CHAPTER TWELVE
T had waited for Rocker for nearly two hours. He and Moke heard voices, the garage doors going up and down, and vehicles arriving and departing.
Since Rocker wasn't back yet, that likely meant the officers had settled in for a long parley with the other club.
T could hold off no longer. Worry buzzed around inside him like an angry hornet. "I'm going.”
He set down the part he'd been polishing, and tossed the rag in a bucket.
"All right." Moke stood, wiping his hands on a rag. "It was snowing, changed to rain little while ago. Roads are good and wet."
"Yeah, I'll take my truck," T said. "Can't put her on the back of my bike without protection anyways." By which they both understood he meant warm, windproof riding gear. Helmets were optional. He rarely wore one himself, preferring a skull-cap or a beanie, and a good pair of shades.
"We goin' in packin'?" Moke’s gaze, hard as ebony, said he was ready to do what it took to back T.
T nodded shortly. "Got my zombie stomper under the seat. Don't trust that little shithead Faro any farther than I can toss him."
Which was actually quite a ways, with T's strength and Faro's weedy build. T hoped he got that chance to find out. He'd rather use his fists than his sawed-off shotgun. More satisfaction, less noise.
"You take your truck, I'll follow on my bike," Moke decided. "That way we're ready for any kine action."
"Good enough."
T grabbed his leather jacket, shoved his automatic in his back-of-belt holster, and they headed out.
The heavy, spring clouds spit rain as T drove east through Spokane. As he headed north across the valley, his tires whined on the wet pavement, and a passing semi spit dirty spray across his windshield. Traffic was heavy, everyone busy on Saturday errands.
The rain quit as he reached the forest around Rathdrum, but fog was collecting low over the saturated ground. White fingers of fog seeped through the trees, reaching for the truck tires as he wound along the narrow drive into the Pine Cabins. Despite being mid-afternoon, the woods were gloomy.
T pulled his truck to a stop in the drive of the Pine Cabins and studied the area. Yesterday, Faro's red-and-black Charger had been parked in front of the office. Today, a tricked-out, silver Chevy truck sat there.
His gut tightened. Had Faro already found another john for Manda?
He could see a light on through the front window of Manda's cabin. No movement inside, though.
Moke rolled slowly past him on his black-and-silver Harley, and turned down the lane in front of the cabins. Behind his leather mask and shades, T knew his bro was scanning the place, just as T was.
When the big Hawaiian turned and cruised back to meet him, T rolled down his truck window. "See her?"
"Nope. No movement in her cabin, bathroom's dark and bed's empty. There's a red-and-black Charger parked behind the office, though."
T grunted. "That'll be Faro." He’d drive a flashy car like that.
"Looks like there's another way out of here," Moke added. "Want me to block it?"
At that moment, the door of the office opened.
They both turned to look as a man stepped to fill the doorway—or tried to. He was average height, but looked like he spent most of his waking hours pumping iron, and the rest in one of those fake-tanning places.
Despite the chilly morning, he wore striped sweatpants and a skin-tight tank top.
"Hey!" he barked. "Whaddya want?"
Anticipation curled T's mouth up at the corners. "That little asshole’s mine."
He pulled up and parked, crookedly so that his truck was a little behind the other—and if it belonged to a would-be john for Manda, T was gonna smash the hell out of it, as soon as he had her safe. For now, he slid out of his own truck, and stalked around it to face the man in the office doorway.
The dude had a mashed-in baby face, which maybe explained the body-building. He probably got no respect until he bulked up.
Not that T would give him any now.
One look into the dude’s freaked-out eyes told T he wasn't ready to fight, that he relied on his steroidal bulk to frighten others.
T strolled closer. "Hey, man. Just lookin' for Manda. She around today?"
The dude twitched, like he wanted to look behind him. Instead he scowled, which sadly for his attempt at intimidation, made him look like a baby about to pitch a howling fit.
T had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from snorting. Honest to fuck, was this the best Faro could do for muscle?
"You want a piece of her, you make a phone call," Baby Face said. "You don't just show up here."
T kept on coming. "Okay," he said easily. "You can't help me, I'll talk to Faro."
At this point, Baby Face surprised him by pulling a switchblade out of a back pocket. He waved it in the air between them, narrowing his eyes and baring his teeth. "Nobody gets in I say don't."
T nodded agreeably. "Okay, that works."
