30. Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty
Griffin’s Beach Brock
T he cut on Brock’s face barely needs stitches, but he needed something to get him into the infirmary. Beckett hasn’t been seen for days, so a fight was out of the question. He’s just amazed the plastic utensil he snuck away to his cell did the trick.
“How much time do you need?” Tony asks.
“An hour at most.”
He nods. “I’ll make sure no one comes behind the curtain. Do it fast.”
The curtain closes, giving him privacy, and he types as fast as he can. It feels almost foreign to have a keyboard beneath his fingers again, but the muscle memory is still there. It’s the longest he’s stayed away from a computer of any kind since grade school.
“Oh, Hankinson got the message to your father-in-law. She said to tell you that everything should be set up and ready to go,” Tony says on the other side of the cloth.
He smirks. “Why don’t you call her Lily like the rest of us?”
The tapping of the keyboard fills the quiet area, and a radio plays a classic rock song on a low volume to drown it out. “Because,” he says and walks back to his spot where he stands guard.
“Because why?”
“Because Lily and I have a past, and I’d prefer her husband not find out.”
To say Brock’s interest is piqued is an understatement. “What kind of past?”
“Nope.”
“Come on. I won’t say a word. I swear.”
“You’re brothers with her husband. I know enough to know how the club works.”
He laughs. “If you weren’t putting your ass on the line to help get my ass out of here, I’d agree with you, but I won’t say a word.”
“We fucked.”
The typing stops as the words sink in, but Brock quickly remembers the time constraint. “You did what now?”
“We were in college together. She was hung up on some asshole she dated, and she practically threw herself at me. We hooked up a few times.”
“ She threw herself at you ?”
“Don’t be a dick. Yes.”
“And you tried to resist?”
His laughter fills the room. “Fuck no. God, she’s still got amazing curves. Better than before. I would’ve tried to push for something more, but she was hung up on her past. Whatever her ex did really fucked with her head.”
“He beat her and made her abort their child alone while he fucked another chick,” Brock says.
Tony’s head pops behind the curtain. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“What happened to her ex?”
“Really wanna know?”
A satisfied smirk appears. “Got it.”
Remembering how Phoenix shot Spice in the chest after Tanner Brown, the corrupt sheriff, kidnapped and beat Lily makes Brock smile, too.
“Okay, I’m almost done.”
“Already?”
“I’m a genius, remember?”
He laughs. “I just hope you’re as good as you think you are. I got a lot riding on you, too.”
“Me, too.”
Attaching the program to the email, he types out instructions for Lily to relay, and he hits send. He closes the laptop, and Tony takes it from him, hiding it before he assists Brock back to his cell.
“I’ll get the laptop right before I leave.”
“What if a nurse or something finds it?” Brock asks.
He winks. “I got it covered.”
“How?”
“I might be giving Esther special favors.”
“Esther?”
She a nurse who’s pushing retirement and looks like she’d be better suited to wear a nun’s outfit and work in a Catholic school with how mean that woman is. When she gave Brock stitches, she didn’t bother numbing him first, and she simply scowled the entire time.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s how I managed to get the room to myself. Besides, I’m not that much younger than her... Compared to others, I guess.”
“It’s not sexual favors, right?” The idea makes his disgusting lunch want to make a reappearance.
He just shrugs. “Let’s just say, I can make that scowl disappear pretty easily.”
“And what little appetite I had is gone. That’s… Go away please.”
He laughs and nods, whistling as he walks away. As disturbing as that distraction was, Brock wishes Tony had stuck around to talk more. The nerves kick in, and he paces his cell. If this doesn’t work, he has no Plan B. He may never see his wife again.
Griffin’s Beach Beckett
B eckett’s been in solitary for days now.
Maybe even a week. Bill grabbed him in the middle of the night and threw him in here.
Again. The only annoying part is the fact he was dead asleep, which kind of surprised him.
He hasn’t had a solid night’s sleep since Summer first reappeared in his life over a year ago.
