Chapter 10
Sometimes, I wondered if my mother’s ditziness was an act for people to underestimate her. Ever since Slice returned from lunch, Mom eyed me suspiciously and cast dirty looks at him, as if she had somehow picked up on what happened between us. Maybe it was tiredness, but she seemed tense and snappy. With fans, she was her usual bubbly self. But the moment her adoring admirers departed, she gave us the cold shoulder. I would ask her about it, but I didn’t want to raise her hackles even more. So, if she didn’t bring it up, neither would I.
Quarter to four, my hunger reared itself. I hadn’t eaten a single thing all day. My cheeks heated at how loudly my stomach growled. Mom went to the breakroom once, and Slice had gone twice, plus he’d taken a bathroom break. For some reason, his frequent departures annoyed me, as did the hungry eyes that followed him. I wasn’t blind or dumb; I knew other women wanted him. But that didn’t stop my irritation, especially whenever he rewarded his admirers with his handsome grin or a cheeky wink.
Fucking asshole.
My one bright spot today had been the almost meeting of Sloane Mason. Even that disintegrated in a cloud of fuckery.
My stomach growled again. Both Mom and Slice looked at me, worsening my embarrassment.
“That’s my sign to eat.” I set my camera aside. “I’ll be quick.”
“Okay.” Mom glanced away.
Slice merely nodded. The chilly responses from them worsened my mood. Tiredness turned me bitchy enough. Combined with my hunger and the unspoken tension, I wanted to scream. Before I said something I regretted. I stormed off.
Halfway to the breakroom, I detoured. There were loads of books I wanted to purchase, but Mom balked every time I tried to excuse myself. I was there as an assistant not a reader.
Now, the crowd swallowed me. I couldn’t see Mom or Slice, so they couldn’t see me.
What was a little hunger if it meant buying a few books and having them autographed? Perhaps, I couldn’t visit twenty authors, but Andi Rhodes and Jessa Aarons? Definitely.
Praying their tables were on this side of the ballroom, I marched along, waving at some authors I knew from previous signings and hoping neither of them had long lines. The signing ended at five, so I didn’t have much time left to make my own haul.
Andi’s banner met my happy gaze, and I grinned, hurrying to her table and grateful a fan brushed by.
“Hi, Effie,” she greeted.
My head snapped up. “You know my name?” I squeaked.
She grinned and nodded. “You’re Daria’s girl. Besides, it’s on your name tag.”
Heat rose in my cheeks, and I glanced down, swallowing. “Right,” I mumbled.
“No biggie,” she assured me with a bright smile, easing my nerves at once.
Until my stomach growled, and I cringed. “I’m starving, but I have devoured every Soulless Kings book you’ve released. Marble Falls. Washington—”
“Well—”
“Confidentially,” I babbled, never handling anxiety well, “from a huge fan to a favorite author, you should really write a series about Black Savages MC, although old dude in Fender was such a creeper. By the way, loved the name Fender and Charlie was so badass.” I snapped my fingers and glanced at her table. Nearly all her books were sold. I spotted a display copy of Fender . The only copy I saw. “I will sell my sister for that copy of Fender . Never mind. She’ll probably want Chad to be a part of the deal and his ass would definitely devalue her worth.”
“Are you through, hun?” she asked around laughter.
“Totes,” I pushed out.
“Another series that I’m a part of is set in Washington, Effie, not Soulless Kings,” she explained. “Those books are set in Oregon and Texas—Marble Falls. I love your enthusiasm and I’m happy to tell you I wrote Donovan’s book. Forever Savage .”
“I missed a Black Savages release? How?” I cried, totally bummed. I prided myself on staying up to date with the releases of my favorite authors. My stomach growled again. That bastard would not behave. I gritted my teeth.
“Why don’t you grab a bite to eat, Effie? I’ll—”
“Nope,” I interrupted. “I’m not leaving without Fender. The book, I mean. Look at him.” I nodded to the model on the cover. “Complete man candy.”
“I agree.” Andi reached over and grabbed the book. “No need to sell your sister.” She beamed at me and grabbed a Sharpie. “Tell me how to spell your name?”
Once I completed the transaction and she signed the book, Andi bagged my book and added cool swag. She was quite helpful and directed me to Jessa’s table since I absolutely refused to find food until I sought her out.
I didn’t read mafia books as much. Bikers and rockstars were my thing and damn did she have bikers. By the time I reached Jessa’s table, my energy had dipped to zero. Probably because I still hadn’t eaten. Before I walked up to her, I paused and drew in a few deep breaths to calm myself. I would not ramble the way I had with Andi. And I’d remember I wore a fucking name badge.
