Thumper by Marie James

Chapter 21

Cara

“We’ve been driving for hours, and you haven’t said a word,” I complain, shifting my weight on the leather seat of the SUV rental Lola got in El Paso.

“And I explained when we first headed out that you may insist on coming with me, but that doesn’t mean I owe you any form of explanation.”

I clench my jaw, turning my head to look out the passenger window.

“I just don’t understand why you’re being so secretive.”

She sighs, a sign that she’s incredibly irritated, but we’ve both been through so much that I’m not really worried about her feelings. I have my own shit to deal with.

“I’m not being secretive. I’ll explain everything, but I’m not going to do it twice. You’ll have to wait.”

I nod, accepting that eventually I’ll know what the hell I ended tangled up in.

Two more hours go by until we pull up outside of a metal building. I’d think it was some sort of shop if it weren’t for the huge shop to the left and all the really nice houses at the back of it. There are similarly nice houses directly across the street. The parking lot is filled with official looking SUVs and more motorcycles than I can count.

“What are we doing here?” I whisper as if speaking at full volume will draw the deviants that ride those bikes out of the buildings.

“Farmington, New Mexico,” she says as she pushes the button to turn the SUV off.

“I fucking know that,” I hiss, agitated that she’s implying I’m an idiot. “I saw the damn city limits sign. Is this a biker hangout? Why would we come here?”

“We’re here to ask for help,” she says before climbing out.

I follow, wanting answers, but debate whether going inside this building is worth it.

The area isn’t cluttered with debris or random parts of cars, and the flower beds surrounding the massive porch leading into the building is a big surprise, but the entrance to Knight Salvation is equally inviting. I know that bad things can happen in pretty places. Just ask every eighteen-year-old that was coerced into marrying Charles McKnight.

“Bikers are helpful?” I hiss, coming up beside her because despite my anger at not knowing everything, I do know she’s armed, and that’s my best bet at this point to stay safe.

“I hear these guys are.”

“You hear? So, you don’t know if—”

The front door to the huge metal building opens and a handsome man in a leather cut steps outside.

“Can I help you, darlin’?”

The patch on the upper left side of his chest says Apollo. Aren’t bikers supposed to have names like Bear and rooster? Not named after mythical gods.

“I need to speak with Kincaid.”

He gives her a big smile, his face clean shaven, and that’s just another stereotype this guy doesn’t fit. He seems clean, and he doesn’t have a beard that rests on a beer belly. If I had to guess just from looking at him, I bet he’s very fit under his clothes.

“Is he expecting you?”

Lola narrows her eyes, not impressed at all that she isn’t just being welcomed inside. She blinks twice before a slow smile spreads across her face.

“I’ve got some information on Thumper.”

He stiffens, and I have no damn clue who or what a Thumper is, but it seems like the magical password as far as this guy is concerned.

“Follow me,” he says, waiting until we’re walking up the front steps before turning around and heading back inside.

Although I can see a wide array of alcohol on a bar in the far corner, the air is as fresh in here as it is outside. There isn’t the stench of smoke inside at all. I really need to stop getting all of my information from television shows. Clearly, they’re not even close.

Several men sitting on couches turn their gaze in our direction. Jesus, do you have to be a GQ cover model to wear a leather cut around here?

“Nice,” Lola mutters as she looks around the room, taking in the sight of the men.

“Wait here,” Apollo says as he disappears down a hallway on the far side of the huge room we’re standing in.

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” I turn my head, noticing a gorgeous smiling woman. “I’m Emmalyn.”

“I’m fine, but thank you,” I say.

“I’m here to speak with Kincaid,” Lola snaps, unimpressed by the woman’s hospitality.

Emmalyn gives her a soft smile and a quick nod before she walks away.

Eyes stay on us as we stand near the front door, but no one else approaches us. Amongst the men are several women, but they aren’t scantily clad—another stereotype from too many television shows. If the men weren’t wearing leather cuts, I imagine this is what a big family holiday get-together would look like.

I don’t feel unsafe, but I’m not exactly comfortable with so many eyes on me either. I do my best to refrain from rocking back and forth from my heels to my toes as we wait.

A chorus of pings flow throughout the room. Each of the men, and one seriously tough-looking woman, pull their phones out, reading whatever message they got and then stand. Their focus is even greater when they walk past. The women sit quietly. It’s clear from the looks they give each other that they have no idea who we are or why we’re here, and they’re curious as to what’s going on that would have every one of the men stand and leave the room. I’m confused myself if I’m being honest.

Apollo reappears. “Follow me.”

We do. We could be walking into a lion’s den, and neither one of us question it. The three-headed snarling dog on the back of his leather vest doesn’t exactly breed faith in my safety.

The scrutiny we were under moments ago in the living room is nothing compared to walking into what looks like a conference room and being the sole focus of over a dozen now angry-looking bikers.

Apollo closes the door behind us the second we enter, and I feel trapped. I keep close to the door for a quick escape when he takes a seat on the opposite side of the table. Lola on the other hand takes a few steps forward.

