“Your party is tonight. Do you need anything special?” Lisandro asks as we clean the counters at the store.
It’s been a week since the party at the clubhouse; a week since getting completely trashed; and a week since Paxton had a nightmare. He never did talk to me about what his dream entailed, but I can guess it was about one of his tours overseas.
I haven’t pushed him to talk about it, even though I personally think that it would help. He has an appointment with the VA next week for his medication. I don’t think he’s been sleeping well, though. I think he’s afraid to hurt me again. I hate that he’s so scared. He’s been through so much. He shouldn’t fear falling asleep next to me.
“Clee?” Lis says, interrupting me from my thoughts.
“Oh, sorry. No, just yours and Theo’s beautiful faces,” I grin.
“Okay, he should be home by now. I’m going to pick him up and we’ll be just a few minutes behind you. Bye, Gina. You call me if there’s a problem,” Lis calls out as he scoots out of the front door.
“You sure you’re okay to close alone?” I ask Gina as I gather my purse in my hand.
“I’m fine. My boyfriend is going to pick me up, so he’ll be here watching the doors while I lock up,” she says with a reassuring smile.
“Okay. See you Monday.” I wave to her as I walk out of the front door.
I’m digging through my purse, getting Paxton’s car keys out of my bag, when I feel a presence behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I turn around slowly, but there’s nobody there. I shake off the bad feeling. It’s only three in the afternoon. Its sunshiny and beautiful, and I’m just being paranoid.
I open the door to the Ranchero and slide into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and hearing it roar to life. I feel safe now, in his car and away from whatever creepy feeling that was behind me in the parking lot. I put the car in reverse and scream when the passenger door opens and slams closed.
Mr. Garcia is sitting next to me, pointing a gun in my face, a maniacal smile on his face.
“You really should have just gone on the date with me, then we could have avoided all of this over the top dramatic bullshit,” he states, almost bored sounding. “Now you’re going to need to drive back to Sacramento, please.”
I stare at him for a moment too long. His free hand shoots out and slaps me across the face before he screams in my face. I throw the car in drive and aim it toward the city. I glance in my rearview mirror, hoping that Paxton had a man on me today. He doesn’t always. He’s never consistent with sending someone to watch after me, but I can only hope and pray that today was a watch Cleo day.
“You’re a very beautiful woman, Cleo,” he states as my fingers grip the old steering wheel.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not wanting to answer him, but also not wanting to be hit again.
“The moment I met you, I knew that you would fetch a high price. Natural redheads are always desired. I asked Voight if you were natural. He, of course, supplied me with the knowledge that you were indeed. Though he didn’t go back for seconds, and I’m curious as to why. Your body is absolutely delightful; perhaps a little too full for most of my clients’ taste, but I have a wide variety of clients. Some prefer chubbier girls,” he shrugs.
The color drains from my face as I register what he’s actually talking about. Clients, sex, my body and pricing. Selling me. The Cartel. There’s no other explanation. Paxton warned me, and he was absolutely right to do so. I curse myself for not telling him about Garcia’s visit a week ago.
We sit in silence for the rest of the ride to Sacramento. Garcia plays on his phone with one hand while he points the gun at me with the other.
When I’m only twenty minutes from hitting the city line, I know for certain that today was not a watch Cleo day. There are no motorcycles in sight. I immediately make an executive decision. What I do next could get me killed, but honestly, I would rather die than be sold to whatever freak show Garcia has lined up for me.
“Go down to your old office, to Voight’s office. The trade will be in the parking garage,” he mumbles.
“Okay,” I whisper my lie.
I glace over to him as I bite my bottom lip. He’s not really paying attention to me, and I take that into account as I drive toward the downtown Police department. Heading down I-5, I hope that he doesn’t look up at the street signs anytime soon. I’m almost there, so close that I can see the police department ahead of me.
If I have to drive past it, I know that the US Marshals office is also nearby, as is the jail and the sheriff’s department. They’re all in this small square within a few blocks of each other.
I send up a prayer that I’ll be able to at least drive to one of them and be able to get out of the car and run into a building.
“What the fuck?” Garcia screams as I press on the accelerator, inching closer toward the police department building. I can see it, I’m so close.
He reaches over and throws the car into park, in the middle of the street, before he points the gun at me and pulls the trigger. My scream is drowned out by the sound of the gun firing in the small space of the car, and then everything goes black.
“Hey, brother, where do you want this heater?” Camo asks as he pulls the tall outdoor patio heater through the backyard to set up on the porch.
“Let’s put one under the porch and the others by the pool,” I say, turning around to see if Cleo has arrived home yet. It’s getting closer to party time, and she should be here by now.
