by Nia Farrell
He couldn’t argue the point.
“Here it is, then. Now get moving, woman.” He slapped that fine ass of hers, wishing they had time for more than a quick swat and an unspoken promise for later.
Isabella squeaked. “Okay! Okay! Just give me a minute. I’m slow to wake, in case you haven’t noticed.” She yawned again, wide enough to see her tonsils. Stretching her arms, she pointed her toes and arched her whole body in an exaggerated pose. Fighting another yawn, she rubbed her eyes and pushed herself to a sitting position.
“How does my hair look,” she asked, sounding groggy. “Do I need to brush it?”
“It looks good to me, but then, I like a messy bedhead. You’ll probably want to brush it before you go down.”
“I’ll hurry,” she promised. Swinging her legs off the bed, she found her feet, came to a wobbly stand, took some deep breaths, and steadied herself. From the sounds of it, she emptied her bladder and washed her hands before brushing her hair.
“Let me slip on some shoes, and I’m ready.”
Isabella pulled on her sneakers and followed him down to the commercial-size kitchen. Depending on who was here, some meals could take every piece of equipment to fix and feed the masses. No party or lockdown tonight, though. The members who lived here were mostly single men. The ones in committed relationships were scattered around town in houses that offered privacy and a place to raise their children. The McLanahans were the exception to the rule. Papa Bear and Mama Mare had a suite of rooms here, where they’d raised four sons and a daughter.
He followed his nose to the leftovers. Finding plates, he filled them up with fork-tender pot roast, potatoes, and carrots. The sourdough rolls had already cooled enough to bag.
“Mama Mare’s a baker,” he told Isabella. “Her specialty is sourdough bread and rolls. You’ll want one with butter or apple butter or both. What’s your preference?”
She looked at the plates, dreamy eyed. “I didn’t think I was hungry, but everything smells so good. Apple butter, I think. That should go with the rest of the menu. You’ve got some major comfort food here.”
“Yeah, well, we need it.” He set their plates on the end of a long central island, a fourth of which was ringed by barstools. “Is beer okay, or do you want water or pop?
“Water, please.”
He filled a glass from the filtered water pitcher in the refrigerator, added ice cubes, and opened himself a beer. He found a basket and added five rolls to it, got two sets of flatware from a drawer, and carried everything to where she sat.
“Fuck me. Apple butter.” Recently used, the jar was up front and easy to find in the large, stainless steel refrigerator. Unscrewing the lid, he added a spoon and set it down in front of Isabella.
“Dig in,” he said. Reaching for a roll, he tore it in half and slathered it with apple butter. Isabella did the same. He smiled his approval. Thank God, she wasn’t one of those girls who lived on rabbit food.
Wanting to forget about the shitstorm outside, he asked Isabella about her day.
“Good,” she said between bites. “Productive. I put my clothes in Rose’s room and downloaded the pictures from today. I’d like to show them to you when you have time.”
“I can look at them after supper. I thought maybe we could hang out in the lounge tonight. Relax and unwind. Today was a bitch. Tomorrow doesn’t promise to be much better. Lee just vanished. Gone without a trace, along with the contents of the office safe at Paradise Lounge. We’re looking for her, and so’s your uncle,” he told her. He hadn’t wanted to involve Visconti, but the man had the resources needed to get the job done. “I need to make calls tomorrow and set up interviews for a new manager. You’ll want to go see Sophia, and I can talk to Crash. I’ll need him to run background checks on anyone I’m considering. I just wish like hell I knew how Lee found out that we were fucking onto her. I did not need to be penciling a manhunt into my schedule.”
Growling his frustration, he stabbed a forkful of meat and took another bite.
Isabella reached over and patted his arm. “It’ll be okay,” she promised, like she could fucking make it happen. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
He felt bad for venting, but he had too much pent-up energy. If he took Isabella to bed now, she wouldn’t be able to walk for days. “We’ll see,” he said, unable to agree with anything more.
Isabella ate three-fourths of the food he’d dished out for her before pushing her plate away. He arched a brow and slid it back in place.
