Devil's Kiss: Widowmakers MC Part 13

"Richard Lees. Cop from Concord, New Hamps.h.i.+re," I inform the men. "Stalked Olive for a while out there, followed her out here. I think he may be driving a blue sedan, I've got the plate numbers. Noticed it following us a few times, and saw it last night leaving the Black Rock." I mentally kick myself for not following it.

"Stick and Stacy?" Ratchet asks.

"Recovering," I tell him.

Ratchet nods and stands up. "We've got other chapters coming in. The car's our best lead, so they're covering the highways as they drive in, and we'll go over every inch of this town until we find it. Use any contacts you have. If this guy's a cop, the police will be all over it, so if we want to find him first, give him real justice, we'll have to act fast."

I repeat the license plate number for the brothers over and over until every one of them has it memorized. Ratchet brings out a map and I break up the town into sections, just like I'd do if we were tracking insurgents. Guns are loaded and tucked into waistbands, and my brothers head out to track Richard Lees down. Only Ratchet and a couple prospects are left in the clubhouse. The president takes me aside.

"I hate to say it," he mutters, "But if he's hidden the car in a garage, under a tarp, or ditched it, we don't have a shot. You tried her phone?"

"Rang a few times, now it's going straight to voicemail." I feel my cell vibrating in my pocket. "Wait, hang on..." I check the caller. It's Olive's mother.

"Christine," I say.

"It's my fault. I told him where she was. I didn't know..." she sobs.

"Christine, calm down. What are you talking about?" I ask.

"I called the station, and I asked to speak to his partner, and it wasn't the same man who came to see me," she sputters. "A man came to see me, to follow up on the complaint that Olive had filed. He said his name was Carbee, but actually it was Richard Lees. Carbee is his partner. We spoke today and he said that Richard was fired. No one's talked to him since."

"So Lees who came to your house, gave you a fake name, and you told him what?" I press.

"I let him inside my house! And I told him where Olive was! It's all my fault. I was so stupid," she cries.

"He's a predator," I tell her firmly, "Preying on people is what he does. He would have found her somehow."

I hear her sniff and take a deep breath. "I have his photo. His partner sent it to me. I'll text it to you."

"That would be a big help," I say.

"You care about my daughter?" she asks.

"Very much," I respond quickly, surprising myself.

"Good," she says softly, "It makes me feel better that someone's looking for her who cares."

"I should go. I want to get out there," I say.

"Right. Texting you the photo now," she replies.

I hang up, and a moment later, I get a text. I open the photo and examine it. Must be Lees' graduation photo from the police academy. He looks normal, good-looking even. You never can tell. I quickly forward the photo to all my brothers. I realize Ratchet is watching me.

"What are you going to do?" he asks.

"I'm going to focus on the bad stretches of town. If I wanted to hide someone, that's where I'd go. Somewhere where people wouldn't report seeing something strange."

"I know tempers are high," he says, "But if you find this guy-"

"What?" I ask, frowning at him. He better not be about to tell me to turn this f.u.c.ker over to the cops.

Ratchet trains his hard eyes on me. "Just don't forget to make it look like an accident. You hear me?"

Chapter Twenty.

Richard I watch Olive sleep on the mattress. She's been out for a couple hours, and I'm beginning to worry. I don't want to cause any permanent brain damage. G.o.d, that wouldn't be much fun to live with.

Finally, I see her blink. She's having trouble, because one eye is swollen shut. Her mouth opens slightly and she tries to turn over, but quickly stops, grimacing in pain. It's cute to watch her struggle. I wonder if she even remembers where she is.

I stand from my chair and drag it over to the head of the mattress. I watch her good eye frantically dart back and forth. I reach down and smooth the hair down her back, and pull a stray piece out of her face. Olive moans, though perhaps she's trying to speak.

"Shhh," I whisper, shaking my head. "I wish you hadn't provoked me like that, Olive."

I see tears begin to stream down her face as she pulls a little at the cuffs around her wrists. I frown. It's not like I wanted to see her like this.

