Chapter 22
Maggie
Just as the clock hits three PM, I hear the scrape of tires on asphalt and shoot up off Bridger’s couch. I race to the front door, throw it open, and fly down the steps before Woolf can even get the G550 to a complete stop. I’ve been a bundle of nerves waiting for them to arrive from Cheyenne, because although I logically knew Belle was safe, I had to see it for myself. I also had to feel it, and by that, I needed to hold and squeeze her to death.
Bridger and I got back to his house around ten AM as we were only a few hours away. Woolf, Callie, and Belle had a lot further to travel, of course, so it’s been a waiting game through the morning and early afternoon. Which sucked because that left me way too much time to think about Bridger and where we stood.
Last night was unbelievable. The most prolific and sublime sexual experience of my life. I almost don’t want to ever have sex again because I don’t think what we did last night can be topped. Sure, we got off to a rocky start and Bridger had a few stumbles that first time, but after that, he was a man on a mission. He’d just discovered the holy grail of sex, and he was determined to reach that pinnacle again and again. If I can believe the man as he muttered the fourth time he came inside me, “Get’s better every time; can’t wait to do it again,” I’d say Bridger was now a fan of coming inside of a woman.
Well, I hoped his fandom was really reserved for coming inside of just me.
So yes, I replayed those memories over and over in my head today. Bridger went into his office for a few hours late this morning, so I may have used my fingers on myself while I replayed those memories. I was in a constant state of arousal around the man, knowing what he could do to my body, and I couldn’t wait to be with him again.
Sadly, I thought he might take me again this morning when we woke up, but he just hurried me into the shower, stating he wanted to get on the road. This bothered me because I was there, I was warm, and I was ready for the taking. But his desire to get on the road trumped his desire for me, and I’m not sure that bodes well.
Regardless, the G550 comes to a stop and I pull at the back passenger door, opening it and staring at Belle’s beautiful face. Her eyes light up with happiness and she yells, “Mommy” as she stretches her arms out to me. I practically tear at the harness restraint to free her, and then I’m pulling her out and squeezing her to me. Her little arms go around my neck and she lays her head on my shoulder. It’s the best feeling in the world.
Yes, better than being with Bridger, but that’s the second best feeling in the world.
I spin around and around, holding my baby, vaguely taking in Bridger as he stands on the front porch and watches our reunion. When I stop spinning, I see Woolf walking up to Bridger, clapping him on the back as they talk quietly. Then Callie’s arm comes around me, and she gives me a side hug, “It’s over, toots. Time to finally relax.”
And she’s right. Zeke is in jail, and Belle and I are free. It is definitely time to relax.
Except even as I think that, I hear more scraping of tires on asphalt. I turn to see a clichéd black Suburban coming down the long driveway that’s clearly government issue, and as it gets closer, I can see blue lights on the dashboard.
“About time,” Bridger mutters from the porch.
Bridger called Kizner today when we hit the road to find out when they wanted to interview us, but got his voice mail. He didn’t call us back, but sent a terse text that said, Sorry—slammed with processing and transport of prisoners. Someone will be out this afternoon.
And that was it. We didn’t hear anything else from him, and we certainly hadn’t heard anything from Kyle. Bridger and I just assume Kyle’s more slammed than Kizner, since he’s the guy who brought the entire club down. We imagined he’d have debriefings upon debriefings and wouldn’t surface for a while. In fact, I wondered if I’d ever get to see him again and thank him for saving me.
The Suburban comes to a stop beside Woolf’s vehicle. A tall, gaunt man with thinning dark hair streaked with silver gets out. He’s wearing a black windbreaker, jeans, and what looks like a button-down dress shirt underneath in pale blue.
I start walking toward the porch as he does, and he gives me an uncertain smile. “I’m guessing you’re Maggie?”
When I nod, he reaches his hand out to me. I shift Belle up higher on my hip and shake with him.
“I’m Joseph Kizner,” he says before turning his attention to the men on the porch.
Bridger steps forward and introduces himself, and then Woolf and Callie, before inviting Joseph into the house. We all trek inside and Bridger offers Kizner something to drink, but he declines.
Callie sidles up to me and opens her arms. “Why don’t you let me take Belle back to the bedroom to play while y’all talk?”
I nod and hand Belle over. She doesn’t need to hear any of this.
