Gabriel: The Wild Ones (Jokers MC Book 2)

by Jessie Cooke

  Patrice’s aunt, the one who had raised her. Why the hell was she living with her family in that $40,000 house in Baton Rouge when she owned a four- million-dollar estate in Lakewood? “So if somebody wanted that body re-examined by the coroner’s office, what would they have to do?”

  “It would have to be requested by the family and if everyone in the family didn’t agree to it, there could be a court battle which would take some time...and it would be up to the judge to decide if it was necessary or not.”

  “What about the police?”

  Logan frowned. “They could get a court order for it, but only if it was an open case...or if some new evidence turned up. But they closed this case pretty tightly a long time ago. I doubt anyone has even looked at this file in years.”

  Blackheart nodded. Something was bugging him about the whole thing, and he really wished it wasn’t. He would like to walk away, believing the young woman had killed herself, and his daughter...if she was his daughter...had grown up to do okay for herself despite it all. But he rarely left things alone that he worried might come back to bite him or the club later...and this one gave him the feeling that it might. When Patrice met him at the coffee shop she’d had copies of pages out of her mother’s diary. Blackheart had just skimmed through them, but it wasn’t hard to tell that the woman had spent time trying to articulate her feelings and pouring them out onto the pages. It bothered him that a woman who would write in a diary every day, pouring out her heart, would simply up and decide to kill herself one day without leaving a word behind. Sally was right, the fact that she hadn’t even left a note for her daughter was just too weird. Wouldn’t she want her family to know why she’d done what she’d done, especially her daughter who was going to grow up without her?

  Blackheart pulled the copy of the police report out of the coroner’s file. Patrice said she saw it, but he wanted to see it for himself. She was right, they’d barely done anything that could be called an “investigation.” It was one page long, and by the end of the typed summary the cop had concluded it was a “probable suicide.” An addendum written three days later listed names of “witnesses”—three people on the street when she landed, and a woman in the room next to hers who heard her scream right before she would have jumped. No one saw anyone other than Kasey. No one saw anyone come in or out of that room before the police broke down the door and found the screaming baby inside. By that time the coroner’s report was done, and the manner of death was concluded to be suicide by the coroner himself and the case was closed.

  “This address in Maine, that was her home address?”

  “Yeah. The report said she was home for her daddy’s funeral. Not sure why she was at a hotel and not that big, fancy house her mama and daddy lived in, especially with a baby.”

  That bothered Blackheart too. He couldn’t be sure, but something in his gut told him there was more to Kasey’s rift with her parents than having a baby out of wedlock. She’d been in Maine for over a year by that time, she must have had a life there...friends, a boyfriend, maybe. Patrice said she’d had a job, she’d talked about it in her diary. He wondered if her family ever contacted them, or her landlord, or any of her friends. It seemed to him that even if the police didn’t look into her life, her family would have. If it were his family, his daughter or one of his sisters, he would want to know why...

  “These copies are for me?” he asked Logan.

  “Yep.”

  Blackheart lay two twenties on top of the check the waitress had left them and then slid two hundreds across the table to his friend. “Thanks, John.” Logan took the money, folded it, and stuck it in his breast pocket. He and Blackheart went all the way back to grade school in the swamps together. John Logan made a decent wage working for the coroner’s office, but he made enough to buy a house for him, his wife, and their four kids in the Garden District, working for the Jokers.

  “No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “You can bet on it.” Blackheart took the file and went back out into the warm night. It was creeping up on ten o’clock so he stuck the files in his saddlebag where they could wait until morning. Sally was waiting for him tonight, and he wasn’t going to disappoint her, or himself.

  Gabe found the spot where Chance was supposed to be waiting for him, but he wasn’t there, and he hadn’t seen his bike anywhere along the way either. With a curse, he shone the light around, looking for tracks, but to no avail. The trail was thick with water, seeping up from underneath the brush. It was too wet to hold any tracks and there were no other clues as to which way Chance might have gone. He decided to continue on down the path he was on, stepping carefully and keeping the light pointed downward to make sure he didn’t step on anything he might piss off. He wished he had thought to grab his wading boots and he cursed himself for coming out to the swamp so unprepared.