"It's OK," I murmur rea.s.suringly. "I know you're sorry. Here, I have a towel to clean you up a little."

I take her by the shoulder and turn her over so that she's lying on her hands. Her back is arched awkwardly, but she's shown me that she clearly can't be trusted without the cuffs yet. I take the towel from the back of the chair and dab gently at her swollen cheek as she grimaces.

The towel is quickly stained red with dried blood, and I move down her neck and toward her chest. When I touch the upper part of her breast, she flinches back. I roll my eyes at her.

"Don't worry Olive," he says. "You're not attractive in this state. We'll have to wait until you've improved a little. I did take your pants off while you were sleeping, but that was just because I thought it would be easier to clean you."

Clearly alarmed, she tries to move her legs, and feels the duct tape that I wrapped around her ankles, directly onto her skin.

"I can't have you trying anything again," I shrugs. "I don't want to have to treat you like this, Olive," I remind her. "My behavior toward you is a direct result of your behavior toward me. I don't want to have to keep telling you that."

I move toward her stomach, lifting up her s.h.i.+rt to her bra. I can't remove the s.h.i.+rt without removing the handcuffs, so it stays on. At least I can clean the blood that soaked through it to her skin. I hear a rasping sound from her throat.

"My brother..." she finally mumbles.

"Your brother was a piece of s.h.i.+t. A terrible influence on you and probably a f.u.c.king gun runner. You have no real idea what those motorcycle gangs are like. And I saw that bar you worked in. And you f.u.c.ked that guy in the bathroom there...G.o.d, who knows what diseases you probably got."

In my anger, I press down a little hard on her rib and she cries out. "Well, f.u.c.k, I'm sorry, but Olive, I care about you. You have no idea how upsetting it was to see you in a place like that, hanging out with those people."

I move to her legs. The cuts here are mostly on her knees, probably from when she tripped going up the stairs. The rag is mostly red now, but I'm still able to clean up a little blood from her skin. I stand up and look down at her. She looks a little better, I think. I walk to the corner and toss the rag on the edge of the utility sink. I take a half-full bottle of water and bring it back to the bed with me. I kneel and slip my hand under the back of her head and raise it up, putting the bottle to her lips. I let her have a few sips, then put it down next to the mattress.

"Sorry. Don't have a lot of supplies yet," I tell her, "Thought I'd have more time to set up, but I had to take advantage of that opportunity last night. You know how hard it's been to get you alone?"

She doesn't respond.

"Well, it's been a long night," I say, though at this point it's actually midday. I kick off my shoes and undo my pants, sliding them off and folding them neatly on the chair. I carefully step over her to the far side of the mattress and lie down beside her.

I turn on my side and nestle my head next to hers and drape my top arm and leg over her. I feel safe going to sleep now that she's securely tied up and in a weakened state. The gun is safely across the room, by the sink, and I'm confident she won't try anything for a while. And eventually, she'll learn.

A comforting darkness begins to envelop my brain as I drift off to sleep, listening to Olive's labored breathing on the bed beside me.

It's the happiest I've been in a long time.

Chapter Twenty-One.

West I'm paused at a stoplight, using the opportunity to stand for a second and stretch my legs. They're stiff and cramped after riding around on my bike for hours. I hear the ring of my cell and my heart jumps as I see the caller is Ratchet. Maybe one of my brothers found Olive.

"Anything?" I ask.

"Nothing yet," Ratchet replies. "Why don't you come in for a little, and take a break. A couple of other chapters are here now, those brothers can take over for you, West," he suggests.

"I'm going to keep looking for a while," I say adamantly, "Sun's setting...he could be waiting to make a move until it's dark."

"Just for-" he begins.

"I can't," I cut him off. "I'll check in soon." The light turns green and I gun it through the intersection, keeping a watchful eye on the road for the blue sedan. My eyes feel blurry, and I realize it's been a long time since I've eaten anything.

I take a right down a seedy-looking street. I've checked it out before, but Lees could be switching locations, or there could be something I've missed. I go slowly, not wanting to make too much noise so that I can hear Olive calling out for help.

