Love Ties (20 page)

As he strode to his bike, he couldn’t help but let fear grip him. If the three people closest to him were missing, they were probably together. He grabbed his cell and speed-dialed Ace.

“Yeah, boss.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“I’m…a little tied up. I’ve gotta go. I’ll be in touch.”

Before Jamison could respond, Ace hung up.

Fury and sick terror sloshed in Jamison’s gut like the most disgusting brew. “Dammit!” He punched Blake’s number.

It rang five times and went to voicemail.

Tied up, Ace had said. Literally tied up? Where the fuck was Ever?

He stormed into the club and looked straight at his prez. “I need you.”

The prez took the time to kiss his old lady because they never knew what kind of shit they’d run into and which kiss would be the last. Then he strode outside with Jamison.

As they walked to their bikes, he filled Strother in.

“You think Blake might be with your woman and not answering because of that?”

He shook his head. “No. I trust Blake completely. If he’s not answering, it’s because he’s in trouble. And I have a feeling Ace and Ever might be in trouble along with him.”

He looked at Jamison hard. “Why would Ever be in trouble?”

Jamison had to come clean. Total disclosure. No secrets. It was what kept them all alive. “Because yesterday she mentioned that the Raider who gave her the intel on Middleton was someone she knew.”

Strother blew a long breath through his teeth. “Fuck. Man, what did you get us into? C’mon. Let’s pay a visit to the Raiders.”

“Should we call Stitt?” The cop was always on their side, no matter what. Having another gun might be handy, especially outside Heller’s Gap.

Strother waved a hand. “Nah. We can handle this.”

“Stitt said whenever we needed him—”

“No.” Strother’s tone was hard, and Jamison’s inner alarm bells sounded. The man’s behavior was off.

They rode out together, passing Harris who saluted them at the gate. They rode tight, and Jamison took it as a good sign despite his earlier misgivings. Strother would stick by his brother even if his woman was in cahoots with a Raider.

Jamison didn’t believe for a minute that Ever was spying on the Hell’s Sons. She wasn’t there to wreck their club or get information on their activities. But one thing was certain—she was telling him her goddamn story.

The Raiders’ compound was locked down tight.

“Something’s fucking going on,” Strother said as they parked far down the street.

“Jesus, we need backup.”

“It looks to me as if we have it.” He pointed to a van parked some distance from them.

Ace and Blake.

They got off their bikes and walked toward the van, keeping a hand on their weapons and their eyes on their surroundings. Getting themselves killed wasn’t in the cards.

As Strother approached the van, he slowed his pace and pulled his weapon. He pointed it at the van windows. Jamison peeked inside. No driver or passenger.

Strother motioned for Jamison to call one of their phones. He did, and it rang in the van.

It fucking rang.

Dread scorched the pit of his stomach as he wrenched open the driver’s door and launched himself into the van, expecting dead men. Dead friends.

As Jamison threw himself between the front seats, he put his finger on the trigger. “Ace. Blake!”

The slightest of noises, like the scuffling of a rodent.

Their van had no windows in the back and was as black as night, but Jamison flicked his lighter, and the orange flame illuminated both friends duct-taped on the floor of the van.

Alive.

His heart started beating again, but the adrenaline left him weak and nauseated. “Fucking hell, who did this to you?”

Strother jumped in behind him and locked the doors so no one else could trap him and Jamison. He rummaged in the glove compartment and came out with a flashlight, which he switched on.

Ace and Blake lay curled on their sides like worms, wrists bound behind their backs and their legs taped across the thighs, knees, and ankles. Ace had obviously taken his call before this had been done to him.

While Jamison cut them free and unwound two loops of tape from each man’s mouth, he tried not to think about where the hell Ever was.

His mind had already raced ahead and had her dead inside the Raiders compound. He’d never get her back, maybe wouldn’t even get her body back to bury it.

Pain was a block of ice settling over his soul. He stared at his friends.

“Who did this?” Strother asked.

“Raiders.” Blake panted as if he didn’t get enough air while his mouth was taped.

“We followed Ever,” Ace said.

Jamison couldn’t draw a deep breath. Dizziness descended.

“As soon as she passed through the gates, those Raider assholes were on us. They tied us up.” Blake’s gaze burned into Jamison’s, seeking forgiveness.

Strother punched the driver’s seat. “Dammit! They are going to come after us on our own turf now. Ace, if you can feel your fingers, call the club and tell them to arm themselves. Lock down the women and children.”

Jamison swung around. “Wait. Where is Copilot?”

Ace’s face creased in pain. “As soon as the sons of bitches opened the door, he lunged at one’s throat. They hit him, and he ran off.”

“Shit. Do you think he’d make it back to the club?”

“Unless something bad happened to him, yes.”

“Call the club and ask if he’s there. If not, send some prospects out to look for him.”

Ace nodded, eyes downcast. Jamison gripped his brother’s forearm, and their gazes met. “He’ll be okay. He’s the toughest Hell’s Son I know.”

Nodding, Ace located his phone and made the call.

Jamison stared at the gates of the Raiders’ compound. Chain link with barbed wire at the top. He wasn’t getting in there without a fucking tank. And Ever…she was inside.

Lost.

A long groan sounded, and it came from him.

