain and she clobbered his back with her bound hands. He grabbed her other leg and taped her kicking feet together. Wound tight and immobile, she laid on her back struggling to catch her breath and swallowed the bile that regurgitated from her stomach.

  Everything happened faster than she could act.

  Tim squatted down beside her and wiped the blood off his cheek where she'd clawed his face. "My brother got himself quite a little fighter."

  She screamed through the tape. Tim smiled at her. She understood her attempt at drawing Rod into the house was useless with the air compressor going, but she wasn't going to give up.

  "Save your energy, sassy." He stood and walked over to the couch and sat down.

  She blinked hard, disgusted at him using Rod's endearment for her and frustrated over her inability to protect Rod. He was out in the garage, oblivious to what waited for him in the house.

  "I thought I'd take you up on the offer to meet each other before our family...what did you call it? A get together on the Fourth of July. Never had one of those. I'm not sure I'd like having to make conversation with my brother. If you haven't heard, we don't get along." Tim put his boots up on the coffee table and spread his arms out on each side of him on the back of the couch. "You and I have met before, you know. You're a hard worker from what I could see. Smart, too. It took a while for you to let your guard down and get close enough for me to grab. I thought about taking you out of the bar, but there were so many people there. That damn bus. It wasn't part of my plan."

  She stared, watching for any sudden movement from him.

  "But, that wasn't the first time I met you." Tim exhaled in content. "I'm not talking about at the store. I didn't know you were going to be with Rod. I just wanted my brother to know I was still around and thought I'd pull out in front of him. No, the first time I saw you, I held the door open at a little hole in the wall coffee shop. You had your hands full and very sweetly said thank you to me."

  She shook her head. No, she would've remembered him.

  Tim put his feet on the floor and leaned forward to look almost straight down at her on the floor. "You're probably wondering what is going to happen. Here you are tied up and my little brother out in the garage not knowing that we're having a family reunion all on our own."

  She whimpered wishing the air compressor would turn off.

  "Here's the plan. Once Rod comes in the house, I'm going to kill him. If you're nice to me, I'll let you live a little bit longer." Tim's gaze went down her body. "Then I can find out why you've fascinated my brother so much that he would let down his guard against me. He always made mistakes. I always caught him."

  She pulled on the tape binding her wrists. If she could get a little wiggle room, maybe she could slip one hand out.

  "Look at me," said Tim, his voice deepening. "You think you're smarter than me. But I've been waiting a lifetime to kill my fucking brother."

  She froze.

  "That's right." Tim laughed. "He doesn't even know how deep my hatred for him goes. If he wouldn't have fought me, he'd be dead. But, he enjoyed staying alive and pushed me to wait until the perfect time. The night at the bar...God, that was perfect. You should've seen his face when the knife sunk into him. If you stay quiet when he comes into the house, I'll take my time with him again. You'll enjoy watching him beg for his life."

  Nausea hit her, and she couldn't breathe enough air through her nose.

  "The clock is right." Tim stood and paced the room. "I killed the girl. She fought too until she didn't. Then the game was over. It was no longer any fun."

  Heather stared at him in fear.

  "The river. Never go to the river. Trust me. Watch." He stopped in front of the window and looked outside. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."

  Heather watched him ramble. Terror spreading through her, she shook. Rod was right. His brother was psychotic.

  She screamed, the noise muffled by the tape.

  Tim rushed her, clamping his hand down on her throat and brandishing a knife. "Stop. Rod isn't going to help you. He can't."

  She froze, struggling to breathe. His eyes flickered over her face, the door, the room, and his grip on her neck tightened. "Nobody can help you."

  The air compressor shut off and silence filled the house.

  Tim moved fast, she barely realized what he'd done until her neck warmed and then burned where the knife had slid across her skin.

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  The air compressor shut off automatically. Rod picked up the hose and wound it around his arm as he walked toward the hook on the front wall of the garage. A car drove down the road. He watched it go out of sight and hung up the hose.

  A black movement in the yard flashed in his peripheral vision. He stepped out of the garage and looked toward the south. There was nothing there.

  He looked to the other side of the front yard to the front of the house. Positive he'd seen Girl, his chest tightened at not finding her. Heather had gone inside fifteen minutes ago to let Girl in the back door.

  Fuck. Something was wrong.

  Rod removed his pistol from his ankle holster and ran through the garage. Pushing through the door to the house, he called, "Heather?"

  When she failed to answer, he raised his weapon and walked through the kitchen. Glancing down the short hallway to the back door
, he found the security alarm activated for the main part of the house. Heather was inside.

