Deuce (Riptide MC #2)

Chapter One

Sophia

Current wisdom says dating apps are a step above those blind dates arranged by well-meaning friends. I wasn’t so sure about that.

This was the third first date I’d been on this month after signing up for what was supposed to be the top-of-the-line dating app, and unless things improved in the next half hour I’d be looking for first date number four as soon as I managed to extricate myself from this one.

Staying single was starting to look like an attractive option.

Online, George Landry had looked and sounded like a reasonably good guy.

We had several things in common, including our love of sitcoms and our lack of sympathy for the whining of vegans.

We’d done the first steps, the back-and-forth messages.

I’d even Googled his name and nothing had raised any alarm bells.

In person, however, he sent chills down my spine.

Creepy .

That one word described him to a T. From his eyes that shifted restlessly and didn’t quite meet mine, to the disturbing way he used that plastic fork to stab his slice of apple pie into tiny pieces.

He didn’t actually eat any of the pie, just dissected it and pushed the ragged pieces around on his plate.

Like I said, creepy. The guy was a definite no-go for a second date, and I hadn’t even tasted the coffee yet.

We’d agreed on a local coffee shop for this first date, and I picked one a fair distance from my house.

It was one of those Mom and Pop kind of places.

The neighborhood was a little run-down, and the place could use a good coat of paint, but this coffee shop had one stellar thing to recommend it -- this was one place I didn’t frequent.

That way, if things went south I wouldn’t have to worry about an accidental meeting in the future.

Normally I liked to do these meetings during the afternoons, when it was still daylight out and there were lots of people roaming around, but George had mentioned he was on call during the days and he didn’t want our first meeting to be interrupted by business.

At the time, it had sounded reasonable, even thoughtful. Now I wasn’t so sure.

I blew on my steaming cup of coffee. No need to add a burnt mouth to the reasons this date sucked.

Sadly, my dating life up to now hadn’t been all that great.

I’d learned the hard way to be careful about where I met strange guys.

Before I’d left home, I’d texted my BFF to let her know where I was going and who I was meeting.

If I didn’t check back in with her by midnight, she’d alert the cops. And my dad.

Not sure who’d be scarier.

“So you’re a teacher?” George gazed at something over my left shoulder.

“Yes. I teach chemistry to high school kids.” A little white lie. Some instinct made me reluctant to let him know where to find me during the working day. “What about you?”

“I’m in the import/export business.” He shrugged. “People want something, they let me know and I supply it for them.”

His profile had been rather vague on what he did for a living, but I just thought he didn’t want to give out too much detail on a public forum. What the heck did import/export mean? Did he sell cheap Christmas decorations made in some factory in China or was he talking hardcore drugs?

Did I mention creepy?

“That sounds interesting. What kinds of things?”

“Stuff they can’t get easily at the local Wal-Mart. Like specialized parts for vintage cars.”

That made sense, I supposed. “How do you find them if they’re not easy to get?”

He smirked down at the mutilated pie. “I’ve got connections.”

That sounded ominous. Like maybe the connections weren’t exactly legal. Surely I hadn’t managed to date someone with ties to the mob!

“Sounds fascinating.” Time to change the subject. “Are you into vintage cars?”

He shook his head. “Nah. Too much work to keep them up and running.” He reached for the sugar dispenser, knocking his coffee over in the process.

I jumped up, managing to avoid most of the hot liquid cascading in my direction.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” George grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser in the center of the table and started to soak up the spilled liquid. “Can you get a wipe or something from the girl at the counter?”

“Sure.” This was definitely in the running for the worst first date ever, and I’d had some doozies.

Heading over to the counter, I saw the server already holding out a fistful of wipe.

“Sorry, I can’t leave the till to come help you.” She gestured at the empty space beside her with an apologetic grimace. “My coworker is on break so it’s just me.”

“No worries. We can get it cleaned up.” I grabbed the rags and scurried back to the table.

George stood up and took the rags from me, wiping up the rest of the mess with surprising efficiency. Maybe import/export meant janitor in disguise?

“Sit down and enjoy your coffee.” He gathered up the wet rags and his empty cup. “I’ll get rid of these and get me a fresh coffee.”

