Authors: CJ Lyons
Smokey dropped her hand and circled the building, Lena following warily. There were
no lights but she could hear strange sounds coming from inside. Scratches or gnawing.
An image from an old campfire story popped into her head: a man with a hook sharpening
it before going on a killing rampage.
Her stomach rumbled and she couldn’t tell if it was fear-induced nausea or simple
hunger. She hadn’t been hungry inside the cabin, partly an aftereffect of the drugs,
partly because she was too scared to think of eating, but out here, running in the
cold air … Her teeth chattered and her body shook so badly she kept tripping over
her own feet.
She looked back the way she’d come. At the edge of her vision, she could make out
the lines of the cabin she’d fled from. Two cabins. Her brain seemed fogged as if
making that simple observation strained it to the point of exhaustion.
The snow flurries changed to a steady fall, her coat collecting a white sheen. She
looked at the cabin before her, at the trees whipping in the wind behind it. Shelter.
She needed shelter.
The noise came again. Smokey returned to her side, screeching and doing a jig. The
chimp didn’t like this cabin, either. Together they skirted past it.
“Not the forest,” Lena told Smokey, her lips so cold and numb she was surprised she
could force the words out. “We need another house. Someplace warm.”
The chimp bobbed her chin as if she understood and led Lena along the tree line downhill.
In the distance another cabin, just like the first two, came into view, but Smokey
didn’t lead her there. Instead the chimp took her to a larger log cabin, a substantial
building compared with the others—at least three times as large and two stories high.
Lena tugged Smokey’s arm, wanting to examine the log cabin, but Smokey kept trying
to lead her past it. Lena’s feet felt like deadwood, barely able to shuffle across
the uneven ground. She stumbled and fell facedown, only catching her fall at the last
minute. Her hands smacked against the cold ground, stray pine needles and twigs cushioning
the blow.
She lay there, face pressed against the snow-covered ground, uncertain if she could
get back up again. Why should she? She could just go to sleep right here, everything
would be fine, just fine …
Vonnie’s voice called to her from the darkness. “Hurry up, Lena. We’re waiting.”
“Five minutes,” she murmured, eyes closed. “I’ll be there in five minutes. I promise.”
Vonnie was insistent. “C’mon. You know we can’t be late. Daddy’s waiting.” The jangle
of coins in a Baggie punctuated her words. “I’ll let you be in charge of the quarters.”
Lena opened her eyes. Their mom hovered in the background, wearing her best black
hat, the one with the peacock feather. The one she let Lena wear for her make-believe
tea parties if Lena promised to be extra-special careful.
Vonnie wore a red velvet dress that matched Lena’s. Christmas. Oh how she remembered
those—getting up extra early because the line for visitation would be extra long.
Falling asleep in the car because it was still dark outside; falling asleep on Mom’s
lap while they waited to be processed; falling asleep sitting at the table waiting
for Daddy.
It was years before she realized that most kids woke early on Christmas Day to presents
under a tree and turkey dinner, not lines to get inside a crowded room filled with
strangers and dinner bought with quarters from vending machines.
“Lena. Get up.”
Anger surged through her and she waved her sister away. “Let him wait. Bastard’s guilty.
Did you or Mom ever stop to think that? No, you said keep the faith. You believed
in him—
we
believed in him. Wasted our whole lives on the bastard. Well, no more. He can rot
for all I care.”
The heat of Vonnie’s slap shook Lena. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever even think
that. Now get up!”
Lena tried. If only to put her big sister in her place, let her know how wrong she
was. But her eyelids were so heavy. Her entire body weighed too much to move.
So instead she curled up tighter. “Go ’way, Vonnie. Let me sleep.”
* * *
It took all of Bernie’s courage to sneak past the partying Reapers and leave the clubhouse
early. But he had to make sure Lena and the animals were okay.
And the longer he hung out with the Reapers, imagining what they’d done to Manson,
what they’d do to him if they suspected … he just couldn’t take it.
As he drove his pickup through Cherokee, past the VistaView, and turned west up the
corkscrew road that led up to the Teddy Roosevelt Lodge, he tried his best to untangle
the complications his life had become ensnared in.
