Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(67)

Dane nodded and went back to the phones. Rad stared after him, helpless and furious and so goddamn scared. “This is that bastard I told you about. The Rat. I f*ckin’ know it. He raped her. He tried to kill her. And I left her alone. I left her alone, and now he’s got her again.”

“We’ll get to her as fast as we can, Rad.”

It wouldn’t be fast enough. Rad dropped his head into his hands.

At the other side of the combined tables, the Horde men had sat quietly, watching, through all the drama.

“What can we do to help?” Little Ike asked. Though he wasn’t an officer, Kirill had wanted him to lead the Horde runs. Since Big Ike and Frank had peeled off at Signal Bend on the way to Indiana, Little Ike had seemed to have been in charge not only of the run, for the Horde’s part, but of the club itself. Reg, the ranking officer, had sat back and let it happen.

“I thank you for the offer, brother,” Delaney answered. “But you keep your focus on your work. Looks like we’re gonna lose some Bulls from here, so it’s time for the Horde to take point the rest of the way.”

Little Ike nodded. “Fair enough.”



oOo



Three hundred and sixty miles in just more than four hours. Four hours and forty minutes from the time Rad got Willa’s page. Rad, Ox, Simon, and Gunner rode like madmen, on the shoulder when they had to, letting nothing stop them and little slow them down. Thank Christ they’d seen no law the whole way.

The prospects had found her, right where Gunner had said she’d be. They hadn’t found the scene they’d been expecting, however.

She’d killed him. Willa had stabbed the motherf*cker to death.

But not before he’d hurt her, and Rad had no clue how badly. Slick and Wally had found a bloody, rank scene, with Smithers dead and Willa deep under, her face bruised, her mouth bloody.

Dane had told the prospects to hold the scene, keep watch over Willa, touch nothing else, and wait.

God. God. What had that piece of shit done to her? What had Rad allowed to happen?

He knew better. He’d known she needed somebody on her every minute he was away. But she didn’t want that, she hated it, said it made her feel weak. He should have forced the point on her, done what he’d known needed to be done anyway.

But he was trying not to be bully. An *. He was trying to do it right this time.

When they parked in the lot, Rad stared at Willa’s truck, parked right in front of 105, and tried to understand why it was there. He’d figured that Smithers had grabbed her up—and there was an old Econoline right there, looking customized for kidnapping. Had he instead forced his way into her truck and made her drive here?

It was time to get questions answered and save his girl.

He pounded on the door marked 105. “It’s Rad. Open up.” The security chain rattled on the other side, and the deadbolt turned. Wally opened the door.

Fuck, what a stink billowed out from the six inch-crack Wally had opened. Somebody had shat his pants. And puked. And a lot of blood had been shed. And…beer?

He pushed in, and his brothers followed. With two prospects, four Bulls, a dead body, and an unconscious woman in the room, the space was cramped. Rad pushed the prospects out of his way and went to the bed.

Willa lay on top of the mussed covers, her sweatshirt—her recognized it, a baggy UT shirt she pulled on when they were outside on chilly evenings—soaked in blood and vomit. Her hair was sticky with gunk. Scratches and bruises marred her face, deeper and darker at her mouth. Blood rimmed her teeth.

“Wills? Baby. Baby, I’m here.” Nothing. He eased his fingers into her stiff hair, seeking some kind of wound, but he found nothing. He checked her arms—and found an empty sheath on her left arm, but no wounds.

He looked around and saw the hunting knife—her grandfather’s—on the floor, its blade thick with congealed blood.

She’d come to this room armed. Her truck was parked outside. Rad closed his eyes and considered these facts.

Motherf*ck. She’d come looking for Smithers. She’d put herself in this room. Of her own free will.

When she was better, when she was safe, they were going to have a very serious goddamn talk. By the time he’d had his say, she was going to have some goddamn sense.

For now, he needed to get her well and safe. He checked under her shirt, sliding his hand up under the fabric, to keep his brothers from seeing her bare skin. There was nothing. Her skin was warm—too warm, he thought—and her breath shallow. Other than the damage to her face, which was infuriating but not serious, there was no wound he could find.

Her blood-stained jeans were on and closed, the belt around them buckled. Her sneakers were neatly tied. Rad let out the breath he’d held since Eureka, the one that had been waiting to find her savaged.

“What the f*ck did he do to her?”

“This,” Gunner answered, and Rad looked over. Gunner held a small plastic bottle up. “It’s GHB.”

“What the f*ck is GHB?”

“It’s pretty new on the scene. It’s…it makes you…in the right dose, it makes you feel great. Wide open, nothing in your head telling you no. The sex is f*cking fantastic. But I’d guess with more than the right dose, it’d make a girl unable to fight or even to know she needed to. She’d be compliant. An overdose…” He nodded at Willa.