“I have a concealed weapons permit.”
“So do I, Claire. But I’m not bringing my gun to the Dragon Biker Bar.”
“I’m not taking any chances, okay?”
“I said I’d go by myself.”
Claire slowed at the stop sign—one way leading us down to Green Valley, the other way leading us up the mountain to the Dragon Biker Bar—and turned to face me. Her jaw was set, her eyes were determined, but the panic fraying the edges of her typically calm demeanor made me nervous.
“Look, I know these people. I grew up in that place. I know what it’s like to be inside that compound with no way out. We’re not going in there and we’re not getting near the place without a plan, a weapon, and a means to escape, and I’m not letting you go without some kind of protection.”
“I called my brother and my dad. They know where we’re going. You can’t tell me these guys are dumb enough to do anything to the Sheriff’s daughter?”
“Honey, they’re dumb enough and dangerous enough to do just about anything.”
“Then what should we do? Should we wait for Jackson or my daddy?”
She sighed, her fingers flexing on the steering wheel, then turned the truck up the mountain. “No. No, we need to go get Tina before it’s too late.”
“Too late? Should I call 911?”
Claire hesitated, then shook her head. “We can call 911 when we get there, but maybe it won’t come to that. Maybe just the threat of your brother and father being on their way will be enough for them to hand over your stupid cousin. Plus they won’t do anything to me, nothing lasting anyway.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“It means I know too many of their secrets.”
***
Claire pulled her Nissan truck into the parking lot of the Dragon, choosing a space near the edge of the lot and far from any of the motorcycles. It was cold and the weatherman had threatened snow on top of the mountain. Exiting Claire’s truck, a gust of frigid wind whipped my hair in all directions.
It was going to snow, sooner rather than later. That meant all the leaves would fall and autumn would officially be over. I would miss the vibrancy of color, but part of me was looking forward to the white blanket of winter, when everything is either desolate or covered. It would match my mood.
Claire put both weapons in the back of her jeans along with the extra magazine, covering them all with her bulky sweater. We walked to the main entrance together, holding hands. I’m not sure which of us reached out first, but I was glad to have her next to me. I’d never been to the bar before, though I knew where it was located, perched at the tippy top of the highest peak. Everyone knew where it was, and what it was about, and to avoid it unless you were looking for trouble.
A giant dragon was painted along the front side of the cinderblock building, and not one of those friendly Chinese dragons used in parades. This dragon looked mean and it had metal spikes coming out of its tail and the top of its head as horns; its claws were also metal spikes. I surmised all the metal spikes were iron, which explained the name of the club. The dragon was in the midst of decapitating a person, blood gushing over the mystical creature’s claws in a gratuitous display of artistic violence. Real nice.
Row after row of motorcycles were lined up in front and loud music reverberated from behind the closed doors. A rough interpretation of the Iron Order emblem hung in the window as a neon sign right next to two other neon signs advertising Bud Light and Jack Daniel's.
Certainly, the music, the murderous dragon mural, the rows of motorcycles, plus the austere cinderblock exterior gave a less-than-friendly aura to the place. But the outside was tidy, no trash in the lot or littering the building, and the surrounding area was covered in trees and underbrush.
As we approached, I spotted two men coming around the side of the building, apparently deep in discussion and also apparently related to giants. These men weren’t big. These men were huge. Like, basketball-player tall plus rugby-player wide. I was more than a foot smaller than the shorter of the two. Claire must’ve seen them as well because I felt her stiffen, then pull us abruptly to a stop.
“We’re close enough,” she said, even though we were a good twenty feet from the building.
I glanced at her in question, but her eyes were fixed on the two men and her stance was rigid, primed to flee.
“Listen, you go back to the car and I’ll—”
“No. You’re staying right here, with me.” She shook her head, but before I could object she called out to the men. “Catfish, Drill. Hey. Over here.”
The two giants—who apparently called themselves Catfish and Drill—glanced up. Neither frowned, nor did they smile. But it was obvious they were surprised as their gazes moved over Claire.
