Chapter 13
Someone was on top of me.
Full awareness took a moment to seep into my foggy brain. I’d lost track of time and place. After my video concluded, Dutch punched me for disobeying him and then jabbed me with another needle. Now, I’d slept off whatever the hell they gave me. Awakening to more danger sent adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I barely caught my breath because of the heaviness of the man over me. The stench of alcohol filled my nose and the swears reaching my ears let me know he was having some problems. Thankfully, my panties were still on, and between my legs didn’t feel abused.
He forced my legs apart; I screamed, not that it would do any good. Lashing out, I punched blindly. It was dark and I was on the cold concrete, but my punch landed and my knuckles stung.
Suddenly, I was free and I rolled to my side. Before I hopped to my feet, he seized me again.
“Lights! Lights!” he called. “Put the fucking lights on.”
“Don’t take too long, Buck,” Rusty responded, though I couldn’t see him. “I don’t want Dutch to hand me my fucking ass because of your horny ass.”
The overhead lights flicked on, and I heard footsteps departing.
“Behave,” Buck slurred. “Dutch isn’t here. I want some pussy from you before he gets back. For now, you’re his leverage.”
“No, no, no!” I squirmed and tried to upend him, but he didn’t budge.
He slapped my face, not as hard as Dutch. Because of the abuse I’d endured, the lick was still painful.
“Behave,” Buck ordered again. “I don’t want to kick your fucking skull in because you piss me off. Dutch won’t be too pleased.”
I made a conscious effort to keep my breathing slow and steady, even when he straddled me again. With the light on, I could now examine the bastard on top of me. He was old enough to be my father, with thinning hair and a messy beard sprinkled with gray. He went back to struggling with his belt, too immersed in his task to realize I was watching him, searching for an opportunity to escape, but careful not to give myself away. Older or not, he was still a man who was larger than me, one with foul intent. I wouldn’t blindly hit again. I’d bide my time and wait; the element of surprise would be my best friend.
“Stupid fucking thing,” he grumbled when he finally got the belt unbuckled.
My stomach dropped. He pawed at my tits, and it took everything in me not to flinch.
“Pretty little cunt, aren’t you?” he breathed, his rancid breath washing over my face.
The C-word was one of the most offensive in the English language. It was degrading and belittling. If I allowed it to torture me now, I’d never save myself.
He tossed the belt aside, parting my legs. When his hands touched my panties, I couldn’t remain passive. With speed I didn’t know I possessed, I grabbed the belt and swung, socking him in the eye with the buckle. Luck was on my side because the prong jammed into his eye socket.
“Fucking bitch!” he screamed, yanking the prong out and clutching his bleeding injury. “You’re fucking dead, you hear me?”
If he didn’t shut up, I definitely would be. The arrival of backup would cut my chances of survival. As it was, I knew Rusty was lurking. Thankfully, the building I was in was large and cluttered, so there was a chance only Rusty heard the commotion.
Buck reached for me. I kicked at his hand, scurrying back. My mind scrambled to formulate a plan. Attacking him wasn’t the smartest move, but I wouldn’t allow myself to be defiled. That would be a mental scar that’d never heal.
I wasn’t a survivalist. I was a sheltered middle-class girl raised in suburbia, who’d never known what it was to struggle, let alone fight for my life. And yet, as my instincts took over, I managed to inflict another injury on him. This time, I scratched his face. He recoiled, and I put more distance between us.
“I’m going to gut you, you little whore,” he hissed, his hand closing around my ankle just as I managed to stand.
He sent me crashing to the floor and I cried out. Jumping on top of me again, he pinned my wrists above my head.
“Get the fuck off me!” I screeched, panic like I’d never felt before consuming me.
A backhand rewarded my words. My head snapped to the side, dots appearing in my vision as the taste of blood filled my mouth.
“Shut the fuck up,” he ordered, his hand going to his fly. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”
No, no, fucking no.