But even as he spoke, he was moving. He kicked out his left leg, catching the guy right in the knees with his heavy motorcycle boot. At the same instant he grabbed his wrist.
The guy buckled like a little kid, and howled as T twisted his arm in a grip he'd gained through hours each day lifting and dealing with heavy, torqued-on engine parts. And pumping iron at the club house, of course.
Bearing the punk before him like a shield, T forged into the Pine Cabins office.
The scent of heavy cologne told him Faro had been here, although he wasn't now. A car engine snarled to life outside, followed by the deeper roar of a Harley.
"Well, fuck," T told his captive. "Guess your boss just run out on ya." With Moke in pursuit. Faro would play hell losing a biker on a Harley, even in a sportscar.
T dropped Baby Face, who sagged against Faro's desk, clutching his thigh. "You fuckin' blew out my knee."
"Yeah, and I'll do worse if you don't talk," T informed him. "Where's Manda?"
Sly cunning flickered through the man's reddened eyes. "She's with Rezan. And they're both gone by now."
T moved to his back foot, ready to head out for his truck, but something in the other man's face stayed him. Baby Face was lying. And if Manda hadn't gone with Faro, she was still here, somewhere.
"Really. So, say if I look in her cabin, I ain't gonna find her there?"
Baby Face sneered. "Nope."
T growled under his breath. "Well, then, let's you and me chat some more, and you can help me look for her."
Baby Face's eyes widened, and he scuttled around the desk with surprising speed. Yanking open a desk drawer, he pulled out a small revolver and aimed it at T-Bear.
Well, fuck, this wasn't good.
Something thudded against the wall behind the desk, shaking the old calendar that hung there.
"Ain't telling you nothing," Baby Face gritted. "Now get the fuck out of here before I use this!"
Strangely, the dull thudding came again, and again. The calendar rustled, swinging back and forth as the rickety wall vibrated. Baby Face wasn't anywhere near the back wall, and he sure as hell wasn't kicking it, too busy waving his little gun at T.
Which meant the blows were coming from the other side of the wall. Like maybe someone wanted out of the room back there.
T-Bear's gut leapt with excitement. Manda.
Outwardly, he sighed, and spread his arms. "All right, all right. I'll leave," he said as his fingers curled around the back of the folding chair sitting by the door. Before Baby Face could blink, T hurled the chair straight at him, diving to one side as he did so..
Baby Face fired the gun as amateurs do when panicked—not at T who was moving away from him, but at the chair that was flying toward him.
Bam! Bam! Bam! ...followed by a series of clicks as the dude kept pulling the trigger on empty chambers.
With a curse, Baby Face flung the gun at T-Bear and raced for the front door.
T let him go.
He surged forward, shoved open the door behind the desk, and pulled his small, powerful flashlight from his belt. The beam shone into a small, dark, dingy room, lighting up the white-and-gold dress of the woman on the floor.
Manda.
She lay huddled on the floor, head and shoulders against the wall behind her. Through the strands of hair straggling over her face, he could see that one side of her pretty face was swollen, blood trickled from her nose, and there was a strip of duct tape over her mouth. Her ankles were bound with plastic zip-ties, and the awkward way she held her shoulders, he could tell her wrists were bound behind her as well.
Fury roared through him, so hot he was vaguely surprised his head didn't burst into flames, lighting the place up like a supernova. He was gonna kill those fuckers for doing this to her—and he'd do it slowly, in the most painful way possible.
But for now, he'd found her. He had her.
And she was conscious, squinting into the light, and even as he came through the door she was pulling up her legs to kick one more time. Her feet struck an old metal filing cabinet, making it thud against the wall, the sound he'd heard.
"Smart girl," he muttered. "Fightin' even when they had you down."
Seeing him, she moaned something behind the tape, and then began to cry, a muffled, keening sound that smote his heart.
"Whoa, honey girl," he said, already reaching down for her. "It's me. Whoa, I gotcha, I gotcha. C'mon, baby, let's get you outta here."
He lifted her in his arms, so fragile and soft, and set her on her feet. Praise God she could stand, so hopefully no bones broken.
"Just hold on for one sec," he told her, stopping to press a kiss to the uninjured side of her face. Fuck, her skin was like ice. "Gotta get you outta these zip ties. Don't know who's waitin' for us out there, and I want you ready to get down, or run if I tell you."
