CHAPTER TEN
DREAD
“Is this one good?” Jackson points to a sad-looking Charlie Brown tree that’s leaning to the side like it’s had too much to drink.
I bite back a smile. “That one’s a little... special, buddy.”
“I like special,” he insists with a shrug of his shoulders.
We’ve been at this tree farm for forty-five minutes, and the kid has pointed out every Charlie Brown pine in the place. His enthusiasm is fucking adorable, but I’m not letting Honey take home some half-dead tree that’ll drop all its needles before Christmas even gets here.
Honey laughs beside me, and the sound warms my chest in ways I’m not used to. She’s bundled up in a light jacket, her cheeks flushed from the cool December air. It’s not cold by most standards—probably in the mid-sixties, but here in Florida, that’s practically winter.
“What about this one?” Tommy calls from a few feet away, standing beside a decent Fraser fir that’s at least seven feet tall.
Now we’re talking.
“That’s more like it,” I say, walking over to check it out.
The tree is full and symmetrical, with no major gaps or broken branches. It’s a good find, especially considering what this place is charging. Highway fucking robbery is what it is, but the smile on Honey’s face after I got her to calm down when I insisted on paying makes it worth every penny.
“What do you think, babe?” I ask, turning to Honey.
She tilts her head, examining the tree from different angles. “It’s perfect.” She smiles.
“That settles it.” I wave over one of the employees, a gangly teenager in a red vest with Happy Holidays! embroidered on the pocket. “We’ll take this one.”
While the kid gets to work cutting the tree, I pull Honey against my side and drop a kiss on her temple. “You like the tree, baby?”
A slight grin crosses her face. “I love it.”
I’m about to suggest that we set it up at my place instead when Jackson tugs on my jacket.
“Dread, can we get hot chocolate?” He points to a small concession stand near the entrance of the farm. “Please?”
Those big blue eyes are fucking lethal. Kid could ask for the moon, and I’d be tempted to try and get it for him.
“Sure, little man. Let’s go.”
I look at Honey. “You want something?”
She shakes her head. “I’m okay. I’ll stay here and make sure he gets us the right one.”
“Tommy, you coming?” I ask, holding out my hand.
He hesitates for a second, then nods and takes my hand.
My chest tightens at the gesture.
The kid’s starting to trust me, and I have to admit it makes me feel ten feet tall.
We head toward the concession stand, Jackson skipping ahead while Tommy walks beside me, his small hand in mine.
“You really like my mom, huh?” Tommy asks, looking up at me with serious eyes.
Well, shit.
Kid ain’t pulling any punches.
“Yeah, buddy. I really do.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Good. She deserves someone nice.”
Jesus. This fucking kid.
“I’m trying to be,” I tell him honestly.
The concession stand has a short line, and we wait our turn behind a family with three screaming kids. Jackson tugs impatiently on my jacket again.
“Can I go pet the reindeer?” he asks, pointing to a small pen where the farm has set up a petting zoo with a couple of deer they’re passing off as reindeer.
I glance at Tommy. “You wanna go too?”
Tommy looks at his brother, then back at me. “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I scan the area. The pen is only about thirty feet away, in plain sight. There are other families around, and a bored teenager in a Santa hat is standing by the enclosure.
“Alright,” I say, ruffling Jackson’s hair. “But stay where I can see you, got it? And don’t go anywhere else.”
“Got it!” Jackson grabs his brother’s hand, and they take off toward the pen.
I watch them go, feeling a mix of pride and anxiety as I see Tommy take his job as big brother seriously, showing Jackson how to hold his hand out flat so the deer can eat from his palm.
I turn back to the counter, stepping up as the family in front of me moves aside. “Four hot chocolates,” I tell the teenage girl behind the register.
As she’s filling the cups, I glance back toward the reindeer pen and my stomach drops.
The boys aren’t there.
I scan the area, telling myself they’re just blocked by other people, but deep down, I already know something’s wrong.
“Hey, you want whipped cream on these?” the girl asks.
“Forget it.” I toss a twenty on the counter, grab the cups, and step away from the counter, my eyes frantically searching the crowd. “Tommy! Jackson!”
My heart hammers in my chest as I push through the throng of people, moving toward the reindeer pen. The teenage boy in the Santa hat is still there, helping a little girl feed a deer.
“Hey,” I bark, grabbing his attention. “The two boys who were just here—where’d they go?”
