Page 26

Chapter 26

Heavy Sense of Dread

Mensa

Cynic stood next to his chopper with a saddlebag open when Mensa pulled his bike to a stop behind the clubhouse.

“Good morning, ‘Nic,” Mensa said, taking off his helmet.

“Not much good about this morning, man.”

Mensa’s head reared back. “Did something else happen? I know those assholes attacking Twisted Talons bugs you, but that take this morning is even more cynical than your norm.”

Cynic narrowed his eyes. “Long-ass night. Got here early for church, and Har can’t fuckin’ make it for an hour, maybe an hour and a half.”

He hung his helmet on the handlebar of his bike. “Then go take a fuckin’ nap, man.”

The frown on Cynic’s face made him look almost cartoonish. “Not a fuckin’ chance, Mensa. Haven’t taken a goddamn nap in a long damned time. Worst part is that I can’t even do anything worthwhile at Twisted because by the time I get there and start on something, I’ll have to turn around and come back after half an hour.”

Mensa sighed and realized it was the same for him, too. He could go spend time at Hard Pressed with Whitney, but he’d have to come right back here. Not to mention, he wasn’t much help there and he’d be wasting his time.

It struck him that he hadn’t been to the gym in over a week. “Gotcha. I’m gonna change clothes and lift some weights, if you want to join me. Might help you be a little less cynical.”

Cynic’s eyes went wide. “The fuck it will, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Why is the new door so expensive?” Tiny asked, following Block’s run-down of the costs thus far from the fire at Twisted Talons.

Cynic leaned forward, his menacing energy almost palpable. “Because we got the three-hour fire door which should have been installed to start with.”

Tiny tipped his chin up. “Take it that would have saved us money.”

“Yeah,” Cynic hissed.

“Is there a plan for Corrupt Chrome to pay for what they did?” Roman asked.

“Yeah,” Har said, and cast his gaze across all the brothers at the table. “Tonight anyone who isn’t working a shift at Twisted Talons is headed to the Corrupt Chrome MC clubhouse in Ocean Springs.”

“Are we on our bikes?” Finn asked.

“No. Find a brother who has a cage.”

Mensa locked eyes with Har. “Do you know if their hang-arounds will be at the clubhouse?”

“Why the fuck does that matter?” Tiny asked.

Har shot Tiny a serious look. “The less you know the better, Tiny. As for your question Mensa, hang-arounds won’t be there, but prospects will.”

“We’re sure of that?” Gamble asked.

Block nodded. “Scrap and one of his buddies watched their clubhouse over the last week. The friend acted as a hang-around and found out that the four prospects they have are positioned along the perimeter when they have church.”

Har sat back in his chair. “Scrap’s friend found out that they have church every Tuesday night. That means they’ll have church tonight. Scrap studied how the prospects were stationed. Cynic and Brute are gonna take out two prospects at the southwest corner, while Tiny and Roman handle the southeast. That gives us the best shot at their back door.”

“After that, are we gonna torch their clubhouse?” Finn asked.

Roman hissed in a breath.

Har shook his head. “If it were up to ‘Nic, we would, but Roman pointed out, we’re more likely to get caught doing that shit.”

Mensa’s phone rang, and Cynic glared at him. He silenced it and cut his eyes between Cynic and Har. “Sorry about that.”

“If we aren’t setting anything on fire, then what are we doing?” Tiny asked.

Mensa’s phone vibrated on his hip. After a moment it stopped, only to start back up again. He pulled the phone from his hip, tilted it under the table and saw Nadia’s name on the display.

Shit.

“Are you listening, man?” Cynic demanded.

Mensa looked up, realizing he’d spoken aloud.

“Sorry. I have to take this.”

He stood, and hurried out of the room. “Yeah.”

“Mensa, have you heard from Whitney? Is she with you?”

“No, it isn’t even noon, why would she be with me?”

“It’s a quarter to noon, and she left for the UPS store well over an hour ago. She only had two boxes, and she’s not answering her phone.”

“Could she be in a long line?” he asked, even as his gut twisted.

“That wouldn’t explain her not answering her phone, and I got an email saying the tracking numbers had been generated for those two orders. If she isn’t with you—”

The alarm in Nadia’s tone didn’t help matters. “There’s got to be a reasonable explanation, Nadia. Don’t worry—”

“Boy, you get to be my age, you know exactly when to worry. You’ve been watching her like a hawk, and now she isn’t answering her phone. I’m calling her brother.”