“I brought wine and my fabulous self. What can Theo do to help?” Lisandro shouts as he walks into the backyard from the side of the house.
I furrow my brow, looking past him to Theo, and then past Theo, expecting to see Cleo—but she’s not there.
“Where’s Clee?” I bark, my eyes focused on Lisandro.
“She’s not here yet?” he asks, looking confused. “She left about an hour ahead of me.”
My heart starts to beat rapidly in my chest at his words, and panic floods me as my veins fill with ice.
“Camo,” I yell.
“Yeah?” he asks as he places a patio heater by the pool, like I asked him to.
“Get on your phone, make some calls to brothers. I’m calling MadDog. Cleo’s missing,” I say as I pull my phone out.
“Wait, why do you look so worried?” Lisandro practically whispers.
“I didn’t have a man on her today. I figured she was gettin’ off early and coming straight here, and you were there. Shit went down a few days ago, but I didn’t think it would really leak here,” I explain as I scroll through my phone and find MadDog’s number.
“On our way,” MadDog says. I can tell he’s smilin’, probably at something Mary-Anne’s said to him.
“Cleo never made it here from Redding,” I rumble.
“What?” he asks, his voice going hard.
“Her friend just showed, and he said she was an hour ahead of him. I’m getting on my bike and riding to Redding, Camo is makin’ calls,” I say as quickly as I can.
“Grease’ll stay at the clubhouse, you tell her friends to stay at your place, and I’ll meet you out front. All the Old Lady’s need to be at your place, and we’ll leave all the prospects there,” he mutters.
Hanging up the phone, I turn to Camo and start giving orders. Then I tell Theo and Lisandro what’s going to be happening here.
“Let me follow you guys in my car,” Theo offers. I shake my head.
“We can get where we need to be faster on our bikes. I’ll keep you updated. You guys stay here with the women and keep an eye out. Keep your phones close in case she calls,” I mutter.
“Fuck that. I’m not staying with the women,” Theo grunts.
“Excuse me?” Lis protests.
“I don’t have time for this shit. Fine, Theo you follow us; Lis you stay here with your phone in hand,” I grind out.
I don’t listen to anything else. I lift my chin at Camo and jog out of the backyard. I can hear Camo’s boots behind me, and Theo as well. I find my bike and straddle it, not wanting to wait for MadDog, but knowing that I have to.
The second’s tick by, and they feel like long minutes, but I know they’re not. MadDog pulls up on his bike, along with twenty other brothers, and then I see the long line of cars behind them, filled with Old Ladies. I watch as the women exit their cars and hurry inside, except for Ivy, who rushes to Camo’s side to give him a hug and kiss.
“We’re gonna find her, brother,” MadDog murmurs, slapping me on the back.
“Theo is going to follow us in his car,” I say, ignoring his words.
“Sounds good. Let’s go find Cleo,” he calls out.
We all start our bikes together. Two by two, we pull onto the street and head toward Cleo. A million different scenarios run through my mind as we make our way out of Shasta and head toward Redding. Once we’re in the mountains, we slow down, not because we need to, but in case my Ranchero was run off of the road.
Nothing.
There’s absolutely no trace of her. By the time we make it to the jewelry shop, I’m feeling dread climbing up my throat. We all park our bikes, and I pull out my phone to check messages, but there’s nothing.
Fucking nothing.
I stand and start to walk toward the store, but it’s empty. Completely shut down.
“I called Gina on my way over, she’s the one who closed. She told me that Cleo left just a couple minutes after Lis. When she closed up, the car was gone,” Theo says as he walks up behind me.
“Where the fuck is she?” I ask, tipping my head back to look at the sky.
“We’re gonna find her, brother,” MadDog assures me as he claps his hand on my shoulder.
“Who has her?” Theo asks quietly.
MadDog and I share a look and then Theo nods.
“She told us. I mean, she said you’d warned her. I didn’t really think that it could have been a real possibility,” Theo mutters, almost to himself.
“Fuck,” I roar looking at the sky again. “Goddamn, mother fucker.”
“I’m calling Oliver,” MadDog announces.
“The Russian IT guy?” I ask.
“Yeah, maybe he can do some super special hacking if she’s got her phone on her. Fuck if I know what all he can do,” MadDog says. “It’s better than doin’ nothin’.”
I nod, because I can’t not agree with him. Anything is better than nothing. I hold my phone in my hand and stare at it. MadDog walks away with his phone pressed to his ear, and all I can do is close my eyes and think about Cleo.
