With all the snooping through my personal items, I had hoped a change of clothes had been brought for me from my saddlebag, but no, that wasn’t the case.
We had to go back, waste time and get to my bike at the old lady’s place. I had a few things I needed to get for the road trip to Alabama, anyway. Extra weapons and No Mercy, my small bag used to pry the truth from men’s mouths, were both priorities. They were locked away in my specially made, hard saddlebag attached to my Harley, and I was the only one who could unlock it.
While I was getting organized, Miss Catherine went inside her home and freshened up after what looked like days of wearing the same outfit. She came back changed into slacks, a shirt, and a home-knitted button up sweater that old ladies seem to favor, with sensible granny shoes.
I stayed outside and threw on a clean, black Henley, my leather jacket, and a fresh pair of jeans. I was relieved to be out of that fucking hospital Johnny—nothing manly about that get-up. I felt like my dick and balls had been shoved up inside me wearing it back to the old lady’s house.
I had to hack the jeans off at the knee with my hunting blade to allow for the moonboot I have strapped on. I gotta keep the awkward thing on for a couple months and use the crutches, Doc’s orders.
The doc wasn’t too pleased to release me, and then Miss Catherine announced she needed to borrow the doc’s wheels. I’m not comfortable not being in control, and I prefer my bike to a cage any fucking day of the week, but we had to be prepared to accommodate more than two people.
And here I am now, being chauffeured, driven by the feisty Miss Catherine, while I navigate and play the role of a fucked up Miss Daisy, lying awkwardly across the back seat of the doc’s BMW as we head toward Henrys Ferry.
We are the odd couple, driving in silence for the first few hours because this suited me fine. I wasn’t in the mood for talking. Making small talk was just an aggravation.
Her friends still haven’t made it back or contacted her. I’m beginning to wonder if Boxer had sent that message, or if it was a decoy message sent to play with her.
If I could, I would be working alone, because I don’t need the added responsibility of an old lady to babysit when I don’t know what we are walking into. I have my loaded handgun, complete with silencer, resting on the seat beside me, and I have a couple other weapons hidden on my body. I need to be prepared for a shit storm.
My mind shouldn’t have been, but it kept wandering to Whisper/Sara and the night she came for me on my bike. She was a mixture of sweet, wild, and free.
I can see her perfect, naked body, her breasts aching to be touched as she rode me. The little noises that escaped her as she gave herself fully over to the intimate connection between our bodies, as she lay arched over the gas tank while I pounded into her.
She had let herself enjoy the sexual experience with a male who she thought wasn’t out to treat her badly. She had allowed herself to use me, knowing I was there for the same reason. It was pure lust for both of us.
I was her first.
I’ve never had deep feelings for any woman. I’ve closed myself off from all that. I keep it simple. I like to fuck, and it comes with no picket fences or promises.
We were both consenting adults. She wanted to be fucked, and I wanted to fuck her. She wanted to feel normal, and I unknowingly gave her what she was seeking after a life of abuse, which now makes my stomach churn again.
At the time, I had no idea the trauma lying buried below the surface. My own blood had done things to the sweet and wild girl for a lifetime, things that were recorded, things she didn’t even understand, things she could not let anybody else see until she was ready to know herself.
There can be no punishment for William’s crimes, and this tears me up from the inside out.
I can’t take it out on his cocksucking evil hide.
He got off too fucking easy.
She just carried that all with her silently and with a closed off dignity, watching me ride away, assuming we would never see each other again. She had no clue I was the son of her nightmares, but William had already set things in motion upon his death—our meet and greet.
It was inevitable.
After everything I’ve learned, Whisper had every right to take my father’s inheritance and give herself a life. There was no compensation great enough to turn back time and return her to her biological parents and start the clock again, giving her the life she should have had with a loving, caring family.
There was no restitution for the known and unknown abuse, for the imprisonment, for the thousands of memories she keeps locked away in her mind. I know they’re locked away because I have my own. But it would have been something toward her new life.
But she still didn’t accept that fucking inheritance.
There was a son that was owed it.
She was honest.
The same son who shot her.
Jesus Christ.
I bow my head with remorse for my actions.
What have I done to the female that had shown me how innocent she was and freely showed me her wilder side? She couldn’t have possibly understood herself at the time what it all meant; she was just following her own desires.