My body pinned under his, my hands disabled, made my situation bleak. The sound of his fly unzipping taunted me. His hands returned to my panties. My mind shut off, my instincts again kicking in. This time, they drew inspiration from a popular zombie show. Before I processed my actions, my teeth sank into the guy’s jugular. I nearly gagged as blood filled my mouth. His scream echoed in my ears, but I didn’t stop. I bit down harder, sank deeper into the vein, and jerked my head back, tearing his throat open.
Time stopped as he went limp. Just like that, the attack ended. As my adrenaline faded, realization set in. I killed someone. A sob escaped; the entire situation overwhelmed me. I wanted to curl up and hide, but that wasn’t an option.
Oddly, I felt no guilt or moral dilemma over taking a man’s life. It was me or him, and I still wasn’t out of the woods. I’d freak out when I was safe and sound.
Thankfully, he’d fallen on the side of me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to move his deadweight. Not wanting to alert Rusty, I held in another sob and turned in a circle, searching for an exit.
Glass was strewn everywhere. True to his word, Dutch must’ve had Rusty break the bottles to hinder me from attempting escape. As if the clutter wasn’t hindrance enough. I’d take my chances and hope a door to freedom stood in the opposite direction from where I’d heard Rusty’s voice.
Standing outside the clubhouse as the first rays of sun broke through the darkness of dawn, I’d never felt more lost and alone. Even when I watched my mother breathe her last, leaving Dad, Drifter, and me heartbroken, I didn’t feel such gut-wrenching pain. It hadn’t come with guilt and hopelessness. Only plain damn grief and heartache.
Mom’s death hadn’t been easy. Asthma claimed her. But it hadn’t been brutal either. Dutch would torture and abuse Effie. If Cash hadn’t brought me outside and ordered me to hand him my fucking keys, I would be almost to Jackson by now.
“Floyd?”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I glanced over my shoulder at the sound of Drifter’s voice. My twin hadn’t called me by my name since I’d ordered him to stop calling me ‘Pretty Boy Floyd’ when I was sixteen. Riker had shortened it to ‘Pretty Boy’.
It didn’t matter. Drifter backed up Cash. They were both on my shit list. My brother couldn’t soften me with familiarity.
“I know you’re angry, brother, but you’re not thinking logically. You would’ve gotten to Jackson, sacrificed yourself, and she’d still end up dead.”
My nostrils flared. I didn’t know how I’d ever make it up to Effie if she survived. Maybe, she wouldn’t even want me to.
“You love her. Love makes a man crazy.”
I had said I loved her, hadn’t I? At least in so many words.
“You two boys want a cigarette?”
Cash held his freshly opened pack between us. I hadn’t heard the door open. Then again, I was lost in my own misery.
Drifter accepted Cash’s offer. “Come on, Pretty Boy Floyd. It’ll take the edge off.”
Amusement danced in Cash’s blue eyes. He took a drag on his cigarette, then released the smoke through his mouth and nose. “Now I understand.”
Snatching a cigarette and lighting it, I took a drag. “Shocking that you understand anything. Assholes rarely do.”
Cash smirked. “I’m a very self-aware asshole, so fuck you. It wasn’t the insult you thought it would be.”
“What do you understand?” I grumbled.
“Why the fuck you’re shaming the fucking brotherhood with a name like Pretty Boy and modeling ,” Cash retorted. He nodded to Drifter. “You have the same face but not as much vanity.”
“My mother got both of us into modeling,” Drifter said. “I hated it. Pretty Boy took to it like a fish to water. My last gig was as an eight-year-old. Floyd did it until he was twelve or thirteen.”
Cash dragged on his cigarette. “Pretty Boy’s a shitty road name, by the way.”
“It was a childhood nickname that carried over to my biker life,” I said, following Cash and Drifter’s lead and enjoying my smoke. “I want to change it to Slice. Maybe, I’ll use you as an example and appeal to Riker to use both. Haven’t met too many motherfuckers with two road names.”
“Don’t have two. My name is Cash. Ghost is my road name. I use it less and less these days. I’ve become a steward of peace.”
Whatever that meant. I didn’t care to find out.
