Chapter Seven
Dutch walked out of his bathroom, a towel around his hips, using another to dry his hair. When he caught sight of the empty bed, he stiffened. He glanced around the room to find her things gone and felt a wave of panic and anger race through him as he rushed to get dressed.
He raced out his door and jumped onto the bike his men had brought back to him and drove to her apartment. He took the stairs at a fast clip, getting to her place. He knocked on the door, and his heart dropped when it flew open.
“Fuck,” he cursed. He scanned the small room before investigating it. There were only a few pieces of clothing left in the box, and none of her personal things. “Where the hell did you go, babe?”
His jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth would crack. He slammed his fist against the wall, leaving a huge hole. He didn’t even glance down at his hand as he strolled out of the apartment.
When he stood by his bike, he set his hands on his hips and bowed his head, then tried to get his temper under control. When he was this pissed, someone usually ended up dead.
After he was calm, he considered who to call who would know where she might be. The only people who knew her were her employers and a few other people she worked with. She didn’t seem to have any friends or even make time to relax.
There was so much he didn’t know about her.
Under any other circumstances, he wouldn’t have given a fuck, but she’d messed with his head from the very beginning, and now he was afraid he’d become obsessed with her.
He’d taken every part of her body he could, and as far as he was concerned, that made her his.
She might not agree, but fuck it. It didn’t matter that getting drugged wasn’t her fault.
The fact that it happened and he’d been there to help her made it seem like destiny.
Fuck, where the hell did that come from?
Jesus Christ, he was becoming a fucking chick.
That alone should have veered him away from finding her, but the obsession was too strong to ignore.
The only other thing in his life he’d ever been obsessed with was killing his father.
It had started when he was eight years old and witnessed his father beat the shit out of his mother.
He’d tried to help her, but he’d been too small and had been beaten himself, sometimes unconscious.
When he turned thirteen, he’d grown bigger than his father. He made it a mission to become stronger, so he lifted weights as much as he could. He wanted to be able to protect his mother, and he needed to be tougher than his father to do it.
He’d walked in one day and found his father straddling his mother while she lay on the floor.
Dutch had grabbed a chunk of hair from his father’s head and yanked him back.
His father had screamed. Dutch didn’t give him a chance to stand, kicking him as hard as he could in the side.
He found satisfaction in the cracking sound of bone breaking.
Dutch kicked him a few more times before lifting him to his feet and gripping his neck.
“If you ever put your hands on my mother again, I will torture you and then slit your throat.” Dutch had thrown him against a wall.
His father hit hard and slid down, unconscious.
Dutch had helped his mother to her feet and taken her to the kitchen, where he helped wipe the blood from her face and put ice on her swelling eye.
“You won’t ever have to worry about him again, Mom.”
“If he leaves, what will happen to us?” she asked.
“We’ll manage. Hell, we’ll probably do better because we don’t have to feed him or buy his alcohol.”
They had woken the next morning to his father gone. He’d packed some clothing and left. His mother was inconsolable, and Dutch was confused about why. The man had beaten her every day of her life for years, and now she would never have to deal with him again.
Dutch had come home from school a week later to find his mother in the bathtub. She had slit her wrists and bled out. He sat on the toilet lid and stared at her. How could she have been so desperate to commit suicide? Why had she done this, knowing she was leaving her son alone?
It had taken him years to realize that there was nothing he could have done to save his mother. She had grown up with an abusive dad and then married another. That was all she had known.
Dutch drove to the garage where Naya worked. He guessed it wouldn’t be open since it was Sunday. When he saw the CLOSED sign, he called the owner.
“Hello.”
“Hey, Mark. Would you happen to know where Naya is?” Dutch asked him.
“No. She doesn’t work on Sundays,” Mark said.
“I know. Listen, we had an issue last night.”
“Oh, what?”
Dutch went over how Wyatt drugged her. He explained how sick she was, but didn’t give details.
“What the fuck,” Mark growled. “That son of a bitch. I’m going to...”
“He’s already been taken care of,” Dutch told him.
Mark was silent for a moment. “He’s gone for good then?”
“Yes. You’ll need to get another manager.”
“Fine. I hated the asshole anyway. I would have fired him before if I knew he was harassing Naya.”
“I checked out her place, and she grabbed her things and took off.”
“Fuck!”
“Would you have any idea where she would go?” Dutch asked.
“No. I do know she’s always lived in town,” Mark said.
“How about a family and friends?”