She had never been with a man properly to know. It had all been natural base instinct for her when she allowed herself that time with me. She had been with one of the devil’s minions, and she still managed to show her sweet soul to me.
She is a good person, and I’m the fucked up asshole.
What could I have prevented if I had taken the time to observe my father’s home and learn about the female in the letter? Learn about the town and take note? I could have hunted like I normally do, watching my prey, learning them, but instead, years of rage consumed me. It was like a bullet train of emotions that took the reins.
I let out a grunt of disgust at my actions.
I went hell-for-leather and assumed the worst straight off the cuff, knowing what William was capable of. I didn’t stop to connect any dots and think maybe there was more to the person he left his inheritance to.
I instantly thought the worst.
It took over eight months to send me the news of his death because Whisper was always gonna be the target. He could not let Whisper have her freedom, even when he died. He needed her to be punished and dealt with, and I was the perfect assassin.
The son who’d been wronged.
He was a proud peacock even in death, strutting about and preening his feathers in front of me.
He knew I would be infuriated by his decision.
It was a trap.
I walked right into it, without question.
Rage had blinded me.
I’d had two parents at one stage. I had been told my mother had fled and left me. She had to have been desperate to leave me with him.
She had to have been.
Was it all lies?
Or was she dead by his hands?
Will I ever know?
I’ve only ever believed one thing because he told me. I was young and blisteringly angry and didn’t want to learn more. He planted the seed and let it fester.
I fucking hated my mother.
Now, I wonder if I should be mourning the loss of her?
This epiphany hits me hard. So many questions I need answers to.
I want to learn more about Whisper. I want to fight for her life. Kidnapping a baby and forcing her to live her life with him under his demands was cruel. She had parents.
Did he kill them?
I look out the window, trying to slow down all these thoughts that are flickering in and out. My foot’s painful, and I’m chewing on pills like breath mints so I can think straight. Ivory knew what he was doing shooting me in the foot, putting me out of commission long enough to get Whisper clean away, just in case I had any thoughts of taking off after them. Ivory had better start running when he sees me, because I’ll be gunning for that cocksucker first, and then Ebony.
While I’ve sat back here for hours, something’s been bothering me, and I couldn’t put my finger on it until now. I place my hand inside my leather jacket and find the hidden pocket, pulling out Whisper’s envelope.
My hot head hadn’t absorbed the information at the time. I was shot, my head had been bashed, and then I discovered I had hurt an innocent woman who was two people in my mind. She had revealed in her letter to me that the lawyer had only just hand-delivered the letter stating the inheritance left to her that day, and apologized for the misunderstanding.
This is what has been bothering me, laying low in my mind. I can’t remember the name of the lawyer firm on my letter. I need to know the lawyer’s name who spoke to her because she doesn’t state it in the letter she wrote to me, Dallas Dupré. Only that it would all be sorted out shortly. There were two different surnames of mine on both our letters. I needed to know what else didn’t match. It feels like one is a possible decoy because one wouldn’t want me coming after them if I found out I was being played.
What the fuck is going on?
I was so full of steam I didn’t think to bring mine with me. I had put the address of my father’s house in my phone, and that was it. I was hightailing it out of Albuquerque without looking back. I didn’t need to know anything other than my destination and to find the female responsible for taking my inheritance. It seemed cut-and-dried at the time.
“Motherfucker!” I curse loudly, pounding the side of the car door with my fist.
“Edge?” The old lady looks at me with caution in the rearview mirror.
“Eyes on the road and keep driving.” I’m sharp with her because there are too many unanswered questions floating about in my head. I try to gentle my next response. “We may have another lead. I need to make a call to my president.” I want some information off my letter. It may be a lead I can pursue, especially if nothing turns up at this airfield.
I was never meant to see Whisper’s letter. This was not accounted for in my father’s far-fetched fantasy world of assumptions he’d played out in his mind prior to his untimely death. I was never meant to see the discrepancy.
The insane son-of-a-bitch was trying to role-play us. What kind of person does that?
Now, another puppet master wants his pound of flesh to be taken out on Whisper’s soul.
I pull Whisper’s phone out and put in the code to let Hazard know I’m about to call, and I wait for him to respond before I proceed.
“Hazard… Yeah, I’m good. Need a favor. Can you get one of the boys to get into my house and locate a letter on my kitchen table? Just need the full details off of it. It’s from a lawyer firm. Get him to text it through on this number. It’s safe.” He asks me how everything is going. I reply with, “Fucked up.”
