Chapter 11 #4
Ranger quickly rushed over to her desk. He carefully covered her mom’s finger with the handkerchief and then brought it out of her office. Though he was gone barely a minute, Toni still didn’t move. Fear, terror, and shame kept her frozen like a statue.
When Ranger returned, he closed and locked the door behind himself.
Coming around her desk, he easily picked her up, took her place in her chair, and then settled her onto his lap.
“I’m here,” he promised, face pressed into her hair.
“I’m here, Antonia. Let it out. Let it out, baby. I’m right here…”
Thawing at his touch, Toni started shaking. She buried her face into his neck and burst into tears.
* * *
When the club had purchased the distillery property, there had been no record of an underground portion of the building they’d claimed as their clubhouse.
Roughly three years after the club had formed, they’d stumbled upon the former cellar.
Since it was empty, the club could only speculate as to what it had been used for, but the assumption was that the distillery owner wanted to store certain assets off the books.
The single room, roughly eight by eight, had a naked lightbulb in the center to illuminate the entire space. Since there was no HVAC system below, it had a dank, mildew-like smell and was either extremely hot or extremely cold.
When it became obvious that their quiet small town was drawing unwanted attention, the club decided to outfit the cellar to fit their more…
merciless needs. Chains had been added, as well as a table to store various intimidatingly sharp objects.
A single drain in the center of the floor acted as a bathroom for the doomed souls who found themselves in chains and a convenience for the prospects who had the unfortunate task of cleaning up.
For nearly two years, the cellar had one permanent resident—Nathan Moore, the child rapist who had abducted Bree when she was twelve years old and then sold her to an amateur snuff filmmaker when she’d gotten too old for his specific tastes.
He’d owed Angel a daily debt of pain and suffering for what he’d done to her adopted daughter.
Unfortunately, daily torture took its toll, and despite Bear’s best efforts, he could not keep Moore alive to continue to pay penance.
When it was obvious the man was on death’s door, Angel brought him to one of the construction sites Cage’s company was working on, dropped him into a wooden frame, and then poured concrete over his barely breathing, broken form.
While Angel would have been satisfied leaving him there, Cage dug up the concrete block and dropped it into the river when it was still high from winter runoff from the mountain.
Naked and scalped, Cody Pike now hung from the ceiling.
“Well, I’d ordered Scar to deliver him,” Ghost mused. “Guess I should have specified ‘with his head intact’.”
Ranger shrugged, not particularly bothered by the man’s pain or the blood currently running down his face in streams. “He called Tally a bitch. I’m impressed he’s still breathing.” And likely the unknown location of Toni’s mom was the only reason.
Ranger would have been very content spending the rest of the day holding Toni in his arms and comforting her as she finally mourned the loss of her father and processed the trauma she’d gone through two nights ago.
He’d turned off Toni’s mic and receiver when he’d handed Ghost Toni’s mom’s finger, leaving Ghost to deal with that as well as Gwen.
His priority was Toni. As much as he hated seeing her tears, he also knew she needed this.
So he resigned himself to hold her and console her for as long as she needed.
But then Ghost came over his receiver. Keys must have turned it on remotely, and while Ranger wasn’t thrilled by the interruption, he did appreciate Ghost not calling or texting, as that would have disturbed Toni.
“Scar followed Pike back to his home. No sign of her mother. Not even a drop of blood. But from the cash he found, Pike’s been dealing a while. I told him to grab Pike and the money so we can get some answers. Meet us at the cellar when you’re ready. I left you the SUV so you can take Toni home.”
Ranger wasn’t all that surprised by the news.
It would have been a minor miracle for Scar to have just walked in and found a finger-less Debra Anderson.
He hadn’t said anything to Toni about it, not wanting to upset her more, but instinct told him Debra was dead.
Before knowing about Pike’s involvement, he’d had hope that she was just on a binge somewhere in a dark alley, but now knowing there was a second party involved…
? His doubts rose exponentially. A bloody finger was shock and awe, not proof of life.
