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Zeke
Emmett and I are barely out the door of the Painted Lady when Jake pulls into the parking lot. He throws himself off his bike and jogs towards us. I was tense talking to Chuy, but everything in me is immediately on red alert at the sight of him. Jake, for all that he’s jumpy, doesn’t get worried easily, but his expression as he hurries up to us is creased with concern.
Maybe it’s nothing. But like the thunderheads massing on the horizon, something tells me this isn’t good.
“Z, it’s Bailey,” Jake blurts out.
Lightning jumps between the clouds overhead. My blood roars in my ears.
“I pulled into the Junction and saw a girl get on the back of some guy’s bike; looked like she was crying. I didn’t get one foot in the door when the waitress comes up to me, says she thinks a girl was forced out, and the guy had a red bandanna. She had brown hair, dressed conservative. Bailey wasn’t there, boss. I think they took her.”
My first instinct is to deck Jake. “What the fuck?” I bellow. “I told you to keep an eye on the place.” I’ve got my guys running patrols all over town. I set Jake specifically to have a look in at the Junction in case I ran late with Chuy.
Jake doesn’t quail in the face of my rage, but a muscle in his jaw twitches. “I got there as fast as I could, and then I turned around and came here like the devil himself was on my ass, so don’t give me that. It wasn’t me, Z. It’s those red bandanna bastards.”
As if on cue, the door creaks behind us and Chuy and Carlos step out of the Painted Lady. Chuy’s steely gaze flicks between me and Jake, taking in Jake’s rattled appearance and my obvious anger. The bad news is palpable.
“What was that?” Chuy asks, his voice deceptively mild. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
Emmett and Jake both look at me. Rage and fear make my fingers itch for my gun. It’s tempting to turn around and pin all this on Chuy and his boys. To believe that Chuy kept me delayed on purpose so his lackeys could go pick up Bailey.
But I’m the president of the Slayers. I’ve got to keep a cool head. I’ll happily shoot Chuy for this if he’s responsible, but I have to be sure first. Because if I’m wrong, this whole town is going to explode into chaos. And even after talking with him, I’m still not sure. And anyway, shooting him now isn’t going to do shit. I’ve got to find Bailey.
“Kidnapping,” I say instead. “At Junction City.”
Chuy crosses his arms and appraises me with a look. I want to punch his serene face, but I grit my teeth and wait for him to speak. Every second I waste here is a second I could be out looking for Bailey.
“I take it by your expression that it was your date who was kidnapped.”
Emmett puts a cautionary hand on my arm. I don’t swing, but it’s a near thing.
“You seem to know a lot about it,” I say. My voice is tight with the effort of keeping my anger under wraps. I can’t afford to explode right now, however much I may want to. “So maybe we should revisit our earlier conversation.” My voice is tight with the effort.
Everything in me is screaming to get on my bike and ride out to find Bailey right this second, but I can’t. I have to do this because no one else can.
Chuy sighs and shakes his head. “Not mine. Come on now, Zeke, do you think I would take your woman under your nose when I already have you in my bar?” He flicks the ash off the tip of his cigarette. “I don’t do hostages. If I wanted a war, I’d just shoot you where you stand.”
His unruffled expression cracks and he glances at Carlos. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. Those bastards impersonating us are going to bring every cop in the county down on our heads for a kidnapping.”
He throws his cigarette down and stubs it out with his boot. “This ends now. We’re tracking this down.”
Chuy and Carlos exchange some rapid Spanish, and Carlos disappears back into the bar.
“Emmett and Jake will help you,” I say to Chuy. I don’t ask about his plans. It’s not my concern right now. Chuy and Emmett and Jake will handle it.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, Chuy asks, “And your woman?”
“Leave that to me.”
Without another word, I turn on my heel and stalk across the parking lot to my bike. My part here is done. I’ve done my job as the president of the Slayers; now it’s time to hunt down whoever took Bailey. I’ll raze this whole city to the ground if I have to, and I won’t feel a damn lick of remorse. Whoever put his hands on Bailey is about to lose them, and his balls too. I’ll tear every last bastard limb from limb.
“Which way did they go?” I shout over my shoulder to Jake.
“West from the Junction, towards the forest,” he shouts back.
Emmett, Jake, and Chuy disappear into the Painted Lady and door slams shut behind them. I get on my bike and peel out of the parking lot, spraying gravel behind me. The road becomes a straight arrow, pointing me towards Bailey. Getting to her is the only thing that matters right now. This is my fault. She was at that bar because she was waiting for me. The roar of my bike shakes down my arms, melding with the churning fury in my gut. I’m going to kill whoever did this. I’m going to take him apart with my bare hands and send his body back to his buddies in pieces.
But first I have to find him.
***
ABOVE ME, THE CLOUDS that have been amassing all day make good on their promises. The sky opens into a torrential downpour. Visibility goes immediately to shit. But this is my town; these are my roads. I know them inside out and backwards, can trace every switchback in my sleep. Something as trifling as a little weather could never keep me from Bailey. I pass the block of warehouses from the other night, blurred out by rain. There are a couple police cars in the parking lot and a swarm of officers. So, not there then. If it’s dirty cops we’re after, they wouldn’t risk an audience of their buddies.
