Chapter Six
Alexia
Three Days Later
Jed’s custody mediation was less than twenty-four hours away. I used Wendy’s bulldog nature to my advantage by pressing her to meet the challenge of a short turn-around time. Mediations could take weeks, sometimes months; and while there was no guarantee we’d be one and done, that was my goal. By shortening the timetable, I was forcing the other side to back-up their claims this mediation was needed at all. If there were legitimate reasons why the custody agreement needed to be revised, it wouldn’t take weeks to explain.
So, the date and time was set.
Jed and I were texting back and forth that evening as I put the finishing touches on his file. Having done most of the leg-work for his case earlier in the week, I was busy with other assignments for most of the day. It was nearing six o’clock, and most of my colleagues had left the office, but I didn’t want to take work home with me. I also didn’t have a copy machine at my apartment, and I needed to make use of it to be fully prepared for the morning.
Every case on my desk was important, but since Monday afternoon, this one felt particularly consequential. I’d thought about the general counsel opportunity over the last few days. Technically, the offer wasn’t on the table—it was just out there, floating in the realm of hypotheticals. In reality, what Jed offered was a chance to meet the president of the Wild Stallions, and that was if the mediation went our way.
Still, I let my mind wander in the realm of hypotheticals for not an insignificant amount of time.
I had no idea what the job entailed. I knew what a general counsel was, but not in the context of a motorcycle club. When I considered who I’d represent and the legal advice they might request, I was left with more questions than answers. Sure, I had proof the club wasn’t made up of a bunch of felons—but was that because they hadn’t committed any felonies, or because they had a great lawyer who convinced a judge to be lenient?
My desire to hang my own shingle one day was a long-term goal. I knew it could be anywhere from three to five years before I could even financially go out on a limb like that. I wasn’t silly enough to drag my dream into the realm of hypotheticals and leave it there—but the idea that I could speed up that timeline exponentially was a nice one. Moreover, it put a bit of extra pressure to be perfect in the morning.
I wanted that meeting.
“Hey, you’re still here,” said Cora, pulling me from my thoughts.
I looked up to see only her head poked through my open doorway and smiled.
“Yeah. You, too.”
“I’m on my way out. Daryl will kill me if I’m late for another date night,” she replied, speaking of her fiancé.
“Then you better scram.”
“Don’t stay too late. You work too hard.”
I pressed my hand to my heart and promised, “Twenty more minutes, tops.”
“I hope so,” she said with a grin. “See you tomorrow.”
My phone sounded with a new text alert, and I waved before picking up the device. It was Jed with the last bit of information I needed. I pumped my fist in excitement, updated the doc on my computer, and hit print.
I was definitely going to be out of there by six-thirty.
It took me a couple minutes, but I gathered what I needed to make copies, and then I headed to the printer to pick up my last document. I fed the stack of pages through the copy machine and was waiting for it to do its thing when it happened.
A hood was thrown over my head, thrusting me into sudden darkness.
Before I could even think, someone’s arm hooked around my front, yanking me back against a hard, solid body. I gasped, panic instantly invading my insides like a toxin.
Then I screamed.
Instinct told me to drop, surprising whoever held me with my weight, possibly giving me the chance to break free—but when I lifted my feet off the ground, I didn’t fall an inch, his arm holding me suspended in the air.
I screamed some more while I kicked and scratched and flailed, losing a shoe in the process. I was in cropped pants, allowing the freedom of extra mobility, but it didn’t matter. It was as if I was putting up zero fight. My captor barely struggled as he began to carry me I didn’t know where.
I screamed louder, managed to get a single arm free, and tried reaching behind me for his face. I was pretty sure I clawed part of his cheek, causing him to stop.
“Do it,” he muttered.
I tried to think whether or not I recognized his voice, but I was too busy making a racket to be sure.
Then I was suddenly silent, the wind forced out of me as a fist landed a hard punch right in the middle of my stomach.
It hurt so badly, I thought I might throw up.