After Callie disappears down the hall, I go to my usual place on the sofa, and Bridger sits down beside me. Kizner takes an armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table, and Woolf stands behind the couch, maybe in a show of solidarity and support. I don’t care if he hears the details of my story. Kizner said he’d want our statements so I’m going to have to disclose what happened to me. He protected Belle with his life and I owe him everything, so he’s more than earned his right to hear the entire story.
Kizner dispenses with any small talk and gets right to it, “The raid went down quickly. They never saw it coming, never suspected. We had twenty-three arrest warrants for that clubhouse alone. Similar raids went down at clubhouses across the United States. We were able to serve eighteen of the twenty-three warrants, but that did include arresting Zeke Powell as well as his number-two guy, Arden Hayes.”
“What were the charges?” Woolf asks from behind me.
Kizner looks at Woolf when he answers. “Murder, drugs, illegal guns, extortion, slavery. Charges that will ensure Zeke Powell goes away forever, and the other members for a very long time.”
Kizner then slides his gaze down to me, as I’m sitting just below Woolf on the couch. “And I want to get your statement, Miss Waylon, and we’ll amend charges to add kidnapping.”
“And torture,” Bridger growls. “Zeke’s old lady, Kayla, beat her and cut her, deprived her of food and water, and threatened to kill her.”
Kizner nods and takes out a recorder from a pocket in his windbreaker. “There are no arrest warrants for Kayla Powell at this time. She was there when the arrests went down though. Let me get Miss Waylon’s statement, then yours, Mr. Payne, and we’ll go from there.”
And so I tell Agent Kizner everything. How I first came to Mayhem’s Mission and that Zeke claimed me as his property. I was embarrassed and ashamed to think of myself in those days, down on my luck but still loving to party and content with being someone’s fuck toy so I’d have a roof over my head and booze in my gut. About getting pregnant and how it took me two years to get inspired to run with Belle. I tell him about Aunt Gayle and then how members of the Omaha chapter of Mayhem’s Mission found me in Nebraska because I stupidly holed up with a girl who used to be one of the club whores here in Jackson, but wised up and got out. I naively felt it would be safe since she wasn’t in that environment anymore, but she betrayed me.
Kizner asks me some follow-up questions, and then focuses in on what they did to me to induce me to give up Belle’s whereabouts. I hear Woolf mutter a curse when I tell Kizner the brutal details of what Zeke did. Beatings with his fist and then a frustration fuck—which, let’s face it, was rape because I didn’t want it even if I was too beat down to say so. And how Kayla beat me with her own fists, or the handle of a broomstick, which is where I got the gash on the top of my head. I grit my teeth when I tell him she used a knife on me, and I even admit with shame that’s when I almost broke and told her what she wanted to know.
“And how did you escape?” Kizner asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I passed out from the pain during one of Kayla’s sessions. I was in the basement and had lost track of time—didn’t even know if it was day or night. I woke up here in Bridger’s house. He said Kyle brought me here. I didn’t believe it at first because Kyle watched what Kayla did to me, and he laughed. He even egged her on once when she was punching me. But I understand now that he was playing a role and he saved me.”
Something flickers across Kizner’s face, and I’m pretty sure it’s guilt. I don’t miss it, and neither does Bridger, who I can literally feel tense up beside me.
He leans forward and asks Kizner, “Where’s Kyle? I get he might be tied up, but I’m sure Maggie would like to see him… to thank him for helping her.”
There’s another flash of guilt across Kizner’s face followed by extreme sadness as his shoulders sag. He looks down at the floor and says in a low voice, “Kyle didn’t make it.”
“What?” Bridger growls in disbelief as I feel tears well up in my eyes.
Kizner looks up to me before sliding a morose gaze to Bridger. He clears his throat. “We found his body during the raid. It was at the back of the property. Single bullet to the back of the head—execution style.”
A heavy silence fills the room. My head spins with the implication that the man who saved my life gave up his. That he was most likely killed because Zeke suspected he’d helped me. I know this because Kizner said the raid went easy; that they had no clue ATF was coming down on them.
I feel myself starting to fracture. Start to break into a million pieces.
But then Bridger shoots off the couch with a muttered curse and stomps down the hallway to his bedroom without another word to any of us, leaving behind a physical wake of sorrow and anger. His bedroom door slams with such force, the house shakes.