Smiling, I sailed to the table, happy to see two copies of A Biker’s Tiny Present but not many other books left. “Hi Jessa,” I said brightly. “When I saw Tiny’s name, I thought it was because he had a tiny peen. I’m so glad I was wrong. He was hung, wasn’t he? I was like ‘go, girl. Yay, you. And the way they loved Nicky…”
She blinked and I squinted. I could not believe what the fuck came out of my mouth.
“Er—”
She, like Andi, burst into laughter. I couldn’t help myself—I laughed, too.
“I’m sorry. All of that came out wrong.”
“It’s okay,” she assured me. “I’m so glad you enjoyed Tiny’s story.”
“I did. It was short but it packed such a punch.” My motherfucking stomach growled again. “My mother writes encyclopedias. Like, really. Eight, nine hundred pages.” I shook my head. “I love her imagination, but I think you should save the two-ton tomes for the penultimate book in the series.”
“I get what you mean,” Jessa responded. “But I like a combination. Short and sexy and long and spicy.”
Slice’s length came to mind and I wanted to die of mortification. First, that asshole didn’t deserve one moment’s consideration. Neither him nor his dick. Secondly, I was over him. He didn’t want me, so I didn’t want him.
My stomach growled for the millionth time and I gave up trying to ignore it.
“Let’s get your book signed, so you can find something to eat.”
I smiled at her. “Thank you, Jessa,” I said, drawing in a deep breath to tamp down the raw pain of Slice’s rejection. Sating my need for food would help my perspective. “You and Andi have been the best. I appreciate it so much.”
“Any time, love,” she told me.
I’m sure my mother was ready to send out the National Guard for my ass. Once I finished my transaction and collected my book and more swag, I went to Mom’s table and set my purchases on my chair.
“Where were you?” Mom screeched.
“Buying books,” I answered. “Now, I’m really going for food.”
Not allowing her or Slice a chance to respond, I rushed off.
I found only Leah Kaylen in the breakroom. Leah was an author stationed near my mother’s table. Turned out, she was a fan of Mom’s work, and was inspired to write her own MC series after reading the books. She’d been nice when she’d introduced herself to Mom, so when she smiled at me as I entered, I offered one of my own, happy to see a friendly face. I wouldn’t be a bitch to some random woman for something that didn’t involve her.
“You’re Daria’s daughter, right?” Leah asked as I filled my plate with little sandwiches.
“Yep. Her youngest one,” I answered, then took a much-needed bite of food.
I nearly groaned in delight at the taste of cold cuts, cheese, and Italian bread. I could do without the lettuce and tomatoes, but right now, I appreciated every bit of sustenance.
“Ah, thought so. She introduced you as her assistant, but I was like, you two are damn near identical,” she said with a laugh, popping a chip into her mouth.
Again, I copied her, forcing a laugh even though I found nothing amusing. “Yeah, I get that a lot. My siblings took after our father, but her genes were stronger for me.”
She nodded. Perhaps I’d stop by her table before returning to Mom’s. Maybe, I’d take a tour of the entire convention center, instead of dealing with Slice’s brooding stares and my mother’s accusatory glances.
“Girl, that’s a good thing. Your mama looks good, so you know you’re gonna age well too.”
A genuine smile spread across my lips. Compliments always lifted my mood. “I hope so, because my daddy’s side of the family leaves a lot to be desired.”
Leah laughed again, harder than last time. Real giggles escaped me at the boisterous sound. I could bring her to Mom’s table so she’d spread some good vibes and allow the final hours of the convention to be enjoyable.
Once our chuckles faded away, we fell into silence, focusing on our food. Fine by me. Even though the friendly conversation helped, idle chitchat wasn’t high on my list of priorities.
“Oh, girl, I saw you and that model earlier.” Leah wiggled her dark eyebrows and broached a subject I’d rather ignore, especially as I chowed down on my third delicious sandwich. “Y’alls discussion was mighty heated. What’s the tea?”
And just like that, my annoyance returned.
“Just a disagreement.” I finished my sandwich and debated what to do with the remaining two.
The mere mention of Slice destroyed my appetite. I couldn’t get one raggedy man and Ophelia what’s her face had two. I’d heard about throuples, but I never actually met such a trio. They seemed genuinely happy, even if Cash was an asshole. I wondered what he did for a living. Certainly, if he was Georgie Mason’s brother, a Google search would provide answers.
