Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

SEBASTIAN

I spend most of the night awake, my mind racing faster than I thought possible. I make a mental note of my to-do list. First things first, we've got to clear Bristol's name. Then, we need to locate Patrick. I'm haunted by them taking Bristol away. The look of pure terror in her eyes gutted the fuck out of me and I don't know what I'm going to do to make this go away, but I'm going to figure it the fuck out.

She is restless all night, tossing and turning every thirty minutes or so. Around the time I finally doze off, she's rolling around the bed again. I can't blame her. She's been through so much and yet somehow still manages to continue to go through everything that keeps being thrown at her.

The list keeps growing. Princess's drama at the clubhouse, finding out her entire family has been murdered by the man that kept her captive and did who the hell knows what to her for years , then getting arrested at gunpoint by the FBI. What a fucking year she's having.

My mind finally shuts off long enough for me to catnap for about an hour before I say fuck it and sneak out of the bed, careful not to wake her since she's finally sound asleep.

I sit on the couch in my living room with my phone in hand. It's five in the morning and it's Friday. I know half of the people I need to get in touch with are either still awake from Thursday night shenanigans, or they're about to be waking up to start their day. That's the thing about having connections on all sides of the spectrum, you can usually get in touch with at least half of who you need at any given point in the day.

I shoot a text to Maurice asking him to give me all the information he can about Patrick. I've been waiting for Joey to get back with me about a lead he had and he's taking too fucking long. Time to take things into my own hands.

While I wait for a response, I pop a pod in the Keurig and fix a cup of French Vanilla coffee. No cream. No sugar. Just coffee with a hint of vanilla. I pace around the apartment while my mind continues to race. I feel like there are so many things that I need to be doing but I can't focus on a single one to complete one solid task.

My phone vibrates in my hand with a detailed text from Mo. There's a start. Now that one thing has been accomplished, now I need to figure out how we are going to clear her name. Maurice has already said that he has no problem testifying on her behalf, but I want to sit her down and talk to her and figure out what she's told the authorities. Not that I'm concerned about what she could say about me or the club, but because we all need to be on the same page. It wouldn't help her case if it appears any of us are lying. I'll stand up on her behalf too.

At the end of the day, no one of us has done anything wrong. If anything, we're the good guys. She just has to convince the cops of that. Which isn't an easy task, considering the circumstances surrounding this situation.

The sun begins to peek through the curtains of the sliding glass doors that lead out to the balcony, reminding me why I wanted this apartment so bad. The view from this balcony is the best view of the sunrise and I have a pretty sweet view of the lights along the beach at night.

My phone vibrates again.

Mo: Meet me at the clubhouse.

I shoot a quick thumbs up response and pull on my boots. I leave a scribbled note for Bristol sitting on the bar in the kitchen before I pull a sweatshirt on and head down to the bike. The roads are just starting to become crowded with the Friday morning work traffic, but I hit the shoulder a few times and am out of the way of the people heading into work.

Mo's already at the clubhouse when I pull up. I shiver as I enter the bar area. The heater wasn't on last night but the smell in the air tells me Mo already turned it on. He's sitting at one of the small round tables just behind the barstools at the bar.

"This is the evidence I was able to gather from the warehouse. I figure tipping the cops off about the warehouse will keep them busy while we work on finding Patrick. If they're busy here, then they ain't busy on his trail. There's nothing there that will lead them to him. I've got a few feelers out with some of our mutual colleagues, and I think we may be onto something, but only time will tell."

"Thank you."

He hands me a folder that looks like it came off the dollar shelf at the dollar store, but it isn't about the folder. It's about what's inside. From the photos inside, Mo did a full sweep of the warehouse complete with photographs of the room where Bristol was being held. There's a large, fluffy mattress in the center of the room adjacent to a small nightstand. The walls are bare and concrete, the floor is bare and concrete. There's a door in the corner, its ajar and I can see a few clothing items in it so I'm guessing it was her closet. The blankets on the bed are thrown back and the multitude of stains on the sheets make my stomach turn.

