"Your lady friend—Sergeant Petersgrove chuckled—has a mean left hook. During interrogation, she remained tightlipped no matter what we threw at her. One of our agents is sporting a black eye this morning and a doctor's excuse for a week off to recover from a cracked bone in his cheek."
Raul stepped forward. "And my woman?"
"Not even touched. She's a strong woman. I've known scarier men who gave us the whole story under similar interrogations." Sergeant Petersgrove rubbed his jaw. "She'll stand beside you, though I don't know if she'll stand
behind
you."
Raul lifted his chin, more confident about that part of his life than anything else. "Yeah, she will."
He walked out of the office, shutting the door quietly, and strolled down the hall to the exit. Outside, he paused and scanned the area. In the clear, he let himself smile. He was damn proud of Crystal. He wouldn't have faulted her for going directly to the FBI with her worries, but she'd stayed strong.
It was time to go home.
He had no one to say goodbye too here. Few agents remained working for the same department as when he started. They'd either moved on to different states or retired their position and joined cruising patrol. Working FBI wasn't easy on a person and he wanted out. It was time he started living again.
Unable to ride his Harley because of his shoulder wound, he pulled the keys out of his pocket and opened the Nissan rental car he'd picked up earlier. The company was reluctant to rent him a vehicle considering he hadn't ditched the sling the nurse made sure he wore out of the hospital, until he showed the chick at customer service his badge. He could damn well drive with his right hand.
After surgery the day he took out Garcia, he was transported by ambulance to St. John's Medical Center in Southern Oregon. He was lucky he was back in his territory to clear up business quickly, and be able to return to the club. It'd been too damn long since he saw Crystal, and he wanted to know if Tango's promise to keep her safe until he could return held true.
He didn't trust the guy, but he had no choice to put Crystal in his safekeeping. Four fucking years of riding side by side with Tango, and he had no idea his brother worked for the FBI until he saw Tango take down one of Garcia's men and make contact with the swat team. Everyone else missed the code word, but not him.
His day-to-day intuition slipped while he'd squirrelled his time away in the club doing president duties, but the word GOU, pronounced as the word go, was the safe word for Government Officials Undercover when in a takedown situation to inform the officials that he was one of them. He'd recognized Tango for what he was then.
Once he arrived back at the Lagsturns headquarters, he'd clean house. That included getting rid of everyone he felt wouldn't protect him one-hundred percent. He was going to have to take a long hard look at everyone, because he had no idea how Tango got past him.
He glanced at the clock in the car and opened one of the prescription bottles the hospital sent home with him. After popping two pain pills in his mouth, dry swallowing them, he pulled out of the parking lot. He'd be at the club in fifteen minutes, way before the edge started working to take care of his discomfort.
His body hurt like a son of a bitch. He'd rather go through a club fight drunk than take another bullet. His whole body ached, and every position seemed awkward and uncomfortable.
Crystal and her magic hands would have him feeling better in no time. Once he sunk himself deep into her body, the world seized to exist and he'd once again feel invincible. Remnants of the horror written all over her face the last time he saw her at the garage remained with him. All he wanted to do was find her and reassure himself she was okay.
The whole attack happened fast.
After Garcia's shot went off, he reeled back from the hit, but he'd gotten his own shot off, hitting his target in a deadly zone. He'd tried to get up and find Crystal, to assure him she'd be okay, but the injury took more out of him than he realized at the time. It wasn't until they'd set his ass on the gurney that it sunk in that he'd lost her in the crowd.
He had no one looking out for her. He'd sent the Lagsturns members away, sent Tango away, and set her up to handle watching everything go down by herself. He drove out of the parking lot and entered Sixteenth Street heading north. He should've prepared her more, or made adjustments in his plans.
Sergeant Petersgrove mentioned Crystal held her own. He grimaced taking the corner behind the club. He was damn proud of his woman.
He pulled in front of the motorcycle club. Scott walked up to the car, peered inside and broke out in a smile. Raul lifted his chin. "Gonna open the gate or gawk, kid?"