All at once, along with the arms around my torso, someone had hold of my ankles, and we were descending the stairs. I heard the latch of the heavy, metal door give way. I heard the sound of a running engine. And as I was thrown into what I assumed was a trunk, I tried to scream, but my fear clogged my throat with a sob instead.
Wrangler
It was nearly eight when he checked his phone again and found no return text from Alexia. They exchanged a volley of messages earlier, but then she’d gone silent after six o’clock. While their back and forth was strictly professional, he liked that this mode of communication had been opened. He preferred a phone call to a text—but a text felt like a gateway to something a little less professional and a bit more personal.
And he still had every intention of exploring something personal with Alexia Torres.
It had been a long time since he met a woman he couldn’t get off his mind. He’d been faithful to Nicole for nearly a decade. After they split, commitment was the last thing on his mind. Given the patches he wore on his back, he never had any trouble finding a willing pussy to wet his dick, but he hadn’t wanted anything serious until recently.
For a short while, the desire messed with his head. He wondered if, for once in his life, he was jealous of Nicole and her pending marriage. In the end, he realized it had less to do with what she had and more to do with the kind of life he wanted to live.
He was going to be forty before the year was over, and he was tired of playing games and chasing an easy lay. If he was going to have a woman in his life, he wanted her to be well worth the effort.
Mustang had found Tess.
Maverick had found Jenna.
They were his proof it wasn’t impossible.
He was also well aware of his responsibility as a father to be mindful of who he invited into his life. Having a daughter of his own meant whoever he brought around needed to be a solid example of the kind of woman he hoped his Marlowe could be one day. None of the sheep who hung at the clubhouse were the role models he wanted around his little girl. He wanted her to be better. Smarter. He wanted her to grow up believing, down to her core, she was more than her body.
Alexia Torres was certainly more than her body. As far as he could tell, she was as smart and quick-witted as she was gorgeous. It would have been a lie to say he didn’t want her lithe body in his bed, but that wasn’t all he hoped to uncover.
If the mediation the next morning went his way, he planned on celebrating over a drink with his attorney that night.
If he was lucky, their attorney-client privilege would take on a whole new meaning.
But her silence made him uneasy. He hadn’t forgotten about finding Rocco in her office on Monday afternoon. She said it was her brother in trouble, but if Rocco was barking up her tree, trouble had found her, too. Wrangler saw how she hadn’t cowered in the presence of the town’s highest ranked member in Alvarez’s cartel, but Rocco left empty handed.
Wrangler knew better than to think there wasn’t the possibility the man would be back.
“Hey—I know you’re no Tom Cruise in Cocktail , but would it kill you to pour a beer?” asked Phoenix.
Wrangler looked at the petite redhead with a lazy smile, his phone still in his hand.
It didn’t matter that she probably weighed a buck-twenty soaking wet, she wasn’t afraid to throw her snarky attitude at any man, whether he was twice her size or not. She always had a fire in her belly and a knife on her hip, which was why she’d been the perfect fit as the bar manager for Steel Mustang. All the patrons knew better than to mess with her—the Stallions included.
When he didn’t have his kids, Wrangler worked nights at the biker bar on the compound. While Stallion Motors and the neighboring auto-parts store were owned and operated by the club, Mustang owned more than half of the bar. Running it was his passion, and he was damn good at it. The respect Wrangler had for his brother and the success of the bar was a major reason why he opted to put in the extra hours of work. Most of the time, he was the muscle at the door. Occasionally, when Mustang or Phoenix needed him behind the bar, he did what he could—which consisted mostly of serving beers or straight shots of liquor.
He let Rodeo and Phoenix handle the rest.
Fortunately, there weren’t a lot of guys belling up to the bar asking for cosmos.
“My bad.”
He glanced at his last sent text once more then blacked out his screen, pocketed the phone, and went back to filling beer orders. He’d give it another hour, then he’d reach out to make sure she was okay. He didn’t know Alexia well enough to be convinced her behavior was off.
