Chapter 3
THREE
Locust stared down at his cell and cursed.
No new texts.
Not a single call or response in five days.
Cursing again, he shoved the cell into his jeans pocket, and climbed back on his bike.
He and Cluster were on a two-day run to Pittsburgh that had taken an extra two days because their meeting with the steel fabricator had to be rescheduled due to the man having a family emergency. So, Locust and Cluster had been stuck with their thumbs up their asses for another two days. Cluster, the nasty fuck, spent those two days at the nearest dive bar, getting drunk, and fucking barflies. Thankfully, Locust had the forethought to get two rooms at the motel, because like fuck was he sharing with Cluster; the man was a walking pigsty, and he didn’t give a shit if you were in the room when he was fucking some random skank. The last thing Locust needed was an eyeful of Cluster’s hairy, white ass as he was pounding into some chick.
Especially since Locust didn’t have his own chick to fuck—not that the women hadn’t tried. That first night in Pittsburgh, he’d joined Cluster at Blaster’s, thinking he’d down a few beers, watch the Steelers game on the TV, and then head back to the motel—alone—to hit the hay once the road weariness finally hit. He’d texted Nadia, apologizing for leaving town so soon after the party, and telling her he’d be back by the end of the week. He’d been annoyed that she’d left his bed the morning after the party without so much as a fucking kiss goodbye, but he’d been so caught up in dealing with Cluster, and then meeting with Frost, that he hadn’t had time to think about it. They’d planned to spend the day together, and he’d been eager as fuck, too, but once he realized she was gone, he was already knee deep in club shit that needed handling. So, he’d texted her, telling her good morning and that he’d miss her that day.
She hadn’t texted back, hadn’t even read the message, but he’d been so busy, he hadn’t had time to think about it.
Now that he did, though…something wasn’t right.
And now, after four fucking days, they were headed home, and an hour into their journey back to Wilkes-Barre, he still hadn’t heard a goddamn thing from Nadia. The last time he’d seen her, she was naked, her creamy skin still flushed from their night of fucking, and she was asleep in his bed. By the time he’d made it back upstairs that next morning, the bed was empty, and she was gone, Tony at the gate telling him she’d jumped into a Lyft. Right after that, Locust had gotten the summons from Frost, and he’d been given the order to head out on the run.
It wasn’t like her not to respond to his texts, and it certainly wasn’t like her to not at least text him twice a day to just check in on him, tell him she loved him, or just share a link to some stupid fucking meme she thought was funny. Sometimes the memes made him laugh, more often than not, though, he’d just roll his eyes, ignoring the slight smile curving his lips.
She hadn’t texted or called in five days.
Another three and a half hours later—breaking speed limits, they pulled through the gates of the clubhouse, and Patriot and Tornado glanced at them from the side yard beside the main building. It looked like they were having an intense discussion, about what, Locust didn’t know and honestly didn’t care. He just wanted to get to Frost, give him the report, grab a shower, then go find his woman.
Heading into the clubhouse, he ignored the “come hither” looks from Kiki, a clubwhore, and continued across the common room and toward Frost’s office. Knocking on the door, he waited until he heard, “Fuck, come in— shit !” from the other side.
Opening the door, Locust paused at the sight of his prez inspecting a pair of glasses; one of the lenses was cracked, and the frame was twisted. It wasn’t unusual to see Frost in glasses; the man was pushing forty-five, and hadn’t been all that nice to his body in the last few years—but it was the first time Locust had seen such a disgusted look on his prez’s face.
“Mad about something?” Locust asked, moving into the room and shutting the door behind him.
Frost glanced up, glared at him, then tossed the broken glasses on his desk as Locust dropped into the chair opposite him.
Locust didn’t envy Frost, who’d been busy as fuck trying to integrate the businesses and brothers from the Bone Dogz MC from Erie, New York, who’d agreed to patch over into the Unchained after their leadership went to shit. Rather than disband their brotherhood of six, they came to the Unchained MC seeking a second chance at a lifestyle they loved. They knew they couldn’t carry on the way their previous prez had been running things, and none of them were keen on being prez, so they handed everything to Frost to deal with. The man had taken on too much, but he’d known he could depend on his officers to help with the load.
Officers like Locust, who’d been given an assignment he’d been more than happy to complete…and it had become as complicated as fuck.
“Meet the sister, get her to trust you, find whatever you can on that fuck of a brother of hers…do whatever you got to do, brother….”
Once again, his thoughts on Nadia, his phone burned a hole in his pocket. First, he’d talk with Frost, then he’d go find her and make her explain why the fuck she was ghosting him all of a sudden. That shit wasn’t going to fly with him—he didn’t give a fuck that their “relationship” started out as a duty to the club; it was more than that now. Not that Nadia knew anything different.
Hating the rising tide of guilt in his guts, he focused back on his prez.
Frost glared harder, grunted, then replied, “Mad Dog fucked everything to shit.”
Mad Dog was the Bone Dogz former prez, who was sitting pretty in maximum security after he got himself caught hauling drugs in his truck, with two dead bodies in the back seat.
“Need any help?” Locust asked, knowing Frost was still digging through the shit pile Mad Dog had left behind when he’d betrayed his club.
Frost sighed. “You got enough on your plate, brother—speaking of…you got the signatures?”
Nodding, Locust pulled the folded-up envelope from his kutte pocket, tossing it on the desk.
“Everything’s signed, dotted, and ready to go. Masters says he can have the first prototype made in three weeks, which is a week sooner than his initial quote.” The club had several legal businesses, including a garage. Tornado, before he’d become an Unchained, had graduated from MIT with a degree in engineering. The genius had designed a part for the diesel engine that would allow it to run more efficiently, and because he was Unchained, he wanted the club to benefit, which meant they patented the part, and were now in the initial processes of fabricating it. They were going to make money, hand over fist, and Tornado would get a large percentage of that. The fucker was going to be a rich man pretty soon, but you wouldn’t know it to look at the brooding bastard lately.
