by Jessie Cooke
“I’m here now,” she said, struggling to her feet. “What did you want with me?” She didn’t like the way he was looking at her in her black bra and matching panties. He reminded her of a wolf and she knew exactly what he had on his mind. He took a step toward her and she willed herself not to run. If she did, he would take it out on her sister. When he got close enough to touch her, it took everything inside of her not to cringe. He put an arm around her and pulled her in for a kiss. She wondered if he could taste the bile as it rose up in the back of her throat. He pressed his body into hers and pushed her back into the wall. She could feel his arousal and she knew he had every intention of using it, whether she wanted him to or not. When he let her up for air she said, “Why don’t we go up to the bedroom where it’s more comfortable?”
He looked over his shoulder at Pam. She wasn’t moving, and Sabrina was beginning to worry that the bastard had killed her. When he turned back toward Bri he was smiling. “You’d leave your sister unconscious on the floor while you fuck her boyfriend in your bedroom?”
“In a heartbeat,” she said. “Look, I only threatened to go to Dad to piss her off. I know how fucking annoying she can get. Sometimes the only way to shut the stupid little bitch up is to knock her out.” Bri’s stomach turned with every word and Brayden seemed to become more excited. He rubbed his crotch against her and she shuddered. She prayed he would think it was an excited one. “Come on, baby,” she whispered, “I haven’t thought about anything else but fucking you since that night we were together.”
He licked his lips, and then he licked hers and then he bit down on her bottom lip, drawing blood. When she screamed, he smiled broader, slapped her on the ass, and said, “Upstairs, bitch, move it.”
Sabrina didn’t have to be told that twice. She couldn’t wait to get upstairs...to her gun. She was about three steps ahead of him when he grabbed her arm, hard. She cried out and he said, “Slow down, I don’t want you thinking about doing anything stupid like using your phone.”
“Why would I want to use my phone? I’m going upstairs with you willingly. You know me. If I didn’t want to do this, you’d be in for a fight. Now come on, baby, you’re hurting my arm.” Telling him that was a mistake. He squeezed it harder and then almost pulled it out of the socket, using it to drag her up the stairs. When they got to her room he tossed her toward the bed like she was a rag doll. She landed in the center of it and before she could move, he was on top of her. His breath smelled nasty, like he’d been drinking for days, and hadn’t brushed his teeth in between. She was trying not to gag because she knew it would only piss him off. She reached down and unhooked his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and then started pushing them down. He lifted his head up and smiled at her.
“Damn, you are in a hurry.”
“I want you inside of me, now,” she said, forcing a smile of her own. “The condoms are in the top drawer behind you.”
“A drawer full of condoms, huh? You are a whore.”
“It’s a boxful and it hasn’t been opened yet...” He grabbed her by the hair and nearly pulled it out by the roots.
“I said you’re a whore. You want to argue with me?” He was right in her face and she had to hold her breath to keep from retching.
“No. I’m sorry.” He threw her back down and reached for the drawer to get the condoms. The second his back was turned she moved...fast. She rolled off the other side of the bed and into the floor. She reached under the bed and when she came back up, it was with the gun in her hands.
“What the fuck is that, you crazy bitch?”
“That’s right, Brayden. I am a crazy bitch and I’m going to use this gun to fuck you up if you don’t get out of here.” He moved toward her and she shot. She wasn’t aiming at him...yet. The bullet whizzed past him and hit the wall.
“You fucking stupid cunt. You’re going to be sorry.”
“Not as sorry as you. The next bullet goes in that tiny little dick of yours. Luckily, I’m a good shot.”
Brayden didn’t argue any further. He grabbed his pants and ran as he was pulling them up. Bri was left feeling proud of herself and once she had gotten her sister to the hospital, she gave a statement to the police and a warrant was issued for Brayden’s arrest. Her father was called by one of the detectives and around-the-clock security was put on the house and Pamela’s hospital room. The police never found Brayden...but the Kent family hadn’t seen the last of him.