Had been so damn proud of himself, how slick and smooth he’d been, grabbing the animal
tranquilizer and syringe the zoo guy had given them, guessing her weight, drawing
up just the right dose, following her to the restroom and injecting her, bringing
her up here before anyone at the clubhouse even realized they’d lost her.
He’d felt so brave, defying Weasel and Poppy. It wasn’t until he got her up to the
cabin that he realized he had no idea what the hell to do with her. And then when
she didn’t wake up for almost a full day, he about shit himself with panic that he’d
overdosed her.
He told himself that as soon as she was awake and the effects of the drug wore off,
he’d explain everything to her, help her do whatever it took to keep her safe and
clear of Poppy and the Reapers. Even if it meant betraying the only family he cared
about.
But he hadn’t counted on the party last night keeping him away so long. Now he could
barely swallow without fear that she or the leopard or those stupid chimps had come
to harm.
If they did, it would be all his fault.
All because he had a dream. Of a home. Someone to take care of. Maybe even someone
who would take care of him. Maybe.
Snow was falling steadily by the time he pulled the truck up in front of the cabin
where Lena was. He wanted to make sure she was okay; then he’d see to the leopard.
When he’d checked on her last, yesterday morning, and given her back her necklace
with the gold cross, she’d still been groggy and out of it, singing hymns and praying
with words that made no sense. In no shape to talk to anyone but God.
Hopefully she was better now, because he sure as hell couldn’t figure this out all
on his own. Not when Poppy and Weasel were whispering something about the feds being
involved, looking for Lena as well.
What the hell had such a sweet girl done to have so many people after her?
* * *
Vonnie left her dreams but Smokey wouldn’t abandon Lena. The chimp kept nuzzling her
face with scratchy whiskers, tugging at her arm like she was a rag doll.
“Leave me alone.” Lena batted the chimp away. She rolled over. Snow filled her nostrils,
choked her into alertness.
“What the—” She sat up. Dark. Black, black dark rushed her vision. She blinked back
vertigo until she could see again. Snow. And cold, oh so cold. Hugging herself, she
staggered to her feet. There was a building. Warm, she had to get warm.
Smokey chattered and cavorted, blocking Lena’s path. Lena ignored the chimp, focused
only on shelter and warmth. She could die out here. The thought drove her forward,
one painful step after the next.
The snow wasn’t deep but was wet enough that her makeshift booties had long ago soaked
through. Her feet no longer hurt; instead they were numb, heavy, like moving two concrete
blocks.
One, then the other, then the other, keep going.
She counted her steps like words of a prayer. The most important prayer of her life.
Please God, don’t let me die …
The porch railing was salvation. Using it, she hauled herself up to the veranda. The
door wasn’t far now, not too far. A strange keening noise that barely cut through
the sound of the wind made her stop, waver. Something was in there.
She almost gave up, almost sat down right there and embraced death. It was only the
thought of how very disappointed Vonnie and her mom would be that kept her going.
One step, two steps, three … She hit the door, fumbled with the heavy latch securing
it. Old-fashioned. Lift and slide and pull.
The door opened. She fell inside. Closed her eyes again. Didn’t even open them when
she heard the soft thud of something large leaping to the floor in front of her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Surprise ricocheted through Caitlyn, leaving in its wake a heavy, sinking feeling
of dread. Shit, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. “Paul.” She blurted out his
name before she could stop herself. “What the hell?”
“Your mom was worried. Sent me to get you.” He stood tall, looking directly at her,
as if she was all that mattered. Didn’t seem to even notice that he was the only black
man here, much less the only man not carrying a weapon.
“Hear that, boys?” Poppy said. “It’s true love. He’s come to save her.”
Paul shrugged off the two men restraining him, pointedly ignoring the one with the
gun aimed at him. Despite her anger and fear, Caitlyn had to admit it was kind of
sexy. If not for the fact that suddenly her half-assed plan had gone from getting
the lay of the land to a critical hostage-taking incident.
