Chapter Four
Grace
Knox was right – I cared more for Liam than other children. I knew I shouldn't have let myself get so attached to the boy, I knew it was unprofessional, and that I was only setting myself up for frustration and heartache, but I couldn't help myself. There was just something about the boy; maybe it was his vulnerability, maybe it was the depth of emotion and soul I saw behind his eyes. Whatever it was, there was just something about Liam that drew me to him more than the others.
Over the last few days I'd had him in my car, the child who was mostly non-verbal, would communicate with me in small ways. He'd smile, nod, and he even started making small sounds to emphasize his quiet responses. To see him come so far with me in a matter of days had made me feel like I had formed a real connection with him and made me want to make sure he had the very best placement. He deserved that after what he’d been through.
I couldn’t help but feel that it was my fault that he was missing. I had failed him in the worst way possible. It was the most awful feeling in the world.
“I don't think you understand that Liam isn't like other kids,” I told Knox when I finally managed to catch my breath.
Knox didn't say anything, so I continued.
“When Liam came to me, after they checked him out at the hospital, he was a wreck. He'd just endured one of the most tragic experiences a child could witness,” I continued. “He was there, Knox. At the scene of the accident. In the car. He saw his parents being carried away on stretchers, sheets covering their bodies. He saw the blood. Had to sit with their broken and mangled bodies until the first responders got there.”
Knox closed his eyes and let out a low whistle. “Damn. I didn't know that,” he said, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “No kid deserves that.”
“He hasn't spoken a single word or cried or anything since that night,” I said, staring out in the thick forest, wondering if Liam was somewhere out there, lost among the trees. “Because he can't. He doesn't think or process things like a normal child, Knox. He doesn't communicate like a normal child. Which is why it's imperative you let me call the police.”
A lanky man with a Grateful Dead t-shirt and a bushy beard stepped out of the clubhouse and called over to him.
“Think we have somethin', boss,” he said.
Knox stood up and I scrambled to my feet as well, following close behind him as he walked toward the clubhouse. A small spark of hope blossomed in my chest that they'd somehow managed to find him.
“What did you find?” I asked, my pulse racing. “Do you know where he is?”
The man's beady eyes narrowed as he looked at me, but he didn't say anything. Knox silently followed him inside the clubhouse and when I tried to tag along, the man put his big, greasy hand on my shoulder and stopped me from entering.
“Dean, it's alright,” Knox said.
“She ain't one of us, man,” he said. “Can we trust her?”
Knox looked back at me, and pleading with my eyes, I said, “I just want to find Liam.”
Knox turned back to Dean and nodded. “It's cool,” he said. “I trust her. Let her pass.”
The man pulled his arm back and let me pass into the clubhouse while still giving me a dark glare. Knox's words held so much weight with these men – men who were considerably older than him. The dynamics of this club were way beyond my comprehension and I felt completely out of my depth.
But, this wasn't about me or my comfort level. This was about Liam. Nothing more. He was all that mattered.
The inside of their clubhouse looked as dingy as it did on the outside. Except the inside of the building was choked with thick plumes of cigarette smoke that saturated the air. My eyes watered and my lungs ached.
A coughing fit seized me and it took a moment for me to get myself under control. Some of the bikers looked over at me and smirked, whispering amongst themselves. There was a long wooden bar that ran along one wall of the clubhouse and had a line of stools in front of it. Several tables filled the center of the room and a pool table was set up in a corner by a jukebox.
It probably would have looked like any other ordinary seedy little dive bar if not for the True Outlaws logo engraved into the double doors on the far wall. Jackets and cuts hung on pegs on the wall outside the door with a shelf of candles and pictures above them. It looked like some sort of a shrine, or a memorial, perhaps. As I looked closer, I noticed that some of the leathers hanging up appeared to be stained with blood. The thought made me cringe.
“Whatcha got?” Knox asked, pulling up a stool at the bar.
The bartender passed him a bottle of beer, which Knox opened and chugged down like it was nothing. When the guy offered me one, I shook my head and politely declined. Liam needed me to keep my head clear and stay focused. But God, it was tempting to imbibe just a little to calm my nerves and take the edge off.
And I wasn't even a drinker.
“I don't suppose you have a pumpkin spice latte back there?” I asked hopefully.
The bartender looked at me and shook his head. “Lady, I don't even know what the fuck that is.”
Dean sat down beside Knox, but I stayed standing off to the side, looking over their shoulders and listening to them like I was eavesdropping on their conversation, like the outsider I was.
“This,” Dean said, sliding a piece of paper over to Knox.
Knox read it, his eyes narrowing and his face growing red. When he finished, he crumpled it up and slammed his fist on the bar, the thunderous crash echoing around the clubhouse. The force of his blow knocked his bottle over and sent it rolling off the bar. It shattered on the ground with a tinkling noise, sending small shards of glass all over the place.