I’ve hurt her so much over the years. Before I left her, then by leaving her, then by being gone as long as I was, and finally when I came back.
I pushed her.
I’ve always pushed her. Even when we got married, I fucking pushed for it. I’m always fucking pushing her.
“She’s at the police station,” MadDog calls out.
I turn and face him, unable to hide the look of surprise on my face.
“In Sacramento, or at least that’s where her phone is.”
We run, all of us. We jump on our bikes, throwing our helmets on. Theo jumps in his car, and we start our bikes, our engines roaring to life before we speed down the street.
I don’t give a fuck about obeying the traffic laws. I have one thing on my mind, one mission, and that is to find my Cleo.
“We got you miss,” a deep voice assures me as my body is being jostled around.
I whimper in pain, and I feel strong arms hold me a little tighter.
“I got you, babe,” he mutters against my ear. I don’t know the voice. It isn’t familiar, but I can’t open my eyes to see who is holding me.
Darkness takes over again, the pain radiating through my body, and I hope that I’m going to a hospital and not back to Mr. Garcia.
The streets surrounding the police department in downtown Sacramento are all blocked off, and a sinking feeling settles in my gut. I park my bike, leaving it with my brothers as I march toward the crowds. When I finally push my way through the gathering, I freeze at the sight before me.
My car is just sitting in the middle of the street, and there are police running around everywhere. I see an officer standing to the side, and I try to walk under the tape, but he stops me.
“That’s my car,” I growl.
“You can’t cross police tape sir,” he repeats.
“That’s my car, my wife was driving it—where the fuck is my wife?” I scream, unable to control myself and the panic that is flowing through me, not to mention the adrenaline.
“Just—hold on, one second, sir,” the officer says shakily. He looks like he’s about to piss himself.
I don’t bother holding on after he walks away. I duck beneath the police tape and start walking toward my car, toward the mass of police officers that look like they’re just standing around with their thumbs up their asses.
“Uhh, he’s here, Captain,” the officer whispers loudly.
I watch as one of the policemen turns around and eyes me up and down, his lips snarling before they straighten out.
“You say your wife was driving this car?” he asks, arching a brow.
I’m two seconds from beating the shit out of him, not giving one ounce of fucks that he’s a cop.
“Yeah, this is my car, registered to me. She was supposed to drive from Redding to our home in Shasta. What the fuck is goin’ on here?” I demand.
“Can I see some identification?” he asks, almost condescendingly.
I quickly pull out my wallet and hand him my driver’s license. He looks it over, studying it for a moment while someone else looks at it over his shoulder.
“That’s him,” one of the cops announces.
“Can you come inside so we can talk to you privately?” the captain asks, handing me back my license.
I signal to my brothers who are all now standing right behind the tape, their arms crossed and their eyes focused on us. MadDog ducks beneath the tape and stomps toward me.
“As long as he comes with me,” I say.
“Sure,” the captain grunts.
We all walk toward the station, the captain, a couple other officers, MadDog, and me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not going into a police department on my own. I want my president at my back for whatever the fuck happens in there.
They lead me to a room, and I feel like I’m under fire. I haven’t done shit—not lately, and not in Sacramento—so there’s no valid reason for me to feel this way; but I’m in a police station surrounded by cops. I’m jumpy.
“Can I get you anything?” the captain asks as he sits down across from me, another officer to his right.
“My wife,” I state.
“Right. Well, do you know a man by the name of Juan Garcia?” he asks.
I look to MadDog who shakes his head once and then I tell the cop, no.
“She was with him. We don’t know why. We don’t know anything, because he isn’t talking,” he explains.
All that is going through my mind is why didn’t they ask her? I don’t ask the question out loud. I wait for him to finish. If I ask that question, I might not like the answer.
“He shot her, Mr. Hill. Close range,” he states. My entire body starts to vibrate with a mixture of anger and fear.
“She’s dead?” MadDog asks on a whisper.
“No, we don’t know the status. She was taken to Mercy General. One of our officers went with her and has been sending us updates; but right now, all he knows is that she’s in surgery,” he explains.
I don’t say a word to him. I stand and sprint out the door, vaguely hearing MadDog’s voice saying thank you, and giving them his number to contact me further. I don’t give a fuck about them, or anything except Cleo. They had me in that fucking room for at least thirty minutes, and she was alone in the hospital, shot—fucking shot.
My beautiful wife, bleeding.
I run past my brothers to my bike, ignoring their questioning looks. Once I’m on my bike, I start the engine and slap my helmet on before I take off down the street in a tear, with squealing tires and smoke. I have one mission, and one mission only—my wife.