Prologue #5
Poison walked stoically inside the ice cream shoppe sometime later, now wearing a pair of sunglasses to hide her red and puffy eyes.
As she pulled her seat out, the metal legs scraping on the linoleum floor, she saw every single member of the club shoot Gypsy a glare, a silent reprimand to keep her mouth shut.
Given everything currently going on, Poison appreciated the gesture.
She did not need to deal with Gypsy’s unhinged comments right now, too.
Kitty did not follow her inside, and the women in her club smartly did not ask why. She didn’t know how much they’d seen in the alleyway, but she did not have the energy to mentally process both Rose’s reincarnation and Kitty’s betrayal. She had to choose, and she chose Rose.
Putting the manila folder Kitty just gave her on the table in front of her, Poison told the club in an emotionless voice, “I have the name of Rose’s Deputy U.S.
Marshal. Jack was right. She isn’t here.
Never was. Her job is working for a router manufacturing company.
She tests their systems.” Poison pointed up to the router attached to the wall of the ice cream shoppe.
“Jack thinks she uploaded the program into the router, and it just happened to land here.”
Wendigo pushed her half-eaten ice cream forward. “Then where was she?”
“Des Moines.” Even to her own ears, Poison’s voice sounded defeated. “Jack says the deputy who was guarding her was found murdered four days ago. It looks like a home invasion, but the U.S. Marshals are still moving everyone.”
Scissors glanced around at the rest of the club. “So Rose is safe? The message was just sent because she was in the middle of a move and couldn’t input the passcode on time?”
Poison shook her head. Reaching forward, she opened the file folder.
It didn’t have the seal of the U.S. Marshal Service or claimed it to be Top Secret, but there was no doubt in her mind that it was the official record.
The top document was a full-page picture of a young woman who looked rough, to say the least. There were bags under her eyes and her hair was cut too short to be fashionable, plus bruises on her temple and hands that held up a mug shot sign.
She was also so skinny the shape of her bones was visible through her flesh.
Tapping her finger on the photograph, Poison told her club, “This is the woman the Deputy Marshals moved today.” The mug shot sign dated five years ago identified the woman in the picture as Rose Amelia Benson. “Problem is, that’s not my sister.”
The others also voiced their bewilderment, but Poison quieted them with a look.
“I mean,” Poison growled, “that that isn’t Rose. I don’t know who she is or why the U.S. Marshals think she’s Rose, but she’s not.”
“Where is Rose then?” Tabs asked.
Poison shook her head, completely baffled. “I don’t know, but I know where she,” she tapped on the photo again, “is going, and we’re going after her.”
* * *
Present
Poison pushed the bound woman onto the chair. Between the hood over her head and the gag in her mouth, her screams were almost completely muffled.
In the two weeks since Poison was woken up by Rose’s message, there had been nothing from her, not a peep or a hint.
But the club still wore their earpieces just in case she reconnected.
With everything happening in Pennsylvania and the Non Cras hunting down the woman impersonating Rose, it wasn’t until a few days ago that they got a chance to speak to Keys for the first time.
To say he was pissed was an understatement.
Neither he nor Poison had said anything nice to each other during that entire phone call, and he’d forced himself into their investigation, taking over as the club’s interim tech from Jack.
Poison didn’t know what was between Rose and Keys.
Honestly, other than the few times they’d worked together, she hadn’t realized they knew each other personally.
But the way the kid talked? It made Poison wonder if they were more than friends.
What she didn’t know was if Keys knew Rose’s identity, as the kid had referred to her as “MV” for their entire shouting match of a conversation.
The club wasn’t whole. Far from it. In addition to Rose’s absence, Kitty still wasn’t back.
Each night, he snuck into Poison’s motel room to be with her.
It shamed her that she was so weak-willed that she allowed him to hold her, even make love to her.
She was so fucking angry at him, but he was also the person she leaned on the most, and she felt lost at sea without a compass without him.
Yet, every morning, she woke up, made coffee, and promptly kicked him out.
Maybe it was delusional, and it certainly wasn’t healthy, but it was like she could only handle being near him in the dark.
She definitely was not processing his betrayal and secrets.
She didn’t ask him any questions, nor did she call him by any name, be it “Kitty”, “Robin”, or “Rurik”.
