by Silver James
Chapter 15
Elena winced when she tried to lift a hand to rub her forehead and it wasn’t from the raging headache. Her wrists were bound behind her back. A small hand squeezed her arm, but she didn’t know if in warning or something else. Voices filtered in from the front of the…van? Her cheek rested against a jean-clad thigh. Joy. She blinked against the darkness until her eyes focused slightly better. Yes, she and Joy were in the back of a cargo van. No seats. The girl’s wrists were also tied, but in front of her. Stupid on their captors’ part, unless they’d searched the girl. Pops had given her a pocketknife and Joy always carried it. Two men—the driver and his passenger—occupied the front of the van. She could also hear the rumble of motorcycle engines, as if they were surrounding the van like an escort.
“Are you okay?” she whispered. Joy squeezed her arm again.
“Do you—” She shut up as a beam of light flashed over them.
“The fat bitch is awake,” the passenger said.
“Good. More fun when their awake.”
Elena’s stomach plunged in a roller-coaster ride of revulsion. With some assistance from Joy, she managed to get turned and upright, her shoulders braced against the side of the van, legs stretched in front of her. Legs that weren’t tied. Another big mistake. And fat bitch? She wasn’t fat. She was curvy. Like many Latinas. And damn proud of those curves. Curves Pops liked a lot. Pops! He must be going crazy. Her headache got worse but she had to focus on their situation.
She had no clue how long they’d been driving or which direction they’d headed in. The drone of tires on the road made her think they were on blacktop. That could mean they were anywhere. The van slowed, turned, and the tires changed in pitch to a crunch. Gravel. Several minutes later, the sound went soft, muffled with a squish. Mud. Would they get stuck after all the rain? The vehicle finally rolled to a stop. Silence crept in as engine noises cut off. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Did that mean they were out of the storm’s path?
The back doors popped open and hands reached in, grabbing her feet. She fought the urge to kick out and managed a quiet, “Stay cool, chica,” to the girl before she was dragged out. Unceremoniously dumped on her feet, she swayed to get her balance. Moments later, Joy was beside her, pressing her shoulder against Elena’s to help steady her. Elena managed to survey their location without any of the bikers noticing. She had a hunch Joy did the same thing. The girl was sharp, and she hadn’t lived on the streets without developing some survival skills.
They were frog-marched across a yard overgrown with weeds. When she placed her foot on a wooden step leading up to the dilapidated house, her boot crashed through when it broke. She screamed and wobbled, despite her best attempts otherwise. A rough hand grabbed her arm and jerked her backwards. She landed on her butt, arms and shoulders stinging from the jarring fall.
“Watch your step, bitch.” One of the bikers jeered at her.
No one attempted to help her back to her feet and two men stood between her and the girl. She struggled to get to her knees as the first step to standing up. One of the men turned, leering at her.
“Oh, hell yeah, bitch. You’ll be on your knees for all of us before we’re done.”
Joy whimpered and Elena saw red. Not yet, she reminded herself sternly. Then she let lose a stream of curses, all in Spanish. And all in her head. Someone jerked her back to her feet and then some of the men herded her and Joy into the house. A couple of battery-powered lanterns lit the main room, which was all but bare of furniture and coated in dust and detritus. Spray-painted graffiti covered the walls—likely local kids coming out to drink and party. When they reached the back of the house, their kidnappers forced them into a room with no lights. They huddled in the center as the door slammed behind them. Neither moved, and they both breathed shallowly while listening to the voices beyond the door. Heavy footsteps approached their cell and the door barely opened. An arm appeared through the crack. The hand attached to that arm set one of the lanterns down then withdrew and the door slammed shut again. This time, Elena heard metallic sounds, but not like a lock or deadbolt. She searched her memory but it was Joy who explained.
“Latch and padlock,” the girl whispered.
Joy had been busy. She’d managed to untie her hands and motioned for Elena to turn around. After much tugging and rubbing of rope against skin, Elena was free. That’s when the girl pulled a phone out of her boot and whispered, “No bars but the GPS is on.”