  His hand tightened on the gun. He walked into the living room and came to a complete heart shuddering stop.

  Tim pointed two pistols at him. Not missing a beat, he scanned the room for Heather and found her at his brother's feet on the floor.

  Blood ran down the side of Heather's throat, and her hands, feet, and mouth were bound with Duct Tape. He trapped the roar of anger barreling from his chest down.

  He held a bead on his brother's forehead. "Back away from her."

  "Stupid request." Tim looked at his weapons and pointed them again at Rod. "You've changed. Maybe having a woman in your life makes you feel powerful."

  "Get away from her." Rod stepped to the side to have Heather in his peripheral vision and Rod's attention away from her.

  "I never knew you as a gun fanatic before." Tim laughed. "It's fascinating how these two pistols popped right into my hand when I found them in the room. After your club took my guns, it's only fair that I borrow yours. Much better than the knife I brought with me to use on you."

  "Let's go outside." Rod watched Tim's hands. One move toward Heather and he'd blow a hole in his brother's chest. "There's no need to stay inside. We'll have privacy out there."

  "Put the gun down," said Tim.

  "Not until we're outside." Rod would never disarm himself, or he'd be dead. Tim wanted him powerless. There was no way he'd take the chance with Heather in the room.

  Heather raised her bound hands to her face, but with her fingers wrapped, she couldn't undo the tape across her mouth. Rod stepped around the couch. If he could get his brother farther away from Heather, he'd be able to get a clear shot without Tim hurting her in the process.

  "I think Heather should be with us and as you can see, she's not in the position to go outside." Tim's body flinched, and he shook his head. "Stop it. No doors. Nobody's home."

  "I'll put down the pistol outside, Tim." He recognized his brother's odd conversation with the voices in his head and glanced at Heather when Tim half turned and mouthed, "Stay down."

  She nodded and her tears slid out the corner of her eyes. Rod stepped forward to go to her.

  "Do not come any closer." Tim bounced from foot to foot. "You can't swim."

  "I can swim," he said, gritting his teeth.

  Tim laughed. "Can't run. Can't fight. Can't swim. Can't yell for help."

  Fuck. His brother was losing control. He was talking about their mother and when he killed her.

  Keeping his mouth shut, Rod put pressure on the trigger. The red dot from the laser on his pistol remained steady on Tim's forehead. He'd rather face Tim's anger than his insanity.

  The mind games. The fear of not knowing which direction he'd go. The lack of emotions. The side effects of his sickness made Tim more dangerous and unpredictable.

  "I tried to kill you as a baby." Tim nodded emphatically. "Mom stopped me. That was the first time, but not the first time I thought of seeing the life leave your eyes. I was twelve, and when mother caught me, she believed I was playing with you. 'Tim, don't be so rough. Tim, put your brother down. Tim, you need to love him. One day he'll be your best friend.'"

  Rod stepped forward. He was done with the bullshit.

  "Stop," said Tim, shaking the pistols at him. "I'm not done talking."

  Rod took another step. Heather was in the middle of him and his brother, witnessing everything.

  Tim's head went back, and he laughed. The laughter filled the room. Rod brought up his other hand and supported his wrist, took aim, and—

  A low growl came from the entrance of the living room, grabbing Tim's attention. Rod shifted his body, ready to throw himself on Heather, and caught sight of Girl standing in the room.

  The fur on Girl's back stood straight up, her teeth bared. Rod's chest tightened at the sight of Girl's blood soaked back leg.

  "Call your dog off," said Tim, pointing the gun in his right hand toward Girl.

  His odds of taking his brother down soared with the attention taken off of Heather and Tim's weak hand pointing the gun at him. His aim would be worse.

  Girl lunged forward toward Tim. Rod dove over Heather, tackling his brother. He shoved the pistol under Tim's chin. "Drop the fucking guns."

  Tim stared at him. Faces six inches apart, Rod pressed the gun harder, until the thunk of two pistols landed on the floor.

  "I don't think you have the balls to kill me," said Tim softly. "Or, you would've done it when you were growing up when I tried to kill you. Remember those times?"

  "You made a mistake this time."

  "Is that right?" asked Tim.

  Rod lifted his head and pressed the gun between the soft spot between Tim's jaw and his esophagus. "You touched my woman."

  Tim closed his eyes, and a slow rumble of laughter erupted from his mouth. Rod stared at him, taken back to all the times he'd heard his brother mock him. All the times Tim had escaped detection for the sick killer he was.