He offers to send Lethal and Blueblood out, but I decline. Hazard knew things had gone beyond complicated, but he didn’t push me.
I was a tough fucker, and he respected that.
Soulless Bastards were brothers who fought for each other.
We were family.
We died for each other.
I was too fucking stubborn to accept his offer at the moment, because then this toxic can-of-worms on my soul would be wriggling all over my body, burrowing into places I didn’t need revisiting.
Ever.
It’s all locked down.
I know how to be the person I had become. I wear it like a full body suit of armor. It fits well. I don’t need any chinks in it, but I know I will be asking soon. I just need a bit more time to figure out what I’m dealing with and how deep it goes.
“What you be doin’ for your motorcycle club, Edge?” The old lady breaks through my demons.
Ahh, hell, here we go. Somebody’s been eavesdropping enough to start getting up in my business.
I let out a sigh. I thought we were going to make it to the abandoned airfield in peace until the old lady’s need for chatter starts up, her silent thoughts stroking her curiosity to know more.
“I’m their enforcer.”
She looks at me in the rearview mirror, an eyebrow raised. “Meaning?”
I’m not a good guy.
“I enforce bylaws, among other things.”
“You have killed for your club?”
More than you want to know.
I rub my hand over my beat up face. “Club law is different to civilian law. I do what needs to be done when we are wronged.”
“You choose to kill for a living?”
Yeah, and I’m fucking good at it.
“We’ve already ascertained I’m ex-military, which means I killed for a living. Our government’s military told me who to kill, and I did because there is a war going on. It’s acceptable in that environment.”
She stays silent, letting me rant.
“If it helps your wellbeing, I don’t go killing innocent people.” Saying those words, I know what she must be thinking about Whisper. “Not deliberately,” I add on for the old lady’s sake.
“Why you be choosin’ a biker gang over military?” The rest of what I know she wants to say goes unsaid.
Because I watched good men die in front of me, while I lived.
Because war fucks with your mind.
Because innocents got in the way.
“Four tours were enough for me. War is acceptable when the enemy is recognized by the world.” Not so much when it’s a private war.
“Yet you still kill?”
Fuck these questions. I’m not used to being questioned.
I do the interrogating.
My eyes meet hers in the mirror. “Maybe… I’m the bad seed… who didn’t fall far from the rotten apple,” I say slowly to rein in the irritation that has crept into my voice.
I turn my attention to the window, watching the monotony of the landscape whizz past me, while some fucktard is doing god-knows-what to Whisper. I use these moments to calm myself the fuck down. I let out a heavy sigh because I know this old lady doesn’t need this from me.
“I was protecting our country before, and now I’m protecting my brothers, my family. We look after our own. We right wrongs. I don’t expect you to understand a motorcycle club and what these men mean to me. They’re loyal. I trust them. I have a home. You gave Whisper a home when she needed one. I know you understand what protecting somebody means, and I think you know she would protect you too with her own life. Currently, where we stand, I think you would do what it takes to get Whisper back, and that means pulling the trigger on somebody standing in your way.”
Her attention is only for the road while she absorbs what I’ve said.
None of this is her fault, I have to remind myself. She’s only ever cared for Whisper when she needed rescuing. She put a roof over her head and gave her a future. She gave Whisper her life back and didn’t judge her on a past filled with unthinkable horrors. She saw the broken soul lying dormant and has been waiting for the time she will be needed, when all those memories decide to eject from Whisper’s mind and she falls into a heap.
I could use the enemy in war to take it out on. I saw my father in all those sons-of-bitches who were targeting the innocent. “We really are not that much different. It’s human nature to step up and do whatever it takes.”
Her tired old eyes flick back up to the rearview mirror. They are filled with determination. “Whisper be an innocent who’s been wronged. She be needin’ protection… the kind I can’t be givin’ her.”
She watches the road again, waiting for me to acknowledge her message.
Whisper has been wronged by my father, me, and now this new unidentifiable threat.
“I will seek retribution for you. You have my word on that.”
She nods her head, accepting my statement as truth. “You be a man who has led a hard life.” Her statement is my reality. “You suffered under William Dupré as a child.” She isn’t asking me to confirm her comment; it isn’t a question.
