Chapter 1
CHAPTER
ONE
LINDY
A big, round, orangey-bronzed butt, sticking out of a tiny thong with long, fake-tanned legs, a faded T that Dad wore yesterday, dyed blonde hair in a messy knot, and long, pointy, dotted with rhinestones acrylic nails which were tapping on my refrigerator door.
Not what I expected to see when I walked into my house.
And she was humming, this stranger, this woman I didn’t know. Not a care in her fucking world as she scoured the fridge.
My jaw tightened, my teeth gritting together. Not today. Why the fuck today?
I slammed the kitchen door behind me and threw my bag on the table. “Can I help you with something?”
With a shriek, the female twirled around, eyes wide, mouth open. “Who the hell are you?”
“This is my house. That’s my fridge. Get the fuck out.”
“Are you Pick’s old lady?” Her eyebrows hopped up on her forehead as she pressed her bare legs together.
“I’m his daughter, fuckwit.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders dropped as she let out a short laugh, her hand still on the fridge door. “Hi.”
“Out. Now.”
“He said I could?—”
“NOW!”
She leaped out of the kitchen, running into the hallway toward the bedrooms, and I slammed the fridge door closed.
Dad’s bike wasn’t out front. He’d probably left early and let her hang out. Mistake. How could he trust these women in our house on their own?
Mom’s house.
My head ached. I lit a cigarette from the pack tossed on the table and let out a long stream of smoke. I didn’t even like smoking that much, but sometimes nothing else would do.
What a morning.
After my usual overnight hell shift at the diner, I got into my car and it wouldn’t start. Not even a sound. Nothing. Wasn’t much of a surprise. The past few months, the Challenger had been having more problems and more often than usual. The guys at the club would repair it, but the last time I was told: “There’s not much more we can do, hon. You got to take her for a total overhaul if you wanna keep driving this thing, and that’s gonna cost…”
This thing had been my mother’s car. Her dream car that Dad had given her on her birthday way back when. The Challenger was a badass, and I would not give up on her. No way. Not ever. When she gave me no signs of life after my shift this morning, I asked for a ride home from a local customer who I knew. Then I walked into my kitchen…
“Taking way too long!” I raised my voice so she could hear it in the bedroom.
“All right already!” Ms. Badly Self-Tanned marched into the kitchen, shoes in hand, braless boobs bouncing in a magenta lycra mini dress she tugged down over her thighs. I’d bet she didn’t know that color was magenta. She probably called it purply-red or wine. She grabbed hold of a kitchen chair as she shoved a foot in a high-heeled, gold you-know-you-wanna-fuck-me sandal. “I don’t have a car. I need to call a?—”
“Don’t give a flying fuck. OUT.”
She shot me a nasty look as she hobbled quickly out the door, leaving a trail of old booze and sickly sweet perfume behind her.
I blew out another exhale, the haze of smoke visible in the morning light that engulfed the room. I always liked the kitchen in the morning, but not at the moment. The ashtray on the table was full, and I dropped my cigarette in the empty beer can next to it. I locked the kitchen door. Made sure the front door was locked. It wasn’t. Dad had left the house unsecured. Terrific.
He always used to be so careful about security. He had to be. He was a member of the Flames of Hell MC of Elk, Nebraska. Securing the castle was his jam, and from day one, he and Mom had taught me the rules to live by. But since Mom died seven years ago, he’d become scattered. He’d also started partying harder than ever, which was understandable, I got it, but lately, he’d been bringing women home. Home to their bed.
I should get over it like I supposed he had. No. I knew better, I knew my dad. He was trying, but on the inside, he was a gaping wound. He and I both.
But today …
Today, all this left a bitter taste on my tongue.
Today was Mom’s birthday.
Dad and I didn’t discuss these holidays or anniversaries, or bring them up in any way. Not anymore. We tiptoed around them. We knew they existed, but we tread gently.
Back in the good ol’ days, there were surprise breakfasts, balloons and silly gifts, a dinner out, a decorated cake, frosting on faces. Most of all, loud laughter. Tight hugs.
Now there was only a tired, musty house that stank of strangers stampeding through it. Stank of loneliness and hurt. After my one and only vicious experience at love, and then Mom’s illness blowing up and her death soon after, any other girl in my position would have gone off the deep end and gone wild.
Not me.
I kept my eye on the future. On one day getting out of this small town in Nebraska—out of Nebraska. On doing the work I loved full-time and maybe getting away from club life. I was born into club life, but a different club. A club that the Flames of Hell had destroyed.
The Broken Blades had been on the slippery road of self-destruction for a while and finally imploded, while other clubs, the Flames and the One-Eyed Jacks in South Dakota, gleefully added gasoline to that fire.
My father had been forced to join the Flames or be killed. He joined up. Going through that transition had been hell on wheels for all of us. In the end, only Dad and one other Blade had survived, and they’d done what they had to do to stay alive, to be good Flames.