Though, where Rocco was concerned, he’d have been an idiot not to worry.
The crowd was about average that night—business steady but manageable with a bunch of regulars, as was usually the case on a weeknight. It was no secret, the bar made most of its money Friday and Saturday, when Mustang curated the best line up of bands.
The crew on stage was local talent that played most Thursdays. Mustang was good about consistently ensuring the only music at his bar was of the live variety, which was why it was so popular amongst bikers and non-bikers alike.
Thursday was usually the boss’ night off. When he walked in just after eight-thirty, Wrangler wasn’t the only one surprised.
“What are you doing here?” asked Rodeo as Mustang strolled through the bar’s swinging door.
Phoenix glanced over her shoulder and playfully batted her eyelashes. “Gee, did you miss us?”
“MK’s bedtime was thirty minutes ago, and Tess’ll be knocked out in about fifteen. Who knew makin’ a baby could be so exhausting?”
“I don’t know, maybe every woman who’s ever had a baby ever?” Phoenix guffawed.
“Fair,” he chuckled. “Anyway, figured if they’re both sleep, I might as well be here.”
Wrangler thought about the phone in his pocket, still silent. He said he’d give her an hour—but a half hour was close enough.
“If you’re here, I don’t need to be, right?”
Phoenix turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest. “Alright. Who is she?”
“What’s she talkin’ about?” asked Mustang, nodding toward his bar manager.
Wrangler looked from the redhead to his brother then back again. “Who says there’s a she?”
“You’ve been checking your phone all night, and now you’re itching to get out of here. So, I repeat, who is she?”
He wasn’t in the mood for sharing. The prospect of leaving meant he didn’t have to use his phone at all. He could do a drive-by. Almost three hours earlier, Alexia was prepping for the morning. She was at the office when she sent her last message. He asked if she planned on being there all night, and she hadn’t responded. It could have been nothing—but he wanted to check for himself.
He looked to Mustang and said, “Need to check on somethin’. If it’s nothin’, I’ll be back.”
His brother studied him for a moment, then jerked his chin. “Go.”
Wrangler didn’t need any further encouragement. He turned, headed for the exit.
As he went, he heard Phoenix say, “There is totally a woman. You let him off too easy.”
He didn’t bother listening for Mustang’s response as he hurried for his black Harley Davidson Street Glide. After he mounted the hog, he pressed a few buttons, and the engine roared to life. He took off, the cool, evening air blowing through his hair as he went. It didn’t take him long to reach the building where the firm was located. He parked out front, in a vacant visitor spot, and looked up toward the windows on the second floor. The lights were still on, and he frowned at the sight.
He wondered if Alexia often worked this late.
Wrangler pulled out his phone and brought up her number before initiating a call. Maybe he was being paranoid, but her silence didn’t add up for him. She seemed like the kind of woman who dotted every I and crossed every T. She wouldn’t ignore a client’s text. When her phone rang through to voicemail, his gut told him he was right to be paranoid.
He dismounted his hog and walked to the front entrance. It was nearly nine o’clock, but the doors hadn’t yet locked. He rode the elevator to the second floor, and it wasn’t until he reached for the handle of the firm’s door that he met resistance. It was locked, but somebody was inside. The light coming from overhead was too bright for emergency purposes.
Wrangler banged on the door and peered through the glass, searching for movement.
He pounded a second time, and someone came into view, frowning in confusion.
It was a member of the cleaning crew. The guy was young and had his earbuds in, likely listening to music while he worked.
Wrangler waved him over. He hesitated, his eyes taking in Wrangler’s size and bulk. He then looked from side to side, as if he needed the reminder he was in there by himself. When he looked back through the glass, Wrangler lifted his brow expectantly. Reluctantly, the young guy came and opened the door. He didn’t even ask Wrangler what he was doing there. He merely skirted out of the way, as if he thought Wrangler might hurt him.
Good thing he’s not security , he thought as he made his way toward Alexia’s office.
