Grinch (Cerberus MC)

“That license plate is registered to a black Honda Pilot, owned by Greg Fintler. I’ll send everything I have to your cell phones,” Max says, and my team stands instantly.

“Before you go,” Kincaid says, stopping us in our tracks. “Be safe. Know that we all wish we could be there, but I feel like we’re needed here.”

I nod at him as everyone starts to file out of the room. All the support is only a phone call away, and knowing that eases me greatly.

“Grinch, a minute?” Kincaid says before I can walk out of the room.

I shove down all of my emotions when I turn back to my boss. Having more intel and a plan of action is great, but I know how some of these things end up. I can’t celebrate just yet.

“Are you sure you can lead the team with being so close and personal with this situation?”

I nod immediately, but I’m not certain that it isn’t a lie. Right now, I feel fine. I have no idea how I’ll react to what we may walk in on.

“There’s no shame in asking for another lead to step in,” Kincaid continues.

“I’d actually like to be there,” Kid says from the far side of the room. “I was involved in the recovery of Josie a long time ago, and I feel like I owe more than just a few words of gratitude to Gracie. I mean, Grace.”

I feel the sincerity in Kid’s words.

I nod at both of them. “Yeah, I think that would be better.”

I don’t feel like I’m conceding power by asking Kid to step in. Having such an experienced guy with us will only strengthen our ability to bring Grace home safely.

Kincaid slaps me on the back before I walk out.

“Give me five minutes to kiss my wife goodbye and grab my go-bag,” Kid says as he slides past me and heads toward the back door of the clubhouse.

I busy myself with grabbing my own bag before heading to the SUVs, knowing that although I’ve prayed more in the last couple of days than I have in my entire lifetime, I won’t be stopping it any time soon. I double down when Max sends information about Greg Fintler before the plane even makes it off the runway.

Chapter 6

Grace

Whatever I drank in that car that stopped is different from what I was injected with because I’m groggier than I was before.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so upset,” a woman whines.

“You don’t understand?”

A smack and a cry ring out in the room, but I manage to keep my eyes closed. I have no sense of orientation. I don’t know if I’m in the same room with them. They could be facing me for all I know, and I need as much information as I can manage without them realizing the drugs are wearing off and I’m waking up.

I resist the urge to pull at my hands, hating that my new captors have cinched them behind my back instead of in front like they were before.

“I brought her as a gift. I thought you’d be happy,” the woman cries, her words garbled with the pain from being struck.

“How long have you known me? Have I ever looked at a woman her age and even hinted at wanting a piece of that for myself? Fuck!” Stomping fills my ears, but I remain frozen. “She’s got to be pushing thirty-four at least.”

I’m only thirty, you piece of shit. Try being abducted, dehydrated, humiliated, and see if you look as fresh as a damn daisy.

“I want a younger one! This one is too old.”

This one.

Is he saying there have been others? What kind of fucking woman drugs another woman to bring her home as a present for her partner?

“You complained the last one was too immature. Maybe she’ll be better,” the woman bargains.

A growl erupts from the far side of the room before another smack rings out. The woman screams on impact, but then her pain boils down to whimpers and sniffles as if she knows arguing further will only lead to more pain.

I can’t even consider begging her to help me, hoping she feels remorse for what she’s done. She’ll be too afraid of retaliation to lift a finger.

“You fuck up regularly, woman, but this takes the cake. What the hell am I going to do with her now?” More pacing, the steps a little frantic as the man mumbles stuff too low for me to hear. “I’ll be in the fucking barn trying to figure this shit out.”

The whimpers and sniffles grow once a door is slammed somewhere else in the house. I offer no comfort to her, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference. There’s no telling how long she’s been in this circle of violence, and the few minutes I may have until that demented bastard comes back won’t be long enough to break that cycle.