16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

They were all sent to different areas each time it was their turn, and that night was no different. The first time Indio had spent the night out in the open, no rocks, no trees, only a small fire to warm some coffee and his hands as a remarkably cool breeze blew on his bare arms.

That night, there were trees and he sat in front of another fire, keeping alert. Any snapping twig, any footfalls of any kind, he wanted to hear them. The fire was deemed necessary. No one would be out on the ranch alone without one to ward off predators. They had to make it look like it was any other night, and he was a simple sentry.

Not bait.

Not that he minded. He'd rather be out in the woods than cooped up inside a house any day. He enjoyed camping, being outdoors, and had always liked it better where there were no walls.

To Indio, walls were pain made to contain a soul until that soul turned black and shriveled into nothing.

The air on his skin made him feel alive. It was okay to think about the pretty young man out in the woods, where only the dirt and rocks were witness. He could feel a smile as he thought of Selestino, the stubborn set of his jaw, hard eyes that glared like he'd kill a person with a simple look.

Yeah, Indio had a thing for him, that was for sure. As much as he wanted to hate the guy, it was hard when he pushed Indio the way he did. Selestino didn't like being seen as the rich, spoiled man he was. He wanted to spread his wings and be seen as a full, hard man.

At first, Indio didn't think Sel was all that tough. He'd thought that Sel would crumble if he felt pain, felt hatred, felt anything except love and protection. When he stomped down those stairs, getting in Indio's face, well, bigger and harder than he had avoided doing that very thing.

Giving a laugh that was taken on the breeze, he relaxed and leaned back on the log he'd placed near the fire. He sat in the dirt, one boot kicked over the other, thinking about a pretty boy and smiling as the fire crackled and the clouds passed over the stars.

The air brought the scent of the trees, and it reminded him of Christmas. Not any he'd experienced, of course. No Christmas in the Baca house. But in stores, in the homes of a few of his friends, yeah, where the tree sat in the living room with pretty, wrapped gifts underneath and twinkling lights wrapped around the branches.

The phone lit in the darkness, and he looked to see a text from Eight.

You okay mano?

He smiled. Eight even had an accent when he texted.

I'm good, prez.

Cool. Keep your gun handy and your dick hidden. You never know about these white boys and their serial killers. They like eatin dick and not the fun way.

"You're sick, Eight, Jesus," he whispered to the phone as he left a laughing emoji.

Checking his pants, he felt the gun in the waistband, and brought it out to hold in his hand. The firelight flickered over it, making it look like it would melt in his hand.

The dull black of the gun's surface with waves of light moving over it, he remembered a time he'd seen something so similar, when the gun was pointed at him in the fire's light and the house blazed around him…

He picked up his phone to look through it to pass the time and it opened to his texts with Eight. The last one, his laughing emoji, hadn't sent. The message read, Error, could not send. Try again?

He did, and it just came up with the same message.

Indio had been told that could happen. The reception in certain areas of the ranch were spotty at best, so he figured, great. Not even the internet to pass the time.

For another few minutes, Indio sat in the quiet, enjoying the night. Then the twig snapped, and his body tensed. He got the gun in his hand, ready to confront the person who'd dared to come too close.

If he killed the man, it wouldn't be the first time. The first time had been hard, gut wrenching, but necessary, as this time would.

He sat up slowly, like he was enjoying the fire, listening intently to his surroundings. When no other sound came, Indio didn't let down his guard, but he didn't move any more, didn't sit back. Just in case.

Sure, it could be an animal. There were plenty around the place. He'd been warned about cougar, bear, deer, elk, and even moose. Those were the big ones. There were any number of smaller animals around the ranch. Still, everything inside of Indio knew it wasn't any of them. It was human, and it was a threat.

When he finally heard footsteps, they weren't coming toward him. In fact, they were moving away from him at a rather quick pace, so he got up and started in the direction he'd heard them.

Slowly, carefully, he moved past the stand of trees behind him and up ahead, barely visible with the light of the half-moon. He saw someone moving past a cluster of boulders. Ducking down when the man stopped and turned, Indio watched, and knew it wasn't anyone that was meant to be on the ranch.

It looked to be a man, thick around the waist, not very tall, wearing a camo suit to better hide in the woods. Indio had good eyes, the only thing he'd gotten from his fucked-up father that was a good quality. His father could spot a fly twenty feet away and throw whatever he had near him, hitting the fly in mid-flight.

When the man ducked out of sight, Indio got up and started after him, checking his phone for service and finding there was none. "Fuck," he said under his breath.

The gun in his hand, he set his phone in his front pocket, hoping like hell the GPS signal was tracking so they'd know and they'd follow.

Taking off in a jog, Indio ran right to where he'd seen the camo man heading. Around the next crowd of trees was an open field. A little clearing, some trees and a field where there was no place to hide.

Running a little faster, he made it to the trees before he slowed. He cautiously moved around the trees, trying to see through the branches, and there he was. The man was stopped, facing away from Indio, off in the clear field.