The thought of her in pain causes a tight feeling in my chest, like someone's squeezing my heart. I take a deep breath through my nose and blow it out my mouth.

This is what I've always been afraid of, I realize. I've successfully pushed away any woman who wants to get close to me, afraid that this is how it will end. I guess a shrink would tell me it has something to do with my mom, about how her final, fatal overdose has f.u.c.ked all my relations.h.i.+ps with women. All I know is that I've avoided this feeling of helplessness and fear ever since, and now here it is on my doorstep, squeezing its way into my brain, seeping into my bones.

Why did I hurry to put distance between us, the second that Stick got back? I should have manned up and talked to him about it, told him the truth about how I felt for Olive. Instead, he had to find out what was going on through those f.u.c.king pictures. She must have felt so humiliated. And I was no help at all, holing up in my room like a G.o.dd.a.m.n toddler.

I have to find her. I have to tell her...what? I can't quite figure it out. Tell her that I felt calm with her, that things felt brighter when she was around, but also less complicated. That's not quite it, though. Feels like there's something on the edge of my brain that I want to know, but I can't quite see it.

This headache isn't helping anything, either. I'm probably dehydrated. I start scanning the sides of the road for the nearest 7-ll or grocery store. I'll just run in, grab a bottle of water, and head back out. The sun has dipped below the horizon now, which will make it harder to spot the car, if he hasn't ditched it already, but I can't stop looking.

I spot a small gas station up ahead and slow down as I pull toward it. I park on the side of the building and cut the engine, then stand up and stretch. My a.s.s feels numb from the vibrations, and my neck cracks as I roll it around. I walk toward the front of the store and glance in the windows. There's a man with a hood pulled over his face scanning the rows of chips. He looks awful-like he's lost a fight.

There's something familiar about his eyes. I pull out my phone and swipe to the photo of Richard Lees that Olive's mom sent me. The guy in the hood has a short beard, and his face is b.l.o.o.d.y and swollen, but I think it's him. Holy s.h.i.+t. I feel a surge of hope and pride. It looks like Olive could still be fighting back.

I duck a little lower and scan the parking lot for the sedan. No sign of it. If Olive's not with him, then that means he's left her stashed somewhere, so my best bet would be to follow him and find out where.

The darkness outside plays to my advantage, as the bright lights of the store make it easier for me to watch Lees without him seeing me. He walks to the register, pulling his hood lower over his face, probably worried about cameras. He pays and leaves, crossing through the pumps and pausing by the street. He waits for traffic to pa.s.s, then jogs across it, heading for a residential street.

I'm torn. If he's walking back to where he's keeping Olive, I should follow him on foot so he doesn't spot me, but if he's going to his car, I should get back on my bike. I make a split-second decision and sprint after him. I slow down and walk quickly across the street, treading lightly and peering into the darkness ahead of me. He's about fifty feet ahead, carrying a couple of plastic bags of food from the gas station.

I trail him for another block down the dark street, under a couple blown out streetlights. In this part of town, those streetlights aren't likely to be replaced. He slows down, and I duck behind another car to watch him. Maybe he's headed into one of these houses.

Wrong. I hear the electronic beep of a car being unlocked and swear to myself. Then I hear the sound of a car cover being pulled off-no wonder we hadn't found it. The car starts and lights sweep toward me. I crouch behind the car as he drives toward me, peering over the hood of it as he pa.s.ses me, trying to check the car for signs of Olive. I don't see her, but it's dark, and she could be in the trunk.

As soon as he's about ten feet past me, I start running after the car. At least he's headed back toward the gas station where I left my bike. I sprint after him, and watch him take a left onto the road where the gas station is. I keep running across the street to my bike and jam on the start b.u.t.ton. My bike roars to life under me and I peel out of the parking lot, determined not to lose him and my one shot at finding Olive.

I head in the same direction I saw Lees drive off in, peering into the night for a sign of his tail lights. Finally I spot a pair, and as I drive closer, I see the license plates match up with the ones that had been following us. Or Olive, as it turns out. I flip my headlight off, not wanting him to see the single beam of a motorcycle.

