Obsession (A Bad Boy's Secret Baby) (25 page)

I would save Claudine.

Clutching the backdoor, I cracked it open. I didn't want to see the damage, but I needed supplies, as well as my jacket—and my photo. I also didn't want to face Ronin so soon. This entrance would let me steer clear of him. Tip-toeing, like the dead might awaken, I inched back into the bed and breakfast.

The kitchen was a massacre.

Blood covered the tile, some of it coating the remains of breakfast. Seeing the combination of a murder scene mixed with the pleasant memories of fruit and souffles nearly made me retch.

Looking down, I saw footprints. They were Ronin's, a path he'd beaten in his haste to save me from Roach.

Warily, I walked through the room, eyeing the three bodies where they rested. I only recognized two of them; a biker from earlier and the Serbian man who would never hurt me ever again.

Hurt me?

My brain tingled. These men had to have weapons. After today, I could certainly use one. I'd shot a handgun a few times with Claudine; like drugs, guns were easy to get in the rural backwater town we'd grown up in.

Shooting cans wasn't the same as shooting a living person...

But since when did that matter?

Crouching down, I hovered by the body of a young man. His shirt was punctured by bullet holes, red and sticky. My nose filled with the scent of pennies. When I started to taste it in the air, I covered my mouth, tensing.
Don't throw up,
I willed myself.

Studying the biker, I frowned. Something was odd. I hadn't gotten a great look at Roach, but the vision of his face, pale and still, was frozen in my mind. This man, though he was the color of old yogurt, didn't look the same. Why was that?

Don't over think it.

Hugging my knees, I perched a foot from the body and simply... stared. Or waited. What was I waiting for? Some new, sudden strength that would make searching a corpse an easy task?

Metal glinted, gripped partially in one of his hands. The pistol was
right there.
I didn't need to dig through his clothes at all. What I was seeking was so close. So fucking close.

Think of Claudine.

Chewing my tongue, I reached out gingerly. Even now, my whole arm trembled, fingers twirling like leaves about to crumble in Autumn.

The man's eyes fluttered.

Falling backwards, I slid away with a soundless scream on my lips. This guy was still alive!

He focused on me, but it was clearly a challenge for him. When he coughed, red speckled his chin and the collar of his ruined shirt. Simultaneously, we both realized he still held the gun.

Even if he was dying, he had the advantage.

Surging forward, I buried my fears under a wall of self preservation. I had to act, or this would be the end of me. After everything, the idea of dying among these killers was too much.

Squeezing his arm to the floor, I put all my weight on it, grunting. He bared his teeth, flexing—amazingly strong for a guy full of bullets. Wrenching with all my might, I yanked the pistol free, scuttling backwards as I flipped it around.

“Don't move!” I gasped. It felt stupid to aim the weapon at him, considering his wounds, but I did it anyway.

Shutting his eyes, the man tried to take a deep breath. His chest shuddered, lungs wet with his lifeblood. Again he coughed, a weak smile stretching. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Fucking hell.”

Brushing the trigger, I struggled to keep my aim level.
If he's still alive, then... the others...
Paranoid, I jerked my head around. The remaining two bikers continued to lay where they were.

“Go ahead,” the man said, drawing my attention back. “Shoot me. Finish this.” His laugh was nauseating, scraping at the nerves of my brain. “A junkie and some ex-MC loser. Everyone said it'd be easy... easy money, easy pussy...” His teeth were grizzly, crimson as a lit jack-o-lantern. “Nothing's ever easy. Should have fucking known.”

I didn't think he was talking to me. Not really, anyway. Except his final words... they curled through me until I let them take hold. Ronin had told me my hunt was over. That it had to end, because I didn't know where to find Claudine.

Checking the gun, I pulled the bolt back, pushing a bullet into the chamber. The crisp sound made the guy stare at me. It's possible he forgot I was there. “Tell me where they take the girls,” I said flatly. Having an answer so close was making me brave.

Trying to shift on the floor, his elbow slid on a patch of gore. Slumping, he eyed me with indifference. The dying have little use for emotion. “Girls?” he asked stupidly.

