Black Sheep Page 12

  The men were more conservatively attired in layers of denim, flannel, and leather. Most wearing black leather Reaper vests on top of everything. Like the women they ranged in age from barely legal to qualifying for Medicare.

  Goose definitely drew attention as he ushered Caitlyn through the crowd to the pool tables in the far corner. Caitlyn scanned for exits. Between the two pool tables was a fire door propped open to let in air. Probably another down the hallway leading behind the bar where the restrooms were, but she didn’t like that option: too many unmarked doors and places to get jumped. With the noise no one would ever hear her if she needed help. Best to stay in the open with her back to the wall and eyes on the crowd.

  A tall brunette sidled up to Goose. “What can I get you, honey?”

  He tilted his Yuengling back, finished it in a gulp, and handed it to her. “Another. And?”

  “A Black and Tan and a shot of Bushmills,” Caitlyn ordered.

  “Only Irish we have is Jameson.”

  Caitlyn shrugged. She wasn’t planning on drinking it anyway. A shot glass of whiskey could be an effective distraction or weapon. She might chance the Yuengling if it came with the bottle top still sealed. “Whatever.”

  “My tab,” Goose said. The waitress pouted at that and wove her way back through the crowd toward the bar.

  Both pool tables were in use, but the game in the far corner was winding down. Caitlyn made her way to the rear wall where she could watch the crowd and be close to the exit. Plus it was a little quieter here; she could actually hear what the men were saying.

  Too bad they got real quiet real quick when they noticed her. Suspicious stares at her Reaper lapel pin followed by raised eyebrows aimed at Goose. He said nothing, but stood close enough to her to make it clear to all she was under his protection.

  The thought rankled her, but it was a necessary evil in a place like this. By the time the waitress returned with their drinks, the pool players had lost interest in her and finished their game.

  “Ladies first.” Goose handed her a cue stick after racking the balls.

  Caitlyn set her drinks down, took the cue, and purposefully made a bad break. She was more interested in having time to watch the room than focusing on the table. Plus, it would stroke Goose’s ego, showing off for the little lady.

  “Too bad. I’ll take stripes.” He bent over the table, aiming his shot, and his hair fell forward far enough for her to see the outline of a tattoo that began on his neck and traveled up onto his scalp. A Reaper trademark. Even their prospects got tatts there, forever sealing their fates alongside the full-fledged club members.

  He made his shot and lined up his next. Just as he was pulling his elbow back, she asked, “Where’s your cut?”

  He didn’t react but missed an easy shot. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re a Reaper. Shouldn’t you be wearing your cut in here?”

  He stood, holding the cue still, and stared at her. Like he couldn’t believe how stupid she was, challenging him here of all places.

  She flicked her lapel, the silver Grim Reaper glinting in the overhead lights. “Maybe you’re not wearing it because you lost this?”

  “Girl’s right.” An older man with gray hair and dark, flat eyes stepped forward. “Mickey,” he ordered someone without looking at them, “go fetch Goose his cut.”

  His own leather vest indicated that he was an original member of the Reapers and president of the Carolina Mountain Men. “I’m Poppy,” he said genially but without offering his hand across the pool table. “Looks like I should know you, and yet I don’t.”

  Other Reapers began to gather, although her exit route was still open except for one twenty-something she could deal with, need be. Caitlyn cleared herself more room by leaning over the table and lining up a shot, angling her stick to move twenty-something back farther.

  “Name’s Caitlyn,” she said after making the shot. “Caitlyn Tierney.”

  “Nice to meet you, Caitlyn. Want to tell me what your business here is?”

  Suddenly it was all about her and Poppy. Goose had stepped back away from the table, chalking his cue as if his life depended on it.

  Caitlyn abandoned the next shot she’d set up and straightened, looking Poppy right in the eye. She leaned her cue stick against the table and reached into her pocket, enjoying the twenty-something Reaper’s flinch as if he thought she was going for a gun. Not in this crowd, not unless she had to.