By deduction, I reasoned his name was Cash McCall, since Mason was Georgie’s married name, and he’d mentioned both.
“A disagreement?”
“Yep.”
“Not. Spill, girl.”
“Nothing to spill.”
Leah snorted. “Sounded like you and that biker had a lover’s quarrel.”
“Nope. Just had a disagreement.” That was my story and I’d stick to it.
“Really?” Mom swept into the breakroom. “You and Slice had a disagreement?” She looked between me and Leah, who must’ve sensed the energy shift because she hurried the hell out. “What about?”
I blinked, wondering how long Mom had been lurking in the shadows like fucking Batman, eavesdropping on my conversation. Nothing of essence was said, but it was the principle.
“He didn’t like a picture I took of him.”
The lie came easily. As the youngest daughter, I was babied to the point of suffocation. The skill of lying was a crucial one if I wanted even a little freedom.
Her eyes narrowed. “Slice doesn’t seem like the vain type.”
“He’s literally a model. They’re all vain.”
“You know better than to stereotype an entire group, Effie Monroe.”
“How long had you been listening?” I demanded, wondering if she’d followed me to the breakroom, and for some God-forsaken reason, decided not to alert me to her presence.
“Drop the tone, Effie,” she snapped, stepping closer to me. It took a lot to get her angry, but when she was, everyone in her vicinity suffered. “Whatever you’re hiding is safe, but I want to know what it is.”
Oh, so that’s why she followed me. She was taking a page from Slice’s book and cornering me for verbal harassment.
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“I beg to differ.”
“That isn’t my problem.”
If looks could kill, I’d be a smoldering pile of ash.
“You know what I think?” she started, continuing before I answered her rhetorical question. “I think you’re sweet on Slice, and you’re bitter that I know Cassie is better for him. I didn’t see it before—I don’t know how—but I do now.”
Well, fuck. Color me surprised; she was spot on. Thankfully, she was missing core parts of the story. If she was so worked up over me having a simple crush on Slice, she’d implode if she knew all we’d done.
“So, you’re mad because I might have a crush?” I asked, proud of how uninterested I sounded. I couldn’t let her know how accurate she was.
“No, I’m mad because I think you hit on him. You have your ass on your shoulders because he rejected you, so you didn’t get the expected results from your little stunt. Shame on you for trying to ruin your sister’s happiness.”
“Shame on you for trying to control everyone’s life,” I bit out, the words escaping before I stopped myself. “I’m a grown woman, just like Slice is a grown man with free will, so what happens between me and him isn’t your business.”
Surprise flashed across her face, before her anger returned. “I see. Something did happen. I can’t believe you’d betray your sister. I thought you were better than that.”
“She literally has a boyfriend! And if she hasn’t left Chad for all the shit he’s done, what makes you think she’d be swayed away by a pretty face?” I retorted, struggling to keep my voice down.
Typically, I tried to placate Mom when she was upset at me. I didn’t like it when we argued, and I especially hated how both she and Dad treated me like the Wicked Witch of the Southwest after our fights. But today, of all the days, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“Maybe if you hadn’t assigned archetypes, you wouldn’t be blind to the fact that Cassie won’t fucking leave Chad,” I continued, words I longed to say for so long spilling forth. “Maybe if you didn’t want to control every fucking thing, we wouldn’t be having this goddamn conversation!”
I was opening a can of worms that would be impossible to close. My raised voice dawned on me. And yet, her slap still shocked me. It seemed to shock her, too. For a second, neither of us said anything, and neither of us moved. A barrage of curse words was on the tip of my tongue, but instead of saying any of them, I tossed my paper plate onto the floor and shoved past her.
“Get back here!” she shouted, but I ignored her.
I breezed past the few onlookers who had gathered and didn’t spare Slice a second glance when I stomped past Mom’s stupid fucking table.
“Effie?” Slice called. He followed me, but I didn’t answer, so he grabbed my wrist. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
The urge to cry suddenly came over me. I looked away, wanting my eyes to stay dry. I was always an emotional crier: my tears came whenever an emotion became too intense. Sometimes, it was good, like during happy occasions and joy overtook me. Today, the reason was positively horrendous. At that moment, I just needed to be alone and decompress. When the signing ended, I’d clear the air with my mother, but for the time being, staying around people was too daunting.
“I-I just need a breather,” I mumbled, tugging my wrist away and running off before he spoke again.
