Peyton

I ran down the hallway and ducked into my office. After retrieving my laptop, I turned around and attempted to run out of the building without being seen. I was mere inches from the door, and the sound of Camden Rollins’ booming voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Peyton! What in the world are you doing?”

Fucking fuck fuck fuck.

With my laptop clutched under my right arm, and my purse dangling under my left, I turned around and forced myself to smile. “Just came in to get my MacBook. It’s has some stuff on it that I need to make reference to.”

He crossed his arms and stared back at me in disbelief. “Were you running?”

“It uhhm. It was. It was more of a light jog.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

I shrugged. “Just. I uhhm. Trying to get done with the first installment of an awe-inspiring piece.”

“Come on back.” He turned away. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Has it been weeks?” I asked. “It seems like hours.”

“Come on back,” he said over his shoulder. “You can bring me up to speed.”

“I really need to try and get this done before I have a brain fart.”

He didn’t respond.

I took a few backward steps, inching closer to the door. “I uhhm. My recorder. I lost my voice recorder. Misplaced is more like it. But I figured out where I left it. Or at least I think I did. I was having lunch with Navarro. Kind of. Well, we never actually ate, but that’s an entirely different story. Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll have a rough draft here pretty soon.”

He walked away from me, reached the end of the hallway, and disappeared around the corner. I glanced at the receptionist. She returned an innocent smile and shrugged.

“Thanks for the warning,” I whispered.

I sighed, placed my MacBook on the receptionist’s desk, and took off in a dead run toward his office. When I reached the door, I reluctantly pushed it open. “I really need to go. I need to get my recorder. I left it at the bar.”

He waved his hand toward the front side of his desk. “They’ll be open all day. Have a seat, Peyton.”

I sighed and flopped down in the chair.

“What’s on your laptop that’s so important?” he asked.

“Just stuff.”

“What kind of stuff? Must be pretty important if you’re rushing in here to get it in the middle of the day. And why are you dressed like that? The Filthy Fuckers will never trust you if you’re dressed like that.”

I was still wearing my outfit from testifying in court. “No, I had a meeting. I uhhm. My insurance company. New insurance. They were going to cancel me. Too many tickets.”

“You need to slow down. You drive like a maniac. How many times have I told you? You need to slow down. You’re going to end up--” He paused, swallowed and shook his head. “You need to slow down.”

I nodded. “Duly noted.”

“So, what was it you were after? Tell me about the Filthy Fuckers. Are they going to war with Satan’s Savages?”

I sat up straight. “I was wanting to look at some notes from a few years ago I was chasing that missing person’s case.”

“Suspect the MC for a murder?”

“No. No.” I shook my head and forced a laugh. “Not even close. I was just wanting to look at some things. Unrelated. Kind of.”

“What about Satan’s Savages? Heard anything?”

“Not a word,” I said. “Interesting bunch, though. The Fuckers, that is. It’ll be a great piece.”

“We won’t be able to give the piece away if there isn’t any action. MC’s are a dime a dozen if they’re riding up and down the PCH swilling beers and getting in fist fights.”

“You’ll be pleased. I promise.”

He fixed his eyes on me and rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. After a moment, he relaxed in his seat. “Alright. Go get your recorder. Dig deep, Peyton. I know you’ve got it in you.”

I inhaled a deep breath and prepared to stand.

“Before you go, what about Navarro? He’s a mean son-of-a-bitch from what they say. Have you had a chance to spend some time with him?”

I sighed. “Uhhm, yeah. I mean, the spending time with. Not as much as I need to, though.”

“Is he as hot-tempered as they say?”

I stood up and shrugged. “I sure haven’t seen it. Not yet.”

He picked a pencil up from his desk and wagged it at me. “Dig deep. That’s my advice. The deeper, the better.”

“Will do, Sir.” I said with a nod. “It’ll go deep. I mean I’ll go deep.”

“Keep me posted,” he said.

During the lull in conversation, I made my way to the door. “Will do.”

No response.

I walked out the door, stepped into the hallway, and as soon as I was out of sight, took off running.

A case I was working on two years’ prior shared almost all of the characteristics of Navarro’s case. Whether or not Navarro was involved with either case was irrelevant, I simply wanted to know if the charges against him were according to state statutes, and if they could re-charge him at a later date.

I picked up the laptop, shot the receptionist a scowl, and ran to my Jeep.

One more stop, and then I could see if Navarro was out of jail yet.

* * *

I pulled into the parking lot of the bar, which was empty. From what Navarro said, the bar was a biker hangout, and his club had claimed it as their own. Although other people may frequent the bar, there was no worry of another MC stepping into FFMC’s turf, which made the bar safe – at least for me.

I shouldered my laptop and walked inside. Pete stood behind the bar staring at the wall-mounted television in the distance.

