“She’s been found. There was a freak storm that blew through West Texas, taking out power lines and starting fires. One of the houses they checked on, had a woman there who’d been held hostage by her college professor. Brother, the house wasoff the grid and under a name that’s been forged. We would’ve never found her if this had never happened, because this fucker covered his tracks.”
“Where? Where is she, Booker?”
“She’s been taken to the county hospital in Abilene. But I have to warn you, she’s under guard. It won’t be easy to get to her,” he cautions.
“I’d like to see them keep me away,” I state, already on the move.
Heading up the stairs and to my room where my go bag is packed and ready for emergencies, I grab it by the handle and haul it out to my bike, placing it in my saddlebag, eager to get to her and put my eyes on her. As soon as the buckle is latched, Riptide comes rushing out of the doors, holding his hands up to get my attention.
“What?” I snap. “You’re not keeping me away from her.”
“Not planning on it,” he says, keeping his tone subdued. “But you can’t leave on your own, brother. Nobody rides alone, remember? Give me five minutes to grab my bag and we can hit the road.” I nod my head, and irritably wait as he dashes into the clubhouse where he has his road gear stashed in his office.
He finally came out of his isolation two days ago. I’m still holding a grudge since he hasn’t told us why he stayed behind locked doors for as long as he did. I’m sure at some point he’ll have no other option than to share what he was up to, but he should trust us enough towillinglytell us what’s going on, not wait until his hands are tied and he has no other alternative.
As soon as he straddles his bike, I hit the switch and power up my girl, rev my engine to warm the pistons up, and sync myBluetooth so we can communicate while on the road. I roll my wrist in his direction letting him know I’m good to go. He takes the lead as is standard when the president is in attendance. I keep my front tire lined up with his, riding on his right side as we navigate out of the club lot and hit the town. We have a twenty minute ride from where the clubhouse sits until we hit the freeway—the longest twenty minutes of my life. My heart pounds in my chest as we hit the open road and add an additional hundred and ninety-three miles on our bikes.
Every mile added is worth it as long as I get to hold her in my arms at the end of the day.
My body is stiff as we make it into the hospital and head to the receptionist desk. I know it’s going to be a battle to get Britton’s room number since Booker warned me that she’s under guard, but I’m damned determined to get to her and nobody’s going to hold me back, not the hospital’s security team nor the popo.
I’m having a rough time containing myself as we ask for her location and are met with hostility, so Riptide takes over the inquisition. “Ma’am, this is her man, he’s been worried about her. Can you at least reach out to her and see if she’ll see him?”
“It’s not up to her,” the nurse conveys. “Her approved visitor list is out of our hands, sir. We’re not even supposed to admit she’s here. If you hadn’t come in with the information she was, I would’ve sent you on your way already. I’m trying to be sympathetic here, but by not denying she’s here, I could lose my job and I have two kids at home depending on me to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.”
“Are one of you, LoneStar?” a man dressed in a cheap suit asks as he steps forward.
I glance down and notice the badge hanging off his belt and nod my head. I cross my arms and verify, “I am.”
“Could you follow me please?” the detective asks. “She’s been asking for you but didn’t know your number off the top of her head nor your name outside of the one you use for your club so we weren’t sure how to reach you since she wouldn’t tell us which club you belonged to. We’ll head into one of the private rooms so I can tell you what I can.”
Rip and I share a sideways look before he nods his head and I copy that, directing it toward the detective. “Lead the way, detective.”
As Rip starts to follow, the detective stops in his tracks, asking, “And you would be?”
“The East Texas president of the Kings of Anarchy Motorcycle Club,” he introduces himself, reaching out his hand and shaking the detective’s.
“Detective Jackson Morales, but people call me JJ since I’m a junior and my name is a mouthful. She hasn’t asked for you, but I have a feeling you’re not going to let your man go in there without you. Am I right?”
“That you would be,” Riptide confirms.
JJ sighs before aiming his head toward a cubicle, leading us inside and closing the door once all three of us are in it. “This goes against protocol, but if LoneStar is comfortable with you being here, I’ll make a concession.”
“I’ll just tell him whatever you tell me so it saves me the hassle of having to repeat it,” I reply.
“Figured that was the case, please take a seat and we’ll get started,” JJ says, waving his hand toward the right side of the table as he takes the seat on the left. “This is what we know for certain. Britton was expecting a delivery so when a driver arrived with a package in hand, she presumed it was for her. Naturally, she opened the door and that’s when he struck and injected her with a sedative. She woke in a van with her arms and legs bound. She didn’t know who her captor was until they reached their location and he swung the back doors open where his identity was revealed.”
“And she knew him? The man who took her?” I question, wishing I’d gone after her and damn the consequences.
I have zero doubts I would’ve found her since we were able to follow her path through the CCTV monitoring system down the highway heading toward West Texas. I would’ve scoured every town from here to Arizona until I located her. I was that damn determined. If I hadn’t been held back by the club since we’re dealing with Jerome and Patrick plus their goddamn gang of idiots, trying to keep the club and members safe, I’d have already had her in my arms and none of this bullshit would’ve happened.
“She did,” he substantiates, releasing a melodramatic breath. “He was one of her professors from when she was in school earning her degree in English literature. He followed her and took a position at the community college so he could be closer to her. The man is obsessed with her. Consumed with the idea that they are a couple.”
“But they never dated, right?” Riptide asks, getting drawn in as he leans forward.
“Never even alone in the same room according to her,” JJ reports. “She can’t recall a single time she spoke with him outside of discussing assignments.”
“Then he’s fucking loco,” I muse.
