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CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: CHROME

I bellow for Mode before turning back to face Scorch.

“Trigger has Cicely,” I snap at him as Mode hustles in. “Track her phone.”

Mode runs out of the room with Byte on his heels. I hear the door bang against the wall in his haste.

“We’ll find her,” Eagle assures me.

“What’s happening?” Scorch asks.

“Trigger has Cicely. Do you know where he is?”

“No, I don’t. I swear. I’d tell you if I knew,” Scorch insists. “However, I think he’s with Jordan. I searched Trigger’s room last night, and he’s packed up. He’s either joining them or they’re leaving town.”

“Fuck. If we don’t get to Cicely now…” I trail off when I hear Mode and Byte returning.

“We’ve got her,” Mode says.

“Let’s get geared up and get going,” I order. While everyone rushes off to the armory, I turn my attention back to Scorch. “If he’s hurt her…”

Scorch nods slowly. “Even if he hasn’t. He betrayed the club. Just like I did. I should have come to you when I first suspected him.”

“Yes. You should have. I can’t say I don’t understand your animosity toward women. Our dads both felt the same way. They were miserable fuckers who didn’t care about anyone but themselves. They built a club of fuckers who treated their women like shit. Instead of building a family, they built a shithole where every man cared only about themselves. I’ve seen what Dante and Puma have built, and I want that. Women aren’t weak. They’re strong. They soften the edges and bind everyone together. They’ll make this clubhouse a family. Isn’t that what we always wanted?”

I leave without waiting for a response because I’m so fucking angry. How could he be willing to destroy the club? Because that’s what his actions almost did. His hiding Trigger’s disgruntled feelings toward the club frustrates me. He should have come to me. Instead, his actions betrayed the club, betrayed me, and broke the trust between all the members.

When I reach the common room, Bush hands me my firearms and two boxes of ammo. I check the guns and shove one in the back of my jeans and the other in my boot. However, I have to take care of business before we take off. I nod at Bush, who moves to stand guard by the front door while Piston blocks the hallway leading to the back door. The Nomads, Byte, and Mode move to join them while I face the remaining officers and members. I study each face before placing my trust in their hands.

“As you all likely surmised, we have a traitor in the club. We’ve identified two of them: Mouse and Trigger. There may be more, but we know these two are guilty. They released the prisoners we were holding in The Shed. They kidnapped Cicely, a mafia princess, and Sammy’s friend, Margo, in an attempt to lure Sammy out of the clubhouse to kill him. They wanted to keep Sammy from testifying against the priest who molested his sister. We now know that the priest is Theodore Jordan. Jordan is responsible for the kidnappings and murders of several women here in Chicago, as well as in San Diego.”

I pause while the men grumble over the revelation.

“What about Scorch?” Torque asks.

“Scorch suspected Trigger, but didn’t come to me about it. He’ll face retribution. He’s in the infirmary. Trigger and Mouse beat him badly before helping the prisoners escape.”

“Why did they turn?”

“According to Scorch, they don’t like the changes happening in the club. Not this club, specifically, but the other clubs. They’re angry that Puma has two women patched in as members. They believed that we might follow Dante’s lead and put restrictions on the Kutte Bunnies in deference to the Old Ladies. Because I have an Old Lady, they teamed up with Jordan and his men. Jordan and his men take great pleasure in hurting women.”

The coldness around my heart melts a little at the sound of the men's outrage. I look at each face and see the same disgust that I feel. I don’t know what response my next statement will cause, but I don’t have time to waste. I need to get to Cicely.

“Trigger has Cicely. I’m going to get her back. I plan on making her my Old Lady. Which means things will change around here. I’m not running this club the way my father did. Old Ladies should feel welcome and given respect. If anyone has a problem with that, there’s the door.” When no one moves to leave, I nod. “Let’s go get my woman.”

We make the thirty-minute drive in twenty. Since roaring into the neighborhood on our bikes would alert the assholes and risk Cicely’s life, we park at edge of a grocery store parking lot. Knowing we’d draw attention if we descended en masse, we break off into pairs and converge on the address where Mode last detected Cicely’s phone. The house is a mini-mansion set back from the street. A large sloping yard sits between a circular driveway. The lack of trees and bushes makes it difficult to approach without being seen. I spot several men moving in and out of the house, carrying items into a moving van parked in front of the house. Luckily, the neighbors on each side invested in trees and shrubs to provide more privacy.

I use hand signals to direct my men into position. Half, led by Bush, moves up on the left and circles around to the back of the house. I take my group to the right. When we reach a position where the van blocks us from view of the house, Piston, Eagle, and Stone break off and circle the van. The sound of flesh against flesh echoes before my men come running back.

“We bound and gagged them before piling shit around them,” Piston says. “They’re hidden for now, but someone will eventually find them.”

“Let’s not give them the time. Let’s go,” I say.

However, before we step out, a car drives up and parks near the door on the opposite side. A woman gets out. She pulls open the back door of her vehicle and drags out a young girl. I recognize the woman and the child when they turn in our direction. Lisa Kemper and her step-daughter, Margo. What are they doing here?

When no one exits the house, we move forward, but stay low to keep out of sight. I reach the door and glance inside. I don’t see anyone in the entryway, but I hear voices coming from the room on the right.

“I brought the girl. I expect to get paid,” Lisa says.

“You sold your daughter to these men?” Cicely asks in horror.

Spotting Bush at the end of the hallway, I flash him a signal. He nods before sending his men up the stairs. His job is to take down anyone upstairs while I focus on this floor. I hold up two fingers, sending Piston and Eagle to the left. They’ll clear the first floor while I get eyes on the targets. We shuffle closer to the door leading to what I assume is a living area. Mode slides in next to me to feed a cable into the room so we can see.

He balances his laptop on his knee as he fiddles with the cable. Soon we have a clear image of the room. I see Cicely first. She’s on a couch with her arms around Margo. Another young woman is next to her. Tied to a chair is an older woman who shows signs of abuse. Standing just inside the door is Lisa. To her left, and across from the women, stands a man who appears to be in charge. He looks like the image of Theodore Jordan that Babe showed us. Standing behind him are Trigger, Mouse, and two other men.

Lisa and the man argue about who is at fault for failures in what I assume were his plans. Lisa seems fixated on convincing the man that she’s not to blame. She overlooks one of the men positioning himself behind her until it’s too late. When he snaps Lisa’s neck, I signal my team to move. We crash into the room as Cicely screams.

I spare her a glance to see her diving to the floor to protect Margo. The other young woman knocks over the chair and covers the battered woman with her body. Knowing the innocent women are somewhat out of harm's way, I focus on taking down Teddy. The man responsible for everything.

I see him backing away from the brawl. He’s heading for the front door. I catch him two feet from freedom. Grabbing his shoulder, I spin him around so I can fist his shirt before slamming him against the wall. I have six inches and 75 pounds of muscle on him. He claws at my hands as he dangles from my grip.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I growl at him. “You have a fuckton of shit to answer for.”

“Let me go. I can pay you. I have millions. Just let me go. I’ll leave Chicago and never come back here,” Jordan babbles.

“You think I care about the money? You think you can buy your way out of this shit? Not only did you kidnap my woman, but you’ve hurt all those women—pieces of shit like you who terrorize women give all of us a bad name. If I could, I’d kill every single misogynistic asshole I find. Lucky for you, I’m not going to kill you. Instead, you’re going jail where you’ll be the one fucked without consent.”