Page 72 of Tusk's Fury

“Thanks, old man. Catch you later.”

He waves one hand in my direction and goes back to counting.

When we walk back outside, Tank brings up what we’re all thinking. “I don’t know if I want to go on a wild goose chase tonight.”

Dutch adds, “You said she was pregnant, what’s all that about?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the only lead we’ve got. He was with it enough to know she was in a different car—Silver’s, to be exact. Evan said he waved her out after the alarm. Gina was probably hiding under a coat or something in the back seat when they left the clubhouse. As for Brittany, they hid her in the trunk. I can almost guarantee it.”

Siege gets on his bike. “We might as well give it a try. Got nothin’ to lose.”

We head due north, just like Gnarly John said. Every time the road branches off, one of the brothers splits from the pack to scout it out. After a while, I find myself cruising the interstate all on my own. Even with the stress of trying to find Brittany, riding at night reminds me of all the reasons I love riding the open road.

After about forty-five minutes, my phone buzzes. I pull over and answer it.

Tex’s excited voice fills my ear. “We’ve got your ex. Now, don’t be mad, but I had to rough her up a little to get her into the vehicle. But we’ll be pulling into the clubhouse in about fifteen minutes if you want to meet us there.”

“Hell yeah, of course I do. You gonna text the group chat, or should I?”

“I’ll do it.”

Seconds later, my phone buzzes several times in a row. The first message was Tex’s update about hauling Gina back to the clubhouse. The second was intel from Zen on where Silver lives. The last message was Siege assigning several brothers to go by Silver’s place and bring her to the clubhouse if they could lay their hands on her.

That settles everything from my perspective. I head back towards the clubhouse, along with my club brothers.

***

We roll into the clubhouse just as several brothers come pouring out of Silver’s car, dragging her kicking and screaming behind them.

Rigs speaks up. “Tusk is right about one thing. The only way they could have gotten Brittany out of here was by stuffing her in the trunk.”

Siege grabs a flashlight from his storage compartment. “We’d best have a look. It’ll save a lot of time when we’re interrogating our perps.” He tells Crow, “Pop the trunk. We want to have a look inside.”

Silver promptly loses her mind and tries to grab the key fob from Crow. He’s a big guy, and she falls on her ass trying. Crow hits the button, and when we look inside, I immediately know what she didn’t want us to see. Blood.

I turn to her and say, “You’ve got exactly one chance to tell me what the fuck you’ve done.”

She snaps her mouth shut so fast it would be comical if the woman I love’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance.

Siege grumbles, “Take her to my office.”

As we walk into the clubhouse, Rigs asks Siege, “You want me playing good cop again?”

Siege nods. “Yeah, you do that, brother.”

Of course, I know what this means and decide on the spot to be unhinged cop ‘cause it’s not even a stretch for me at this point. I’ve always said I’d never hit a woman, but when it comes to my old lady and finding out what’s happened to her, I ain’t making no promises to keep my hands off that troublemaking bitch.

Siege, Rigs, and I pile into his office, where Crow is standing over Silver with his arms crossed over his chest. Siege jerks his chin at our club brother, and he ambles away, leaving us to deal with the woman who betrayed our club.

Siege sits down at his desk and stares at her for a long moment. “Do you know what motorcycle clubs do with people who betray the club?”

Her eyes get big, and she nods. “But you wouldn’t hurt me, ‘cause you like me, right?”

I speak up, “No, we fucking well don’t like you. You’ve been nothing but a gigantic pain in the ass since the day you walked in the door.”

Rigs agrees with me. “You started getting temporary bans on your first night with us. What about that screams you’re special enough to get preferential treatment?”

Her face takes on a stubborn expression. “Look, this wasn’t my idea, and I’m not going to take the blame for it.”

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