by Faye Byrd
“Enzo,” Mikey calls from his usual spot at his computer. “Something’s wrong.”
Panic thunders through me. “Get Jameson on the radio.” I point to Wyndall before hurrying over to Mikey. “What’s going on?”
He takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. “Someone just walked up to the gate and held up a picture before dropping it and running off. It looked like …” He stops, clicking on his keyboard. “See for yourself.”
I look to Wyndall, hoping with everything in me that he has Jameson on the walkie, but he just shakes his head. As if the world is crumbling around me, I stand behind Mikey like I’m in a trance. I don’t know about the rest of them, but it feels like my heart will give out if it pumps any faster.
Fear lodges in my throat as I give him the go-ahead to hit play. The screen looks normal for only a second before a figure clothed in black with a hood pulled over their head enters the scene. They walk straight up to where the camera is angled before lifting a polaroid image and holding it up just long enough for my heart to drop to my feet.
“Rewind,” I growl, denying what my eyes think they saw. There’s no fucking way. “It can’t be.”
Mikey does as I ask, and the scene looks exactly the same. “Again!”
Nothing changes, and I nearly pass out as the scary fucking truth rockets through me. “Randi.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The Drop
Randi
As I get out of my newly repainted Audi, I glare at Jameson. How dare this motherfucker pull into the space right beside me. “You can park across the lot.”
“No can do.” He shakes his head. “Enzo said I’m dead if anything happens to you. That’s too far away.”
“Uh, I’m still going inside without your ass,” I say, reminding this dumb fucker he won’t always have eyes on me. “Everyone else parks right over there.” I point to the row of spots across from the rear of my car. “Now, shoo.”
He huffs, but he shifts his bike into neutral and rolls it back into the spot opposite me. Layla pulls where he vacated only a few seconds later, and I shoot him a smirk while I walk around to meet her as she climbs from the car.
“No Mikey today?” she asks, fake pouting as she glances toward Jameson. “That one just isn’t as cute.”
I bark a laugh, thinking back to when I contemplated hooking them up. “That’s Jameson, and he’s okay, but you’re right. Mikey is definitely more your type.”
“Do you think he has a big cock?” she whispers as we start walking, and I almost trip.
“What the fuck, Layla?” I chide, bumping shoulders with her. “Size isn’t everything.”
She lifts a brow and looks to me. “So you’re saying Enzo would be just as impressive if his cock was tiny?”
“I did not say that.” I laugh. “But, if I hadn’t already had his huge cock, a smaller cock might’ve been okay.”
She sighs all dreamy and shit, her eyes on the sky. “I want more than okay.”
“And you shall have it,” I assure, pulling open the door to the building. “Let them get this Wolf shit settled, and I promise, I’ll make it my mission to hook you up with Mikey. It’s just too dangerous right now.”
“I know.” She huffs, shoving open the bathroom door with her shoulder. “One day, you’re going to have to explain all this to me.” She enters a stall and hangs her backpack on a hook before closing the door. “You know that, right?”
I turn to the mirror, trying to tame the wild hairs escaping my messy bun. “I do know, but it’s complicated.” The restroom door swooshes open as I finish applying my lip gloss and appraise myself in the mirror. “Just know that, for now, the farther away from this you are, the better.”
The toilet flushes, and it’s in that instant that I recognize the face behind me in the mirror. “Rhonda?”
She steps forward and I feel a prick to my neck. Before I can respond, every muscle within me locks down, and I’m unable to speak or stand on my own. She props me against the wall and holds me steady as I slide to my ass. My mind spins as I watch her take out another needle and stand outside the stall where my friend is still talking a mile a minute. I scream inside my mind as the door opens, but Layla doesn’t have a chance. Rhonda injects her with the needle, only she lets Layla crash to the floor, much to my subdued horror.
She rushes over and pushes open the door, beckoning Stevie Allendale, Jackson’s right hand man, to enter. My jaw is slack, and it pisses me off that I can’t scream all the things that are racing through my mind. He’s betraying our friendship in favor of solidarity with his club, and Rhonda is his willing accomplice, though she owes me no loyalties.
