The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club (30 page)

“You think he was looking for something, Alan?” The other cop wasn’t far behind.

Trask breathed a sigh of relief that the hose didn’t pour out any water. Trask thought that his heart was thundering so loud it would give him away.

 
The leader, Alan, spoke, “Yeah, Charlie. I do.”
 
Trask realized they hadn’t covered the trapdoor well enough. “I don’t know about you, but this looks little too clean to me. Give me a hand with these two by fours.”

Trask stood frozen, quite literally, at the back of the cellar. He heard the men on clearing the debris from the trap door. As the shingles and would disappeared from on top of it, Trask could see light beginning to come through. He was worse off than a rat in a cage.
At least in a cage I’d be warm,
he thought with dark humor.

Allan yanked on the ring of the trap door, throwing it open to fall back against the debris behind it. Charlie stepped back as the heavy door flew past him.

“Anything?”

Allan shook his head. “A pit filled with dirty-ass water. Toss me your flashlight.”

Charlie fished it out and gave it to Allan. The cop squatted down and shined the bright light into the cellar. All he could see was the brown, murky water. With a grunt, he lowered down two steps, just above the waterline. He bent down further, shining the light to the back of the cellar.

“Looks like there’s a safe, or something. The water’s up pretty far. I’m not getting this shit in my boots to find out it’s still locked. You feeling squirrely, Charlie?” Allan looked up at his partner with a smarmy grin.

Charlie gave a deadpan look in return. “Does the pope shit in the woods? No, I’m not getting soaked for nothing. Fuck it. This scene ain’t going anywhere. We wait until the water dries up, then we come back.”

Allan stood up. “Charlie, how far up your ass is your head? What do you think that shit licker was doing here? He was bailing out water to get to the safe. We don’t have time. We gotta move on this. We’ve got one day to figure something out. Close this door. We gotta cover it up better than the redneck did.”

Charlie flipped the door upright, and when Allan took a step back up, he let the door slam back over the hole. Dust and dirt flew up, Charlie waving his hands to clear it away. Allan was already throwing two-by-fours and burnt debris onto the door. “I guess the Rising Sons pissed someone else off, too.”

“How’d they piss you off?”

Allan sighed. He had said too much—not that it mattered. “This chick I was fuckin’ is a member now. She owes me a lot of money. If you and I can’t get into that safe, we’ll make them get the cash for us. If you want to play vigilante justice with me, I’ll split the profits with you.”

Allan liked Charlie. He was a younger cop looking to make a good impression, and that meant he was eager to please. He was especially eager to please his partner. Allan had to frame things right, but if he could get Charlie on board for this, Allan would own him for the rest of their careers.

He smiled. “Look, that money is either going to us, or the criminals. It’s not evidence—it’ll never go back to the station. If we don’t take it, it’s just going to buy more guns and a new club for the outlaw jerkoffs.”

“This isn’t a crime scene? Hell, there’s shell casings every few inches.” Charlie didn’t want to disagree with his partner. He just wanted to be clear.

Allan nodded. “Yeah, technically it’s a crime scene.
Technically.
Do you think the mayor wants us to spend money investigating who shot up a biker bar? He’ll come down on the department hard saying it’s a huge waste of money. When you think about it, isn’t it a waste of money?”

Charlie looked around. “Yeah, I mean, the only thing we could do, I guess, is give the people that trashed this bar an award, right?”

Allan laughed, not because it was funny, but because he’d snagged his partner hook, line, and sinker. “I’d let you give ‘em the key to the fuckin’ city.”

“All right, I’m in. What’s the plan?”

Allan looked around and spit, thinking it could only cheer the place up. “I need to have another chat with that little bitch.” He looked around, satisfied that things were falling in line for him. “Let’s get the fuck out of this garbage pile.”

Trask fought against the shivers until he heard the patrol car fire up. He was soaked from head to toe after submerging himself under the water. The taste of something acrid and foul stained his tongue, and Trask spit up to try and erase the flavor. Whatever the hose was for, it hadn’t been changed in a while. It had allowed him to breathe while he was beneath the water, but while he was under, it took everything he had not to gag.

The biker waded to the stairs and pushed up on the door. He knew it wouldn’t budge. The cops had piled way more debris on top than Hoser had. He laid his shoulder against the door and shoved up with all his remaining strength. He let out an exhausted grunt, but the door didn’t shift.

Against his better judgment, he moved back into the water and fished out his phone. He had two people to call. He knew that Raven was in danger. The cop that was blackmailing her was done blackmailing. Now it was going to come down to a kidnapping.

His hand shook as he stared at his phone. There was another important call to make. He needed to get
Hoser
back as soon as possible. Trask refused to accept that he could die from hypothermia in Southern California beneath a bar, but the danger was real.

Willing his fingers to stay still, he pulled up a contact and dialed. Each ring seemed like an eternity, and the time between each one was even longer. The call went to voicemail, and Trask let out a grunt and pounded a fist up onto the trap door.