Looking at the small room she was stuck in for so long, all alone, makes something inside my chest ache. Flooded with pain for what this beautiful girl went through, it quickly swirls into anger. Rage. How could anyone do something like this to a human , much less a woman ?

"I'm sorry you had to see these."

"I needed to, brother."

The room is quiet with the weight of Bristol's former reality lingering in the air as I flip through the rest of the images. Nothing else in them makes me quite as sick as the first few photos of the room and bathroom she was kept in. Everything else was pretty standard.

"I've got Slim locating property records for us. He's willing to do just about anything to keep his good standing because at this rate, Joey's ready to center-punch him just for his ol'lady involving the cops at our house."

"I'm not saying he deserves it, but… he deserves it."

"Agreed."

"I've got a meeting this evening with one of the tech guys that Patrick was in cohorts with. I think you should tag along. You can keep a clear head for a little bit, can't you?" Mo asks the question with a smirk on his face.

"I got this. "

"We're meeting around three. Should be done in time to make it to church and report our findings."

"Count me in."

I spend the day running a few errands in town. Picking up lunch for Bristol, grabbing a cellphone for her, and responding to a few work sales calls. It's a good thing I work for myself because these last few weeks, I haven't gotten much done on the work front. I'd be in a bind if I didn't have my shit together. I make one last pit-stop at the adult store in town for a few bedroom necessities on the way home.

When I walk into my apartment, Bristol is awake and sitting on the bed, watching some love story on Netflix. She smiles when I enter the room, but it doesn't meet her eyes. I want to wrap her up in my arms and assure her that everything is going to be okay.

"Hey," I say softly, sitting down next to her.

"Hey."

"Did you get some rest?"

"Yes. I think I was so exhausted I didn't have a choice but to sleep like the dead. It's a good thing you weren't here to see it, too. There was drool everywhere."

The way she puts a light-hearted spin on everything even after all the trauma she's been through amazes me. So much darkness and she still shines a light.

"I brought you a plate lunch from the diner. They have specials every day and today's special was steak tips and gravy with mashed potatoes. I also got you this," I say, handing her the new iPhone I just snagged for her at the store.

"Wow. Thank you. You didn't need to do that, though. I hate that you're having to spend money on me and I'm not able to contribute."

"It's okay. You need a cellphone. You have to be able to communicate with at least me. I put my number and Mo's number in there."

"Wow. iPhones have certainly come a long way since 2017," she says, rummaging through the phone and examining all of its features. She starts with the camera, snapping a few candid photos of me before opening the photos app and looking at her handiwork. She switches back to the camera and turns it around, leaning in close to me for a selfie.

I smile and she's got this cheesy, genuine grin on her face that stirs feelings inside me I wasn't aware I was capable of feeling. She snaps the first one, then sticks her tongue out causing me to follow suit. She snaps a few more of us making silly faces together before she goes back to looking through the rest of the apps on the phone.

She opens it up to text messages and a few seconds later my phone pings. I pull it out and find she's sent me a kissy heart emoji.

"I can do you one better than that," I say, grabbing her face and pulling her lips to mine.

She melts into me and I slowly end the kiss, pulling her head into my chest.

"I needed this," she whispers.

I don't know what to say, so I just hold her closer and press a kiss to her forehead.

"I've got to go, but I'll be back. I've got a few meetings and then we've got church this evening. If you need anything and can't get in touch with me, it's because I'm in church. We start at eight, but I'll text you as soon as we get out."

"I'll be okay. But tomorrow I'm going to need to get out of these four walls. I've had enough of feeling caged in. "

"We will go do whatever you want, babe. Whatever you want."

I kiss her one more time before I pull on my cutoff and hop on the bike. Mo texted me an address and I'm thirty minutes away. I'll be pulling in right on time. It's time to get some answers.

My phone dings with a text as soon as I get off the bike.

Bristol: Missing you already, hot stuff.

I smile down at my phone like an idiot at the selfie of her giving the peace sign with her eyes closed and tongue sticking out.

Sebastian: Ditto.