My hands clench into tight fists at my sides. “It’s a life I got away from,” I grunt out. I don’t like talking about my childhood.
I never talk about it.
“You and I…” She hesitates before continuing, “We have more in common than you be thinkin’, Edge.” Her words hold a lot of muted meaning.
I hear her and don’t doubt her words. She falls silent for the rest of the trip, acknowledging my directions until we pull up midafternoon in front of the high-chain wire fenced-off entrance to the abandoned airfield.
This appeared to be the area Miss Catherine had indicated as the last place the phone stayed before the signal was lost.
An old, rusty metal sign hangs on its last legs announcing we were at the Stephen Army Auxiliary Airfield #4 / Anderson Field / Anderson Airport.
There’s nobody around for miles. “Stay in the car while I get the gate open.” There is a padlock and chain on the ten-foot gate keeping trespassers out. I get out of the car, minus the crutches, and hobble around to the trunk. I pop the lid and rummage around in No Mercy for my lock pick.
That padlock didn’t stand a chance. I open the gate and usher the old lady through. She waits on the other side, the Beamer’s engine purring while I shut the gate, relocking it to keep up appearances.
I slide into the front passenger seat, knocking a little ragdoll out of the way onto the floor that was sitting on the seat, my temper peeking through as I try to ignore my throbbing foot.
The car isn’t moving.
I look over at Miss Catherine, ready to tell her to get the fucking car rolling, but the look on her face stops me. Her eyes are locked on where the doll landed. And that’s when I remember what she had told me about the only belongings Whisper had brought with her in her escape, and this was one of them.
I lean forward and scoop the doll up on a grunt, holding it until the car starts moving again.
Christ! She’s brought the doll along to give to Whisper, so I have to make sure I find her.
I direct the old lady to drive me up the dirt road through a thick shield of trees. I grimly note the woods could serve as a great place to dispose of bodies.
I should know. I’ve buried enough.
Thick tall woods cleverly cloak the airfield, offering the motherfucker privacy. Fields for miles surround the area. No houses for nosy trespassers to get curious. It’s the perfect setup.
The large airstrip comes into view, and I note how well kept it is.
Too well kept.
Abandoned, my ass.
The perfect place to traffic Whisper out on a plane. Grease enough palms with cake and you can do anything you set your mind to in this corruption-filled world of ours. Money talks. The bigger the slice of cake, the tastier the deal. I’ll look into who owns this land because it’s another possible lead.
We pull up beside the old hangar. It looks like it was built in World War II. There is a white sedan parked near the hangar. It’s dusty and looks like it hasn’t moved for a few days because there are no fresh tracks.
“Look!” Miss Catherine points to the parked car. “Whisper called and told me she be transferred to a car with NQ on the plates.” She points to the back of the car. “This be the vehicle they be transportin’ her in. Her eyesight be poor and she couldn’t be makin’ out the other part of dem plates.”
It was enough. This is as good as we are gonna get for proof that she was definitely brought here, and this was the last place my phone was tracked to.
The locked gate makes me think nobody is around, but I can’t be sure. Ebony and Ivory were here at one stage.
Whisper is either in those woods or was spirited out of here. Just the thought of the female being dead gives me a feeling I’m unused to.
Deep regret is stealing its way into my soul.
Before I can think on that emotion too long, the old lady’s out of the car while I dump the doll on the backseat, and she hands me the crutches. I get out, my gun in my hand, and lean heavily on the car as I survey the area. It’s very quiet.
I use the crutches for a few steps then throw them to the ground. They’re a fucking nuisance, only slowing me down, keeping me from being at my most alert.
Miss Catherine looks like she wants to serve me up a speech, but she holds her tongue.
She’s learning.
She’s looking at the hangar; worry etched onto her face. She’s afraid of what we’ll find inside. Thoughts of Whisper being murdered will be swimming through her mind.
We make our way to the small hangar entrance door, which is part of the main hangar frontage, and I test the handle. It’s locked. Which is a good sign we are the only two people here.
I stick my gun in the back of my jeans and pull out the lock pick I had pocketed, inserting it and moving it around until I hear the satisfying click of the lock releasing.
I find the crutches hovering in my face, again. I grunt as I put them under my armpits and watch as the old lady opens the small door, ready to walk inside.
I can smell death.
I swing my crutch up against her ample bust, halting her.