His knee-jerk reaction was for her not to do that, but if Rod had taken her in broad daylight, they’d need all the help they could get.

“You aren’t gonna ask me not to do that?”

“No. You call him. I gotta get back to church.”

He ended the call, and went back into the conference room.

Har held the gavel over the table, but paused when he saw Mensa.

“You look pissed,” Brute said.

“Whitney’s not answering her phone. She went to ship two packages. The prospect wasn’t following her yet because I expected her to be at the shop all morning. My gut says Corrupt Chrome got to her.”

“You don’t know that though,” Block said.

“It’s the most likely scenario given how Rod acted at the mall.”

“Law enforcement should handle this, especially with her ties to the FBI,” Two-Times said.

Mensa clenched his jaw and stared at Two-Times. “If it were one of your kids—”

Two-Times glared at Mensa. “I’d especially let the law handle it, so I didn’t fuck it up.”

“Leave the hypothetical situations out of this,” Har said. “What about her brother?”

“Nadia’s calling him,” Mensa muttered.

His cell phone rang and he put her on speaker phone. “Yeah, Nadia.”

“Wyatt’s in Jackson testifying in court. His case manager is calling their informant to verify if Whitney’s been taken.”

Mensa swallowed his words; they would only make Nadia worry even more.

“Thanks, Nadia. If I find out anything, I’ll call you.”

He ended the call, feeling despair washing over him. “Rod could have taken her any-fucking-where.”

“Brother, don’t do that shit,” Finn said.

Mindless of the phone being in his hand, Mensa cocked his fist back ready to throw it across the room, but Block stood and drew his attention.

“Don’t fuckin’ throw that phone. It’s your only line to your woman, and busting it into a dozen pieces damn sure won’t make you feel better.”

Slowly, Mensa lowered his cell to the table and let out a guttural yell.

“I say we move the plan up. We roll out on their clubhouse, now,” Roman said.

Block shook his head. “I’m not against that, but like Mensa said, that asshole could go anywhere. Since the fire, I called some people and dug into Rodney ‘Rod’ Lewis. He’s got a place in Ocean Springs.” Block glanced at Har and back to Mensa. “Iron will probably be back today, so if Rod took Whitney, I’m thinking he’d keep her at his place instead of the clubhouse.”

“Since nobody’s willing to call the cops, I have a crazy idea,” Two-Times said.

“This oughta be good,” Finn muttered.

“What if we send Hummer to the Corrupt Chrome clubhouse? He hasn’t earned his patch yet, and since he’s been watching Whitney the most… he could offer to help Rod—”

“That would have been a decent idea except that ship has sailed,” Cynic said.

Two-Times arched his brows. “He’s a prospect. He wouldn’t know that she’s been taken already and he also wouldn’t know that we’re aware she’s MIA.”

Roman, who sat next to Two-Times, shook his head. “Corrupt Chrome won’t let him through the gates. They see a prospect patch on his cut, they know he’s aligned himself with us, and it’s no better than me or you trying to get through.”

“I want Rod’s address,” Mensa said.

“You can follow me to that address,” Block said.

“Give me the address, Block.”

“No. We’re your brothers. We have your back. From the thunder on your face alone, you need us at your back.”

That tracked, and Mensa took a deep breath.

“Told you ‘Thunder’ should have been his road name,” Cynic muttered.

Har looked around the table. “Block, Cynic, Mensa, and Finn are headed to Rod’s address. Once we know he hasn’t taken Whitney there, the rest of us will ride out to the Corrupt Chrome clubhouse.”

“Earlier, I thought we wanted to strike when it was just prospects manning the perimeter. What changed?” Gamble asked.

“My woman going missing is what changed.”

Gamble looked between Mensa and Har.

“He’s right. All bets are off now. We’re done,” Har said, and swung his gavel.

Block pushed back from the table and stood. “You got your gun on you?”

Mensa shook his head.

Finn rose from his seat. “I need to grab my gun, too.”

Cynic stood. “Hurry up.”

