Page 94 of Rafe: Sins of the Father

“Beat it, kid. I might bend your mother over the hood of this car.”

I slap my hand over my ears and start humming, walking away.

“Wait. Don’t go, Rafe,” my mother calls out, then turns to my father. “I love that you did this for me. Really, baby. But right now, I need you to find our daughter.”

“All right, honey. Let me charge my phone, and I’ll track where her phone is.” He takes her hand, and we all walk inside the clubhouse.

He finds a charger behind the bar, and ten minutes later, it's juiced. He scrolls over the screen. “Looks like she’s in the parking lot of a Sonic in Los Gatos. See, she’s fine.”

“Then why isn’t she answering her phone? Go get her. Please?”

My father sighs and shoves his phone in his pocket. “Fine. Come on, Rafe. Let’s go find your sister.”

“Yay,” I say, but follow him out to our bikes.

Los Gatos is about ten miles southeast, and the ride takes about fifteen minutes.

My father turns into the lot, and I follow. It’s mostly empty, and I don’t see her in any of the cars parked there.

We park and dismount, and my father again uses his locator app, then lifts his eyes to the back corner of the lot where a dumpster sits.

He meets my eyes, and my stomach drops. We both jog over, and for a terrifying moment, I’m afraid I’m going to find her body in the dumpster.

“There,” I say, pointing to a cell phone covered in sparkly pink rhinestones lying face-down on the pavement.

My father squats and picks it up, turning it over to expose the shattered screen.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He whirls in a circle, dragging a hand over his mouth. Then his eyes connect with mine. “Call Cole. Now.”

Ten minutes later, the club descends. But we’ve got nothing to go on but her phone in a parking lot in Los Gatos. Dad keeps asking me who she was meeting, but I don’t know much other than he was some kid on a Ninja bike.

We break off in pairs, scouring the area, but have no luck. I see a few sport bike riders parked at a gas station, and I motion TJ. He nods, and we turn in the lot.

We roll right up on them, freaking them out a little. I climb from my bike, and I know they see our patches.

“Hey, guys. Have any of you seen this girl?” I hold up my phone with a picture of Fiona. “She’s my sister. She supposedly went out on a first date with a guy on a Ninja last night, and she’s disappeared. Found her phone in a Sonic parking lot in Los Gatos just now.”

“A Kawasaki Ninja?” one of them asks. “What color?”

“I don’t know, man. You know any guys who ride one?”

“Lot of guys ride them.”

I nod and look down the road. “Okay, well, can I give you my number in case you see her?”

“Sure, man. No problem. We’ll keep an eye out. Pass the word around to everyone we ride with.”

“Hey, let me get a shot of that picture,” one of them says. “I’ll post it on my social media page. I’ve got a lot of followers.”

“Followers?” I tilt my head.

He points to the camera on his helmet, another on his gas tank, and another on a pole off the back of his bike. “We film a lot of content.”

“I see.” I hold up the photo of Fiona, and he tilts his head to get a video of it, then he gives me a thumbs up.

“Got it.”

“I appreciate it.” I clasp hands with each one of them, then walk to my bike and TJ.

---