  He walked for what seemed like miles before at last hearing the sounds of something heavy slapping up against the muddy bank. Stopping, he cautiously shone the light around again, and this time it landed on a rusty old pirogue. He was approaching it slowly, light out in front of him when he heard the groans. With another curse, he reached back and pulled the pistol out of his jeans, and with it out in front of him with one hand and the light in the other, he finished making his way over to the canoe. The light caught the muddy sleeve of Chance’s white t-shirt first. His brother was lying in the pirogue on his side, his body covered in mud or blood; in the dim lighting it was hard to tell.

  “Chance? Hey! Chance!” Gabe put the gun away and the light in his mouth. Using both hands, he pulled the pirogue in closer and touched his friend on the shoulder. Chance groaned again, which was good because it meant he was alive, but on closer look Gabe wasn’t sure that would last long. Chance’s face was swollen and the mud all over him was mixed heavily with blood that flowed out of the top of his blond head and down along the side of his face. His breathing was ragged and it was obvious he was in pain each time he tried to draw one in.

  Panicked, but sure he needed to get his brother some help as soon as possible, Gabe looked around him for something he could use to steer the canoe. There was no way he’d be able to carry Chance on land so they’d have to get as far up the swamp as they could, at least back to where his bike was parked and maybe he’d have some cell service. It took him several minutes but he finally found a stick that was about four feet long and thick enough it wouldn’t snap off in the muddy water. He had to push his big, heavy friend over so that he could fit into the pirogue with him and then, wincing every time Chance groaned, he moved him again, trying to balance his weight against the flat bottom of the boat, so they didn’t simply end up capsizing the light little rig before they got anywhere. Chance’s shirt, vest, and jeans were covered in blood and now sweat was rolling off Gabe’s face and down his back. He stepped out of the boat and in knee-deep swamp water, he began pushing it out further in the water. By the time the water was waist deep he figured he’d be able to steer it, or at least he hoped so. Carefully, he pulled himself in next to Chance, almost flipping it over twice before he was able to get in. Then the trick was to get up on his knees so that he could even out his own weight and reach the water with the stick to paddle the boat.

  Gabe put the stick over the side and began to paddle. The water was still. There was no current where they were, and not a breath of wind in the air. Luckily he was in good shape...but either way, it was going to be a long, fucking night, if he made it through.

  7

  Blackheart rolled over and put his big arm across Sally’s slim back. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled it...he couldn’t believe how many years he’d wasted when it came to her. After she’d told him she’d never marry him, or even agree to be his old lady, he’d tried to distance himself from her. It didn’t take him long to figure out he’d never be able to cut her out of his life completely. She was like a staple, something like the air he breathed or the water he drank everyday...he simply couldn’t
function without her. So he’d continued to see her for sex, often. But the minute he finished he’d dress and leave and they’d both go on about their separate lives. It took almost losing her for him to realize how much time he’d wasted. He loved waking up next to her and he’d found out that the days he did gave him a renewed energy and positive outlook that made getting through his sometimes hectic, stressful days a thousand times easier.

  He rolled her into him with her back facing his front and ground his hips into her backside. Sally sighed, contentedly, and pushed back against him. His lips found her neck and with his face completely covered by her long, satiny hair, he went to work using his lips and teeth to touch on the spots that he knew would drive her crazy. She moaned and straightened out her legs, pushing back into his morning erection even harder.

  “What time is it, baby?”

  “Le temps ne veut rien dire quand tu es dans mes bras, mon amour.”

  Sally giggled. “Oh, how I wish it was true that time meant nothing when we’re together, but unfortunately time means everything when you have a clock to punch and three toddlers to check on.” She rolled over on her back and his lips were suddenly deprived of her neck, but that didn’t deter him. He started with her collarbone and worked his way down to one of her breasts. She shuddered and groaned when she felt his tongue on her hard nipple. He could feel the goosebumps form on her body against his hot skin that was pressed into hers. “Evan...?”