A white van with blacked-out windows swerved to a stop feet away from us. The passenger and driver’s side doors opened and two motherfuckers jumped out. The driver headed to Cash, while the passenger stalked to the back, allowing me a glimpse of the Death Dweller emblem.
“Problems, Saw?” Cash drawled as the driver reached us.
He bumped fists with Cash. “I started to dump that motherfucker on the side of the road, Cash,” Saw answered. “Ziggy was a word away from icing him. He wouldn’t shut the fuck up.”
“That’s why I suggested the gag, fuckhead.”
Saw grunted.
“I can’t see without my glasses!”
Immediately, I recognized Lennon’s voice. Apparently, he still wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Ziggy marched Daria’s husband into view. A ginger with a buzz cut wasn’t a bad thing, but the asshole looked as if he never got any sun.
A cotton ball had more color.
Sidling a glare at Lennon as he halted next to him, Saw dug into his pocket and came up with a pair of glasses. “Here, motherfucker.”
Lacking the ability to see his abductors should’ve been counted as a win. If he couldn’t identify us, we wouldn’t have to pluck out his fucking eyes.
Once Lennon perched his glasses on his nose, he went from nerd to pasty monstrosity. His furious hazel gaze found me. “You!”
Cash folded his arms. “Your son-in-law’s been through enough, Lenny Boy.”
Lennon’s throat worked. He stared at Cash, turned to me, then looked at Cash again. “My…are you…my what ?” he finally spluttered, his eyes bulging.
Saw and Ziggy sniggered. I couldn’t deny how Lenny’s shock and panic amused me. Cash was such a messy motherfucker.
“Only a matter of time before Slice puts a ring on it.” Cash flicked his cigarette away. “Might as well get used to it.”
“Over my dead body,” Lennon spat. He looked at me again, his eyes burning with dislike and disgust.
“Your demise can happily be arranged,” Cash said calmly. “But I think Daria would be a little broken up over your death.”
“You’re joking,” Lennon said, although he’d lost some of his contempt. “All the biker killers in Daria’s books are so named. Savage. Butcher. Executioner. Knife. Sword. Poison. Garrot. Prisoner.”
“Prisoner?” Drifter and Saw echoed in outrage.
“We have Mortician,” Cash supplied.
Lennon frowned. “You’ve hired a funeral home to seek revenge on your behalf?”
“Nope. Mort’s our enforcer. Although we do have a funeral home. Makes things easier. Especially disposal. Little evidence means less questions.”
“You don’t look like the way Daria describes her killers,” Lennon said. He nodded to Cash’s cut. “You don’t even have a killer’s name. Ghost is generic.”
“Ghost was earned. I kill enemies without ever being seen. Did it for my country and I do it for my club. As for what Daria writes, it’s fiction and her names are a fucking travesty. Not even actual prisoners want to be called Prisoner .”
Lennon frowned.
“But,” Cash growled, “this situation isn’t a made-up drama. Your daughter is in real danger with real bad men. Get your fucking head out of your cockhole, man the fuck up, and support your wife.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Lennon drew himself up. “In case you didn’t realize that.”
“You’re here because you didn’t have a fucking choice, asshole,” Cash said.
Enjoying myself, I flicked my smoke away and grinned.
“Supporting your wife means cooperating and shutting the fuck up unless I need something from you,” Cash continued. “It definitely doesn’t mean calling in the fucking badges. Because, motherfucker, if you do, that’ll risk my president’s freedom, too. And that means he’d be taken away from his wife, whom he worships. Fuck with her, you fuck with him, and that’s the quickest fucking way to get yourself killed. So I’ll save him the goddamn headache—he’s also my common law brother-in-law—and kill you myself.”
Swallowing, Lennon looked at me with expectation. Did he really expect me to step in after he’d just shit all over me? I shrugged.
“No cops,” Lennon said finally. “Where’s Daria?”
Cash looked at me, punting the decision to allow Lennon in the club in my court. The motherfucker had been running the fucking show for hours. But I appreciated the gesture.
“She’s inside,” I said. “Prissy brought her here a couple of hours ago when she brought us coffee and donuts.” I stepped aside so he could pass.