I slide my phone back into my pocket as I walk into a shady, sketchy mobile home on stilts. The covered porch is overcrowded with junk, mostly old computers, and electronic parts with a thick layer of dust covering everything.

The putrid smell coming from somewhere underneath the mobile home assaults my senses and I'm slightly relieved when Mo opens the door to greet me.

I give him a wide-eyed stare and he just covers up a laugh with a cough. Asshole.

"Come on in," he says, holding the door open for me.

Inside, the smell isn't much better. The floors are plywood and the living room where we enter is so overly cluttered it's hard to see where one piece of furniture ends and the other begins.

"Bash, this is Clyde. Clyde, this is Bash."

I reach out to shake the hand of the small, slim man sitting in the gaming chair in front of a desk that is stacked a little too high with McDonald's wrappers and a mountain of miscellaneous papers. He's got thick, dark black glasses sitting on his nose, his teeth are spaced out and he's missing one molar on the right side. He's got a large pair of headphones on and I'm not sure how he can hear anything with those huge things over his ears. I thought everyone in this generation had switched to air pods, but evidently there are a few… stragglers.

His black hair looks like it hasn't been washed in weeks and I'm beginning to wonder if the smell isn't coming from him .

"Hey, hey man," he says, shaking my hand a little too enthusiastically.

I offer him a nod.

"What can you tell me about Patrick?" I ask, getting right down to business.

He seems unnerved by my questioning and averts his eyes before turning to his computer to click on a bunch of different icons before I can even tell where the mouse is.

"Last time I was in contact with him was two weeks ago. He wanted me to try and get him a new identity and was phishing for me to forge some paperwork for a property that had been abandoned for decades out in Magee, Mississippi."

Clyde pulls up a map and zooms in on a piece of property in the middle of nowhere. It's got a small creek on it and doesn't appear to have any structures.

"Last records I could find on the place are from seventy-eight. No owners since then and its technically owned by the county but they don't even know they own it. No one wants anything to do with it. So it just sits."

"So what did you tell him?" Mo asks, quirking a brow.

"I told him to give me some time and I'd see what I could do, but he went radio silent on me and I haven't heard from him since."

About the time the words come out of his mouth, his phone vibrates amongst the clutter on his desk with Patrick's name flashing across the screen.

"Answer and put it on speaker," Mo demands.

Clyde does as he's instructed and answers.

"Hello?"

"Hey, look about our talk earlier, I just wanted to say?—"

"It's fine!" Clyde shouts, cutting him off.

Lying bastard.

"I really feel like we left things on a bad note, and I know you're trying?—"

"Shut. Up!" Clyde shouts.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Mo picks the phone up. "You're our fucking problem," he grits out.

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Mo. Remember me, motherfucker?"

"Clyde don't tell them shit!" he shouts and the call ends.

Mo tries to dial him again but straight to voicemail.

"Send that number to Slider and see if we can get a trace on it. I'm gonna have a little chat with our friend here," Mo says, tossing me the phone.

Clyde doesn't realize how bad he's fucked up because Mo is not one to fuck with. He's big and burly and mostly soft-hearted but he will fuck you up if you fuck with him or his. And Clyde did just that.

I step outside, forgetting how bad it smelled until I'm standing out in it again. I pull my phone out my pocket and shoot a text to Slider with the number and a short message with what we need. He responds instantly saying he's on it.

Screams come from inside and I almost feel bad for Clyde, but he's helping this useless, piece of fucking shit. I want him to scream. I want him to be haunted by so much agony that he can't stand it and decides that he needs to tell us everything.

I walk back inside and there's blood running out of Clyde's nose, a few splatters on the papers on his desk, and some dripping off of Mo's left hand. He's got Clyde's hair gripped in his right hand and his left fist is pulled back, ready to deliver another blow.

"Where is he!?" he shouts, his voice hoarse.

Clyde grins a bloody smile at him, not saying a word.

"You don't want to cooperate? That's fine. Let's see how you feel about cooperating in a few days."