He turned toward me and nodded his greeting. I nodded in return. After scanning the bar for patrons and finding none, I walked to the bar. Pete’s focus shifted from the T.V. to me. He resembled Navarro, but was smaller in stature, and missing the tattoos.

“I was in the other day with Crip.” I motioned toward the area where the incident went down with Panda and Whip. “I think I might have left something--”

He raised his hand. “Looking for this?”

“Yes. Oh my God, that’s great.”

I slapped my hand against the carrying case for my laptop. “Mind if I sit over there and look for something on this?”

“Take all the time you need.”

“Do you have wi-fi?”

He nodded. “Sure do. Password’s go home.”

I laughed. “Cute. Uhhm. Can I get. Can I get a Budweiser?”

I reached for my purse. He looked at me like paying was an insult. “On the house.”

“Let me just--”

“It’s on the house.”

I raised the bottle. “Thank you.”

I sat down at the same table Navarro and I had shared a few days prior. After logging onto the wi-fi, I began sipping my beer and searching through the documents of my old case. In no time, I was buried in legal facts and needed another beer.

The unmistakable sound of approaching motorcycles made my heart race. Expecting Navarro, Pee Bee and maybe more, I tore my eyes away from my laptop and peered through the window.

Much to my surprise, Whip, Panda, and several other Savages pulled into the parking lot.

Fuck.

My eyes shot toward Pete. I felt the need to warn him, just like Navarro did. “Savages coming in,” I shouted.

He shifted his eyes toward the back door. “Go out the back.”

I shook my head and reached for my recorder. “I’m staying.”

I was almost sick from the excitement. I turned on my recorder, wedged it between the cushions of the booth’s seat, and then slumped in my seat.

Whip, Panda, and two others came through the door and walked directly toward the bar.

“You got some of our shit,” Whip growled. “And we need it back.”

“I’ll give it to you when go, and you need to go.” Pete pointed toward the door. “Now.”

“We’ll leave when we’re good and god damned ready,” Whip responded. “Give me our shit.”

I considered getting my phone and after sending Navarro a text message, recording video of the debacle. So far, I had gone unnoticed, and drawing attention to myself was the only thing that prevented it.

Standing directly in front of Pete, but on the other side of the bar, Whip checked over each shoulder, and without any further warning, thrust his head into Pete’s face. Instantly, blood burst from Pete’s nose. After Whip threw a few sucker punches, he climbed over the bar and began to rummage around.

While he did, one of the other bikers – a tall lanky man with long strands of filthy hair – scanned the bar. Upon seeing me, our eyes locked.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Whip handed Panda his pistol and then a shotgun, which I suspected was what Pete used to protect the bar. My heart sank at the thought of Pete not being able to defend himself – or me for that matter – from the Savages.

The lanky biker pointed toward me. “See this?”

Whip’s eyes met mine. “I’ll be god damned. That’s Crip’s girl. The one that lied in court this morning.”

Please. Let me live through this.

That’s all I ask. Don’t let them kill me.

Let me tell this story.

He shoved his knife into his pocket and began walking toward me. Two of the other three men followed.

I considered doing a lot of things, but only managed to do one. I turned toward him, blocking my right arm from his view. And, like a true journalist, I swept my purse and the recorder onto the floor. My only hope was that he didn’t find them, leaving the recorder to capture the event in its entirety.

I stood up. “He’s on his way. We’re meeting here.”

It was all I could think of, and was well worth a try.

He stepped directly in front of me, stopped, and eyes me from head to toe. “Better get this over with before he shows up.”

Before I could react, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me to his side. A sharp pain shot through my scalp and along my spine.

I looked down, saw the toe of his boot, and stomped my heel into it as hard as I could.

He spun me around. “You little bitch,” he seethed.

His hand slammed against my face. It wasn’t a slap. Not even close. He hit me.

With his fist.

I stumbled, but didn’t fall. “He’s gonna kill you,” I said through my teeth.

He pulled off my blazer, ripped my shirt, and pulled my bra up over my boobs. I fought against him at first, but it did little good.

His hand shot up my skirt and ripped off my panties.

“Don’t you dare rape me,” I said clearly and concisely.

I wanted the recorder to catch every word.

“Shut the fuck up. We’re all gonna get some of you, you lying little whore.”

He shoved me against the booth, bent me over, and pulled my skirt over my hips.

I refused to become a victim. Shedding a single tear wasn’t an option. While the sound of the other men’s voices either cheered him on or claimed their place in line, I felt his filthy skin against mine. The smell of gasoline, beer, and filth filled my nostrils, and I fought not to vomit.

I bit my lower lip and closed my eyes. I mentally struggled with him, the other, and what – if anything – I could do. Eventually, my mind gave up and drifted away.

While he pounded himself into me, my body may have been in the bar with him, but my mind and spirit were far away.

On a ski slope in Wyoming.

So high I could almost touch the clouds.