Wild Ways (3 page)

“Yeah. But I can tell her anything you want. I was mistaken, it wasn’t Birdy. Or even better, send her to the Vipers’ nest.” Billy Bob’s laugh was as hollow as his balls were. “Maybe those boys’ll take care of her.”

“I have a better idea. I’ll deal with her myself.” He gave Greaser the signal.

The bullet exploded through the prospect’s head and left a mess all over the floor. Gunfire in this part of town wouldn’t even cause a ripple of interest. That was why the
chapter had chosen this area for their clubhouse. Lots of abandoned houses and drug activity where outsiders and Feds stood out like sore thumbs.

Greaser wasted no time going through Billy Bob’s pockets, taking his wallet, motorcycle keys, and then his watch.

Scotch called Margie. “Is the woman there yet?”

“She’s outside.”

“What about the two guys you said came in earlier?”

He didn’t like the Reagan woman showing up on the same evening as two unknowns. Margie called him whenever strangers wandered into the Ship’s Inn. They wore no colors, but that didn’t mean they weren’t rival members scoping out the territory.

“They left a short while ago,” she said. “I think they were what they said, two vets out to clear their heads. They didn’t ask any questions, just sat with their backs against the wall, shot some pool, and minded their business.”

“So there’s only Kings at the bar?”

“Yep, Blazer and Mooney playing pool with some guys from the Saint Louis chapter.”

The fewer witnesses, the better. Even his own brothers.

“Go out there and tell her that Billy Bob left a message to wait around back. He’s on his way.”

* * *

Mollie Reagan watched the sexy Latino’s lights disappear, his engine fading into the sounds of the city.

Sexy? Had she really thought that? No, more like scary, disturbing, intrusive, and … okay, sexy, if you liked the bad-boy biker type. Which she did not. That had been her sister’s failing, being drawn in by the mystique. Mollie went for the underdog, down-and-out types. Neither had proved reliable, but at least her choice of men wasn’t dangerous.

Oddly, she felt regret at letting the Latino leave. He
had
seemed to be trying to
help, with his advice about not giving away her gun’s presence. And he’d offered to stand by her. She’d liked the idea of having someone at her side when she met with Billy Bob, even if she did have to pay him. A check of her surroundings showed that the guy on the bike was, indeed, gone.
You made sure of that
. Stung by Kevin’s abrupt departure, she hadn’t been very nice to the guy who’d offered his assistance. Who had seemed to actually care.

Don’t get sentimental. He probably would have asked for some huge sum of money
. They usually did if they had something to offer. Most of that information had turned out to be dead ends, or in the case of Scotch, wild goose chases. More like a wild alligator chase, given the people he’d sent her to.

She watched the bar’s stained door, uneasy about being here so late at night. All right, more than uneasy. Nervous. Scared. She’d approached Billy Bob during the day when he’d been doing what he said was prospect duty—guarding the club’s bikes parked outside. He’d told her that the guys were planning on being there that night, and he’d no doubt be pulling duty again. It would be safer if they talked outside, since the guys knew who she was.

She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel, tension tightening all the muscles in her body. How long should she wait? Billy Bob and the gang were very late now. Part of her whispered,
Go, get out of here
, but it was so damned hard to let go of a possible lead.

The door opened, and a skinny woman walked out and headed right toward Mollie’s car. She lowered the window.

The woman brushed straw-like hair from her gaunt face. “You Mollie?” Her voice was as rough as the rest of her.

Scanning the area and seeing no obvious threat, Mollie stepped out. “Yes.”

“Billy Bob just called and asked me to give you a message. The guys are heading elsewhere, but he’s going to slip away and meet you for a few minutes. It’d be better if you pulled around to the back of the building, so the guys inside don’t see him talking to you.”

As the woman started walking back, Mollie asked, “Have you seen Birdy?” She handed her a flyer. “She’s my sister, was hanging with the Kings.”

The woman barely looked at the paper. “I don’t see anything around here. It keeps me alive. And sane.” She scurried back into the bar.

Mollie wanted to understand what drove these women to join the clubs so she might have a clue to understanding her sister. Most would barely talk to her.

