GOLDIE: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 4)

by Chiah Wilder

  “You lost your bike? I didn’t think you were such a lightweight with booze,” Army said.

  “Maybe you parked it down the street,” Muerto joked.

  “I’m not that drunk. I know where the fuck I parked my bike.”

  Diablo dashed around the parking lot, alley, and the dirt lot down the block. “No sign of it,” he said grimly.

  “Someone with a death wish stole my bike.”

  “There’s no way it was a citizen unless he was fucked in the head,” Muerto said.

  “I bet it’s that Jagged Aces asshole. He’s fuckin’ dead!”

  “Does he know your bike?” Army asked.

  “Yeah. He was in front of Rear End when I left that night. That sonofabitch asshole!” Goldie kicked the metal trash can until it was full of dents. “Does anyone know where he hangs out? I’m pretty sure he didn’t take my Harley to their clubhouse.” He leaned against the concrete wall, breathing heavily.

  The brothers shook their heads before Diablo offered, “I can find out from Dog. We’re good with each other. We’ll get your bike back.”

  The brothers stood on the pavement, fury etched in their faces, jaws clenched, and fists balled up, ready to smash their anger out of their systems. Stealing a Night Rebels’ bike was the worst crime someone could commit. A Night Rebel protected his motorcycle as if it were part of his body. No one messed with his Harley.

  Looking at Diablo, Goldie gritted, “Find out where that fucker hangs and let me know right away. I want my bike back, and I want the asshole to pay for what he did.”

  “I’ll get the info. We’re with you on this, bro,” Diablo said as Muerto and Army nodded.

  “Jump on back and I’ll give you a ride,” Army said.

  The ride back to the clubhouse fueled Goldie’s fire even more, so by the time he arrived he was a seething ball of fury. He grabbed a bottle of Jack and rushed up to his room. As he stared out into the darkness, the whiskey scorching his throat, a fear like he’d never felt grabbed hold of him. What the hell? A sinking feeling invaded him as a chill shrouded his body. A foreboding darkness crept into his veins, twisting around his nerves, and he was seized with an overwhelming urge to go see his grandma. Not one to ignore his gut, he jumped up and dashed down the stairs.

  “Chains, my truck’s in the shop so I need to borrow your SUV,” he said while extending his hand. Without questioning him, Chains placed the keys into his opened palm. Goldie ran out of the club, headed to Cherry Vale.

  When he arrived at the rehab center, it was quiet and all the lights in the rooms were off as it was nearly one thirty in the morning. Knowing the only way to come in through the front door after ten at night was to ring the bell, he went around back, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He tried a couple of doors but they were locked. Behind the kitchen, he spotted the glow of a joint and approached the smoker cautiously. Hendricks looked up.

  “Hey, man. What’re you doing here so late?” the CNA asked.

  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check up on my grandma. How’s she been?”

  “Good, I guess. I’m upstairs tonight.” He pulled out a joint from his pocket. “Want one?”

  Goldie shook his head. “I need for you to let me in. Something’s wrong with the bell in front.”

  “Sure. Don’t tell anyone you saw me smoking,” Hendricks said as he pulled open the employees’ entrance.

  “No worries. Thanks, dude.” Goldie went in, then quietly walked through the darkened kitchen and dining room. He cut through the lobby and looked down the hallways on either side. Nothing seemed amiss. Pressing his lips together, he went to his grandmother’s room, stopping short in the doorway. Ice ran through his veins as the dark outline of a person looming over his grandmother came into focus. Goldie switched on the light and white brightness momentarily blinded him as fluorescent lights flooded the room.

  The person, dressed in scrubs, turned around quickly, shock covering his face. In his right hand, he had a syringe.

  “What the fuck are you giving my grandma?” Goldie demanded.

  “Something to help her sleep better. Dr. Rudman ordered it,” Dan said.

  “You fuckin’ liar! You’re trying to inject some shit in her. You’re fuckin’ trying to kill her.” Goldie rushed over to the nurse and slammed his fist into his stomach. Dan groaned and bent over, the syringe falling from his gloved hand. Goldie brought his knee up and slammed it against Dan’s face. The crunch of bone and ping of teeth falling on linoleum gave Goldie a surge of satisfaction as he crashed his steel-toed boot into the nurse’s groin.