  Tim continued laughing and opened his eyes. Caught off guard, Rod wasn't prepared when Tim suddenly grabbed his hand on the pistol.

  Tim pressed Rod's finger down on the trigger.

  The laughter stopped.

  His brother's eyes disappeared in a sea of blood.

  Rod recoiled from the horror underneath him and fell on his ass between Tim's dead body and Heather. His ears rang deaf. The gun dropped from his hand.

  Heather screamed behind the tape. He turned to her and using his teeth, ripped the tape off her wrists. She grabbed his vest and pulled herself up into a sitting position, her words mumbled over the roar in his head from the blast.

  He tilted her head and looked for where the blood was coming from. "You've got a shallow cut about three inches long on the side of your neck."

  She clawed at the Duct Tape on her mouth and moaned. He stopped her. There was no easy way to get her unbound. Tim had taped all around her head, and the adhesion would tear out her hair causing her more pain.

  "Leave it." He moved down her body, removing his pocket knife and cut the strands of tape securing her feet.

  His heart raced, and his hands shook. Unable to look behind him, he pulled Heather to her feet, holding her head to his chest. She'd already seen too much.

  "I need to get you out of here, sassy." He guided her to the front door and keyed in the code, messing up the first time, and having to slow down and tap the right keys.

  Outside, he set her down on the front steps of the house. He ran his hands over her head, down her arms, and rubbed her thighs.

  His brother laid dead in his house. He needed to take care of Heather.

  Heather caught his face, pulling him forward and forced him to look at her. He fought meeting her gaze. He'd failed her. Tim hurt her. He should've been inside the house with her instead of out in the garage.

  Her hands kept stroking his jaw, pushing his head up, and he raised his gaze. Tears rolled down her cheeks and over the tape and underneath her meltdown, she spoke volumes with her eyes. Her strength and support shined through, weakening him.

  Heather pulled him forward until his forehead met hers. He closed his eyes and through her, he breathed. He just breathed.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered. "So fucking sorry, sassy."

  She shook her head against his not letting him apologize. He sniffed hard through his nose and pulled away. There was too much to do, and he needed help. He had to get rid of the body and get the tape off of Heather. She needed her neck cleaned and bandaged.

  He removed his phone from his pocket and let his chin drop to his chest. There was only one man who he trusted with Heather, and he dialed the number.

  Swiss answered on the first ring. "Yeah?"

  "Brother, I need you," Rod said.

  "I'll be there in three minutes." Swiss disconnected the call, and Rod dropped the phone in the grass and waited.

  Heather leaned against his side and slipped her fingers into his hand. His nightm
are was over.

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Pain throbbed in Heather's head, and every tug on her hair brought tears to her eyes. She flinched, pulling away from her dad's hands.

  "Chin up, baby. I'm almost done," muttered her dad, working diligently on removing the Duct Tape from her hair.

  About to crawl out of her skin, she couldn't sit still any longer. Rod was inside dealing with his brother's body, dead in the house, and she was being forced to stay outside.

  "Just cut my hair off," she said. "I don't care anymore."

  Her dad continued working, one hair strand at a time. "Can't do that."

  "Yes, you can."

  He dropped his hands and cupped Heather's face. "This isn't for you. It's for Rod. He needs no more reminders of today, and if I chop your hair off, every time he looks at you with short hair he will replay everything that went down here, and that weight will settle on him. You don't want that for him."

  She sighed. He was right.

  The last thing she wanted to do was put more pain on Rod and if suffering through the removal of the tape from her hair helped in the long run, she'd handle it.

  "I should be in there with him," she said.

  "He needs to deal with this himself." Her dad's hand skimmed her cheek as he worked to cut the tape.

  "Girl's hurt." She sniffed, remembering the sight of the dog trying to protect her and Rod. "She needs to go to the vet. There was so much blood."

  "When Rod's ready, we'll do what we need to do."

  The sawing motion on the tape pulled on her head. She cupped the back of her neck with her hand. The pain set her on edge. Her pulse pounded, and she struggled to sit still.

  "A few more spots to go." Her dad continued working diligently. His large, rough hands more gentle than punishing.

  "I never should've opened the backdoor or let Girl outside," she whispered. "If I would've known—"

  "Don't." A hard tug pulled her head to the side. "All done."

  She sighed and rubbed her sore scalp. There was still residue left in her hair from the tape, but she was free.

  Her dad laid his hands on her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. "You can't live your life wishing you'd made other choices. What others do have no reflection on you. Everyone runs on instincts. Things could've turned out worse."