Unfixable: An Unacceptables MC Standalone Romance Read online

  Fuck.

  “He keep calling you too?” Maccon scowled at me as we made our way around the side of the old frame house.

  “Allie must have told him we took off,” I groaned.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want anyone to know what we were doing; I just didn’t want to bring a crap ton of guys in on this mission if there was nothing to actually do. For all I knew, Jett had just lost his damn mind and we were on a wild goose chase. I was just hopeful that wasn’t the case.

  “He is her father-in-law. My old man is probably just trying to see what the hell is going on.” Hawk was our president, and I was his VP. Keeping Hawk in the dark was something I didn’t take lightly, and he would see that in the end.

  My boots stomped up the back steps to the metal door with peeling white paint and a state-of-the-art code lock. Of course it was digits—why couldn’t it have been letters? I could have guessed all kinds of words and acronyms, but a fucking code? Damn it all to hell.

  “Rangers lead the way,” I mumbled, trying to rack my brain. Jett wouldn’t have written those words to me if they weren’t a clue.

  “What about 1775?” Maccon asked.

  I glanced over at him. “What?”

  He pointed to the lock. “The year the Army was founded. Couldn’t that be the code?”

  I ran my hand over my bearded face. “That’s too easy. Also, how the fuck did you know that?”

  Maccon shrugged. “I liked history the best in school, and besides, your buddy did say it was going to be easy enough for you to figure out. Why not go with something obvious?”

  Then it clicked. Maccon was onto something—he was just thinking of the wrong year. Slowly, holding my breath, I punched in one-nine-four-five.

  The tumblers turned then clicked, and the door creaked open.

  “What was it?” Maccon asked, following me into the dark, musty house Jett had been shacked up in. The stale stench of rotting food and poor upkeep overtook me instantly.

  “The year the 75th Ranger Regiment was formed, 1945,” I responded.

  We made our way to the kitchen, the soles of our boots sticking to the worn linoleum floor.

  “This place is a shithole,” Maccon grumbled as he followed me through a narrow door and down the steps to the basement.

  “You got that right, for fucking sure. Jett got it when his mom died when he was in high school. I don’t think it’s been kept up with since she passed.” The dank air was stale and smelled like a rat had died in the wall. “Fucking hell,” I bellyached, holding my hand over my nose and mouth.

  Maccon pulled the chain on the single-bulb light that was swinging in the center of the small, mold-covered space. The cobwebs and grime that blanketed everything weren’t going to help matters in the slightest. We both coughed as we pulled dusty flashlights off of a rickety shelf.

  Glancing around, I finally saw the desk Jett referred to in the note. I pulled up the lid of the rolltop tucked back in the corner to find stacks upon stacks of research. There was everything from newspaper clippings to witness interviews, maps, and journals filled with notes.

  “This is going to take a year to go through.” I sank onto the worn rolling chair and a plume of filth erupted into the air.

  Maccon grabbed a map that was pinned to a small corkboard on the back of the desk. “This might be something.”

  Unfolding it, I looked at the two circled sections with addresses written underneath numbered one and two. Both of them were within spitting distance of our location.

  “Could it really be that easy?” I glanced over at Maccon as he shrugged.

  “Do you know what Jett got roped for?”

  I shook my head.

  “I think you need to call that lawyer chick. That might be our first clue.”

  I dug through the drawers. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember the broad’s name.

  “Help me look. I think her name started with an S or some shit like that.”

  Of course it was in the last place we looked—taped to the back of a composition notebook in the bottom drawer.

  I gripped the yellowing paper. “Sandra Nichols—that’s it!”

  Even though it was eight at night and she probably wouldn’t take too kindly to me calling her, I didn’t care. I ripped my cellphone out of my pocket and dialed her number as fast as I could.

  “Sandra Nichols,” her singsong voice answered after the first ring.

  “Hi, uh, this is Reese Hardgrave. We met this morning.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hardgrave. What can I do for you?”

  “What are Jett’s charges?”

  “You know I cannot disclose information about my clients.”

  “That is public record. It’s not like I’m asking anything that’s a secret here. I’m just not at a computer right now, and I really need to figure this shit out as fast as possible.”

  She sighed. “Breaking and entering.”

  “Was it for 550 Lake Drive by any chance?”

  “I cannot answer that.”

  “Please. Someone’s life depends on it.”

  “Reese, if someone is going to be hurt or killed, you need to call the authorities. I cannot help you.”

  “Can you just tell me if it was for that address or not?”

  “Good night, Mr. Hardgrave.”

  Click.

  “Bitch,” I exclaimed, leaning back in the chair.

  “That was a fucking dead end.”

  “I guess it is never that easy.”

  “Is there any way to talk to Jett about it?” Maccon asked while looking through more of the papers.

  “We can try in the morning.”

  Maccon grabbed a metal folding chair from the far side of the room, pulling it up next to me. “I say we hunker down, try to make heads or tails of all this crap, and then see if we can get more information from Jett tomorrow.”

  “Sounds like a plan, brother.”

