With an eighty-thousand-pound semi-truck and trailer headed straight toward him, his mind slipped to Dinah back at the clubhouse. Would she be okay on her own if something happened to him? Would she find her happiness? Would the Reed brothers and Moroad leave her alone to live in peace? Would she ever find the family she desperately needed?
The grinding of Jake brakes came through the rumbling of the motorcycles. The tension about dying and leaving Dinah on her own eased, replaced with a hyper-awareness of the situation going down.
The fifty-man Brikken crew pinched between the Slag riders surrounded the semi and slowed. Brage's hand tightened, and he stretched his fingers, fighting the urge to grab the pistol at his back.
He glanced at Roar and the men blocking the lanes, making sure no upcoming vehicles distracted the meeting. They only had minutes, if not seconds, to make their presence hit the other MC hard.
At a stop, one Brikken member got off his motorcycle and stormed toward Brage. He took in the situation and recognized Jett Stanton, the club's president.
"Move the fucking bikes." Jett held a pistol in his left hand.
A few years back, there were rumors about Jett injuring his right hand in prison, leaving it useless. The way he held the gun and the confidence behind his ability to use his left had made Brage doubt the stories.
Brage strode forward. "Recognized your colors, man. Wanted to check in and give our welcome."
"It's not Slag territory." Jett stopped ten feet from him. "Move, or we spill blood."
"Respect, Stanton." He let his gaze travel to the semi. "I don't think you want to risk your load." He stepped toward the truck and swung back around to face Jett. "What's a shipment bring to the club? Twenty...thirty thousand a load every six weeks?"
Jett remained close-lipped. Brage whistled. It would be a huge boost to the pot.
"There're a lot of risks..." Brage clicked his tongue. "Between what? Tacoma and Northern California?" He looked Jett straight in his dark eyes. "A lot of fucking risks along the way."
"Is that a threat, Olden?" Jett's gaze narrowed.
"Just a friendly observance." Brage held up his hands and backed up a step. "Be careful on your route. There's a lot of hidden dangers out there. The Feds and shit get wind of your load, you'll be gripping prison bars with both hands instead of your Harley."
He turned, giving his back to the Brikken president. Confident all Slag members covered him, he threw his leg over his motorcycle and revved the motor. Signaling the men, he looped across the lanes and rode off.
In his side mirror, the other Slag members came up from behind and mixed as one solid group. They'd travel together for ten miles and get off the Interstate, making a loop before getting back on the interstate.
For now, they were safe. Brikken wouldn't leave their cargo. And, Slag succeeded in bringing more attention to themselves and away from the Seattle Chapter.
Chapter 25
Dinah closed the online banking app on her phone and sighed. She only had three hundred and forty-eight dollars left in her checking account after paying last month's rent, unsurprisingly Tony never paid, and this month's rent.
Of course, she had a pile of cash in Brage's dresser drawer that she'd earned through wages and tips working at The Fire Ring. Thankfully, she hadn't sent that to Tony or Brad, or she'd be in a worse position.
Money was good working for Slag Motorcycle Club. She had enough to get to Idaho, first/last/security deposit on a new place to live, and probably two weeks of savings before she would need a job.
Or, she could continue living in her apartment and simplify her life. Her gut told her not to take the easy route because Tony would be able to find her and Brad would know where to go after he got released from prison next year. She'd prefer to go somewhere else within Coeur d'Alene. Somewhere they couldn't find her.
Going forward, she wouldn't have to be choosy about where she went to work because she wouldn't need the extra money for Brad in Prison every month. She mentally cut them out of her life the way they'd cut her out of whatever life she was born for when they stole her.
Stole her.
She closed her eyes. Child abductions happened to other people. Children from other areas. Kids, despite viewing their pictures hanging on telephone poles, she'd never find.
Because of that, she never thought of the devastation of someone losing a child.
She typed on her phone, using Google to find the Idaho State Patrol website. While she waited for the website to load, the train outside whistled, filling the room with noise. It'd been days or even longer since she paid attention to the irritating sound.
Scrolling through the index on the page, she found the link for missing persons. Not knowing what she'd find or exactly what she was looking for, she checked out the search fields and filled them in using her information.
Not sure of her actual age anymore, she covered a wide range of years, and clicked the button. How many times had she tried to remember the years she attended Kindergarten and First grade. A teacher's name. Learning to read. All those years when everything was new, but it's like she'd blocked them from her mind.
She'd wondered about those missing years before but chalked it up to having a bad memory. It had seemed strange when other kids at school would share how old they were when they rode a two-wheeled bike for the first time, swam on their own, or attended their first sleepover. She simply couldn't remember when she'd done those things. Those were memories other people had of their life and took for granted.
Being raised by two older brothers...men, she just felt different. It hadn't helped that her home life was stressful. She pretty much supported herself. From cooking to cleaning to being a