Strother clamped his hand on Jamison’s shoulder. “Stay with us, man. We need your head in the game to get her back.”

He snapped his lighter closed and dropped it to the floor. When he scrubbed a hand over his face, he hardly felt it.

In the background he registered Ace’s call to the club and Blake and Strother discussing their options. Apparently Copilot hadn’t made it back yet, but the prospects were riding out now.

“Get the Hell’s Sons on the phone,” Strother said. “We’re calling them to arms. It’s war against the Raiders.”

Blake’s face grew whiter than it already was after his ordeal. He gawked at Jamison for direction. “Are you serious, Prez?”

“Yeah, I am. We’re getting our vice prez’s woman out.”

Maybe Strother hadn’t lost his mantra to protect at all costs.

•●•

Barbosa jerked a chain around Ever’s wrists, and she stumbled forward. The club looked the same, right down to the criminal mug shots on the wall. Even Stone’s latest was there, and the man himself was standing ten paces away.

Her heart lodged in her throat, and her bowels turned to water. She wanted to curl up in terror, but instead she looked him in the eyes and raised her chin a notch.

“Stone.”

His handsome face had more lines and scars, and as she watched, it drained of blood. “Ever,” he whispered.

“She’s no ghost, VP. She’s fucking alive,” Barbosa spat, yanking her chains again. She fell this time, knees striking the floor. She bit off a cry of pain and continued to stare at Stone.

If she was ever getting out of here alive, she had to appeal to the love he’d once had for her. As children, he’d done everything in his power to protect her.

“Leave us,” Stone ordered, voice cracking.

Her pulse raced, but she forced her expression to remain calm. If she looked afraid, he’d never believe her lie.

“Are you sure, man?” Barbosa asked.

“Yes.” He shot a look over the full room. “Get out.”

Chair legs scraped the rough wooden floor and men scattered. Ever didn’t look at anything but her ex.

He’d put on some muscle. And it was true—he wore the VP patch. The Raiders had held his position until his release.

Barbosa dropped her chains, and she remained on her knees, at Stone’s mercy. Only when the room was cleared did he approach.

His legs came into her view. Worn jeans that smelled like the man she’d once loved. Did you ever stop loving your first love?

She leaned forward, brushing her forehead against his thighs.

A quaking breath left him, and he sank his fingers into her hair, holding her to his legs. “My wife is alive.”

Technically she was no longer Mrs. Stone Silva. The divorce had been finalized before her “death.”

Panic swept her, and she quivered. Stone took it for emotion and dropped to his knees before her.

With him so close, her body responded. He’d been her first lover. He’d been her protector and savior.

But no, she wasn’t that young girl anymore. She’d made a new life—several of them, actually—for herself. And Jamison wasn’t far from her mind.

“My God,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around her and jerking her into his chest. “After all these years, my wife.”

He buried his nose in her hair and breathed deeply while he dug his fingers into her spine. She knew she’d have black and blue dots all the way down her back. Jamison would be very unhappy.

That was, if she ever saw him again.

“How, Ever? Where have you been? What happened?”

She didn’t answer but waited until he released her. Then she held up her bound wrists.

“Let me get you out of these chains.” He worked at the links, which weren’t locked but looped through each other so she couldn’t move if she wanted. Once she was free, she stared at the purple depressions on her skin.

Don’t cry. Don’t
.

He took her hands in his and rubbed some feeling back into them. The warm chafe of his hands was too familiar, and her body remembered well. She withdrew and pushed to her feet.

Her knees ached like crazy, but she walked a few feet to the bar. A bottle of his favorite tequila was there. She’d never liked the taste, yet now she associated it with Jamison and what he’d made her feel for him.

God, would she ever see him again? She hoped Stone believed the tears in her eyes were a result of the alcohol she swigged.

“Baby, you look…amazing. All grown up.”

She nodded. “You too.”

He held out his arms and walked toward her. She fought to remain in place and not shy from his hold. He yanked her tight to his body, and she felt everything—from the guns and knives he carried to his erection.

“Sit down with me, Ever. Tell me the whole story.” His eyes were two brown candles as he led her to the corner where they’d spent so much time in another life.

She had no choice but to follow his lead and try to spit out a version of the truth he would believe.

He kept his hands on her while she talked, and soon she grew accustomed to their feel again. She told him she’d faked her death because she was terrified of buying him more time if questioned. As an old lady, she’d known too much about Stone’s life.

She left out Crash’s role in her escape, but told Stone the specifics he required about her death. When he started asking about her life for the past few years, she gave it to him straight. There was little to hide, but she left out the part about her working as a paralegal.

He nodded, his smile lighting his whole face. Her heart hitched at the sight.

“You heard I was out and came right to me, didn’t you?”

Not on your life
.

“Yes, that’s it.”

He eased close, bringing his mouth a breath from hers. She tasted Stone—a lifetime of things she didn’t want.

She held her breath while he crushed his lips to hers. She pretended to get into the kiss, even as her skin crawled. She had to get the fuck out of here.

While he kissed and groped her, pulling her onto his lap and manipulating her to sit over his erection, her mind raced. The info on her mother had to be somewhere. The club burned the things that would incriminate them in a raid, but some officer would have kept a file on her mom—even if kept in his head. All Ever needed were a few names to come to her own conclusions.