His Other Half
Patches: Tarkio MC, book 3
By
Debra Kayn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
His Other Half
Patches: Tarkio MC, Book 3
1st release: Copyright© 2020 Debra Kayn
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgment
Dedication
Chapter 1 | Paco | 1992
Chapter 2 | Josie
Chapter 3 | Paco
Chapter 4 | Josie
Chapter 5 | Paco
Chapter 6 | Josie
Chapter 7 | Paco
Chapter 8 | Josie
Chapter 9 | Paco
Chapter 10 | Josie
Chapter 11 | Josie
Chapter 12 | Paco
Chapter 13 | Josie
Chapter 14 | Paco
Chapter 15 | Josie
Chapter 16 | Paco
Chapter 17 | Josie
Chapter 18 | Paco
Chapter 19 | Josie
Chapter 20 | Josie
Chapter 21 | Paco
Chapter 22 | Josie
Chapter 23 | Paco
Chapter 24 | Josie
Chapter 25 | Paco
Chapter 26 | Josie
Chapter 27 | Paco
Chapter 28 | Josie
Chapter 29 | Paco
Chapter 30 | Josie
Chapter 31 | Josie
Chapter 32 | Paco
Chapter 33 | Josie
Chapter 34 | Paco
Chapter 35 | Josie
Epilogue | Paco
Author Bio
Debra Kayn's Backlist
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Prologue
Chapter 1
Acknowledgment
A current report believes there are more than 2,300 missing Native American women and girls in the United States. Only 62% ever land on a missing person database. Most of them are linked to sexual violence and human trafficking. Poor record-keeping and the non-relationship between tribal governments and outside law enforcement leads to underreporting.
Dedication
Kah-nee-ta
Those were the best of times. So many memories.
Chapter 1Paco1992
A knock came to the door of the meeting room inside the Tarkio Motorcycle Club clubhouse. Paco pushed away from the table, frustrated at the added delay. They were supposed to be on the road and heading toward Blackfoot Casino and Resort.
"Wyatt, get rid of whoever the hell that is interrupting us." Priest, the president, sprawled his hand on the map covering the end of the table and waited until the door shut again. "Since the last time we were in the casino, there have been some changes. This corridor is unusable now."
Paco watched Priest, knowing the reason why the Casino would close off that area. Tarkio raided the place, killing one man associated with the sex trafficking ring.
Priest straightened. "That means, we can only have one man—"
"I'll do it," said Paco.
"We also need a man on the outside." Priest looked around the table, nodded, and said, "Curley will be Paco's point of contact. The rest of us will wait out on Pelham Road, far enough from the reservation border, they won't notice. You've got an hour to get in and out. If you're not back in that time, we're going to come in with guns blazing, and it better be for a good fucking reason, because we'll all be marching in chains straight to the penitentiary for breaching the boundary. Today is not a good fucking day to get hauled away. Keep that in your head as we go out."
Paco reached behind his back and reassured himself that his pistol remained on him. He had another one tucked inside the top of his boot with two extra clips in his vest pocket, in case he runs into trouble.
Priest shoved a piece of paper toward Paco. "Take another look at the girls. We can't make any mistakes."
He stared at the paper. For the last two weeks, all he could see when he closed his eyes were the faces of the three, now four, young ladies whose only mistake was being at the wrong place at the wrong time or trusting someone they shouldn't.
They were young ladies who had their whole life in front of them. The paper crumbled in his hand. He gritted his teeth, wanting to lead the men away from the clubhouse and toward the casino, and knowing he had to take orders from Priest.
He'd spent the last two months looking for the missing Missoula girls in his free time. Because of his past knowledge of knowing a lot of shady shit went down at the casino, the trail often led there with no proof. Three local girls and Missoula Police wouldn't step foot onto Blackfoot land.
It was bullshit.
Now, a fourth girl disappeared, and no one was even missing her. Because he'd found out that she was from the reservation prior to living in Missoula, he'd contacted the tribal police by phone to question them. They pretended she never existed, which raised a red flag.
Likewise, the Missoula police wouldn't look for her because a family member hadn't stepped forward to make a report.
The only reason Tarkio suspected the fourth girl ended up like the other young ladies that were missing was because she hadn't shown up for work at Banks' Body Shop, a Tarkio Motorcycle Club owned business.
It'd taken him less than four hours to go through Josie Browning's apartment and find out she'd collected every news article on the disappearance of the other girls. But it wasn't until he found her notebook and read her diary—if that's what she'd call it—had he learned who she suspected kidnapped women and sold them in the sex trade business.
From her writings, he needed to know more about the girl he'd only seen once or twice when he went to talk to his MC brothers at work.
He'd taken her journal home and spent eight straight hours reading every word. Even though he had never spoken to her before or remembered much about her from his visits to