  She flipped Lena’s photo face up in front of Poppy. “Trying to find this girl. Heard she came by here a few nights ago.”

  Poppy didn’t even bother to look at the photo before flicking it back at her with a snap of his fingers. Caitlyn re-pocketed it.

  “You’re in the wrong place. In case you hadn’t noticed, someone like her would’ve stood out around here. Just like this gentleman did.”

  The crowd behind him parted. Two men hauled a third one forward. One of them held a gun to his head.

  Paul.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Lena and Smokey ran into the darkness. She quickly regretted leaving the sleeping bag behind, but it’d been buried under the fallen plaster and there was no way she could take the time to dig it out. She had grabbed some of the old newspaper and shoved it into her socks as insulation. The wind off the mountaintop worked hard to blow her over, her coat no match for it. And she’d lost her gloves somewhere.

  She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to block the wind and save as much body heat as possible, and stumbled over the irregular ground. They came to another cabin. Single-story, cheap wood siding, it appeared identical to the one she’d been held inside. Unless she’d run full circle? No, the wind had been in her face the entire time and she hadn’t come that far.

  Smokey dropped her hand and circled the building, Lena following warily. There were no lights but she could hear strange sounds coming from inside. Scratches or gnawing. An image from an old campfire story popped into her head: a man with a hook sharpening it before going on a killing rampage.

  Her stomach rumbled and she couldn’t tell if it was fear-induced nausea or simple hunger. She hadn’t been hungry inside the cabin, partly an aftereffect of the drugs, partly because she was too scared to think of eating, but out here, running in the cold air … Her teeth chattered and her body shook so badly she kept tripping over her own feet.

  She looked back the way she’d come. At the edge of her vision, she could make out the lines of the cabin she’d fled from. Two cabins. Her brain seemed fogged as if making that simple observation strained it to the point of exhaustion.

  The snow flurries changed to a steady fall, her coat collecting a white sheen. She looked at the cabin before her, at the trees whipping in the wind behind it. Shelter. She needed shelter.

  The noise came again. Smokey returned to her side, screeching and doing a jig. The chimp didn’t like this cabin, either. Together they skirted past it.

  “Not the forest,” Lena told Smokey, her lips so cold and numb she was surprised she could force the words out. “We need another house. Someplace warm.”

  The chimp bobbed her chin as if she understood and led Lena along the tree line downhill. In the distance another cabin, just like the first two, came into view, but Smokey didn’t lead her there. Instead the chimp took her to a larger log cabin, a substantial building compared with the others—at least three times as large and two stories high.

  Lena tugged Smokey’s arm, wanting to examine the log cabin, but Smokey kept trying to lead her past it. Lena’s feet felt like deadwood, barely able to shuffle across the uneven ground. She stumbled and fell facedown, only catching her fall at the last minute. Her hands smacked against the cold ground, stray pine needles and twigs cushioning the blow.

  She lay there, face pressed against the snow-covered ground, uncertain if she could get back up again. Why should she? She could just go to sleep right here, everything would be fine, just fine …

  Vonnie’s voice called to her
from the darkness. “Hurry up, Lena. We’re waiting.”

  “Five minutes,” she murmured, eyes closed. “I’ll be there in five minutes. I promise.”

  Vonnie was insistent. “C’mon. You know we can’t be late. Daddy’s waiting.” The jangle of coins in a Baggie punctuated her words. “I’ll let you be in charge of the quarters.”

  Lena opened her eyes. Their mom hovered in the background, wearing her best black hat, the one with the peacock feather. The one she let Lena wear for her make-believe tea parties if Lena promised to be extra-special careful.

  Vonnie wore a red velvet dress that matched Lena’s. Christmas. Oh how she remembered those—getting up extra early because the line for visitation would be extra long. Falling asleep in the car because it was still dark outside; falling asleep on Mom’s lap while they waited to be processed; falling asleep sitting at the table waiting for Daddy.

