“I’ve come to take you home. Back where you belong.”
The coldness in his voice does nothing to reassure me. My heart starts to pound in my chest. Going anywhere with him would be a bad mistake. I try to shrug off his touch, but he just tightens his hand.
While knowing it’s probably useless, I try to reason with him. “You can’t want me back, Ron. Let’s be sensible about this. I’m out of your hair and not asking for anything. Surely, you’re better off living on your own?”
His face darkens, and his features rearrange themselves into the expression I’d last seen that day in the kitchen just before he’d hit me. “I’d have left you alone if you hadn’t brought shame on the family. Fuck, Alex. You’ve been whoring yourself out.”
Oh shit. He knows I work at a strip club. But how does he know? His description of what he thinks I’m doing gets my blood boiling. “I’m not whoring myself out as you put it so nicely. I’m dancing.”
“You’re taking your clothes off.” He’s getting angry now, and I regret speaking back to him. That flicker of fear rapidly morphs into full-blown panic.
The words to try and justify myself tumble out quickly. “I don’t take all of them off. No one’s ever seen me naked, except for you, Ron.”
The slap around my face isn’t totally unexpected, but there was such force behind it, for a moment I see stars. He takes the opportunity to uncurl my fingers from the door and drag me out onto the porch. There’s a car waiting, engine still running. I can’t let him take me away.
Regaining my senses, I pull hard against him, but he’s too strong and is winning, inch by inch. My mind’s working. At least he’s only come for me and not Tyler. Celine will look after him as if he were her own. If I go with him, he’ll kill me.
A sense of self-preservation makes me scream, but it’s a workday and the houses around appear empty. Either that or no one wants to get involved.
“Shut up!” he snarls. “If you don’t want to worry the boy, you’ll come quietly.”
What?
“Yeah, that got your attention, didn’t it, bitch? I went to the school and collected Tyler. He’s waiting in the car and watching us right now. I suggest you do what I say and don’t fight me.” One side of his mouth turns up in a twisted grin. “There’s no way you’d win, Alex. And Tyler will witness what happens when you disobey.”
He’s got Tyler? How? The school wouldn’t let anyone but me or Celine take him, would they? Then I realise there’s little doubt he’s telling the truth. Probably all he needed to do was flash his police identification. All resistance leaves me. I can’t abandon my son to this monster. Reluctantly, I let him take me to the SUV and get me settled in the front. As he’s doing so, I turn and try to summon up a smile for my son sitting in the rear seat. His bottom lip is quivering, but he says nothing at all. Par for the course around Ron. I notice he’s at least remembered to bring a booster seat. Jesus, how long has he been planning this?
The car’s too cold, but there’s no point saying anything. Ron’s all for his comfort and not anyone else’s. I compare that with how Dart was so kind, letting me keep a comfortable temperature for Tyler. Ron doesn’t give a damn. There’s no point in mentioning it, I’d only get another backhand, and I don’t want my son to see what a violent man his father has become.
As he puts the SUV in drive, I try to sound calm as I ask, “What about our things? I can run back and pack—”
“I’ve wasted enough time. You’ve got stuff at the house in San Diego.” Yeah, when I’d run, I’d left everything behind. So he’s really taking me home. Why? To pick up playing house where we left off?
Again, I look over my shoulder. Tyler might be young, but as his eyes flick to me he knows this is wrong, but thank God he’s not uttering any protests or objections. Ron’s wound up tight. It would take little to set him off. I want to hold my son, to cuddle him, to reassure him, but Ron’s never approved of what he calls mollycoddling. I have to content myself with offering another forced smile. It’s meant to be comforting, but from Tyler’s expression, I’ve not been successful.
Then the SUV’s moving, taking me away from the only place I’ve ever felt safe or happy, and the new life I was building for myself and my son. I feel a tear escape from my eye and turn to look out the window so as not to give Ron the pleasure of seeing it.
