Chapter 17
JOKER
I pull up to The Gold Mine, and the other brothers are already in the lot.
Once Cobra puts out the word, nobody questions; they just show up.
That’s when the club’s motto “Club First, Brothers Always” rings true.
These guys are the definition of Ride or Die, putting the good of all in front of individual gains.
“Spoke to Arrow, and it’s all set at The Cathouse.” Cobra stands alongside my bike. “Warrior will be there too, so we can get this shit settled once and for all.” We tap fists, and he raises his hand in the air, circling his wrist.
The highway is empty this time of night, and we make it out to The Cathouse in forty-five minutes. We all dismount and circle around Cobra .
“Remember, we’re not looking for trouble. We just want to know who’s been shadowing Joker and his family.”
“Right.” Rattler pats the holster concealed by his cut. “But if shit goes south, we’re ready.”
Cobra nods. “Exactly.”
Cobra and I head into The Cathouse with the other brothers behind us. The women lounging on the couches perk up with huge smiles and eager expressions.
Darlene greets us in the foyer. “Well, gentlemen, I see you brought some friends with you this time.”
“Like we told you before, sweetheart, we’re here on business with the Nomads.”
Darlene cocks her head. “The Nomads aren’t here.”
A trickle of sweat creeps down my spine.
“As far as I know, they went back up to Tahoe last week.”
Cobra and I exchange a look, then Mamba steps beside me. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”
DAISY
Reminiscing about how Joker and I met brought back all the reasons we click and are still together today. I pat my baby bump. And why we’re growing our family.
Not telling Joker about the pictures and the cryptic note was a split-second decision when he sat down next to me on the bed. He seemed finally a bit calmer, and I didn’t have the heart to rev him up again.
I double-check the locks on the front door and the door leading to the garage. I already know I locked them, but I’m sure they were locked the other two times too, and yet?—
I check on Deana, and she’s sound asleep.
I marvel at the child’s ability to fall asleep quickly and sleep soundly.
Two characteristics I’m never able to achieve.
As a child, I always kept one eye open and on guard for my abusive father, and then, being on my own since I was sixteen didn’t lend itself to sound sleeping.
I tuck the blankets around my precious little girl and secretly wish for a baby sister for Deana. She adores Derek, but he is already grown, and although I would be joyous for either sex, a little playmate for Deana would be perfect.
JOKER
Python flanks my other side. “What’s up?”
“The Nomads aren’t here.”
“Since you’re all here,” Darlene waves her hand around the lounge, “why don’t you sample some of our beauties? Seems a shame to pass up this loveliness before you ride all the way home.”
“Thanks anyway,” Cobra throws over his shoulder as we all stomp outside.
“Shit, they had us come all the way out here for nothing.”
Rattler’s words stop us cold, and we all exchange a look. What better way to plan an ambush than to have all the brothers almost an hour away from Vegas?
“I don’t like this.” Cobra flips up his phone, then swipes at the screen. “No messages from them.”
“That’s ‘cause this is a fuckin’ setup.” I pull out my phone and dial Daisy. When it goes to voicemail, I send her a message. I wait a few seconds for the little bubbles, and when they don’t appear, I dial her again with no answer.
“Fuck!” All the brothers are with me, so there’s no one to call for backup.
“Call your women,” Cobra orders the other brothers. “Tell them to get to the clubhouse and stay there.”
I frantically call Samson’s number at Club Wicked. He could be to my condo in ten minutes, but his phone goes to voicemail too. If he’s working, there’s no way he’ll hear the ringtone over the music at the club.
Cobra puts a call in to one of our allies on the Cali border, but they’re almost as far away as we are.
Two seconds later, my phone buzzes with a message.
Unknown Number: You’ll never make it back in time.
DAISY
Entering the bedroom, I throw off my robe and tug my maternity sleep shirt over my growing body.
I hit the thermostat, making the room cooler, though in fifteen minutes, I’ll probably be freezing cold.
Another joy of the last trimester—erratic body temperatures.
