Page 35 of Contracted to the Bikers

“Where were the guards?” I snap.

A man steps forward, one of ours, Gearhead. He looks like he already knows he’s screwed. “I stepped away for just a second,” he says helplessly, his voice filled with anguish as he runs his hand through his hair, removing his bandana and wringing it in his hands.

My vision sharpens. “You stepped away,” I hiss, moving closer to Gearhead, fists curled tightly.

He backs away from me, hands held up in surrender or defense. “Only for a minute—”

“You had one fucking job,” I say, voice dropping low enough that it cuts more sharply than if I were yelling.

“I know—”

“You don’t,” I snap, stepping into his space. “Because if you did, Jessy would still be here.”

He hangs his head in defeat, and I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. Rook’s gonna tear him a new one. The teachers have all ushered the children inside, fearful that a prowler is out there ready to snatch another. With the playground empty save for our men and a few remaining teachers, it’s now silent. The kind of silence that presses in on your ears, like being underwater.

I drag a breath through my lungs, forcing myself to think. “Tell me exactly what happened,” I say. There’s no room for error now. If we’re quick enough, perhaps I can find her.

“She was on the climbing frame,” he says. “I went into the woods a little way for a leak, only turned my back for a moment. When I looked back, she was gone. There was no scream. No noise at all, like she simply vanished into thin air.”

Gearhead points to where he went, the dense woods along the left side of the property. The other side of them is the main town. The climbing frame Jessy was on is near the back of the playground, by a fence that leads onto a small wooded area, with a main road behind it. Someone must have been waiting for the opportunity to strike, hidden among the trees. This was professional and clean.

“Did you see any cars?” I ask. With the woods hiding the road, it’s unlikely, but they’ve likely been circling the school, scoping out vantage points for days.

Gearhead shakes his head, looking as if he wishes he had positive news. “Didn’t see anything. No unusual cars or people.”

I turn to the teacher now, hoping she might have something useful. “Did you see anyone lingering in the woods? Or notice anyone unusual recently hanging around the school gates.”

“I couldn’t say for sure. There are always too many parents at pickups, parents of kids I don’t teach. I don’t know all their faces, but no one seemed suspicious. This is a safe neighborhood.” She sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself than me.

“Tell that to Jessy’s mom,” I mutter.

I turn, scanning the perimeter again, eyes catching on every exit point, every place someone could’ve slipped through unnoticed, as I head over to the most likely spot the man was hiding. My eyes land on something small on the ground near the fence, so small and the same color as the grass that I almost miss it. My stomach drops as I crouch down to pick it up. It’s a toy dinosaur, the kind you can find in a dollar store. It’s not one of Jessy’s, she’s shown me her collection a dozen times. Which means the kidnapper used it to lure her close enough to grab her. Jessy’s no fool, but the temptation to rehome an abandoned dinosaur would be too much to resist.

The cheap plastic toy confirms what I already know. This isn’t random. Jessy’s kidnapper planned it and moved fast.

My chest tightens, something cold and sharp sliding under my ribs. “Did anyone see anything at all?” I plead, desperate now as I look out over the handful of anxious faces gathered.

No one answers, because no one knows.

“Think,” I press, voice harder now. “Anything. Anyone. A car. A face—”

But there’s nothing. Just shaking heads and the overwhelming, oppressive feeling of fear and regret. My own included, I was too late, if I’d gotten here sooner… But I can’t let myself dwell on that now. I straighten, already moving back toward my bike.

I jump on the bike, engine roaring to life as I take off down the street, picking a direction based on instinct and probability. The road that leads out back, away from the town, the fastest, remotest route out, the route I would take if I were them. I push the throttle harder, eyes watering as the wind tears past me, the world blurring at the edges as I scan every street, every car, every alley for a sign of Jessy.

With crushing disappointment, I see nothing. Nothing looks wrong or out of place. People are going about their normal lives, strolling down the street with dogs, moms pushing babies in strollers, cars cruising past, and joggers bobbing along with earphones in. Everything is exactly as it should be.

I circle wider, then wider again, but there’s still no sign of Jessy. Panic starts to creep in, slow and insidious. Right now, I’ve got nothing, and I don’t like to lose. I don’t miss things, but I’ve got nothing. I double back toward the school, scanning again. That’s when I see it. Something green near the curb on the road at the back of the school. I stop hard, jump off the bike, and grab it.

It’s Jessy’s dinosaur plushie, the one she carries everywhere and never lets go. It’s lying in the dirt, abandoned, which tells me everything I need to know. This must be where they forced her into a vehicle. She must have dropped it in a struggle, or perhaps on purpose, leaving behind a trail of breadcrumbs like Hansel and Gretel. Boone just read that story to her the other night.

My grip tightens around the toy. The one thing that might have brought a little girl comfort in a terrifying situation. “Fuck.”

I look up and down the street again. But of course, the car is long gone. I don’t have a move. I don’t have a lead. I don’t have anything except the sick, sinking feeling in my gut that we just lost the only thing that matters, the one precious thing Sloane trusted us to protect. I climb back onto the bike, heart heavy with defeat. There’s only one place to go now.

The ride back to the clubhouse is a blur. I ride faster than I should, harder, breaking all of the speed limits. I need to get there as fast as I can. The sooner we can come up with a plan, rally our forces, and attack, the greater our chance of getting Jessy back safely.

I already know that the news I’m about to deliver is going to crush Sloane, that I’m going to be responsible for causing her pain, and there’s no way to make it better. No way to soften the blow or fix things, no promises I can make. I’m utterly helpless, and I hate it.