Molly knew that Billy Bob was taking a chance by talking to her, but she sure didn’t like the idea of parking around the back. The area was somewhat of an industrial park, or had been years ago. The closest building looked to be some kind of manufacturing facility, though there was no activity at this time of night. Farther down the road was a stripper bar, with a garish neon sign flashing the silhouette of a curvy woman. On the other side of a large vacant field was a shopping center with a liquor store at one end, an all-night self-serve laundry at the other, and empty shop spaces in between.

Mollie had scoped it out before she’d come to the bar, taking note of places she could run to if she needed help. Though she wasn’t sure who would go up against the Kings if it came down to it. Probably no one.

She looked at her sister’s face smiling up from the flyer. Below the main picture Mollie had included two smaller ones. One was of the two of them as children. Mollie wanted people to see the innocent girl Diana had once been. The second picture was the polar opposite, taken from her Facebook page before it had been closed down. It was a selfie, from her cell phone as she held it out in front of her. She looked happy, if drunk. The background revealed guys with beards, tattoos, and black leather vests with the Kings logo. Mollie would go around the back of hell if it meant bringing her sister home.

The old sedan she drove fit in well in the places she found herself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t completely strategic. It was all she could afford now, especially since she no longer had a job. Her employer could only tolerate her absences for so long, no matter the reason. And people weren’t particularly sympathetic when they learned her sister had run off with a biker gang. Even her own family.

Mollie held back the wall of despair that threatened to crash down on her. She
didn’t need anyone’s help. She didn’t need anyone at all.
Well, that’s good, since you don’t have anyone
.

And there came the Latino popping into her mind again. She pushed him and his warnings away as she pulled around to the back of the building. The windows had been filled in with concrete. Though the front of the bar had some semblance of being clean, the back sported bottles, cigarette butts, and stains that looked as though the wall had served as a handy urinal. As soon as she doused her headlights, most of the debris melted into darkness. Distant lights cast a dim glow, so she could still see her surroundings.

She pulled out her Ruger and felt the reassuring weight of the small revolver. God, would she have ever thought that she’d own a gun? That she would have taken a concealed permit class? That she’d have lost her sister?

Twenty minutes later, she heard what was now becoming a familiar rumble as one headlight swept around the corner. Her heart thudded, feeling as though it weighed fifty pounds in her chest. The twist of hope and fear was becoming almost normal. She tucked her .38 Special away and made sure the fifty-dollar bill was still in the pocket on the other side. She’d wasted a lot of money paying for information that had led to nowhere. But if there was a chance of finding Diana, she would spend her last dime.

She got out of the car, squinting at the blinding headlight. Her engine was still running. The silhouette behind that light took his time killing the engine and dismounting. As he approached, she could tell that it wasn’t Billy Bob. The guy was too big. Adrenaline buzzed in her veins. She stopped herself from holding her hand over the gun but kept it close.

“Mollie Reagan?” he asked.

She wanted to ask what happened to Billy Bob but didn’t dare say his name. “Yes.” She also knew there was no point in asking for this person’s name.

“Billy Bob got tied up, so he asked me to relay a message.”

The back door of the bar opened, and another man stepped out. He lit up a cigarette as he closed the door and headed toward the vacant lot beyond. Her instincts were screaming now.

She curled her fingers over the door handle. “I didn’t want to get him in any trouble.”

The guy who’d been on the bike laughed. “Oh, he’s not in trouble. Dude doesn’t have a care in the world. But you do.”

She drew her weapon. Being a double-action revolver, it had no safety or hammer to cock. “Back off.”

She opened her door and dropped into the driver’s seat. As she started to throw the car into gear, she had only a glimpse of a shadow, the smell of body odor, before someone grabbed her from the passenger seat. The guy who’d walked out had slipped into her car!

One nicotine-scented hand latched on to her gun; the other tried to wrap around her throat. Her door opened, and the first guy yanked her out of the car.

“I haven’t got her gun yet, Greaser,” the guy to her right yelled.