  He nipped at her nipple with his teeth and she groaned again, finally putting her hands on the sides of his face and pulling his head up so that she could look into his eyes. “I love that. I love you. But I have to get in the shower...”

  “Okay,” he said with a grin. “I’ll join you. Go fire it up.”

  She laughed again and rolled her eyes at him, but he knew from the kiss she gave him before she got out of bed that she wouldn’t turn him down when he showed up. He treated himself to the sight of her naked body as she got out of bed and made her way into the bathroom, and then with a huge smile on his face, he sat up. As soon as he did, the smile fell. His eyes had landed on his phone, lying next to the bed with the sound turned off. There were at least six text messages showing and as he read the first one, he felt a sick knot in the pit of his stomach. It was from Le Singe;

  “No one has heard from them, and no one can reach them. They’ve both been gone all night.”

  Blackheart cursed and picked up the phone. He began going through each of the messages. There were several from Patrice, asking him if he’d talked to Gabe. Apparently she’d not been able to reach him by phone so she’d gone out to the club, and that was when the guys realized no one had seen him, or Chance, since early the day before. Le Singe had done a broad search for the two young brothers before texting Blackheart. The first text told him not to worry, he had everyone looking and he’d keep him updated, but the last was from earlier that morning and even in a text message, Blackheart could almost hear that the tone was more desperate. He pressed in Le Singe’s number and his VP answered on the first ring.

  “Any word from either of them yet?”

  “None, boss. Both their phones go straight to voice mail. But I talked to Sharon and she said Chance was on his way out to Manchac the last time she saw him.”

  “Fuck, for what?”

  “I got the feeling she wasn’t telling me everything, but she said he got some information that one of the Mad Men who hurt her was out there. I can press her more if you want.”

  “Nah, if he went out there and got into trouble it makes sense he called Gabe and the boy went after him. I’m gonna kick both their asses for doing this Lone Ranger shit. When was Gabe last seen?”

  “Last night too. He told the guys he was going home after he finished cleaning up here at the club. I didn’t get too worried until neither of them showed up for the run to Slidell this morning; you know those boys have a short attention span, but when it’s business, they always show up, unless they’re in jail or dead...” Blackheart stopped him there. Losing Booger was still a fresh wound. He didn’t want to even imagine losing any more of his brothers, especially two young boys he felt responsible for.

  “Don’t go there,” he said. “I’m assuming you checked and they’re not in jail?”

  “Yeah, boss, I checked. I’m sorry, but I checked the morgue too, and nothing, thank Jesus. I do have Lowlife and a couple prospects headed out to Manchac to see if they can find them.”

  “Alright, good. You head out in that direction too. I’ll be there in about an hour. I want them found.”

  “You got it, boss.” Blackheart ended the call with a groan. He went into the bathroom to find it steamed up and Sally behind the frosted glass, looking good enough to eat, and he was still hungry...but that appetite would have to wait. He told her what was going on and she kissed him and wished him luck. The funny thing about Sally’s refusing to be his old lady for so many years was that she was practically born for the job. She accepted what he told her and didn’t press him for facts that they both knew she didn’t want to know. She cared about the guys, and often took care of them like she was their mother, or at least an older sister, and she was as tough as nails...she was the perfect old lady for the president of an MC...and he intended to make her see that someday.

  Gabe’s eyes opened and he flexed his limbs in shock. He was lying in a puddle of stinky water and he was completely disoriented. Scrambling to sit up, he felt the motion of the boat and remembered suddenly where he was. He’d been pushing and rowing the little pirogue down the swamp toward where he left his bike. It was dark and every time they hit a bump and he had to get out of the boat and into the water, he expected to come back up minus a leg or an arm. But he’d been lucky...or as lucky as a guy alone with his unconscious friend in the swamp at night could be. He was at least grateful that Julie hadn’t made an appearance, at least not while he was conscious.