Haven’t they figured out that this won’t break me yet?
Morning rolls around, and he lies on the floor, his eyes closed with an arm over his face to block out the bright light that doesn’t turn off. He can’t stop thinking about where Shannon went after Brock told him she left the clubhouse.
Where are you, baby? Please don’t give yourself to this sick bastard. Not for me.
The doors open, and his arm lifts just enough to see Bill. He knows he’ll be knocked back down the moment he sits up, so he stays laying down.
Beside Bill stands the warden. Scott something or other.
“I hear you’ve pissed off a very good friend of mine,” Scott says.
The man reeks of self-imposed entitlement, and Beckett knows he wants people to be impressed with his expensive suit and fancy shoes. Things he likely can’t afford on his salary alone, so he’s likely getting kickbacks from somewhere.
“Is that right?”
“Sit up and show some respect, you fucking degenerate.”
Sitting up, Beckett keeps his expression indifferent as he takes in the man’s stance. Fuck, he’s a lot shorter than I expected. Only… what? Five-eight? No wonder he has to put on these big shows. I would, too, if I had little man syndrome.
Every one of these assholes wants an emotional reaction. Anger or fear. Luckily, he’s been extensively trained to stay neutral. It’s just an added bonus that it seems to really, really piss them off.
“You have a choice, Cohen,” an unfamiliar voice says from just outside the view of his cell.
The sound of heels hitting the cement floor tells Beckett this man is dressed more like Scott than Bill. They’re dress shoes not boots. The sounds also echo differently, and by the sounds of it, they’re even more expensive than the warden’s.
Overseas, he happened to get captured by a very wealthy tyrant, and he learned all about fancy shoes. The way they look, smell, and on occasion, even taste. The last one he’d rather not relive.
“What would that be?” Beckett asks.
The man they identified as Donald Ramsey appears in front of him, and it takes everything in Beckett to remain impassive and not lunge at him. He’d love nothing more than to tackle and beat him until his blood coats Beckett’s hands like a cleansing bath.
“You can tell me where Shannon ran off to, or you can rot away in here. Maybe you’ll get lucky and become someone’s bitch.”
At least this tells me he doesn’t have her. If he did, the conversation would be gloating, not trying to get information.
“How the fuck would I know where she is when you’ve had me locked away with no access to anyone? Including my lawyer.” His tone remains monotoned even though he wants to shout for glee. Ramsey doesn’t have her.
“You had her.”
“I did. And then you locked me up and threw away the key. I just found out not long ago she ran away from the safe place I had her.”
Ramsey slaps him across the face. “Where would she go?”
Fucking bitch. Slapping instead of punching. He can’t take a stronger man.
“I. Don’t. Know.”
“You must’ve talked about it at some point.
Look,” he says and crouches down in front of him, “if you tell me where Shannon would go, I’ll get your buddy out of here with no charges.
He can be there for his family. His wife’s pregnant, you know.
If you don’t give me something, he’s stuck in here, never seeing his children grow up. Is that what you want?”
“I hadn’t seen Shannon for years before she randomly showed up in my clubhouse on a fluke. She disappeared the next morning, and I just found her after you beat the shit out of her and threatened to kill her if she didn’t stay with you.”
His eyes narrow as he stares hard at Beckett. “And you never talked about where she should go should anything bad ever happen to you?”
“Just to stay the hell away from you.”
Nodding, Ramsey scratches his chin where he has an odd patch of gray stubble as though he missed a spot shaving. “I believe you.”
“Does that mean Brock gets to go? I chose to tell you the truth rather than lie and send you on a wild-goose chase.”
He laughs. “Oh, you na?ve man. I was never going to let him go. I fucking hate his father-in-law. That asshole implemented a new process a few weeks ago to make sure there’s checks and balances in place for the money. Like it’ll stop me from siphoning funds.”
“Well, do you like to embezzle money from companies.”