A gunshot split the air. They were shooting at her! But the gunfire had come from a short distance away, and the guy at her door dropped with an
oof
. Blood splattered across her arm. The guy to her right took advantage of her shock and lunged for her gun. Another shot shattered the rear window and tore through the headrest of the passenger seat. He screamed and released his hold on her, ducking down as he held his head.

The bar’s back door opened and more men spilled out. They were hulking shadows in the dim light, but she recognized the glint of guns and knives. Gunfire sprayed the door, sending them diving.

On top of everything else, could she be caught in a war between rival gangs? It was the only thing that made sense. She kicked out the moaning guy on the passenger seat and threw the car into drive. The gun was in her lap; she needed both hands to drive, shaking as they were. Two bikers rolled over her hood and off to the side. A loud
boom
preceded a crater opening up on the side of her hood. The engine died.

A biker standing just inside the bar aimed the biggest damned gun she’d ever seen right at her. Fear seized her. Ducking would do no good, not by the way the first shot had torn her car apart. She reached for her gun, knowing she didn’t have enough time.

Red bloomed on his chest, and he fell backward. The gun clattered to the ground. A woman inside screamed. More gunfire sprayed across the asphalt where the other guys had just regained their footing.

“Mollie! Come with me.”

She turned to the man’s voice at her open passenger door. The hot Latino—his name escaped her. He held his hand out—he looked like a freakin’ angel at the moment. Clamping one hand on her gun, she latched on to him with her other, and he pulled her across the seat and out the other side. They ran across the parking lot, Julian—that was his name—gripping her hand as he led her into the darkness of the empty plot of land.

“Get the son of a bitch!” someone called from behind them.

Two bullets hit the ground only a foot away. Julian swung his arm and squeezed off several shots from a semi-automatic. They rounded a bush where his bike was hidden.

“I hope you can ride,” he said as he threw his gun into one of the bags on the back and pulled out another one, then hopped onto the bike.

She couldn’t talk over her pounding heart and gasping breath. She just climbed on behind him as he started the engine. She knew enough to hold on tight. Her arms clamped around his waist the second before he hit the gas and tore across the lot. Even over the engine, she heard the shots. One hit something metallic on the bike. She held her breath, but the engine kept running. Julian aimed his gun and fired back.

Several figures were running around to the front of the building. “They’re coming after us!” she screamed.

The tire fishtailed when they hit the asphalt. They tore down the road, then turned down four more roads before getting on to the expressway. She kept looking behind them, watching for the telltale single headlights. It didn’t take long for them to catch up. Julian had to slow as he came up on two cars obviously either drag racing or conversing. Their windows were open, and driver and passenger were shouting across the distance.

Julian tried to pass, and the jerk moved over to block him. They were punks, obviously thinking they were going to one-up a hot rod biker. She felt tension ripple across Julian’s body.

Three bikes were coming up fast behind them. Julian faked the driver out and shot between the cars. She only hoped they’d try to block the bikers, too. No deal. The sight of gang members probably knocked some sense into the stupid kid. He eased back into the right lane just in time for the bikers to come through unimpeded.

Her throat was so dry that she could hardly swallow. She had a death lock on Julian’s waist. A bike was coming from the opposite direction, another scary-looking dude with longish hair and a beard. Was he part of the Kings, come to assist his brothers? Julian lifted a hand and gestured behind, then gunned the gas.

After they passed through a cloverleaf interchange, the city fell away. Vacant land and a couple of hotels and buildings that looked like factories were all she could see. Tears streamed from her eyes as they hit speeds that had to be beyond ninety. And still, the bikers remained within sight behind them. Julian had his gun in his grip, but he needed both hands to steer at this speed.

Gunshots sounded again, bullets screaming across the asphalt. Julian zigzagged, making them a harder target. A fourth light came up behind the three bikes.

Julian hit his brakes three times and yelled, “Hold on!” He sped ahead, took the exit to the right, and slowed fast as he came around the bend. They left the road, traveling over the bumpy shoulder and up the hill before coming to a jarring stop. “Get off,” he said, already laying the bike down. He launched himself to the ground, flat on his stomach, gun ready.