Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
DRIFTER
We’ve been driving around for hours looking for Hell, but she’s nowhere to be seen. I even checked our bank account in the hope she’d paid for a hotel, but there’s been no movement on it at all, not even a cash withdrawal.
It brought me to the sad realisation that she didn’t really have a life outside the club.
We were all she had. There are no friends she could call to come pick her up and no work friends she could ask to crash on their couch.
And I never asked her in all these years if she wanted something different.
I took control, assuming she wanted the same lifestyle as me.
And now, because of my fuck-up, what did she have left?
She’s running from me and the club, and she’s got nothing else.
I promised her father I’d take care of her, look after her, protect her at all costs.
And, yeah, she’d been safe all this time, but was she even happy?
Was she getting everything out of life she wanted?
Or was I smothering her with the life I wanted?
The rain batters down against us as we ride around in circles. It soaks through my jeans, making me cold to the bone. It’s as if the weather itself is punishing me, like the universe doesn’t want me to find her.
Fuck. Maybe I don’t deserve to find her, and even when I do, I have no idea how the hell I’m going to fix this or make this right. Because there’s no excuse for what I did, and there is no way to right my wrong.
I indicate to the brothers to pull over in the car park, and as we do, my phone rings.
I kick my stand down before pulling my mobile out my kutte just as it rings out again.
I don’t recognise the number, but I pray to God that it’s Hell.
I slide off my helmet, resting it on the back of my bike, and I accept the call and press the handset to my ear. “Hell, where are you?”
A sinister laugh rattles down the line, and my blood runs cold.
“Drifter, my friend.” I instantly recognise Reaper’s voice.
I frown. “I haven’t got time for your bullshit, Reaper.” I end the call, shaking my head in annoyance. But then it rings again, the shrill of the tone sounding out in the silence. I answer on a sigh, but before I can speak, he asks, “Lost a little puppet?”
I push off the bike, standing straighter. My shoulders tense, and the hairs on the back of my arm rise. How the fuck would he know?
He laughs again. “Don’t put the fucking phone down again because you know what I get like when I’m angry.” His voice is suddenly dark, cold and calculated, and I realise . . . he has her.
Anger swirls in the pit of my stomach, and I clench the mobile phone tighter. “You have my attention,” I mutter, tracing a finger over Hell’s name carved into my bike.
“Now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it? I hear you’ve been a busy man.”
My brows pinch together, and I realise he’s a fucking psycho as he switches personalities in thirty seconds flat.
“What do you want, Reaper?” I grit out.
“Well, it appears you can’t look after your ol’ lady, so maybe I should just keep her for myself.” I hear a muffled scream in the background.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” I roar, fists clenched so tight, my knuckles ache. “I mean it. I’ll end you in the worst possible way.”
A low chuckle comes down the line. “This is your fault, Drifter. Maybe if you hadn’t been caught with your dick in some other pussy, she’d be safely tucked up in bed beside you.”
I drag a hand through my wet hair, hating that he’s right. Hating that this is on me.
Another scream tears through the phone, and I flinch.
“Shut the bitch up,” Reaper barks.
The line goes quiet, but I strain to listen. Boots scrape against tiled flooring. Hell’s voice cuts through in the background.
“Fuck you!”
What the fuck is she doing?
“I said shut the bitch up,” Reaper roars.
“But Pres—”
The crack of a slap splits the air, and I bite down so hard, I taste blood. Then, she laughs.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Hell taunts. “I’ve slapped Drifter harder than that.”
“Shut the fuck up, Hell,” I shout into the phone, even though she can’t hear me.
Reaper laughs, low and amused. “He told you to shut the fuck up.”
“You can tell that prick I don’t need saving either—”
A door slams, and silence swallows the line. My pulse pounds in my ears.
“She’s a feisty one,” Reaper mutters, irritation creeping into his voice. “Right. Down to business.”
“You touch her again and there is no business,” I snarl. “I’ll burn you to the fucking ground.”
“No need for threats,” he replies calmly. “You’ll give me the New Parks Estate . . . and West Street.”
I let out a humourless laugh. “Oh, wait. You’re serious?”
“I’ll give you an hour to consider it,” he says. “After that . . . well, who knows what I might do.”
The line clicks dead.
Fuck.
I call church the second we get back to the clubhouse.
I pace back and forth, waiting for the last of my brothers to come in and settle down.
Clay rests his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get her back,” he reassures me.