And if Pike was willing to lie about having Debra, he could very easily lie about whose finger he’d brought.
Ghost would have gotten the finger to Keys to start analyzing, so they’d have answers soon enough.
Ranger still hadn’t asked what happened to Gwen, as the office building had been empty by the time Toni and he left, even though it had been early afternoon.
Not wanting to leave Toni alone, but also not wanting to dump her into the deep end that was the club’s ol’ ladies, Ranger brought her back to Ghost and Becks’ house.
At the very least, his mom would make her some comfort food and sit quietly with her without prying.
But now it was time to get some answers.
Heavy footfalls behind them drew their attention to Bulldog.
The clubhouse had been cleared out of everyone but members and prospects.
The ol’ ladies likely knew something was going on, but they also knew not to ask.
Several members were above, not needing to be below with the lack of extra room.
Keys should be so he could easily research the things discussed, but per the tech, the cellar was “creepy as fuck” and he refused to step below.
He said he was listening in through Ranger’s mic, which had better range than Ranger realized if that was true.
Bulldog waved a hand toward Pike. “So this is the fucker who went after Toni?”
Ranger handed the SAA the business card Pike had left on Toni’s desk. “Claims her parents owe him fifty grand.”
Bulldog let out a long whistle. “Given what we found in their apartment, it’s not that surprising.”
The street cost for a gram of meth was anywhere between twenty to a hundred dollars, though depending on the quality and the fact that they were in a rural area, it was likely on the lower end of that scale.
Since the paraphernalia found in their apartment wasn’t new, the club was estimating that they’d relapsed four to five months ago.
Realistically, the real debt was probably closer to thirty thousand, and Pike was adding on an additional twenty because he saw easy dollar signs with Toni.
Ranger walked up to Pike and patted his cheek hard enough that it made Ranger’s palm sting. “Where is Debra Anderson?”
Jumping awake after having passed out from the pain of being scalped, it took Pike a second to gather his surroundings before he started crying out. “What the hell, man? What is happening? Who are you people?”
“I think the cuts would make it rather obvious,” Ghost said dryly from behind Ranger.
“You’re dealing product in my town, Cody Pike.
I know everything about you, from the lowest score on your second grade report card to how much you paid for that souped-up truck that is,” Ghost dropped his eyes down, “clearly overcompensating for something. What I don’t know are the details of your drug operation.
Which you’re going to spill for me now, including the whereabouts of Debra Anderson, and just for shits and giggles, the names of any other clients you have in Mount Grove. ”
“And then you’ll let me go?” Pike asked, swinging from the ceiling with his panicked movements.
“Sure,” Ghost promised him. “We’ll let you down, get you your clothes, and walk you right out of here. Mind, if you take that route, you’ll have to deal with Scar. He’s the one who gave you the new haircut. Personally, I’d avoid him after calling his lady a bitch. But it’s not my funeral.”
Pike’s eyes danced around the dank room, looking for sympathy and finding none. “What… What’s the other option? Living here for the rest of my life?”
Since Ranger was no longer allowed to carry his gun, he picked up a machete from the table to his right. “It’ll be a very short life.”
“Then, then I won’t talk!” he declared stubbornly.
Ranger smiled at the man. “Talk or scream, Pike. Those are your options, and if you tell us everything we want to know, I guarantee you a bullet to the head. It’ll be quick, and you’ll feel no pain.
I won’t even make you dig your own grave first.” He touched the tip of the machete to the sensitive skin at the base of Pike’s throat.
“But if you make me work for answers, I guarantee you more pain than you can even fathom without the sweet release of death. One of my brothers is a nurse, and he knows how to keep you alive long after your body and mind give out. Our record is eight hundred and forty-three days.” He pressed the blade in just enough where a drop of blood welled up before dripping down Pike’s chest. “Want to see if you can beat the record?”