I drive. Emmett and Jake will have rounded up the other members of the Slayers and joined Chuy. Right this second, they’ll be on the road just like me, spreading out to track down these kidnapping bastards and root out who they are. But that’s not my concern. Someone else can deal with that. I’ll trust Jake and Emmett and even Chuy with that. But I won’t trust anyone else with Bailey. This is for me alone.
Soon after, the road becomes narrower, and the forest looms on my left-hand side. It’s mostly scrub and scraggly trees, but the rain makes it dark and menacing. There’s only one way to go—on ahead. There are no exits off this road for miles and miles. If Bailey’s kidnapper had turned around, I would have met them coming.
The rain is making these twisty roads slick and treacherous. I’m an experienced rider, and it’s a challenge even for me. My determination keeps me upright and driving forward. I pound on the gas, urging my bike to its limit to match my racing heart. I’m going to find her. I have to.
I slow a little to take a switchback curve without spinning out. That’s when I see it, an out of place gleam of metal out of the corner of my eye. I slow and look behind me. There, half on the shoulder and half in the bushes is the shiny round back end of a motorcycle. Son of a bitch can’t even handle a little rain. I pull over and leave my bike at the side of the road. If anyone stumbles on it, they won’t dare touch it. I aim a good kick at the abandoned bike, shattering a headlight with the steel toe of my boot. Its owner is going to get a lot worse than that.
There’s a clear path cut through the brush. The kidnapper must have heard me coming up behind him and knew he couldn’t outrace me on the road, so he abandoned the bike and took off into the woods.
The pouring rain has turned the ground to mush, but it means their path is clear. I race after them on foot, into the woods. The rain’s gotten under the collar of my jacket, so I’m soaked through. My boots squelch in the mud, but I don’t slip. I can’t. My gun is a comforting weight in my shoulder holster and my blood pounds in my ears.
A flash of movement up ahead. I run faster. Two figures, struggling through the rain. The smaller one stumbles and lets out a feminine scream. Bailey.
I’m loud as I crash through the undergrowth. The kidnapper tries to hustle faster, but Bailey glances over her shoulder and slows her pace. He yanks her along, but she stumbles to the ground, slowing them even further. Clever girl. I pull my gun from my holster as I close in on them. The grip’s familiar curves mold to my hand, promising blood and retribution. I click the safety off, and my adrenaline surges in the anticipation of violence, of revenge.
He urges her faster, yanking on her arm, but she’s doing her best to slow him down. He pulls a gun from the pocket of his hoodie, aiming it at Bailey and forcing her along. Fear and rage surge through me. If something happens to her, if Bailey gets hurt, I will never forgive myself.
If I close in, will he shoot her? I have to think this through. One wrong move could get Bailey hurt, so a miscalculation just isn’t in the cards. The kidnapper is almost certainly more interested in me than he is in her, but he’s also clearly panicked enough to make a fatal mistake.
As if on cue, he glances behind him. Bailey makes another calculated stumble, and he bashes the butt of his gun into her shoulder. She shrieks in pain and curls around herself. It does the opposite of what he wanted because she staggers further under the pain of the blow. Rage blinds me, and I raise my gun and take aim. I was going to kill him for kidnapping her, but for that, I’ll do it slowly.
Desperate, he glances behind him, wild-eyed. He fires a reckless shot over his shoulder at me. I duck, but it veers wide. He’s a rookie with a gun because the kickback from the shot recoils up his body and shocks him into dropping Bailey’s arm.
Bailey doesn’t waste a second. She wrenches herself away from him and heads for me at a dead sprint; curving left away from her assailant so that she’s not between him and the business end of my gun.
I don’t waste a second, either. I take aim and fire. The recoil travels up my arm, sweet with retribution. The shot connects, and the kidnapper goes down with a howl and a spray of blood.
Bailey reaches me, and I crush her in an embrace. She smells like rain and fear.
“Zeke,” she whispers into the front of my jacket.
I allow myself to press a kiss to her temple. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” I murmur, rubbing my hands over her damp shoulders. She’s alive; she’s safe, she’s with me.
She turns back to look at her kidnapper, who is writhing and groaning on the muddy ground, and quails against me.
“Stay here,” I tell her. She nods a little. I peel myself away from her reluctantly and stalk over to the injured man.
He’s got one hand clamped around his bicep, but blood wells up between his fingers. His eyes widen as he sees me coming, and he tries to scrabble backwards and clamber to his feet.
I cock my gun, and he goes still, like a rabbit caught in a trap. “I’d think twice about that if I were you.”
