Page 21 of A Biker's Tiny Present

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 aroundhere 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.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

RILEY

I’m wide awake the second the door swings open. The clock on the nightstand reads ten-oh-five p.m. and I push back the blanket, fly out of bed, and jump at Tiny. God, it feels so good to be back in his arms.

The last nine hours have been a roller coaster of emotions. Several times I swung from being extremely happy, feeling super welcomed in the club, to the opposite end and facing some serious blues. I didn’t know where Tiny and the other guys went. He wouldn’t tell me where they were going, only that they had a lead on Taylor’s boss and had to track it down.

I could tell all afternoon that Nicky was feeling my blues. He ate less than normal, refusing to finish a whole bottle any time I tried to feed him. I laid him down for a nap shortly after Tiny left, but he cried for almost thirty minutes before he exhausted himself enough and passed out. Putting him down for the night went a little smoother, but not by much. I just had fallen asleep when Tiny returned.

Holding me up, he backs out into the hallway, shutting the door behind me, and carries me into an empty room across the hall. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stay attached to Tiny and am in his lap again.

“This is my favorite spot.” I burrow as deep into him as I can. I missed this. I missed him.

Tiny rubs his hands up and down my back, over my backside, down my legs, touching me everywhere his maneuvering hands can reach. “In my lap?”

“Uh huh,” I mumble and nod into his neck.

“You can sit on my lap any time you want.”

“Good.”

Tiny hugs me and says the worst words anyone in a relationship can hear. “Hey, Riley. We need to talk about somethin’.”

I sit back and look him square in the eyes. “Taylor is gone, isn’t she?” I already know the truth, but I need to hear him say it out loud. I need to hear it before I can accept that my life is about to change again, but not in a good way.

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