Hard Escape (Notus Motorcycle Club Book 2) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Hard Escape

  Notus Motorcycle Club

  By

  Debra Kayn

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Hard Escape

  Notus Motorcycle Club series

  1st Digital release: Copyright© 2017 Debra Kayn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Debra Kayn. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  www.debrakayn.com

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgment

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue | ~ Six months later ~

  Author Bio

  Debra Kayn's Backlist

  Sneak Peek — The Higher You Fly by Debra Kayn

  Dedication

  Shirin – We've spent hours, days, weeks, years talking about high-concept ideas and passing rough-draft blurbs back and forth. It was you who I thought of when writing the blurb for Hard Escape. My click-bait skills went wild and I have you to thank for the motivation because in my eyes, you are the teacher of making things juicy.

  Acknowledgment

  While Notus Motorcycle Club is a work of fiction, their purpose to find missing persons is a real-life problem.

  — Every 40 seconds, a child goes missing in the U.S.

  — In 2016, an astonishing 830,000 people were reported missing.

  It's easy to go through life unaware. We walk by the missing persons' flyers tacked on the wall at Walmart because those faces are always there. We read Amber Alerts when our phones buzz and then go play with our kids. An elderly person wanders off and we finish cooking dinner. Why? Because we rely on the police, search and rescue, and groups (like the fictional Notus Motorcycle Club) to find those who are missing. It's easy to say "be more involved" or "keep your eyes open". It's another thing to be someone who actively searches.

  There are 4 different reasons why people go missing.

  DECIDED — For reasons of their own, people decide to run away from the life they were living. It could be escaping personal problems, relationships, violence, and even mental health problems

  DRIFTED — Over time, people lose touch with family and friends

  UNINTENTIONAL ABSENCE — Alzheimer’s disease, mental health problems, accidents, and miscommunication

  FORCED — being a victim of crime such as homicide or abduction

  Prologue

  The coffee mug sailed through the air and smashed into the wall behind Ingrid. Prepared for being hit in the head and the sound of shattering glass, she refused to blink. Any weakness would only complicate an already difficult situation and make her boyfriend more upset with her.

  "What did you say to my dad?" Evan Kingsley reached over and picked up a plate from the dishwasher that she'd been loading moments ago.

  "I only took a message." The paper with the information was on the counter beside her cell phone, but she dared not point out the obvious. "He gave me the time and place you're supposed to—"

  Evan curled his arm, gripping the plate like a frisbee, and flung his arm, aiming right at her. She blinked, timing the attack. The worst thing about an object making contact with her body was the wait and having to watch. From experience, if she could brace herself for the pain, the moment of contact wouldn't hurt as much.

  The plate skimmed her shoulder. Her eyes came open, and she maintained her balance. The pain only shocked her. It wasn't permanent.

  She refused to beg Evan to listen. He'd only punish her parents to make her pay for talking back to him, and she'd do anything to protect her mom and dad. She'd put her parents through enough stress when she fell in love with Evan and moved in with him against their wishes.

  If Evan could hurt her, the woman he professed to love, he'd hurt those she loved without any regret. He'd sworn to do exactly that too many times to count, and she believed him.

  He was manipulative, spoiled, smart, and a son of a cop.

  A good cop that had no idea his son was a monster.

  Evan lived two different lives. One public life that brought pride to his father and a private life that brought fear to Ingrid. A lifestyle Evan introduced her to when she moved in with him and one she couldn't escape for fear of what he'd do to her, his dad, and especially her parents if she left.

  Evan picked up the piece of paper, read the message, and crumbled the note in his hand. Ingrid inhaled in relief. Paper couldn't hurt her.

  He stepped toward her, picked up a chair from the table, and hurled it at her. She blinked, and the impact of the chair slamming against her chest knocked her backward on her ass. The momentum jarred her, and the back of her head hit the hutch. Stifling the groan of pain, she lay limp.

  Her tongue stuck to the top of her mou
th. She stared up at Evan with dry eyes. The reaction opposite of what it should be. Any normal person with common sense would fight back, scream, run, call 911, tell the world what Evan enjoyed doing to her behind four walls. She knew that. She remembered what normal felt like. He was changing her. She wasn't the person she was two years ago.