“Wait. I’m going in first.” The chances of somebody being inside a locked hangar alive and ready to kill is a long shot, but my caution has kept me alive in the past.
Always be the hunter, never the prey.
I toss the crutches to the ground, pulling the gun out the back of my jeans, taking the safety off, and positioning her behind me.
Opening the door has tripped an automatic light. The fluorescent tubes are flickering to life, blinking away as the inside of the hangar reveals itself. I don’t look at her. “Stay here.” My heart thumps with dread. Whisper is the only name on my mind.
I take a step inside; my gun raised and ready. I can’t help coughing because the stench is indescribably bad. There appears to be no imminent danger, not unless the fuckers are invisible. It’s empty except for a pushback tug, used to move planes in and out of the hangars, and it’s sitting alone in the far corner.
The inside of the hangar appears smaller to what is depicted on the outside, and it’s surprisingly modern. I observe the structure until it clicks what they have done.
The outside is simply a camouflage. The original hangar is blending into the countryside. From the air, it would look old and abandoned, but the inside is newer. The floor is polished cement.
I’ll be fucked.
I’m in a hangar inside a hangar. And then I see what is making the fucked up smell. There are two pairs of legs sticking out behind some stacked up supplies to my right, fifteen or so feet away.
I move closer, my free hand covering my nose as two bodies come into view, lying beside each other on a tarp on the floor, and that’s when I can see a third body lying covered beside them, up against the wall. A sheet has been laid over the much smaller, slimmer body, my guess a female.
Fuck!
I tense my jaw, grinding down on my teeth, and look away. It’s then I can see the blood splatters and larger stains on the floor. At least two of the people were killed in that spot.
The old lady lets out a little gasp of horror when she sees what I’m looking at. I move to where she stands. Her small hand locks onto my arm as her eyes search mine for answers I can’t give her at the moment. “I thought I told you to stay put. Don’t move from here while I check the bodies out.” She should have stayed outside.
“Do you think it’s…?” She can’t even say Whisper’s name. She doesn’t have to.
Jesus Christ.
“Just do as I say,” I bark at her, and tear my arm out of her hold, making my way back to the corpses. Fear for Whisper’s life has my temper flaring.
I didn’t need to see the faces of the other two to know it was Ebony and Ivory lying face down; their clothes told me that much. Looks like I can cross them off my list. Lucky fuckers got it easy.
I hold off checking the other one, maybe because I need to delay knowing if it’s Whisper underneath that sheet. She was last seen with these two. It isn’t looking good.
I note the closed door to what appears to be an office farther down and bypass the bodies to quickly check it’s empty. I don’t need any more surprises or dead bodies.
I reach the door and turn a warning glare on Miss Catherine. She hasn’t moved. She’s just staring, entranced by the bodies. This has my mind wandering briefly back to the third person. I’m almost dreading checking who is under that sheet.
It can’t be Whisper, not with a debt being owed. Not unless she died before they could get her on the plane.
I rest my head on the door and curse low under my breath. I need to keep my head in the game. I turn the doorknob and fling it wide open, stepping to the side, my gun raised. I can see well enough to know it’s empty. I flick the light switch and give it a quick once over. It’s clear. I’ll come back to check it properly for any clues shortly.
I hobble back to the bodies. She hasn’t come any closer. “These are the two who abducted Whisper from the house.” I point to the uncovered dead. Ebony and Ivory were definitely executed. “These two were shot point blank range. You can tell from the hole in the back of their heads.” They didn’t even see their executioner coming. They were comfortable being close to their killer. They must have royally fucked up, or the top dog thought them dispensable. I would not have been so kind. Their deaths would have been torturous and slow.
“And the other?” The old lady’s voice is quivering, but she hasn’t moved.
I place a hand over my nose and mouth, trying to keep the stench of death away as I lean down awkwardly, peeling the sheet back. I let out a whoosh of breath I didn’t even know I was holding in when I identify the corpse isn’t Whisper.
I hadn’t wanted to let on to Miss Catherine how great my fear was that it could have been Whisper’s body lying here. And then I take a closer look, gently moving the stray hairs off the female’s face.
“Motherfucker!” I shout, my voice ricocheting off the hangar walls. I hang my head. It’s Santana. She was under the protection of the Lion’s Den MC. She didn’t deserve this.
What are the chances Ruby, who is under the Soulless Bastards protection and disappeared around the same time as Santana, could still be alive and all three disappearances are connected somehow?