“I never heard about a friend, and all I heard was she had a mother, but one day the bitch wrote her a note and took off with a guy before Naya woke up.”
“That fucking cunt didn’t even have the decency to talk with her daughter face to face?”
“Nope. And frankly, Naya is not a woman who should be on her own. She’s too na?ve and gentle. She doesn’t know anything about surviving in the real world. I’m shocked she lasted as long as she did, working two jobs.”
“I agree. I’ll check with her other job.”
“Get back to me if you find out anything,” Mark said.
“I will.” Dutch got back on his bike and drove to the bar. He cursed several times when he found the door locked, but what did he expect? It was Sunday, and the place wasn’t open. He couldn’t remember the manager’s name, so he had to wait until tomorrow to get answers.
Dutch drove to the warehouse where they were holding Wyatt. He was in the mood to break some bones and hear the man scream. It was the only thing he could think of that would make him feel better.
A garage door opened when he pulled up. He was pleased his men were on watch because you never knew when something would happen.
“Hey, Boss,” Demo said.
“Hey. Have you had any problems here?”
“No. The prick keeps crying, but we’re enjoying that.”
Dutch snorted and headed toward the part of the warehouse they used to hold people.
He used a code that opened the disguised panel. His man Goose had come up with the idea, and Dutch was thrilled with it. Goose had even made the room soundproof and bulletproof.
Tank turned in his chair. “Yo, Boss.”
Dutch tipped his head to the two guys in the room before concentrating on the bruised man hanging from the ceiling. Wyatt’s head dangled down, and Dutch realized the man was conscious when he made sounds.
“He’s been crying like a fucking baby since we brought him here,” Hype said as he cleaned his nails with the sharp knife he always carried.
Dutch grabbed a chunk of Wyatt’s hair and lifted his head. The man’s eyes were glassy with fatigue and pain.
“Please,” Wyatt pleaded.
Dutch snorted. “You really think you’re going to leave here alive?”
“Oh, God, please. I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
Dutch gritted his teeth before slamming his fist into the man’s stomach. He grinned when the man groaned.
“You’re pathetic. Of course, you were going to hurt her.
” Dutch dropped the guy’s head and walked over to the table against the wall, which held all sorts of tools.
He picked up a pair of large pliers before returning to the man.
He grabbed onto one of his fingers and squeezed.
He was pleased when he heard it snap and Wyatt scream.
Dutch would have thought his hands would have been numb by now since they were tied up above his head and had been for several hours.
Dutch continued until all but four of his fingers were broken. He stopped when the man passed out. It was no fun torturing someone when they couldn’t feel it, and Dutch didn’t hear the cries of pain.
This continued for several hours. They would stop to have a beer, eat, and wait for Wyatt to wake up and start again.
At one point, Dutch knew the man was close to death and decided he would slit the guy’s throat.
But before that, he wanted to give him a little of the attention the bastard had wanted to give Naya.
He looked at his men. A few others had come in to watch the show, so there were five guys sitting around.
“Who wants a piece of his ass?” Dutch asked.
The men looked at each other before Fire stood. “I’ll do it, but first, someone give me a condom. We don’t know what diseases the prick has.”
Two of the other men cut Wyatt down and took him to another table, where they lay him facedown. The man tried to fight but was too weak.
Dutch yanked the man’s pants down and grunted. “He pissed and shit his pants.”
Fire cringed and cursed. “I don’t want to touch that.”
Dutch looked at the other men and got a no. Jesus. He wasn’t willing to fuck that either. He walked to the other table and picked up a hammer. He turned it around until the handle was facing Wyatt. “Hold him.”
Four men held him down before Dutch rammed the hammer into the man’s ass.
The man screamed so loud it bounced off the walls several times.
Dutch shoved it in a few times before pulling it out and dropping it to the plastic-covered floor.
He walked around, bent down to the man’s face, and lifted his head.
“Now, you’ll go to Hell knowing what it feels like. ”
Wyatt grunted. “I’ll see you there.”
Dutch grinned. “Yes, you will.”
He took out his knife and cut the man’s throat from one ear to the other. There was a gurgling sound and then nothing.
Dutch cleaned his knife off with a rag one of the men handed him. “Dump him in the river.”
“Got it,” Goose said.
Dutch left there and rode his bike home. He was surprised to see the sky lighten as the sun rose. He hadn’t realized he’d been playing with Wyatt for this long.
When he got home, he showered and then crashed. He wanted to get some sleep before he headed over to the bar to ask questions.
He was determined to find Naya, and nothing was going to stop him.