She nodded, snuffling as she struggled to breathe through her swollen nose. He paused. "First, gotta get this tape off so you can breathe. Ain't gonna lie, it's gonna sting. Ready, one, two..." he found a corner of the tape and pulled it from her face with one steady but careful motion. He wanted to get it gone, but not rip her delicate skin off with the tape.
She whimpered again, and then sucked in a deep breath. "T-B'r," she mumbled, as if her swollen lips wouldn't quite work. "You came f' me."
His heart swelled painfully in his chest. "Sure as hell I did, honey girl." He pulled her against him, cradling her trembling body as he flipped open his knife, peered over her shoulder to see the zip-ties on her wrists, and slid the knife carefully between them to cut. When her hands were free, he bent and sliced those binding her ankles.
Outside, a truck motor roared to life, and a drive-train squealed as the driver spun the wheel too hard. Baby Face, trying to get his tricked-out ride away from T's old truck.
"Right.” T straightened with Manda at his left side, pistol in his right hand, gaze on the open door, and what lay outside. "Stay behind me, hang on to my belt. You do that?"
She nodded, though she swayed on her feet. Rage roared again in T-Bear. Fuckin' hell, she could barely stay upright, she sure as hell wouldn't be running anywhere.
The truck motor roared again, and something heavy hit the building. Metal and wood groaned, and glass shattered.
T covered Manda with his body, gun at the ready. What the ever lovin' hell?
Manda behind him, T peered out into the office. It was empty...unless you counted the front end of a fancy silver truck now protruding through the wall. Through the opening, Baby Face’s wild eyes met T's. The idiot had driven his tricked-out truck right into the front of the office!
The dude screamed something at T, his face red and contorted. He hit the gas again. T braced himself, ready to haul Manda back out of harm's way.
But the silver truck lurched backward, this time striking T's truck. T winced as his old rig rocked with the force, but you had to love pre-seventies Chevy construction—solid steel, with heavy-duty suspension. His truck would be all right, maybe a new dent or two, but Baby Face’s truck bed was now crumpled like a handful of used tinfoil.
This did not stop the dumb-ass from shifting again, and driving away. The silver pickup screamed away along the narrow drive. Just before it disappeared into the trees, the rear bumper and one tail-light fell off, dragging along like festive, post-wedding decor.
T grinned savagely. That messed up rig wasn't going far, not out of town anyway. There'd be plenty of time for T and his brothers to find him.
"All right," he said. "Looks like the cockroaches have left the building. Safe for us to get you outta here."
Manda's fingers went slack on his belt, and he whirled just in time to catch her as she went down, face pale as a snowbank under the blood and bruises, eyes half-closed. T caught her, then lifted her up in his arms.
Either Moke would catch Faro or not, but T was getting Manda out of this pit-hole.
His phone vibrated as he set her in his truck, laid on the seat with her head pillowed on his leather jacket, her feet tucked up on the wide bench seat.
"You got T," he said as he strode around the cab to the driver's side.
"What'd I tell you 'bout waiting for the rest of us?" Rocker growled into his ear. "Where are you?"
"At Faro's shit-hole place in Rathdrum," T barked back, in no mood to be chastised. "He's gone, his goon with him. Moke's after Faro. I got the girl, I'm bringin' her to the emergency room. She's beat up bad, just passed out on me. Don't know how bad her head injury is, but her face is messed up and there’s blood on the back of her head, like he slapped her around, then bounced her off a wall. So it could be bad."
It was a good fucking thing T hadn't waited any longer, or those two might've had her out to play some more—and he wasn't talkin' reindeer games.
"God-fucking-damnit.” Rocker’s voice was dark with anger. "All right, brother. Bring her to Sacred Heart in Spokane. You got a long shot down to Kootenai Hospital in Coeur d’Alene from where you are, may as well cut through the valley and come west. She'll be close, so we can keep eyes on her. Meet you there. One of us will reach out to Moke."
"Later," T-Bear said, and swung into his truck, already turning the key in the ignition. Despite the punk's attempts to damage the rig, the motor roared smoothly to life, and T backed around and headed out.
Manda lay limp on the seat beside him, pale as death, her pretty hair matted with blood.
Every time he didn't need both hands for shifting, T laid his hand on her throat. The pulse under his fingers was thready, but she was alive, thank sweet Jesus. And no longer in Faro's clutches.
The drive down across the valley, through Spokane on I-80, and up the steep South Hill to the soaring bulk of Sacred Heart Hospital took forty minutes.
It was the longest drive of his life.