11. Reaper
11
The instant we hear the notification sound, all three of us hone in on it like fucking dogs when they hear the food bag come out. I get there first, snatching the phone Faith set up for us to monitor that social media account on. She was supposed to be in charge of everything, but that was before she checked in and saw our first messages with Mila. Didn’t take long before Alpha, one of her old men, came by and dropped the phone down next to us with a look that spelled murder.
Whoops. Apparently he didn’t appreciate his woman accidentally getting an eyeful of our junk.
I need help.
“What does she need help with?” Scrapper asks, reading over my shoulder. He puts down the sledgehammer and wipes his brow.
“How the fuck am I supposed to know? You’re seeing the same shit I am.”
Lucky for you we can be real fucking helpful. Do you have an itch to scratch? I shoot back.
The app starts ringing, and there’s a green video camera looking icon flashing in the corner. I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, but I press it, assuming it’s some sort of call. I’m expecting to see her doing something flirty, but instead, her side of the call is almost impossible to see, and there’s a lot of heavy breathing, but it doesn’t sound like the good kind. All three of us go from hoping to see some tits, to dead serious, like flipping a switch.
“Mila? What the fuck is going on? Talk to us, baby.”
“Oh God, I don't know. I'm—” In the background, something slams and she whimpers. “Some guys jumped me. I got away and locked myself in some building that had their back door open. It’s locked now, but they’re right outside and I don’t know where I am. I'm sorry, but I didn't know who else to call and?—”
“Take a deep breath. Can you send us your location?”
A moment later, a message with a map link pops up in the chat. Scrapper gets it up while we keep her on the line and make a run for the compound to get our bikes.
“You’re doing great. Stay calm and stay hidden. We’re on our way.”
“Don’t hang up,” she whispers.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Mack and Scrapper fire their bikes up, and I throw my leg over mine. There's more banging behind her, and the video swings wildly as she scrambles to move. Fuck.
“I'm fine, I'm fine. They haven’t gotten to me yet, but there’s probably another way in.”
“We're coming as quick as we can. I'm not gonna be able to hear you while we're riding, but I'm leaving the phone on, okay? Turn your sound off so they don’t hear anything, and if the call drops, just stay put if you can. You’re doing so fucking good—just hang on for a little longer.” I jam the phone into the holder on my dash so I can glance down at the screen.
The three of us peel out of the compound with Scrapper in the lead as he follows his map. I wish to fuck I could hear her, but there’s no time to screw with the bluetooth and get the new phone connected to my bike. Whoever’s threatening Mila, they better hope she's in one piece when we get there. She might not be officially protected by the club, but the three of us are feeling real fucking invested right now.
The GPS takes us outta South Side, along the river and down past the university district. It's a little ways out, in a run down stretch of town, but the signal stays strong. I can’t hear shit, but she moves around a few times and each time I hold my breath until I see the shadow of her terrified face come back.
When we get there, we find a darkened commercial building, just like she described. We come around back back, and there’s a door busted open.
Fuck.
I pick up my phone. The call's still active, so I whisper into it, “We're here.”
She nods. There's a soft shuffling sound, and some thumping noises. Movement. Hopefully, she's still hidden.
Mack pushes the door open. It creaks. Good. Maybe it'll take attention away from wherever Mila's hiding. If those assholes want someone to fuck around with, the three of us are right here.
Inside is dark except for a hint of light coming through long, horizontal windows near the high ceiling. It’s enough to see by, but barely. Most of the room and floor is hidden in pitch blackness. With a nod to each other, we spread out to make less of a target of ourselves.
Scrapper slips brass knuckles onto his right hand and leaves his left hanging free near his piece. Mack and I draw iron. Hand to hand has its place, and it makes less noise, but I’m not taking a fucking chance in here. This isn’t a benefit of the doubt situation.
Mack holds up a fist to get our attention, he taps his ear, then points. Sound. Someone or something's moving that way. We sneak deeper into the darkness, following his lead. A sudden, startled gasp comes through my phone and from up ahead at the same time.
“No!” Mila shrieks.
“Gotcha,” some asshole declares, not twenty feet ahead. He laughs, a grating sound that makes me clench my teeth.
We move fast and silent in the darkness, but more worried about getting to her in time. Ahead, a large figure wrestles with a much smaller one, trying to get it under control. That is until Mack slams a gun into the side of his fucking head.
“Motherfucker!” he snaps, whirling around.
Mila screams as he drops her, but I’m there to catch her as she falls, pulling her into my arms.
As a reward, I get an elbow to the face.
“It's Reaper,” I hiss, biting down the pain.
“Oh God, I'm sorry. I?—”
“Doesn't matter. We're getting the fuck out.”
