The Biker's Secret Torment: MC Romance: Talon (Rosesson Brothers) (15 page)

"That's good to hear, Rams. I'm going to get out of here. Let you sleep. Where's Crystal?"

Rams shook his head and fought to keep his eyes open. "She never came to see me once in the ER. I sent the nurse to look for her and the nurse said she was gone."

I grabbed on hard to the bedrail, not trusting myself to speak. He got her. I knew it, deep down in my being. It was my fault. Somehow, it was my fault, and now I had to find her or die trying.

"Rams, get some sleep. I'll check in with you later."

Rams grabbed my arm. "Call Ginnia, tell her."

"I will," I said, uncurling his fingers from my wrist and laying his hand down next to his body. His eyes were closed already. I turned and burst out of the room, then ran down the hallway. For all I knew, every minute, every second counted, and I didn't even know where to start looking.

I pounded down the stairs to the emergency room entrance, going over my options, knowing I didn't have any. One thing became semi-clear to me though, I had to find Whitey, had to get ahold of Whip. They both knew something they weren't telling me. If I had to force it out of them, I would, but I couldn't even try until I found them.

I ran outside, dodging people, trying to figure out how he could have gotten her. Whoever he was. She had come in the ambulance. I could start there, call the ambulance company, talk to the paramedic. Ask if they had seen anything. What Crystal had done when they arrived at the hospital. I walked out into the parking lot, then turned around and looked at the hospital. There were cameras. That was good. But would I be able to convince security to let me playback the last three or four hours? Would that even help me?

I wracked my brain, trying to think of someone who could help. No club members worked at the hospital, but a few might know people here. I didn't have any cop friends, except Cormic, but he was just out of training, would he be able to help me? He could at least talk to security here. My eyes scanned the hospital and I seemed to hear a clock ticking in my ears, counting down the seconds to something. It had been hours. Crystal could already be dead, and if she was, I was too.

Something caught my eye. A motorcycle in the first stall of the parking garage. It looked just like Whip's even though I could tell it wasn't. But it gave me an idea.

Talon

I dove into traffic on my bike, weaving between cars, passing on the right side. Now that I had a destination, the clock ticked even louder. I had to find her.

I had called Knox. When he'd answered, he'd sounded genuinely happy to hear from me. I didn't mention the money, I didn't even think of it. I told him what I needed and what was at stake and he got down to business immediately. He'd said he couldn't get the information I was looking for, but he had some FBI friends who probably could. He'd called me back in only twenty minutes with an answer. They must have been pretty good friends.

Knox had asked them to look on all the street and highway cameras in the area for Whip and Whitey's motorcycles and for the black van from yesterday. The street cameras could identify license plates. Whitey's was easy. Whitey. Whip's wasn't personalized, so it wasn't so easy, but I'd washed and polished that motorcycle so many times when I was a prospect I had it memorized.

Knox had called back saying the black van hadn't been seen all day, but Whitey's motorcycle had been spotted heading North under the Chestnut St. overpass an hour ago, and Whip's motorcycle had been driven south off the Westwood off-ramp three hours ago. That put them both within a mile of the industrial area. And that gave me a place to start.

The warehouse that Whip owned that no one knew about.

But the kicker, the one thing that was really confusing me, was the last thing he'd told me.

"Knox, how did you get ahold of that life insurance deed, and what made you think it was pertinent?" I'd said.

"What are you talking about?"

"In the packet you sent me with the tax information on the warehouse. It had that, Whip's rap sheet, and the life insurance deed on his wife."

"Talon, I didn't include any life insurance deed. I sent over the tax form and the rap sheet, but that was it."

I'd hung up then, knowing it had to have been someone at the club who had put it in there. Whitey. But if Whitey knew something, why hadn't he just come out and told me? Everyone's mouth was sewn shut for some reason.

I was fifteen miles away, but closing in fast. The only weapon I had on me was a utility knife on my belt, but I didn't dare drive to the clubhouse for a gun. I couldn't take the time. The only two people I would have asked for help, Rams and Jaze, were gone. It was all starting to feel like one giant setup that had started a month ago, and I had no idea who the players were.

None of it mattered though. I would improvise. If I found the man who had taken Crystal I would kill him with my bare hands. I had done it before in a war I used to believe in.

But what would I do when I found Whitey, or Whip?

I had no idea.

I cut my speed as I entered the industrial area, not wanting to alert anyone to my presence. A block away from the old warehouse building, I parked my bike and walked, eyeing the parking lot for cars, for bikes, for movement, for anything.

A chain link fence surrounded the building and large parking lot. Smaller storage buildings were lined up along the far side of the fence, but other than them, everything seemed deserted. I wouldn't allow the bitter tastes of disappointment and desperation to fill my mouth until I'd been inside and found it empty.

I stole up to the front door of the quiet building. My intuition was quiet, meaning I was probably ok, for now. I tried the door but it was locked. It hadn't been locked the last time I'd been through here.

I examined the lock and the heavy double doors that met in the middle. It was an old building, and I wouldn't even have to pick the lock. I pulled out my knife and jammed it between the two doors, quietly working it back and forth between the two latches until I had them both pried open and the door free. It would have gone quicker without my riding gloves, but my gut told me to leave them on.

I squeezed inside, shutting the door behind me, then standing very still and holding my breath.

I heard talking.

Jackpot.

I snuck down the corridor, scanning the floors and empty rooms I passed for a weapon. Anything heavy enough to brain someone with. I saw nothing but trash, leaves, and the occasional piece of furniture.

