23. Tyke
23
TYKE
Feet on the blacktop, I sit astride my bike while I wait for Deo to bring his pretentious BMW out from the underground garage. The first address on the list is a former steel mill fifteen minutes from where we are now—as good a starting point as any.
I cast my eye across the brightly lit drive-through out front of the lobby. LED lights positioned overhead cast the area in a brilliant white light, accentuating the sleek finish on sports cars such as Deo's as he idles the gunmetal gray sedan through the paved section.
If I had my way, I would have hightailed it out of here the minute I stepped outside. The list of addresses in my breast pocket burns against my heart—a reminder of how I failed Maddie as a father and protector.
As a president.
Deaths were aplenty on my grandfather's watch, almost as much so on my father's. Fucking swore that shit would end when I took the gavel, and yet, here we are with two deaths to my name and now a kidnapping.
Marco’s boy pulls up in front of me, window down. His gaze drops from my face to the bike and back again. Fuck knows what he thinks of me—fucked if I care. But it bothers the fuck out of me that he feels comfortable enough to dismiss a man who's on even standing with his father.
Let alone the daddy of the girl he wants to be fucking.
Or maybe he already is fucking? Damned if I’d know much these days.
“You got issue, boy?” I straighten my back, arms folded over my chest.
“Should I?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Where are we going first?”
"Old steel mill off—" The bleat of my phone draws my eye downward to its mount on the bars. "The fuck?"
MINION
Maddie’s home. Got a story to tell.
Fucking Minion. Short and to the point, leaving more questions than answers. But I've always admired the way he can get the vital shit out in few enough words that I don't have to swipe to open the message.
“Boys have found her,” I tell Deo, settling my hands on the bars and tapping the bike into gear. “See you at the clubho—” A squeal of tires, and the fucker is on his way. “Asshole.”
I peel out of the swanky hotel lot, perverse satisfaction warming my chest at the loud echo of the Harley off the pristine frontage. Fuck the judgmental assholes. Less than two blocks down the road, I catch up to the kid, splitting the lane to get in front of him at the red light.
His car inches forward, and I fucking know what he thinks because it's crossed my mind too.
With a quick swing of my head, I pick my moment to cut through the opposing traffic, leaving him stuck until a larger gap appears. My chest tightens, knowing my girl is home, yet the acid in my gut soon sours my mood when I shift my thoughts to more practical things.
Like, what shape is she in? Did he hurt her?
Will I end the day with another death on my hands? That of my older brother.
The fucking question I can’t answer just yet. My goddamn hands tighten on the bars, shoulders rolling the tension out of my spine. Got no qualms about making him hurt for what he’s done. No issue with dealing the goddamn punishment that’s due.
But he’s blood. My brother by half. Digger’s all the way.
The old man always said my weakness for the family would be what took me down.
Starting to think the old fucker may have been right about a few more things, too, if he’s nailed this one on the head.
The growl of an engine cuts into my trance, snapping me back to the road that blurs under my tires and the goddamn car that tears past me on the wrong side of the road. Deo whips the BMW back in front, narrowly missing a goddamn semi barreling down the road, the draft sucking me toward it as the trailers blaze past.
Fucking asshole leans his head, checking me in the side mirror before he plants his boot and tears off ahead of me.
The goddamn game of cat and mouse continues the forty miles until home, motherfucker leading me into my own yard. The kid’s out of the car and tearing inside before I have time to kick my stand down.
Got to give him credit where it’s due: he’s dedicated to my girl.
I’m met at the door by Turnip, chewing on a toothpick as he saunters toward me.
"Where is she, brother?" I search the room and find a couple more officers hanging about with the usual girls keeping their hands busy and the men's heads clear—but no sign of my daughter.
A jerk of Turnip’s head, and then he’s leading me through the hall to my goddamn room.
What the fuck she's doing in there? I have no idea, but I figure I'm about to find out when I cross the threshold and find my princess positioned center on my bed, Jamie at her side. Cassidy holds her hand, fingers on her pulse point.