I stare past him, images of Hell racing through my mind as I scrub a hand over my face. “This is my fucking fault, Clay. Everything. It’s all on me. I fucked up. I’ll never forgive myself if—”
“You can’t think like that,” he interrupts, and I take a shaky breath. “We will get her back in one piece, I promise.” I nod, not trusting myself to speak. “And then you have some serious fucking grovelling to do,” he adds, his expression soft but deadly serious.
He takes a seat with the other brothers, and I bang the gavel on the table.
“Listen, brothers, I’ll understand if you aren’t behind me on this because it’s my fuck-up.
Shit, I’ve lost the only thing I’ve ever loved through my own moronic actions.
But Hell needs us right now.” I pause, taking a calming breath.
“Reaper has her.” I let that settle amongst us, noting the angry expressions on their faces.
Shit. They love her too. She’s one of us.
“He’s demanded the New Parks Estate and West Street in return for her.
” I pinch the bridge of my nose before adding, “And I’m going to give it to him. ”
My announcement is met with gasps.
“Wait, Pres. What do you mean you’re going to give it to him?” Rock demands. “Just like that?”
“I’ll do anything for her, Rock.”
Joker shrugs. “Let’s just go in there and shoot the place up.”
“She’s carrying my kid,” I snap. “What if she gets caught in the crossfire? I’ve already fucked up enough in the last twenty-four hours. I won’t put her at risk any more than I already have.”
“She’s pregnant?” Gears asks, his mouth half-open in shock.
I nod, pain twisting in my chest.
“Congrats, Pres. You’re gonna be a dad.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not celebrate just yet. I’ve already let them both down,” I mutter.
Clay’s chair scrapes the floor as he rises to his feet. “We’re behind you, Pres. Whatever it takes to get her back, we’ll worry about the rest later.”
I nod, banging the gavel on the table to end church. At least with the men behind me, I’m a little closer to getting Hell back where she belongs.
ROCHELLE
My hands are bound tight behind my back, and the rope bites into my wrists. The old wooden chair I’m on groans every time I shift. My ankles are tied to the legs, circulation fading to pins and needles.
One of Reaper’s goons stands guard a few feet away, arms folded, his back to me like I’m nothing more than an irritation.
I whistle to grab his attention, and he slowly turns, raising his brows.
“I need to pee,” I say, squirming against the restraints some more.
“No chance,” he grunts.
I scoff. “You’re really going to let a lady piss herself?” I tug harder at the ropes, but they don’t budge. There’s no give.
I test the balance carefully, rocking ever so slightly.
The chair creaks in protest.
If I throw my weight hard enough, it might splinter. But if it goes wrong . . .
My stomach tightens. Can I break it without breaking myself? Without hurting the baby?
I shift again, exaggerating the movement, and the chair screeches loudly across the concrete.
The goon stalks towards me, irritation rolling off him.
“Will you keep fucking still?”
“I told you,” I mutter, wriggling again to bring feeling back into my legs, “a girl needs to piss.”
He exhales sharply and crouches to untie my ankles. The rope loosens, and I rotate my feet, welcoming the small slice of freedom.
He grabs me by the top of my arm, his fingers digging into my skin, and yanks me upright.
“Ouch,” I snap. “I bruise like a peach. Watch what you’re fucking doing.”
He ignores me and drags me down a dark, dingy corridor that smells of dampness and stale smoke.
A young blonde walks past us. She’s barely eighteen, too young for this place. He stops suddenly and shoves me against the wall. My shoulder hits the bricks, and I wince.
Then he grabs the girl’s arm and leans in, whispering in her ear. She laughs, but it’s fake. Her eyes lift and meet mine. They’re glassy, full of unshed tears. Pain flickers across her face before she bites down on the inside of her lip, swallowing whatever she wants to say.
“Yes, Axe,” she croaks.
I scan the corridor. If I’m going to run, it has to be now.
The girl gives the smallest shake of her head, like she can hear the thought forming.
I edge back anyway. One step. Then another.
He’s too busy kissing along her neck to notice.
Her eyes lock onto mine, wide, pleading.
Don’t.
But I turn and bolt.
His boots thunder behind me. I don’t make it three strides before pain explodes across my scalp as he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me backwards.
“I don’t fucking think so,” he bellows, his voice bouncing off the walls.
“You bastard,” I scream. “Get the fuck off me!”
He drags me down the corridor and throws me back into the room.
The blonde stands in the doorway now, her face blank, like she’s learned how to switch it off.