Indio no longer had to run. He took one step, then another, holding the gun in front of him as he came out from the trees. He wasn't moving, a perfect target, and all Indio had to do was pull the trigger and the resort could resume being built, and he could prove to everyone, and mostly himself, that he could handle the big jobs.

Indio was no longer that punk that sold teeners to tweakers on the sidewalk of Federal Blvd. He could be an MC president. He could handle heavy shit.

And then, the ground fell away from him, and he was falling, the gun going off, his own scream echoing back at him from the walls of the hole he fell into until he splashed into a pit of water that was neck deep.

He hopped up to try to reach the top, but it was no use, and the gun had fallen from his hand when he hit the water. The little bit of sky that showed above him was shadows as a figure looked over the side of the entrance to the pit. "Caught ya. Now, let's get you out of there and have some fun."

*****

The others were running in the same direction, but Sel was far in front of them. He'd been much closer to Indio than they'd been, keeping so low that he'd been crawling over the ground.

Anything to not be seen.

When he saw Indio was on the move, he was too, only he crept along south of him, keeping up as best he could. Indio was after someone, and fear was burning through Sel's veins.

He had a bad feeling that Indio was walking into trouble. Nothing was as it seemed. It was wrong; it felt wrong, the fucking air even smelled wrong.

Two long hours he'd sat and watched the man in the fire's light. Sel didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful man. There were no harsh lines on his face, and he even smiled a few times. The firelight caught it all, and Sel knew that out there on his own, Indio could let some of that tough exterior slide off and be real, be vulnerable, and that he would likely hate it if Sel ever told him.

When he started moving faster, Sel stopped, seeing he was about to be in a clearing. He could so easily be seen. He took the tablet from the big pocket of the hoodie and looked at the signal, but there wasn't one. There was no service, and he'd had it just moments ago.

Following along, he hid behind some trees and watched Indio, seeing him moving off in the clearing, but he saw more. He saw the person Indio was chasing. Only, the guy wasn't running. He was standing there, in the clearing, in plain sight, even in the dark.

"What the hell?"

He wanted to scream out for Indio to stop, but he'd alert the other man of his presence. If Indio turned back to him, the other man could see them both, and if he had a weapon…

Instead, he was ready to run after Indio, behind him, as backup if nothing else, but then he saw Indio falling away, into some hole in the ground.

It hit him immediately as he fell to the ground on his belly, watching through the grass so he couldn't be seen. Whatever hole Indio had fallen into was a trap made by Alex Brooks. He'd let Indio chase him right to it, because in the seconds after Indio had disappeared, the man walked back and peered into the hole.

There was something being said, Sel couldn't hear it, but he heard Indio respond, his loud cussing and it sounded like water splashing.

The man took something from a pocket of his camo jacket and Sel saw too late it was a gun that he fired into the hole. Sel watched, his hand on his own gun, but his heart was beating so fast, knowing that it didn't matter.

Then he realized it made a sound unlike a regular gun. It sounded more like an air rifle, something a friend of his father had bought him when he was thirteen, which was quickly taken away by his mother after he'd used it only once.

Why would he use an air rifle? He knew the sound of a gun with a silencer and that wasn't it. Sel watched as the man threw something into the hole, as if he was fishing, and what he caught was Indio, pulling him up, and it wasn't easy for him. Sel started crawling slowly closer, hoping to get close enough to pop a cap in the fucker's head, hoping that whatever had been done to Indio could be treated, and he could be okay.

The gun out in front of him, he crawled as close as it was wise to do, and when he did, he heard the man talking. "Goddamn, you're a heavy bastard," he grunted as he sat on the ground using the leverage of his legs to pull Indio out of the hole with a thick rope.

It took a while, but soon enough, Sel saw Indio emerging, water running off him, his hair sticking to his head. Once he was laid on the ground, the man slapped at his face and listened to his chest. Sel held his breath while he waited, and soon the man confirmed for him that Indio was indeed alive.

"There you are! Thought you might have drowned. That's no fun at all, is it? Let's go and visit some friends of yours, huh? We'll have a party, just me and a bunch of fucking criminals trying to take my land."

Friends? The pit in Sel's stomach grew another ten pounds, and he wondered who the guy was speaking about. Then he realized something else as Alex Brooks looked through Indio's pockets.

"You're supposed to have them in your pockets." He shoved his hand into the wet jeans and pulled out the tracker, tossing it back into the pit. "There. Getting wet kills it, but just to make sure. Sorry, but can't have them finding you guys."

Brooks left Indio lying on the ground, and Sel thought for a moment he was going to just leave him there. Every muscle in his body jumped, desperate to get to him to make sure he was okay.

Then he heard a weird rattling and settled back down in the grass. Brooks came around the trees, pushing a wheelbarrow. Again, he talked to Indio like Indio was awake and listening to him. The guy was batshit crazy.

"Sorry for this. I'm sure it ain't comfortable, but I can't carry a big guy like you all the way to the jeep."

