The Devil’s Viking (The Road Devils MC #3)

Chapter Eight

Ice walked into King’s Garage and looked around. It was crazy busy and if he’d been there to get his motorcycle fixed, he’d be worrying about getting it looked at before they closed in four hours, at seven o’clock. As it was, he had zero interest in a service.

His ice-blue eyes scanned the room and stopped when he spotted the man he’d come to see.

Matt ‘King’ Kingston was walking over to him and despite Ice’s military background, and his decade as an Enforcer for the Road Devils, and his large frame, he was briefly intimidated by King, just as he always was. It was such a fleeting feeling that it passed within a single heartbeat, but still – Ice never forgot who he was dealing with. Nobody did.

“Ice.” King extended his ludicrously-large hand covered in thick silver rings and Ice shook it. “Good to see you.”

“King. Thank you for the time.”

“You got it. Let’s head to the back room, it’ll be quieter.”

Ice followed King through his garage, nodding at the men working on the vehicles. It still kind of surprised him that although King ran a group of ex-special-ops men and women who took private assignments for huge paychecks, he still kept his garage open and running. It was a legit business, too, one hundred percent above-board, and customers included soccer moms with mini-vans and florists with delivery trucks. Ice had no idea why King would hang onto it when King’s Men was wildly successful, unless it was for sentimental reasons. But then again, Ice didn’t understand much about sentiment; he didn’t really want to.

“So.” King turned and fixed his steel-grey eyes on Ice. “I called my buddy Denton in the Salt Lake City police department, and he told me about the area around Walton.”

Ice appreciated a man who got right down to business – small talk was a waste of time.

“And?” he asked briskly. “Anything interesting?”

“Just one thing.” King cocked his dark head, narrowed those eyes at Ice. “Word among law enforcement is that just outside the very boring little town of Walton, there’s a cult.”

Ice prided himself on not being startled by much, but this took him by complete and total surprise; whatever he thought he’d come to get from King in terms of information, this wasn’t it. He was almost speechless. That had literally never happened in the whole of his life, so all he could do was stare at the older man and let his thoughts snowball. Finally he managed to spit out two syllables:

“A cult ?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus fuck.” Ice was recovering himself even as realization began to dawn. “Oh, Christ.”

“Yeah, that’s about what I thought. You and Wolf and the boys aren’t mixed up with this group of religious lunatics, are you?”

“I don’t know.” He thought about Iris, as he now knew she was named thanks to Viking being a nice guy who got people to talk without smashing their kneecaps. He was remembering what she’d looked like in the back of the van – she’d looked like a woman on the run, a woman who’d escaped something serious and scary. “Maybe.”

“Well, get un -mixed up with them and damn quick. Denton says these people are legitimately insane.”

“Tell me.”

“He didn’t say too much, mostly because nobody outside the cult seems to have all that many clear facts and the people in Walton try to avoid the situation. What Denton does know is that the show is run by some egomaniac called Gideon, who’s decided that he’s some kind of Messiah. He and his bunch of goons troll all over the country, around university campuses and homeless shelters, outside AA and NA meetings, on street corners with hookers and drug buyers – they target people who are isolated or alone or struggling, and they befriend them. After a while, if the person is receptive, they get invited for meals and outings with more cult members. Pretty soon, the vulnerable, lonely person feels like they have a whole group of friends and they’re happy to do whatever to hang onto them.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty standard cult indoctrination.”

“He’s not re-inventing the wheel, that’s for sure. He’s following the same playbook as every one of these cult leader yahoos, and he’s doing it because it works.” King sighed. “Anyway, Denton says that Gideon has his own private army of guys who keep the women in line. He heard they’re called Guards or something like that. Maybe Guardians.”

Ice’s ears pricked up at the mention of women. “How many women?”

“Denton says that this lunatic has twelve Guardians and twelve women. Apparently inspired by Jesus’ twelve disciples.”

“Asshole.”

“Right? And get this: the women are all named after flowers.”

Ice’s heart jolted to a complete and-still in his chest. “Flowers?”

“Yeah. Gideon’s cult is called The Garden of Divine Sunlight, or Divine Moonbeam, or some-such crap along those hippie lines. So because it’s a garden, he has a dozen flowers in it.”

“And what happens to these women?” Ice asked slowly.

“Nothing particularly good, as I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear. The word around Salt Lake City PD is that they’re basically slaves-slash-prisoners who do all the chores and provide sex on tap. They also never leave the compound without some of the soldier guys chaperoning them. A select few women come into town for grocery shopping and that’s about the only time any of them are ever seen –it’s the same three women, but everyone knows there are more who just never come off the grounds. They go in but never come out.”

“How do they look? Physically?”

“You mean the women? Well… I don’t know.” King scratched the dark stubble on his chin. “Denton said they all wear the same outfit, a dress with an apron, and they all have long hair. Apparently they’re also tiny, like really small.”

“Child-like?” Ice asked, his throat constricted.

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe.”

“Oh, man.” Ice shut his eyes. “Shit.”

“What is it?” King said quietly; in all his years of knowing Ice, he’d never seen him look shaken. “Is this about a woman?”

“It’s about a lot of things.” Ice was already reaching for his cell in his jacket pocket. “Thanks, King.”

“You tell Wolf if he needs help with whatever all of this is, all he has to do is call me. King’s Men don’t ask questions.”

“I’ll let him know. Thanks again.”

“One more thing, kind of a big one,” King said. “Maybe I should have led with this, but the rumour is that Gideon isn’t above murder.”

“ What ?”

“No bodies so no proof, but a little while ago, one of the three women who would go into town for the shopping just disappeared, never to be seen again. Another one showed up in her place the next day, and is now a permanent fixture.”

“Why do people think the first woman was killed? Maybe she just went home.” Ice paused. “Well, assuming Gideon lets his flowers uproot themselves from the garden.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t count on it. The story that Denton got was that the woman was talking to some guy outside the bar in Walton, kind of flirting a little bit, and one of the cult guards grabbed her up and dragged her to the van. Apparently he was heard telling her that she’d be taken to Gideon for punishment for being a harlot, and she’d better pray that she lived to see the morning. The woman was crying and begging not to be taken to the basement.” King shrugged his massive shoulders. “The next day, she was gone and the new woman showed up.”

“Why the hell aren’t the cops storming this cult compound?” Ice demanded. “Checking on these women, looking for the one who just vanished?”

“They can’t, not legally. It’s private property so getting a search warrant is a nightmare without probable cause – and since everyone involved is an adult and theoretically there by choice, what grounds do the cops have to barge in? Unless and until someone from that place chooses to file a complaint or ask for help or provide eyewitness evidence of criminal activity, or if kids are involved, the cops are hamstrung. They have suspicions about bad shit happening behind the gates, but they can’t get inside to confirm anything. The fact that it’s a group claiming to be religious just complicates things even more.”

“Religious freedom, huh?”

“You got it. Nobody in law enforcement is going to forget the disaster of Waco anytime soon, so unless this Gideon loser is ritually sacrificing a woman on the streets of Walton, they’re reluctant to move on him.” King looked at Ice evenly. “Whatever Wolf does, whatever you guys are into, be careful. Cults aren’t known for being rational.”

Ice bolted through the garage, burst back outside, barely feeling the freezing wind from the Rockies ripping through his clothes. He punched the ‘1’ button on his phone and then waited as the line rang once, twice, got picked up.

“Wolf?” he said without preamble. “We got a problem, man. A fucking big one.”