I emptied the ashtray in the garbage. For me, Dad and Mom moving here to Flames-world had felt like being dragged into a different country where everyone looked at you with scorn and mistrust, like we were illegal immigrants who were out to take their jobs away from them. Dad bent over backward to prove himself to his new “brothers,” and Mom had played nice with all the old ladies, as did I. It remained uneasy for a long time, and I hated it.
I was almost sixteen when it happened, my heart freshly broken, my mood permanently soured. Mom had warned me: “You got to try harder, Lindy. We didn’t expect things to go down the way they did, but they did, and this is what we got. The Flames are a solid club. We’re lucky. This is good. Be grateful, I am.”
Grateful. Good. Lucky.
Now Mom was gone, and five nights a week I worked the late shift at the diner on the outskirts of town by the highway. It paid better than the day shift, so it was worth it to me. I’d have most of the day free to run errands, clean up, maybe cook, create my makeup looks and post them on IG, and, if I was lucky, work on a client at the local salon where I freelanced under the table.
With Dad, it was feast or famine, so at least I knew that my steady paycheck could pay the basic bills on time, and that gave me some peace of mind. My tips allowed me to occasionally splurge on clothes or jewelry, and my beloved makeup. But most of all the past year, my cash went to trying to fix my car. My gaze shot to the framed photo on the living room cabinet of Mom behind the wheel of her Challenger. Her shades on, her huge grin unmistakable. In his Blades cut, Dad leaned against the car grinning, with four-year-old me in his arms.
I dragged myself down the hallway to my room and spotted a ripped condom wrapper on the floor. Lately, when I’d get back from work, I’d often find party leftovers like this around the house—empty bottles of booze, drug paraphernalia, cigarette packs, dirty glasses and dishes, pizza boxes. But today was the first time I’d found a human leftover. Grabbing the empty wrapper, I crumpled it.
Maybe he didn’t give a fuck anymore. Or maybe he realized he needed something and he was hunting for it, whatever it was.
I was twenty-three years old, and I knew how it all worked. Certainly, I no longer had fairy tale stars in my eyes about boys, men, sex, and I didn’t trust the shit that came out of men’s mouths. It usually boiled down to them wanting to get down your pants and get off, and they’d say and do anything to get it done.
Tossing my phone on my bed, I headed for the bathroom where I threw away the foil packet in the garbage, yanked off my clothes, and took a hot shower. Drying off in my room, my phone buzzed, lighting up with a text. Dad.
Where are u? Been calling.
I was in the shower.
R u home?
Yes
Thought you were working til noon.
That’s tomorrow. U left something behind this morning. BIG behind.
Renee.
IDGAF what her name is
LINDY
Will u be back tonight?
I’m on a run to Wyoming. Leaving SD now. Be gone for a few days maybe more.
What? Since when?
Last minute thing.
My chest caved in, and my heart sank. I’d been looking forward to being with him tonight. Tonight of all nights. Every year on Mom’s birthday we’d make dinner together, eat, watch TV, even go out for a beer. Oh fucking well.
OK
I’ll text u when I get there
Ride safe
Luv u
Luv u 2
Luv u 3!!!
The corners of my lips pushed up and my muscles eased. Our sign-off from when he’d gotten me my first phone as a kid. He’d message me from the road, and I loved it. We’d send each other silly GIFs and emojis all the time. And whenever he’d sign off, it was always with that exact exchange. Even now, seeing it on the screen lightened the heaviness in my heart.
Tossing my phone back on my bed, I got dressed in my favorite pink sweatpants and a white T-shirt. In the kitchen, I cleaned up and made myself a tea to settle my stomach. In the living room, I plopped on the sofa and turned on YouTube.
I scanned my favorite beauty YouTubers’ latest videos and landed on the one I’d been waiting for from my favorite professional makeup artist—a review of a new blue-purple metallic eye shadow palette that was releasing this week from a top indie brand. Nestling into the big pillows on the couch, I watched her use the palette on herself. The purples and blues drifted in front of me. My eyelids sank. Her voice drifted.
“Lindy. Lindy! Hey? Lindy!”
“Jesus, is she okay?”
“Lindy! Goddammit…”
I unglued my eyes. My throat constricted, and something hot fisted in my chest.
“Thank fuck.”
I blinked. Four hulking men in leather stood over me. “What the hell?” I sprang from the couch. They grabbed me, and I twisted.
“Lindy, it’s us!”
My body drooped in the guy’s hold as my eyes focused on him. Catch, an officer of the Flames of Hell who was a good bud of Dad’s. I liked his old lady Nina a lot and babysat their kid on the regular. “Catch? Why are you here? What’s going on?”
“Thank fuck you’re okay.”
“We’ve been trying to call you. Where the fuck is your phone?” said Minty, anger lacing his sharp voice. Minty was a Broken Blade who had become a Flame with Dad. I’d known him since I was born. He was close to Dad’s age, and I’d always felt comfortable with him. Minty was a whiff of home, of the good ol’ days. He always looked out for me around the MC like I was his kid.
Goosebumps raced over my skin. “W-what’s going on?”