  A rush of footsteps sounded behind him and then hands clasped his shoulders, pulling him away from the crumpled man on the floor, enraging him. “Leave me alone. I’m gonna kill his fuckin’ ass!”

  “Goldie! Stop!” Shelly’s voice broke through his fury-filled haze.

  When he relaxed, Kingsley and Kevin pulled him farther away from Dan.

  “What’s going on here?” Shelly asked, her voice unnaturally high.

  “I came in and this fucker was standing over my grandma, ready to inject some shit into her arm.” He rushed over to Dan, who still lay on the floor, and kicked him hard in the ribs. A low grunt came from the battered man’s parted lips.

  “Goldie. Please, calm down.” Shelly placed a hand on his shoulder and tugged him back. “I don’t even know why Dan’s here. He wasn’t on the calendar for tonight.”

  Hendricks came in, redness rimming his off-focused eyes. “You came here to beat Dan, dude?”

  Shelly sighed loudly. “Kevin, call the police. I’ll call corporate.”

  Kevin rushed out of the room, his voice echoing in the hallway.

  In less than ten minutes, blue and red flashing lights blinked through the curtains. Kingsley and Shelly left the room and spoke to Wexler, who stood in the hallway. Inaudible voices filled Goldie’s ears, but the thought of his grandma almost dying at the hands of someone who was supposed to care for her stuffed his mind.

  Wexler and Barnard walked into the small room. One of the deputies came in and helped Dan to his feet and gave him a handful of tissues; he put them to his nose.

  “What the hell happened here, Goldie?” Wexler asked.

  “This fucker tried to kill my grandma, and he would’ve succeeded if I hadn’t caught him.” He pointed to the syringe under the bed. “He was trying to put that shit in her arm.”

  Barnard went down on his knees, picked up the syringe, and bagged it. “Do you want to tell me what’s in it?” he asked Dan.

  “Medicine. I’m a nurse, and my job is to make sure the patients are comfortable. Dr. Rudman told me to give her some if she’s restless. She was. Then this crazed biker attacked me. I want to press charges.”

  Goldie lunged at him, his arm pulled back, ready to punch him again. “You lying sack of shit. You’re lucky the badges showed up.”

  The deputy and Wexler held him back. “We’ve got this, Goldie,” the sheriff said.

  Barnard turned to Shelly, who was standing in the doorway. “Do you know anything about the doctor ordering anything for this patient?”

  She shook her head. “Dr. Rudman’s never ordered any sleeping aid for Mrs. Humphries. I don’t even know why Dan’s here. We only have one night nurse on the first and second floors. I’m the first-floor nurse tonight, and Janet is working the second floor. He’s supposed to be home with his wife and kids.”

  “Mr. Krutcher, you’re under arrest for attempted murder,” Barnard said as he placed the handcuffs on the nurse’s wrists. “Anything you say may be used against you in a….”

  Goldie stood by his grandmother’s bed as they led Dan out of the building and to the waiting squad car. Kevin came back in with a mop and bucket and started cleaning up Dan’s blood. Goldie glanced at Wexler, who nodded at him and then walked out of the room.

  After the room was cleaned and Goldie had turned the light back off, he sat by his grandmother and held her hand. He kissed her soft, wr
inkled cheeks and his gut twisted. “I almost lost you tonight, Grandma. That would’ve killed me. You’ll go when you’re ready.”

  Helen lay still, her eyes closed, oblivious to the drama that unfolded in her room. For a long time, he sat holding her hand, and then he stood up and walked to the door.

  “Garth,” a voice said behind him.

  He spun around and saw his grandmother looking right at him with clear blue eyes. “Grandma.”

  “Thank you.” Then her eyes closed.

  “You’re welcome,” he said to the darkness, then stepped into the hallway.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Wexler stood on the other side of the two-way mirror, looking at Dan Krutcher’s battered face as Barnard sat opposite the suspect on a metal folding chair in the interrogation room.