15
After Sabrina left to go visit her parents, Wheelie realized the quiet of the apartment was going to be too much. When he started getting text messages from Christopher and worrying that his dear brother was probably going to show up on his doorstep, he knew he had to get the hell out of there. He called Dax first on his private line. Unless he was elbow deep in shit, he always answered it for his crew. It was the line they could use to say anything and know no one was listening. But just because Dax answered, didn’t mean he wasn’t in a mood about it.
“What?”
“Hey, Dax. I’m sorry to bother you...”
“What is it, Wheelie?” Dax snapped. Wheelie wished he could hang up, but that would only want to make Dax kick his ass harder.
“I’m just going a little stir-crazy over here. I was wondering if it would be okay if I rode out and maybe helped in the garage for a while...or something?” Wheelie knew with all that was going on, they had to be getting behind on work. Dax had hired a new mechanic to help Toolie out a few months before, but all the guys were supposed to put in a few hours a week. With all they had to do this week, he doubted that was happening.
“Yeah, sure. He can probably use some help. It’s probably wise for you to be seen around here again too. It’ll look too fucking suspicious if all your routines suddenly change.” Wheelie almost asked if they were being watched, but he caught himself. That was a stupid question. They were always being watched, right now, probably just a little bit harder.
“Okay, thanks. Have you heard anything from the police about Buzz?”
“Not yet. They were here for six fucking hours. They just finally took his body out of here about an hour ago. They’re still trying to get all the guys in for fingerprints. Some of them would rather not go, for obvious reasons.” Those reasons, Wheelie knew, being that some of them probably had active warrants they were hiding out from. When Dax did background checks on the guys he allowed on the ranch, he was checking for sex crimes, domestic violence, and charges that would indicate they had any severe drug problems. He didn’t judge when it came to felony charges like theft, burglary, or even murder...depending on who it was they’d killed. Some of them were on the ranch and in the MC for the sole purpose of hiding, and as long as Dax knew what they were hiding out from, that was okay too. It stood to reason that at least half the club was probably going to have a problem with being pulled in for fingerprints.
“Can they force them?”
“Fuck no. Not without a court order. Unfortunately, they might end up with one of those if they don’t get something else to go on soon. I’m thinking about giving them the knife, but I haven’t gotten all the angles worked out there yet.”
“I’m guessing there were no prints on the knife?” Dax had connections on both sides of the law. Wheelie didn’t ask who was running prints on a murder weapon for them, but he knew it was being done.
“Nothing usable. It looks like whoever killed that girl was wearing gloves. So far the only thing they have got is a partial shoe print in the blood in the bathroom and some shoe prints in the mud around Buzz’s body. Anyways, yeah...come on out and see what you can do to help in the shop. We have to keep business going while we shovel shit on the side.” He hung up, and Wheelie grabbed his gear and got on his bike. Just the twenty-minute ride out to the ranch helped his mood. He loved the fresh air in his face and the feel of the bike vibrating between his thighs.
As he drove through the gates he noticed that there were two guys manning them today. Dax must have them on a soft
lockdown. Mayhem was there, sans the gun he usually liked to hang onto. That was probably due to all the police action lately, and a smart idea. He waved at Wheelie as he drove through and Wheelie waved back. He took the road up toward the clubhouse and veered off before he got there, and headed for the shop.
The big garage-like doors were rolled up and as he drove up, Wheelie could see Bubba, the new mechanic, under the hood of a ’75 El Camino. He parked his bike and walked in. Bubba didn’t look up. “Hey, is Toolie around?”
“In the back,” the mechanic growled. He was a moody bitch. Wheelie hadn’t spent a lot of time with him, but during what he had, he’d already decided he didn’t like him much. Dax said he was hiding out from some grand theft warrants in upstate New York. One of Hawk’s old friends, someone he rode with back in the day, had recommended him, and Wheelie had to admit that the guy was a genius with a motor. He knew classic cars inside and out too, which made him almost invaluable to the club, since Toolie didn’t know shit about them.
