Page 42 of Protected By the Bikers Next Door
“If you promise to help me save Katie, I’ll do anything.”
Chapter 23
Wolf
Paul leads us to an apartment downtown. I’m still suspicious of him, unsure if I can trust his story. Hawk and Bear climb out of the back of the car, leaving Paul in the back, zip-tied and gagged so he can’t move or speak. I move to the passenger side where Harper’s sitting and stop her from getting out of the vehicle. I wish she hadn’t come. Our beautiful, stubborn woman wouldn’t take no for an answer, reasoning she was safer by our sides than going home. She may be right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. If I could, I’d hide her away somewhere safe.
“Stay in the car and keep an eye on him,” I say, handing over a revolver to Harper. “If he tries anything, shoot him,” I add, turning my focus to our captive with an expression that tells him I’m not joking around.
I’m not concerned that he’ll try anything. The man’s weak and a coward, and tied up to boot, but you can’t be too careful. I’d rather not leave her at all, but there could be a trap waiting for us inside. She’s safer here in the car with several of our guys stationed nearby, ready to act should anything go wrong.
“I’m not going to do anything, I promise,” Paul says, wide-eyed and fearful, attempting to hold his bound hands up in surrender, or to prove he’s incapacitated.
I look again between them, wondering if this is a bad idea. “Perhaps I should get some of the guys to come sit in here with you,” I say uncertainly.
Harper shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I want to talk to Paul,” she insists. It does nothing to ease my concerns. She rolls her eyes, “Look, if you must know, I’m actually a pretty decent shot.”
My eyebrows jump up in surprise. I didn’t know that. I was expecting to have to show Harper the basics of handling the gun safely and fire it should the need arise. “You are?”
“Yep,” she replies with a slow, knowing smile, demonstrating her point by disassembling the gun and reassembling it with practiced ease.
I find it unexpectedly arousing. Though I find pretty much everything Harper does sexy. I even find her morning breath sexy. “Damn, that’s hot, baby. You’re full of surprises.”
“Don’t you know it,” she purrs, leaning forward to plant a lingering kiss on my lips that makes my cock twitch in eager response.
Bear clears his throat behind me. “We’re kinda in the middle of a mission here, Prez.”
“If anything happens, anything at all, you call us back, okay?” I say to Harper.
“I will.”
I nod, closing the door behind her, and she locks it. “Let’s move out,” I say to the guys and the four other club brothers who’ll be coming inside. The rest will remain outside on guard, ready to come in and help if needed or warn us of any suspicious activity outside.
We move in formation through the parking lot in a tight line. The sodium streetlights overhead flicker weakly, throwingthe place in and out of shadow. The smell of stale smoke drifts out of the stairwell when we push inside. My stomach knots tighter with each step, every instinct screaming this is wrong.
It’s like being back in the military on a mission. The apartment block is quiet. Suspiciously so. It’s late, but there should still be the odd insomniac watching TV, or drunks just getting in, but the place is deadly silent. It fills me with a sense of unease.
The corridor is narrow, lined with peeling wallpaper and there’s the faint buzz of a dying light bulb overhead. A door down the hall slams shut as we pass, like the tenants know better than to get involved. Every sound echoes too loud—our breathing, the click of safeties being checked, the floorboards creaking under our boots.
The door to Paul’s sister Katie’s apartment is ajar. I push it open with the butt of my rifle, entering cautiously and doing a sweep as per my military training. The others file in behind me, checking the place and calling out “clear” as they go.
The air inside hits me first—metallic and sharp, the unmistakable coppery smell of blood. The living room looks like someone picked it up and shook it: couch cushions strewn across the floor, the coffee table is on its side, a lamp smashed in the corner. A framed photo lies face-down near the doorway, the glass cracked.
It doesn’t take long for us to realize the apartment’s empty. It’s also clear that Katie didn’t leave here of her own free will. The obvious signs of a struggle, and most worryingly, a large amount of blood. It’s pooled near the kitchen counter, already drying dark. The half-empty glass of water on the counter, even a pan still warm on the stove—it all screamsinterruption. One moment she was living her life, the next, ripped out of it.
“Look for any clues for where they might have taken her,” I tell my guys.
“Shit, I got something in here.”
We head through to the bathroom, where there’s a cryptic note written on the mirror:
You know what happens next.
“It must be for Paul,” Hawk suggests.
Bear speaks into his walkie, “Harper, there’s a note here. We think it’s for Paul. Ask him what happens next.”
“Oh god, no,” Paul says, his voice distant and hollow.
