Hard Proof (Notus Motorcycle Club Book 1) 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

  Epilogue

  Hard Proof

  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 Proof

  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

  Epilogue

  Author Bio

  Debra Kayn's Backlist

  Dedication

  J & J (my twins) — Your secret language, phantom broken bones, dyslexia, and connection is amazing and weird. I love you both.

  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

  "Hey, hey, hey," sang Gracie.

  Clara walked around her sister and set the end table down in the living room of the new townhouse they bought together. They'd brought all their belongings with them from Bozeman, except the furniture they purchased in St. John's, Oregon, and had delivered that morning.

  Gracie kept singing. "Blow my mind."

  "Stop already." Clara thrust her fingers into her hair and groaned. "Ever since the road trip here, you've been singing Train songs."

  Her sister hitched her shoulder. "They're catchy."

  "The dog next door thinks so, too. I heard it howling with you earlier." Clara pointed at the brown leather couch in the middle of the room. "I think the couch needs to sit on that side of the room. Not against the wall, because I want to be able to walk behind it, but it should face the front window. That way we can put the television in the corner where the cable hookup is when we buy one."

  Gracie pushed against the couch, barely budging it. "Help me move it."

  Together, they heaved the couch into position. When they found the perfect spot, Clara flopped down and patted the cushion beside her. "Sit and rest."

  "Are your muscles sore?" Gracie sat down and stretched her legs out, rubbing her thighs.

  "Like a bitch." Clara lifted her arms. "Especially my shoulders. Bringing the mattresses up the stairs made me sore and then to help put all the booths in the bar afterward about killed me."

  "I can't believe we've done so much in the two days the bar was closed and we'll open tomorrow. The customers won't be inconvenienced at all." Gracie yawned.

  "They probably won't even notice the new décor as long as there is beer." Clara yawned, too, and slapped Gracie's leg. "Now you've got me yawning. At least everything is done at home."

  "Not everything." Gracie looked at her. "We still need to meet the bikers and get close to them."

  Clara sighed. She hadn't forgotten, though she would like to forget.

  Ever since their dad died unexpectedly from a brain aneurysm two years ago and they learned their mother hadn't died a natural death like they'd been told but had been kidnapped and murdered twenty-four years ago, both their lives had changed.

  In the middle of mourning their dad, they had to accept what happened to their mother. Being only five years old when she was killed, they barely remembered her. Over the years, they'd built the memory of their mom into something of a fairy tale. A sad fairy tale.

  Sometimes, Clara wondered what they'd be doing if they never would've opened the renewal notice for a safety deposit box from St. John's Community Bank their dad received in the mail a week after his death.

  Their curiosity over why their dad would keep a secret box in a town for more than twenty years after they'd moved to Bozeman sent them road tripping to Oregon. It'd taken a death certificate and proof from their lawyer that they were executors of their dad's estate to gain access to the contents.

  Clara wound her hair up on the top of her head and used
the rubber band around her wrist to keep her hair off her warm neck. "Let's say the bikers do continue coming into the bar after they realize we're the new owners and we get close to them, what then?"

  "The newspaper articles and even the police have said the Notus Motorcycle Club helps find missing persons," said Gracie.

  "Mom's not missing."

  "But, she was." Gracie leaned forward and cradled her head. "The police said she's a cold case. We have to go outside the police and find an independent group to find mom's killer and make the man pay. The bikers have been searching for missing people for a long time. Not long enough to have worked on mom's case, but they know what kidnappers do and what their motives are by the type of crime they commit. Our best bet at finding the man responsible for mom's death is hiring Notus Motorcycle Club."

  "Okay, let's say the biker club finds out who killed mom and they give us a name." Clara swallowed, hating the thought of what their mom went through. "We've already talked about how the police department won't help unless they have evidence linking the person to the crime. Any verbal acknowledgement or whatever the bikers can get out of the man is just hearsay and wouldn't be able to be used as proof to a crime that happened twenty-four years ago. How are we supposed to live knowing who the killer is and he's out there living life? That doesn't help us at all. It certainly doesn't bring any peace knowing mom's killer never paid for the crime."

