Page 52 of Keys

“Will do.”

Paul and I left the control center and made our way to the armory so that we could load up and make sure we had everything we might need to help aid in finding my mom and fighting off the assholes who had taken her. Once we had everything we could possibly need, we took off for the little subdivision of Ridgewood Heights in northern Atlanta. I never considered it part of the actual city because we weren’t near all the super urban areas. Despite the fact that I often said, ‘just outside of Atlanta’, what I really meant was ‘on the outskirts, just inside Atlanta’.

The nearly two-hour drive was silent most of the way until Paul pointed out that we had a tail. Considering it was an easily identifiable man on a remarkably familiar Harley, I told him to just keep on going. If Quickshot wanted to follow me, then he could explain himself once we got there. We didn’t have time to waste if my mother had already been missing long enough that her boyfriend dug into her emergency protocols. When had my mother established emergency tactics? And why? Those were probably the questions that needed to be asked first and foremost when we arrived.

The tiny two-bedroom brick home that I grew up in still looked the same, though slightly better than it used to. It was still, by far, the smallest house in the area, but now it didn’t reek of neglect and hopelessness. I don’t know if it’s my mother’s current boyfriend’s doing or if getting her away from my father made her care more, but either way, it was an improvement and nice to see.

I stood there staring at the house even as a large man who looked like he could be a model for a lumberjack calendar opened the door and started heading in our direction. Before he could get a word out, I put my finger to my lips in a ‘quiet’ gesture and turned my attention toward the Harley that pulled in behind where Paul had parked the van we drove in.

“Might as well wait until we’re all here for this,” I explained while we waited for a confused Quickshot to dismount his bike and head in our direction. The tips of his ears turned a curious shade of red, making it obvious that he was embarrassed to have been caught following us all the way to Atlanta.

“What’s going on?” Quickshot asked, but before I could explain he continued pleading his case unnecessarily. “I was worried when you were gone this morning and then when I went to the clubhouse, I watched you get in the van with him and take off.” He pointed toward Paul who just grinned at the idiot.

“That part might have been my fault,” my mother’s boyfriend said. “I called Sarah this morning to tell her that her mom is missing.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Quickshot asked, his brows furrowed in question and what looked suspiciously like disappointment.

“We’re going to make this quick, because there truly are more important things to worry about,” I told Quickshot. “I left this morning so that we could both have a moment to clear our heads and think things through. Plus, we have some shit going down at work.” I hurriedly tacked on the all-important, “Club business, though unrelated, or hell, maybe related to this news.” I stammered on, trying to get all my thoughts out at once. “While I was there checking on things, I received a call from my mom’s boyfriend.”

“How the hell did he get your number?”

“I sent it to my mom a few years back with a message that it was in case of emergency only. If anyone ever came around bothering her or she needed help of any kind. I’m guessing she kept it and told him about it.” I hitched my thumb over my shoulder indicating the giant of a man who stood there watching all of this go down. “Now, my mom is missing, and we need to put anything else aside until I find her.”

Mr. Lumberjack glanced around nervously. “Maybe you all would like to come in so we can speak privately there?”

Paul, Quickshot, and I all followed him into the house I had grown up in. Just as the outside had done, the inside gave off a completely different vibe from when I’d lived there. Where it once was a dark, desolate space that reeked of desperation and loneliness there was now a happy, light vibe to the place. The change from dark wood paneling to a pale-yellow paint over sheet rocked walls helped a lot with that.

“Sarah?” The man questioned once we were all in the door. “Obviously, you’re Sarah. It’s just that your mom talks about you all the time, but it’s almost like someone she made up. I never thought I’d get to meet you.”

“Well, that was my mom’s choice.”

“I know that too,” he admitted as he bobbed his head and then glanced around the room. “Shit. Sorry. I’m Jack Mayfield. He held his hand out to me first, then Paul, and finally Quickshot – whose kutte he eyed suspiciously.

“Jack, Paul works for my security company, Redemption Inc.” I explained. “Quickshot is a friend with specialized skills that might come in handy here.”

“Do those specialized skills revolved around being part of an outlaw motorcycle club?”

Quickshot tapped his chest. “Not a one percenter, Pal. Does it really matter if it gets the job done?”

“I guess not,” Jack stated before he turned to head into the kitchen where he picked up one of those brown, office memo style folders and brought it back out to us. As he passed me the folder, his face blushed bright red. “I lied before, on the phone.”

“About what exactly?” I asked as I gripped the folder in my hands.

“It wasn’t your mom’s emergency folder I got your number from. It was this one that was left here when she went missing. She mentioned before that you’d sent your number to her in case of emergency, but I couldn’t tell you if she hung onto it or had a special place for it either.”

I nodded my head, determined not to let any of these men see me cry over my mother. I’d shed enough tears over her when she decided to throw me away the minute that I made life hard for her and my father to be together. No matter that it was obvious she was much happier now than she had been before. Instead of dwelling on the things I had no control over, I opened the envelope and dumped the contents out onto the counter.

The first thing that caught my eye was a note that had my information printed on it in blockish letters, but there was something all too familiar about the writing.

If you want to see June alive again, contact her daughter. Get Sarah here, and June will go free. You will be contacted using the phone provided. No police. No lawyers. No girly gangs.

My contact information was included in the letter. There was indeed a small flip phone that had tumbled out of the envelope. It was an obvious burner. I picked it up, looked it over quickly, and tossed it to Quickshot. He was busy checking out the seal that had been on the envelope prior to Jack opening it.

“This seal is from a ring,” Quickshot mentioned as Paul took the phone to examine instead. He held it up. “Recognize this?”

“WRMC?” I asked seconds before it clicked. “Winter’s Renegades? Fuck!” Twice now, we thought we had sufficiently dealt with their club.

“Could just be something to you throw you off the real scent. How many times do the bad guys really give away who they are? It doesn’t feel right,” Paul informed me.

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