Nobody moved and nobody spoke. It was like everybody in the bar had suddenly held their breath at once, waiting and watching to see what happened next.
“Fuckin' Dawgs,” he growled.
“What did it say?” I asked, trying to grab the paper from his hands.
Dean and Knox looked at me as if they'd forgotten I was still there and were surprised by my intrusion. The bartenders slid a fresh bottle over to Knox and he took another long pull of beer before handing the note over to me.
I looked at the scrawled message, and a cold chill of dread slithered up my spine.
We have the kid.
“Who are they?” I asked. The letter was merely signed with the initials, B.D. “And what do they want with Liam?”
“The Big Dawgs are another MC we kicked out of Blackburn a while back,” Knox said.
“MC?” I asked.
Knox looked at me like I was dense and rolled his eyes. But when it came to this world, this dark, scary part of the universe, I had to admit to my ignorance. “Motorcycle club,” Dean said, filling in the blanks for me, his voice suddenly and very surprisingly soft.
“We ran them out of here on a fucking rail for producing and selling meth in our city,” Knox said. “We don't put up with that shit here.”
“And what does this have to do with Liam?” I asked. Knox shook his head slowly. “Way back in the day, my brother used to hang with some of those guys. He stopped when I joined up with the Outlaws. I knew they had kept tabs on him for a while, making sure he didn’t give me anything we could use against them. They must have heard of his death and figured I would get the kid. Probably staking out my goddamn house!” he said, slamming his fist down again. “This is about getting to me.”
I scanned the room, looking for a telephone – since Knox was holding on to mine – but didn't see one. As I looked around, my eyes fell on a phone sticking out of Dean's pocket. I had to contact somebody. This situation was spiraling out of control and we needed help. Steeling my nerves and trying to quell the roiling in my belly, I moved slowly toward Dean.
“So this gang has Liam,” I scoffed. “And you're sitting here enjoying a beer? Unbelievable.”
“They won't hurt him.” Knox said. “Relax. That's not what this is about.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because they're not stupid.”
“That's debatable,” Dean said.
Knox shot him a dark glare that immediately shut him up. “The Dawgs are using him as a bargaining chip,” he said. “And if he's dead, they have no leverage.”
The guys all started talking at once, trying to come up with a plan of action to get Liam away from the other club. I used the distraction to my advantage, moving into position near Dean and his phone.
I had managed to slide around enough to get myself right behind Dean, keeping my eyes locked completely on Knox, making sure he couldn’t catch on to what I was doing.
God only knew what those heathens were going to do with Liam, or what they had already done to him. My stomach was in knots and my heart was pounding a thousand miles a minute. Somehow, I needed to grab the phone from Dean's back pocket and run. I needed to get the hell out of here and call 9-1-1. I needed to get some help.
As I subtly reached down to swipe the phone, but just when my fingertips were almost on it, the loud sound of a phone ringing filled the air. My heart in my throat and adrenaline rushing through me, I jumped back. Staring down at the phone in Dean's pocket, I half-expected to see that it was his ringing.
It was Knox's phone, ringing instead.
Knox pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at the display, his eyes immediately narrowing, and a dark expression crossing his face.
“It's him,” he said, a hard edge to his voice.
“It's who?” I asked, still looking at Dean's phone and trying to work up the nerve to make another grab for it.
“Merle Rusket,” Knox said, as if that should mean something to me.
He answered the phone, but didn't say anything. At least not at first. He nodded his head, and listened. And after several long, agonizing moments, he finally spoke.
“Yep. We'll be there,” he said. “Let me speak to him.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Liam?” I whimpered.
Knox nodded, but held his hand up to keep me silent.
“Hey little guy,” he said. “You okay?”
Liam was non-verbal – how could he be sure it was him? He looked at the phone for a moment and then passed it over to me, an almost helpless look in his eyes.
“He's still not talking,” Knox said.
When I got on the phone, I had tears in my eyes and I felt my lower lip already quivering. I could hear breathing on the other end, but that was it.
“Liam, baby? It's Grace,” I said. “You're going to be okay. We're going to get you out of there.”
“Gr-Grace?” came a soft, quiet voice.
My eyes burned as the tears fell at the same moment my heart swelled, feeling like it might burst with a thousand different emotions. He'd said my name.
“Yes, Liam,” I said. “It's Grace. Are you okay?”
No answer. I heard shuffling on the other end as the phone was taken away from Liam. Then the line went dead. I held onto it, however, feeling my heart stop as I relived the moment of hearing him saying my name. Just one simple word – the first word he'd spoken to me at all. But it was enough for me to know that it was him. He was alive.
And those bastards had him.