Page 19 of Brood

Chapter Fourteen

I leave right when Jordyn’s feet hit the floor at the bottom of the steps. The sight of her tits are still there burned into my mind as I ride toward the clubhouse. I have only seen her in that too-big sweatshirt and baggy t-shirts. I had no idea what she had underneath it. If she is going to be staying at my place, she is going to have to stay in that sweatshirt. The fact that I now know she is twenty and not seventeen should put me at ease, but fuck, I’m closer to forty than she is to thirty. I feel like a damn creeper as I imagine those tits I saw straining against her tangled mess of a tank top. That dark circle around her nipple was just barely visible. Fuck, I wonder how pink they are or if they’re a dusky rose color. Shit, my mind has run off in too many directions this morning I don’t even realize I have made it to the clubhouse. Of course, Roman’s stupid face is there to greet me when I park my bike and get off. He’s got a small bruise on the apple of his cheek that I pretend I don’t see. Looks like Pria got to him after all. “They’re here. Just pulled in about thirty minutes ago,” Roman tells me as I follow him into the double doors of the clubhouse.

“He knows the plan?” I ask, referring to Wiz, our brother from the Cental chapter.

“Yep. Already working on something.”

“Pres.” Show, our enforcer, greets me at the chapel door, holding it open for me as if I’m some sort of royalty, going as far as to bend at the waist and usher me through with the wave of his hand.

“Cut the shit asshole.” I stride past Show, who lets out a laugh behind me and closes the door. “Wiz. Good to see ya. How was the ride?” I offer my hand and the pleasantry to our brother from South Dakota. Where Eagle and Iris should be right about now, or at least close. Years ago, the Hell’s Riders had chapters in three different locations, Cental, Rhino, and Chicago–– our original mother chapter. A disagreement, more mutiny, sprouted from the Chicago chapter, and they turned their weapons on their own brothers. Now we are down to two chapters. Not that it makes us vulnerable, not even a little bit. Since then, we have grown stronger and even have made an ally with the Siberians, an MC based in Idaho, where I was just a little over a week ago. Helping them out with a little problem of their own.

“Smooth.” Is all Wiz offers as he gets back to typing away on his computer. The kid is smart as hell when it comes to that technical shit, almost better than Rico, another member of the Cental chapter.

“Heard you got the Pres patch, fuck I didn’t think it was true.” A tall, broad-shouldered man comes to my side, offering his scarred hand for me to shake.

“Gin. Been a long time, brother.” I grip Gin’s hand in mine, matching his strength as he squeezes. I get a good look at him now that he is closer. He is still burly as fuck, beard long on his face with his hair tied in a knot on the back of his head and a bandana on low, covering up most of the burn scars on his face.

“It has. Shit last time we were up this way is when Halley turned one.” He refers to his granddaughter as he lets my hand go. “She still dragging that boy of yours around?”

“So much so that I think Sage is about to keep her in the house until she is thirty.”

Gin lets out a booming laugh, “Serves the fucker right.” He scrapes his fingers through his beard with a smile on his face. Sage used to be a member of the Cental chapter along with Gin, that was until he started seeing Gin’s daughter, Brook. I don’t think Gin has fully gotten over it yet. Which is most likely why I don’t see Sage here right now.

“Where is Sage? You didn’t kill him, did ya?”

“And make my daughter a widow?” he fakes a shocked expression. “Not yet,” he says coolly right as the door opens, and the man in question walks through the door.

“Good of you to join us, Sage,” I tell our brother as he stalks through the door. He doesn’t seem to be in a sulking mood, in fact, the smile he has planted on his face doesn’t seem to be leaving any time soon.

“The fuck’s got you smiling?” Gin all but growls at his son in law. I honestly think that if Brook didn’t love her husband so damn much, Gin would off the fucker.

“Brook is pregnant.” I swear this fucker has a death wish by the way he just comes out and tells the room about him and his wife expecting.

“You fucking prick,” Gin grumbles. “Making me feel like an old fucking…” Gin mumbles and stalks across the room to take a chair at the table. He might sound pissed, but I catch the hint of a smile he has, hiding underneath his bushy beard. I watch as he pulls out his phone and starts typing off a text. Probably to his wife, Grace, who just so happens to be the daughter of his late best friend. Long story there, but the gist is that the fucker is a bit of a hypocrite.

“How goes the logistics on this little plan?” I take my seat, directing my question to Wiz, who is still typing away on his laptop.

“It would work out fine.”

“But?”

“But… What happens when they don’t find her? They come back and retrace their steps.” He answers his own question then stops what he is doing and looks right at me. “What if they did find her?” he offers.

“Then they bring war down on the club.”

“No. They wouldn’t find her here. She’d show up in Seattle or something,” he pauses then adds, “Dead.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah. I know a guy—”

“You’re serious? You want to make it look like she is dead?” I roll the idea around in my head. It doesn’t sound like a terrible one, but it doesn’t sound like a feasible one either.

“It might take a while for someone to pop up that looks similar to her, but…” Wiz shrugs his shoulders. “It would definitely make them stop looking if they thought she was dead.”

“Butch is going to want to see her face,” Roman interjects. “Know it’s really her before he gives up his search. There is no way we could get someone who looks similar to pass off as her. Not to mention that… fuck, how do you even…” he says, trailing off as if he can’t even fathom the thought of making some Jane Doe’s body into Jordyn’s. Hell, I can’t even.

“This guy makes people disappear. All we need to do is send him photos of her. You know, identifying marks and all that. He can make the body look like her.”

My stomach rolls at the thought of doing something like this to some poor girl’s dead body. Who in their right fucking mind— “How much?” I ask, pushing the gruesome thoughts aside.

“Twenty thousand. Upfront. Another twenty when it’s been pulled off,” Wiz tells me and the rest of the room, closing his laptop on the table. “Look, I know it’s a little on the…” he breaks, looking for a word.

“Disturbing side?” Roman supplies.

“Yeah,” Wiz agrees. “But it will make the girl safer than she is now. She wouldn’t even exist anymore. Tell me how Butch can find someone who doesn’t exist?”

He can’t.

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