The Biker's Plaything

by Sam Crescent

  “Wait, what the hell?”

  Her hands were forced behind her back, cuffed, and she was pulled toward a police car. One she recognized as being from her town.

  Resisting arrest was against the law, so she complied. If she did nothing wrong, she’d be okay. Did he know she was working at the bar underage?

  Panic consumed her.

  She didn’t know what the hell was happening. All she knew was if a cop was arresting her for nothing, it had to do with her father.

  What had he done now?

  Chapter Two

  Lord sat up in bed. It was fucking two in the morning. The cell phone display lit up in the darkness. He hadn’t expected this call so soon.

  “Don’t tell me there’s a problem already.” Lord ran a hand through his hair and rolled out his shoulders. He’d been lifting heavy in the gym all afternoon, and his body felt stiff.

  “I have her,” said Bobby Joe Ranger. The rat cop’s voice had a musical edge, like he’d just won the lottery. “She’s in the back of my cruiser as we speak.”

  He twirled a bullet on his nightside table, pleased the plan had come together so smoothly. It seemed too good to be true.

  “You have Richard’s daughter? Ally Prixman?”

  “Yes, Lord. I have her, just like I said I would.”

  “You woke me from bed, you better not be bullshitting me,” said Lord.

  “I swear it’s her. I have her ID and everything.”

  He exhaled, looking at the clock again. “I’m not getting out of bed. Lock her in your trunk for the night. I’ll meet back at your place first thing in the morning.”

  “Whatever you want. I’ll be ready.”

  Lord turned off his phone and tossed it on the empty side of his bed. It would be hard to fall back asleep now. His mind was a blur of Richard’s betrayal, the lies, the deception. He’d trusted the bastard, given him a job, and he got nothing in return but grief. Lord valued loyalty above all else. He’d give his life for any man in his club. Knowing Richard was trying to sell off his secrets, even using one of the cops on his payroll to make it happen, was like a knife to the back.

  Now he had the man’s daughter.

  Using family members against his enemies had always been the best revenge. It was better when they watched, so they could feel the same pain they caused for the club. With Richard six feet under, Lord would still get satisfaction knowing the rat’s only heir would join him, ridding the world of his bloodline. He’d toy with her a bit, make her suffer, remind her what a bastard her father was when he’d been breathing. Then he’d put a bullet in her head.

  He could already feel the sense of closure. The unique satisfaction that came with revenge.

  It was time to move on from this betrayal and work on strengthening and expanding the Straight to Hell MC.

  When he woke up next, the early morning sun shone right in his face. He rolled to the side to check the time, immediately remembering the call from last night. It was time to clean this shit up.

  He opened his bedroom door and whistled. One of the club whores ran up the hall toward him within seconds. Lord grabbed her by the back of the neck and she froze. “Tell Brick, Reaper, and Stump to gear up. We’re heading out as soon as I take a shower.”

  “Want me to join you?”

  He looked down at the half naked woman. She wasn’t unattractive. He was well aware that getting into his bed was an honor for the club whores, but he had no interest lately. Lord would say he’d lost his fucking libido, but he had no trouble getting his dick hard. It was the dirty pussy he tired of. At forty years old, he wasn’t the same man he was in his youth. He wasn’t looking for a connection, and only when he was extremely pent-up did he ever allow the whores near his cock. It seemed every year he grew darker, withdrew more, and lost bits of his humanity along the way. Some said he was heartless, others said he lacked a conscience. All the rumors were true.

  Lord washed up in the shower, running both hands through his hair and allowing the water to flow down over his muscles. He was sore, but it made him feel alive. After he dealt with the cop and the girl, he’d push himself in the gym again. It was his outlet, gave him focus, and reminded him to keep disciplined in every aspect of his life. His body and his rank were testament to his dedication.

  By the time he made his way to the yard, his men were ready to go, geared up, and packing heat. He nodded his approval as he approached his bike. The chrome glistened in the morning light.