“Luke! No! I can’t eat that much. If I hadn’t taken your mother’s roll, maybe…but not now. I’m stuffed. Any more, and you’ll have to wheelbarrow me out of here.”
“That sounds like a slur on my manhood,” he said. “You think I’m not strong enough to flip you over my shoulder, haul you upstairs, and show you what stuffed feels like?”
“I’m sure you’re strong enough. And with that libido of yours, I’m pretty sure I know what would follow.” Isabella shook her head. “Honestly, I’ve never known anyone besides my sister who has that kind of sex drive.”
Mad Dog felt like puffing out his chest. He didn’t want to tell her that he wasn’t usually this way. Something about Isabella Castellari brought out the beast in him. He wanted to claim her. Mark her. Fuck her until he didn’t have another go left in him. He’d had her—fuck, how many times now?—and he was already half-hard for her again.
“Unlike your sister, I don’t plan on peddling my wares. All this is yours, sweetheart. Anytime. Anywhere.”
Isabella shivered. A riot of goosebumps dimpled her skin. “What about the pictures?”
“We can look at those when we’re done here. I told Mama Mare that we’d put everything away if she left it out for us. She taught us boys early on to not leave dirty plates. You eat, you clean. No clean? No eat. It only took once going hungry before you remembered to clean up after yourself.”
He finished the last of Isabella’s pot roast and took their plates to the sink with the garbage disposal. Turning on the water, then the disposal, he got rid of the scraps and rinsed the dishes clean before loading them in the dish rack that they’d wash when it was full.
“Bring your water,” he said. Nabbing his bottle, he caught Isabella’s hand and pulled her after him to his room. The first thing he saw when she booted up her computer was himself, looking like a sun god, the way that she’d taken it.
“Wow,” was all he could say.
“Do you like it?” Isabella bit her lip, waiting for him to speak.
“Like it? Of course, I like it. You’re good, Isabella. Better than good. Fucking gifted, is what you are. Let’s see the rest.”
She had captured the magic of his favorite place. Colors, textures, the kinetic energy of the waterfall, the lazy ambling of the stream. A thirteen-striped ground squirrel, poised in fight-or-flight mode. Massive boulders and muddy shores. His favorite, though, was one that she’d shot from above the falls with shafts of sunlight piercing the canopy of trees.
“We need to get this one blown up,” he said, flipping back to it. “Have it framed and hang it wherever we’re going to be. Here for now. As soon as I get a manager hired, I’ll start looking for us a place. It can go in the living room. You can decorate around it. Is that all of them?”
“Yes. I would have taken more if my battery hadn’t run down. I’m feeling pretty drained myself.”
Just the way she said it—sounding a little coy, he wondered if she was giving him a hint.
“Tired?” he asked.
She looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence with a hint of mischief. “Very. Maybe you can rock me to sleep?”
Bending down, he nipped her ear.
“I think that can be arranged.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
They overslept.
With everything that Mad Dog had planned, Isabella knew that it was less than ideal, but they had both needed their rest after the day that they’d had. Waking up next to his big, warm bod
y, reviewing her weekend, she concluded that Sunday hadn’t been a total disaster. Yes, it was still the worst day ever, but there was enough good to help balance things a bit.
On the down side: the video leak, her sister’s rant, the threatening calls, her parents’ displeasure. On the upside: seismic sex, thrilling rides, an adventurous hike, a fantastic camera shoot, fabulous food, the man of her dreams, and plans for a future together.
Eventually, she might view Sunday as one of the best days of her life. All the other stuff had just served as a catalyst for change, speeding the process and making it happen sooner rather than later.
Sore from last night’s lovemaking, she eased out of bed and went to the bathroom. When she was done, she brushed her teeth and gargled, then slipped back into bed with Luke.
“Thought I’d lost you,” he grumbled.
Raising on one elbow, she slid her other arm across the magnificent miles of his chest and put her head on his shoulder.
“Not a chance.” She whispered in his ear and pressed a kiss against his beard-stubbled cheek.