Elena retrieved the lantern and with Joy close behind her, she searched the entire room. It had once been a bedroom and currently contained a ratty, smelly mattress and a couple of broken plastic crates. Nothing that could be used as a weapon and no windows. Despite her best efforts, a sense of helplessness lodged in her heart. They settled on the floor, their backs against the wall farthest from the door. No way would they get near that mattress. Elena looked from the lantern to Joy.
“It’s okay. Need to save the batteries,” Joy whispered in response.
Elena clicked off the light and darkness enveloped them. She deep breathed through her panic. Someone would find them. She made her lips curl into a smile. No, not just someone, Pops. Her Papi would rescue them.
Or they’d rescue themselves.
Either way, she was determined to get her and Joy free.
Pops came to swinging. Two strange men held him down far too easily for his own peace of mind. “Easy, chief,” the one not wearing a biker’s cut said. “You had a heart blip there. I want to run another set of vitals on you.” The big guy flashed a smile and dipped his head toward the other man. “We’re combat medics. Training compliments of the US Army.”
Well, if his paramedics and doctors were all out in the field, he should be a little grateful that two combat-trained medics were in attendance. The station sported a portable EKG and defibrillator and it was spitting out a pattern on its LED read-out screen. It looked like normal rhythm to him. He glanced around the room. Justice had taken over as incident commander so the rescue operations were running smoothly. The West Virginia sheriff walked up and Pops did his best not to flinch. The dude was stone-cold. He’d bet his bottom dollar that the crime rate in the guy’s county stayed in the zero-percentage range.
Mac studied the man on the gurney. “We think the Hell Dogs took Joy and your woman.”
Well, that answered some of the what ifs. He started to push up but both medics held him down.
The sheriff from West Virginia continued. “You have your hands full with the tornado.”
“True,” Pops admitted, doing his best not to whither beneath the big guy’s perusal.
“So do the local LEOs. Not to mention that they have no clue what they’re up against.”
Pops bristled at that but clamped his jaw tight. Despite Sheriff Anderson’s proclivities, most of the deputies were professional. And Jack Riggs wrote the book on stuff like this. He simply raised an eyebrow in response.
“No offense to the locals, chief, but you should trust me on this one. The Hell Dogs? They’re as bad as they come. We—” Mac extended his arm to encompass all the badass bikers and his two friends but didn’t take his eyes off Pops’s face as he continued, “know exactly what we’re dealing with. Joy is family. We’ll get her back and back in one piece. That means we’ll also get your woman back.”
“Elena.” Pops spoke her name loudly, suddenly deciding it was important that these men know it. That they know she was an individual. A woman. And someone special. “Her name is Elena.”
“Yeah,” Mac said softly, understanding. “Elena. We’ll get her back too.”
Pops recognized the look in the depths of Mac’s eyes. Determination. Dedication. Anger so deep it was branded on the man’s soul. And inside that anger was fear—fear for the woman and the girl and what those bastards might do before Elena and Joy were found.
“Stay here. Do what your community needs you to do. Leave the rest to us,” Mac commanded. He pivoted on his heel and strode out, followed b
y the others.
Reba plopped down on a stool that had been pulled up beside the gurney, her hand patting her chest like she was having heart palpitations. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “That there was some of the finest examples of Grade A Prime alpha male that I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing.”
A low, feminine chuckle punctuated Reba’s statement. Pops glanced over his shoulder. Justice stared at the bay doors, head cocked as she listened to the deep growls of the Harley engines firing up. “That, Miz Reba,” she said, “is an understatement.”
That’s when Pops noticed that Jack had disappeared. What the hell?
An hour later, Pops retrieved his cell phone from a charger and checked for missed calls and texts out of habit. That’s when he saw an app icon. And that’s when his brain finally started firing on all cylinders. He’d given his old cell phone to Joy. And the damn thing wasn’t that old. It had GPS. And his new phone had an app to track it. He wanted to bang his head against the wall. If the girl had the phone on her, he could track it. He opened the app, unaware he was praying. It took a moment for him to remember exactly how it all worked then his thumbs were flying over the keyboard.
