Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Name's Stiff, and I got no clue why he isn’t where he’s supposed to be, but we found him on his own in a fucking alley. He seemed a little young to be wandering the streets and I found this phone in his bag. Swear to fucking God, we're just keeping an eye on him until someone comes to get him.”
Shit shit shit. “Can you put him on the phone for me?”
“Sure.”
A few seconds later, I hear a rustling sound and a deep voice murmuring in the background before Logan’s little voice comes through. “I’m sorry!”
It takes everything in me to keep my voice calm. “Honey, you’re not in trouble. Where are you?”
“With the motorcycle men like Auntie Georgia said.”
Who? I'm going to freaking kill her. I don't care if she's my sister, I'm going to outright murder her. She knows the rules. She knows. “Where’s Auntie Georgia now, Lo?”
He doesn’t answer, but I can almost hear him shrugging.
“Did Auntie Georgia take you out of preschool early?”
“Am I in trouble?” he asks softly.
I take a deep breath before answering. “Of course not. It’s not your fault.” But once I know Logan’s safe, I’ll be having a nice long talk with Diana at the preschool, and Georgia when I get my hands around her neck. “You just have to behave for… Stiff, and the nice men who are watching you until I get there, okay? Can you hand the phone to him, please?”
“Hey, little mamma,” Stiff says with a chuckle.
Another time it might be cute, but I’m not in a teasing sort of mood. “My name’s Dakota. Can you give me your address? I’m so sorry for all of this. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“Our pleasure. He’s a good kid.”
“Is everything alright?” Sadie asks, turning her head my way.
“One sec!” Stiff rattles off an address and I plug it into the map on my phone. It’s close to the river and about a half hour if I hurry. “Please… please just keep him safe,” I beg quietly, not caring that this is a complete stranger. He has my whole world in his hands.
“Of course. We’ve got him, Dakota. Nothing’s going to happen to Logan. I promise.” For once his tone is completely serious.
“Thank you. Really, thank you so much.”
I tell Mrs. Collins a half-truth; Logan needs picking up early from preschool. Fortunately the visit was almost over already, but I still pop upstairs to tell her daughter Lisa that I’m leaving a little early. She gives me a thumbs up from her video call, and I rush to my car. The address isn’t in a great part of town, which worries me. The last time Georgia was spending a lot of time around there was before she got pregnant and she was working at some dive bar, drunk and stoned most of the time. I’m not naive enough to think she’s been sober since then, but her biggest problem for the past few years has been a different sort of addiction.
My fingers drum against the steering wheel. I can only worry about one of them at a time, and for the moment, the four year old is a lot more important.
3
DAKOTA
I drive through one last intersection, and my map indicates my destination is on the right. I figured it was going to be some kind of business, but now I’m looking at a church. Stiff is definitely not the kind of thing you call a priest, except maybe in that book I read last year.
There’s no one behind me, so I slow down to get a better look. Surrounding the church is a tall wall, making it seem more like some kind of inner city fortress or monastic order. Then I notice the big, lit up sign on the wall that says Outlaw Sons MC, and the couple of scary looking men standing near the gated entrance, watching me closely, and the pieces fall into place. Definitely not a monastic order.
Logan talking about “motorcycle men” should’ve tipped me off. He’s been obsessed with cars and motorcycles for as long as I can remember. I’ve seen the name of their club in the news occasionally, and it’s never good. Gang violence, weapons, murder… The thought of my little boy inside those walls is almost as bad as him wandering the streets here alone.
But Stiff promised. He promised, and I have to believe him or I’ll drive myself crazy.
Praying that I'm not making a mistake, I turn and stop in front of the gate. The guy on the left, with striking green eyes and auburn hair slips through and taps his knuckles on the window. There’s a patch on the front of his jacket that says Savage. He eyes me like he’s used to giving orders and having them listened to. I roll down the window.