Frost nodded. “Fuck, at least something’s going right,” he replied, a hint of weariness in his voice.
As far as Locust knew, Frost was only dealing with the Bone Dogz bullshit, but that weariness in his voice, and the guardedness in his expression and bearing, there had to be something else going on.
Before Locust could ask, though, Frost continued, “Let Cluster know to watch for the first shipment; we want to start trials as soon as possible. Can’t let this shot at millions just sit there gathering dust.” His gaze sharpening, Frost sat back, planting his hands on the armrests of this decades old desk chair. “Speaking of millions, you get anything from that woman yet?”
That woman?
“Nadia. She has a name, Prez,” he snapped, his mouth moving before his brain could crank. At the scowl on his prez’s face, Locust sighed. “Fuck, sorry about that, I’m just anxious as fuck about the whole thing.”
Frost arched an eyebrow, but at least he dropped the scowl. “That mean you don’t know where the money is?”
Shaking his head, Locust replied, “There’s nothing at her place. She doesn’t have a safe deposit box, and she hasn’t mentioned a storage unit where she’d keep anything. Her place is nice, though, and she’s got that new car, but she doesn’t dress fancy or buy anything expensive. She still stocks up on ramen noodles, and bulk buys her favorite shampoo when it’s on sale. If she’s got the money, she’s hiding it real good.”
Nadia’s stepbrother, road name Ratchet, was a former Bone Dogz MC member, who’d been put in charge of transporting money from Erie to Allentown. Mad Dog wanted to purchase meth using club funds, but he didn’t want his officers to know about it. So, he called on one of the newer members, a tweaker, who would do anything for a score. Ratchet was supposed to move the cash, but he never showed up to the drop off; he’d run with over a million dollars of Bone Dogz MC money, money that now belonged to the Unchained.
Frost was keen on getting that money back, but he had to find that fucker, Ratchet, first. It was by pure luck that when Redtube, the club computer guru, did a deep dive on Ratchet—real name Elijah Tate—he learned that Ratchet had a step-sister who’d moved to NEPA from Saratoga Springs three years ago.
After that, Frost sent Locust to check out the sister, and, if possible, get close to her. And that’s exactly what he’d done. He’d set up their “accidental” meeting on the side of the highway by carefully creating a slow leak in her tire, he’d charmed her, he’d asked her out on a date, and they’d been connected at the hip since then. It was going on five months now, and though he’d been doing his duty as club enforcer, looking for the money Ratchet could have left with her, he was also falling hard…for his mark.
There were rules against that—never fall for your own con, right? He wasn’t supposed to actually feel attraction for her, or want to be with her, or worry about her, or be possessive and protective of her—it was all supposed to be for show. Get her to believe what he wanted her to believe, get close, get the information or the money, then ghost her.
But things got complicated real quick.
It was all kinds of fucked up, but he was nothing if not loyal to the Unchained, so he’d do what needed to be done to fulfill his obligations, complete his assignment from Frost, and hopefully, Nadia would never find out.
It started as an assignment, but now he wanted to keep her.
He just needed to be careful, because if she ever realized why they met and why they were together, she’d never talk to him again—and he’d be fucked if he couldn’t be with her.
She belonged to him, and he wasn’t going to let her go.
Frost heaved a sigh, his gaze scouring Locust’s face, and he must’ve seen something there that made him wary.
“You’ve got a problem, brother?” Frost asked, his ice-blue eyes glinting.
Locust gave as he got, knowing Frost could fuck his shit up without blinking, but he didn’t care.
“Not a problem, Prez. If Nadia has the money, I’ll get it, but if she doesn’t, once this is over, I plan to keep her.” Leaning back in the chair, Locust admitted, “Got to say, though, Prez, I don’t think she has it. I think Ratchet took it and snorted it or shoved it up his veins or blew it at the casino. Redtube said the asshole was a regular at Seneca in Erie, but he hasn’t been back there in over a year.”
Frost grunted. “Has she had any contact with her brother?”
“One text, eight months ago, and it was a request for cash. There was a PayPal transaction right after; she sent him $2,000.”
“So he texted, asking for money—maybe some of the money he stole and left with her—and she sent it to him,” Frost surmised, and Locust nodded, knowing it was a possibility, but also hating it.
“Most likely, yeah,” Locust agreed. “But there hasn’t been any contact since then—no calls, texts, emails, or visits. As much as I’ve been hanging around her, I would have seen signs of him. As tweaked as he is, he wouldn’t be slick enough to hide from me if he came ‘round.”
Frost nodded, knowing Locust was always sharp, vigilant, looking for trouble. As the club enforcer, he had to be aware of everything going on all at once. Sometimes it was exhausting as fuck, but when it came to Nadia, it was downright debilitating. With her, he always had to be “on”, making sure he didn’t slip, that his persona of the charming biker never dropped. But, fuck, he just wanted to be himself with her, show her who he really was, and see if she could still love him. The real him, the him that busted faces, snapped bones, and didn’t give a fuck which laws he broke to get the job done.
“Right,” Frost grunted, his lips thinning in obvious displeasure; he wanted that money yesterday. “Keep me informed—and try not to let her pussy get you in trouble.”
Locust growled, but he snapped his mouth shut against the cascade of words he knew would get his ass beat. Yeah, he was a big, brawny motherfucker who could handle his shit, but Frost was US trained Marine Spec Ops. The man could kill any one of the brothers with his bare hands.
Standing, Locust gave his prez a chin lift, turned, and stormed from the office.
He had a woman to track down.