Chasing Claire (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club) (25 page)

Across the green, three campus security men headed our way.

It was pretty safe to say that the Hells Saints presence had created quite a stir at the quiet college.

But I didn’t care.

Because I was scared.

I didn’t know why Crow was here, but Reno wasn’t.

Reno had not come for me.

Why isn’t he here?

A big black train of terror thundered toward me. It blocked out the sun and blew fire clouds of steam down my throat. It was heading right for me. And terror had me tied to its tracks.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Claire?”

“Claire!”

“Honey, we’ve got no time for you to freak. I need you here. With me. Now.”

Crow’s voice broke through to me.

As I turned woodenly to him, I felt him lift my arms and strap me into something heavy. Then he covered me with a black hoodie that was at least two sizes too big for me. Something in the back of my mind told me that I had just been outfitted with a bulletproof vest.

“Crow?” I whispered.

I looked around to see that the boys were all carrying concealed.

Apparently, I was getting an armed escort home. “Please tell me what’s happening,” I pleaded.

“I can’t go into it now, Claire. Just know that me being here means that we’re containing some shit. I’m taking you to the compound and I’m driving right through anything that tries to stop us. The boys are going to be on the side of us and behind us. I want you to tuck your head as close to me as you can get and hold on tight. Make sure you lean in hard. Okay, Claire?”

I nodded to him. Crow zipped me up and pulled the black hood over my helmet.

“Time to ride, babe.” Crow started the engine and I got on behind him.

I knew that bulletproof armor was not for containing a small amount of shit. Bulletproof meant containing serious shit. It meant that shots had been fired. I was getting an armed escort home because that shit had evidently not been contained soon enough.

I held on tight and started to pray.

Reno. Raine. Willow. Prosper.

Prosper. Willow. Reno. Raine.

Willow. Prosper. Raine. Reno.

I had heard once that by speaking someone’s name, you held power over their destiny. Maybe if I said their names over and over
again, I could protect them from whatever this newest threat was. Maybe if I said their names over and over again I could keep them alive.

Please. Please. Let them be safe.

Crow flew furiously past posted speed signs. He deftly wove in and out of traffic as the brothers rode protection around us.

I sent up one final prayer as we reached the locked and guarded gates of the compound.

Please, sweet Jesus. If you take my man, then take me with him.

If you take Reno, then take me too.

Take me too.

CHAPTER 39

T
hree armed men that stood at the gate buzzed us in. As we drove up the long driveway of the compound, Crow nodded to several more who I did not recognize. All of them were heavily armed and wore Nomad cuts. As we rode past the last one, Crow lifted a hand in greeting. In answer, the brother raised a large automatic weapon over his head and yelled out what sounded like a battle cry.

Oh, my God.

I felt that panic rise and take flight, lifting me off the seat. Crow leaned back into me and with his free hand he squeezed my thigh in reassurance.

But I did not feel reassured.

Because whatever had happened, whatever this was, it had turned the Hells Saints Compound into a battle zone. Someone moved in front of the bike with a raised hand to stop Crow. My mind went into high alert. I leaned into the Apache warrior. My ears strained for any scrap of information that would help me. Feeling the tension increase in Crow’s already rigid body, I scanned the perimeter and inhaled the charged air. I looked at the compound through new eyes and I took everything in at once. The sights, the smells, the sounds.

A group of cars littered the parking spaces. New ones seemed to be arriving by the minute. They were filled with the wives and children of the brotherhood. All of the MC families were here. An order must have come down to get the families safe under lock and key.

The Saints were in lockdown.

Still scanning, I landed on Diego’s SUV, and Glory’s car.

That had to be a good sign.

Feeling hopeful, I scanned for signs of Reno.

Where was Reno’s bike?

From across the yard, a movement caught my eye. The clinic. Someone was coming out from the clinic.

It was Pinky and she was holding Willow.

She was holding Willow. And she was crying.

Pinky was holding Willow and she was crying.

Where was Raine?

Oh. My. God.