“Breakfast. We can eat out, eat here, or check on your house and fix it while we’re there. Your choice.”
“If we hadn’t overslept, I’d say here. But I would like to check on the house, and I know where things are there. While we’re at it, maybe we could run by Rose and Michael’s and see how Sophia is getting along.”
“Sounds like a plan. Get dressed,” he said, stirring himself to do the same. “We’re going mobile.”
The house was just as they’d left it. Isabella brought in the morning paper and added it to the stack of others that she’d been saving for her dad. Making her way to the kitchen, she started pulling everything that she’d need to fix bacon, eggs, and toast. After breakfast, she did the dishes. Mad Dog called Michael to see if it was okay to swing by.
It was.
Once they got there, the men disappeared into Michael’s office. Rose described everything the cat had done since last time they were here. She was still concerned about Sophia not eating.
Isabella picked her up—no easy task, that—and carried her to the sunroom. Sophia did face rubs on her as they walked. She set Sophia down by her food and watched the cat finish what she’d only picked at before. Both women were relieved to see it.
“So…,” Rose said slowly. “How are things otherwise?”
“Good, bad, and ugly?” Isabella sighed. “My folks haven’t called back. The sicko caller turned out to be Mrs. Davis, two doors down. Luke went to fire Lee. She was gone and the club’s safe was empty. So now, on top of needing a new manager, they need to find her and the money. It’s driving him nuts, trying to figure out how she knew that they were onto her.”
Rose’s eyes widened. She looked like she’d swallowed her tongue.
“What is it?” Isabella asked, unsettled by Rose’s reaction.
Guilt stole across Luke’s sister’s face before she schooled her features.
“What is it?” Isabella demanded. “Whatever it is, you need to tell Mad Dog.”
“Tell me what?”
Rose looked at her brother. “I…um…I wasn’t authorized to cancel her credit card, so I transferred money from Paradise into another Angels’ account. I didn’t want her wiping out the bank account if she decided to take off.”
Mad Dog thrust ten fingers in his hair. “Fuck, Rose! She wiped us out anyway. God dammit!”
“Hey!” Michael’s voice cracked like a whip. “You don’t know that that’s what tipped her off. She and the money may have been long gone already. What time did the security camera footage show her leaving with it?”
Mad Dog went quiet. “Shit. I don’t know. I haven’t looked at it.”
Michael shook his dark head. “Then look the fuck now. Let’s see how this went down before you blame Rose for any of it.”
All four of them went into Michael’s office. He’d set up the security systems at all of the Avenging Angels MC properties, including Paradise Found, and was able to remote-access the digital footage.
“I’ll go back to the end of what I reviewed after she called you. Refresh my memory. What time was it that you found out about the video leak?”
Mad Dog looked at Isabella. “About nine, I think. Let me check my calls.” He opened his phone and flipped through the list. “The last one from Lee was at 8:47, after she’d already been out to the club.”
“I’ll start from there and go forward.”
Michael did just that. There were no cameras in the manager’s office, dressing rooms, or restrooms. Everything else—including the parking lot—was covered.
At 8:47, when Lee called Luke, the county mounties were gone and she was still in her office. Nine-thirty rolled by before she stepped into the hallway and made her way to the front door, unlocking it to let herself out and locking the door behind her.
Over the next few hours, there were three cars that pulled in and left when they saw the club was closed. Another two cars looked like a drug deal. One more had teenaged boys who did donuts in the gravel.
Lee returned at eleven, to get the place opened for the nooners looking for entertainment early in the day. Getting out of her car, she tucked her purse under her arm and headed for the door. She hadn’t taken ten steps before a man in a ski mask bolted out from the copse of trees with what was clearly a gun in his outstretched hand.
“What the fuck?!” Mad Dog was still cursing beneath his breath, eyes glued to the screen as the drama unfolded. Her assailant nudged Lee forward with his free hand. They entered the building and disappeared into her office. When they came out, he was carrying a half-full can liner, misshapen from bundles of bills. He made Lee give him her car keys and forced her into the trunk. Putting the can liner of money on the floor of the passenger’s side, he pulled off his ski mask, threw it on top, got in the driver’s side, and took off.