The lights come on, all at once blinding us all momentarily.
“Over here!” another man shouts.
Shit. “How many, Mila?”
“Fo—four, I think!”
Mack has one, and two are coming right for us. Scrapper moves to my back and we put Mila between us. The two attackers are on me, fast. The first one throws a punch that's quicker than I expect. There’s no time to completely avoid it, so I angle myself to let it glance off my shoulder as I ram my knee into his gut. With a pained grunt, he goes down like a sack of fucking potatoes.
I get a microsecond to gloat, before the second guy knocks me sideways into some kinda machinery. Scrapper’s on him before he has a chance to follow up. With Mila staring wide-eyed at the carnage around her, Scrapper rams the guy headfirst into a cement support column so hard I swear I hear his skull crack. The fucker drops and doesn't even try to get up.
“Mack?”
“Fine! How ‘bout you stay right there,” Mack growls. He's got the first guy’s neck locked under his arm, choking him out while aiming his piece at the fourth who is walking slowly towards us. “You can take the chance, but you wouldn't be the first piece of shit I put in the ground.”
The fucker stops and puts his hands up, his beady eyes focused on the barrel of Mack's gun.
Mack slings the other man towards us where he drops to the floor gasping for air. I grab him by the hair and turn to Mila. “You okay?”
“Honestly? Been better.” A manic laugh bursts out of her before she slaps a hand over her mouth.
Scrapper's eyes narrow. “They rough you up?”
Maybe she hears the murder in his tone, because she hesitates before she nods, her tear-wet eyes wide. “Please, don't?—”
“On your fucking knees,” Scrapper growls as he approaches the remaining standing guy. “If you want to fucking live to see morning, get the fuck down on your knees.”
“What are you—” I pull Mila against me, making her face away. I dunno what Scrapper's planning, but I don't want Mila to watch. She looks like she’s barely holding it together as it is.
Mack gestures with his gun, just a quick hint, but the guy takes it. He drops to his knees, his eyes wide and his jaw tense enough to crack a tooth. He'd get more sympathy from me if he and his buddies weren’t terrorizing Mila. Ganging up on and beating a defenseless woman is a hard character flaw to overlook.
Scrapper stops right in front of the guy and cracks his knuckles, one hand at a time. “The only thing keeping you alive is that girl over there. You understand that, right?”
The guy's silent, but his pupils are dilated with fear.
“I said, do you fucking understand?” Scrapper's voice snaps like a whip.
Mila trembles against me, and I squeeze her harder. “You're okay, girl. We got you.” Her heart's hammering so quick and hard, I can feel it against me. Jesus fucking Christ.
The guy on the floor nods quickly. “Yes.”
Whether he understands how badly he and his buddies fucked up or not, he knows playing along is in his best interests.
“Good.” Scrapper whips out a kick that slams the guy in the face, launching him backwards so hard his whole body clears the floor. When he lands, he rolls into a hunk of machinery and stays still. Playing dead.
“Piece of shit,” Mack growls. “Let's get the fuck outta here.”
We pat them down. They’ve got a couple guns and a table setting’s worth of knives. We take all of it, then leave them behind, beaten and hopefully just a little bit smarter. They don’t have anything on them that points to a particular gang or club. Fucking pissant street criminals. I hope they’ve learned something, but I don't expect them to be quite that smart. Too bad. For their sake.
Scrapper slams the door shut behind us as we leave. It bounces open again, broken from when those guys busted through it, but there's some satisfaction in the sound.
I cup her jaw and run a finger over her cheek. “Mila, baby, you alright?”
She's still clinging to me, but looks up when I ask. “I think so,” she says with a nod.
“What the hell happened?” I run my fingers through her hair, watching her relax into the touch.
“It's complicated. Can we talk about it somewhere else?”
“Shit, yeah. Sorry.” I get on my bike, and pat the seat behind me for her to sit. “Let’s get you home.”
“Home? I don’t know. You can drop me off on campus and I can?—”
“Baby,” says Scrapper as he gets on his own bike. “Your hands are fucking bleeding and you look like you’re about to fall over. There's no fucking way we're leaving you alone until we know you're really safe.”
Mack nods in agreement, his face stern and his big arms crossed over his chest.
Fuck, I love an independant woman who can take care of herself, but she needs to get her head checked if she thinks we’re going to drop her off and call it a night. “Get on the damn bike,” I snap. “We can take you to your place or we can bring you back to the club. Pick one fast.”
Mila’s lips part in shock. “Um, my place?”
“Smart girl.” I capture her head with my hand around the back of her neck, then pull her close for a brief kiss. “We're gonna take good care of you. Now hang on.”