  It was years before she realized that most kids woke early on Christmas Day to presents under a tree and turkey dinner, not lines to get inside a crowded room filled with strangers and dinner bought with quarters from vending machines.

  “Lena. Get up.”

  Anger surged through her and she waved her sister away. “Let him wait. Bastard’s guilty. Did you or Mom ever stop to think that? No, you said keep the faith. You believed in him—we believed in him. Wasted our whole lives on the bastard. Well, no more. He can rot for all I care.”

  The heat of Vonnie’s slap shook Lena. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever even think that. Now get up!”

  Lena tried. If only to put her big sister in her place, let her know how wrong she was. But her eyelids were so heavy. Her entire body weighed too much to move.

  So instead she curled up tighter. “Go ’way, Vonnie. Let me sleep.”

  * * *

  It took all of Bernie’s courage to sneak past the partying Reapers and leave the clubhouse early. But he had to make sure Lena and the animals were okay.

  And the longer he hung out with the Reapers, imagining what they’d done to Manson, what they’d do to him if they suspected … he just couldn’t take it.

  As he drove his pickup through Cherokee, past the VistaView, and turned west up the corkscrew road that led up to the Teddy Roosevelt Lodge, he tried his best to untangle the complications his life had become ensnared in.

  Had been so damn proud of himself, how slick and smooth he’d been, grabbing the animal tranquilizer and syringe the zoo guy had given them, guessing her weight, drawing up just the right dose, following her to the restroom and injecting her, bringing her up here before anyone at the clubhouse even realized they’d lost her.

  He’d felt so brave, defying Weasel and Poppy. It wasn’t until he got her up to the cabin that he realized he had no idea what the hell to do with her. And then when she didn’t wake up for almost a full day, he about shit himself with panic that he’d overdosed her.

  He told himself that as soon as she was awake and the effects of the drug wore off, he’d explain everything to her, help her do whatever it took to keep her safe and clear of Poppy and the Reapers. Even if it meant betraying the only family he cared about.

  But he hadn’t counted on the party last night keeping him away so long. Now he could barely swallow without fear that she or the leopard or those stupid chimps had come to harm.

  If they did, it would be all his fault.

  All because he had a dream. Of a home. Someone to take care of. Maybe even someone who would take care of him. Maybe.

  Snow was falling steadily by the time he pulled the truck up in front of the cabin where Lena was. He wanted to make sure she was okay; then he’d see to the leopard.

  When he’d checked on her last, yesterday morning, and given her back her necklace with the gold cross, she’d still been groggy and out of it, singing hymns and praying with words that made no sense. In no shape to talk to anyone but God.

  Hopefully she was better now, because he sure as hell couldn’t figure this out all on his own. Not when Poppy and Weasel were whispering something about the feds being involved, looking for Lena as well.

  What the hell had such a sweet girl done to have so many people after her?

  * * *

  Vonnie left her dreams but Smokey wouldn’t abandon Lena. The chimp kept nuzzling her face with scratchy whiskers, tugging at her arm like she was a rag doll.

  “Leave me alone.” Lena batted the chimp away. She rolled over. Snow filled her nostrils, choked her into alertness.

  “What the—” She sat up. Dark. Black, black dark rushed her vision. She blinked back vertigo until she could see again. Snow. And cold, oh so cold. Hugging herself, she staggered to her feet. There was a building. Warm, she had to get warm.

  Smokey chattered and cavorted, blocking Lena’s path. Lena ignored the chimp, focused only on shelter and warmth. She could die out here. The thought drove her forward, one painful step after the next.

  The snow wasn’t deep but was wet enough that her makeshift booties had long ago soaked through. Her feet no longer hurt; instead they were numb, heavy, like moving two concrete blocks. One, then the other, then the other, keep going.

  She counted her steps like words of a prayer. The most important prayer of her life. Please God, don’t let me die …

  The porch railing was salvation. Using it, she hauled herself up to the veranda. The door wasn’t far now, not too far. A strange keening noise that barely cut through the sound of the wind made her stop, waver. Something was in there.