"Ah, I'll open, Prez." Scott jogged over, pushed the Cyclone gate wide open, and yelled, "Welcome home."
He chuckled. A little young at twenty-two years old to make decisions for the rest of his life, Scott was headed to being a full pledged member in six months or so if he kept his head on straight.
He parked across from the motorcycles lined up along the back fence and shut off the engine. A crowd gathered behind the club, obviously Duck told them he'd be arriving today. He gazed at them all, searching through the members for Crystal and not finding her. He shoved his medicine in the pocket of his cut, left his discharge papers on the seat, and snatched the storage ticket to have someone pick up his motorcycle for him early tomorrow morning.
He exited the car and stood, letting his legs stop shaking. His family moved in, and swept him forward with insults, digs, and typical show of love. Attuned to the mood, he read their faces. The speculations and mistrust over the turn of events he expected to find were absent. He gazed over everyone's shoulder. He still couldn't find Crystal.
His chest tightened, causing his shoulder to throb more. "Where's Crystal?" he asked old man Nichols.
"She came back without you, told us what happened with you getting caught in the crossfire and one of the Bronstowns trying to take you out when they hijacked the truck loaded with blow. She assured us you had the money, and got out of there before the pigs came." Nichols leaned in closer. "Girls tore up, said she needed space to think, and made sure we all promised to take care of you when you got back."
His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the noise. "Where's Tango?"
"Sleeping, I suppose. He's popping Vicodin on the hour," Nichols said, opening the back door to the club.
"What the hell happened to him?" he asked.
Nichols stopped walking and faced him. "Knifed. Barely missed a lung from what he said. One of the Bronstowns did him in before taking the damn truck and trailer. I thought you knew."
He rubbed the back of his neck with his good arm. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. Damn pain pills are making me spaced."
What the fuck?
Tango walked out of the hospital room yesterday after visiting and had no injuries. He'd made sure Tango swore on his life to watch over Crystal, and the asshole let her go?
"I'm going up to my room. Need to lie down." Raul slapped the papers for his motorcycle storage on Nichols chest. "Do me a favor and send one of the guys over to pick up my bike."
He walked away with no plans to sleep, because he needed to find out what in the hell happened to his woman. He took the stairs two at a time and stalked to the end room on the right. Not in the mood to knock, he kicked the flimsy lock out of the wall, and stormed into the room.
His pistol cleared his jeans and met the soft side of Tango's chin before the man could raise his head to see what caused the noise. He flicked off the safety, the barrel already cocked.
He growled. "Where is she?"
"Jesus, man." Tango stared up at the ceiling. "Let's talk."
"Tell. Me. Where my woman is?" He put more pressure on Tango's neck.
"6121 Northeast Delaney Street. Two blocks past the Minit Mart." Tango's Adam's apple spasmed. "She's safe. I have two Lagsturns staked outside. Big Joe and Duck."
He lowered the pistol. His strength ran out five minutes ago. He stumbled backward and luckily hit the wooden chair in the room. "Talk."
Tango sat up on the bed and ran his hands through his hair. "Hell of a way to find out we work for the same team—he held up his hands—I wasn't even sure my hunch was right until I saw you pull out your pistol on Garcia and recognized a trained sharpshooter. Anyway, Crystal went crazy, running around the scene, screaming your name. Damn woman has no fear when it comes to you, you know?"
"Go on," he said, acid turning in his stomach making him nauseous.
"She fought me. To keep her quiet, I moved her to the back of the garage and showed her you were okay. From there…you saw how she reacted. It was like her heart had been ripped out of her chest. I had to get her away before she gave you away. We went in for questioning together," Tango said.
"Did you stay with her, let her know you worked for the FBI?" He couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice.