“That is what Sloane would call a certified asshole,” Cash chortled once Lennon disappeared inside.
Ziggy and Saw snickered.
“How is our rock star?” Saw asked. “My old lady still sucks me off in appreciation of you introducing her to the members of Phoenix Rising.”
My eyes widened. “Wait, you were telling the truth?”
“Unfortunately,” Cash grumbled.
“Fuck off, Cash,” Ziggy said. “You know you like that motherfucker.”
Cash grinned. I understood why Lennon found it hard to believe he was a killer. Cash was handsome and clean-cut, even in his colors. He was surly but rather charming.
“I admit to nothing, fuckhead,” he said. He turned to me. “By the way, these are my brothers. Saw and Ziggy. Both from our Corpus Christi chapter. This is…uh, Slice.”
“Who are you?” Saw asked my brother. “Portion?”
“Segment?” Ziggy supplied. “Half? Cake? Pie? Pizza?”
“All right, fuckheads,” Cash said, joining in the laughter. “That’s his twin. Drifter.”
Another concession. Formal introductions.
Once we all bumped fists, Cash brought Saw and Ziggy up to speed on the video and that last call with Stretch. It was well past Cash’s allotted three hours and there’d not been another update. I’m not sure what I would’ve done had I remained alone outside.
But the distraction only lasted so long. The lull in conversation brought my helplessness and desperation back. I just wanted to know Effie was alive. I wanted to look into her eyes again and tell her…tell her that I loved her.
“Hold your shit together, Slice,” Cash said.
“Give me my fucking keys so I can search for her myself.”
In the distance, the unmistakable sound of Harleys broke the stillness of the morning.
“No. I’ll give you the keys when it’s time to leave,” Cash said. “You’ll get you and her killed. You want a chance at your happily-ever-after with babies and puppy dogs, you’re doing this my way.”
“There’ll be no HEA for her and me. I can’t live a double life. I’ll always be a biker. Riker will send me on missions that endanger me. If we’re together, she’s in danger, too.”
“Then Riker must want you dead,” Cash said.
Drifter stiffened. “That’s my Prez.”
“Don’t give a fuck. Just like Slice can be Bugs Bunny for all I care, Riker could be your little old granny. Why the fuck would he order you to steal another club’s drugs without the resources to fix that shit when it goes sideways? Theft of that magnitude takes months of fucking planning and strategizing so your identity will remain unknown, you stupid motherfucker.”
“I didn’t steal! I intercepted.”
“No, you fucked up,” Cash barked. “Call it what the fuck it is.”
“Riker wanted the drugs for an infusion of money,” Drifter said. “It was to benefit our entire organization.”
“It’s baby steps, fuckhead. Two hundred fifty grand worth of narcotics with a fucking street value ten times that amount? All you motherfuckers are insane.”
Saw and Ziggy nodded in agreement.
The roar of bikes drowned out any more conversation. Long before I became a biker, I loved motorcycles. Nothing like such a powerful machine vibrating between my thighs as I ate up the miles. And this show of force was the type of drama Drifter and I imagined when we’d first joined Red Rum.
Stretch dismounted from his bike, walked up to us, and greeted Saw and Ziggy. Once he introduced himself to Drifter, he looked at Cash.
“Well?”
“I have her location, Cash,” Stretch confirmed. “It isn’t far from the hotel.”
So it wasn’t far from the club.
“Drifter, let Striker know we’re heading out,” Cash said. “Ziggy, Saw, you let anything happen to Fee and I’ll gut you.”
“That’s Outlaw’s sister and John Boy’s cousin,” Saw said. “We don’t want to disappoint any of you.”
Ziggy nodded. “Yeah, we value our lives too much.”
“Striker isn’t coming?” I asked.
“Nope.” Cash dug into his pocket. “Don’t want him with me. He’s casting blame for bringing attention to his quiet club. Let his quiet fucking ass stay here and help to protect Fee, Daria, and your club girls.” He nodded to his brothers. “We got this.”
He tossed my keys to me. I caught them on reflex.
“ Now , motherfucker, you have your keys and we ride.”