Chapter Two

Givon threw a dark zip-up hoodie North’s way. North caught it with his non-bloody hand. Since he’d used his T-shirt on the woman, he now looked like he was something out of a freakish horror movie. Blood smeared his chest and arms and he some had splattered on his pants.

“Go wash up,” Givon said. “I’ll talk to Admissions.”

North nodded and headed inside to the nearest restroom. Everything was white on white and as sterile as could be, which played with his perception of being dirty and afraid to touch anything. He washed up as best as possible in the sink. As he watched the blood and accumulated dirt and debris filtered down the drain, he couldn’t help but think of the girl.

What had she seen—or done—to get a forgotten burial in the forest? Had she been raped? If so, then by who? Everything about this hit was messy. He would’ve suspected the Demon Devils but North knew they were more professional than leaving a not-quite-dead girl to bury. Besides, they’d been playing nice ever since Merrie Walden had sung their praises. Once North was as clean as he was going to get, he dried off and put the hoodie on, zipping it and pushing the sleeves up. His leather cut was back in his truck, tossed there to prevent any fish slime from ending up on it.

When he left the restroom, he spotted Givon sitting in the waiting room and headed over to him. Destiny General wasn’t that big of a hospital. The severity of the gunshot wound would determine if the girl took a long ride to Casper.

“Hear anything?” he asked as he sat next to Givon.

“She’s in surgery,” Givon replied. “I called in the tags on that truck. I’m having Charlie run them.”

“Did you recognize her?”

Givon shook his head. “She may not be from Destiny.”

“That man wasn’t a professional. He was just plain stupid.”

“Thank God for stupidity.”

“Yep.”

“Listen,” Givon said. “You don’t have to stay with me. Take my truck and pack up the camp.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” North replied. “I’ll call a prospect to help me. Otherwise, my own truck will be stuck there.”

Givon raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind your club knowing you fish with me?”

“You’re my friend,” North said with a shrug. “Nothing wrong with two friends fishing together.”

Givon didn’t answer. He held out his fist and North bumped it with his own. Then he reached into his pocket and took out the keys to toss them North’s way.

North rose and walked outside to place a call to one of the prospects of his club, the kid they’d nicknamed Nimrod. The sun had set and he was glad he had the hoodie in the cool evening air as he waited outside, seriously regretting having thrown away his cigarettes. The unmistakable rumble of a motorcycle could be heard a distance away and he smiled. It was a sound he loved, the only thing that really soothed the wildness inside him. He’d discovered motorcycles quite by accident, back when he’d been a teenager with gigantic daddy issues. One night, after his father had kicked his ass for something stupid, North had tried running away. When he’d come across a motorcycle he thought would be an easy thing to hotwire, the owner of the bike had caught him. North expected a beat down. Instead, the biker by the name of Patch had offered him refuge.

Givon had his own way of dealing with the shit from their youth. He’d become a fucking cop. But North didn’t hold it against his friend. How could he? Each man had done their best to cope and North was glad that they’d somehow remained close. He couldn’t imagine life without Givon being there, somewhere.

North watched as a Harley cruised into the parking lot and pulled into a vacant space. Nimrod dismounted and walked over to him. The patch on his vest that proclaimed him a prospect stood out brightly in the overhead parking lot lights. Nimrod was young, not quite twenty-one, although he could easily pass for a teenager.

“What’s up, Boss?” Nimrod asked.

“You’re going to help me pack up a fishing camp then bring my truck back here.”

“Here?” Nimrod pointed to the hospital.

“Yep. Come on.”

North led the younger man to Givon’s truck and unlocked it. They settled into the plush seats that North had to admit felt nice. His own truck was twenty years old and half the shit didn’t work on it anymore. But it had belonged to Patch so he was reluctant to part with it.

With thoughts of the shooting racing through his head, he drove in silence back to the campsite. Luckily, the prospect didn’t feel the need to talk either. North couldn’t seem to forget how it felt holding the girl in his arms. Maybe it was his protective tendencies coming out. He’d always been a sucker for a damsel in distress and there wasn’t more of a distress than her predicament. Who the fuck would shoot a woman in the back? He really didn’t like that she’d been dressed only in her bra and panties. He hoped she hadn’t been raped too, or he was going to have to find the bastard who had done it and ass-rape him with a loaded gun.

When they got back to the campsite, the first thing he did was grab his cut out of his truck and put it on over his hoodie. As he smelled the familiar leather, he didn’t feel quite so naked anymore. He had Nimrod pack everything up while he picked up a flashlight and went back to the so-called crime scene. He knew that Givon or one of his goons would be here soon to rope it off and look for clues, so he wanted to do his own little investigation.

The shovel still lay on the side, obviously old and used, judging by the rusty handle and compact dirt on the blade. North walked over to the spot where the girl had been lying and saw the indention of her body still in the grass, as well as the pooled blood, now dark like black ink. The overwhelming need to find the bastard who had beaten the ever-living shit out of her gripped him hard.

“What happened here?” Nimrod asked from behind him, making him jump.

North swore and turned. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry. I got everything packed in the truck bed.”

“Good. Follow me back to the hospital.”

“Is that blood?” Nimrod asked, pointing.

“Yeah. Girl was shot.”

“Serious? You?”

“Hell, no!” North groused. “We do not hurt women. Got that, Nimrod?”

They’d really named this prospect accurately. Nimrod’s real name was Richard, and although North had been all for calling him Dick or Dicky, because that was just a god-awful nickname to begin with, the man had managed to put his bike muffler on backward. Never mind that nobody could figure out how he did it, but who the hell puts a muffler on backward?

Only a nimrod.

“Then who?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. But in your night-time scavenging, if you hear rumors of a girl getting shot in the back, come and tell me.”

“Okay.”

As North went to leave the area, something shiny glinted in the moonlight and caught his attention. He stopped and bent down, moving some of the grass aside. A gold necklace rested there. He picked it up and had to pull out bits of grass from the delicate chain, which had snapped near the clasp. He rooted around the area and found a little charm. It looked like a bird but it was hard to tell in the darkening forest. He put both in his pocket for safekeeping.

A few minutes later, he was on his way back to the hospital when his phone rang. He straightened out his leg to dig his phone out of his front pocket then flipped it open.

“Yes?”

“Nick had a heart attack,” his vice president, Draven, immediately said, sounding stressed and upset.

North closed his eyes, not quite believing what he was hearing. Nick was one of the original members of the club and had been Patch’s best friend. This was the last bit of news he wanted to hear, especially right now.

“Is he still alive?”

“Yeah. He’s being taken to the General right now.”

“On my way,” North said and hung up.

What a fucking day.