“Edge?” Miss Catherine’s voice cracks, riddled with fear.
“It’s not Whisper,” I call back to her. I hear the cry of relief from the old lady as she moves to come closer. “Stay where you are.” My roar echoes before getting absorbed into the walls.
She doesn’t need to see all the death. “This female is somebody the Lion’s Den MC has been missing. She is under their protection, and she up and disappeared around nine months ago, and so did one of our girls around the same time. We knew nomads had abducted them. They were hoarding the two females’ personal belongings in their possession like trophies. Tried to make them talk. Two of the most stubborn fuckers I’ve met.
“They had been lost to us. No more leads to finding their bodies, so we were left with assuming the nomads had killed them for kicks. We located their parents, but both sets were drunks and drug users and didn’t give a fuck about their daughters.”
Were they taken because it was thought they wouldn’t be missed?
Santana had been alive all this time.
Were they specifically handpicked and not a random act?
Was it thought that Whisper wouldn’t have people who cared about her?
Is this what my father had assumed in that fucked up brain of his? That she was a nobody all her life, and upon his death, she would remain that way, a sitting duck for me to dispose of for him.
“I’m sorry, Edge.” The old lady’s words softly drift down to me. And I know she is. They are full of sorrow at the loss of this female’s life. I’m sorry too.
I take out Whisper’s phone and snap photos of the bodies and close-ups of their faces. There’s nothing pretty about a stiff that has been dead for several days. It’s totally fucked up, but I don’t hesitate to check them over for anything that could give us more information, but they’re clean.
Santana’s wearing nice clothes. Her shoes have been removed and she was shot in the back. If she was trying to escape, then this is why she would have been executed. Dressed the way she is, she would have had heels on. It makes sense with the blouse and tight skirt. So where are the shoes?
Something had gone wrong for these three to be gunned down. All had been shot with the intent to kill with the first bullet.
Whoever did this wasn’t fucking around.
Santana’s body had been covered up, giving her a little dignity. The person who did this cared enough to do so.
I cover her body back up, saying a silent prayer for her soul.
Miss Catherine gives me a few moments then is by my side, handing me my crutches.
The old lady does not listen.
I put my gun away and take them off her. Only the dead are inside this hangar. My foot needs to rest because this doesn’t end here today. I won’t stop until I find Whisper, dead or alive, and take down the people responsible.
Santana’s life was stolen from her, and Whisper is still a question mark if she is even alive. If she is, she is still in a lot of deadly danger.
“We’ll take her body back with us. I can’t leave it here. Torque, the Lion’s Den MC’s President, will have to be contacted, and they will get her body taken care of, give her the proper respectful burial she deserves.”
These bodies should not still be here stinking up the hangar. A cleanup crew should have come and gone by now, dispensing of the bodies if they couldn’t take them on the flight and removing the car parked outside. So why have they not arrived?
“I need to check the office thoroughly because I might find something useful, another lead, because we’ve not got a lot at the moment. Wait over by the hangar door. I won’t be long.”
“No. I be comin’ with you.”
Fuck sake!
“Lady, I’m not in the mood,” I growl at her.
“Nor am I, Edge.” I’ve gotta give her credit where credit is due. The old broad is determined, for Whisper. I have to respect that.
“She be like a granddaughter to me, and nobody be tellin’ me what I can and can’t be doin’. I haven’t bowed to a man for over fifty years, so you better be gettin’ that through your head right now. No man be orderin’ me around unless I be allowin’ it.” And then she storms off toward the office, making me play catch-up.
I guess that’s settled.
The first thing I notice on closer inspection is dried blood on the dark office desk, and then the pile of clothes that have been thrown in the corner by the water cooler.
I head straight for them and check them over, recognizing them as Whisper’s. What she was wearing in the trunk. I note their condition, the bullet holes, blood, and dried vomit soiling them. She was in a bad way before she was put on that plane, mostly my fault. It doesn’t escape my notice her T-shirt has been torn apart.
What the fuck went on in here?
The last item is a pair of expensive-looking black heels. Whisper sure as shit wasn’t wearing heels, riding her bike. These would be Santana’s missing shoes.
“They are Whisper’s clothes,” Miss Catherine confirms what I already knew, swiping away the tears with shaking hands, trying to hide her emotions, trying to stay strong. “Whisper would not have willingly taken her clothes off.” She voices her fears to me.
