TINY
“We’ll be back soon.” I drop a kiss on Nicky’s head, then another on my Vixen’s lips. “Duchess showed you my room, right?”
“Yea,” her voice is sad and I hate having to leave her. “She had one of the Prospects bring a crib upstairs for Nicky to use while we’re here.”
“I know we didn’t plan on stayin’ the night, but don’t wait up for me if you get too tired. I don’t know how late we’ll be out, so my room is your room. Okay?”
“I’ll miss you,” she whispers like she’s afraid the other people in the room will judge her for her perceived weakness.
It’s the exact opposite. Looking around the main room, I see several couples paired off and saying their ‘see ya laters’.
I’ve never left for a club run and had someone waiting for me to return. It’s a heavy feeling knowing this may be the last time you see each other, but club life isn’t rainbows and puppies and unicorns . . . it’s death and destruction and knocking anyone out of the way if they cross our path.
“Good.” Pulling her in for one more hug, I whisper in her ear something only meant for her. “I’ll crawl in next to you as soon as I can. Keep our bed warm for me. Okay?”
She replies with a nod against my chest. “Be safe.”
Once Church started and Whiskey filled everyone in on about what’s been happening, we had a unanimous vote of yays to ride out and find the bastard we suspect is responsible for Taylor’s disappearance. Even if he hasn’t taken her, which based on the shit Cypher keeps digging up on his record, I would bet every penny I have that he did. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that he’s the reason she’s missing.
Hammer split us into four groups–two Brothers will head to Vixen’s house just in case Taylor reappears there, another team is staying at the clubhouse to keep watch over the Old Ladies and kids, the third will go and search Leo’s house, then myself and seven of my Brothers will head for the strip club where Taylor worked.
Due to snow in the forecast for later tonight, those of us who brave riding our Harleys year round keep them parked and load up in a few trucks. Divide and conquer is the saying, and we ride out just before one in the afternoon.
Twenty-two miles and twenty-seven minutes later, three pickup trucks pull into a parking lot where there are just four other cars. The gravel lot sits beside a decent sized cinder block building that looks so run down, I don’t think a fresh coat of paint, followed by a wrecking ball, could make it look any better.
We park, all climb out, then form a circle where Whiskey is talking on the phone. “Thanks, Steel.” As soon as I watch his eyes close, his expression falls, and I know I will not be bringing good news back to Vixen. “He’s not at this house, but Taylor’s body was in the basement.”
“What happened?” I ask, needing to know how much damage I need to inflict once we head inside.
“She was beaten pretty badly, then strangled.”
“Then I say it’s only right to return the favor,” Trooper shares his attack plan with the group while cracking his knuckles. “Maybe I can go a few rounds at him with my Maglite.” He never goes anywhere without it. Damn thing hangs from his belt like a Samuri sword and he wields it just as efficiently as if it were one. I’ve seen men come out of a boxing ring with less damage than he can inflict with that damn flashlight.
“Let’s first see if he’s here first.” Whiskey brings the voice of reason to our group. “And if he is, no extreme bodily harm, or flashlight swinging,” For that added statement he points directly at Trooper, “will be allowed until we get him tied up in the barn on our property.”
“Fine,” Trooper lets out a half-serious pout.
“Trooper, Haze, Gunner, and Brewer, you four head in the front door. Buzz, Wrench, Tiny, and I will take the back. We’ll meet somewhere in the middle. Try not to hurt anyone else along the way. We don’t need an innocent dancer getting caught in the crossfire,” Whiskey doles out our assignments, “metaphorically speaking of course. No bullets fired unless absolutely necessary. We don’t know law enforcement around here well enough, so I’d rather not meet them before we can get out of town.”
I slip a set of brass knuckles on my right hand, then follow my small crew of misfits around to the back door. The exterior light is busted, so Buzz uses the small flashlight attached to his SIG to lead the way. Once we’re inside, and the door is shut behind us, we make our way down a dark hallway that runs the middle of the building. A door open to the left is an empty dressing room. Buzz opens a closed door to the right revealing a utility closet storing janitor’s supplies and the hot water heater. There are voices coming from the next door on the right and Wrench holds up two fingers signifying how many people he hears. Whiskey whispers a countdown—three, two, one—signaling Buzz to turn the doorknob. He pushes it open while the rest of us stay back in case something, or someone, comes flying out at us.
“Who’s out there?” A voice calls out from inside. “Pete, go check it out.”
“Fuck, boss. Why can’t you do it?” A second voice, Pete, whines.
“‘Cause I’m the boss, ya idiot. That’s why,” the first voice snaps back.
I lock eyes with Whiskey across the open doorway. It’s Leo, or Franco, or whatever fucking name he’s using now. “He’s mine,” I mime the words.
We wait for Pete to step into the hall and we all spring into action. Whiskey and Buzz grab him and have him on the ground in seconds. Wrench and I rush into what we now see is an office and charge toward our target as he jumps from his chair. “What the hell?” We each circle the desk, coming at him from opposite sides, and both take a swing at the same time. I aim for his head, while Wrench goes for the gut, and Leo is unconscious instantly. We catch him before he hits the floor, then drag him around in front of the desk where there is more room to maneuver.
Buzz has Pete tied up like a Thanksgiving turkey so he and Whiskey drag him away to stash in the utility closet we passed on the way in. I grab the two coils of rope that Brewer handed me out in the parking lot from my back pocket, and Wrecker and I do some serious nylon artwork of our own. Hands restrained behind his back, and legs bundled together at the knees, our target is secure. I lift the skinny weasel, toss him over my shoulder, and head for the door. I look right as soon as I step out and see the four Brothers who came in the front making their way toward us.
“I see you found the garbage,” Haze lifts his fist and we bump knuckles as he walks past.
“Damn fuckin’ right we did.” I follow, carrying my son’s mother’s murderer. “After I’m done with him, he’ll regret the day his mother didn’t swallow him.”