“I appreciate the show of solidarity boys, but I’m looking for Kincaid.”

“I’m Kincaid.” A man at the front of the room with a bald head, two full sleeves of tattoos, and a thick salt and pepper beard steps forward.

Now this guy looks like a biker, minus the greasy feel.

Lola takes a deep breath as if she’s about to give an exceptionally long speech.

“I’m Special Agent Lauren Vos with the FBI.”

I snap my eyes back at her with the admission, but her pronouncement doesn’t faze a single man in the room.

“I’m here to talk about Javier Sosa.”

“I don’t know a Javier Sosa,” Kincaid says, the growl in his voice betraying his words.

“Javier Sosa, AKA Thumper, AKA Edward Jones—” She rolls her eyes as if it’s the stupidest name in the world, and I kind of have to agree. “AKA Javier Nolasco—”

A rumble of growls echo around the room, and I freeze. They aren’t happy to hear about Javier, so I don’t know how she thinks coming here will help him.

“Or should I say Special Agent Javier Sosa of the FBI.”

Eyes dart from Lo—Lauren back to Kincaid, shock registering on several faces, while others seem to be trying to hide confusion.

“That’s not possible,” a man in the corner sitting behind a computer says.

“Is he rogue?” another guy asks, as if that’s the only possible explanation.

“I know what you think. Thumper infiltrated your organization to find trade secrets for sex trafficking. Edward Jones is Javier Nolasco, a sex trafficker with ties to El Salvador. I know you’re looking for him.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to find out we’re looking for him, Agent,” the computer man says. He’s not wearing a cut, so I have no idea what his name is. “We made that info online readily available.”

“It’s all lies,” Lauren says. “He’s none of those things. He’s—”

“I thought I recognized you,” another man says as he steps closer. The patch on his vest reads Shadow. “You’re the girl from the video.”

Lauren swallows hard, her head lifting another inch or so as her back straightens. “That video was put up by the man who sold both of us.”

I take a step back when several of the men look at me directly. I drop my head, hating their focus but also wanting to cry because I have a very good idea of what video she’s talking about. The man who Javier paid for us, held his phone up while Javier raped her the first time.

“You want us to help him somehow?” Kincaid asks.

“He raped you,” a voice from the other side of the room says, but I don’t lift my head to find who said it.

“All the information you found online was planted for his next case,” Lauren continues as if the guys aren’t questioning her reason for being here in the first place.

“We were a case?” one guys asks.

“Even the rape?” another says.

“The video on this jump drive shows what happens later that same night.” Lauren steps forward, handing over a jump drive to Kincaid.

He doesn’t hesitate to hand it to the man sitting behind the huge computer setup.

“Preview it first?” the man asks.

“No, Max. Play it,” Kincaid says as he turns around to face the huge television mounted to the wall at the front of the room.

Lauren’s jaw flexes as the sound of slapping hips fill the air.

I shouldn’t look, but I can’t stop my eyes as they focus on the screen.

Several guys cough and seem to grow uncomfortable in their seats.

This is the same video I couldn’t watch but a few seconds of the first night we were sold to Javier, only this time it has sound, and the soundtrack is telling an entirely different story.

“Fuck, Javi, I’ve missed you. Hard. God, fuck me harder. It’s been too long, baby. There, fuck, right there. I’m going to come so hard.” I look at Lauren, but her eyes are locked on the screen as well. “Tighter, grip me tight, hands around my throat.”

Lauren clears her throat when the video stops.

“Javier Sosa and I went through the academy together. We were in a relationship for over a year before we went our separate ways.”

You can trust him.

Her words from over a week ago choose this time to pop back in my head.

He’s mine. You see him as a monster, but I’ve known real monsters, and that man doesn’t even come close.

She said all those things, and it isn’t until now that I realize she was being truthful, giving me more information than I knew what to do with.

“Fuck,” Kincaid whispers as he turns back around. “You’re here because you love him.”

“I don’t lo—Javier is a friend. What we had was over long ago. I’m here because the FBI isn’t willing to back him up. They don’t want to burn a case that’s years in the making, but I can’t just leave him to die.”

Max grumbles some shitty slurs where the FBI is concerned, but no one really pays him any attention.

“And this website?” Max asks, his fingers working quickly over the keys. “There are hundreds of girls for sale on here. Should I shut it down?”

“No. You can’t do that,” Kincaid says, urgency in his voice.

What? They won’t shut down a website that’s making it easy for perverts to buy women.

“Hold on,” another huge man says as he steps forward. He isn’t wearing a leather cut, but he resembles Kincaid enough to make me believe they’re related somehow. “The information we got online was legit. Shadow and Max would know if it was fake.”

“Fuck, man. There are kids on here.”

“Leave it up,” the man that looks like Kincaid snaps before turning his attention back to the other men sitting around the huge conference table.

Kincaid pulls out his cell phone as he speaks to Max. “I want you to get all the information we have to Blackbridge.”