Yes, Joy’s phone was turned on.
Yes, it was pinging on the map.
No, it wasn’t at the ranch.
Thank God and pass the ammunition. His pistol, hunting rifle, and shotgun were all in his truck. He checked Justice and Reba. The command post was running smoothly, due to their efforts and a few volunteers who’d trickled in because they were bored with hanging out at the community center. He couldn’t call in any of the deputies or his guys. They were still balls to the wall running search and rescue. Part of his brain tripped the guilt button, but he shut that down in a heartbeat. This was a search and rescue mission. Just not tied to the natural disaster that had crippled the county.
And he couldn’t pass this off because he didn’t have any way of contacting the other search party. If he came across them while he was hunting, he’d rope them in. If not, so be it. He couldn’t wait any longer. “You have command,” he called to Justice. “I’ve gotta a search to run.” Not waiting for any questions, he jogged outside and jumped into his truck. He was going to save his girls or die trying.
The signal kept dropping. Then his phone battery ran out of charge because he hadn’t let it fully charge up. Frustrated, Pops dug around in his truck until he found a charging cord. Too much time was passing. His girls could be all the way to Mexico at this rate. Except the last time he’d had a blip on the screen, it wasn’t moving. And it hadn’t been too far—at least as the crow flies—from his current location.
With the phone charging now, he reopened the app and held his breath. If the phone had dropped off a cell tower, he might not be able to find it. A minute went by. Two. Maybe, like his phone, Joy’s had run out of battery. He cussed a mile a minute, the urge to drive curling his hands around the steering wheel. No. Not until he had a direction. There were thousands of acres and without some hint of where to start, any search would be futile.
Missed calls popped up on his phone. He scrolled through, ignoring them all. They weren’t from Joy. Then he checked his texts. Sometimes, a text would go through before a call would. Again, nothing. He cussed again, loud and imaginatively. And then his phone pinged. A black dot with a circle around it pulsed on the map on his phone. Medina County. Not far from Zaldanali Farms. Why had they been taken there? He scratched his head in frustration. That was all open land. No towns. His heart sank. Maybe they’d found the phone and tossed it out the window.
He sat there on the side of the road debating what to do, his gut gnawing his insides demanding that he do something. Anything. Right or wrong. That’s when he picked up the sound of motorcycles. Crap. He turned off the truck, rolled up the window, and hunched down. He also pulled his pistol and took the safety off. Two bikes. They roared past like his truck wasn’t even there. He glanced up. They were headed south. And he caught just a glimpse of the patch on the back of one of the riders. It was not the wolf patch of the Nightriders, those bikers who’d come to Tarpley. Nope. This one was an ugly-ass dog. He started his truck, put it in gear and rolled out.
Worried about being spotted, he hung way back. Too way back. He lost them within ten miles. And the phone app had blipped out again. As had his phone. Crappy reception. Stopping on the side of the road, he let his gut decide—keep going south or backtrack and look for signs that the bikers had turned off the main road? Logic told him to head south. They’d want to get the women put away some place where they and the bikers wouldn’t stick out like sore thumbs. That was not out here in Hill Country. They’d want to get to San Antonio or another big city. Hell, even Laredo if they were trying to get the girls to Mexico. His heart told his head to shut the fuck up. The last blip had been almost due east of where he’d been. That was back north. Not on the main road. Not even on a back road but out in the middle of nowhere.
Hunting camp. The area was littered with old homesteads and hunting camps. Off the beaten path. Out of season. The perfect place to hide out until a search party gave up. Except he’d never give up. He’d never abandon a child in danger and Elena owned his heart. He’d admitted how he felt about her. Had made love to her. Wanted her in his life, for however long they had together.
Proud of you, handsome, Rosie whispered in his ear. She’s good for you. Now go get your girl back. Joy’s got folks lookin’ for her now, but you need to fight for Elena.