No one bothers to stop and question them as they half-drag me to the parking lot. It’s there where I see Jameson lying on the concrete next to his bike with a dart sticking out of his neck. His wide, horrified eyes are trained on us as they toss me into the back of a blue van and race away. I almost feel sorrier for him than I do myself.
Enzo is going to kill him.
But what’s to say Jack won’t do the same to me? I’ve betrayed him in the worst way, but that also makes me a valuable asset in the suddenly expedited war. Enzo will come for Jackson, and I imagine that’s the goal, but there’s a slight fear within me that the sale is still a priority even though he has to suspect I’m no longer in possession of my prized V status. And if he does, that leads to another fear—one where he takes what he feels he’s been cheated out of.
A flash of light has me fighting like hell to see what’s happening, and all I catch is Rhonda shaking a Polaroid as she drops the camera to the bench along the wall. I want to scream at her and demand she tell me why she’s taking part in my kidnapping, but my jaw is frozen open, drool dribbling down my chin.
The van comes to a halt, and she swings open the back doors. I hear murmuring, but I can’t quite make out what’s being said. Within just a few seconds, she’s closing them, and the van takes off again. Prickles move over my skin and it’s painful as fuck, but I know it means the drug is wearing off, so I double my efforts.
“Rhon …” I say, barely able to push the partial word through my lips.
Her head snaps around, and her blue gaze connects with mine. “It’s okay, Miranda,” she says, and her voice is soft and soothing. I want to throttle her ass. “The drug will wear off soon. It was the only way to keep you from making a scene.”
You think?
Rhonda Tanner is an RN for the surgical ward at Crescent General. She’s a year or so older than Jackson, and they’ve had a fling in the past, but it never worked out romantically. Overall, she’s a decent person, so I have no fucking idea why she’s helping him.
“Help,” I mumble, trying and failing to lift my hand. “Why?”
“Shh,” Rhonda soothes, massaging up and down my arm. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t have a choice. I’d rather not be anywhere near this, but at least this way I can help you.”
“Kill me,” I mutter, stressing over how calm she is, even though she’s going along out of coercion. “Jack.”
“No,” she replies sternly. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
She thinks she has a fucking say?
He’s probably going to kill us both.
I fight like hell to shake my head, and it feels like it might be moving a little. “Kill … you too.”
“Not today.” She leans close to whisper in my ear. “I have a plan, but we have to be careful.”
I don’t know what my expression says, but my mind is screaming for her to abort whatever crazy idea she has. Rhonda is great and all—well, she was before this shit—but she’s no badass chick with the wherewithal to take on Jack in any way, shape, or form.
The van rolls to a stop, and a wave of panic races across my skin. It’s not enough that I’m in Pacific Shores by force, but I’m barely able to open my mouth, much less fight back against a personal intrusion. For the first time in my life, I’m truly scared.
All I can do is hope Enzo shows u
p soon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
My Fault
Enzo
I lift my boot and kick Jameson in the jaw, sending spit flying out of his frozen fucking mouth. “You stupid motherfucker!” This time, I stomp the heel of my boot into his kidney. “I warned you. You’re fucking dead.” Another kick to his kidney. “I told you I’d kill you, you waste of goddamn space.”
“Enzo,” Bob says, tugging at my arm. “Cool off, son.”
I blow him off, snatching my arm from his grasp as I rear back and kick this paralyzed fuck in the back of his head. “Fuck you,” I snarl, turning to Bob with blazing eyes. “Randi is fucking gone because of this motherfucker.”
“He’s paralyzed!” He throws a hand out, motioning over Jameson. “Looks like he never knew they were here.”
“Ex-fucking-zactly,” I yell, frustration and anger warring for space inside my rage-clouded mind. “He failed to protect her!”
“Get him up,” Bob says, talking to Tank. “Let’s handle this back at the clubhouse.” He widens his eyes and tilts his head to the side. I follow the motion to see a group of onlookers gaping our way.
