Property of Viking & Priest (Kings of Anarchy MC: Mississippi #2)

Logan

“He’s coming,” I whisper into my phone. My friend Carly says something, but my ears are ringing too loud from my fear.

“Lo!” Her whisper-shout drags me back. “Is the door blocked?” My head bobs up and down in response, but she can’t see me.

“My dresser is in front of it.” It took me an hour to move that damn thing, it’s so freaking heavy.

“Can you get out?” she asks, and I stare blankly at my window, now decked out with bars welded to it from the outside. I’ll never be able to sneak out again.

“Nope.” Gulping, I nearly choke when the knob turns, and the door silently smacks against the back of my dresser. He won’t make a fuss now because, Heaven forbid, he wake up his wife, my own mother.

Biting the inside of my cheek as he tries again, Ian curses, then leaves. “He’s gone.” My entire body wilts, losing strength as I stand in the corner of my room, waiting on Ian or his son, Connor, to brutalize me again.

“You have to run, Lo. It’s not safe anymore,” Carly warns, her tearful voice matching my own.

Wiping my eyes with the bottom of my shirt, I crawl into bed and under the covers, so exhausted I can hardly keep my eyes open. “I don’t have anywhere to go.” Sniffling, I wrap the blanket tightly around myself to feel more secure in such a vulnerable moment.

“Your sister. What if you found her?”

After our dad died when I was four, my mom moved us to Montgomery, Alabama, while my older sister, Trista, stayed with her mom in Mississippi.

I was never allowed to talk about her after that day.

She’s ten years older than me, and while we weren’t super close, we always had fun when she came over on her visiting days.

“I wouldn’t know where to look. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.” Sometimes I wonder if she would even remember me. My mom has made me try to forget her, but I’ve hidden all the pictures I had of us.

“Logan, it’s time to start looking. You’re eighteen now; there’s no telling what more they’ll do to you, and you can finally legally leave.”

She’s right. I turned eighteen last week. I’m free to go wherever I like. The problem is that ever since then, I’ve been locked in the house, and either Ian or Connor has always been around to ensure I don’t leave.

I’m a prisoner in my own home.

Carly stays on the phone with me until we fall asleep, and when I wake up later to check the time, I notice my device is dead a second before spotting the dresser shifted and a hulking body standing in the middle of the room.

“No, no, no, no,” I whine, trying to push back but being stopped by the wall as Ian prowls towards me, huffing and hissing like a predator.

“You fucked up, Logan. You shouldn’t have locked me out like that.” His evil eyes glow in the dark room. My body violently shakes, and I just know I might not make it through the night if I fight him.

Gulping down the apprehension, my hand searches for something to fight him off with. Ian kneels on the edge of my queen-sized bed and begins caressing my leg when my hand touches the edge of a hardcover novel I’d been reading.

Inhaling deeply, I muster all my strength and whip my hand out with a firm grip on the book and bash the side of his head with one of the corners. He grunts and drops, partially on the bed before slipping to the floor.

Peering over the edge, I see his chest still rising and falling, but he’s out like a light, bleeding from the wound in his temple.

Stunned, I only take a second to scramble to my feet, reach under the bed for the bag I’ve had prepared since turning sixteen, grab my phone and a sweater, slip on my runners, and flee the house I spent so many years dreading.

Panic drives me forward. If Connor catches me along the way, there’s no way he’ll let me go now. Pure adrenaline fuels my movements as soon as I quietly shut the front door and exit through the backyard, into the alley.

Sprinting the entire mile to Carly’s house, I climb the trellis leading to her room and pray she’s left the window unlocked like she has since we were twelve and I confided in her the things Ian had been doing to me over the years.

Shoving the window up, it makes the same creaking noise it always has, and she immediately pops up in bed and rushes to me.

“Lo! What happened? Are you okay? I think your phone died.” She wraps me up in a tight hug, and I immediately begin to sob. We drop to the floor together, where she holds me through the storm.

“I think he was going to rape me, Carls. God, the look in his eyes was pure hatred.” She hands me a box of Kleenex to wipe the tears from my eyes and blow my nose.

“You need to lay low for a couple of days. Miles says you can stay with him. His girlfriend suggested it.” Shocked, I had no idea Carly had spoken to her brother about my situation.

“I’m sorry. After the last time we talked about it, he saw how upset I was, and I just blurted it out. Please don’t hate me.”

“I could never.” Chewing my lip, I look up at her. “He knows everything, everything?”

“Not all the details, but the important parts. I’ll text him to call as soon as he’s up, and we’ll form a plan.” She nods, locks her window, closes the curtain, and together we climb into bed, waiting for Miles’ call, which comes just as the sun begins to rise.

“Yes, she’s here now.” He says something I can’t hear. “You can? Great! We’ll be ready.” She hangs up quickly with a big grin on her face.

“Is he coming?” My fear still lingers.

“Yes, they’ll be here in twenty minutes. Miles is making a couple of calls to his cop friend and then a private investigator to see if they can locate your sister.”

I can’t match her excitement. Not now. Not when I’m so close to escaping yet still so far away. Too many things could go wrong. “And the cops?”

“To make them aware you’re leaving and you’re doing so of your own volition.

In case your family tries to file a missing person’s report on you.

” Makes sense, I guess, but I’m not certain that’ll work.

Ian is so manipulative that he can get anyone to believe anything he says.

“Miles has a plan, Lo. Please trust him.”

I agree, not really having much of a choice.

“You have to give me your phone,” Miles says, holding out a hand after giving me an envelope with cash and instructions.

“Why?” Almost my entire life is on this stupid thing.

