by K. L. Savage
Lady barks near the fence and I take off, Poodle and Reaper right behind me. There’s more blood. It’s dotted along the sand and a few small bushes, then there’s blood along the iron rods of the gate.
Please, don’t let it be her blood, but I know better.
It’s hers, or Lady wouldn’t be telling us to search here.
“Look at that,” Reaper says with unhinged anger as he pushes the fence, and a makeshift door swings open.
I crawl through the gate and see a rundown tent and supplies, covered with leaves and shit. “What the fuck is this?” I shout. “Reaper? What the fuck is this? Who’s doing perimeter sweeps? Who missed this?” I throw myself on the tent and tear it down, kicking the tarp and bottles of water until I’m breathless.
Lady barks from the road, and I know one thing—there’s no way to track a scent if the person being searched for is in a car.
It’s a dead-end, and I don’t care if I have to fight every man in the city. I’ll get Dawn back. I’ll feel those lips again, and whoever stands in my way, I’ll kill them with my bare hands.
I’ll paint the city red with blood for her.
Chapter Nineteen
DAWN
There’s a leak coming from the roof that is driving me crazy.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Since my hands are tied behind my back, I can’t scoot the rag over, probably a cum rag, to stop the water from splashing onto the concrete floor. I bang my head against the wall and look around the room. This place is a shithole. The men are disgusting, and the women … the poor women.
Don’t get me wrong, I hate the club whores at Ruthless. I hate seeing Jasmine’s face every day knowing her lips touched Skirt’s cock, but the guys treat their sluts so much better than the men here. Half of the women are on cots, half-naked, dried cum on their thighs, and a needle in their arm. In the furthest corner, there’s a girl with blue lips.
I think she’s dead. She has to be dead.
She’s naked, and her body is pale without any signs of the slight pink color the skin has with blood actively pumping through it.
What the fuck has Cohen gotten me into?
The door opens, and two bikers stare at me, running their beady eyes up and down my body before going to the girl in the corner and checking her pulse.
“Damn, another stiff. Let’s dump her,” the guy smoking a cigar tells the other younger biker who has a prospect patch. I’ve seen those patches. They aren’t full blown members yet. He looks like he isn’t made for this rough life. He’s my chance at getting out of here.
“Is she dead?” I ask, wondering if that’s what ‘stiff’ means.
“Shut up, bitch. None of your fucking business,” the man mumbles around the end of the cigar, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth as they carry the dead woman. She was someone’s daughter, sister maybe, a mother? Who knows, but she’s gone, and the family is better off not knowing what happened to their child. They would be horrified to find out she was probably drugged and repeatedly raped before dying.
Oblivion can be a bittersweet little bitch.
I try to slip my hands free of the zip-tie, but when I get nowhere. I want to hit myself, if I could, for not watching that damn YouTube video on ‘how to get free of zip-ties.’ Like anyone, I was thinking, ‘I’ll never find myself in that situation.’
Yet, here I am.
Zip-tied, surrounded by half-dead, drugged-out women, my future if I can’t get out of here. A club whore walks through the door with one of the members, and for a moment I’m confused. Why do they need this room full of unwilling women when they have club whores?
Because they like unwilling women.
“Hey, new bitch!”
My eyes fall onto the road name on his cut, but I can’t make it out; he’s too far away.
“Come on, Chrissy. Show the new bitch what’s in store for her here.” The man pushes the woman toward me, and she falls to her knees, and he unzips his pants to free his cock. I look away, not wanting to watch this, even if the woman wants it. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“You’re going to fucking watch.” A cock of the gun has me turning my head, and I shiver when I stare down the barrel. “Because I want you to take note of how I like it.” He aims at the woman on the floor and pushes the gun into her head to urge her on. “Suck it, bitch.” The woman giggles and pulls out the man’s dick. It’s tiny, but she stares at it as if it’s the biggest damn thing in the world.
I close my eyes and a gunshot rings out. I scream as the hot barrel lands on my foot, and I cry out from the singed heat.
“I said watch, you stupid bitch. Can you not listen?”
My eyes flutter open just as the club slut takes the small cock into her mouth, sucking it with more enthusiasm than the guy deserves. I wish she’d bite down, but she won’t because she’s probably just trying to live another day. Her red lipstick smears and the mascara under her eyes smudges as she gags, which is not possible since his cock is so little.
“Yeah, just like that. You takin' note, new bitch? I’m going to have those hot lips around my cock in no time.”