  Evan squatted, hovering above her. He looked at her shirt where the seat of the wooden chair had hit her. "Stand up. Wipe that stupid look off your face. My dad is going to be here any minute. I want everything cleaned up. You'll act happy and help me celebrate my birthday."

  She pushed up on her elbows, and her breath left her lungs. The pain in her ribs, stealing all her strength, caused her to rebel.

  "Please, don't hurt me anymore," she said.

  Evan raised his brows, waiting, hoping, expecting her to lose her temper. It'd be the perfect gift for his special day, unlike the dinner she'd prepared and the briefcase she'd bought him.

  Arousal shone in his gaze. He got off on pain and seeing her cower. Loved when she was powerless and weak.

  She gritted her teeth and forced herself to her knees, woozy from the rush of blood leaving her head. Please, not now. Don't let him want me.

  With every ounce of strength she possessed, she pushed to her feet and stepped away from him, scared to take a breath. The stabbing pain that came with broken ribs a familiar reminder to take shallow breaths to continue walking, sitting, laying.

  She grabbed one paper towel, wet the cloth, and moved over to pick up the pieces of broken glass littering the floor. All the while, hoping she'd be able to get back to her feet and away from Evan's sharp watch. He waited for her to screw up.

  He could wait until hell freezes over.

  "Don't even think of telling anyone." Evan leaned against the table. "I'll kill you if you try to leave. Remember that. Then, I'll kill your parents and put them out of their misery."

  She carried the glass to the garbage. Ten minutes later, she had the house back in pristine condition. She washed her face and gathered herself in the privacy of the bathroom. Then she returned to the dining room to find her boyfriend's father standing at the table with Evan.

  She panted silently through her nose, having become an expert at covering up her pain. Focused on Stewart Kingsley standing in his blue St. John's Police uniform, she was at his side before she noticed the pistol in Evan's hand. She gasped, unable to mask her shock.

  "Hey, sweetheart. It smells great in here." Stewart leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You're just in time to see what I bought Evan for his birthday."

  "It's Tuesday. Roast." She held on to the back of the chair Evan had used to hurt her. "For E-Evan's birthday. It'll be ready at six o'clock."

  "Boy, that sounds good." Stewart undid the buttons on the sleeves of his uniform and looked at Evan. "We've got time to hit the shooting range before dinner. You can check the pistol out and get comfortable with it."

  She dipped her chin, catching Evan pointing the pistol at her. It appeared as if he was checking the gun, but she knew better. He'd never had a pistol before. The one his dad wore for work got locked in a safe when Stewart wasn't on duty.

  A heaviness settled on her shoulders. She blinked the stars from her eyes, needing to breathe and scared she'd cry out from the pain if she did.

  Evan never used his fists when he hurt her. He always used objects. A dish. A boot. A chair. Even one time bumping her hip hard enough with the car to knock her down. Now that he had a pistol, he could shoot her.

  She glanced at Evan. He cocked his brow and mouthed, "Bang."

  Stewart stripped down to his white undershirt and clapped his hands together. She jolted at the noise and her sight narrowed until everything in her peripheral vision turned black.

  "Let's go, son." Stewart slapped his hand on Evan's shoulder. "Put your new pistol in the case, and let's go shoot some targets. You're going to love it."

  Targets.

  She was a target.

  The door closed, leaving her alone in the house. She remained standing, not trusting her legs to hold her up and fearing a fall would shove a broken rib into her lung. Evan owning a pistol and having easy access to one changed the situation.

  She had to leave.

  A chill went through her and left her skin clammy. She couldn't run to her parents. They had no way to protect her or themselves. They'd provide shelter for her—she had no doubt. But, Evan would hurt them. He'd promised too many times that he would punish her by harming them. He had no limit to his sick abuse, even threatening to hurt his own father to make her pay for disobeying him.

  There was no way to outsmart Evan. He knew everyone in her life. He'd grown up a son of a cop. He'd listened to every police story, every crime, every imaginable way to get away with murder. Evan always had a backup plan, an excuse, a reason.

  She wrapped her arm around her middle, holding her ribs in place, and moved away from the table. Taking small steps, she went to the bedroom she shared with Evan. To protect those she loved, she had to go away.

  Evan had to know she'd left everyone behind and they knew nothing about her whereabouts. It was the only way to make sure Evan wouldn't harm anyone to get to her.

  In her current condition, she wouldn't be able to carry much. A change of clothes, soap, shampoo, toothbrush, and her old sleeping bag.