The dried blood on the desktop doesn’t go unnoticed by Miss Catherine. We both know she must have been hurt again in here, possibly for refusing to do as she was told. I need to believe she wasn’t raped.
“My guess is they changed her for the trip in here.” Better to think positively at this point. “Or maybe they were cleaning her up?” I have to say something out loud because the silence is too much. We are both letting our minds run wild with what went down in here.
I need to give the old lady hope. This was possibly the last place Whisper spoke to Miss Catherine and she knows it.
I look across at the old lady, and guess what? She’s examining each item of Whisper’s clothing, noting the bullet hole that has gone through her leather jacket, hoodie, and T-shirt. She glares at me and I look away. The blood caked on the clothing fucking makes me feel sick because I did that to her. She was an innocent, and I became another man to add to her pain-filled existence.
I look over again, and she’s placed all the clothing down in a heap except for the leather jacket. She’s gonna take that with her; it means something to her.
Neither of us says another word while I hunt through the office and find nothing useful. It’s fucking as clean as a nun. Whisper has just up and disappeared on a private jet, and I know I won’t find out where in a hurry. A lot of money would have been used to keep it all quiet, but I will find somebody who will talk.
We have to get moving because my own nightmares threaten to invade my waking mind. The silence in here is like white noise to my ears, scratching away.
My father stole from me, and he stole too much from Whisper.
I have to find her alive.
And then I will show this bastard from Hell the devil I really can be, and I will rain my wrath down upon him.
“We need to finish up in here and leave.” I don’t know when the cleanup crew will be coming, but they can’t leave the bodies here indefinitely.
“What be her name?” Miss Catherine asks softly. I know she is asking about the dead female.
“Santana.”
“It be a beautiful name. You be knowin’ her?” The fearless old lady is now replaced with a gentle heart.
I shake my head. “I only saw her about. She was a stripper in one of the Lion’s Den MC’s clubs. She was only twenty-one. She was thinking of going back to college before she disappeared.”
She places her small hand on my shoulder. “We will find who be responsible, Edge.”
She truly believes this.
I take some photos of the evidence left behind; it may come in useful. “Come on, time is ticking. We need to get moving.” My crutches are being handed to me. I take them and tuck them under my armpits and lean on them in relief. I know I’ll be throwing them to the ground again when I put Santana’s body in the trunk, but for now, giving my injured foot a rest is welcomed. I need to be as fit as I can for Whisper.
We make it over to the hangar entrance door, stopping along the way, taking a few photos of the inside and the blood splattered floor before we exit into the late afternoon sun. The temperature has started to drop. Nightfall is looming ahead.
We’ve only made it a few feet outside when I hear heavy metal music blaring, and then a car sounds like it’s coming in fast.
“Miss Catherine, get back inside. Now!” I yell at her, just as she registers the sounds of the music, hesitating long enough for me to pull out one of my handguns I have concealed on me and hand it to her. “Safety is off and it’s loaded. Point and shoot at the bad guys if they come for you. Shut the door, and if you can lock it from the inside, do it.” I shove the crutches at her. Car keys, now!”
She hands them over, and I turn and head for the doc’s car. It’s a long dirt road concealed by trees until they make it into this open area. I may still have time. I drive the car around the farthest side of the hangar and turn it off, getting out and quietly clicking the door shut. Is this the lazy cleanup crew? It takes at least two people to get rid of three bodies. The music volume means they are just about upon us.
I’m in position, watching around the corner as the beat-up, old, gray pickup comes to a standstill in a plume of dust, music still rocking on.
I move back out of sight and listen as two doors open and the music is silenced. Two male voices are joking about. They sound like full-on rednecks. They’re now arguing over who has dibs on the female stiff. Who gets to fuck the stiff.
Motherfuckers! I bellow inside my head, my hand starting to strangle the butt of my handgun, itching to use it.
And then, to my further disgust, I hear them counting out rock, paper, and scissors. We have a winner, and he’s pretty pleased with himself as he hollers in excitement.
I peer around the corner again with my gun raised and ready. They’ve gotten out of the pickup, which is parked about thirty feet away from where I’m hidden, and make their way to the hangar door, no guns in sight.
I step out, gun pointed as I prowl toward them. “Hands up, motherfuckers, and take it nice and slow.”
And that’s when shit goes down.