Page 7 of Next Level (Royal Bastards MC: Oakland Chapter #1)

THE ROOMMATE

I t’s been a week.

Seven days that my baby girl has been gone.

A week. My mind races with so many what-ifs.

What if she’s hurt?

What if he’s violated her?

Jared Thompson is our number one person of interest, but the car she got into isn’t registered to him.

If he’s got a car, then it’s under someone else’s name.

And without a license plate, we don’t know who the gray Pontiac belongs to.

So, was there another person in the car?

From all the video footage we’ve seen, we can’t confirm how many people were in there.

What we know is, she got in the front seat with a male who looked like Jared.

We’ve canvassed the neighborhoods, downtown areas, and posted on numerous social media platforms. I even did some video talking about my girl and what evidence we have.

We’ve received more surveillance camera videos from people in the neighborhood.

People really came through for us. One neighbor reported a suspicious car sitting outside his house.

It sat there for a few hours each day. A man who looked like Jared was in a red Tahoe around the corner from Brooke’s, watching and waiting, but Sam was at my house for the weekend.

We had obtained the license plate number and the address for Bo Davis, the owner of the red Tahoe.

There was only one problem: Mike got it first and gave it to the police.

Fuck. I immediately jumped in my truck and took off.

When I arrived at Bo’s residence in Vacaville, he was gone.

So were the red Tahoe and the gray Pontiac.

I figure the motherfuckers were worried I’d get to Bo first, so they tipped him off or so I assume.

I went inside and just looked around the three-bedroom home and then left.

Now he knows I’m coming for him, and that I know about Jared.

We’ve had people watching the place, but Bo hasn’t come back.

More digging uncovered that Bo’s got no affiliation with us either.

I lost my shit on Mike. I told him that when he or Brooke find anything, it goes through me first. We’ll see what we can find, and then we’ll give it to the police.

The police haven’t gained any new tips or insights.

They don’t seem to be worried. So, we’ve cut off communications with the cops, at least until we investigate it ourselves first.

So we’re back to square one.

I’m with my brothers from the Royal Bastards Sacramento Chapter. I came here after I came up empty-handed at Bo’s house. We still don’t have a lead on the Pontiac. However, it’s a rare kind of car, so hopefully, with all the media tips coming in, we’ll catch up to them soon.

Social media has been an enormous help. I created a couple of videos and posted them on all social media platforms because I wanted people to hear from me what we were doing and how they could help us.

I didn’t give any names, just said we had a person of interest. I want the focus to remain on finding the car and looking for my daughter. That’s what’s most important right now.

I suppose that resonated with many people as my videos went viral.

People shared my story on their social media, and the tips started coming in.

I’ve had Zoom and the guys back at the clubhouse filtering through all of them to see what’s viable and what’s not.

I told them to stay back since the cops were watching us too.

Plus, I couldn’t wait around any longer.

If I’m on their tail, hopefully, I will be able to catch up once we get another tip.

“Brother, you good?” Barracuda, our Sacramento Chapter president, says, sitting next to me.

I’m at Skinz nightclub, which the Royal Bastards own. I’m watching someone strip, but it’s not registering with me. I’m just shuffling all the facts through my head, like I’m flipping through the pages of a magazine, trying to figure it out.

“Yeah, ?Cuda, I’m good. I’m gonna head back to the hotel soon. Need to get up early and get back on the road tomorrow.”

“Whatever you need, brother. Just let us know,” Monk, their VP, says, sounding concerned.

“I appreciate that. Thanks for the hospitality.”

?Cuda put me up at the hotel near the clubhouse where I’ve stayed before when we’ve come up here to party.

I finish my beer and say goodbye to all the members hanging around. Letting them know I’ll check in with them tomorrow before I head out of town.

I need to check in with everyone back home and review all the new leads we have.

What I’ve learned so far is that Jared Thompson has no family members and was adopted.

He’s been in and out of juvie and has no affiliation to us.

It looks like he’s been chatting online with Sam for a long time.

He’s twenty years old—five years older than my girl.

Walking into my hotel room, my phone rings, and I see it’s Dawg.

“Turn on your TV! They have Sam’s missing case on the news!” Dawg shouts into the phone.

I rush to the TV and turn it on. Sure as shit, there is our flyer with my Sammie’s face. They give all the details, including pictures of both the red Tahoe and the gray Pontiac. They say if anyone knows anything, they’re to call the Oakland PD. They are now investigating it as a missing person.

Finally, the motherfuckers are taking it seriously now.

Luckily, the flyer still shows my phone number. Hopefully, people will call me, not the police.

“This is good, brother. It’s getting more footage.” Dawg’s voice booms from my speakerphone sitting on the dresser where I laid it down. I totally forgot he was on the phone.

Reaching for my phone, I reply, “Yeah, this is good. We need to send flyers to our L.A. Chapter.”

“Los Angeles?”

“Yeah, just in case he decides to take her in a different direction.”

“You got it, brother. If there’s anything else you need, please let me know. Do you want me to shoot up there? I can fly up there with my bike and be there in no time?”

“Naw, I’m good. We need everyone to be on standby in case they’re sighted in your area. I have these guys and the Portland chapter near me if anything goes bad,” I reassure my best friend.

I smirk, realizing that this is the longest us two fuckers have been apart. There isn’t anywhere we don’t go together, and as roommates, we see each other every day.