“Yes, I fucking do. Guess you did your homework on me. He’s making it incredibly difficult for me to drain his company dry, but not impossible. It does give me more motive to fuck his daughter’s husband, though.”
He chooses to keep his mouth shut. Nothing he says will matter or make the situation better.
“In fact, I plan to really fuck him through his son-in-law. By proxy, of course. I hear there are a few guys sizing him up. Sounds like he’d make a great bottom.”
Enough. “I have some advice for you, Donald.”
“Yeah? What would that be?”
“Prepare yourself. The tables are going to turn, and when I’m out of here, you won’t have any power left. You won’t see the inside of a courtroom because I will be your judge, jury, and executioner. I plan to bury you twelve feet in the fucking ground.”
Laughing, Ramsey stands. “You’ve got stones. Won’t do you any good, but it is rather impressive considering the circumstances.”
“You should’ve done better research on me. Trust me, you’ll be far more impressed if you knew how motivated I am to keep my promises. And I promise you, sir, that I will be one of the last faces you ever see.”
His phone rings, and he looks down before answering. “Jones, I told you I’m in a meeting. What? You found her? Where?”
Even with his heart racing, Beckett gives nothing away. This could be a giant bluff to find out if he’s lying.
Ramsey bites his lip and smiles. “Eleven-Twenty-Four Sycamore Street. Does that address mean anything to you?”
Her parents’ house. “Should it?”
“It’s abandoned now, but it was where she used to live.
Before her parents died. She’s just outside Griffin’s Beach.
You, my boy, have one hell of a poker face.
If I didn’t consider you a threat, I’d offer you a job.
Men like you are hard to find and very useful.
It’s a shame I need you dead. Not right away, of course. What fun would that be?”
He leaves, and Beckett forces down the panic. Donald Ramsey just found Shannon, and Beckett’s stuck in prison with no way to help her. He can’t even call Colt to ask him to save her.
Bill walks into the cell carrying a chair, sits it down, and points. “Sit.”
“I’m already sitting.”
“In the fucking chair.”
Unsure what it’s all about, Beckett decides it’s easier to just comply. But then the zip ties come out, and he knows it was a bad idea. One of the worst decisions he’s made since breaking into that stupid house.
He says nothing as he lets Bill strap him to the chair, completely immobilizing him. The warden hands Bill a baton, and he slaps his hand with it as he wears a devious smile on his face. “Don’t worry. You’ll pass out soon enough.”
“Does this make you feel like a big man?” he asks. “Having to tie me down to beat me? What better way to tell your boss that you’re too much of a pussy to handle this any other way.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
Leaning to the side, Beckett nods at Scott who stands just outside the cell.
“Bet you feel real good about having this big, strong guard protecting you should your prisoners ever get out and head right for you. Tell me, how do you plan to have them all strapped down before beating them with weapons? I mean, before they kill you, that is.”
“Shut up!”
The baton smacks against the side of his head, and he tips over with the force, the side of his face hitting the concrete floor.
The weight and awkwardness of being tied down the way he is causes the zip ties to dig into his skin.
There’s an uncomfortable weight and pull to various muscles, but he can’t move.
Coming down again, the baton hits his elbow and shoots pain up Beckett’s arm. Still, he refuses to give a reaction. Not even a sound.
“He’s a lot tougher than you gave him credit for, Bill,” the warden says. “He has a point. You do seem like a pussy.”
The boss walks away, and Bill’s fury intensifies. he wants to be seen as the best and most loyal servant to his king, and the weapon eventually bends and breaks as he beats Beckett all over his body.
Beckett focuses on the wall outside of the cell, even as the steel-toed boots kick into his ribs and chin.
No reaction. No flinching. No groaning. Stay exactly like this until he knows you out or grows tired. Focus, Beckett. Focus. Focus.
A few more kicks to the head finally brings the darkness, and he wonders if he’ll wake up. If he does, will he be tied to this chair still? Or will he be back in his cell? Not that it really matters. Not when Ramsey has Shannon.