I could go from boiling hot to freezing, shivering cold in sixty seconds or less.
I gather up Joker’s motorcycle magazines teetering on the edge of his nightstand, open the drawer, and am just about to drop them in when something catches my eye.
I lay the magazines on the bed and examine a black stone surrounded by a hard, dried-out material, like some kind of talisman or amulet. Possibly I’ve watched too many Disney movies with Deana.
The shiny stone has something wrapped around it like a black cord or—a dried-out umbilical cord. I pick it up, and a red-hot fiery heat burns my fingers. I drop it, and it shatters into pieces.
JOKER
The ground tilts under my feet. I grip my phone harder to steady myself as a searing, burning pain slices through my skull like a knife. I squeeze my eyes shut, and when I open them, I draw in a deep breath.
When the dizziness subsides, I show the message to Cobra.
“Shit!”
I hit Derek’s number and wait for what seems like an eternity. When he finally picks up, I bark into the phone, “Where are you?”
“I went out with some guys after class.”
“Get your ass home, then take Deana and Daisy to the clubhouse. ”
“What’s goin’ on?”
“Just get them to the clubhouse, then stay there. Tell the prospects to lock up and not let anyone in until I get there.”
I disconnect the call, and Cobra grips my shoulder. “It might be nothing more than a miscommunication with the Nomads.”
“Do you believe that?” I stare into his hard cobalt eyes.
He mashes his lips together. “Let’s head out.”
DAISY
What the hell? I peer at the broken black stone. What was this doing in Joker’s end table?
An uneasy sensation sweeps over me, and I slam the drawer shut like that will keep any evil contained. No more keeping things from him, and club laws or not, I would demand he tell me what the hell is going on.
The door in the kitchen rattles, and I freeze. I lean down on Joker’s side of the bed and retrieve the baseball bat he keeps there. I tease him about it, but right now, it might be my only chance to protect Deana and myself.
I silently lift it and test the weight, choking down on it to make sure I have a good grip. I creep to the bedroom door, peek down the hallway, then keep my back against the wall as I sidestep down the carpet.
At the doorway leading to the kitchen, I stop, tighten my grip on the bat with both hands, cock it over my shoulder, and jump into the doorway.
“Shit!” Derek yells when I swing the bat, coming six inches from his head.
“Oh my God.” I lower the bat, then lean on it for support, my body weak from adrenaline and raw fear.
“What are you doin’?” Derek braces his palms against the counter.
“I thought you were the nutjob who’s been leaving stuff inside the house.”
“Stuff inside the house? What nut-job? ”
Shouldn’t have said that, I realize too late.
“Nothing.” The last thing I need is Derek worrying too. “I didn’t think you’d be home till later.”
“Dad called me about twenty minutes ago. He said he tried your phone, but no one answered.”
“I left my phone by the tub in the bathroom.”
“He wants me to take you and Deana to the clubhouse.”
“Why?”
Derek follows close behind. “He didn’t say. I would’ve been here sooner, but I was on the other side of town.”
My mind flashes to whatever was in his end table, and the same ominous premonition envelops me.
I stop at Deana’s bedroom door. “I hate to wake her up.”
“He sounded pretty wired.”
“All right. Put some things in a bag in case we have to stay overnight. I’ll get Deana’s things.” I grab Derek’s arm. “Let’s make this sound like an adventure. I don’t want to scare her.”
“Right.” He disappears into his room, and I head for my room to change . . . oh, and to grab my phone.
Sure enough, four missed calls from Joker. I hit the speed dial, listen to the endless rings, then his deep rasp, “Too busy being an outlaw to answer the phone. Hit me up.”
I dial three more times, but no answer. I used to find his phone message funny, now I want to jump through the phone and strangle him for not answering.
I glance in my closet, then, in a moment of paranoia, I retrace my steps to check the locks on the doors. Satisfied, I turn toward the hall, the floorboards creak behind me, and a gloved hand clamps over my mouth.