  The last thing she shoved into her backpack was the afghan her grandma had made her before she'd died that her cat had a habit of sleeping on when she still lived with her parents. She'd leave her purse, her driver's license, and everything else that would identify her. If found, she couldn't take the chance of someone contacting Evan.

  Until that moment when she walked out the door, she had no idea how prepared she was to leave or how she'd dreamed about slipping away.

  Chapter 1

  A customer stumbled out of the bar, quickly followed by a man with shaggy, dark blond hair wearing a leather vest. Heidi inched back on the sidewalk in shock after nearly getting knocked over. All she wanted to do was go back to the apartment she shared with a group of females who only wanted to get off the street.

  "You don't touch women," said the biker, pushing the staggering man away from him. "Get your ass home and don't come back to Vavoom's."

  He was in control as if his job was to bounce people out of the bar.

  But, her timing couldn't have been worse.

  She was stuck in front of the bar, unable to get to the apartment building three blocks away without passing the two brawling men. She glanced behind her and hugged her backpack filled with all her clean clothes to her chest. A group of young men gathered outside the laundromat watching the fight. She'd recognized the interested looks, the whispers, the gang signs earlier when she'd gathered her clothes out of the dryer and left.

  "You're drunk. Go home. Keep your hands to yourself." said the biker.

  She curled her fingers, pressing her short, unpolished nails into the canvas backpack. Once she started her new job, her first job, tomorrow at Pauly's Peddlers, which happened to be directly across the street from Vavoom's Bar, she hoped to save enough money to get her own apartment in a better area of St. John's. Hopefully, the apartment would come with a washer and dryer making one of her most time-consuming chores easier.

  The drunk blubbered incoherently and turned to walk back toward the door of the bar. The biker tackled the unruly customer to the ground, quickly scrambling to his knees. A dark pouch fell on the sidewalk at the same time a pop of a fist making contact with the other man's cheek filled the evening air. She flinched and stepped forward to find out what the biker had dropped.

  A man's black wallet lay on the sidewalk. She bent over and picked it up.

  Three more men wearing leather biker vests pushed out the door. She lost sight of the man who'd lost his wallet as arms flew and bodies shifted. Not wanting to run across the street and be caught witnessing the brawl, she held her breath and waited.

  "Yo, Glen." A man with a shaved head backed away from th
e crowd, dragging the biker who'd come out first away from the fight. "Cool it. They're leaving. It's over."

  His name was Glen. He'd barely broke a sweat and remained in control the whole time, never fighting in anger or going too far.

  Hidden in the shadow of the building, she watched him sweep his hair off his forehead. He had a trimmed goatee that matched the hair on his head. Big, strong, coordinated, he walked with a confidence she admired. As if daring others to try and hurt him, knowing fully well he could take care of himself.

  Glen raised his hands and walked backward away from the drunk trying to cross the street. She slid against the wall when Glen's broad back came within touching distance to her. She bit down on her lip, hoping he wouldn't notice her.

  Another customer rushed out to the sidewalk. "You can't beat up my cousin. Someone needs to call the cops. You fucking bikers think you own the bar."

  "Yeah, make the call." Glen pointed his finger at the man. "Then, we can explain how your cousin thinks it's okay to put his hands on the waitresses here."

  "They were flirting with us," said the angry man.

  "I don't give a fuck. The waitress told your cousin to stop. He didn't." Glen straightened his shirt. "Take off or get hauled away by the police. Your choice."

  Her heart raced. She had to get out of here before the police came.

  She dragged her gaze away from the scene in front of her, checked for traffic, and jetted across the busy two-lane street. From the way Glen handled himself, he'd be all right. He wasn't her concern anyway. She didn't even know him. There were bigger things for her to worry about. The people on the street were the least of her concerns. It'd taken her weeks to realize that the old saying it was better to keep your friends close and your enemies closer was true. She stayed in St. John's where she knew the area and periodically knew where her ex-boyfriend was located. It was easier to disguise herself and hide when she understood her surroundings. That didn't mean she wanted the police to find her or her presence known.

  As long as she stayed away from the police, she felt rather safe. Nobody from her past life would recognize her in the sloppy, unisex clothes, the shaved head and the weight she'd lost. She never wore makeup or hung around the stores or houses in her old neighborhood. She'd become invisible.