He looks up, startled. “Uh, they left with some guy. That way.” He points toward the parking lot.
A cold dread washes over me. “What guy? What did he look like?”
The kid shrugs. “I dunno, man.”
Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
I drop the hot chocolate cups, not giving a shit as they splash across the ground. I take off running to the edge of the parking lot, scanning the rows of cars.
A black sedan speeds toward the exit, tires spitting gravel.
“HEY!” I roar, already breaking into a sprint, but the car is moving too fast.
I race after it, but it’s no use. The sedan peels out onto the main road and disappears around a bend.
“DREAD!”
I spin around to see Honey running toward me, her face pinched with worry.
“Where are the boys?” she asks, breathless.
The words stick in my throat. How the fuck do I tell her? How do I say that I lost her kids?
“Caleb.” Her eyes dart around the area. “Where are they?”
“Someone took them,” I whisper, the words feeling like broken glass in my mouth.
Her face goes slack with horror before contorting into a mask of pure anguish. She makes a sound like a wounded animal, raw and primal. It’s a sound I never want to hear again.
Her knees buckle, and I lunge forward to catch her before she hits the ground.
“No, no, no,” she sobs against my chest. “My babies. Oh God, my babies!”
I hold her tight, my mind racing. This is no random kidnapping. Not with the timing, not with her ex still in the picture.
“We need to call the cops,” she chokes out, already fumbling for her phone.
“Baby, wait.” I catch her wrist gently. “My club can handle this. We’ve got resources, connections. We’ll find them—”
“The COPS, Caleb!” she shouts, wrenching away from me. “This is all your fault! You were supposed to be watching them! I trusted you with my sons!”
Her words hit me like a fucking sledgehammer to the chest, and all the air is knocked out of my lungs.
Fuck. She’s right.
This is on me. If I hadn’t taken my eyes off of them, they’d be here now.
“Baby,” my voice cracks. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t!” She backs away, dialing 911 with shaking hands. “Just don’t.”
I stand here, useless, as she makes the call. She won’t even look at me, and each second that passes is like a knife twisting in my gut.
Within minutes, the place is crawling with cops. They start questioning everyone, setting up a perimeter, taking statements. And through it all, Honey stands apart from me, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold the broken pieces together.
One of the cops, a stocky guy with thinning hair and a permanent scowl, eyes my cut with undisguised contempt.
“So you’re with the Saints,” he says, not bothering to hide his disgust. “And you were watching the kids when they disappeared.”
It’s not a question, but I answer him anyway. “Yes.”
“Not surprised,” he mumbles, writing something in his notebook.
I clench my fists at my sides, reminding myself that punching a cop would only make things worse right now.
I’m used to this shit—the looks, the assumptions. Been dealing with it since I patched in. But having Honey witness it, knowing she’s watching them treat me like I’m scum, makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
She deserves better than this. Better than me.
The thought sits like a stone in my gut as I give Tubby my statement.
“I was at the concession stand. The boys wanted to see the reindeer. They were right there, not twenty feet away.” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. “I turned to pay, and when I looked back, they were gone.”
“And you didn’t see who took them?” another cop asks as he walks up.
I shake my head. “Kid at the pen said they left with a man. By the time I got to the parking lot, I saw a black sedan hauling ass that way,” I point towards the road. “But I didn’t catch the plate.”
They take down all the details, though I can tell from their expressions they think I’m either lying or involved somehow.
They couldn’t be farther from the truth. Which isn’t saying much. The fucking pigs around here are worthless.
After way too long, the cops finally let us go, promising to put out an AMBER Alert and do everything they can to find the boys. One of them hands Honey a card, telling her to call if she remembers anything else.
As they walk away, I approach Honey cautiously. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face pale from the fear of not knowing where her sons are.
“Honey,” I say, my voice low. “I’m so fucking sorry. But I promise you, I’m going to get them back.”
She looks up at me, and the hurt and disappointment in her eyes nearly brings me to my knees.
“Come with me to the clubhouse,” I plead. “My brothers can help. We’ve got resources the cops don’t.”
“I should stay here,” she whispers, looking around helplessly. “What if they find something? What if the boys—”
“The cops have your number. They’ll call the second they know anything.” I reach for her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away. “Please, baby. Trust me on this.”
She searches my face for a long moment, then gives a small, defeated nod.
As I guide her toward my truck, I notice a security camera mounted on the corner of the main building. It’s angled toward the parking lot where I saw the sedan hauling ass out of here.