  “We know about the deaths that occurred at each place you worked. St. Clare’s Hospital in Topeka had seven suspicious deaths, Pinehurst Nursing Home in Omaha had five, Mesa Clinic in Tucson had four, and now we have six at Cherry Vale. And you know what the common denominator is? You. When you get to a place, patients die, and when you leave, the dying stops. What do you say to that?”

  “I’d say it’s a pretty big coincidence.” Dan smiled and leaned back in the chair.

  “I don’t think coincidences work out like that so many times. And you were caught with the syringe trying to murder Helen Humphries. And before you lie to me again, we checked with Dr. Rudman. He never ordered any sleeping medication for Mrs. Humphries.”

  “She was living in darkness. I needed to bring her back to the light.”

  “And how were you going to do that, Dan?” Barnard leaned forward.

  “By ending her darkness. I was trained to care for people. Letting them linger when they are so ill, when they have no quality of life left, is not caring for them. I’m their angel of mercy, and they always smile at me when I help them on their journey to the next world. The world of light and peace.”

  “Did Susan O’Brien need your mercy?”

  Dan scrunched his face. “She was just a nosy drunk. She tried to stop me from helping Gus. By being a drunk, she put all the patients’ lives in jeopardy. She got what she deserved.”

  “You pushed her, didn’t you? Our crime scene team tells me her fall isn’t consistent with tripping.”

  “Detective, I’m not going to do all the work for you.” Dan smiled.

  Barnard wanted to finish what the biker started, but he just smiled and leaned back. “You’re going to make me work for Susan. What about Nadine and Doris? They both worked at Cherry Vale.”

  “What about them?”

  “You raped them, but you killed Nadine. Did she tell you your dick was too short?”

  Dan shifted in his chair. “I didn’t kill Nadine or rape Doris. I liked them. Doris worked hard in the laundry room. Do you know how hot it gets in that room?”

  “Then why did you rape her? She didn’t want to have an affair with you?”

  “Can I have an aspirin? My head is pounding. The doctor ordered it when I got my stiches. That Goldie’s one crazy biker, attacking me like that.”

  “I’ll get you an aspirin when you tell me about Nadine, Doris, and all the others.”

  “Are you trying to pin those rapes that have been on the news and in the paper on me? I don’t rape women. I’m the angel of mercy for sick people. I’ve known that since I was a child. That’s why I went into the medical field.”

  “What did you do with the American eagle ornament on your SUV?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We know you have a dark brown SUV.”

  “A lot of people have that color.” Dan squirmed in his chair.

  “But they aren’t rapists.” Barnard pounded on the table.

  Dan shook his head. “I want a lawyer,” he said, then looked down at the table.

  Barnard stood up and walked out of the room. “I pushed too fucking hard,” he said to Wexler, who met him in the hallway.

  “We got him on the murders at Cherry Vale. While he’s stewing for those, we’ll have time to get more evidence on the rapes. I know he’s the one doing them. He’s a sick bastard.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to interview a few more witnesses. I’ll catch up with you later.”

  When the detective walked into the sunlight, he squinted. Sitting in the interrogation room made a person lose track of everything. Putting his sunglasses on, he ambled to his car.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  After Dan’s arrest, Goldie breathed a little easier knowing a killer had been put out of commission. If he hadn’t had any interruption from the staff that night, he would’ve saved the taxpayers a helluva lot of money. But the badges got him, and now the criminal process would go on for months, maybe years.

  “They’re saying that fucker who tried to kill your grandma is the serial rapist. They should give you a fuckin’ medal,” Paco said.

  “I shoulda killed the bastard. I was ready to, but the citizens interfered,” Goldie replied.

  A blast of heat surged in, and Goldie turned around just as Diablo entered the club. He gave Goldie and Paco a chin lift.

  “Any news on my bike? I don’t want those fuckers to dismantle it for parts. And Easyriders is coming to the rally next week.”

  “I got an address for their mechanic shop. Dog says Rusty hangs there most days.”

  “Does Dog know anything about my bike?”

  “He says no, but we know that’s a crock of shit. I’m positive it wasn’t his idea, but he’s not gonna sell out a brother, even a shitty one.”

  “Let’s get the bike. Then we can decide how to handle Dog and his fuckin’ club.”

  “You need some help?” Paco asked.

