“Dom!” I ignored Morgan’s shout as I walked determinedly into the bar. A few probies were sweeping up and two or three members were drinking at the bar. One was tall and burly, while the other two were shorter, wiry. One had a bald head full of tattoos, while the other had curly hair and looked like a young Paul Walker.
I walked right up to them and leaned against the bar. Wasn’t surprised to see Morgan looming in the doorway. Chaz hovering behind him was a bit more of a surprise.
“Hey.” I gave the bikers a nod.
They both eyeballed me, taking in my blue Armani suit, grey silk shirt, and the Rolex on my wrist. “You lost?” the burly one asked.
I fixed my eyes on him. “No, I’m not. But I think you have something that belongs to me.”
Burly guy got to his feet tried to loom over me. Unfortunately for him, I was slightly taller than him. “Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“And what would that be?”
“My wife.”
“Whoa!” tattoo guy exclaimed, raising his hands. “We’re not that kind of club.”
I spread my hands out, palms up. “And yet…here we are.”
“Do you have proof of these…allegations?” the curly-haired dude asked.
Morgan stepped forward. “Yes, we do. We traced her here.”
I didn’t know if that was true or not and I didn’t want to look at Morgan to confirm it lest it alert them that he might be bluffing. So I just quirked my eyebrow at Curly, as I now dubbed him. He looked around exaggeratedly. “Hey, Tiny, you see any whores in here?”
I didn’t even think about it. My fist was flying to his face even before he’d gotten the whole word out. I knew it was a mistake even as I did it, but I couldn’t stop myself. His nose erupted in a bleed and he snarled, rushing at me. I readied myself for a brawl, hoping Chaz would take advantage of the distraction to find Nico.
But Morgan stepped between us, holding Curly back. “Whoa, alright, alright. Emotions are high and people are upset, but let’s not do this, okay? We’re all brothers in the patch. Can we talk?”
Curly snorted. “Y’all are patches? Pull the other one.”
“New Orleans Lost Boys,” Morgan said instantly.
“Nooo, really?” Curly looked impressed.
“Yeah, really.” Curly looked from Morgan’s all-black ensemble to my own designer gorgeousness and smirked.
“If you say so.”
“So, now that we have that established, can we begin again? Where’s the girl?”
Curly shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean…Rooster n’em went out earlier and came back with some girl, but…”
I stepped closer to him even as Morgan tried to keep me away. “Where is she?”
He gave me an arrogant look. “Probably fucked six ways from Sunday by now.”
I lunged at him and Morgan held me back, his muscles bulging with effort. Curly laughed. “Hey, you have a complaint, you know what to do. That is, if you’re really bikers.” He turned and strolled away, and I gnashed my teeth.
“Now what?” Chaz appeared suddenly on my flank and I jerked with surprise.
“We need Tank,” Morgan said and met my eyes. He knew what calling in Tank would mean for both of us and judging by the doubt in his eyes, he was wondering if I was willing to pay that price.
“Call him,” I said quietly.
Three men walked into the bar, and Morgan nodded to them. They came over and I recognized them as members of Morgan’s security team. They nodded to me with respect but immediately turned to Morgan. “Building’s surrounded; no one will get in or out without our knowledge. We traced Mrs. Cliff’s phone to this street.” He held out something in his hand. “Found it in a dumpster two buildings over.”
Morgan and I exchanged glances.
“We’re setting up surveillance equipment. We should know how many bodies are in the building in an hour or two.”
“Anything could be happening to her in the meantime,” I whispered.
“We’ll get Tank to open negotiations and guarantee her safety.” Morgan had already dialed the number. I nodded.
“Do it.”
I sat back, closing my eyes, and tried not to freak out too obviously. I wanted to level the building, take out everyone who had ever hurt her. I didn’t want to think about how she must be feeling. What she must be enduring. I couldn’t go crazy – Nico needed me.
20
Nicolette
I came to my senses, to find myself lying on a strange bed in a tiny windowless room. I blinked a few times, putting a hand to my throbbing head and tried to figure out what was going on. Slowly, the details came back to me.
It had been Rooster, the biker I’d met that fateful night, who’d punched me out and then dragged me out of my apartment like this was Russia or some shit. I opened my mouth to scream, to shout for help, but he put a switchblade to my ribs and told me I’d be dead before anyone even noticed. This is New York after all. People mind their business.
They bundled me in the back seat of a black SUV, forcing me to lie on the floor before taking off. It was all so surreal, like a movie. I wondered if maybe I’d fallen asleep on the couch and was dreaming.
But waking up in a strange room I’d never seen before pretty much let me know that it was all real. I didn’t even know how much time had passed since I’d been taken.
Did I pass out?
I couldn’t remember and that was concerning. I closed my eyes, listening to my body, trying to determine whether I’d been…interfered with in any way. I had no unfamiliar aches and pains, and my clothes were all in the right place, so I had to believe that whatever they used to subdue me wasn’t in order to rape me.
At least…not yet.
The door opened and I tensed, relaxing only when I saw that it was a woman holding a plate of sandwiches. She put it down on