“Goddamn right we will,” I snarl, smirking evilly at a bloody, drooling Jameson. “I need privacy to finish this shit.”
“Excuse me,” a quiet voice says. There’s a tall redhead standing just beyond our circle with a backpack slung over her shoulder. “I’m looking for Enzo.”
“I’m Enzo,” I bark, standing taller. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Layla sent me.”
“I don’t know any fucking Layla,” I say, dismissing her. I don’t have time for this coy-eyed bitch’s bullshit.
“She’s in the nurse’s office in the same shape as that guy”—she shoves a finger toward Jameson—“and she’s mumbling help Randi; get Enzo over and over. I saw the scene out here and had a hunch I might find you.”
My heart free-falls into my gut, and it chews it up and kicks it back to my chest. The dark-haired friend. “Take me to her.”
The girl turns without another word and leads me inside the school. The sea of bodies parts, and no one dares to open their mouths, but they all stare like fucking idiots. It’s not like I haven’t been seen in the parking lot plenty over the last few weeks. They probably all know this shit wouldn’t have happened on my fucking watch.
When we enter the nurse’s office, I spot Layla right away. She’s lying on one of those cot-like beds, her arms and legs shaking as she fights against the woman standing over her. Her mouth is moving, and though I can’t make out what she’s saying, it’s clear she’s trying to get a message across.
She stills when she sees me, relief filling her eyes. “Enzo,” she says clearly, though her mouth barely moves.
I try to go to her side, only to be blocked by the nurse. “Excuse me, sir, but you can’t be in here.”
“The fuck you say?” I growl, jabbing a finger toward Layla. “Can’t you see she’s asking for me?”
The portly woman slowly shifts her gaze to my girl’s best friend, seeking confirmation. It’s barely a movement, but her nod is clear, so the nurse turns back to me. “I don’t like this,” she hisses.
“I don’t give a fuck what you like,” I respond, pointing toward the door. “You can wait over there.”
She glares at me for another few seconds before moving out of my way. I settle beside Layla with a gentleness I don’t often exhibit. “I’m sorry this happened,” I say softly. “Did they do this to Randi, too?”
Her body starts shaking again in her effort to move her head up and down. “Yes,” she whispers. “Woman.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“Too fast.” Her breathing picks up, but I shush her as I run my fingers across her cheek. “Get her,” she says, her voice clearer. “Get Randi.”
“I swear on my fucking life,” I rasp, leaning close so she can see the determination in my eyes. Ambulance sirens wail from outside, so I wrap up my visit. “Whatever this is will wear off soon, so when you’re released from the hospital, come to the clubhouse if you’re scared. We’ll protect you until this is over.”
A tear leaks from the corner of her eye. “’Kay.”
I wipe it away. “You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”
With a slight nod from Layla, I stand and glare at the old nurse as I walk by. Out in the hallway, the redhead is leaning against the wall. “Thanks,” I say, tilting my chin. “I appreciate you being so observant.”
“Anytime.” She winks.
I roll my fucking eyes. “You’ve seen me in the parking lot with Randi, yeah?” She nods, shrugging. “Then you probably know she’ll gouge out that winky fucking eye.”
Her brows climb into her hair, and I chuckle darkly as I leave her standing there. As I go out the doors, the EMTs are coming in, and it registers with me then what kind of shape Randi must be in right now. Murderous rage races through my veins, and as I spot Rodney’s cruiser in the lot, I charge forward with my fists clenched.
“You alcoholic fuck,” I yell, approaching him at a rapid pace. “You caused this! You should’ve taken care of the Wolves a long time ago.”
The deputy from the shoot-out at their house draws his weapon, aiming it my way. “Hold it right there, Enzo,” he commands, his arms shaky. “Don’t come any closer to the sheriff.”
I open and close my fists, fighting like hell to rein in my anger, and it’s barely working, even with the knowledge that what happened today isn’t Rodney’s fault. It’s mine. This shit happened because of my presence and the relationship I’ve developed with Randi. Jackson wants to hurt me, and he has. I should’ve wiped the Wolves off the face of the earth weeks ago.