As soon as he heard the beep, he spoke quickly. “It’s Trask. That cop friend of yours is after you. He’s going to force you to give him the money that’s in the safe. Just be on the lookout and be careful. I don’t know how much he does or doesn’t know. Stay safe, Raven.”

By the time he’d killed the call, Trask’s whole body was shaking. He almost couldn’t dial the second number. It rang only once this time.

“Yo, they gone?”

Trask couldn’t contain the chattering of his teeth. “I sure as fuck hope so. Get back here, fast.”

“You got it. I’ve got some backup, too.”

He had nothing left to say, so Trask hung up the phone. Setting it on the top step, he got as much of his body out of the water as he could. He pulled his t-shirt off and wrung it out. His mind tricked him into thinking that heat was sinking through the trap door, but it was so covered over there wasn’t even sunlight seeping through the cracks.

He lost track of time. He took his boots off and rubbed his toes to keep the circulation moving in all his extremities. Claustrophobia was setting in, not because of the small, dark space, but because he could feel his strength leaving him. He kept the phone’s screen on and facing up. He didn’t want to see the chilly water that was sucking the life from him. He stared up at the slats of the door and waited.

When the truck pulled up, he wanted to yell out to Hoser, but it wouldn’t help any. He knew where the door was, even if it was buried. The truck door slammed, and Trask thanked God. He heard another door slam. Muffled voices kept him hanging on to consciousness. He heard them climbing over the rubble that used to be a bar.

As hands pulled the destroyed pieces of the building from the trapped door, Trask could her them calling out to him. The most he could manage was a grunt or two. He was leaning against the wall of the cellar, fighting to keep his eyes open. He didn’t notice the first rays of lights coming through the slats.

“Almost there, brother!” a voice called out to him. Trask tried to reply, but nothing came out of his mouth.

His eyes shut when the door opened and sunlight streamed inside. He judged it to be almost noon. Warmth bathed him in that instant, and he let out a long sigh of relief.

Hands grabbed Trask and pulled him upright. Later on, he wouldn’t remember some of what happened when Hoser and Hope dragged him out of the cellar. Trask’s memory faded back in with his beautiful girlfriend toweling off his chest. He was lying in the back of the pickup, and he had the sudden thought that his back was warm. He tried to sit up, but Hope’s hand on his chest stopped him.

“Whoa, there, cowboy. Easy does it.”

Trask focused on the beautiful woman talking to him. “A sight for sore eyes. Where’s Hoser?”

Hope raised her head and looked past the truck. “He’s giving us a little bit of space, because I’m about to take your pants off.”

“I hate to disappoint, but I might not be up to my usual godlike sexual prowess.” Trask smirked, taking in every beautiful detail of her face.

Hope laughed and rolled her eyes. “They are soaked right through, and we need to dry you. We’ll save the sexy time for later.”

“Whatever you say, babe. Did Raven get my message? Her cop is coming after her.”

Hope nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure she got it.”

“Pretty sure?”

“Relax. Apparently, you didn’t hear.” She had a wide smile on her face.

“Hear what?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that Raven and Gunner are out on a date.”

There was only one thing on Raven’s mind when she woke from her deep, rejuvenating sleep: she couldn’t wait to take a trip out of Bakersfield with Gunner. She was worried about him after his brother’s death, and she didn’t think he’d open up unless it was just the two of them and they were away from the city. He was leaning against his Harley when she stepped out of her front door.

“Well, don’t you look pretty as a picture.” Gunner laid it on thick, putting on a southern accent to top it all off.

“Quit it.” Raven acted cool, but hoped he couldn’t see her cheeks getting red. He had moments of sweetness that came out of nowhere. They seemed all the more powerful after all their hate-filled sex. A compliment struck her as so gentlemanly.

“You want to tell me where we are going, or just keep it a surprise?”

Gunner laughed, actually bringing a hand down to his knee. “Hop on, babe.”

Raven stared at him. “I want to make one thing very clear to you.”

He stared back. “Okay. What’s that?”

“I’m not an ol’ lady, and I’m not a sweetbutt. If my bike hadn’t been damaged in the attack, I’d be riding beside, not seated behind you.” Raven’s teeth were clenched. She understood why their anger-fueled sex was always so good. The two were oil and water, never playing well together.

“Really?” Gunner smiled and patted the rear seat on his motorcycle. “You wouldn’t let me drive? I bet you’d let me pay for dinner or open a damn door for you, though, wouldn’t you?”

Raven stood there, staring at Gunner with her hands on her hips. “You are lucky I don’t have a spare set of wheels. Fine.”

“Fine what, babe?”

“Fuck you. I’ll fuckin’ let you drive.” She locked up her front door and walked toward her man.

Gunner climbed onto his bike, and as Raven put her hands on his shoulders to swing her leg over, she leaned in and whispered, “You tell anyone, I’ll hack your nads right off.”

Gunner gave a solemn nod. “Understood.”
 

Once Raven had her arms around his waist, he fired the Harley up and took off to the west. Raven couldn’t remember the last time she’d been a passenger on a motorcycle. She let out a primal scream as the wind tousled her hair.