She also didn’t allow him to use the door of the motel room, not that that would have stopped a thief of his caliber.
Poison had no idea what they were or weren’t right now. Only that they weren’t okay, which was scary, heartbreaking, and sad.
Per the club’s bylaws that Poison herself had written, when she had claimed Kitty as her Knightmare, she essentially married him.
Just as Wendigo had with Benjamin and Waya, just as Phoenix had with Ghost. Scissors, of course, had as well with Sissy, but they were also legally married.
Unlike a legal marriage with a government certificate, a Knightmare was claimed forever.
A proven affair or betrayal to the club was subjected to severe punishment, but even then, Poison was only able to claim another Knightmare if her first was dead. There were no alternatives.
Not that Poison wanted another Knightmare. Hell, she didn’t even know what she wanted then. All she knew was that she was not okay. She should feel excited getting her sister back, but there was too much pain and hurt wrapped in betrayal for her to even contemplate the good feelings.
Sissy and Scissors had returned to Mount Grove to help the VDMC—as well as attend the funerals. Frankie, the nanny who had died, had been a college friend of Sissy’s, and had gotten the job with her father’s club on Sissy’s recommendation.
Poison ripped the bag off the woman’s head.
Her hair had grown out since the mug shot picture in Rose’s file.
It was blonde, a similar shade to Poison’s natural color, and Poison guessed her to be in her mid-twenties, just like Rose would be now.
She’d also filled out since her mugshot, too, but then again, it wasn’t like WITSEC would starve their witnesses on their watch.
Poison pulled a blade from a sheath at the small of her back. In a single swipe, she cut the cloth gag from the woman’s mouth, slicing her cheek open in the process. It may have been slightly intentional.
The club was in a basement in a partially built house in Rhode Island. The complex looked like it had been mid-construction before either winter had hit or the money ran out. Either way, no one was around to hear this woman scream.
“Who are you?” Poison demanded. As the woman opened her mouth to blubber out an answer around her tears, Poison stopped her by putting the tip of her blade against her nose. “And I mean your real name, because you sure as hell aren’t Rose Benson.”
The woman’s eyes widened almost comically. Shaking, the woman’s frantic eyes bounced between the crowd of hardened bikers before her. It took her a heartbeat before she looked back at Poison. “You’re her, aren’t you? Ivy?”
Poison pulled the dagger away from the woman’s nose, but did not confirm or deny her identity. “I know who I am. I am asking who you are.”
“I…” She swallowed hard, like she was summoning up her courage. “Rose saved my life. I won’t betray her by endangering her.”
Not giving a damn that she seemed prepared to stay loyal to Rose—rather than acting like someone who forcefully took her identity—Poison struck, jamming her blade into the meat of the woman’s right thigh. She screamed, flailing her bound hands to try unsuccessfully to push Poison off her.
“She’s already in danger!” Poison sneered into the woman’s pain-ridden face. She was so far beyond impatient that she had no “niceties” left in her. “And you are just wasting my time! Tell me who you are.” She jerked her wrist, a clear threat to twist the dagger embedded in the woman’s thigh.
“Katy Murphy!”
Poison kept her face neutral as she recognized the name. Behind Poison, Tabs pulled out her phone and sent a message to Keys. He was still dealing with the aftermath of the explosion, too. At least Ranger and Becks had been rescued, though Ranger was certainly worse for wear.
“Nice to meet you, Katy Murphy,” Poison said almost sweetly. Then she ripped the dagger from Katy’s thigh, causing her to scream again. Wiping the blood off her dagger on Katy’s shirt, she demanded, “Now tell me why you are impersonating Rose Benson.”
Katy was trying to reach with her bound hands to staunch the bleeding on her thigh, which was ridiculous. Her arms weren’t going anywhere any time soon. Poison hadn’t hit the femoral artery, so her chances of bleeding to death were low. But not zero.
“I was too brainwashed to make the same deal Rose did. But she came back for me,” she gasped desperately.
“We’ve always looked alike. Rose did it all before she even told me, somehow manipulating all the files on her into my information.
She specifically did something to make them move her, and we swapped places during the transfer.
And I,” she gasped out a sob, “became Rose.”
“Why?” Poison demanded. “Why would she swap with you? Why would she give you her protection?”