Grunting and groaning, Brooks got Indio into the wheelbarrow, but it wasn't easy. Once Indio was in, with his arms and legs hanging limply over the sides of the thing, Brooks whistled as he pushed the wheelbarrow west around the stand of trees.

Carefully, Sel got to his hand and knees, crawling on the grass to follow him. When he got to the trees, he stopped and peered around them, seeing the jeep Brooks had mentioned.

Wherever he was taking Indio, it wasn't so close that he could cart him there in the wheelbarrow. Sel knew he had to follow somehow but didn't know how he'd accomplish it.

More grunting as Brooks hefted a knocked-out Indio into the back of the jeep. He pushed the wheelbarrow off into some weeds before he got into the driver's seat and started the engine. Sel knew that was his only chance, and he crouched low, running to get behind the jeep, climbing onto the bumper and holding onto the back of the vehicle.

Holding on tightly, he could peer over the tailgate to see Indio. Indio's lips were parted as he slept, breathing slowly. When Sel saw the dart, he realized what he'd heard.

He'd been shot with a tranquilizer gun. That was the woosh of air, like an air rifle. "Mother fucker," he whispered to himself as Brooks got music going, singing along with some 90s tune.

Sel grabbed the dart and threw it to the ground just as the jeep started rolling, and Brooks called back to the still sleeping Indio, "A little bumpy, us not being on the roads, but I don't think you'll mind."

What a sadistic fuck he was, Sel thought. Sel couldn't lift his head much without being seen in the rearview mirror, but it was enough to watch Indio. He could so easily take the gun from his waistband and kill the fucker, but if it was true, if he'd taken others, Sel needed to first see where they were headed.

It wasn't an easy ride. It was terribly bumpy and each time they hit a bump, he was jarred badly, having to clutch onto the tailgate harder. His foot threatened to slip and leave him dragging behind the jeep, but he used every bit of his strength to hold on and he kept his eyes on Indio to do just that. Oh, the jabbing Indio would give him if he was trying so hard to be some idiot hero and fell off the jeep, leaving him without knowing where Brooks was taking him, and likely being sent back to LA before he'd know if Indio survived.

They were moving for less than fifteen minutes, and they weren't going very fast. Sel thought, once they stopped, they were driving around twenty miles an hour, which would have taken them less than five miles, give or take. No, math had never been his best subject, but he knew distance. He knew driving, having three professional drivers giving him lessons when he was turning sixteen.

When they stopped, Sel hopped off the bumper as the engine cut, and he waited to see which way Brooks would walk before he moved from behind the vehicle. Straight back from the driver's side came Brooks, so Sel moved around to the passenger side, keeping as low as he could while still being able to move.

Brooks quickly checked on Indio to ensure he was still unconscious and then walked away from the jeep altogether. Sel figured he had another wheelbarrow nearby to help move the sleeping man. When he was out of sight, Sel got to Indio and patted his face, getting progressively more violent to try to wake him. "Indio! Indio, get up! Get up! Dammit!"

He couldn't scream in the man's face like he wanted to, and even the slaps made too much noise. "Indio, please! I'll let you be a total asshole to me whenever you want if you just wake up right now and run away from this freak."

In tears, Sel shook Indio, begging, but he heard Brooks returning, the clattering of something he was dragging loud in the otherwise quiet night.

Sel ran off to a small stand of trees a few feet from the jeep and waited there, hunched and ready to run if he was seen.

Instead of a wheelbarrow, Brooks had a wheeled creeper that mechanics used to lie on and wheel themselves easily under cars to work on them. Helpless but to watch, Sel saw him hefting Indio off the back of the jeep to fall in a hard thud to the ground, then he moved him onto the creeper that had a rope to pull it.

Indio laid on it backward, so his head was off the thing and dragging in the dirt. Sel's heart hurt watching it, knowing he'd wake to a nasty headache or worse.

And that was if he lived long enough to wake up at all.

Sel followed at a distance, staying crouched low, and he watched Brooks take Indio around more trees that were at the base of a long, short hill. It wasn't much more than a giant mound in the otherwise flat earth.

As Sel got around to the other side, he watched in awe as a big square of the ground that was the rise of the front of the mound break off and open.

"It's another fucking bunker!"

The thick door traveled slowly until it opened fully, the floor of the place he was entering flush with the ground where Brooks stood, and he pulled Indio onto it, chipperly informing the unconscious man, "Welcome to your new and final home, biker trash."

Watching them disappear into the entrance, Sel knew the door would close and no matter what they did, they'd never get it opened if Brooks didn't want it open. Indio and whoever else Brooks had kidnapped would be in there, unarmed, helpless, and prey to the evil predator.

Sel dug in his pocket for the GPS and the tablet. The tablet had no signal, but it would be like a breadcrumb, hopefully. He left them both under a tree, hidden as well as could be without burying them, and he waited for the door to start to close before he rushed inside, backed against the wall so he wouldn't be seen as the thick metal door closed him inside, and closed any hope he had for rescue out.