  "What do you think the bikers do if they catch someone who harmed a woman? Notus members might help the police out and return the abducted woman to the family, but they're bikers. People disappear in the biking community all the time, and no one ever finds out." Gracie raised her brows. "We have ten thousand dollars left after buying the bar. They can have it all if they get rid of him."

  "Sh. Don't say that." Clara flinched, feeling nauseous. "We'd be as guilty as the murderer. We both agreed that we'd decide what we'd do with the information we received if Notus Motorcycle Club managed to find mom's killer."

  "We will, but he took our mom from us. A person who kidnaps, rapes, and murders someone should be dead." Gracie reached out and held Clara's hand. "Mom didn't deserve losing us, losing Dad, losing her life. We didn't deserve losing our mom. Doesn't it eat away at you knowing nobody paid for taking her away from us?"

  She nodded, hanging onto her sister for strength. For the last two years after learning the truth surrounding their mother's death, she'd thought of nothing else than getting justice for a crime that should never have happened.

  "We're not part of the biker's..." Clara let go of Gracie and made air quotes with her fingers. "...community. They could turn us into the police, or the police could link us to the murder. Murder by association or intent. I don't know. We could go to prison for what you're suggesting. We can't just go up to the bikers and ask them to find someone and give them money to make that person go away. That's a business transaction, and we'll be the guilty ones for anything they do. It's a crazy idea."

  "We'll go slow." Gracie stood and pulled Clara to her feet. "First we'll get on friendly terms with the bikers. You never know, they might have another purpose than finding missing persons. The good Samaritan act could be a cover to go after the sick perverts who kidnap people, and we won't have to say anything more to them."

  Clara gawked at her sister. Gracie spoke the words, she thought and was too afraid to say. Normal people wouldn't go around wishing someone dead. "The bikers are going to think we're both crazy."

  "Bikers are threatening and dangerous. They have no morals." Gracie lifted her brows. "We only need to have them agree to find mom's killer. What they do or don't do if they succeed...well, we'll decide what to do when the time comes."

  "You honestly think the bikers perform some kind of vigilant service to the community?" Clara scoffed. "You always tell me I'm the one who doesn't face reality. I think you need to go to bed, get some sleep, and wake up in the morning ready to start our new life as bar owners in a new town."

  Gracie let go of Clara's hand. "Good idea. Maybe the bikers will show up for a beer."

  "Give it a rest for one night." Clara walked into the kitchen. There was no harm in talking. They had a right to hate the person who killed their mom. Besides, the chances were slim that the killer was even out there. He could be dead or in prison for a different crime. It had been twenty-four years ago when the crime happened. In all likelihood, the man who killed their mom would be in his fifties or sixties.

  Her and Gracie were too young and oblivious about the crime at the time. She felt, along with her sister, that now that they were older and aware of what happened they needed to do something to honor their mother. They couldn't sit back and accept their mom's death went unpunished.

  "I'm going to take a shower before I go to sleep," said Gracie. "Night. Love you."

  "Love you, too, sis." Clara yawned. "I’m going to double check the doors to make sure we locked them."

  Walking to the front door, she looked back at the living room. They'd worked hard, and the townhouse was beginning to look like home, though it still felt like they were living in someone else's house. She yawned, covering her mouth. The unsettled feelings made her nervous. Maybe the unfamiliar surroundings had to do with being afraid to live in the town where her mother had disappeared and was later murdered.

  Unknown to them, her dad had moved her and Gracie away immediately after their mom's body was discovered. Growing up in a different town, a different state, she was taught how to be street smart and to always stay with her sister. She walked to the back of the house and checked the door to the garage. As long as she had Gracie, they'd be okay.