  She almost gave up, almost sat down right there and embraced death. It was only the thought of how very disappointed Vonnie and her mom would be that kept her going. One step, two steps, three … She hit the door, fumbled with the heavy latch securing it. Old-fashioned. Lift and slide and pull.

  The door opened. She fell inside. Closed her eyes again. Didn’t even open them when she heard the soft thud of something large leaping to the floor in front of her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Surprise ricocheted through Caitlyn, leaving in its wake a heavy, sinking feeling of dread. Shit, no, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. “Paul.” She blurted out his name before she could stop herself. “What the hell?”

  “Your mom was worried. Sent me to get you.” He stood tall, looking directly at her, as if she was all that mattered. Didn’t seem to even notice that he was the only black man here, much less the only man not carrying a weapon.

  “Hear that, boys?” Poppy said. “It’s true love. He’s come to save her.”

  Paul shrugged off the two men restraining him, pointedly ignoring the one with the gun aimed at him. Despite her anger and fear, Caitlyn had to admit it was kind of sexy. If not for the fact that suddenly her half-assed plan had gone from getting the lay of the land to a critical hostage-taking incident.

  “Look,” Paul said in his most measured and reasonable physician voice. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I’m sure it’s all a simple misunderstanding—”

  “Shut up, Paul,” Caitlyn snapped, desperate to keep him from making the situation worse.

  He glared at her and opened his mouth again when Poppy said, “Do what the lady says, Paul.”

  The Reaper with the gun jabbed it sharply into Paul’s belly, just below his rib cage, hard enough to make Paul gasp. Caitlyn took note of the man: middle-aged, dark hair, short, mean-looking face that had seen its share of fistfights. Not as mean looking as when she finished with him, she promised herself. Not by a long shot. The name on his leather vest was WEASEL. It fit.

  The crowd on the dance floor behind them kept gyrating and shaking their booties the way only white folks with no sense of rhythm could, as if what was happening here was happening behind an invisible force field. Not a part of their world. No help would be coming from that quarter. It was all up to her.

  The Reaper whom Poppy had sent for Goose’s cut returned, holding it in two hands and presenting it to Goose with respect. Once Goose donned it, she saw why. Asshole was the chapter’s
damn enforcer.

  As soon as the leather vest was in place, Goose’s demeanor changed. His gaze narrowed, assessing her, ignoring Paul, and taking good measure of the mood of the Reapers who now surrounded the pool table—including a few from the home chapter. Which upped the ante because the Carolina Mountain Men would need to save face in front of the bigwigs from Daytona.

  Great. Just great.

  Possibilities streamed through Caitlyn’s mind, all examined and rejected until only one was left. The one option she hated, but it was the only way to prevent bloodshed. Surrender.

  She pulled the silver Reaper from her collar and leaned over the table, bowing her head as she stretched her left hand to place it as close to Poppy as possible. Her movement and the table concealed her right hand sliding down to grab her Baby Glock. When she straightened, she held the Glock at her side, below the table, aimed where it would cause Poppy the most pain, and her left hand rested on her ASP, ready to deploy it.

  Unfortunately three other Reapers, including Goose, now held pistols and at least four more had their hands where she couldn’t see them, presumably on their own weapons.

  “I made a mistake,” she admitted, her pride about choking her. “Now let him go.”

  Poppy held her gaze for a long moment, spinning the silver pin between his fingers. “What do you say, Goose?”

  “I say we’ve got a lot of people enjoying our hospitality tonight.” Goose nodded to the dancers behind Poppy as he holstered his weapon at the small of his back. “I think a heartfelt apology should suffice.”

  Poppy jerked his chin to the men holding Paul. They immediately dropped their hands and stepped back.

  “Get out of here, Paul,” she said, not relaxing her guard one iota.

  “Not without you.” He stood his ground like he was Sir Galahad protecting her honor. Couldn’t he see how delicately the balance of power teetered between her and Poppy?