Good plan. I could make short work of the coffee and then pretend I had gotten a text and had to leave. Watching reruns of some sitcom would definitely be a step up from this.

I took a mouthful of my coffee. Not the best brew I’d ever had, but at least it had cooled off enough to drink.

There was a bitter taste to it. Probably the reason George had been going to add more sugar to his cup.

I disliked sugar in my coffee though, so I’d just suffer through it.

One cup of bad cup of coffee wasn’t going to kill me.

George returned with a fresh cup just as a wave of dizziness rolled over me. I must have made a strange face or something because he took one look at me and frowned. “You okay? You look a little pale.”

I managed a weak smile. “I’m fine.” I took another sip of my coffee. Probably just nerves. I wanted out of here. Away from George who, despite his superior cleaning skills, still sent shivers of unease down my spine.

A fresh wave of dizziness assailed me, and my vision blurred.

“You don’t look so good.” George sounded concerned, meeting my eyes for the first time since we’d met. “Some fresh air might help. How about we step outside for a minute?”

“Good idea,” I mumbled. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. What was happening?

I pushed myself to my feet, and George came around the table. Putting an arm around my waist, he helped steady me as I stumbled toward the exit. Thank goodness we’d picked a table near the door. The dizziness worsened, and I was having trouble seeing.

“Can I help?” It was the girl from the counter. “Should I call someone?”

By now, if George hadn’t been holding me up, I would have fallen flat on my face.

“Can you get the door for us?” George sounded confident, like a man who had things under control. “She just needs a little fresh air.”

“No problem.”

She opened the door and I staggered outside, leaning heavily on George. The fresh night air hit me in the face, but it didn’t make me feel any better. My stomach started to churn. Add nausea to the list of symptoms.

Someone wrapped an arm around me from the other side and helped George half carry me across the parking lot. I turned my head, attempting to see who the new person was but a fresh wave of dizziness assailed me.

“Parked the van over there away from the lights.”

That would be the new person. A guy. I didn’t recognize the voice. Deep. Possibly creepier sounding than George. I tried to pull away, but whatever was happening left me too weak.

We stopped for a moment, and the creaking of metal hinges sounded loud in the night.

“Up you go.” George grasped me by the waist. The touch of his hands grossed me out, but I was too weak to protest.

“Careful. Don’t want to bruise her up. Hard to get full price for damaged goods.” This comment came from the mystery man as I concentrated on keeping the contents of my stomach where they belonged.

“I know what I’m doing. Not like this is my first time.”

I felt myself being lifted and placed down on a pile of material that smelled like used motor oil. George’s presence disappeared, and I heard the metallic echo of a door slamming shut.

I rolled over, and the sudden movement increased the nausea. I pushed myself up on all fours, my head hanging down as I took deep breaths and tried to steady myself. The smell from the questionable stuff under me did not help with the nausea.

The floor shifted suddenly, and I lost my balance, falling to the floor. My stomach heaved in protest, and I vomited up the bitter coffee along with the lasagna I’d had for dinner before heading off to meet George.

Having emptied my stomach, I collapsed on my side, breathing heavily. The nausea and dizziness retreated to a manageable level. I opened my eyes cautiously.

I could see better now. It was dark, but as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting I realized I was in some type of vehicle, and it was moving.

I recalled the words of the mysterious second man.

A van -- like a delivery truck. There was a wall.

I couldn’t get up front to where the guys were sitting.

And I damn sure I didn’t want to go where they were taking me.

I pushed myself upright into a sitting position. Despite the lingering dizziness in my head, one thing was abundantly clear. I needed to get out of here.

I used a handful of whatever I was laying on to wipe my face, gagging at the smell. Standing seemed like a bad idea, with the van lurching back and forth. It needed a decent alignment. Or some new shocks. Whatever. Not my problem.

I crawled to the back of the vehicle. I was still weak, but as my head slowly cleared, I realized I must have been drugged.

The bitter tasting coffee. George must have slipped something in my coffee when I went to get the wipes to clean up his mess. Had the mess been intentional to get me out of the way so he could spike my drink?