“Like me. The ones you guys kidnap and stick in your brothels.” Too quickly, this stranger was becoming the epitome of everything that had ruined my life. My knuckles were throbbing as I crushed the gun. “The girls you drug... and screw... and then slaughter like garbage.” On my bare arms, the needle marks burned anew.

Loose ends.

Ronin's statement feathered through my guts.

His head lolled to the side. “Why the hell do you care? Why does it
matter?
”

It was too close to the message that had haunted me since Claudine went missing.

Everyone thinks I should turn my back and run. No one cares about lost girls.

I was the only one.

Claudine.

I spelled her name out on the front of my skull, saw it when I closed my eyes. This wasn't just about her, though. My sister was a part of this whole god damn mess. Women who were stolen and forgotten.

I'd almost been one of them.

“Ah!” the man growled. On instinct, I bent close, shoving the barrel of the gun into one of his wounds. There was fresh fear in his eyes. It sickened me.

And it made me feel powerful.

“Where. Are. They?” I punctuated each word by pushing the metal in deeper. The back of his head touched the tile. Not once did he blink or look away.

I was in some shell of myself, hardened overnight by pain and loss and brutality.
No,
I thought, thinking harder.
It didn't happen overnight.
At the very least, this had begun when I'd made the decision to seek out Fiddle, when I'd stupidly drank from his poisoned cup.

My tongue tasted like alcohol from the cruel memory.

That was better than blood, anyway.

Shivering, the man stared at the gun. “You're crazy.”

“Probably,” I agreed.

Coughing, he sprayed new speckles of red. I knew his time was running out. “Fuck,” he said softly. “It doesn't matter. I'm fucking dead... and if you go after them, you're dead, too.” Considering that, he gave me a weak, but evil, smile. Maybe knowing I was on a suicide mission had loosened his tongue. “Miami.”

“Miami?” I leaned back, my arm going slack.

“Yeah.” His voice was fading, he looked incredibly tired. “We do most of our business from out in the Glades on—” He screwed up his face, brow wrinkling. I hovered closer, terrified he would slip away before he could finish. I breathed out when he squinted at me again, but had to bend my ear to his cheek hear him. “Greenway... and Brent Fields road. We call it The Palace. Most of the girls get sold and shipped off. Easier to hide them overseas.”

This opened a new line of terror for me.
Claudine might not be there anymore.
But, there was still a chance. That was all I needed.

Thrilling with what I'd just learned, I swelled with joy for the first time since breakfast.
This is it. I know where I need to go.
How long would it take me to drive to Miami? I had Roach's car keys, but those motorcycles, they'd be faster—easier to take down the winding back roads of the Everglades and—

Lunging forward, the wounded biker—a man I was so sure was inches from death—grabbed for my wrist and the pistol. He was on me, eyes like bloated boiled eggs, teeth orange behind his snarl.

I'd been so sure I had the upper hand.

I hadn't counted on him faking being frailer than he was.

Without thinking, I started to scream, thrashing to keep the gun in my possession. I knew if he turned it on me, I'd be done for. Maybe
he
could fight through multiple wounds, but me? How could I live through a bullet in the skull?

The way Roach had shuddered on top of me when he'd died rumbled through my mind.

“Gonna fucking get you, bitch,” the man panted. Sweat joined the blood staining his face. In the pits of his skull, his eyes were dying stars. “Gonna... fucking...”

Ronin's foot came down, crunching against my attacker's jaw. That was all that was needed to drop him. And I knew, this time, he wouldn't be getting up.

With wild-fire burning in his hazel eyes, Ronin stared me down. “You know, there are easier ways to get yourself killed. This was literally the only place I told you not to come into. What the hell are you doing?”

The distress in his hard features was clear. I was too relieved to let him fill me with shame. Jumping up, I shoved the gun into my back pocket. “Thank you,” I said, finding my voice. “I... just thank you. You saved me again.”

Running a hand over his scalp, the biker fixed me with a side-eye. “Yeah, not a habit we should get used to. Again,
what
were you doing?”

Nodding down at the man who'd tried to slay me, I said, “Getting information.”

Ronin's palm slid down to his mouth, staying there. His tone was muffled and hollow. “What information?”