  His body was shaking and he didn’t know if it was from the cold water that surrounded him, or the fear that had suddenly assaulted his senses. Chance was still lying on his back in the boat. His eyes were still closed and thankfully, his chest was still rising and falling, although even more raggedly than the night before. But the boat was filling with water. There was a hole in it somewhere and Gabe wasn’t sure they were going to make it where they needed to go before they were completely submerged.

  He hadn’t planned on going to sleep. Exhaustion had torn at every part of his body and weighed on his eyelids to the point of his finally collapsing into an uncomfortable slumber. Now, it was taking him some time to get his bearings. He wasn’t sure how far they’d actually moved, or where they actually were. To the layman, everything in the swamp looked the same. But to a boy who had grown up in them, landmarks were noticeably important. Unfortunately, as he looked around now, thankful for the sunlight, nothing looked familiar and no landmarks gave away their location. Knowing he would have to get out on land and walk, Gabe drew on all the resources he had left and carefully, and slowly, lowered himself over the side of the little canoe and down into the water. His feet were able to touch the bottom...or so he thought, at first.

  The wild movement underneath him was his first clue he wasn’t on solid ground and before he could pull himself back up into the boat, the feel of the gator’s teeth digging through his jeans and into his calf was his second clue. Gabe scrambled to get a good hold on the boat, and using all of his strength, tried to pull himself out of the jaws of the startled gator. He wasn’t able to get loose, and pulling only seemed to make the big reptile clamp down tighter. Grunting and sweating, he reached back into his jeans for the gun. When he pulled it out and, he could hear the water drain out of the barrel. Closing his eyes to the pain that the teeth and jaws were causing, he aimed the gun downward and pulled the trigger. It took him a few precious seconds to realize that it hadn’t fired, and another few to realize his knife was in the boot the gator was currently trying to make a snack out of.

  Gabe had wrestled
alligators before, but that was only when he’d been able to sneak up on them and get a hold on their back, keeping his flesh away from the powerful jaws. Blackheart had taught him that trick, always approach them from behind...and also if you had to fight one, fight like hell because at that point, your life depended on it. Gabe knew that the longer the gator held onto his leg, the more of a chance there was of his losing it altogether. He didn’t want to live the rest of his life as a one-legged man, even if it would be a cool story to tell later on.

  Gabe held onto the boat with both hands and using his free leg, he began to kick the gator over and over in the head. The twisting of the beast’s massive jaws made him scream and he was glad there was no one else there to hear it, but he didn’t stop kicking. Blackheart’s words about fighting like hell rang in his ears as he did. Later, Gabe wouldn’t be able to say how much time passed, or how many horrible things passed through his mind while he tried to get free of the gator, but eventually, the gator tired of being kicked in the face, and let go. As soon as he did, even with the pain weighing on him like a thousand-pound weight, he began to scramble back up into the boat.

  Gabe tried not to notice the blood pouring out of his leg, and he had to fight the dizziness that wanted to consume him as he struggled to get the knife out of his boot. His hands were covered with his own wet blood by the time he got it out, and his vision was becoming blurry around the edges. The pirogue was being tossed back and forth and his body was thrown on top of Chance as he raised the knife. The gator’s jaws were wide open, ready to take a bite at the oval tip of the pirogue, and Gabe closed his eyes again, and brought the knife down. He felt the scrape of a heavy tooth as the gator fell away. It continued to thrash wildly, however, and when Gabe slipped out of the boat again to push it toward the bank, the gator’s tail whipped around and hit him upside the face several times, almost knocking him back out. Somehow, however, even as his young life was flashing before his eyes, Gabe and the pirogue were at the bank. While the injured gator fought to get the knife out of his mouth, Gabe sat on his butt in the mud and grasped tightly onto Chance’s vest and pulled with both hands. Eventually, panting and sweating and feeling the world spin around him, he collapsed back underneath Chance’s weight. His friend was out of the boat and the gator had stopped thrashing and had disappeared under the water.