Her door was still open, and her light was on, which was how he spotted her phone abandoned on her desk.
“Alexia,” he called, turning toward the bullpen.
There was no answer, only the sound of a running vacuum.
“Alexia,” he called again, continuing his search on foot.
Less than sixty seconds passed before he found a single, beige, patent leather, high heeled shoe.
That’s when he knew.
Borrero had been back.
And this time, he hadn’t left empty handed.
Wrangler pulled out his phone and hunted for Twister’s number. As soon as he had it, he initiated a call. “Can it wait?” his VP answered, sounding breathless.
“Three days ago, I showed up to my attorney’s office and found Rocco Borrero sitting across from her. They were not friendly. Don’t have much, but she went silent three hours ago. I’m at her office now. Found her phone and one of her shoes but not her.”
“Shit,” he muttered. Wrangler heard movement on the other end of the line then, “Off.”
“Seriously?” came the muted yet exasperated voice of a woman.
“Don’t make me say it again,” said Twister.
There was the sound of more movement, then he brought the phone back up to his ear and said, “Okay. What do you need?”
Wrangler didn’t bother commenting on what he just heard. He got straight to the point.
“He has her. I know he does.”
“Brother, I hate to break it to you, but that doesn’t mean shit. We can’t just roll up on the cartel bangin’ down doors. We do that, we’re asking for a fight. We gotta be smarter than that. What else do you know?”
He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration, “I know this shit isn’t her fault. It’s her brother’s mess she’s mixed up in.”
“This brother got a name?”
“Torres. I don’t know his first name.”
Twister sighed. “Alright, look—my guy workin’ computer forensics with the PD, I’ll see what he can find.”
“Twist, that could take hours,” he muttered with a scowl.
“Don’t have much of a choice, Wrangler. Besides, this is Gillette, not Sacramento. How many Torreses do you know?”
Wrangler lifted his brow and dropped it again, realizing he had a point. “Right. Alexia is her name.”
“I’m on it. Sit tight.”
He disconnected without bothering to say goodbye, and Wrangler went to collect Alexia’s heel. When he returned to her office, he grabbed her phone and wasn’t surprised to find it was passcode protected. He then searched for her purse. After he found it, he rifled through the contents but found nothing useful.
He swore under his breath, taking her things with him as he headed for the exit.
The kid cleaning was nowhere in sight.
Upon returning to his Street Glide, Wrangler stowed Alexia’s things in one of his saddlebags and then began to pace. He thought about his attorney, picturing her in his mind. Her amber eyes and cute nose. Her long hair and full lips.
In the right hands, she was an undiscovered treasure.
In the wrong ones, she was the perfect prey.
He didn’t like to think of what Borrero could have done to her. He didn’t know what Alexia’s brother had gotten himself into, but he knew Borrero had a reputation for more than supplying drugs. He had a collection of women. Some of them hung around for the money. Some of them for his protection. Others were there to pay a debt. It was akin to Solomon of the Old Testament and all his concubines.
Just the thought made Wrangler clench his jaw in anger.
It wasn’t merely the thought of Alexia forced to join Borrero’s harem that sparked his ire—it was the father in him, too.
Men like Borrero where why he intended to protect his daughter’s body, heart, and soul until she found a man they could both trust to take his place. As far as he was concerned, that wasn’t likely to happen for another thirty years or so.
His phone rang, and he was quick to check it. Barely ten minutes had gone by. He was sure it couldn’t have been Twister with news already, and he was right. It was Bull.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Shit timing and one hell of a coincidence. Had you go around Hoffman to avoid any connections to the cartel, and now this?”
“But in this case, she’s the victim.”
“If we’re goin’ in after her, she better be.”
“She is,” stated Wrangler matter-of-factly.
“Okay. What’s the play?”
“Start with the brother. Get the whole story. Best case scenario, we negotiate.”
“Worst case scenario, we give Alvarez an excuse to start the war we managed to escape last summer.”