Wheelie walked through the maze of bikes and cars toward the office. He could see Toolie at the desk through the window before he got there. He looked up and waved Wheelie inside. “Hey, kid, how’s it going?”
“Kind of like shit, Tool. How are you?”
The old man chuckled. “Yeah, it’s been hell around here lately. I’m so backed up I don’t have time to fart, but I have to get these invoices out. Bubba’s working his fingers to the bone. I sure am thankful for that kid.”
Wheelie glanced back out the window at Bubba. The mechanic looked at something on his phone and smiled. Wheelie realized it was the first time he’d ever seen the guy smile. “Yeah, glad you have him,” he said, absently, wondering what it took to make the moody man smile. “Anyways, you have me for a few hours too, if you can use me.”
“Hell yeah I can,” Toolie said. “There’s a Chevy Suburban out back that Dax wants stripped by tomorrow morning. The mayor owns that El Camino out there, so I’ve got Bubba working on getting that running so he can pick it up first thing in the morning. Can you start on the SUV for me and I’ll be out to help as soon as I can?”
“Perfect,” Wheelie said, sincerely. Pulling parts off the truck would keep his head occupied and hopefully off the rest of the crap going on around him for a while. He headed out to the back part of the shop where they kept the cars that were on the down low—until they got new numbers and paint jobs, that is. He didn’t have any trouble spotting the big Suburban since it was already up on the lift. One of the first things he’d learned to do on the ranch was dismantle a car, and it was still one of his favorite jobs, especially when he had a lot of frustration to work out.
He stepped over and looked underneath it. Whoever had the car had taken good care of it. The SUV was at least ten years old, but it looked like a lot of the major parts had been replaced, and there was a lot of chrome. He smiled when he saw that. Bikers loved chrome, and what they pulled off the cars was mostly recycled to make new, shiny parts for their bikes. Toolie was a genius when it came to restoring old bikes, or refreshing the newer ones so that no two looked alike. Wheelie saw that the catalytic converter was welded on, however, and decided that would be his first task since it would be an easy one.
He went over and pulled one of the Sawzalls off the wall and put on a pair of goggles. After he plugged in the saw and made a few cuts, the converter came right off in his hand. Now the chrome pipes would be easier to pull off without damaging them and the converter could be recycled for the precious metals it contained as well. He pulled off the goggles and set the saw aside before going over to the box where the materials they planned to recycle off the ranch were kept. He dropped in the converter and as he started to turn away, something shiny, stuck in the crack of the wooden box, caught his eye.
He had to lean into the box and push other parts out of the way to get to it. He was just being conscientious; Toolie liked things put in their proper places and when they weren’t, everyone heard about it. But the second that Wheelie pulled the plastic, chromed headlight piece out of the box, his mind and body both froze. Somehow he knew what he was looking at before his head had even really processed it. He shoved it in his pocket and when he passed Toolie’s office at a dead run he heard the old man yell:
“Where in the fuck is the fire?” He kept going, past the El Camino that now sat with the hood down. The other mechanic wasn’t in sight, but Wheelie was too preoccupied to wonder where he’d gone. He ran out the door of the shop, across two parking lots and into the clubhouse. He was out of breath by the time he got there. The first person he saw was the three-hundred-pound cook, Tank.
“Is Dax in his office?”
“No, he’s out back with...” Wheelie didn’t wait to hear the rest. He jogged through the great room with all eyes following him and hit the back door running...and then came to a dead stop when he saw who Dax was with. Shit!
“Hey, Dax, Sheriff...sorry...I’ll come back later.” Wheelie was still out of breath and sweating.