  “Where we heading, boss?” asked Reaper.

  “You wanted the cop to get the girl for us. He got the girl.”

  Lord lifted his leg and straddled his bike.

  He could hear the unspoken words from his enforcer, but the bastard knew better than to open his mouth. Reaper had a soft spot for women. There was no room for weakness in their world. The girl was going to die, regardless of Reaper’s opinion. There was no balancing right and wrong, only their unique form of justice. The Straight to Hell MC had a reputation for a reason. It was Lord’s job to ensure they weren’t seen as weak or ripe for extortion. If his men were more like him, lacking complete empathy for their enemies, they’d be stronger. Their human nature kept bringing down the club.

  He revved his engine, glared at his enforcer, then led the way out of the club.

  The drive out to the cop’s country home was quiet this early. They drove past countless acres of farmland, dotted with the occasional homestead or herd of cattle. He remembered bits and pieces of a broken childhood. The shed out back, the beatings, the bloodied rope. Being reminded he’d never amount to anything.

  Lord had spent most of his forty years trying to forget the past.

  When he was around twelve, he lost sight in his right eye. His stepfather was to blame. The motherfucker would hurt his mother while he watched, and the day he tried to intervene, he was left scarred and blinded in one eye. His stepfather said not to watch if he didn’t like what he saw. The bastard used a metal rake from the barn, pinned him in the corner where they stored the hay, and thrashed him over and over until he lost consciousness.

  He’d been skinny and helpless way back then.

  Things were different now.

  Lord had learned to turn off his emotions. Permanently. It was better that way. He’d become stronger mentally and physically and would die before he became the victim to any man again.

  He snapped back to the present when he nearly lost control on the dirt shoulder of the road. Lord refocused and picked up the pace, only a few more miles until his destination. He couldn’t let old memories toy with his head. It was easy to slip into oblivion—he knew that all too well. He had to black it out, push the pain, guilt, and shame so far fucking down into the abyss that they couldn’t mess with his head.

  Bobby’s old farm appeared ahead, and Lord slowed down his bike before turning onto the unpaved drive. The other bikes settled around him, cutting their engines on cue.

  “She alive?” asked Reaper.

  “Don’t worry about it. She won’t be for long.” Lord headed toward the house, but Bobby Joe Ranger came stumbling off the porch, pulling on a plaid shirt as he neared.

  “Good morning,” said Bobby.

  Lord nodded toward the cruiser.

  “Oh. Yeah, she’s just where you told me to leave her.”

  It had been a frigid night. Maybe the girl was already dead.

  The cop walked along a beaten path, his keys jangling in one hand. He unlocked the trunk and flung it up, a huge smile on his face. “It was so damn easy. I picked her up as soon as she left work last night.”

  His VP stepped forward first, glancing into the open trunk. There was no sound, no movement.

  “Boss, how old you say this chick was supposed to be?”

  He narrowed his eyes, looking over at Brick. “Why?”

  “She looks young.”

  Richard Prixman had been older or at least he had some fucking city miles on him. Lord expected a woman in her thirties, but when he jo
ined Brick at the open trunk, those big green eyes staring at him were pure innocence.

  He looked over at the cop. “How old is she?”

  The cop handed him her license. “Just turned nineteen. Works at a local bar. No record. No location on the mother.”

  Lord looked at the license, then back at the girl. “Get her out of there.”

  Brick and Stump unceremoniously dragged her out, dropping her down on the dirt by his feet.

  “She’s a big bitch. It wasn’t easy getting her in there by myself,” said Bobby.

  Lord froze in place, staring at the cop, suddenly feeling the overwhelming urge to punch the smug look off his face.

  “Lord?”

  He returned to the present, squeezing and releasing his fist to calm himself down. Stump stood next to the girl, a questioning look on his face.

  This was the day he’d been waiting for, so why did it feel all wrong?