“Phone was in the kitchen.” Cueball held my iPhone in his hand, his lips pressed together. Taking my phone, I glanced at my screen. A zillion calls from Minty and Catch had gone unanswered. “What’s going on, you guys?”
“Hon, take a seat.” The lines of Catch’s face were stiff, and my pulse bopped in my veins. Clearing his throat, he planted himself on the coffee table opposite me, running a big hand through his shaggy hair. “We got a problem. Your dad’s missing.”
“Missing?” The blood drained from my face. The room zoomed around me. “No way. Can’t be. I…I just talked to him.”
Catch’s eyes flared. “When?”
“When I came home.”
“When was that? It’s after three o’clock now.”
“It is? Shit.” My neck ached as if to remind me I’d fallen asleep on a bad angle on the sofa. “This morning, when I got home from the diner, he texted me. It was about nine thirty I think. He said he was in South Dakota heading for Wyoming.”
“Only Pick never showed up for the meet in Wyoming.”
“He always shows,” I said.
“Exactly.”
I took in all the grim faces. My chest constricted. “What about his bike? You have a tracker thing on his Harley, don’t you?”
“The tracker is dead. That’s what got me?—”
My mouth dried. “What does this mean?” I went from face to face. Faces I’d known for the past eight years since my dad had become a Flame, one of the oldest and most feared clubs in the country.
“Honey, relax,” said Minty.
This cannot be happening!
“Fucking tell me!” I screamed.
Catch pulled in a breath. “We think Pick got taken.”
“You mean kidnapped? No way. He’s too smart for that. What do you know so far?”
“We got nothing so far.” Catch dragged the side of his hand across his mouth.
“Maybe he got into an accident and he’s alone in some ditch and nobody’s found him yet!”
“We’re looking.” Catch stood up. “Now we got to get you outta here. Pack some stuff and let’s go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“We’re taking you to the club until we figure this shit out. You can’t stay here alone.” His hand squeezed my shoulder. “Come on.”
“Wait!” My blood rushed through my veins as I hit “Dad” on my phone, my insides tightening at the sound of the ringtone. Everyone’s eyes were on me as I listened. Waited. Hoped. We all did.
Straight to voicemail.
Shooting up from the sofa, my jaw tight, I went to my room. Through the blur, I grabbed at clothes and stuffed them into my only suitcase.
They wanted me safe? What a fucking joke. I hadn’t felt safe in years. Not since I was a naive girl. I stuffed a small duffel bag with my makeup essentials and filled a tote bag with my boots and sneakers. I grabbed my heavy leather jacket, and the stuff was immediately taken from my hands. In the living room, I snatched the framed photo of me and Mom and Dad with her car.
“My car is still at the diner. It wouldn’t start this morning,” I sputtered.
“We’ll take care of it, don’t worry.” Standing outside on the front stoop, Minty gestured for me to get out of the house.
My eyes blinked in the harsh August sun outside on the dried front lawn. The guys were on their bikes, their engines rumbling. A neighbor walking his dog glared at us as he picked up his pace.
“Lock up the house, Lindy,” said Catch.
Breathless, I shoved my key in the front door, my fingers cold and numb. The slide and cling of the lock sent a shiver through me. Would Dad and I ever come back here?
Daddy, where are you?
Catch threw an arm over my shoulders, pulling me close as he walked me to his bike on the curb. “This sucks, Lind, but I got to ask—he say or do anything odd to you lately? Anything that was off?”
My head jerked back. “What are you trying to say, Catch? That he was into something dirty, something behind your backs?”
“Whoa, girl. I didn’t?—”
“Loyalty is my father’s middle name. The club is his life.”
“I know. I do not doubt that. We’re trying to figure this shit out.”
“Has someone been after him?” I asked. “After the club?”
“Lindy…” A smirk flashed over this face as he got on his bike.
“Stupid question.” Someone was always gunning for the Flames of Hell. I shoved my arms through the sleeves of my jacket. “When I came home from work this morning, there was this woman here. He’d brought her home for the night and then he left and let her hang out ’til she was ready to leave. I saw her in the kitchen and booted her out.”
“You get a name?”
“You weren’t together partying somewhere last night like always?”
“I was home with my boy. It was Nina’s night out.”
“He said her name was…Robin? Let me check…” I went to Dad’s text on my phone. “Renee.”
“That’s something.”
Minty and Cueball took off down the street, the roar of their engines ripping through the air. As I got on the back of Catch’s bike, I cast a final glance at the house with the dried brown leaves filling up the trim, the cracked siding, the broken cement walkway sprouting weeds. It was a small ramshackle thing we rented, but it had been home since we’d moved to Elk when Dad had become a Flame of Hell. When Mom was still alive.
I adjusted myself on the saddle. Lately, this house had been less of a home and more of a cruel reminder, an emotional burden, a dank cave, but I hadn’t wanted to let go of it. Not yet. It was all we had left.
Catch’s engine exploded underneath us, and my fingers dug into his middle. The bike shot forward, and we took off down the road like a rocket. I turned my head, my insides twisting.
Behind me, our house disappeared.