Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2) (2 page)

As he stepped down the single step in front of the doorway his right boot caught on something, and he stumbled. As he tried to catch himself his left boot caught the same way. “’Da fuck?” he gasped as he tumbled to the ground. As he mashed into the dirt with his hands held out in front of him he realized that it wasn’t a small rock, or his own mistake that had led to his fall. He had deliberately been tripped.

Invisible to his eyes a thin line of strong fishing wire had been tied across the driveway, waiting to send him sprawling.

Even as he fell, Red recognized he was in danger  and immediately rolled onto his back, to face any potential threat.

“Well, shit,” he said as he looked up.

A man with smartly parted hair had stepped from the shadows and was pointing a handgun directly at his chest. The man raised a finger to his lips, and made a quite
shhh
, as the other hand held the gun pointed at Red rock steady.

As they walked down the driveway, past his bike, he gave a soft sigh and paused. He wondered when he would be able to see her again. The momentary hesitation caused the man behind to jam the handgun into his back more forcefully. Red let out a grunt, and let himself be guided in to the driver’s seat of a waiting Toyota sedan.

The man got into the rear passenger seat behind Red. “Drive.”

K
aren

The thing about a horror story is that you don’t know you’re in one. You’re just living your life. You don’t see the signs the movie goer sees. You don’t hear the ominous music. There is no camera focusing on the bad guy’s ‘evil’ countenance. You’re just you. Just living your life. As it turns to shit.

I woke up with a pounding headache and eyes so bleary it took several blinks to clear them. I ran over the memories of the night before in my mind, and let out a soft smile to myself. I turned my head to the side. He was gone, of course. I couldn’t really expect him to still be there, could I? I let myself savor the delicious aches that teased my body as I lightly stretched my limbs. My bare skin was warmed by the sun passing through the window.

It had been far too long since I’d had a night like that. Shit, had I
ever
had a night like that?

It was good that he was gone anyway, I guessed. He was just a fling, a one night stand, a tool to release pent up frustration and stress. A
fun
tool, for sure, but I wasn’t exactly looking to get in a relationship. I wasn’t ready for one of those, no way. And even if I had been, he was too young for me anyway. Definitely. I grinned for a moment while I pretended he
wasn’t
too young.

After deciding it was time to face the day I winced a little as I clambered out of bed. He’d certainly given me something to remember him by. I guessed he probably felt the same, and grinned to myself as thoughts of biting his earlobes and neck and shoulders flashed through my mind. I wondered if his biker friends would laugh at his bruises, or regard them as badges of honor. Maybe a little of both?

Twenty minutes later after a quick shower which removed most of the traces of my biker lover from the night before I stood in my kitchen waiting for the toaster to finish its magic on the two slices I had inside. I had butter –
real
butter – and a pot of blackcurrant preserve waiting. After being deprived of small luxuries like real butter for the last few years I appreciated it all the more.

It was strange the things I had missed in prison. Often it was the little things rather than the big ones. It was things like not being able to choose what jam to have with breakfast, rather than the fact that there were giant razor-wired walls and angry armed guards keeping me locked in, that made me miss the outside world.

I reached over and switched on the crappy little portable radio that sat next to the sink. It had been here when I moved in and surprisingly still worked. Didn’t even need new batteries.

It took a few seconds to get going, then music started coming out. Guitars. A keening voice. I frowned as I recognized the tune. I hadn’t heard it in years. Anger flooded through me and I smacked down angrily at the power button to shut it off.

The force of my hit must have done some damage to the stupid little device because nothing happened when the power button popped up to the
off
position.

The refrain of the song
Love will Tear Us Apart
filled the kitchen and I smacked at the radio again in a rage. The power button popped up and down. Nothing. Still Ian Curtis sung.

I hated this song. Hated, hated,
hated
it. Rage surged in my veins and I swung my arm violently, sweeping the radio across the counter and sending it flying through the air before it crashed into the opposite wall, bounced back and tumbled to the floor, skittering in half a dozen pieces as it did so.