  Chapter 1

  The St. John's bridge overhead blocked the sun from heating Wayne Shaw's back. The short ride from Port Loaders, where he worked on the dock parking new cars onto the ships destined for the east coast and other countries, dried the days' worth of sweat from his T-shirt. He toed the kickstand and let his legs relax. Any minute, Glen, Chuck, and Thad would ride under the bridge and they'd all head toward Vavoom's, a local bar, for a couple of beers to relax after work.

  Wayne had caught sight of his three friends slacking behind at work as he'd punched out. Too hot, too tired, too pissed off at his foreman to wait around, he'd jumped on his motorcycle and lit out. The other men knew where to find him.

  There were five of them who'd run the streets of St. John's together since they were six years old. He and Thad had lived across the street from one another. Glen and Chuck lived on the back street behind his house. Rich lived next door. By third grade, they had a worn path in the grass through one backyard, over the fence, and through the next yard.

  They'd grown up together, dated the same girls, got drunk for the first time on the beer they'd stolen from Thad's dad, smoked their first cigarette behind the garage, and swore they'd always be friends by spitting and shaking hands. Wayne pulled off the piece of leather tying his hair at the base of his neck and let the wind coming off the Willamette River cool him down. For two years when he was twenty years old, they'd all gone their separate ways and tested their friendship.

  That was the night Thad's sister, Thalia, went missing and was later found dead down on Marine Drive. The traumatic event was more than they could handle as a group. They all had to digest the change in their lives in their own way.

  Thad mourned his sister and started partying hard. Chuck went quiet, staying away from everyone. Glen got angry, blaming everyone for changing. He leaned forward and put his forearms on the handles of his motorcycle. Rich...well, Rich had left St. John's one night without a word and never returned. Never called. Never contacted any of them, not even his parents.

  The only thing Wayne could do was move on with his life, and he was the first one of them to get a job with Port Loaders. Eventually, Chuck, Thad, and Glen joined him, and for the last twenty-two years, they'd been trying to track down Rich. They had no idea if he was alive or dead.

  Wayne caught sight of a band of riders headed his way and straig
htened his bike, started the engine, and made a U-turn underneath the bridge. He accelerated as they passed him and followed behind Glen, Chuck, and Thad through town.

  Each of them had their own reasons for how they lived, and somehow, no one took responsibility for what had developed when they were only boys, they'd formed Notus Motorcycle Club.

  Five members.

  Five brothers.

  A pledge of loyalty.

  It was through an unconditional bond grown over time, they learned the true sense of brotherhood.

  By obvious conclusion, Wayne became President of Notus Motorcycle Club, as the one who'd walked across the street and asked Thad if he wanted to play all those years ago. Down the chain of friendship, Thad became the vice president, Glen swore in as treasurer, Chuck pledged in as secretary. Rich, an honorary member until he decided to return.

  Many men had asked to ride with Notus Motorcycle Club. None were accepted.

  Their loyalty never weakened by someone with fewer years invested.

  Wayne pulled into the parking lot of Vavoom's Bar. A single-story building with a faulty neon sign that blinked out more than it flashed. He cut the engine and put down the kickstand. The whole in the wall bar had been their go-to place to grab a bar whenever they wanted to tip a few drinks back.

  Thad walked toward him, removing his sunglasses, and slipped the earpiece under the front of his shirt and let them hang on his chest. "What was up McCormick's ass when you clocked out at work?"

  Wayne removed his Notus vest from his saddle bag and shrugged his arms in the holes. "The foreman was bitchin' about me refusing to fill out the cries."

  Every time he parked a car on the ship, McCormick wanted him to log on to the computer in the office, input the VIN numbers, and initial off. They expected him to complete thirty loads and undercoat the cars prior to parking each day.

  He'd been on the job for over twenty years without touching a damn computer or doing paperwork, he had no plans to change when his job description stayed the same. They paid him to stack cars, not to fucking do computer work.

  "Did you tell him you're dyslexic?" Thad slipped his arms into his vest and stepped toward the door.