I still couldn't make out the words, but I knew the person talking was not someone I'd ever heard before. Black van guy? My nerves went on lockdown, my entire body tensed and ready for what I instinctively knew would be a fight to the death.

Please God, let Crystal be the one to make it out of here alive.

I reached the open door where the voice was coming from and I stopped outside, pressed against the wall, listening. From my vantage point, all I could see was one small, empty corner of the room. It looked like all the others I had passed. Empty. Dark. Dead.

"... all they know is you've been keeping an awful lot of secrets. Secrets from everyone." The man made several tsk noises with his tongue. "Such a bad idea."

I had to get a visual. Had to take the risk. Before I could move, I heard Whip's voice. He sounded farther away than the other man, and different, like he was facing me and the other man was facing away.

"I can't change what happened, Bulldog. I made a bad decision. We all did."

I pressed my nose against the wall, and slowly dragged my face to the left. More of the room came into view of my one eye, as the side of my head became visible to anyone in the room.

"Yeah, we
all
did, didn't we."

The man snorted, but the direction of his voice didn't change. My left eye cleared the doorway and I could see everything in the tiny room but the far right, inner corner. Whip stood against the far wall, his arm stretched out from his body, his hand handcuffed to a heavy workbench. Another man stood opposite him, with his back to me. He was tall, thin, wiry, with brown hair. Black van man. Bulldog.

My movement caught Whip's attention and our eyes met. He looked away quickly, and I pulled back behind the cover of the door.

Before I could think about what I had seen, formulate a plan, Bulldog appeared in the doorway, gun in hand, pointed at my belly.

"Talon, is it? Come on in, join the party."

I scanned his face. Old, weathered, bandage over one eye. A combination of wisdom and cynicalness that tipped me off to the probability that he was a veteran. Probably Vietnam with Whip and Whitey. Which made him a thousand times more dangerous.

I walked inside and stopped half-way in.

"Lift your arms, let me see."

I lifted my cut, showed him all the places I could have a gun hidden, then turned and did it again.

"Pockets."

I pulled them out, holding the tiny utility knife in my hand. He ignored it. It was nothing against a gun.

He made the tsk noise again. "Didn't even bring a weapon. Watching you ride yesterday, I would have thought you were smarter than that."

"Where's Crystal?" I demanded.

Bulldog smiled. "Ask her dad."

I turned to Whip, my face hard. If I could have killed him with my eyes, I would have.

Whip shook his head. "I don't know, Talon, I swear. He's lying. When he came in he said she was alive, but not for long." His voice shook on the last word.

Something inside me broke. I didn't know who or what to believe, but the thought of anyone threatening Crystal made my body heat up and my hands clench into fists so tight my palms ached.

"Where the fuck is she?" I said again, slowly, forcing each syllable through my vocal cords.

"Ah, that's sweet," Bulldog said, turning to Whip. "Isn't it? This your future son-in-law? Or is your daughter the club whore?"

I took a murderous step towards him and he raised the gun to eye level. "Come on now, Talon. That's not how this works. You move again and I have to blow your brains out. Then who's going to save your whor—oops, excuse me, your innocent girlfriend from the quick and painless death her father ordered for her?"

Whip shook his head. "Talon, I swear, I didn't. He's making this up. He's got an agenda."

"Shut up old man!" Bulldog yelled. "That's my fucking agenda, that you shut the fuck up and quit your scheming for once in your life."

I didn't know who or what to believe, and for now, I didn't care. I just wanted to find Crystal.

A noise from the hallway caught all our attentions.

"It's just me," a voice called and I recognized it as Whitey.

I guess that part was settled. Whitey was definitely in on it, whatever
it
was.

My club was corrupted by a founding member, someone was killing people, and I might be next.

Talon

Whitey entered the room looking tired and disgusted. "What the fuck are you gonna do with Talon, Bulldog? He's not part of this."

"Shut up, Whitey. He's part of it now."

Whitey walked in front of me and turned to face Bulldog. "He's not. He was just trying to help his friends. Just being loyal."

"Yes, that's all very noble of him," Bulldog sneered. "But he's here now and that makes him part of it."

Whitey shook his head. "I've had enough Bulldog. I'm done with this."

"Then you're dead."

"Yeah, don't I know it." Whitey turned around to face me. I'd never seen him look quite so sad. "Jaze is—"

The room exploded with sound as Bulldog shot Whitey in the back. He fell onto me, his mouth working soundlessly.

"No, Whitey!" I cried, lowering him to the ground, my mind screaming I must be shot too. A bullet at that close range had to have gone right through him and into me. I felt no pain as I crouched and cradled Whitey's head in my hands.

No physical pain.

"Ah, God, Bulldog, what did you do?" Whip screamed.

Bulldog didn't respond. I brushed Whitey's hair back from his face and watched him struggle to speak. "Remember the cellar," he said, and then his eyes closed for the last time.

I dropped my head onto Whitey's chest. I was no closer to knowing what was going on, but I'd lost a friend.

"Bulldog, what are you going to do? Shoot us all?" Whip's voice was frantic. I checked Whitey's pulse, just to be sure. Still. Silent.

My eyes fell on a familiar shape under Whitey's cut. I moved my body to the left and put my hand inside the cut, feeling the cold steel of the gun immediately. I ran my fingers along its length as Bulldog yelled something back at Whip. My mind focused only on the gun. I wouldn't get more than one chance.

I press-checked the chamber. Bullet. I checked the magazine. There. My fingers felt along the safety, finally determining it was engaged. I dropped it to the disengaged position and tuned back in to the killer behind me.

He was pacing, moving, his voice high and demanding. But none of his focus was on me. Now. Or never.