Rage's Story (Vanish Book 1) by Elle Michaels Read Free Book Online Page A

attitude. Sometimes I can’t keep the high road.
    The door slams shut behind me. I think of the possibilities and the first that strikes me hits me hard in the chest. The MC. Evin.
     

 
     
     
    8.
     
    I’ve been tracking them now, scouting their movements in Westwood Valley. They’re still here, which makes me all the more suspicious of their possible involvement in Auna’s disappearance. They could’ve seen me with her and decided to torture me by stealing her, doing God knows what. Or maybe she’s involved in something else, maybe they’re pushing out in prostitution as well as drugs. I swig from a pint of whiskey to keep my thoughts grounded, but it’s hard, they’re trying to get away from me into the darkest scenarios. The bikes keep mostly to the edge of town, occasionally driving through, where I usually lose them. I can’t risk being seen and called on by one of these nice families. They’d pin me with Richie’s murder and I’d be done. The MC would get to me in jail, and that would be the end. I don’t know what they’re up to still, but I have a feeling tonight I’ll find out.
    I’ve followed the rumbling engines to a warehouse not far from the motel. I’ve been sleeping in the bushes beside my bike, a makeshift bed made of brush and my leather jacket. They woke me and I gave chase, running through the forest for a shortcut, ears perked to the sound of their direction. I came upon the structure, a vast and seemingly abandoned metal warehouse that I scope now, bikes and cars parked just outside. It sits alongside the tracks, rusted and broken apart, no longer used. This might have been a railroad storage facility at one point in its history, a lighter period compared to its present company. I have to get closer, have to hear them. I crouch as I run from cover to cover, until it’s one long stretch and I go for it, hoping there isn’t anyone keeping watch. I reach the side of the warehouse apparently without being seen and I can hear murmuring voices through jagged holes in the wall. They pause and my heart stops. I clutch the butt of the pistol I killed Richie with, holding it out in front of me with both hands. I found it along the side of the road. I assume I dropped it when I was wounded running to the strip club. A good bit of luck finding it, but it won’t win against what they have. One, three, six…
    There’s eight men standing inside the warehouse, I can see them through a tiny slit in the side of the metal paneling. The pause ends, their chatting resumes, and my heart starts up again. I release a slow, quiet breath and lean my ear in.
    “...if that two timing fuck Al tries selling that brick back to you--”
    Laughter interrupts the voice. It’s one I recognize, and recently. I peek through the hole again to examine.
    Motherfucker. It’s Aston, and he’s in a suit again, standing before Devil’s Right Hands brothers as they chuckle. He can’t be taken seriously for the life of him. But I’m still left wondering what the hell put him in a room with the likes of us.
    Them. It’s oddly difficult for me to separate, I’ve felt so singular since arriving in Westwood Valley, but seeing so many of my brothers at once stirs conflicting emotions. But I’m not one of them, not any more. Not after what I did. And what they’re doing. I can see Evin at the head, see his distinctly scarred face. It was torn in an accident when he was racing motocross as a teen, caught a rock when another racer threw him from his bike. Evin walked away with a changed appearance, and a new outlook once his father introduced him to the MC for the purpose of revenge. It always starts there, at our worst. Nothing birthed from our worst selves can truly transcend.
    “There’s another matter,” the rich prick forces his voice over their collective laughter. “A man, a stranger from out of town. He might be involved in a disappearance.”
    Evin sighs. “What’s that got to do with