I plant my boot on his chest, smearing mud over his soaked hoodie. He lets his wound go and bleeds wetly onto the damp earth. He’s young and scared, and on any other day, with any other person, that might have worked in his favor. But not with me. I press down hard on his chest, and he wheezes at the pressure. His gaze jumps from my face to the barrel of my gun and back again.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask him. He’s not one of Chuy’s boys, not unless Chuy’s started recruiting lily-white high schoolers.
I release the pressure on his chest so he can speak, but he just glares up at me. Stupid son of a bitch. I aim a punishing kick at his ribs, and he yelps like a dog.
“Asked you a question, and I’d like an answer before I put a bullet in your skull. I know you’re not a Bandido, so who the fuck are you?”
He jerks, and his eyes are ringed white with fear.
“My name’s Carter,” he says.
“I don’t give a fuck what your mama calls you. Whose guy are you? Let me know, so I know where to send the body.”
He starts to cry then, little hiccupping sobs. I kick him again for annoying me with his simpering.
That finally prompts him to speak. “Nobody’s guy. My friend Owen said it could be good business to be the top gang around here. Bandidos and the Slayers are always an inch away from tearing each other’s throats out. So we got some buddies together and decided to speed the process up. That’s all.”
I stomp hard on his sternum. Something cracks. Carter howls. “That’s all?” I repeat. “You messed with the wrong guys.”
Snot bubbles out of Carter’s nose, and he sniffs loudly. “Please,” he all but sobs. “It wasn’t my idea; I can take you to Owen, you can deal with him.”
Furious, I spit right in his disgusting, cowardly face.
“Do you know what your problem is, Carter?” I ask him. My gun never wavers in its aim at his forehead. He shakes his head. “Your problem isn’t that you’re a bad shot and a rookie on the bike. Your problem is, you messed with shit you shouldn’t have messed with. And worst of all, you’re a little bitch willing to sell out your guys at the first sign of trouble.”
I cock my gun and aim it at his head. He sobs brokenly. “A real biker knows loyalty to the club is to the death. I’m going to do you that favor now, even though you don’t deserve it.”
Carter’s eyes flick behind me, tearful and pleading. It’s not his expression that stops me, but the direction of his gaze. I turn and follow, and he’s looking right at Bailey. Bailey, who’s watching us with her arms wrapped around herself, an unreadable expression on her face. She looks so small and vulnerable, but she hasn’t turned away. She’s watching my brutality with a blank, unwavering gaze.
And right then, I know. I know if I do this, I’m going to lose her. That she’ll say she can get over it, but the spray of his blood and brain matter is going to play on the back of her eyelids forever, and eventually it’s going to drive her away. Maybe that would be for the best, in the end. Being with me, even in passing, isn’t safe. And I’d do anything to keep Bailey safe. But I can’t bring myself to make her witness this, to know what it looks like when I kill.
I sigh heavily as I turn back to Carter, put the safety back on, and holster my gun. His gaze darts around hummingbird-quick, like he’s still waiting for the shot, for the trick.
“You owe the lady your life,” I tell him, and nod at Bailey. She nods back, just once, but something in me loosens at the gesture.
“Now, you’re going to do as I tell you. You’re going to haul your sorry carcass out of here, and you’re going to call your boys. And every last goddamn one of your sons of bitches is going to get the fuck out of my town.” I pause to make sure he’s listening, and he nods. “You have twenty-four hours before I change my mind, and when I do, I’m going to rain hellfire down on you. Do I make myself clear?”
He nods again, and I kick at his ribs. “I said, do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” he chokes out.
“Good.”
With that, I stoop to retrieve his gun from a pile of moldering leaves. I tuck the piece in my jacket pocket and turn my back on Carter without another word. I gave him my mercy, but the rest of it is his problem.
I walk back to Bailey, who’s trembling from the cold and the adrenaline. The rain’s let up, but she’s still soaked through. Behind me, I can hear the rustling sounds of Carter getting to his feet and stumbling into the forest.
“You let him live,” she says wonderingly, cutting her eyes to watch his retreat. I don’t bother looking. Everything I want to look at is right in front of me.
I can’t lie to her, say that I’ve changed my ways. She knows who I am, what I’m like. She knows I’ll never turn my back on the Slayers. “I didn’t want you to have to see that,” I say instead.
She accepts that as an answer, because she takes my hand. It’s cold and clammy. I struggle out of my wet jacket and drape it over her shoulders, like I did the night we met. It doesn’t offer much by way of warmth, but seeing her in my jacket after the ordeal of today settles something in me. She offers me a watery smile and clutches it closer around her.
Hand in hand, we pick our way back through the forest to the road. The wet gravel of the shoulder crunches under our feet. We don’t look at each other, but she doesn’t let go of my hand. I retrieve my bike and help her onto the back. When I first saw her, I wondered what she would look like on the back of my bike. Even soaking wet and shivering, she looks good, but the answer to my question has proved so much more dangerous than either of us could have imagined.
I get on the bike, and Bailey wraps her arms around me without hesitation. Feeling her there settles something in me. It somehow just feels right.
“Take me home, Zeke,” Bailey says. So I do.