When Miss Catherine’s phone rang, I had it palmed in seconds. I missed the ping of the text message showing on the screen, coded to let me know Lethal, the club’s vice president, was calling. It was nearly 3:30 in the morning. I’m wired tight as I accept the call and hit the light switch beside my bed.
It has to be a good sign. I look over at Slade, who has rolled to his feet in one action from his bed in just his black Tommy Hilfiger trunks.
“Edge, hermano?” There’s excitement in Lethal’s voice. I hit the speaker button. He’s part Hispanic, part all-American white boy.
“You got good news for me, Lethal?” I know he’s not calling me for an early morning wake-up call. He has to have something for me to go on. I’m barely hanging on mentally at this point.
“Yeah... another woman named Joy Parker, a friend to the Lion’s Den, was the center of a botched abduction attempt several hours ago in the back lot of Coyote Cooter’s in Fort Worth, Texas.
Christ. And that’s when Slade and I get serious and start pulling on warm clothes.
“Billy, a friendly to the Lion’s Den, passed on information to Torque, their prez, which sounded like it had your woman’s disappearance mentioned. Blueblood and I were close by on a run, so we responded.”
“Did you get the fucktards?” I’m breathing fire as I nod at Slade, who’s getting all this loud and clear.
“We got the conos.” I hear the satisfaction. “Fucking team of nomads again, they spilled their guts, in a manner of speaking, but didn’t know much other than the destination for their delivery. Here’s the clincher: they were supposed to be dropping her off at that very same airfield you found Santana.” I suck in a breath and stop what I’m doing. I catch Slade’s eye, and then we start stuffing things into our bags as we listen to Lethal.
That’s another team of nomads. Too fucking coincidental after Ruby and Santana went missing at the hands of a nomad team, and it’s the same airfield where Ebony and Ivory had taken Whisper. Shit is adding up, and I need a face-to-face meet-and-greet with that flight crew.
“You gotta haul ass over to that airfield at Henrys Ferry ASAP. Drop-off for the female is for seven this morning. I’ll explain everything else in detail later, no time now. You have time to get there. We’re too far away, so it’s just you two going in without backup.”
I ain’t arguing. We’re out of here ASAP.
“You still got your man with you, Edge?” None of my brothers have met Slade.
“I’m here, Lethal. The name’s Slade Malone. I’ve got your boy. How’s the female?”
“Good.” Lethal knows if I’ve called in a friend who’s a nonmember of a club, I must trust this man with my life. “She’s pretty banged up,” he tells us, and we both let out a string of expletives. “But she’s got good people watching over her at her home in Crowley. A guy named Levi Donovan is stuck to her like glue. Joy and this Levi are pretty tight. He’s got the thumbs up from the Lion’s Den men and Joy’s grandfather.”
“Levi Donovan?” Slade prompts. Sounds like he knows the man. “Good-looking guy who wears a prosthetic leg?” He’s watching me with a confused look on his face.
“Yeah. Viking, vice president to the Lion’s Den, filled me in. Apparently Levi was at Coyote Cooter’s Country & Rocker Bar with a posse of friends. Their females were at a concert at the establishment, and Joy was waitressing. She left to go home with Levi, but he got waylaid talking with somebody while she walked on down to the back part of the lot to her car. Then shit got real. Levi and co found her hiding underneath a car. She was beat up and scared shitless. Fuckers tried to snatch her.”
I look up from balling up a shirt and stuffing it in my bag to see Slade’s stopped packing as he listens to Lethal continue. “Joy has a prosthetic leg too. It’s what saved her life. Dumb fuckers thought she was defective, not good enough for the fucker running the show, which worked in her favor.”
A low, angry noise is vibrating deep in Slade’s throat. He’s pissed. “I know Levi Donovan, and there won’t be anything defective about Joy, and there’s nothing fucking defective about him either. He’s a solid guy and one of my friends. I’ll check in with my crew later to see how Joy and everybody are doing.” Then he resumes packing and mumbles under his breath something about cupid has struck again.
“Slade, we need to hit the road.”
“I’m good to go,” he rumbles out.
“Where are you now, Lethal?” Adrenaline is flowing through my veins. We can’t fuck this lead up by missing our chance for a rendezvous with the flight crew. I can smell their blood already.
“I’m about to leave for Coyote Cooter’s. We’ve just finished up with disposing of those two nomads. We got their burner phone and ascertained from those dumbasses that they didn’t have time to make the call yet, announcing their empty pockets, which works in your favor. We are ready to take the call when it comes in from their contact, who will be waiting for those two dicks to turn up, and I’ll see what we can get out of him.
“Blueblood and I are heading on over to meet up with Torque and three of his men now. I’ll speak to Hazard, let him know what’s going down. We’ll rest up, and then all head out to meet with you when you know where you’ll be at.” He goes quiet for a heartbeat. “This is the lead you been waiting for, hermano.”
“Thank you for acting fast, brother. I appreciate everything everybody is doing for me, for Whisper.” My club knows how private I have been about my past. Now, it’s an open book.
“Brothers to the death,” Lethal says quietly, and disconnects.
Slade and I are out the door and heading toward my Harley.
Brothers to the death.
***
We arrive at 6:53 in the morning. I hardly notice the cold I’m that pumped. Sunrise was roughly twenty minutes ago, the day not been given a chance yet to let the temperature rise. Slade cuts the bike’s engine and we leg it a short distance, because Harleys are loud and it’s so peaceful out here at this time of morning. We’re going in blind to how many fuckers we’re coming up against and what firearms they have, so we don’t need to announce our arrival.