It was silent.

“Stupid piece of shit.”

I took a deep breath and let it go. I shouldn’t get worked up like that. It was just a song.

Our song.

I shook my head and took another deep breath. The room now seemed eerily silent.

Whoosh-thunk.
I was startled as two perfectly browned pieces of bread skipped up into the air with early morning joy before dropping back down into the toaster. I grinned again, feeling better.

Breakfast was ready. I took another deep breath and set to work buttering. It was all going to be okay. It was just a stupid song.

The house I was renting wasn’t much to look at, but it was mine. Mine alone. I wasn’t forced to share with a stranger; the small inheritance that would allow me to pay the rent for a year, maybe two, meant I wouldn’t have to get a roommate. At least not yet.

The place was sorely lacking in internal furnishings; I had only arrived in town a couple of weeks previously and had not yet gotten around to hitting up Walmart for all of the essentials. Still, I had a bed, a fishing chair for my living room (the cheapest chair I could find), an elderly laptop computer, a fry pan, a toaster, a pack of disposable plastic plates and cutlery, and a real glass to drink beer from. It was enough for now.

Anyway, who the hell knew how long I would be staying? Maybe Farmington wouldn’t work out for me and I’d have to leave. That’s why I had negotiated to pay month to month, and only needed to give a couple of weeks notice to leave.

A few minutes later I walked down my driveway to the mailbox. The morning air was refreshing, and made my pounding head feel somewhat better. I popped the last corner of toast into my mouth, and wiped blackcurrant jam from my lips and sucked it off the end of my forefinger.

Huh, that’s odd
. His motorcycle was still in my driveway. Maybe Red hadn’t left after all, maybe he’d just wandered off looking to buy us some coffee or breakfast or something.

A smile crept across my lips as I entertained thoughts of him coming back and us losing the rest of the morning in bed. Maybe I’d jump him when he returned. A happy shiver ran down my spine. I hadn’t been
planning
on spending any more time with him, but another few hours wouldn’t hurt. What do you call a one-night-stand when it turns into one-night-and-another-day? Maybe a fling? A fling seemed a bit longer than just a day though, I mused.

There was something in the mailbox. Being new to the area, I wasn’t expecting much more than junk mail, but instead there was a small package.
Uhoh
.

I pulled it out and held it in my hand, my head beginning to swim. It was a brown manila padded envelope, and on the front a name was scrawled in black marker that had begun to run out of ink. Karen Levinson. Me.

I swallowed the last of my toast and it scratched as it went down. My throat had gone bone dry. My head shot around, up and down the street, but no one was there. A bird tweeted, its friendly chirp incongruous as the morning air turned menacing.

Holding the package tightly against my chest I hurried back inside, slamming the door hard and making sure it was locked behind me. I was shaking as I leaned against the door, afraid to open the package, but knowing that I must. I knew exactly who it was from, and what it meant.

It didn’t matter that I had run all the way across the country after being released from prison before setting up a new home in this small, distant, shithole of a town.

He had found me.

B
ottle

How do you work this thing?

Hello?

Is this thing on?

Shit.

It’s on.

Here we go.

Today is April something, and this is the audio journal of me, Jamie “Bottle” Smith.

I always wanted a journal, but could never be bothered with all that writing shit. But an audio journal, like this? Too easy.

I had a journal as a kid once, used to write it in Spanish so my folks couldn’t understand it, but could never keep it up. Who’s got time to write shit with a pen every day? Not me, apparently. It feels like I must have kept that one for a couple of months, but I bet it was only a couple of weeks. If that. Maybe I’ll try and dig it out some day.

Anyway, I found this recorder when we were clearing up after all the bullshit the other month. I’m going to give keeping an audio journal a go, for a while anyway. We’ll see how long I can keep going. Maybe it’ll get passed on to my kids one day or something. Fuck, if that’s the case, I better stop swearing. Shit.