“They paid for it, right?” I nod, understanding now. “You gave Carly the passwords already, so we’re going to download everything onto my laptop, then put it on an encrypted USB drive for you, before we reset it to factory settings. We don’t want him to have a reason to hunt you down.”

Miles’ words chill me, but they make sense, even if it saddens me. I won’t have anything to look at, to remind me that not everything was terrible.

“There’s a phone in the envelope. Carly loaded it with everything she knows you love.” I always said her brother was intuitive. “The bus ride is a little over four and a half hours to Biloxi. There, you’ll get on a train to Gulfport, then you can taxi it to Trista. All right?”

Saying goodbye is harder than I thought.

With Carly, it was somehow easier because I know she’ll always be there for me; she’s my ride-or-die sister.

But I’ve spent the last couple of days basically hiding in Miles’ basement suite, and he and Amy have treated me better than most other people in my life.

Providing me with the sense of safety and security I’ve lacked for years.

They had been right; my mom and Ian tried to report me missing. I heard they were pissed as hell when they discovered I’d already spoken to an officer about possibly being reported, and they knew I was safe.

As I was legally an adult, the police couldn’t provide my parents with my location; they could, however, relay a message to me.

My parents refused that, already knowing I wouldn’t want to hear anything they had to say.

I’m unsure where life went wrong for my mother, and I don’t understand why she’s changed.

She was always loving when Dad was alive, at least from what I remember.

Waving one last time to Miles and his girlfriend, Amy, I board the bus and do as they’d suggested, taking a seat a few rows behind the driver. After securing my backpack beneath me, I pull the phone from the envelope before stashing the contents in my crossbody bag.

Turning on the new iPhone, I immediately smile when the screen saver pops up.

It’s an image of Carly and me on our spring break trip to Savannah.

It poured rain the entire time we were there, but that didn’t stop us from playing in the water, skipping down the streets, and singing like our lives depended on it, or enjoying our morning hibiscus tea on the balcony of our hotel room.

Looking through the phone, I notice Carly has already set up a few contacts for me. Her, of course. Miles and Amy. They found a number for Trista and also added the P.I. Miles used to find my sister. There are even notations in the Notes app about Trista and where to find her.

A motorcycle club. That sounds scary. I don’t know anything about them other than the shows that have aired on T.V.

in the past. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I do a Google search, finding that there are chapters in all states and some in Canada.

The articles I come across aren’t very informative and mostly allege activities the clubs engage in. All of it illegal.

As the bus begins to move, I flick out of the browser and try to push aside the anxiety that I might be going from a bad situation to something worse. Holding on to the love I remember from Trista, it’s the only thing that keeps me from crashing out.

Slipping in my earbuds, I start a movie and wait until our first stop, where hopefully, I can grab a snack and a drink. Something I should have done before embarking.

After almost six hours on a bus—a highway accident adding time to the trip—thirty minutes on a train, and a smelly cab ride later, I’m finally in the home stretch.

Unfortunately, I have to walk the last two miles because the cab driver refused to drop me off at the “clubhouse”.

I learned that word by doing a little research on their terminology and other details I might need to know.

After being left at Skinny Dick’s Tavern, where thankfully, I wasn’t carded, I just enjoyed an actual meal, and not just chips, candy, and soda.

Though now, strolling down the highway berm as the sun sets isn’t ideal.

Anything could happen, but if I’m honest, I’ve spent so many years waiting for something to happen to me that I’m not bothered.

Lights begin to flicker in the distance, along with booming music.

I get the feeling I’ve arrived. A tall wrought-iron fence, topped with barbed wire, lines the property.

A little ominous, but I suppose that’s how you keep secrets in and unwanted guests out.

In the distance, small cabins and pathways lead back to what appears to be a reconstructed warehouse, transformed into whatever it is now.

It looks like one of those family compounds you see in cults, yet at the same time is the exact opposite of cultish, if that makes sense.

As I approach the automatic gate, a light nearly blinds me, announcing my arrival.

Noticing an intercom with a digital pad, camera, and screen, I should probably press the call button, but nerves hold me back.

All the fear of not being wanted creeps in like a bad drunken night, and I’m more concerned than ever that Trista will send me away.

“Come on, Lo, you can do this.” Muttering to gain courage as I pace in circles only stresses out my nervous system more, and soon my stomach clenches while tears crowd my eyes. “Don’t be a baby now, dammit.”

Turning back around, I let out a shriek as I see a scary-tall, wide-shouldered man standing on the other side of the fence watching me. His eyes are like ice, and in the cast of the dying sunlight, I notice a horrific scar on the side of his face that travels down into his neck.

“Who the fuck are you?” It’s then that I notice the weapon he holds in one hand—a large black gun, almost as terrifying as the man himself.

“I…uh…uhm…”

“I, uh, uhm, what? Fucking spit it out fast or you’re about to have a date with a bullet.” I nearly pee my pants at his snarly tone.

Gulping down the lump in my throat, I speak quickly.

“I’m looking for my sister Trista. I was told she lives here, and I could really use a few minutes of her time if possible.

Please.” I release my trapped breath, and his lips lift, I think, but that could be a trick of the light and shadows dancing around us.

“What’s your name?” His growl isn’t as threatening now, but I still don’t trust that he won’t kill me tonight.

“Logan Callahan.” I promised Miles I’d use their last name, Perry, but I get the feeling lying to this man isn’t a smart idea.

Turning his back to me, he makes a call, obviously deciding I’m not a threat. After speaking for a few minutes, he faces me again, gun still out in the open, but slightly less threatening now. Only by millimeters, though, because this man appears as if just his words could kill.