I tore off my helmet, jumped off the back of the bike and ran toward the clinic. Through the muddy field, over the rocks and tree stumps, I flew. I fell once and barely landed before I got up again. I did not falter one step as I shed the vest that weighed me down. Somewhere, someone was calling my name. I kept on running and I just kept getting faster. My legs and arms were pumping as boatloads of adrenaline streamed through me and propelled me forward. I kept my eyes on the prize. Straight ahead. All the while willing the ones I loved to walk out of that door.

Diego came out of the clinic.

Not Diego.

Prosper followed him, his hand on D’s shoulder.

Not Prosper.

I held my breath. The door slammed shut behind them.

No one else exiting.

Where was Raine?
Where is Raine?

Oh, God.

Reno.

Where are you, Reno?

Almost there now, I was still getting faster. I couldn’t stop. I was
going to bust right through. My body braced and tensed in anticipation of hitting the heavy wooden doors.

Instead it hit a mountain of flesh.

That mountain pulled me hard toward him. One arm snaked tight around my waist; the other held the back of my head.

Trapping me.

Stopping me.

He held me close, immobilizing me. Steel and granite imprisoned me in a python’s death grip.

The force that I hit him with knocked the air out of me. It didn’t move him back. Not an inch.

Then Prosper’s arms closed around me with a quick forced pressure. I was lost in a web of panic. Blinded with fear. Terror tunneled inside of me and pulled me inside out.

Then there was only the harsh reality of Prosper pulling me back.

“Breathe, Claire. Honey, stay here with me. Don’t go, baby. Stay here. Stay here.” He was holding me tight.

Then tighter.

His gravelly voice reached down into that long dark tunnel and brought me back from the edge.

“Reno,” I heaved. “Raine.”

“Raine’s okay, honey. She’s okay. She’s here. Helping Jules.” Prosper still held the back of my head; his mouth was tight against my ear.

Raine’s okay. Raine’s here.
Relief made me weak.

Then.
It’s Reno.

“How bad?” I whispered.

“He’s been hit. Twice. One grazed his left side and took a chunk outta him. No exit wound on the other one. They’re in there now getting it out. He’s alive. And that’s good. That’s real fucking good, Claire.”

I beat against Prosper’s chest and felt my legs go out from under me.

The wounded animal that had long ago taken refuge deep within my soul rose again and began to wail. I could no longer contain that long, mournful sound. My sobs echoed throughout the compound. Hearing it, the brothers rose to their feet. Every one of them felt my pain.

My father held me with everything he had. I felt his heart beat against my own. The raw power that emanated from his body was doing its best to move that strength through from him to me.

“I swear to you. I promise you.
I goddamn promise you,
he is gonna come out of this.”

“Hospital. Please, Prosper, we need to get him to a hospital.” I did not even try to keep that panic from spreading out into my voice.

Prosper shook his head against me. “Jules has got this. He does, Claire. It’s not his first time at the rodeo. Hospitals report that shit, honey. Not good for our boy.”

Prosper held me against him for another minute as my body quaked with uncontrollable fear.

“Dolly’s inside waiting for you. She’s a damn mess. She’s going to need you. Diego has to come with me, so Willow’s going to need her aunt while her mother’s in there helping to patch our boy up. Everybody needs you here, Claire. Including me. I cannot think clear, I cannot do what I know that I have to do. If I don’t know that you are going to be all right.”

Prosper pushed me gently away from him. Then he used his free hand to wipe the tears from my eyes and to push the hair off my face.

“Listen to me, Claire. I know this does not give you a whole lot of turnaround time, but it is what it is. You being anywhere but here in this moment ain’t gonna do anyone any good. The falling-apart shit is going to have to wait. Do you understand me, sweetheart?”

I nodded my understanding.

Reno is alive.

I pushed away from Prosper, reached in, grabbed the flask from his cut and took a deep swallow of the vile stuff that sat in the bottom of the silver savior. Then I coughed, sputtered, and took another hit as I felt the burn hit my belly and throw flames of heat throughout my body.

I stood on tiptoe, pressed my face against him, and took comfort in feeling Prosper’s warm stubbled cheek. I inhaled the tobacco and musky scent that was so him. I held my father close for a moment, drawing from his strength. I steadied my breath. I felt the flow of blood pulse through my brain and the oxygen feed my lungs.