“Back it up,” Mad Dog said. “He kept his head down, but for a second, he raised it. See if we can zoom in enough to ID the bastard.”
Michael did what he could to enhance it, but the parking lot footage wasn’t crisp enough to show more than vague features. Still, it was enough for Mad Dog to gnash his teeth.
He didn’t look at Michael. He looked at Rose. “That him?” he asked her. “Is that Reaper?”
Rose stared at the screen, looking as if she were seeing a ghost from her past. “I think,” she croaked. “His hair’s different, and he’s shaved his beard, but it sure looks like him. Same age. Height. Build. Oh, shit. His sleeves. Same ink. It’s him.” She turned haunted eyes to her brother. “Reaper’s got Lee.”
“Yeah.” Mad Dog rubbed the back of his neck. “The timing is damned suspicious. Crash, you accessed the footage. Lee could, too. What if someone hacked into her computer? Could they make it look like she leaked the footage?”
It was Michael’s turn to swear.
Mad Dog’s first call was to Papa Bear to let him know what they’d found. Papa Bear was going to mandate that every woman in the club would have an escort whenever they went out.
Luke’s second call was to her Uncle Giovanni. “Lee Rimmer was kidnapped,” he told him. “We don’t know for sure that she leaked the video. It’s possible that she was set up to make it look like it. Security footage shows that the club was robbed and she was kidnapped, taken in the trunk of her car. It’s a 2014 red Camaro. The footage shows enough, we think that Reaper’s driving it. You remember the farmhouse? My guess is there. I was just at the safehouse. It didn’t look like anyone had been there recently. No ruts. No tracks. No lights. Yeah. Let your son know. Please.”
Mad Dog stared at his phone for a few seconds before closing it. “We’re ordered to let him handle it. He already sent one of his boys after her. He’ll try to reach him, warn him about Reaper, and let him know to bring her in alive. Fuck!”
“Did he say which son?” Isabella asked.
“Valerio.”
“Good. That’s good.” Of all her cousins, Val was the
one most likely to ask first, shoot second.
He just had to get past Reaper to do it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mad Dog was tenser than she’d ever seen him.
Isabella didn’t know who this Reaper was, or what he was capable of (beyond kidnapping, rape, and theft), but it didn’t sound good. Even if Lee wasn’t innocent, no one deserved what she was going through. Helpless to do anything else, Isabella prayed that Uncle Giovanni could reach Val, and Val could get to her in time.
“He doesn’t do Silence of the Lambs stuff or anything, does he?”
Luke looked at Rose.
“It’s okay,” his sister told him. “She needs to know. If he’s out there, and loose, we’re all at risk.”
“He’s bad enough,” Mad Dog told her. “The Blackwater Demons would kidnap girls and use them up, literally fuck them to death or close enough, they’d snuff them. No one knows where the bodies are, just that they were never seen again. Only three managed to survive being taken as fucktoys: Krissy, Rose, and the last girl they found in the van. The Demons were sick fucks, and Reaper is the worst. He’s an animal. No morals, no conscience. I should have taken the shot…”
Isabella searched his tortured face. “What? When?”
Mad Dog blew out sharply. “Three years ago, I had a chance to end this—except Mama Mare was in the way. Your cousin Matteo and I found where the two of them were holed up. As soon as we came in the room, Reaper had his gun trained on me. Mama Mare saw it and stepped between us. Next thing I know, she’s turning around to face Reaper, trying to reason with him. At one point, she moved just enough, I could have taken the shot if she’d stay put, but I was afraid that she’d move and I’d hit her. My moment of hesitation was all that Reaper needed. He saw Matteo trying to slip to the side, shot him, and escaped. He’s been off the grid ever since.”
“It’s not your fault, Luke. You couldn’t risk hitting your mother. And Matteo survived, thanks to Beth.”