I maintain a cautious distance behind him as a couple cars pa.s.s us going the opposite direction. I just want him to lead me to Olive without him realizing I'm following him. I feel anger growing inside of me at my proximity to this f.u.c.k, but I don't want it to cloud my judgment.

He starts slowing down as he approaches a sign on the road, and I back off the throttle, wanting to maintain my distance. He speeds up again, then slows down as he approaches another sign. I frown. Is this f.u.c.king idiot lost? Suddenly, he pulls a u-turn, and before I can pull off the road, he's heading right toward me. s.h.i.+t.

My only chance is that with my lights off, he won't notice me. But as he draws closer, he swerves slightly, his headlights sweeping across my bike. As he pa.s.ses, I glance into the driver's seat. We make eye contact for a moment, his expression s.h.i.+fting from one of surprise to fury. He jams onto the gas, and his car jumps ahead.

I quickly pull a u-turn after him, opening up my throttle as he tries to lose me. I quickly narrow the distance between us. I didn't see Olive in the car when he pa.s.sed, but there's still a chance she's there. I don't want to cause a crash that could injure her, but he's definitely not going to lead me back to her now.

We pa.s.s by the gas station, now headed in the opposite direction. As the lights from it fade, I check my mirrors and glance up ahead. No sign of any other cars. Holding my bike steady with one hand, I reach behind me and pull my Glock out of the waistband of my jeans.

Lees swerves back and forth. If he thinks that's going to help him any, he's mistaken. I take careful aim and fire two shots into his rear tire.

With a pop, it explodes. The sedan careens to the side and then back as Lees fights for control, but he's traveling at too high of a speed. The car spins, its back end flying forward and taking it off the road. I slow down, pulling away from the out-of-control vehicle. Lees is trying to brake now, but not soon enough. The car makes another full rotation before slamming into a telephone pole on the side of the road.

I speed to the driver's side of the car, spraying dirt as I skid to a stop. Before I've even stopped moving, my gun is trained on Lees. He's fumbling against the air bag, trying to get it to deflate, probably so he can reach for his own weapon.

"Don't move!" I yell at him. I stand and let my bike drop to the dirt. I yank the door open with my free hand as Lees looks up at me, anger and fear on his face. I grab the front of his s.h.i.+rt and pull him out of the car. He grabs at my hand a little, but doesn't put up too much of a fight. I think he's stunned from the crash.

I kick him once in the ribs for good measure as he lies on the ground where I tossed him. Still holding the gun on him, I quickly check in the back seat for Olive. The trunk has popped open an inch in the crash, so I walk back and pull it all the way open. No Olive. Just duct tape and a purse. Her purse.

"Where is she?" I hiss, advancing on him. He doesn't answer. "Where is she!?" I scream. He spits on the dirt at my boots.

Fine. If he wants to play it that way, we'll play it that way. I narrow my eyes at him and raise my gun up, bringing it down with a crack against his skull.

One call to Ratchet and thirty minutes later, we're sitting back in the clubhouse. My brothers quickly came to meet me where I'd found Lees. Some of them stayed to destroy his car, and the rest helped me bring him back to the clubhouse in a van.

He sits across from me in the clubhouse's rarely used bas.e.m.e.nt. He's glowering at me, his hands and legs taped to a chair with his own duct tape from the trunk of his car. Ratchet, King, and Franchise are standing next to me, their arms folded over their chests.

"Am I supposed to be scared of you people, just because you ride f.u.c.king Harleys?" he finally spits out at us. I blink lazily back at him. "If you ever want to see Olive again, you'll let me go."

"I don't think so," Ratchet responds calmly.

"Last time I saw her, she was bleeding on a mattress, so I can't imagine she's in very good shape now," he snarls. "In exchange for leading you to her, you let me go."

"No," Ratchet says.

"You can't keep me here forever!" he growls, a vein in his forehead threatening to pump itself out of his skull.

"I don't think he understands the situation," I say.