Deo’s motionless at the foot of the bed, the rage building within visible as his nose twitches, jaw tight.
“Anyone touch her?” I mutter to my Road Captain.
He shakes his head. “As far as we know, no. But she ain’t talkin’, boss. Hasn’t said a word since Harvey brought her in here.”
“Where is he?” I daren’t shift my gaze from my daughter when Deo strides out of the room in case she fucking vanishes again. My head knows it’s not possible, but my heart fucking races at the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I’ll blink, and it’ll all be a dream.
"He and Kane went out with Hammer and Minion a short while ago." Turnip turns side-on a little, studying me in my periphery. "They've gone to round up Fox and bring him back here."
“The fuck?” Who said they could? Who fucking ran that past me? “Goddamn want that asshole hanging from the butcher’s hook before the day’s out too, brother, but shit, both my boys?”
There’s no telling what the fuck they’re walking into. Goddamn bulls in a China shop, the pair of them.
Turnip dares to look bashful about it all. "Couldn't stop them once Harvey relayed the shit that went down to Kane." He studies Maddie with a sigh. "They love their sister, boss, and this is how they show it—by getting her justice."
I huff a dissatisfied sigh and move away from the asshole toward my daughter and the fussing ladies. "What's the verdict?" I ask Cassidy, easing onto the edge of the bed. My arms prickle with adrenalin, muscles contracting and relaxing while I try to stem the building rage at what Fox did.
How he made her.
My girl stares straight ahead, her breath steady and even except for the odd shuddered one in between, as though she recalls something terrifying and unsettling.
The squeal of tires as Deo leaves the yard doesn’t faze her. Should probably give Marco the heads-up. His boy is on an adrenalin-fueled revenge kick—the sort that gets you killed.
“Don’t need to tell you she’s in shock,” Cassidy says. “As for how long? Couldn’t say.” She touches my arm lightly, cautious as well as comforting. “All she needs is some loving care and a reminder she’s safe now.”
"I'll stay with her," Jamie offers, legs folded beneath her. "I can try to get her to her own room if you like, but it's hard to get her up the stairs like this."
I shake my head. "Leave her here. I want her comfortable." I glance behind me toward Turnip and then back at the two women on either side of my daughter. "Where's Rae? Why ain't she in here?"
The silence is telling, as is the lack of fucking eye contact from any of the fuckers.
“Speak,” I growl, praying one of these assholes has the gall to tell me what’s up before I get to banging heads together.
“She’s, uh, with Digger,” Turnip hedges. “You want me to let them know you’re back?”
“Tell the fucking pair of them I want their asses in my fuckin’ office before I get there myself.” They better have a fucking good explanation as to why—when my beautiful girl sits catatonic on my bed—they find it pertinent to be wherever the fuck they are, doing whatever the hell it is they deem more important than comforting Maddie.
I rise from the bed, pent-up frustration, anger, and grief all surging for an outlet as I stride for the door.
Turnip catches me by the shoulder, palm to the collarbone to stall me in my tracks. Fucking size of his eyes tells me my face relays my urge to snap his goddamn wrist for stopping me. “You might want to holster that anger, Tyke. At least until you hear what they have to say.”
My eye twitches, gaze darting back to my daughter as my heart breaks all over again.
Why the fuck was I the last to know what’s going on around here? Why the fuck ain’t anyone keeping me in the loop?
Is this how it starts? The coup?
Is that how little my club thinks of me now?
I close my eyes and draw a deep breath. Fuck . Not now. Not when I’ve got a fucking score to even and a blazing desire to right all my previous wrongs in doing so.
I jerk my phone free and thumb through to Marco’s number.
The day may come when I leave this fucking club in the hands of another man, but this ain't the time.
Hell, it probably ain’t even the year.
I won’t be going anywhere until I leave one last mark on my legacy: Terry fucking Creed’s death.