Page 6 of Calypso’s Shield (Royal Harlots MC, Los Angeles Chapter #1)

CALYPSO

“ W e’ve been at this for weeks!” I mutter, dragging a hand down my tired face.

“Something’s got to give here.” Divine and I are sitting in a rundown diner just west of Boyle Heights, maps and papers scattered between us.

The air smells like grease and stale coffee, but it's the only place we've been able to think.

“C’mon, let's hit the streets one more time.” Divine slides out of the booth, her tone like steel, always pushing forward.

We’ve been hitting the pavement for fourteen days, asking questions no one wants to answer.

During our search, we’ve uncovered not only Mercedes missing but several women and children.

Mercedes has been gone for four months now.

I’m not sure if I’m praying we find her or praying we don’t.

Because if we do find her, what kind of shell will we bring back?

“OK, let’s go.” I stand, giving in. We bypass our bikes and head for the alley.

The stench of trash, mildew, and urine hits us like a brick wall.

Homeless tents line the walls, hidden in the shadows between dumpsters.

This is the ugly side of LA. No one likes to look at it.

It’s not all sunshine and palm trees. But it’s real.

We have a homeless problem and no solution to solve it.

“What’s up?” Divine checks inside a tent, but there’s no one inside.

“If we find Mercedes...” I pause, struggling to find the right words. “She might be broken, Divine. So much so that she won’t want to leave. Or worse, she’ll wish she were dead.”

I see the flicker of fear in Divine’s eyes before she shutters it away. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

I grip her shoulders, forcing her to face me. “I’m being serious. Brace yourself for what you might find.”

She runs a hand through her messy blonde hair, biting her lip ring as she meets my gaze. “I get it, Calypso. But I’m more worried about Mercedes than what’s left of me.” Her voice softens, almost a whisper. “This is her corner. Let’s find her pimp.”

I don’t argue. Divine is tougher than anyone gives her credit for, but I can still see the weight of it all pressing down on her. Divine narrows her eyes on a rundown warehouse. “Let’s check it out.”

I send a quick text to Allura, dropping our location in case things go sideways.

Divine and I slip through a heavy side door on the east side of the warehouse.

I ease it shut, but the hollow clang echoes through the empty space.

The building is abandoned except for a few rusted machines clustered near the west wall at the bottom of the stairs.

Beyond them, a shadowy room lurks out of sight.

We freeze, listening.

Silence stretches, thick and unnatural. Even a whisper would carry. Hell, even a fart would echo.

When nothing stirs, we press forward. My heart pounds against my ribs, my nerves wound tight.

“I don’t like this,” I whisper, my voice too damn loud in the stillness.

Divine leans in. “Let’s check the upstairs and those rooms. If we don’t find anything, we’re out.”

I nod, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. I refuse to let fear take root. I promised myself that, after everything my ex did to me, I’d never let anything or anyone make me afraid again.

Gun in hand, I take the stairs, ready to drop any bastard who tries to ambush us.

Divine pushes open the first door. The room is empty except for the ghostly outlines of a desk and chair etched into the dust-covered floor. We move to the next. Same. Room after room turns up nothing.

Frustration coils in my gut.

The last door looms at the end of the walkway. Divine turns the handle, and the second she steps inside, her sharp inhale spikes my pulse.

“What the actual fuck?” Her voice trembles, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.

I step in, and a sickening wave of nausea rolls through me.

Dried blood splatters the walls and floor. Handcuffs hang from rusted nails, the stains beneath them dark and damning. But the worst part?

Photos.

Dozens of them are tacked to a corkboard, staring back at us in frozen agony. Women, some in posed headshots, most in images of rape and torture. Their eyes scream silent terror. The bastard who took these enjoyed it.

And it gets worse.

Another board displays children. Boys and girls no older than twelve to eighteen. Beneath their photos, stats: weight, age, strengths, weaknesses. Some have swollen eyes, others have broken noses.