“Look,” Paul said in his most measured and reasonable physician voice. “I’m not sure
what’s going on here, but I’m sure it’s all a simple misunderstanding—”
“Shut up, Paul,” Caitlyn snapped, desperate to keep him from making the situation
worse.
He glared at her and opened his mouth again when Poppy said, “Do what the lady says,
Paul.”
The Reaper with the gun jabbed it sharply into Paul’s belly, just below his rib cage,
hard enough to make Paul gasp. Caitlyn took note of the man: middle-aged, dark hair,
short, mean-looking face that had seen its share of fistfights. Not as mean looking
as when she finished with him, she promised herself. Not by a long shot. The name
on his leather vest was
WEASEL
. It fit.
The crowd on the dance floor behind them kept gyrating and shaking their booties the
way only white folks with no sense of rhythm could, as if what was happening here
was happening behind an invisible force field. Not a part of their world. No help
would be coming from that quarter. It was all up to her.
The Reaper whom Poppy had sent for Goose’s cut returned, holding it in two hands and
presenting it to Goose with respect. Once Goose donned it, she saw why. Asshole was
the chapter’s damn enforcer.
As soon as the leather vest was in place, Goose’s demeanor changed. His gaze narrowed,
assessing her, ignoring Paul, and taking good measure of the mood of the Reapers who
now surrounded the pool table—including a few from the home chapter. Which upped the
ante because the Carolina Mountain Men would need to save face in front of the bigwigs
from Daytona.
Great. Just great.
Possibilities streamed through Caitlyn’s mind, all examined and rejected until only
one was left. The one option she hated, but it was the only way to prevent bloodshed.
Surrender.
She pulled the silver Reaper from her collar and leaned over the table, bowing her
head as she stretched her left hand to place it as close to Poppy as possible. Her
movement and the table concealed her right hand sliding down to grab her Baby Glock.
When she straightened, she held the Glock at her side, below the table, aimed where
it would cause Poppy the most pain, and her left hand rested on her ASP, ready to
deploy it.
Unfortunately three other Reapers, including Goose, now held pistols and at least
four more had their hands where she couldn’t see them, presumably on their own weapons.
“I made a mistake,” she admitted, her pride about choking her. “Now let him go.”
Poppy held her gaze for a long moment, spinning the silver pin between his fingers.
“What do you say, Goose?”
“I say we’ve got a lot of people enjoying our hospitality tonight.” Goose nodded to
the dancers behind Poppy as he holstered his weapon at the small of his back. “I think
a heartfelt apology should suffice.”
Poppy jerked his chin to the men holding Paul. They immediately dropped their hands
and stepped back.
“Get out of here, Paul,” she said, not relaxing her guard one iota.
“Not without you.” He stood his ground like he was Sir Galahad protecting her honor.
Couldn’t he see how delicately the balance of power teetered between her and Poppy?
“The lady is free to go as soon as she apologizes,” Poppy said.
Paul jerked; obviously he thought it would be the Reapers apologizing to him.
Before he could say anything that would send the situation spiraling into violence,
the noise of sirens sounded through the open door behind her. The gyrations on the
dance floor had morphed into a full-fledged brawl. Nice timing.
Amazing how fast weapons disappeared and the Reapers vanished into the crowd at the
sound of cops approaching. All except Goose, Poppy, and the short man who’d held the
gun on Paul. Weasel. Whom she now noticed was missing one of his lapel pins.
Caitlyn took advantage of the disruption to step around the table and grab Paul, yank
him to the door. “Go, now. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”
He pivoted out of her grasp. “No. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“This is my job, Paul. You need to let me do it.” Adrenaline rushed her words as she
positioned herself to cover both sides of the doorway.
Paul didn’t move. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to come here? I knew
what kind of crowd I’d be walking into. But I promised your mother I’d keep you safe.”
Caitlyn felt a rush of shame that he’d ventured into danger because of her. She had
to get him out of here before things escalated. “The best way to keep me safe is to
let me do my job. And I can’t do that while I’m watching over you.” He stared down
at her. Caitlyn sacrificed a precious moment of her attention to meet his gaze. “Please.”