He’s alive.

I looked toward the door that led to the small waiting room of the Hells Saints Compound Clinic. Prosper was right. My family,
my man
needed me. This falling-apart shit was just going to have to wait.

CHAPTER 40

W
hile I took another minute to compose myself, Prosper snarled questions and barked orders into a walkie-talkie. Apparently, something was going on at the front gate.

“Yeah? Now? You have got to be shitting me. Who? Who did? Jesus. Why the hell . . . when? Yeah. Yeah. No, goddammit.” He was running his hand through his hair in exasperation.

He asked a few more questions, and then with a final note of resignation, Prosper added, “Just send ’em up.”

I looked questioningly at Prosper, but his eyes had narrowed on the dirt road ahead.

We didn’t have long to wait.

Kicking up road dust as it rolled toward us came a shiny black Cadillac. Its dark, heavily tinted windows gave no clue to the occupants inside. The car slowed its pace as it drew near. With its sleek approach and sudden dramatic stop, it reminded me of a crouching panther.

We watched in silence as the driver door swung open wide to reveal a hand heavily adorned in eighteen-karat gold, followed by the arms and then body of a Calani suit, Bruno Magli shoes, and Bulgari sunglasses. Even from where I stood, I could detect the clean, crisp scent of his Tom Ford cologne. I didn’t know his name; I had never heard him speak. Day or night, his eyes were always
hidden behind dark glasses, but if you looked up
mob boss driver
in the dictionary, I felt certain that there would be a picture of this guy.

Someone had called the Italians.

The driver moved formally to the back passenger door of the Cadillac and opened it to reveal Gianni Di Biacco, front boss to the Bonzini family.

Now this was a face I knew.

Gianni was not a big man. He stood about five feet ten in shoes. He had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, gleaming white teeth, and eyes the color of richly roasted espresso beans. His toned, fit body was covered in golden brown skin and gave testament to his Mediterranean heritage. A long thin Sicilian nose sat elegantly on his face and against his arched eyebrows. Despite his nefarious affiliations, or maybe because of them, Gianni exuded wealth, good taste, and excellent breeding.

Gianni had what you would call magnetism.

As we silently looked on, someone else emerged from the Corinthian leather-upholstered interior. He had the same golden skin and elegant demeanor as Gianni, but this man was older, smaller, and balding. In his hands he carried a large worn medical bag and some sort of soft-sided, hard-lined cooler.

Before Gianni had a chance to approach us, the door to the clinic opened and Dolly came rushing out. I barely recognized her.

Dolly’s complexion had paled to a sickly, chalk-white. Her hair hung in startling and wild disarray. Smeared mascara had created deep, black hollows under her eyes, and her bottom lip was split and bloody where she had bitten it through. Her throat showed the beginnings of bruising, and her eyes were swollen to red puffy slits.

As she moved past me, I could detect that telltale smell of earth and metal. As I looked closer, I could see that Dolly’s hands were covered with rust-colored smears and her shirt was stained in large
splashes of deep crimson. Fine, thin, red lines spidered out on her neck, chest, and arms.

Dolly was covered in blood.

I felt myself get dizzy again. Prosper instinctively reached out for me, but he kept his eyes on the scene unfolding before us.

When Dolly reached Gianni, to my surprise, he moved in and brought her close and tight to him. Despite the two-thousand-dollar suit and the impeccably clean, white, cuffed shirt that he wore, he pulled the bloodstained frantic woman hard against him. I could see the back of Dolly’s shoulders begin to heave and I heard her soft hiccupping. The compound turned thick with quiet, except for the gasps of Dolly’s sobs, and the sound of Gianni’s voice comforting her as he brushed the tears from her eyes.

I felt Prosper stiffen beside me.

“Goddamn wops,” he murmured under his breath. But then his gaze fell on the worn leather medical bag, and I detected the smallest sigh of relief coming from him.

Gianni stepped aside. He seemed to be introducing Dolly to the man with the satchel, then the three of them headed toward us.