“You think I’m not upset about this?” Rodney says, waving his hands to where they’re bringing Layla out on a stretcher. “I know my battle with the bottle allowed the Wolves to flourish in Crescent City, but I’m done with that and they have my goddamn daughter, so you don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“Fine.” I blow out a heavy breath, frustrated with myself. “Arguing isn’t going to solve anything anyway.” I look around and realize only Bob and his Harley are left. The box truck is gone, and with it, so is Jameson. “We need to figure out exactly what happened so we can form a plan to get Randi back.”
“Plan, my ass,” he says, puffing up his chest. “I’m the sheriff of this county. I’m going to take her from them.”
I’m on him with his shirt fisted and his face snatched in front of mine before the lax deputy can react. “Don’t be fucking stupid,” I growl, shaking his alcohol-withered ass. “You think I don’t want to go in guns motherfucking blazing? I’d kill every single Wolf to have her back right now, but not at the cost of her life.” I loosen my hold, settling him back on solid ground. “As much as I hate to say it, we’re going to have to work together.” I take a step back. “You do your job here, and I’ll find out what I can. Send the deputy to keep watch on Layla until she’s discharged and then escort her to the clubhouse. We’ll reconvene in a little while to decide on a course of action.”
“What if she doesn’t have that long?” he asks, defeated.
“Don’t say shit like that!” I want to charge him again, this time beating him senseless, but I know Randi will kick my ass for it later if I do. “They took her for a fucking reason, and it isn’t to kill her. Now go do your goddamn job and investigate how this happened!”
“Look, son,” he says, palms out.
I explode, drawing my fist back and busting him in the nose. “I’m not your fucking son.” As I draw back to hit him again, someone grabs my arm, and I spin, ready to flatten them.
“Don’t do it, son,” Bob says with a smirk. “I can tell there’re raw feelings here, but from what I hear, the sheriff’s on our side. You’re going to need him if we intend to rescue your girl.” He sighs, pointing to my bike. “Just go. Ride off some of this rage, and don’t get yourself in any trouble.”
My jaw clenches as I fight ba
ck the urge to tell him to fuck off. After an internal struggle, I choose to listen to his bald ass. Straddling my bike, I kick it to life and tear out of the parking lot with revenge burning through my mind. If I was a stupid motherfucker, I’d head straight to Pacific Shores, but I’m not. That’s what they hope I’ll do, but I only play to fucking win, and this is the most important game of my life.
The wind whips at my hair, and it stings as the loose ends slap my face, but it serves me right. I fucking failed her. She trusted me to protect her, and I left that most important job in the hands of an incapable fucking idiot. My anger at myself and him consuming me, I grip the brake and slide the bike to a stop before turning around and gunning it toward the clubhouse.
Jameson better pray he has some fucking answers.
I pull my temporary bike, a ’76 Ironhead, up to the gate and glare at the fucking camera until the reinforced metal slides out of my way. Rage pulses with every tick of my jaw, and my blood boils. I’m angry, hurt, confused, and for the first time ever, scared to fucking death. Not for myself—I’ll fucking live—but for Randi. There’s always a risk to the hostage in any rescue.
“Where is he?” I ask as I storm into the main space of the clubhouse. My fists are clenching and unclenching as I fantasize about the feel of his skin splitting beneath their wrath. “Get him in here now.”
“Calm down,” Bob says, standing with his palms out. “I know you’re upset, but that won’t get us any answers. You know better than to let your emotions drive you, Enzo.”
“Get that motherfucker in here right goddamn now.” I glare past Bob to Wyndall and relax only slightly when he stands to go do what the fuck I said. I pass my gaze back to Bob and now Marianne as she’s sidled up to rest beneath his arm. “I’ll try to stay objective.”
Marianne steps forward then and grasps my cheeks between her warm, pudgy hands. “I know your mind is going crazy right now, but you’ve got to focus, Enzo. Channel that rage and hate into rescuing that girl so I can meet her. Don’t take it out on someone who can help with her extraction.”