I’d known there was something lurking beneath his civilised façade, even when I’d first been introduced to him. I’d never have married him if I hadn’t been so young and pressured into it. I’d been a virgin—he’d taken me roughly—and that side of our marriage didn’t improve after our wedding night. All too quickly, I learned my own pleasure meant nothing to him. When he’d done what I now know is called stealthing, removing the condom and getting me pregnant without my permission, the beast inside him began to come to the fore.
He dropped all pretence as soon as we knew the fate of the babies, but at that time he hadn’t hurt me physically. It was just mental abuse and starting to avoid me—staying out nights and hardly coming home. The one good thing was he’d never had sex with me again. He put the blame on me, for being so unattractive.
I was only eighteen and accepted it was my fault. Beaten down until I was ashamed that our marriage wasn’t working, I did what I could to try and improve it. When that hadn’t worked, I just settled into a loveless relationship. I shouldn’t have stayed, but I was young, stupid, and naïve. My parents had no sympathy, siding with him and insisting the failure of my marriage was down to me. I should work at it harder, they said.
What choice had I got? I had no skills and no money, my only option to keep up the pretence with my man. If I left him with no job, and nowhere to go, he might have gotten custody of my son.
While his hate had only been expressed verbally, I could cope with just words. I wasn’t stupid, despite my inexperience, I read the signs and had known for a while that his anger was building, but still, he hadn’t raised his hand to me. Until that day he exploded and given vent to six years of pent-up rage. I don’t trust him. Not with myself, and definitely not with Tyler. He got away with hurting me once, and now I know he’s going to put me through hell again. He tried to kill me last time. Now that he’s got his hands on me again, he’ll probably succeed.
Casting him a sideways glance, I realise the man driving the SUV bears little resemblance to the man my parents first introduced me to. He’s let the animal inside him out in the open, and now it’s never going to be put back into its cage.
“How did you find me, Ron?” I’d asked why before but didn’t get an adequate response.
“For fuck’s sake, Alex. You’re so fucking stupid. I’m a cop. I’ve got contacts in every police departments. You thought you hid that you were in tight with your sister? I knew about that the whole time. Your phone records told me.” He thumps his hand on the steering wheel. “Didn’t really care you were gone, at least you took the brat with you, but I’ve had people watching you. When you started stripping, I couldn’t allow that! Fuck, I’ll become the laughing stock of the department when that gets out. And liaising with a fucking outlaw biker club? Probably whoring yourself out to them? That was the last fucking straw.”
If I were a good mother, I’d stop him swearing in front of my son. But if I were a proper mama, I’d have left him years before. I bite my lip, not knowing where this is going. I’d been so foolish, thinking he would have been glad that I’d left and not bothered to find me. I never considered he’d be able to use the tools of his job. He’s right. I’ve been stupid.
Another few miles pass, and I look at my son. The smooth vibration of the car has lulled him to sleep.
I take the opportunity to find out what I already know I’d rather not hear. “What are you going to do with us, Ron? Surely you don’t want to pick up from where we left it? The marriage hasn’t been working for years.” If it ever had.
He doesn’t answer, just leaves me guessing. While he doesn’t let me into his plans, I doubt th
ere’s a rosy future in it for me. Or for Tyler.
Miles pass, and then we’re approaching Winterhaven, the border between Arizona and California. Maybe this is my chance. I could shout out we’re being abducted, but when we slow, ready to stop at the checkpoint, Ron gets out his police ID and we’re waved on past.
If only I’d been able to get that restraining order. With that in place, there’d have been a reason to report him. But I’d found how hard it is to prove something against a cop. His colleagues had rallied around him, and it had never been filed. Clearly his team was more worried about not having him on their side than they were about what was happening to me. Briefly my mind flicks to the bikers who people call criminals, and how different they were to the man beside me, and the colleagues who rallied around him.
No one had believed me, except the doctor who’d treated my injuries.
“Mom. I wanna go potty.”
Ron swears loudly as I glance at my son. Having woken, his face is scrunched up, his legs crossed, and he’s fidgeting. Sure signs an accident is close unless we do something about it.