I quickly exited the convention center, squinting as sunlight hit my eyes. The Texas sun was still high in the sky. A breeze blew around me, drying my cheeks as fast as my tears fell. Sniffling, I started off, mindlessly following the sidewalk. I had no destination in mind, intending to roam until I calmed a bit.
Unfortunately, a big hairy hand clamping around my mouth ruined that plan.
A scream left me, and I began to struggle, biting down on whoever was dragging me away. I realized I’d wandered into a more run-down, quiet part of the city, a prime location for nefarious deeds.
“Bitch!” my kidnapper barked, handling me even rougher.
I dug my heels in, prepared to fight to the death if I had to. I didn’t know what the man’s intentions were, but I did know that if he succeeded in getting me to a second location, my chances of survival dropped drastically.
“Drug the slut already,” another man ordered.
I scanned the area to gauge the number of opponents. Unfortunately, the two men who accosted me blocked my view.
“ You have the damn syringe!” bad guy number one replied.
I stomped his foot and he growled, his hold on me loosening.
Another bite of his hand earned my freedom. Adrenaline surged through me, and I broke into a run, never more thankful for my regular jogs than I was at that moment.
“Help me! Help!” I screamed, hoping to capture someone’s attention. Recalling what I’d been taught as a child, I started yelling, “Fire, fire, fucking fire!”
My desperate shouts infuriated those who targeted me. “Fucking stop her!”
For a brief, precious moment, I thought I’d get away, that someone would hear me and come to my aid. A body slamming into mine thwarted that hope, knocking me onto the concrete and stealing the wind from my lungs. Pain exploded through my body. Before I screamed again, he shoved a gag into my mouth and kept it in place with a beefy hand. Something was tied around my wrist and a terrified sob bubbled up. The man settled on top of me and I writhed on the ground, trying to buck him off.
Awful outcomes ran through my head. My body found on the side of the highway, and my parents notified of my brutal death. Being beaten and raped, left for dead, and vulnerable to other psychopaths. Kidnapped, sold to the highest bidder, made into some sicko’s sex slave. I’d be lucky if this was a mere robbery by some crooks with anger issues, but I doubted it was so simple.
“For fuck’s sake, stay still,” one of them growled, grabbing a fistful of my hair and shoving my face into the concrete.
Stars danced in my vision, and a sickening thud echoed through the alleyway. When the fuck did we get in an alleyway? Shit, but my head was pounding. I hoped my nose wasn’t broken. Blood dripped from it, staining the ground beneath me red. By the time he jabbed the needle into my neck, I was too out of it to care.
As darkness claimed me, I was relieved the pain radiating through me faded.
“What the fuck happened?” I demanded upon Daria’s return.
One moment, Effie left to eat, and Daria claimed to be thirsty, and the next, sweet Effie hurried past me with tears in her gorgeous eyes. It didn’t take a genius to guess that her mother was the reason she was so upset.
“I should be asking you that,” she snarled, her furious glare taking me aback. “Did you have sex with my daughter?”
Shit.
Fuck.
Goddamn.
Did Effie tell? Impossible!
Why the hell would she tell her mother, after promising she wouldn’t? No, she wouldn’t do that. Daria made a lucky guess, and I wouldn’t incriminate myself by telling the truth. Whether Effie had spilled the beans or not, confessing would lead to other fucking problems.
“Excuse me? Sex with Effie ?” I pretended outrage at the very suggestion, though I ached to hold her in my arms again. See her gaze soften and look at me as if I owned the fucking world. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Don’t play dumb—”
“Is that why you sent your daughter running off in tears during a professional event? Because you think I fucked her?” I asked, solidifying my dislike for Daria.
I suspected the bullshit she handed me about Effie being too good for me hid the real reason she’d warned me away. Maybe, she sincerely wanted me to contact her other daughter, but Daria Monroe hid a wealth of jealousy for her daughter that she masked as concern.
Not only was she a dumb bitch, but a malicious one, too. Even without all the other bullshit, after this bullshit, I’d be hard-pressed to work another gig for her. She had the decency to look guilty, but she still wouldn’t back the fuck down. I suppose that was where Effie got it from.
“She knows I want you with Cassie and that seducing you was wrong—”
“Stop right there.” I couldn’t believe the words coming from her mouth. This was not the Daria I’d met before, and certainly not the woman Effie praised. “She didn’t seduce me, and no matter what happened, that didn’t give you the right to cause a scene because of what your grown fucking daughter did!”