Clyde's grin fades quickly at Mo's words. I don't know what he's got in store for him, but I hope it gets him talking. I'm taking mental notes as I watch Mo's technique. I've been in my fair share of fights over the last few years, but torture is a little out of my league. I'm not against learning, though.

"Bash, go out to the truck for me and grab the rope from the bed."

I grab the rope and bring it back in. Clyde hasn't moved but there's a fear settling in his eyes as Mo binds his hands.

"This is kidnapping !"

"Do I look like I give a fuck?" Mo asks, not bothering to stop what he's doing.

Mo leaves a long strand of rope and it almost looks leash-like. I realize why when he pulls Clyde to stand and directs him out the door and Clyde protests. Mo looks like a Viking, with his unruly brown hair and long, kinky brown beard as he yanks the rope, forcing Clyde forward. Clyde lunges forward and stumbles, barely catching his balance.

"I'm not fucking with you, computer boy."

Clyde spits blood onto his unfinished plywood floors but doesn't fight anymore. He walks outside and Mo shoves him into the passenger seat.

"No funny business, or I put a bullet into your head, understand?" he asks, pointing to the pistol on his side.

Clyde swallows hard and nods.

Mo slams the door and meets me on the driver's side.

"What are you going to do with him?" I ask, curious what the plan is.

"I've got a few things I'd like to test out on him to see if he can be swayed to tell us what he knows. You just leave the dirty stuff to me and take care of our girl."

"I'm going to go grab his computer and bring it to Slider. See what he can find."

"That's a great fucking idea. I was too worried about getting my pound of flesh I wasn't even thinking about what could be on his hard drive."

"I'll put it in the saddlebag and see you at church later?" I ask the question because I'm not sure how long his testing is going to last.

"Wouldn't miss it. I can't wait to tell the boys about this. Big George is gonna be happier than a pig in shit," he says with a smile.

Mo drives off and I go back upstairs to grab his computer. There are so many screens open and I'm not that familiar with any of the programs that are open.

I begin closing windows out one by one. Maps, property records, links to burner phones. I ex out the tabs, looking for anything that might point us in the right direction .

I close out a random webpage and when it disappears, a window with video footage is open behind it.

My stomach turns. I recognize the room instantly. The concrete walls and floors with the bed and nightstand in the middle of the room. Bile rises in my throat at the scene that unfolds before me. Bristol is lying in the bed and who I can only assume is Patrick is standing beside the bed. He's got her pinned face down and is forcing himself into her backdoor. The volume is muted and I say a silent thank you to the man upstairs for sparing me of what I can only imagine is pure terror. Her head is thrown back and I can see the side of her face. Her mouth is wide open, screaming out in agony as he plows into her asshole continuously. I can't stomach watching anymore. I'm going to fucking hurl. I run outside and vomit over the side of the rail. I wipe my mouth and go back inside, minimizing the video and unplugging the monitor from the laptop it was attached to.

I slide it in my saddlebag and haul ass to the clubhouse.

I'm about to learn how it feels to torture someone. This sick fuck has been watching these videos of that fucking bastard raping her! I want to put my fist through that motherfucker's face. I'm so flooded with rage I can't see straight. I whip into the clubhouse and fly through the door, searching for Mo. His truck is outside, but I don't know if he brought Clyde back here.

"Where the fuck is he?" I ask, spotting Mo sitting at the bar with Niles standing in front of him.

"I put him somewhere for safe keeping."

"UN SAFE KEEP HIM!"

Mo gives me a side-eye at my tone. "What happened?"

"He's got video of it. He's got fucking video of what that sick fuck did to Bristol and he's been watching that shit! It was up on his computer. I only saw the one and couldn't bring myself to even watch the whole thing without throwing my fucking guts up."

"That motherfucker," Mo huffs, shaking his head.

"I'm going to rip his fucking throat out. I'm going to rip his fucking eyes out of his head for watching her!" I shout, slamming my fists into the bar.

"He's all yours, brother. Let's get through church first, though."

My body trembles with rage. I want to put my hands on him right. Now.

All I can do is nod.

When church is over, there isn't a fucking soul on this earth that can stand in my way. Not a single fucking soul.