  Lord walked over to his men and the girl sitting on the dirt, the sound of each booted foot distinct in the early morning hush. He crouched down, his leather jacket creaking as he leaned over his knees. He reached out one arm, using a curled finger to tilt her face toward him.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I told you it’s her, Lord. There’s no mistaking it,” said the cop.

  Lord whirled his head to the side. “Did I fucking ask you a question? Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”

  He returned his attention to the blonde.

  “What’s your name?”

  She swallowed hard. “Ally.”

  “Ally what?”

  “Ally Prixman.”

  He nodded. “Then you’re exactly the girl we’ve been looking for. Do you know why you’re here?”

  She shook her head. “I’m guessing this is because of something my dad did?”

  Why was he noticing the bruise forming on her temple or the way her full lower lip quivered? He usually started these interrogations with a lot less conversation and a lot more pain.

  “Richard Prixman. You don’t look anything like him,” Lord said.

  She shrugged. “He was a sperm donor, that’s about it.”

  Lord chuckled, so did Brick.

  “Well, regardless of how you two spent the holidays, he’s still your blood, and that motherfucker screwed me over.”

  “What did he do this time?” she asked. “And who are you?”

  He smirked, and it wasn’t the kind before he gutted a man. It was a real fucking smirk because, for some odd reason, this girl amused him.

  Lord stood up, stretching out his legs. He motioned for Stump to get her to her feet.

  He paced back and forth.

  “Your father tried to sell me out. He abused my trust, and I don’t take that lightly.” He stopped, running one hand through his hair. “As for who I am, sweetheart, have you heard of the Straight to Hell MC?”

  ****

  Of course, she had. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.

  She knew her father had dealt with a lot of unsavory characters, but nothing like this. Did he not realize what he was doing? You never crossed an MC, especially not one notorious for bloodshed and making people disappear. She’d worked at Riches Bar for a while now and heard a lot of talk. There was no way she was naïve to what the hulk of a man in front of her was capable of.

  And Ally didn’t need to know this man’s rank. Without a doubt, he was the one in charge, the prez of the club. He moved with confidence and restrained power. For a biker, he was ruggedly attractive, even with the grisly scar on the side of his face. Or maybe in spite of it.

  She couldn’t tell how much of him was covered in tattoos but she saw ink peek out from under his sleeves and collar. He was huge and hard with muscle. A short beard covered a strong jawline. How could such a delicious-looking man be the one to end her life?

  Becky would kill her if she knew how wet Ally was for a dirty biker, one ready to slaughter her for sins she never committed. Unless…

  “Did he sell me to you?”

  He looked taken aback, so she knew she’d be wrong in the assumption. Part of her was actually disappointed. If she had to belong to a man, why not this one? She pushed her twisted thoughts away and focused on her reality. The one where bikers treated women like trash, cheated on them, and beat them without a second thought. She didn’t want to be a man’s punching bag.

  “Now there’s a thought,” he said. A devilish little smile revealed the crinkles next to his eyes. Why did it have to turn her on? Had she ever seen eyes so black?

  She kept quiet.

  “When’s the last time you saw your father?”

  Ally shrugged. “I can’t even remember it’s been so long. Last time I saw him, he wanted to borrow two hundred dollars for a debt.”

  “Did you give it to him?”

  She scoffed. “I have ten cents in my bank account.”

  The man chewed on his lower lip as if conflicted. She hadn’t moved, even though her entire body ached. Then he stepped away and talked to one of the other bikers wearing cuts.

  “Sure thing, Lord.” Then the biker grabbed the cop from last night by the sleeve and led him away toward the barn behind them.

  Her nerves began to pick up. She was next. They were both dead.

  Ally attempted to think of anything to distract him from killing her, to appeal to any shred of humanity left inside of him.

  “Why do they call you Lord? Is your club like a cult or something?”

  She immediately regretted her words, holding her breath and tensing.

  He raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a name. Don’t read so much into everything.”