I pick the lock on the fence, making sure to leave it undone if we need a quick getaway.
We hide the bike among the thick forest of trees, and I grab the handles of No Mercy and hurry the distance to the hangar, the crutches long forgotten in the hotel room we abandoned. We need to jog, and I’m not doing too good with that exercise with this fucking moonboot attached. I look like a bandy legged drunk.
We clear the road and can see a sleek, white private jet resting inside the open hangar, which has my hunter heart hammering an intense beat. This time, I need to be smart. I need to be the predator I know how to be.
Slade has binoculars up to his eyes, one of the supplies we picked up during the week, and holds up one finger, telling me he has one man in his sights, and then he hands them to me.
One armed man is all we can both make out as he paces the hangar like he’s impatient to get moving. We know there has to be more, a pilot to fly and at least one person to watch the prisoner.
We’ve already spoken about our plan of attack and have our guns, complete with silencers, raised and ready, our phones on vibrate. I give Slade the signal, and we split up, making our way closer to better gauge what we are dealing with from different angles.
The armed man in the open has a mask on top of his head pushed back, revealing a face that is scarred. He looks like a mean motherfucker. He’s not expecting any trouble by the way he’s not on full alert and his gun is slung over his shoulder carelessly.
Motherfucker, trouble just arrived.
I can see Slade from my vantage point and am about to signal him I’m going in, so he can cover me, when I see another man make his way down the plane’s stairs. He has a baseball cap pulled down low over his face.
I hold up a hand signal to Slade, telling him to wait. I want to see what this one is up to; we might learn something. I hold the binoculars to my eyes, but can’t see his face. It’s like he’s deliberately holding his head so I can’t get a lock on his appearance. I scan his body, but from what I can see, he’s not outwardly revealing a weapon. He might be the pilot. Both men are dressed in nice suits. Appearance means something to Fuckhead Cezar.
“Hey,” he calls to the scarred one. He’s American. “I’m just gonna stretch my legs and take a walk around the hangar.” Baseball cap guy makes a show of stretching his neck and back muscles. “Need to be alert for the flight back. That was a long trip from Alaska. You good if I take fifteen?” His voice echoes around the hangar.
Alaska? What the fuck? Whisper said she was in a cold place. Could she be in Alaska now?
The scarred one stops his pacing and nods his head in understanding. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t want you crashing the fucking bird.” He continues pacing, thinking that was the end of the conversation.
“You heard from those two delivery boys?” Baseball cap guy is walking backward in the direction Slade is spying from, giving him time to ascertain the path the pilot will take and get into a better position.
“Not yet. Fuckers better be here on time and have her in one piece. Cezar was not happy with how that Whisper bitch was delivered.”
My body is on full alert hearing her name from the scarred one’s lip.
Was he on the last flight with her?
I aim my gun at the scarred one’s head, my trigger-happy finger ready to squeeze, ending his life in one muted nanosecond. No maiming this time, no wasting a bullet. I’ve got the other guy to question. Don’t need two guys to tell me the same thing. I only need one of the fuckers to torture answers out of, but I hold off, this moment too important to get anxious.
No matter how much I want to drop this fucker for even saying her name, I grip the gun, taking a deep breath, and hold myself in check. I relax my trigger finger and give the fucker some bonus minutes on his life’s expectancy, hoping to hear more of their prattle. These dickheads are on borrowed time; they just don’t know it yet. I can’t afford to fuck up the only lead we’ve had all week.
The scarred one is still yabbering. “Cezar wanted retribution for losing Santana. Fucking heads will roll if we can’t deliver the last female.”
Did one of these men kill Santana? My finger gets twitchy again, a bead of sweat trickling down my face.
“Somebody’s gonna pay for that, and you better hope it’s not you.” The pilot points a finger at the scarred one, and I catch the barely contained snarl on his face as he glares back at him.
Stiirriike!
Sounded like Baseball cap guy pitched a little warning his way. Not a lot of love there.
My phone vibrates. I look over at Slade, and he holds his phone up. I check the incoming message.
Slade: Don’t shoot any of these fuckers. Trust me. I need to check something out first. Wait until you hear from me again.
He’s right. I’m losing my mind over Whisper. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. I need to get a hold of those reins and pull myself up. I swipe at my brow, clearing away the stress that is evident on my mind. No point jumping the gun, they aren’t going anywhere in a hurry.
I look up to catch Slade waiting for me to agree. I move my head in annoyance, because I really just want to rattle the snakes’ cage and drop one of these fuckers to see how many come slithering out. We’re close to getting answers, and I need to remember that and not become prey. Fuckers are totally oblivious to the dickwads not making their delivery date.
Baseball cap guy gives a short wave and heads off for his walkabout. Slade signals he’s gonna follow the stroller, while I keep an eye on the scarred one. Makes sense, because I’m not the fastest or the quietest of the two of us with this fucking moonboot.
I turn my attention back to the scarred one. Whisper’s relying on me, even though I really want to pop this fucker between the eyes solely because he called her a bitch. Instead, I make use of this time and take some snapshots. Anything that can lead me to Whisper is worth documenting, and then I send one on to Lethal.
The minutes tick by as the scarred one keeps marching back and forth along the side of the plane. The longer he has to wait, the faster he paces.
I text Lethal to let him know one of the flight crew is getting impatient for the delivery and that phone he’s got in his possession will be getting a call anytime now.
And then I sit tight.