Then it hits me. Roommate. Bo Davis must have a roommate. There were three rooms in that house. We need to go back and look deeper. See what other names we can find and ask neighbors.

“Dammit! Roommates! We didn’t think to look into whether Bo Davis had any roommates.”

“I’ll get someone up there right away!” Dawg shouts.

“No, I’ll run down there in the morning and see what I can find out,” I say with purpose.

It gives me something to do. This waiting around for more tips is killing me.

Dawg sighs. “Okay. Just keep us posted.”

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way,” I say, eager to get off the phone.

There’s a pause.

I know he’s not liking the idea of me running around on my own, but this is personal, and I need to do it this way. I have people around me if I need backup, but my mind is all over the place, and having people around me will piss me off or distract me.

“I’ll be okay. I’m just going to look around. Maybe talk to the neighbors if Bo isn’t there. Have Zoom do some more digging and see if we can find out who else lives there,” I say calmly.

“Okay. Whatever you want us to do. We’re here,” Dawg replies grumpily.

The next morning, my phone flashes as I’m leaving Sacramento to head down to Vacaville to do some digging on who lives with Bo. It’s a picture of Sam and Brooke, indicating Brooke is calling.

“Brooke?”

Brooke’s voice vibrates through my car speaker. “Did you see the news last night and this morning?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?” she croaks.

I can hear in her voice that something new has happened. She sounds even more upset, as if she’s crying.

“I’m on my way to Vacaville again. What’s going on?” I demand.

Silence.

“Brooke?” I warn.

“You should probably turn around.” Her voice was cracking.

Motherfucker.

I pull over right before getting on the freeway. I’m trying to hold in my anger, but am seething when I say, “Brooke, you better start speaking.”

“The police are making it a priority and working with the FBI since they found evidence someone’s been stalking Samantha for a while. The police also found her phone,” Brooke says tearfully.

Dammit, she is crying.

My heart drops.

“Where?”

“They did a thorough search of Bo’s house and found it hidden in the floor of one of the spare rooms.”

This explains why I didn’t see anything. It’s not like I ransacked the place.

“Is Jared his roommate?!” I practically yell through the phone.

“No, the police said that Garrett Jones lives there with Bo. They found Bo, and he still says he doesn’t know anything about Sam, but that Garrett has been using his Tahoe. He’s cooperating with the police.” Brooke’s voice cracks again.

Fuck!

There’s no sense in going to Vacaville now. At least the police are taking this shit seriously now.

My phone flashes again. This time, a private number appears on the screen.

“Brooke, I need to get this call,” I say softly, not wanting to upset her any more than she already is.

In a low voice, she replies, “Okay. Call me back.”

I end the call and switch it over. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Samantha? Hello?” My heart starts racing.

I hear the sound of a voice clearing. “Um. Hello?”

It’s a woman’s voice.

Reining in my anxiety, I ask calmly, “Hello. Can I help you?”

“Um. I just saw the news coverage and have information for you.” Her voice sounds unsure, as if she shouldn’t be doing this.

“Thank you so much. Anything to help bring my girl home,” I plead.

“The Pontiac belongs to my boyfriend, Garrett Jones.”

What the fuck? Holy shit! I’m shocked.

“Your boyfriend?” I ask, making sure I heard her correctly.

“Yes, we’re kind of on a break right now, but I know him,” she says with more confidence.

“Can you get a hold of him? Does he have my daughter?” My voice is more urgent now.

“He left five months ago, looking for his real brother. I haven’t been in touch with him since we got into our fight, and he left. He isn’t answering me now either.”

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Judith. Judith Williams.” She sounds sweet.

I try to sound normal when all I want to do is scream at her to tell me everything. “Hi, Judith, where do you live?”

“I…I um—” she stutters.

I interrupt her. “It’s okay. I mean, what city do you live in? Do you live in Vacaville, where Garrett is currently living?

“Oh, um, no. I live in Medford, OR, up north. He moved to Vacaville when we broke up. He also has a place in Arizona and Washington.”

Christ. This is the ultimate tip.

“How did you see the footage again?” I asked, wondering how she saw the news from Oregon.

“A friend sent it to me asking if that was Garrett’s car.”

“I’d love to meet up with you. Do you have proof or a picture of Garrett for me?” I ask.

“I don’t think Garrett would take your daughter unless it had to do with his brother. He was obsessed with finding his real brother,” Judith says, but it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself that he would never do this.

Does she know Jared? Questions fly through my head. Too many to ask over the phone. I need to see her.

“Judith, can I meet you in person? I would be alone. We can meet anywhere you’d like, but I’d feel a lot better meeting in person.”

There is a pause.

Silence.

“Please, Judith. I’d like to go over all the information we have to see if you recognize anything,” I plead.

“Okay, I’ll text you a place, and let me know when you can meet,” she finally replies.

“Thank you. Can you text me the two locations you mentioned before? The ones in Arizona and Washington?”

“Okay, anything to help you find your daughter. I don’t think Garrett would hurt your daughter if he had her. I’ll keep trying to get ahold of him too.”

“Thank you. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.” I sound relieved that we have a solid tip and direction for the first time.

Once we hang up, she sends me all the information, and I contact Zoom. The problem is, we don’t know which way they went. Arizona or Washington. We need to branch out and search.

It’s a five-hour drive from here to Medford.