My adrenaline spikes. I rip the photos down, stacking them on a nearby desk. “Look around. If they left this behind, they were either rushed or planning to come back.”

Divine snaps out of her trance and moves to another room. A loud bang rattles the warehouse.

I freeze. Then shove the remaining photos into my cut’s inner pocket, zipping it tight before aiming my gun at the door. Footsteps echo on the stairs. No windows. No escape. If someone’s coming, I’m shooting first and asking questions later.

Divine’s voice reaches me before I see her. “Can I help you?”

A man answers, gruff and suspicious. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” Divine’s voice shifts, sweet and smooth, her signature trap.

“You need to leave, Miss…” A pause, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

“Divine.”

“Miss Divine, this place isn’t safe.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” I hear the sweet as sugar voice Divine uses to lure men toward her.

“Detective Dalton, ma’am.”

A cop? What the fuck?

Done playing hide and fuck off, I move. Slowly, carefully.

Divine has Detective Dalton’s back to me. I press the cold, unyielding steel against the back of his head and flick the safety off. His hands rise.

“It’s not safe for you, motherfucker.” I growl.

Ignoring the way his wavy blonde hair brushes his shoulders and the dress shirt he has on clinging to his solid back muscles, I keep my gun held firm in my hand.

Detective Dalton slowly turns until his strong, muscular body is facing me, and he’s staring down the barrel of my gun. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and keep a firm grip on my gun.

Detective Dalton’s stormy blue eyes look past the barrel of my gun and land directly on me, stealing my breath. There’s a flicker of want that flashes across his face, but it’s gone before I can be sure.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“Following a lead on missing women.” Detective Dalton answers.

Divine tenses. I shoot her a warning look, and she snaps her mouth shut.

“Why should I believe you?” I challenge. “For all I know, you’re the sick bastard taking them.”

“You don’t,” he says evenly. “But considering you have a gun to my head with your finger on the trigger, I’d be a dumbass to lie.”

“Show me your credentials, and I’ll think about lowering my weapon.”

Detective Dalton carefully reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his ID, then hands it over. His dark, stormy eyes never leave my body, and it’s making me nervous. I’ve never had this reaction before.

I glance at his ID. Detective Farris Dalton. What a strong, unique name, matching a handsome man. I flick the safety back on and lower my weapon.

Dalton exhales and takes his ID. When his fingers brush against mine, my breath stutters, and my heart races against my chest. Clearly, he felt it too, because his eyes widen before he smooths his features and returns his wallet to his back pocket.

Divine cuts in. “What now?”

I scoff. “We,” I motion between us, “keep searching. I don’t give a damn what he does.”

I shove past Dalton, catching the scent of coconut and black pepper. It’s intoxicating. Annoyingly so.

I grab Divine’s arm and hurry back the way we came. Divine doesn’t say a word until we’re at the bottom of the metal stairs. I glance a few times behind me, and Detective Dalton’s eyes are on me, watching me intently.

Divine yanks her arm free. “Calypso, stop.”

I spin.

“He can help us,” she pleads. “Please.”

I sigh. She’s right. If he’s after the same bastards we are, we’re better off working together.

Before I can open my mouth in agreement, a loud pop echoes through the warehouse, and a bullet whizzes past my head and slams against the concrete wall behind me. I duck, and Divine does the same as more bullets lodge above our heads. We crawl to the corner behind a metal machine.

“What’ the fuck?” Is all I can say before Detective Dalton comes skidding around the corner and covers my body with his.

“Stay down.” His voice is a growl.

“Fuck no.” I shove against his chest. Solid muscle. “I’m killing those bastards.”

“Would it kill you to listen?” Dalton’s breath brushes my ear. I shiver. Fucking traitor body.

“It’ll kill me either way. At least I’d go down on my terms and no one else's.”

The gunshots stop. Gunpowder and metallic fill the air.

Detective Dalton peeks his head up, pushing his hips into mine. And that is definitely a bulge pushing between my open thighs. He looks around the machine we’re hiding behind before pushing his body off mine.