  THE BLARING of my cell’s ringtone startled me awake. Wiping the drool from my cheek, I forced my stinging eyes to focus on the flashing screen with Unknown Caller scrolling across the top.

  Maccon groaned as I flipped the phone open.

  “H-Hello?” I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand as the call connected.

  “An inmate from Muscogee County Jail is attempting to contact you. Do accept the charges? Press one to be connected,” an automated voice droned into the receiver.

  “Holy shit,” I said breathlessly as Maccon started to stir a little.

  A familiar voice came through the line. “Reese?”

  “Shit, Jett. What the hell is going on?”

  “I can’t say much over the phone, but did you make it to my house?”

  “Yeah, man. I’m here, but I have to be real honest—I have no fucking clue where to go.”

  Jett sighed. “I know there isn’t much to go off of, but that map is all I got.”

  I gripped it in my hand. “550 or 735?” I asked, using only the house numbers just in case someone was listening in on the call.

  “You know how I missed out on our second deployment?”

  “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.” I just went along with the conversation shift, completely understanding what Jett was getting at.

  “I still feel like I abandoned you. The first one was a fucking wash and fucked me up pretty good. I should have just skipped that one and gone for the second.”

  “I hear ya, man, but sometimes we only see things clearly on the other side of the shit pile.”

  “True, man. So fucking true. Look, I know we don’t have too much time left on this call. I just want to thank you for everything and for always being there. I’ll be seeing you soon. Oh, and don’t forget to check out that photo in the back of my journal. It’s a good one for sure. I think you will find it pretty entertaining.”

  “Aye, brother. I’ll be sure to take a look at it. It was good to hear your voice.”

  “Thanks for checking in with Sandra,” he said. “It was nic
e for her to be able to put us in contact after all this time.”

  “Call back in a few days. I might have a good story or two to tell you.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks again for everything.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  The line went dead and I leapt to my feet.

  “Did you figure it out? Was that Jett?” Maccon asked, stifling a yawn.

  I pointed to the second address on the map. “It fucking was. I guess calling his lawyer last night was the right move after all, and I sure as shit hope so because these eye witness statements and news articles are just depressing with no goddamned information in them. Where’s that journal you found last night?”

  Maccon pulled it out from the stack of crap sitting next to him on the floor. “This one?”

  I flipped to the last page to see a fading polaroid with the word Fucker scribbled on the white part. “This has to be our man.”

  Maccon took a long look at it. “He looks like a motherfucking cho-mo.”

  “I think it’s time for you to call Hawk.” I nodded to Maccon as he shook his head.

  “You’re the one making that damn call. You dragged me all the way out here, so you can tell my pops about this one.”

  I snarled at him. “Fucking pussy.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  I tapped Hawk’s name in my contact list, and he answered right away.

  “For fuck’s sake, Hardgrave. It’s about damn time you called me back,” Hawk’s gravelly voice barked into the phone.

  I dove into telling him everything as he stayed quiet. “You there?” I finally asked after I spilled my guts about the entire situation.

  He coughed a few times. “Yeah, I’m here. You should have told me right away.”

  “I didn’t know if we would find anything or not,” I explained.

  “Call Bear. He’ll be able to help you out and get y’all into a safe house if you find the girl. They’re the closest ones to your location.”

  Bear was the vice president of the charter for the Unacceptables in Atlanta. His name was all you needed to know about him; he was a fucking beast and a force to be reckoned with.

  “Will do.”

  “Call me at the first sign of trouble, and keep my boy safe,” Hawk growled.

  “I will. Hey, one more thing.”

  Hawk’s tone was sharp. “What?”

  “Can you get one of the guys to work on my bike while I am gone. I kinda had to leave it just sitting there.”

  “Sure thing, brother. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I tossed my cell onto the desk. “We should head to that address and stake the place out.”

  Maccon scowled at me. “Shouldn’t we call for backup first?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to rack my brain for the best plan for the situation. “What if it’s another dead end and we drag guys down here for nothing?”

  “What if we’re going into a bee’s nest with no one to cover our asses?”

  Maccon was right. I needed to learn the whole safety-in-numbers thing.

  “Fine, but you’re calling the Atlanta guys.”

  Maccon pulled his phone out of the inside pocket of his cut. “Fair.”

  CHAPTER 3

  KATHERINE

  In a field full of daisies, I sprinted in bare feet. The searing sun baked my uncovered shoulders as my feet screamed in pain, but I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t going to let him win.

  Hysterically huffing as I glanced back to see if the ravenous wolf was still chasing me, I saw him foaming at the mouth and howling as he tirelessly pursued me. His fiery eyes burned deep into me. He was closing in. There was no way I was going to be able to run fast enough to stay out of his clutches for long.

  Blood was dripping down my neck and back, mixing with the sweat that was coating my entire body and making my thin tank top and jean shorts stick to my skin.

  I could barely breathe. My heart felt like it was going to explode, but I willed myself to keep moving as fast as I could, forcing each foot to pound in front of the other.

  Finally, I could see a road up ahead, not too far off in the distance.

  Salvation was so close I could almost touch it.