  “If you’ve got nothing else to do,” Goldie replied.

  “Hell no. Stealing a Harley’s a capital fuckin’ offense. When do we roll?” Paco motioned to Ruger to bring him a shot.

  “As soon as we assemble a posse.” Diablo grinned.

  Army, Diablo, Paco, Muerto, Brutus, Eagle, and Goldie took off on the old highway to find the stolen Harley. After forty minutes, at Diablo’s direction, the group of riders turned down a small road that led to a makeshift shop surrounded by a broken-down wooden fence. Tires, auto and bike parts lined the dirt lot. Switching off their engines, the bikers entered the shop, guns drawn, startling Rusty and four other Jagged Aces members. Rusty jumped up from the chair.

  “What the fuck is this?” he said as he stared at Goldie.

  “Don’t fuck with me. Where’s my bike?” Goldie went up to him and shoved him back into the chair.

  “I don’t know.” He looked at his fellow members. “Do any of you guys know where his bike is?” They shook their heads. “Guess you should be better at keeping track of your shit.” The four men sniggered.

  “Guess you’ll be finding out what happens to pussies who steal a Night Rebels’ Harley,” Goldie gritted.

  “We’re not gonna waste time on this shit. Tell us where the fuck the bike is and no one dies. It’s pretty simple,” Paco said.

  The Jagged Aces were mute.

  While his brothers talked shit to the losers, Goldie spotted a drill on the worktable. Before anyone could react, he grabbed it and switched it on, then lifted Rusty’s leg. “Hold this fucker down!” Goldie yelled while he pulled off the asshole’s boot and sock. Army and Diablo stood behind the wide-eyed Rusty, pressing down hard on his shoulders.

  Then Goldie drilled right through the thief’s instep and back out. Rusty was screaming and wailing as skin, blood, and bone flew around them. In the end, Goldie’s tactic served a purpose: Rusty’s memory came back, and he gave up the location of the bike.

  “It better be in one piece, fucker, or I’m gonna come back and give you some extra holes.” The Night Rebels laughed while they wiped the bloody spatters off their faces and arms. As they were leaving, Goldie spotted several American eagle hood ornaments on a shelf.

  “You
sell these?” he asked as he took one down. One of the Jagged Aces nodded. “You got the sales receipts?”

  “Dog takes care of that,” he said.

  Turning to his brothers, he pointed to the door. “Let’s go get my bike.”

  When they arrived at the chop shop, Goldie spotted his bike in the corner of the yard. Several pit bulls and German shepherds snarled and barked as he and his brothers approached. A large, burly man covered in tattoos came out. On the side of his mouth, between his lips, he chewed on a toothpick. As he eyed the bikers, he spit it out.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Call off the fuckin’ dogs or we’ll shoot them,” Army said.

  The man nodded and closed a gate that contained the dogs. “Now, what can I do for you?” He stepped back as they came up to him. “I don’t have any problems with you.”

  Goldie leaned in so close he could smell the fear on the man. Pointing to his Harley, he said, “The fuck you don’t. That’s my bike, and it looks like it’s ready to be dismantled.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he blew out a fetid breath from his opened mouth. “I had no idea the bike belonged to a Night Rebel. Fuck, man, I’m not stupid. I never would’ve touched it if I’d known.”

  “Who sold it to you?” Paco asked.

  “A couple of Jagged Aces. I do business with them all the time. I never had no problems. I don’t want no trouble. Take your bike. I’ll deal with them later.”

  Goldie punched the man’s soft belly, and he gasped for breath. “Please, man. I didn’t know. I swear on my grandmother’s grave. I wouldn’t do that shit to you guys.”

  The brothers watched as the owner of the dilapidated chop shop begged to be spared. Goldie could tell his brothers believed what he was saying; they knew this guy’s reputation, and he’d never messed with them. With one last blow to the guy’s jaw, Goldie retrieved his Harley and they took off down the old highway. The desert sky was ablaze in deep shades of orange and magenta, and the warm air hugged Goldie as he embraced the rush of wind around him. It was so good to be back on his bike. He’d felt like a part of him had been amputated for the past week. Now everything was back on track—Hailey had returned, and so had his Harley. It can’t get any better than that.