“Claudine.” Blood thumped through my ears. I was eager to tell him. “I know where they're keeping her.”

“Oh wonderful,” he chuckled sourly. Casually, he waved an arm in a swath over the chaos of the kitchen. “So you're going to load up in that car out there with your brand new gun and white-hot determination, driving up on those who wronged you as some kind of glorious, vigilante movie hero?”

In the face of his sarcasm, I did the only thing I could.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said thoughtfully. “I guess I am.”

His eyebrows touched his hairline, and though I couldn't see his mouth behind his hand, I thought he sounded... proud. “Of course you are.”

Thinking about the photo upstairs, I said, “I'm going to grab some things, like you suggested, then I'm heading out. It's a long drive to Miami.”

Considering me, Ronin scratched his jaw. “Miami, huh?” He was looking elsewhere, seeing things I didn't. For a moment he was lost in thought. I ached to crack open his head and glimpse those cryptic thoughts.

Crouching, he began searching the bodies of the three men. With my belly tight, I didn't ask him what he was doing until he was on the second man. “What are you...?”

Lifting up a wallet, he pocketed the cash. “There are a lot of tolls between here and Florida, and I don't think my EZ pass is up to date.”

Hope flared within me, sparking behind my eyelids. As he glanced back at me, I knew the answer—didn't dare voice the question.

Squinting severely, Ronin finished his search, stepping back to me with a husky sigh. “Go ahead, what is it?”

Shit, my heart was too loud. “Are you... are we both...?”

Placing his hands on my shoulders, he turned me, giving me a firm push. “Grab whatever valuables you can find. I'll place an anonymous tip with the organized crime unit, make it sound like Roach wasn't paying for protection and they killed him for it. The extra heat will keep the Knights too busy to harass us. Well, at least for a little while.”

Us.

Stumbling in the doorway, I twisted to watch him. “I don't get it. Why, suddenly, are you going to help me?”

Cupping his own throat, the biker leaned his weight to one side. There was blood on his clothes, a dark bruise on his face from where Roach had hit him. By all rights, he should have been a mess, but somehow—even now—the man managed to look confident and relaxed.

I told myself that my heart was only pounding because I was relieved.

“For some insane reason, you're not going to stop,” he finally said. “And part of that is on me. So, I owe you one. I'll get you to where you need to go but... that 's where all this ends. After that, you're on your own.” Ronin looked around and gave a resigned chuckle. “I've got my own world of shit to deal with.”

He was doing his best to make it clear; his help came with an expiration date. Ronin had his own agenda, but the thing was, so did I. For now, I was getting what I needed.

A deadly escort.

My own personal guardian angel.

Angel,
I thought, nearly laughing at the word. Ronin wasn't an angel, not even close. No matter what, I needed to remind myself that—even if he'd rescued me multiple times—the guy wasn't on my side. Not truly.

Yes,
I thought, watching the biker's forearms as they flexed when he checked his gun.
I have to remember what I'm doing here. And I have to remember who he is.
In the kitchen sunlight, Ronin's jaw was sharp, regal.

He looked every bit like a hero.

Except he wasn't

Danger and death slept in the same bed with Ronin. I only had to look around to see what he was so perfectly capable of.

The man was a killer... but for now?

He was
my
killer.

I didn't dare let him become anything more.

Ronin

––––––––

T
he days that slipped by after the massacre were nirvana in comparison. 

I'd used the Serbian's cell phone to find out what I could about the girls' location. Almost everything club related was coded, but we did confirm the crossroad location that had been mentioned.

But that wasn't all.

There was also a reference to a 'cruise ship' that was leaving in a few days. The Knights didn't strike me as the coed spring break type, so that must have been in regards to when they needed to get the slaves ready for shipment.

Flora, of course, wanted to drive through the night to get there as fast as possible, but that wasn't happening. We'd be exhausted by the time we got to the site where the girls were. I didn't want to imagine how anyone would handle something so risky with no sleep in their system.

No, if Flora truly wanted the best shot at saving her sister, then we'd have to be reasonable. She'd need to be rested... and she'd need the element of surprise. On my bike, we'd fly beneath the radar.