“Fair enough. I have a side business selling organs for transplant, and this dude is ripe for harvest. I get paid by the pound and I bet his liver alone is like six pounds.”
“What!”
“Just kidding. We help people.” A quick glance at her face showed that she was frowning in confusion. “Me and my club. Cops would call us vigilantes.”
“So…you help people…by hurting others?”
“Only those who need to be hurt,” I replied with a nod. “We only go after the shitheads. The people the cops aren’t able to lock up. Though to be fair, we don’t always give them the chance to try.”
She nibbled on her full lower lip and I had to bite back a groan of appreciation and shift in my seat. My cock was hard and aching now, just imagining her licking her way up it. Or down it. Either way. I wasn’t picky.
“And youdon’tharvest organs?”
“No. That’s just weird.”
Pulling into our compound, I parked and shut off the vehicle. My brothers were already coming out of the clubhouse. I’d shot Kilo a quick text as we drove to let him know I had someone to deal with. Looked like the others were bored and wanted in on the action.
“Who are they?” Rue asked, coming around the SUV to stand by me.
“Don’t worry,” I told her, reaching over to touch her hand to reassure her, “those are my brothers. They’re here to help.”
She looked down at where I’d linked our fingers. I was blatantly holding her hand at this point, but she didn’t pull away from me.
Kilo’s brows shot up as he walked up and saw me holding Rue’s hand, but he also read the look on her face and kept his mouth shut. Something I’d be forever grateful for.
“Any chance Bolo’s here?” I asked.
Kilo jerked a thumb over his shoulder and I nodded as our club’s enforcer walked up. “What’s going on?”
“Got a fucker in the back who likes to put his hands on women,” I told the group as they circled around. There were plenty of angry mutters that accompanied my explanation. “Can you and Merc move this guy? He’s a huge fucker. Put him in the interrogation room for now, then join us back in the main area. Thanks.”
Merc slapped a hand on my shoulder as he and Bolo walked by and we all watched as the guys carried the unconscious man into the clubhouse. We followed behind them and I moved Rue over to one of the chairs and had her sit.
“Everyone, this is Rue. Rue, this is Kilo, Flir, Drifter, Strike,” I said, naming off the rest of my brothers.
She smiled at them as they all greeted her. They were blatantly staring at her black eye. She seemed to be gaining her composure again. That unshakeable nerve I saw in her the first day when she’d helped Camila was back.
Going to the bar, I poured some whiskey into a glass, then brought it and sat next to her. I handed the glass over. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”
She took a sip of the drink, made a face, then stared down into the amber liquid as she started to speak. “I haven’t…told anyone else about all this. That man’s name is Rhino.”
Relay snorted out a laugh. “That’s almost fitting. Kind of an insult to a rhino though.”
The others chuckled at that, but stopped when Rue continued.
“He has something to do with my brother’s disappearance. And…I’m pretty sure he’s murdered people.”
Everyone stared at her, barely moving. None of us asked her to keep going. We waited until she tossed back the rest of the alcohol and took a deep breath.
“Kids keep dying over on Seventh and Hill Avenue,” she continued. “Most of them have been homeless kids. Teenagersthat no one would miss. But about six months ago, my brother went missing. I found him there and tried to convince him to come home with me. He…” She sighed, hanging her head. “He told me he was happy where he was, with his new family, and that I needed to leave it alone.”
“I’m guessing you’re not leaving it alone,” I said, taking her hand once more.
Her fingers squeezed mine and she left her hand in place as she kept going. “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on. And mostly I’ve been running into dead ends. I tried the police,” she looked over at me, “but they barely even looked into my brother’s disappearance before declaring it drug related and closing the case. Ryan is sixteen. He doesn’t do drugs,” she snarled.
My brothers all looked at each other, but didn’t say what we suspected. Gangs often lured teens away with drugs. Or money. Something had encouraged Ryan to leave his sister behind, not once, but twice.
She huffed out a calming breath. “He had a friend who used to stay with us. Bad home life,” she explained, “but after Ryan…left…Teddy ran away and started living on the streets. It’s…not right, but I went to speak to him a couple weeks ago and I put a tracker on him.” She looked around the table.