So today’s going to be a big day. Jase and Lonnie are going off with a whole big crew to do security with that rock band, and I’ll be in charge while they’re gone. Going to be running a couple of the prospects ragged, see how they do.

Speaking of which, what’s the time?

Oh shit, I gotta get going, must’ve spent longer fucking around with this machine than I thought. I need to be there to give the prospects shit when they arrive.

How do I stop this thing? Is it thi—

K
aren

I pulled the USB memory stick out of the envelope and held it up to the light squinting inside to see if there was a note or anything else inside. Nothing. I frowned at the tiny electronic device as it moved in my hand. I blinked, but it wasn’t my eyes. It was my hands. They were shaking. So of course the tiny electronic device was too. I swallowed nervously before heading to the tiny living room and my computer.

I sat down in the cheap blue fishing chair that was the only piece of furniture in this otherwise bare room. The bright sunlight pouring in served only to highlight how dilapidated and un-lived-in it looked.

The computer groaned as it spun to life, agonizingly slow. My mind bounced back and forth as I waited, thinking of
him,
and what he did before, then back to now, the menacing present. My eyes kept flitting around the room, checking the corners and the doorway and I was grateful I had no couch or curtains for someone to hide behind.

When the desktop was finally visible and the hourglass had disappeared I plugged in the memory stick, dreading what I would find. Why hadn’t he just come here and kidnapped me instead, I wondered.

Maybe he wanted to toy with me first.

There was a single file on the drive, a video. I felt cold sweat trickle slowly down my back as I double clicked it. The computer whirred and churned, stuttering before the video finally appeared filling the screen.

Oh shit
.

It was a silent video of me, in my room. There I was, oblivious, climbing into bed in the extra-large t-shirt I’d been using as pajamas.

The screen went black and then the video cut to another scene, and then there I was again, the following day. And then again. And again - this time I recognized it as having being filmed two days ago because I had still been wearing jeans when I’d clambered on top of the bed; I’d only meant to take a rest for a minute, but the two beers I had drunk led to me passing out for the night fully clothed.

The video flickered again...
oh shit
.

It was last night.

It was me and Red, and this time I was not climbing into bed to sleep. This was longer, a short series of clips of us in all our passionate glory, and it seemed to have been filmed from just feet away.

There we were, Red and me, fucking in black and white. It was a short montage. Me stripping. Him biting my neck. Me licking his chest. Him behind me as I drove myself backward into him. Me riding him with the fingers of both our hands interlocked, the whole bed shaking as beads of sweat dropped from hard nipples onto the harder chest below me.

Then the film cut, and it was no longer Red and me, now it was just Red. He was dressed again, in his denim and leather, and he was sitting in a chair with tape over his mouth. His eyes were open wide and he was just shaking his head.

Then Red was gone and words flashed across the screen.

HOW

COULD

YOU?

You Were Everything to Me.

The video ended and the screen turned black. I blew out a long stream of breath from between pursed lips.
Stay calm Karen, stay calm.

If there was one thing I knew for certain, it’s that I definitely wouldn’t want to be in Red’s shoes right now. My ex was nasty when he was mad. Very nasty.

Shit. I dropped the computer down on the floor next to me and sprung to my feet. I had to get out of there, I had to get away. He’d been in my house, he’d been right here.

A terrifying thought crossed my mind. What if he was in here now? I had to get out of there and get some help. I couldn’t deal with this situation on my own. No way.

Grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter, my eyes flew around the room, watching every way at once to make sure I wasn’t being sneaked up on, to make sure he wasn’t about to get me.

I flew out the front door slamming it shut behind me, spinning around to make sure no one was there. To my car, fast, next to the Harley Davidson motorcycle that was still parked waiting for its owner to return. If he ever would.

I yanked the door shut behind me as I dove in, locking it quickly. I breathed hard and fast.
Shit
. Another panicked thought crossed my mind and I span my head around to check the back seats.