Risky and Wild(95)

He jerks back, but he doesn't go down.

Shit.

There's no blood either, not even the faint pinkish tinge left by the rain. Body armor? I wonder, but there's not a lot of time here to think these things through. I aim at his head this time and wonder if I can make it through the chaos and the rain and the dark. The sounds of sirens echo in the distance, bringing with them a sense of calm.

Fauna takes another shot over my shoulder, but then she jerks back suddenly like she's been punched, sliding to the ground beside Glinda while Janae lays unconscious beside them, her gun a mere twelve inches away from her hand.

I'm on my own now.

Blond guy holds his gun on me and nods his chin at someone behind me.

“Get her. We need this one,” he says as he keeps the muzzle trained on me, moving closer, his boots splashing through puddles as we sit in a stand off. It won't last long though, I know, because he has backup and I don't. Not yet. If I can just make it until the police show up …

That's when I notice the writing on the front of the man's vest. President. So this is Clayton Moore. What the hell is this guy doing his own dirty work for? I stare up at him as I try to figure out my next best option. What can I do? He wants to take me hostage as leverage against who? My dad? Royal? If I shoot him, I have no doubt the guy I can hear moving across the wet parking lot behind me will kill me.

But if I keep him distracted here, he can't go back and finish the girls off. There's no time. If he wants me, wants to get out of here, he has to move now. I keep my gun trained on the President of Mile Wide MC until I feel the heat of a second body against my back.

“Put the gun down, little lady, and we can get out of here.”

I pretend to consider that for a moment as the hard press of steel digs into my back. Water sluices between my lips, the scents of gunpowder and blood pungent and nauseating even through the cold wet freshness of the rain. My knees ache and burn, wet and oily from the puddles on the pavement.

None of it matters.

I wait until the desperation on Clayton's face is stretched to the breaking point before I drop my gun.

And then I prepare for my second kidnapping in as many weeks.



The blow to the back of my head is pain like I've never experienced before. It makes time seem like it's in slideshow form: flickering stars, wet pavement, the backseat of a car, rain splattering against a window. I realize latently that I'm flying down the highway. Must be the highway because there are no stop signs and it feels like we're going at a good speed.

I try to sit up, but I can't make myself move. The pain is too much and I think maybe my arms and legs are tied? I try to relax into the seat. Now's my chance to grab what strength I can before we get to wherever we're going. I have a feeling once we get there, I'm going to need every last ounce of strength I can muster.

Breathe, Lyric, breathe.

My thoughts drift back to the girls and the nauseous feeling in my stomach turns sour. Janae was definitely alive; she got clipped in the ear. And Glinda's shot was through and through, but … I have no idea if Fauna survived that.

My eyes crack open against the pain and this time, I manage to turn my head to stare at the front seat. There's one man driving, none in the back with me. Outside the window, I can see redwood trees blurring by in a thick messy canopy above our heads. A careful test of my limbs confirms my theory: I'm tied up.

Not good.

No, not just not good, but actively Bad with a capital B.

Fuck.

Can't seem to shake that word, now can I?





Several hours at the clubhouse spent researching the Saldaña Cartel, and we're still not sure where to go from here. Clayton Moore's mobile number is no longer connected—can't seem to get hold of it through any phone.

I shove my laptop away and lean back in my chair. At least the vote was unanimous: it's time to call on our favors with the other chapters. We're going to need backup, and we're going to need it quick. We'll hit the cartel as hard and fast as we can before they move their asses any further north. And part of getting rid of the Saldañas is getting rid of Mile Wide.

Permanently.

“Time for a smoke break?” I ask as Dober, Jack and Smoky glance up at me from their seats at the table. I'm not sure where Glacier's disappeared to, and Mug is in the shop working on his bike. Mick's still not looking at me, absorbed with whatever hacking job he's working on at his laptop. The man's a genius with both paperwork and technology, go figure.

“I've got a hit on Rebecca's credit card,” he says, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen as I stand up and slide a pack of ciggies from my pocket. “The idiot's actually using her MasterCard in San Francisco. Six transactions today. One of them at a hair salon and another at some expensive fucking boutique. Two grand on clothes. Can you believe that? Landon is dead and this bitch is out shopping?”