Fighting for Elena. Hadn’t he been doing that all along? Yeah. Deep down, he had. And she’d been fighting for him. Time to get her back.
He pulled a U-turn in the road and slowly retraced his route. He found a road about a couple of miles back. Hell, he could barely call it a road. Gravel covered the twin tracks for maybe a hundred yards and then it turned overgrown and muddy, but damn if some tire tracks from a bunch of motorcycles and some sort of vehicle weren’t visible. Time to call the calvary. Except he didn’t have any bars. Well, crap on a cracker. He sent a group text to the TVFD firefighters. Somebody would get it eventually. Maybe. Hopefully. He also sent one off to Jack Riggs. Just in case. Then he slowly followed the track.
Pops left his truck in the woods. Using every bit of hunting skill he’d acquired over a lifetime of being outdoors, he crept up on the old homestead. The barn was in better shape than the house. Motorcycles crowded the weedy yard. A step leading to the front porch was broken. He could hear men laughing and swearing, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh coming from the barn. Holding onto his cool by bloody fingernails, he slunk up to the side where a board was splintered enough he could see inside.
Sagging in relief, he watched two men fighting bare knuckled in the center of the barn. Other men stood or sat around the perimeter, drinking, smoking, and yelling. He surveyed the barn’s interior. No Elena. No Joy. He couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or a bad one. He counted the number of men in the barn and compared that to the number of bikes. They didn’t match. He edged along the wall to peek around the corner at the house. At least two men had to be inside, maybe more because there was a vintage Jeep Waggoneer and a panel van parked near the house, in addition to the bikes.
He noticed the doors almost flush to the ground near the back wall of the house—the kind of doors that led down to root cellars. It was a way in—one where he might remain undiscovered. He had to circle back through the trees to get to the doors with less likelihood that he’d get caught. The fight continued in the barn, covering up any noise he made. An agonizing amount of time later, he finally reached that entrance. He’d stopped at the two vehicles with the idea of disabling them. The van had no keys, the Waggoneer did, but the chance of getting caught out in the open negated any advantage of taking them out of commission.
Pressing flush to the house, he listened. Loud voices coming from the front. Male. With every bit of stealth he possessed, Pops eased one wooden door up just far enough he could see the steps beneath it. They looked intact but
he’d have to be careful. Slipping inside, he carefully lowered the door back into place and waited for his eyes to adjust. Only small shafts of late-afternoon daylight filtered through cracks in the floor and foundation. With his luck, he’d run into a nest of snakes—or worse. He chanced clicking on his flashlight. Junk was scattered through the cellar but there was a straight shot to a set of steps leading up. He hoped that led to a kitchen and that no one was there when he emerged. He switched off the flashlight and waited more precious time for his eyes to readjust to the dark.
Pops tested each step before trusting his weight to it. When he reached the door at the top, he listened for a very long time. Nothing. Holding his breath, he turned the knob and pushed. The door creaked, the grating sound a whisper, but he still froze. Waited. The timbre of the voices in the front room didn’t change. He pushed the door again and it opened without further sound. He slipped through, leaving it open.
The kitchen was a mess. An open loaf of bread, a case of bottled water, a jar of peanut butter with a knife stuck in it. That’s when he heard the low murmur of female voices.
“Shh, Joy. We will get out of here. I will not let them hurt you.”
Elena! His heart felt like a ricocheting bullet in his chest. He’d found them. He took the time to dash off another set of texts, giving the exact location then he crept to the door. Damn. It had a metal latch with a padlock. Well, he didn’t have keys or a hacksaw, but he had the next best thing. He took his Leatherman Multi-Tool out of the case on his belt and began working on the screws holding the hasp in place. The wood was mostly rotten so it didn’t take him long.
Inching the door open, he had his finger to his lips when he sighted Elena and Joy huddled on the other side of the room. The next few moments were a blur. He had them in his arms, hugging them and then he guided them to the cellar and outside. They were feet away from the Jeep Waggoneer when the first shout alerted everyone they’d escaped.