“It’s okay, Wheelie,” Sheriff Mack said. He wasn’t in his uniform, which meant he wasn’t here in any kind of official capacity, but the jurisdiction on the ranch had been a constant source of contention between the county sheriff’s department and the city police since the back side of the ranch was county. As far as Wheelie knew, the city usually won thanks to the fact that most of the roads that surrounded the ranch belonged to the city. There were also a lot of rumors that the sheriff had been known to cover up some things where the Skulls were concerned. Wheelie didn’t know if that was true or not, but Mack and Dax seemed pretty friendly. The sheriff tossed his beer bottle into the trash barrel and said, “I need to get going anyways.” He looked at Dax and said, “I’ll let you know what I find out about that.”
“Thanks, Mack.” Dax and Wheelie both watched him go and then, turning back to Wheelie, Dax asked, “What’s wrong?”
Wheelie pulled the piece of chrome out of his pocket and held it out toward Dax. He was still wearing his gloves, but Dax wasn’t. He didn’t touch it. “I found it in the recycle bin, not the chrome one that Toolie uses, but the other one that we take into town.”
“Okay...?”
“Look at the impressions around where the headlight was.”
Dax stepped in for a closer look. Wheelie saw his face change when he realized what he was looking at. Each bike Toolie restored was 100% original and to make sure, he etched the name of the bike owner into a piece of the chrome he used to restore it. The name on this one was incomplete; likely the rest of it was on the piece of the headlight holder they were missing. But there was one letter left on this part, and that letter was a “Z.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Does anyone else here have a Z at the end of their name?” Wheelie asked, thinking he already knew the answer.
Dax shook his head, slowly. “Who’s in the shop right now?”
“Just Bubba and Toolie.”
“Go back out there and make sure no one gets near those recycle bins. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Wheelie nodded and turned to leave.
“Wheelie!”
“Yeah?”
“Grab a Ziploc bag on your way through the club and put that part inside, but don’t let anyone else see it. No one, understand?”
Wheelie nodded again. “I understand,” he said. He understood that whoever killed Buzz not only had access to the ranch, but complete access. He’d been in the part of the shop that was reserved just for patched members of the club. Prospects and women weren’t allowed...so whoever killed Pamela and Buzz was undoubtedly a brother, or working closely with one.
16
Bri got back up after the waking memories of that night with Brayden had her so shook up that she was sure she’d never be able to fall asleep. She was so fucking tired. Every part of her hurt, or was numb. She went into her small kitchen and fixed herself a cup of tea. She was about to carry it back into the bedroom when her p
hone rang. When she looked at the caller ID an ache rose up in her chest. It was Diane. She suddenly felt like shit...again. She’d completely forgotten about her friend. No telling how she’d heard about Buzz...but it should have come from Bri. God, she was just worthless lately.
“Diane?”
A sob escaped from her friend’s throat. “You heard about Buzz?” she managed to get out between them.
“Yes. God, Diane, I’m so sorry I didn’t call you. The day has just been...” She was about to say unbelievably busy but her mind went back to having sex with Wesley...twice. Maybe her father was right. Maybe she was a whore. A woman that would have sex not once but twice before she even thought of calling her friend...Jesus, she was beginning to despise herself. “It’s just been a really bad day. Wheelie found Buzz, and I was with him.”
There was a gasp and then another sob before Diane said, “And you weren’t even going to call me?”
“I was...” she lied. “I’ve just been busy with the police and then my parents...”
“I was there for you after Brayden. I sat up with you and Pam both more than one night while she cried and you gripped onto that gun, waiting for something else to happen. I know the secret that no one outside of your family knows, and I’ve kept it all these years. I’ve been a good friend to you, but I guess none of that matters.”
“Oh, honey, it does matter. God, I’m so sorry. Seeing him like that was just...fuck, I don’t have an excuse. I’m genuinely sorry though.”
“I saw it on the news. They said he was tied to a tree...and his throat was cut!” She started sobbing again. Bri couldn’t help but wonder how the press had gotten those details. She was sure the detectives on the case wouldn’t have released them so soon. Buzz was probably just barely arriving at the morgue. She realized, however, that wasn’t what she needed to be focusing on at the moment and returned her attention to her crying friend.