“We’ve got to stop, Ron.”
He heaves an impatient sigh and swears under his breath, but pulls off at the next rest area. “Stay in the car,” he tells me. “I’ll take Tyler to the bathroom.”
“I need to go too, Ron.” Perhaps there’ll be someone I can talk to in there, tell them I’ve been kidnapped or something.
“Once Tyler’s sorted, I’ll come back and get you. I’ll escort you inside.”
“You can’t go into the girls’ bathroom.”
“I’m a cop, babe. I go where I like. Anyone asks, I’ll say you’re a fugitive.” He leans over and painfully entangles his fingers in my hair, pulling me toward him so he can whisper straight into my ear. “Stay here like a good girl. Be quiet and don’t attract attention or speak to anyone. I’ll have Tyler with me, remember.” Then he gets out, grabs Tyler from his seat, and locks up the car with the windows closed. Tyler throws a look of panic over his shoulder, but there’s nothing I can do to help him. I try to give him a reassuring smile. Surely Ron wouldn’t do anything to hurt his son? But he’s scared me enough that I bide by his threat and do nothing to make my predicament known.
I heave a sigh of relief when they’re both back safely. By that time, I’m overheating and finding it hard to breath in the stuffy air. Not wanting Tyler to be trapped in a hot car, I refuse the opportunity to relieve myself. Only minutes later, we’re back on the road, and I’m being driven to a fate that I can’t try to imagine. I only suspect it won’t involve me playing house like I did before.
Chapter Twelve
Dart…
Once seated in church, Snake wastes no time getting down to business. He takes out a smoke but doesn’t pass the pack around. After he’s lit it, he waves the glowing tip toward me. “Dart, here, our brother from Tucson, has a problem he may need our help on. Wanna fill us in, Dart?”
Despite my despair, I’m heartened that every man here turns and gives me a nod, chin lift, or other such indication they’ll try to help sort whatever is wrong.
“We run a strip club,” I begin, knowing that’s not news for anyone around the table. “One of the girls came from San Diego, as she’d had problems with her man. Got a young son, he’s got sickle cell disease.”
Poke, the sergeant-at-arms, scrunches his face. “She black?” he asks, his mouth gaping.
Immediately, I’m on the defensive. “Yeah, she’s black. So what?”
“White club, man.” Tinder’s shaking his head.
Slick bangs his hands on the table and goes as if to stand up. “If you fuckers gonna take exception to my brother’s ol’ lady, then we’ll do this alone. Come on, Mouse…”
Snake knocks the gavel loudly against the table. “Sit down, Slick. Everyone just calm down. We might not have a black brother in the club, but our rules don’t say nothing about the ladies. Fancied myself a bit of dark meat a time or two.”
I bite back my anger and note the way Slick’s said Alex is mine and that I don’t rush to refute it. Applying the ownership label might get us more help. Getting our relationship straight in their minds can come later. Right now, I just know that I want to have her and Tyler back safe and sound.
“When you’re ready, Dart.”
I nod at Snake. “Her old man’s a cop. Ronald Thompson is his name. Based here in San Diego.”
“And that’s who’s taken her?”
I look at his flash to remind me of his name. “Yeah, Snips. That’s what we believe. Me and my brothers came here to have a chat with him. The kid needs treatment and he’s not paying up.” I go on to explain how we’d visited Thompson’s second home and what we’d discovered.
“You reckon he’s bringing them back to San Diego?”
I shrug my shoulders. “He could be taking them anywhere. But here’s a good place to start. My feel is he’ll want them somewhere on his home turf.”
Grumbler leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. “What d’ya reckon he wants to do with them?”
“I’ve got no fuckin’ idea. But my gut tells me whatever it is won’t be good. She was afraid for her life when she ran. He tried to kill her once already.”
Smoker gets out his cigarettes, which makes me reach into my pocket for mine. He pauses before lighting up. “I think I know Thompson. Detective, you say? Well, if he’s who I’m thinking of, he’s one sadistic motherfucker.”