Wrangler buried his fingers in his hair, gripping the long strands at the nape of is neck.
They’d already lost one innocent to the cartel. Wrangler didn’t know him personally, a young colt down in Cheyenne, but it didn’t matter. War would lead to more blood and mayhem, and nobody wanted that—not if the only reason bullets were flying was because Gabriel Alvarez and his crew were on a serious power trip. The Stallions weren’t around to stroke the man’s ego with a body count. But neither were they a bunch of boys on which he could trample.
“I won’t fuckin’ leave her. She’s good, Bull.”
“Heard. Given the nature of the situation, I’m ridin’. I’ll get Mav on his hog, too.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“We’re all waitin’ on Twister’s call. I’ll clear the line.”
“Yeah. Be in touch.”
It wasn’t two minutes before Wrangler’s phone was ringing again.
This time, it was Twister.
“That was fast,” he answered.
“We lucked out. My guy was still at the station. Not to mention, it didn’t take much to tie Alexia Torres to her twin, Alejandro, via social media. As far as Alejandro is concerned, his felony conviction made it all too easy. We’ve got his last known address. Apparently, he’s been staying in an apartment listed under Felix Garcia. Sending you the details now. Meet you there.”
Wrangler didn’t waste a second. He was on his hog headed south as soon as he knew where he was going. In spite of his speed, he wasn’t the first to arrive. Twister and Bull were already in the parking lot, and Maverick pulled in before Wrangler could get off his Street Glide. With no time to waste, they headed inside without stopping for conversation—Wrangler leading their pack.
As they approached the unit they were looking for, he heard arguing on the other side of the door. Sounded like both men were home. Wrangler glanced over his shoulder at his brothers. Bull jerked his chin in response, Twister offered him a nod, and Wrangler turned back and pounded his fist loudly against the cheap, wooden barrier.
Instantly, the arguing ceased, but there was no movement heard from the hallway.
“You don’t open this door, you won’t have one soon enough,” he warned.
Wrangler counted to ten and was about to back up and lift his leg when he finally heard the lock give way. The man on the inside opened the door a crack, revealing one dark brown eye and a head full of black hair.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
His patience worn thin, Wrangler ignored his question, pressed his palm flat against the door and shoved it wide open. The man behind it stumbled backwards, landing on his backside as the Stallions made their entrance. After getting a good look at the man, he didn’t resemble Alexia at all—but the other one, across the room, was unmistakably Alejandro.
It was the amber eyes that gave him away.
He’d know those eyes anywhere.
“Where is she?” Wrangler demanded to know.
Alejandro was fidgety as fuck. He was nervous, but it wasn’t just the Stallions making him that way.
“I—I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do not want to fuck with me. Are you gonna stand there and tell me you don’t know Borrero has your sister?”
“Shit,” he hissed, pounding the side of his fist against his forehead. “Shit, shit, shit.”
“Boy, if you don’t get to talkin’, your throat will know my fist,” muttered Bull.
“Look, I, uh—I know. I know he’s got her,” he admitted, backing his way toward the closest wall. “He’s been trying to get a hold of me for the last hour. He sent a message—told me to meet him with the cash I owe him or else. But I don’t—”
“Or else what?” asked Twister.
“I don’t know,” he stammered with a shake of his head.
“How much cash?” Maverick asked.
“Ten large.”
Wrangler turned toward Bull, got close, and spoke in a whisper. “Best case scenario. I’ve got the cash. Find out where we’re goin’, I’ll meet you there.”
Bull frowned. “Wrangler—”
“I’ve got the cash. We settle the debt, we walk away, our hands are clean. Find out where we’re goin’, and I’ll meet you there.”
Wrangler wasn’t about to argue. He didn’t need to give it a second thought. He had three times that much in the safe he kept in his basement. He wouldn’t miss it before he could make it back. Couple of jobs off the books was all it would take. He didn’t wait for Bull to say another word before he headed for the door.