As he leaned into the turn onto Halstead Road, Mensa wondered what the hell Rod did to afford a house in this sleepy neighborhood. The area wasn’t flashy, but house prices were steep, and rents were high, too. Then again, dealing drugs and other crimes paid well… until the cops found out.

A Harley sat in the middle of one driveway, and Mensa knew that had to be the house.

Block pulled ahead of Cynic to lead the way up the drive. Finn and Mensa brought their bikes to a halt near the parked Harley.

Finn swung off his bike. “Why does this feel like a trap?”

Mensa took off his helmet. “It’s not a trap if we don’t do anything illegal.”

Before either of them made their way up the sidewalk, the front door opened and a white-haired, elderly man stepped out on the front porch carrying a shotgun. A cigarette dangled from his lips and his arms were heavily inked, though the tats were hard to make out on his wrinkled skin.

He shuffled forward on his open-toed, leather sandals. “You assholes get off my property!”

“Sir, is Rod here?” Block asked loudly.

“I’m Rod, and I want you to leave.”

“What the fuck?” Finn muttered.

Now the address made more sense…a decade ago, this house would have been affordable. If the house belonged to this old codger, Rod probably felt safe dropping her here. What better way to hide Whitney, than to leave her with an old man.

“Where’s Whitney?” Mensa hollered, in part so the man could hear him from ten yards away and partly so Whitney would hear him if she were inside.

“I don’t know any Whitley.”

“Whitney!” Mensa yelled to correct the man and in an added effort to get her attention.

Cynic turned toward Mensa. “I don’t think she’s here.”

Block had edged closer to the house. “Do you have a son named Rodney?”

“Not any damn more. He got caught up with assholes like you.”

“Let’s go,” Finn muttered.

Cynic nodded and moved toward his bike.

Block hadn’t moved yet, and Mensa wondered if this old man were putting on an act.

The sound of another motorcycle coming down the street grabbed their attention, and all of them turned toward the sound.

Scrap rolled up on his used motorcycle.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Finn asked before Mensa could.

Scrap swung off his bike and prowled up the drive. Once he was near Mensa and Finn, he said in a low voice, “Har and Tiny sent me in case this doesn’t pan out. He wants one of us to stick around. That’s why I parked in the street. He can’t make a complaint—”

Mensa shot Scrap some side-eye. “He can make a complaint; the cops won’t be able to do much about it… at least not legally. Depends on the cops who shows up.”

Finn nodded. “He’s right. You’re gonna have to wing that, so don’t mouth off to the police.”

“I told you assholes to leave!” Rod yelled.

Block held his hands up. “We’re leaving, sir. Before we go, though, there’s a missing woman. Her name is Whitney. If your son brings her by—”

“I ain’t got no son!” Rod shouted.

Block gave a deep nod. “Understood, sir. If Rodney Lewis brings a woman here, please, for her sake, call 911.”

The man acted as though he hadn’t heard a word Block said. “Are you gettin’ off my property or what?”

Block didn’t respond, but gave Cynic a nod to mount up. Finn moved to his bike.

Mensa noticed Block heading toward him and Scrap. “Don’t go anywhere yet, Scrap.”

As soon as he was within earshot, Block said, “Scrap, you’re gonna have to ride away, and figure out how you can watch this place without this old man knowing you’ve got eyes on him.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Scrap asked.

Mensa fought a grin. “Surprised you’re not up for it. There’s another street, two blocks from here. I suggest parking your bike on that street and coming back on foot.”

“In broad daylight,” Scrap complained.

Mensa shot him a look. “Figure it out, Scrap. Whitney’s missing, and we need your help.”

That shut him up, and he moved to his bike.

Block sighed. “Let’s head to the Corrupt Chrome clubhouse.”

Mensa gave him a half-nod. “Right. Why do you sound doubtful?”

Block shook his head. “Not doubtful. Just really thought the asshole would have dropped Whitney here. She doesn’t strike me as a woman who’s easy to contain. If it were me, I wouldn’t want her at my clubhouse.”

“That doesn’t help, Block. If anything, it makes me think he’s taken her somewhere else that we don’t know about.”

Block turned his head to the side, and Mensa noticed a muscle twitch along his jawline. “You might be right, but we can’t think like that. We have to stick to the plan, meet the others, and hit their clubhouse.”

Mensa trudged to his Harley with a heavy sense of dread.