  I picked up the pace as the tender skin on the soles of my feet broke from rocks and hardened terrain. It didn’t matter anymore—I was almost free.

  A black truck was speeding toward me, barreling closer.

  I desperately waved my arms and cried out for help.

  As the pickup slowed, I started to feel a slight relief wash over me at last.

  “KATHERINE. Katherine, honey, you’re having another nightmare.”

  As my eyes fluttered open, I focused on the grizzly face of the true wolf in my life. More beast than man, he’d held me prisoner for so many years. His yellowing eyes stared down at me as he hovered over my small bed.

  I propped myself up with one elbow, fighting back the tears that always threatened me when I woke up in the hellhole that was my reality.

  “I’m sorry,” I choked out as he handed me a warm cup of water.

  Sinking down onto the edge of my repulsive, thin mattress, Alastor brushed my greasy hair back behind my ear. His fingers trailed down my neck and over my bare chest. “I don’t like it when you don’t sleep well, precious.”

  It took everything in my power to not wince from his touch, even though there were times I craved the tender moments with Alastor. They were worlds better than when I pissed him off.

  “Maybe I could try sleeping without the cuff again? It might help like it did before.” I glanced down at my ankle shackle, which had kept me chained to the wrought iron footboard every night for as long as I could remember.

  His eyes narrowed at me as his pale lips hardened into a reedy line. “Don’t you remember what happened the last time I was nice to you and we tried that?”

  His nails dug into the base of my neck, pulling my head back to force me to look right into his menacing face.

  “I’m sorry,” I whimpered, forcing myself to scoot closer to him and put my hand on his leg. “You know I don’t like to upset you.”

  Alastor brushed his chapped lips over my forehead, his hot breath sending chills down my spine. “That’s my good little precious.”

  “May I cook breakfast for you?” Doing chores around the house was my only time of freedom from the locked cellar Alastor so lovingly called my bedroom—if a vault smaller than a prison cell with a poor excuse for a bed, a dirt floor, and a Home Depot bucket for a toilet could be called a bedroom.

  “I have an early shit. We’ll eat together when I get home.” He tossed me my robe, finally allowing me to put on some form of clothing. “You’re shivering.”

  I scrambled to get the stained, pilling fabric over my exposed body. “Thank you.”

  He leaned over and kissed me quickly. “I should be back soon.”

  I wanted to puke, scream, pull away—anything—but I just let it happen. It was better that way.

  With that fleeting kiss, he was out the door and locking it from the outside.

  My stomach grumbled as shooting hunger pains coursed through my body.

  Hugging my pillow, I softly cried, wishing for the terrible wolf dream again. At least in my dream I was able to run in a field and feel a shred of hope. I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen a flower or felt the sun on my skin. My imagination and memories were all I had left to cling to, and as the days trickled into months and the months faded into years, it was getting harder and harder to remember the simplest of things. I couldn’t remember my family’s phone numbers anymore or the address of the house I grew up in. I could barely remember anything prior to the days just after Alastor forced me to live with him.

  I didn’t know if it was my mind trying to protect me from the overwhelming feeling of loss and missing my former life, but everything was fading. Slowly but surely, I was losing myself in a tortur
ous nightmare I would never be able to wake from.

  CHAPTER 4

  REESE

  After raiding Jett’s house for everything that could be remotely useful in our rescue mission—guns, ammo, rope, flashlights, water, binoculars, bolt cutters, and pliers—we made our way to the second address on the map.

  Sitting in the front seat of my truck, sipping coffee, we watched the understated home off in the distance.

  Bear and King were at the ready, waiting for our signal if we were able to find anything.

  There was an old Cadillac parked in the driveway and no movement in the house.

  “Do you think we got the right place?” Maccon asked as he squinted through the tinted windshield.

  “I fucking hope so.” I had the binoculars trained on the front door, hoping to see something, but after an hour of nothing, I was starting to feel disheartened.

  “Do we even know what this Katherine chick looks like now?”

  “You saw her picture in the newspaper clippings. I’m assuming she looks like that, just a little older.”

  He let out a forced sigh. “I really hope we got this right and find this fucking girl. I can’t imagine being held captive for nearly a decade. That’s some twisted-ass fucking shit.”

  Just as I was about to reply, the front door swung open and the guy from the polaroid trotted down the front steps in a suit and tie.

  “Holy fucking shit, dude. Are you seeing this?” I pointed.

  “No fucking way.” Maccon gasped as the piece of shit got into his crappy car and started to back out of the driveway.

  “Should we call Bear?” I asked, tossing the binoculars onto the dash.

  Maccon undid his seatbelt. “There isn’t time. We have no idea how long that guy’s going to be gone for, and there could be a girl in there waiting to be rescued.”

  “What if there is someone inside keeping watch?” I wasn’t scared; I was just trying to cover all the bases. Usually, it was Maccon who was talking me off the impulsive ledge, so it was weird to have the shoe on the other foot for once.

  “I say fuck it and take our chances. Anyone who gets in our way will have hell to pay,” he growled.

  That was it. I didn’t need any more of a green light. We had already come this far—might as well just dive in head first.