  The guy holding her exhaled a frustrated sigh, giving her a jostle. “What are we doing with her, boss?”

  “Relax.”

  The way he looked at her was unnerving or titillating, she wasn’t sure. He reminded her of a wolf sizing up its prey. She shouldn’t be in this situation to start with.

  “How much does my father owe you? Why aren’t you after him instead of me?”

  It wasn’t like she’d be able to pay off his debt for him, but it still wasn’t fair for her to have to pay for his sins. She’d never done anything wrong. Ally even released spiders rather than killing them.

  “Your father’s already dead.”

  Her mouth parted, but no words came out. She hated her bastard father, but knowing he was dead shocked her to the core. And made her more aware of her dire circumstance.

  “The Straight to Hell MC is known for a lot of things, I’m sure, but one thing in particular. Care to guess?”

  She shook her head.

  “Revenge. When we deal with a rat, they’re not the only one to suffer. Torturing and killing their loved ones sends a strong message to any other fucker thinking to do the same thing. Wouldn’t you agree? It’s worked very well for us.”

  Her eyes began to fill with tears. She held her breath and tried her best not to let her emotions spill over. There were so many dreams she had that would be left unfulfilled. No one would miss her.

  A loud gunshot echoed from the barn and she gasped, instinctually rushing forward, clinging to Lord’s t-shirt. The guy beside her attempted to pull her back, but Lord stopped him.

  She let her hands slowly fall away from him, and she stared down at the ground, never feeling so alone. The third biker rejoined them. The cop had to be dead. Dead like her father. Dead like she’d be soon.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He ran both his hands into her hair at the sides of her head, forcing her to look at him. He exhaled in a near growl. An angry sound.

  “You’re your father’s daughter. All I’ve thought about the past few days is wiping your bloodline off the face of the earth—to see you broken and bloodied, begging for me to end your life, only to keep prolonging your suffering. I imagined that fucking Prixman watching from heaven or hell or wherever the fuck he is.”

  Tears fell down her cheeks, pooling where h
is hands met her cheeks. “He wouldn’t care.”

  “It’s better when they care. Makes the torture more satisfying.”

  She let out a soft, shuddering breath.

  “Who do you live with?” he asked.

  “Myself. I’ve been alone a long time.”

  “Kids?”

  She frowned. “I’m only nineteen.”

  “I know girls on their third kid by your age,” said Lord. “Nothing surprises me.”

  “I’m a virgin.”

  Why did she feel the need to blurt out that fact? His jaw tensed, a look of pure evil passing over his vision. Her knees felt weak, but she forced herself to keep it together.

  He stared at her for the longest time. Then he released his hold on her head and led her to where the four Harleys were parked. “Burn the cruiser. Burn the barn.”

  “Yes, Lord,” said one of the men.

  “This is over. Meet me back at the club when this shit is cleaned up.”

  He mounted his bike, then revved the engine. Lord drove off and she immediately tensed up, not wanting to be alone with the other three bikers. Were they going to burn her alive? Did they do all the horrific dirty work for him?

  Before she had a full-blown panic attack, he circled around over and over until the dirt and grass created a halo around where she stood. He stopped dead in front of her, supporting the bike with his booted foot. Lord nodded behind him.

  She was so confused.

  “Not too bright, are you? Get on the fucking bike.”

  Ally had never been on a motorcycle, and as she squeezed on behind his massive frame, she realized she’d never been this close to any man. When he hit the gas, she quickly wrapped her arms around his waist, holding on for dear life. He pressed one hand to hers for a few moments. His skin was warm and rough. The protective gesture seemed uncalled for when he had her fate mapped out.

  Within minutes, they were gone. Away from the farm, away from the other bikers, away from what she thought would be her final resting place.

  Now it was the future that worried her.

  Where was he taking her? Why was she still breathing?

  All she could do now was rest her head against his back, hold on, and watch the world flash by.