I crawl out from under him and pull out my gun, aiming it in the direction the gunshots came from.

I’m heading to the other side of the machine when a loud pop echoes above my head.

I close my eyes, waiting for the pain, but nothing comes.

When I open my eyes, a male body drops right beside me with a bullet between his eyes.

Slowly turning my head, I find Divine still crouched, but her mouth is hanging open in shock. She’s staring at Detective Dalton. He has risen to his full height with his .45 Caliber aimed at his target.

I release a shuddering breath, but movement behind Dalton catches my eye. My instincts take over. I raise my gun, and before the bastard can make a move, I pull the trigger. The crack of the shot echoes in the warehouse. The man behind Dalton drops, a clean bullet hole between his eyes.

Dalton’s head whips toward me, but I don’t give him a chance to react. I brush the dirt off my jeans and meet his gaze with a smirk. “Now we’re even.”

“Calypso, we have to go. Now.” Divine is on her feet, urgency in every line of her body. She points toward the entrance we came through.

My stomach tightens. Several men all in black, black jeans, black shirts, AR-15s strapped across their chests, are stalking in our direction. We’re outgunned and outnumbered.

“Come on, this way. I think there’s an exit.” Dalton’s fingers wrap around my wrist. I hesitate for a fraction of a second before grabbing Divine’s hand, and we move.

“I swear, if this is a trap, Detective, I’ll fucking slit your throat,” I snap, heart hammering against my ribs.

“Farris.”

“What?”

“My name. If you’re going to keep threatening me, at least use my God-given name.” His voice is smooth, edged with something almost teasing. “And you’re going to have to trust me.”

My pulse stutters. Trust. That word is foreign, a twisted joke. The last man I trusted shattered me. Left scars on my body and worse ones on my soul. I clamp my mouth shut, biting back the bitter retort clawing at my throat.

We reach the back of the warehouse, and Farris shoves open a steel door. The bright L.A. sun blinds me for a moment, forcing me to blink rapidly.

“Come on, my car’s around the corner.” His grip on my wrist tightens slightly, as if he knows I’m debating running in the opposite direction.

I get my bearings and see we’re not far from where Divine and I parked our bikes. I shake off his hand and head toward them. Farris follows without question.

“If you’re going to keep up, I suggest a cage would work better than your feet.” We reach our bikes, and I straddle my Harley, the familiar weight grounding me as I strap on my helmet. I pat the back seat with a smirk. “Unless you want to ride bitch.”

Farris shakes his head. “Not happening.” He pivots toward his car, but before he can take a step, a gunshot shatters the air.

“Fuck.” I fire up my bike and lift the kickstand. “You’re out of options, Farris.” I glance back at him. “Get on, or you won’t make it to your car, let alone out of here.”

Farris hesitates. Just for a second. Then he mutters something under his breath, swings a leg over, and settles behind me.

I’ve never had anyone ride as a backpack before. It’s weird. It’s thrilling.

“Hold the fuck on.”

His hands snake around my waist as I punch the throttle. The raw power of the engine vibrates beneath me as we tear down the street, Divine right at my side.

Farris doesn’t say a word. His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens.

Having him behind me is unsettling. Not because I don’t trust him, but because I don’t trust myself. I’m in control of this man’s fate. One wrong move and we’re going down, but he trusts me enough to get on and hang on. Something I’ve never had before.

The heat of his body presses into my back, solid and warm. His breath, hot against the sensitive skin below my ear, sends an unexpected shiver down my spine.

My stomach clenches. His hands are big, spanning nearly my entire midsection. He could’ve overpowered me back there. Easily. But he didn’t.

Why?

And why the hell does that make something dangerous and reckless stir inside me?

I shift gears, the wind whipping around us as I aim for the clubhouse. But no matter how fast I go, I can’t outrun the feeling that, for the first time in a long time, someone besides my sisters has my back.

For some reason, he gave me the upper hand back there, and I don’t know why. I don’t know how to handle that.