Snake sits forward. “That wasn’t who—”
“Sure was, Prez. Yeah, that’s who arrested Stickler a couple of years or so back.”
The murmurs and protests around the table suggest I’m going to hear something I’m not going to like.
“You were there, Grumbler. Want to tell the Tucson boys what went down?”
Grumbler shuts his eyes as though he’s remembering the details. “We’d been out on a run. Stickler had some dope with him. For personal use.” He rubs his hand over his beard. “Stickler had served and come back with PTSD, had severe depression. He was legally prescribed marijuana. Had the letter with him an’ all.”
Snips grins. “Yeah, but while we know that, instead of carrying eight ounces, knowing him he probably had double that.”
Giving Snips a frown for interrupting him, Grumbler continues the tale. “The rest of us were clean. They pulled Stickler off his ride. He tried to show them the letter he had—he’d carried it around with him for ages, so it was crumpled and dirty. Cop arresting him wouldn’t even look at it.”
Tinder takes up the tale. “Those fuckers had it in for him. Maybe they were down on their arrest record, I don’t know. Anyway, they were treating him roughly. Stickler’s PTSD cut in. He’d been taken prisoner out in the sand pit, so he didn’t like being manhandled or restrained, and started to fight back.”
“He’d have gone willingly had they just spoken to him calmly and cuffed him, but they were too rough. The way they were handling him hit one of his triggers,” Snips snarls.
“Yeah. Anyway, cop car pulls up with your friend Thompson inside. Came out swinging a baton…”
I haven’t seen anyone called Stickler around. “And…?” I prompt, already having a bad taste in my mouth.
“Last we saw of him, he was unconscious.”
“Word was he died resisting arrest.”
“Man, that blow was fuckin’ hard. Heard his skull crack.”
“And you just stood there and watched?” Slick sounds appalled.
“Wasn’t much we could do, man. They took him away, said they’d get medical help. There were only three of us, and by the time Thompson arrived with his partner, four of them. Without killing all the cops, we had to trust they’d do what they said.” Lost, their VP, silent up until now, is obviously still upset at what happened.
Again, Smoker leans forward. “Bird kicked up a fuckin’ fuss, but couldn’t shake them from the official story. Made sure he got a hero’s fuckin’ funeral—press there, Patriot G
uard Riders, the lot. There was a story in the paper saying he’d been legally carrying and that the cops had fucked up.” My brow creases, and then I remember Bird was in the prez’s chair before Snake.
Grumbler lifts his hand, letting me know there’s more to this story. “Strange thing was, Thompson’s name was kept out of it. According to the police, it was one of the traffic cops who’d hit him too hard.”
“So how d’ya know?”
“Apart from that we saw it with our own fuckin’ eyes?” he scoffs, then shrugs. “Cop who got blamed wasn’t too happy about it. Had a loose mouth. We sent one of the prospects into the drinking place they prefer and he heard him mouthing off.”
“If you want help taking that motherfucker down, we’re right there behind you. And I don’t think we need to take a vote on that.” Snake eyes up his men, every one of them nodding. I feel chilled inside. To kill a man for legal possession of dope? What would Thompson do to his wife who’d run off? Or Tyler, come to that.
Something’s niggling at me. “Why didn’t you tell us this before, Snake, when Drum asked if you knew the fucker?”
Snake shrugs. “I wasn’t in the chair when it happened and didn’t immediately remember. Fuck, Dart, I don’t carry the names of all the fuckin’ cops in the city in my head.”
No, but wouldn’t you remember the one who’d killed a brother? I shake my head. Still, whether or not he’d have told us earlier wouldn’t have made much difference. Couldn’t make me hate Thompson any more than I already do.
Mouse has been tapping away at his laptop. He’s also been exchanging muttered asides to Token, who’s apparently Snake’s go-to computer guy. Apparently, his full handle’s Hard Token, but fuck knows what that is.
Suddenly, Mouse looks up. “Can’t link Thompson to any more properties than the two we already know about. Can’t find a storage facility or anything like.”
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