I immediately stand from the couch and jet down the hallway. I don’t bother with a knock. When I open the door, I immediately see him standing at the bottom of the bed, his chest heaving and his hands curled into tight fists. He emanates danger and raw fury, and I don’t think twice before I run to him and slam my body into his front while wrapping my arms around his waist.
I press my cheek to his chest and whisper, “I’m sorry. I know he was a friend of yours.”
“He wasn’t a friend of mine,” Bridger growls, his arms staying tense at his side rather than returning my embrace. “I drank a few beers with him. Fucked a few club whores with him.”
I flinch, not just because of the crudity of his words, but because there’s no doubt in my mind Bridger mentioned fucking other women because he’s using this as an opportunity to remind me that he’s not a long-term commitment kind of guy. He’s also taking out his pain and anger on me, and I choose to think he does so because he trusts I will see it for what it is and not hold it against him.
So I just squeeze him harder and say, “He may not have been a friend, but he saved me. He was a good man, and it’s okay to mourn him.”
Silence except for the beating of Bridger’s heart against my cheek.
Then his arms come around me and I feel him rest his own cheek on the top of my head. “He should have known they were onto him. He should have gotten out of there.”
His words are gruff and although on their face they place blame on Kyle’s shoulders, I know he says them merely out of disbelief that he’s gone.
Bridger only holds me for a few moments before he pulls away. His hands come to my shoulders. and he says in a low voice, “Get back in there. I’m sure Kizner has more questions. I’ll be in there in a minute.”
I study him, wondering if I should refuse. Should I stay and console him more?
But I see a certain aloofness there now, and it’s clear Bridger’s taken all he will from me right now. I can only hope he doesn’t use this as an excuse to freeze me out.
I nod and turn away from him, but his voice stops me at the door. “Mags?”
So confused and unsure. Filled with need for something, and I turn around expectantly.
Bridger swallows hard and looks at me with frustration. I wait patiently.
Finally, he just shakes his head and mutters, “Never mind. I’ll be out there soon.”
I don’t press it. Bridger isn’t a man to be pushed. He has to find his own way, and while I’ll gladly provide whatever gentle encouragement I can, I also know there are boundaries with him that he’s not ready for me to cross.
When I get back into the living room, I see Kizner holding a cup of coffee and Woolf doing the same, except now he’s sitting on the cushion that Bridger vacated.
I take my spot on the couch, sitting next to Woolf. He looks at me expectantly. “He okay?”
“Sure,” I say with a confident voice, but I can tell by the look on Woolf’s face he doesn’t believe me. “Just needs a minute.”
Woolf stands and without a word, he walks down the hallway to Bridger’s room. I’m glad… that he’s a close enough friend that he looked past my false proclamation about Bridger and is going to offer his support as well.
“Miss Waylon,” Kizner says and I turn my head to look at him. “Kayla Powell… what was her motivation in torturing you?”
“Well, I think she was taking up where Zeke left off. When he went on a run, she took it upon herself to continue to work me over to give up Belle. Or maybe he even asked her to do it, I don’t know. But mostly, I think she did it because she hates me. I think she wanted to find Belle for Zeke, because she loved that bastard and couldn’t give him a child, but I think mostly because she was jealous that I gave Zeke something she couldn’t.”
He asks me a few more questions before turning the recorder off and slipping it back in his pocket. “This is more than enough for an arrest. It will be the local authorities though, and I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you as well. Could take a few days as they got their hands full right now with the club members and waiting for the US Marshall’s to fly in and take custody of them.”
I nod before looking down at my hands clasped tightly together. When I look back up, I ask, “Did Kyle have family?”
Kizner nods. “A sister… in North Carolina. She’s already been notified.”
A lump forms at the base of my throat, and I swallow past it. “I’d… um… when the time is proper… I’d like to reach out to her. I want to let her know what Kyle did for me.”
“I’m sure that would be a comfort to her,” Kizner says, but I have to wonder if that’s true. She may hate me because my predicament ultimately led to his death. Still, I need to express my gratitude and condolences to her.
Kizner leaves, telling me on the way out that the local authorities will get up with Bridger about a statement, mostly to nail down the facts about Kyle bringing me here and the condition I was in when he did. I tell him that’s fine. He pulls out of Bridger’s driveway, leaving behind a household filled with a mixture of relief that our ordeal is over and heavy sorrow that someone gave his life to ensure our safety.