I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the rage and disgust flowing through me at the thought of anyone hurting Effie, of fucking blaming her for an act that took two willing participants.
“Fuck this,” I muttered, turning on my heel, intending to search for Effie and comfort her.
“You could be sued for breach of contract if you step out that damn door, Slice!” Daria’s threat stopped me dead in my tracks.
We were causing a fucking scene, risking being kicked out if shit got any more out of hand. And yet, that didn’t phase me one bit.
Daria stepped closer, more composed. “I don’t think you want the law involved,” she continued, quieter. Her voice trembled. “So please, let’s just finish the convention, and then you’re free to go where you please.”
Damn it all to hell, but she was right. The last thing I needed was a civil suit over some dumb shit. A lawsuit could lead to more discoveries, not only fucking over myself but my brothers and family.
“I’ll pay you an extra five hundred,” she offered as if cash was the issue here.
Yet, money never hurt. I could use it for gas, some good weed, or to buy Effie a nice gift and properly apologize. The thought swayed me, and begrudgingly, I resumed my spot by the table.
The rest of the convention went by in a blur, and the glances cast by the other attendees grated on my nerves. I checked for messages from Effie to an obsessive degree, disappointment and worry coursing through me each time I came up empty.
What did I expect? She hadn’t texted me in two fucking days.
Once we were free to leave, I was out of there. As I hightailed it to my bike, I dialed Effie’s number. Still no answer. A frustrated growl left me. I couldn’t get to the hotel fast enough, and I prayed that she was curled up in her room, safe and sound. A bad feeling had settled in my gut, and I’d learned to trust that motherfucker. Instincts wouldn’t lead you astray; they were designed to protect.
“Effie,” I called, pounding on her hotel door. “Sweetheart, are you in there?”
I knocked for ten minutes straight to no avail. That bothersome fucking feeling of something being wrong hadn’t left and propelled me to kick the goddamn door.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t cause damage to hotel property, seeing as I’m footing the bill,” Daria said, the last person I wanted to fucking see.
“Effie isn’t in there.” The realization tore me up.
Because fuck, if she wasn’t there, where the hell was she? She could be anywhere. I was at a loss as to where to start looking because she wouldn't answer her phone. Maybe I was paranoid, too used to the worst outcome, but something wasn’t right. I’d rather throw a fit over nothing, than ignore my instincts.
Daria rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she is. She’s just pouting like a child.”
Dislike Daria, huh? Nope! It was official; I couldn’t stand this fucking bitch.
As she fished out her keycard, I stormed to the elevators. The chiming of my phone halted me. Unreasonable hope flooded my body. It could be anybody, but I hoped like hell it was Effie.
And in a sense, it was.
Only, the sender wasn’t her, but a private number. No, she was the subject of the message, tied up and bloodied.
Unknown: Got your girl, Pretty Boy.
Unknown: Shouldn’t have fucked with us.
My heart stopped, then sped up. Fear crashed over me, quickly followed by overwhelming fury. Even if the accompanying message didn’t give away who’d snatched her, the specifics were easy to piece together.
“Effie isn’t in there,” Daria called, her voice trembling. I turned; she was feet away, her eyes wide and watery. “I-I tried calling her phone, but she didn’t answer. I texted her, and I apologized, but she isn’t answering me. She always answers. Why isn’t she answering? Jesus, why did I hit her?”
The panic in her voice was palpable, and she was rambling. I knew, because I bet everything I owned she didn’t mean for me to hear that last part.
“You what?” I roared, wanting to rage, to hit something, to kill Dutch and whoever else dared to hurt Effie.
Daria burst into tears, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. “I don’t know! She cussed at me, and I was so disappointed, and—”
“And now she’s gone, and the last goddamn thing she might remember about you is her mother fucking hitting her for living her life.” I grabbed Daria’s chin and forced her to look at the picture I received. “That’s where your daughter’s at! And fuck, I don’t know where that is.”
My voice cracked, but Daria’s scream snapped me out of it. My course of action was a poor one. She fell forward; I caught her, holding her as she sobbed and pleaded for her daughter’s return. But while she begged to a higher power to protect her daughter, I was thinking of all the ways I’d hurt Dutch when I found his miserable fucking ass. I wanted Effie returned safely more than anything, but no matter her condition, Dutch and his goons would die. Neither the national president or the Austin president might back me up, but I hoped Dad would.
And if Dutch and the Satan’s Sinners cut Effie’s life short, their deaths would be a far gorier affair.