Almost reluctantly they broke away from the side of the building and crossed to where we stood. They glanced behind us and around at the woods lining the perimeter of the lot, as though checking for a trap or potential hidden accomplices.
“It’s been a long time, Scarlet. You here to see your daddy?” the shorter of the two asked. His head was bald and his eyes were a sharp blue color. Maybe they appeared so sharp because he was dressed in all black—black leather pants, black leather jacket, black leather boots, black shirt beneath.
“That’s close enough.” She lifted her hand when they were about ten feet away, her tone stern. “I’m not here to see anyone. This is Jessica James, her daddy is Sheriff James and her cousin called her earlier from inside the Dragon, wants to be picked up.”
The two men stopped where she’d indicated, approximately ten feet from where we stood, and their eyes moved over me again. The shorter one asked, “Your daddy is the law?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir. But all we want is my cousin. She called about twenty minutes ago.”
“What’s her name?” This time the taller one spoke. His skin was dark brown but his eyes were nearly hazel, and his voice was so baritone it was almost too deep for my ears, making his words sound slurred together.
“Tina. Her name is Tina Patterson,” I supplied.
“She dances at the Pink Pony,” Claire added and I saw recognition ignite behind both of their expressions. Claire continued, her explanation sounding like a command. “She called. She wants to leave. We’re here to get her.”
The two men exchanged a look that I didn’t understand, then the shorter one made like he was going to reach out and offer his hand to me. “I’m Drill, this here is Catfish.”
Automatically, I moved to step forward, but Claire pulled me back and somewhat behind her. She had steel in her voice as she ground out, “She don’t need to shake your hand. She just needs her kin.”
“Come inside, Scarlet. Have a drink. I’m sure your daddy would—”
“What’s going on here?” A third male voice interrupted Catfish’s overtures, walking quickly from the entrance of the bar to where we stood. He was about six foot, no taller, and was older than the other two, but they both stepped to the side as though deferring to his authority. I recognized the newcomer almost immediately as the biker who’d been talking to Duane the night we stopped by Daisy’s Nut House for pie.
His dark brown eyes snagged on mine and his steps faltered, his mouth parting. He was definitely surprised and he definitely recognized me.
“Scarlet is back and she brought a friend,” Drill motioned to me.
“I am not back.” From my vantage point I could see Claire was speaking through clenched teeth and her blue eyes flashed as she appealed to the newcomer. “Repo, this is Jessica James, and her daddy—”
“I know who her daddy is. What are you two ladies doing here?” The man Claire had addressed as Repo still hadn’t taken his eyes off me, and his stunned surprise seemed to have morphed into disapproval and anger.
“We’re here to pick up my cousin, Tina.”
Repo’s eyes narrowed and he didn’t respond for several seconds, opting to scrutinize me instead. Meanwhile Drill and Catfish were looking at Repo as though they were waiting for direction.
“What makes you think Tina is here?” Repo finally asked.
“She called me.”
“She called you?” He sounded doubtful.
“Yes. So I called my brother and my daddy, told them I was coming up here to pick up my cousin.”
At this news, Repo’s glower turned into a smirk. “You called the sheriff and the deputy? They know you’re up here?”
“Yes, Mr. Repo, they do. Now, for the fourth time, could one of you please bring Tina out? Then we’ll be happy to leave.”
His smirk widened into a smile when I called him Mr. Repo. Then he chuckled, like he thought I was funny. “Smart girl,” he said under his breath, shaking his head. He turned, the smile waning from his face, and lifted his chin to Drill. “Go get Tina. Bring her here. And don’t go volunteering that Scarlet is here. That ain’t nobody’s business.”
Drill seemed surprised by the orders issued, but said nothing to contradict. He nodded once, then Catfish and Drill walked back to the building. They didn’t use the main entrance; instead they took the same path they’d come from and disappeared around the cinderblock corner.