Tango shook his head. "Hell no. We were separated during interrogations. I have no idea what she said, but they finally let her go. I was in and out in less than two hours. They kept her there for forty-eight. When I picked her up, she asked me to find her somewhere away from the club to stay. I couldn't get her to talk to me at all. I set her up at Big Joe's cousin's rental, because it was empty, and set guards on her. Whatever the bureau did inside that room with her hurt her deep, man. I've tried to talk to her every day when I've checked on her, but she's not saying a word. She thanks me for stopping by, says she's okay, and shuts the door."
"Fuck," he whispered.
Sergeant Petergrove gave him nothing to go on in their meeting. They'd let Crystal walk away so whatever story she told, they believed her. He stood up and swayed on his feet.
"Hey." Tango stood and grabbed his arm. "Maybe get some sleep, and then go see her tomorrow. I promise, she's fine and she's safe."
"I'll find that out myself." He shrugged Tango off.
He walked out of the room and straight downstairs where he ignored the party going on, and continued until he slid into the driver's seat of the rental. Feeling like shit, he wasn't going to let anyone keep him from Crystal.
If Tango told him Crystal fought and argued the entire time he was at the hospital, he would've relaxed. But to hear she'd clammed up and kept herself hidden away from the club killed him, he knew something was wrong. His woman was a fighter.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The clock on the wall in the quaint two-bedroom cottage house chimed. Crystal laid her phone in her lap and let her head fall back on the cushion of the couch. She counted to eight.
Eight chimes.
Eight reminders that she hadn't moved in an hour.
Eight hours since she had the idea to resurrect herself to the world as Pastor Keith Donaldson's daughter, and end the hell she'd gotten herself into.
Every second she put off making the call also kept Raul from moving on with his life. He deserved to get out from under the Lagsturns and have normalcy. He had a job waiting for him, and a family who missed him. She closed her eyes.
A family.
The officer in charge of questioning her after the takedown told her the truth. Those that loved Raul missed him, and she could make sure he reunited with his family. At first, she was surprised that they were giving her pertinent information about his real life and confirming his background of who he really was, but after all those hours in the holding cell and not giving anything away, they'd nearly broken her.
The FBI wanted him back, and they knew she was the one tying him to the club. He'd never leave without her going with him, and she couldn't make herself become a public spectacle by entering society again. He'd have enough attention and paranoia, trying to walk away from the only lifestyle he'd known for the last eight years. He'd be pushed into the limelight with her, and she'd get him killed by the people he trusted…the Lagsturns MC.
He had to leave on his own, go out quietly, and stay hidden. He could start over with another motorcycle club or fly to the other end of the world and work. Somewhere that he'd be safe and keep his nose clean.
He couldn't keep a low profile with her by his side.
Two rapid, loud bangs came from the front door, jolting her off the couch. She dropped her phone and pressed her hand to her chest.
Damn them.
Every couple of hours either Duck or Big Joe came around asking how she was doing. Neither one of them had ever heard of using a doorbell like a normal person. Each time they asked her if she was okay, and if they could get her anything. Every single time, she gave them both the same answer. She was fine.
Why couldn't men understand that the word
fine
meant they needed to leave her the hell alone?
She walked across the living room, unlocked the deadbolt, and swung open the door, ready to give the guards their answer and get back to sitting on the couch. But the man on the other side of the door wasn't one of the guards.
Raul stood in front of her. His dark hair, straggly and knotted, lay haphazardly as if he'd purposely messed it up. She took in the extra padding under his T-shirt on his shoulder and reached out, but stopped herself from pulling up his sleeve and looking for herself at his gunshot wound. Her knees gave out and she hung on to the door handle. He'd been shot. He could've died, and she'd never again tell him she loved him.
He walked forward. She stepped back. Going from the hardness around his mouth and eyes, she knew better than to tell him she wasn't ready to see him. She was more than ready. She just wasn't ready to talk with him yet.
He continued walking into the house until he reached the couch. "Shut the door."
She did what he asked without taking her gaze off him. He moved unsteadily. Usually he was confident and stable, much like a rock wall.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, afraid of his answer.
He sat down and grimaced. "No."
"What can I do?" She hurried to his side.