“Wait,” another guy says—Jinx is on his chest patch. “We haven’t done that already? We’ve been living on top of each other for weeks, and we didn’t check with them?”

“Hey, Wren. It’s Kincaid…yeah, man. We’re good. Look, I need you to find out some information on a Javier Nolasco. He’s—”

“Sosa,” Lauren interrupts, but she snaps her jaw shut when Kincaid glares at her.

I’m still not certain this is going to work. These men went from pissed to remorseful and back to pissed too quickly for this to work out in our favor.

“Yeah, man. I appreciate it. Call me back.” Kincaid pockets his phone again.

“You didn’t give him any of the information he needed,” Lauren says, her cheeks growing red with anger.

“If there’s anyone that can get to the bottom of it, it’s Wren.” Kincaid looks in Jinx’s direction. “The information we had was solid. We didn’t have reason to believe otherwise. You have more information?”

Kincaid’s attention is now back on Lauren.

She crosses her arms over her chest, mouth forming a sneer. “I’m not telling you another fucking thing until I know you’re no longer planning to kill him.”

“Nice,” one of the guys on the far side of the table whispers. “Fucking hot.”

Lauren turns her head a little to the side and winks at the man before refocusing her attention on Kincaid.

“How long will it take for that Wren guy to call you—”

The phone in Kincaid’s pocket rings.

“Go ahead, Wren. I’m putting you on speakerphone.”

“Hey, you sexy fucker!”

My brow creases at the weird voice coming from the line.

“Would you shut the fuck up? This is business,” a man hisses.

“Is there a problem?” Kincaid asks, looking less than impressed.

“Hey, Diego. This is Deacon. Wren has the info you need, but I just wanted to let you know we’re here if you need assistance on—”

“They don’t need your help, fucker!”

“Wren, if I have to tell you one more time about that fucking bird! Sorry about that, man. The bird is a nuisance.” I think that’s Deacon’s voice.

Whispering is heard through the line, but I can’t tell who’s talking.

“Put him in his cage. I don’t give a shit. Is the phone on mute? Do you know how unprofessional this looks? Cover the thing with that blanket. Birds shut up when they can’t see, right? Have you met the bird before? He never shuts up.”

“Did you tell them I’m naked?” That voice I know is the bird’s.

“Puff, get in your fucking cage. Now. Shit, you asshole. Bite me one more time! Just go. You’re gonna get my ass fired.”

Several of the guys in the room chuckle.

“Should I call you back later?” Kincaid asks.

“No, umm, sorry. I’m going to feed you to Simon if you don’t quit,” Wren hisses.

“Not the blanket! I’m afraid of the dark!”

“I’m back. Sorry. I thought when I was a teenager that having a parrot would be fun,” Wren says.

“I’m the entire fucking party!” comes through the line muffled.

Wren clears his throat.

“Come to my office when you’re done.” That sounds like Deacon, and I watch Max’s face as he cringes.

“Ok, about Javier Nolasco—”

Humming comes through the line, and a couple of the guys find it funny.

“Is that—”

“Folsom Prison Blues,” another interrupts.

“If you ignore him, he’ll shut up,” Wren says, irritation growing in his own voice. “Javier Nolasco doesn’t exist. I mean, technically he does exist, but it’s an alias, but I’m guessing you already know that because he was one of your club members. Are you sure we should be discussing this on speakerphone?”

“Go ahead,” Kincaid says.

“He used the name Edward Jones to infiltrate you guys. It wasn’t official FBI business. I mean, his handler sent him there, but nothing from the case was logged into their system.

“What’s the handler’s name?”

“Gene Samuelson,” Wren answers.

Kincaid looks over his shoulder at the guy who looks like him. “You remember—”

“How could I ever forget that asshole?” he answers.

“Who—”

“We’ll discuss it later,” Kincaid interrupts. “Wren.”

“The information on Javier Nolasco looks legit for the most part, but my system flagged some irregularities. I could go into explaining how it did that, but I get the feeling it will put everyone but Max and Shadow to sleep. Back to the point. Javier Nolasco isn’t Edward Jones and vice versa. His real name is Javier Sosa, and he’s a special agent with the FBI. Been employed there for the last thirteen years.”

“And Lauren Vos?” Kincaid asks, his eyes focused on the woman looking smug beside me.

“Lauren Vos is currently undercover in El Sal… wait, no. She was pulled two days ago along with three other women from a sex den in El Salvador. There were three dead females inside. All members of the staff from the looks of it. One deceased male, a trafficker named Martin Lanza. Oh shit. He was a bad one.”

“Two dead men,” Lauren corrects. “There was another man there.”

She’s talking about Angel. We all had to step over his body to get out of the house.

“Nope, just the one,” Wren says, and I watch as her face transforms, and she bats away the tear pooling on her bottom lashes before it can roll down her cheek.

“Wren, can you get everything else to Max and Shadow?”

“Sure can.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Anytime.”

The line goes dead.

“Now, do you have any more information for us?” Kincaid asks Lauren.

“Javier has a tracker, and I know right where he is.”