“Believe me, you don’t want to come near me with that thing,” I sneer, half-daring him to try so he can see what will happen.
His eyes are glassy, and he has track marks on his arms from needles. He fucks the girl’s face, and in less than a minute he’s groaning, coming down her throat. I gag when I see a dribble slip from her mouth, but she hums, licking her lips as if he’s the best dish she has ever savored.
“Damn, Chrissy. You’re my favorite. Love that dirty mouth.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” the Prez’s voice has fear slithering around the biker. The woman gets to her feet, and he tucks his cock in his pants, leaving the button unclasped.
“I’m just showing the new bitch how things will be around here. I didn’t touch her, Prez. I swear.”
“You better not have; she’s mine.”
“I swear, Prez. I was enjoying Chrissy and giving our new guest a show; that’s it. Ain’t that right, bitch?” the guy asks me.
I should lie. What happened? I hate him and what they do here.
“He’s lying,” I say, my voice trembling with fear. My eyes water, and I enhance my fear by a hundred. “He touched me, burnt me with his gun.”
“You stupid whore!” the biker yells and lunges for me.
Another gunshot rips through the air, screams echo, and blood splatters all over me. On instinct I close my eyes. When I open them, the biker who just had his last orgasm is on his knees, bullet-hole right between the eyes. The woman who sucked him off screams at the top of her lungs when the dead man falls over.
“Shut up. You’re fucking annoying.” The Prez cocks his gun again and fires, ripping a hole in her chest.
More blood sprays over me, coating me in red. I’m shaking. Instead of being curious, I’m fucking terrified. A tear slips down my cheek, and my body quakes from the shock.
Prez squats in front of me and twists the end of his mustache with his finger, curling it up as he ponders his thoughts. “I never liked him anyway. And Chrissy wasn’t all that great at sucking dick.” His eyes fall to my mouth. “I bet those lips are made for sucking cock, aren’t they?”
“They sure are,” Cohen says from behind the Prez, who just took out his own brother. Cohen is wearing a leather cut that says prospect on it. “Believe me when I say firsthand, you’re going to get a lot of pleasure out of her.”
“Where is Aidan?” Nothing else matters. I just need to know where my son is.
“Aidan is long gone, Dawn. Sold him. Made a pretty penny. Cut a deal with the Hellhounds here, and now we have a pretty good business going.”
“You sold him? Where? You asshole! Where is my son! I’m going to kill you! I’m going to fucking kill you if you don’t take me to him,” I sob, spitting out the rotten blood that landed on my lips.
“You’re n
ever going to see him again. Maybe now you’ll learn not to be disrespectful toward me. Don’t worry, if you’re good, I’ll give you another one.” Cohen rolls his eyes, speaking as if Aidan is easily replaced.
“I don’t want another one. I want Aidan! I don’t want anything else. Just take me to him, please. I’ll do anything,” I beg. “Sell me to the person you sold him to. Please, I just want to see him. Is he okay?”
“No more questions.” Prez stands and lights another joint. “Gather a few men and have them take out the trash.” He kicks the dead biker’s foot, then grabs me by the arm and forces me to stand. My feet slip on a puddle of blood and I lose my footing, but Prez doesn’t seem to care; he drags me from the room, leaving behind the women and two dead bodies. “Don’t bother me. This room is off-limits!” Prez’s patch says Mercy.
Mercy.
What fucking mercy?
He slams the door, locks it, and I run to the other side of the room, shivering so much my teeth are clinking together.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, turning to me with a different look in his eyes.
“I am. You need to stay away from me. You have no idea who is looking for me! You’ve really stepped in the shit, buddy!” I mouth off and then pinch my lips shut to stop myself from digging my own grave.
“No, you don’t need to be afraid.” His voice is even different, lighter, smoother, not so deep and threatening. “I’m not Mercy or the Prez,” he whispers.
“You just shot two people!” I scream, and he holds out his hands, gesturing them down, which tells me to lower my voice.
“They were dead anyway. Sometimes this job has consequences, and sometimes innocent lives are sacrificed, but I don’t think that guy was too innocent, do you?”
“Who are you?” The man takes off the cut and throws it on the bed, then reaches into his back pocket to pull out a wallet. My back stays against the wall, wishing like hell the damn thing would give and take me away to another planet.
He unfolds his wallet to show a badge. “I’m FBI. I’ve been undercover for a very long time. The Bureau has been building a case against the Hounds for years. There are so many activities they have their hands in.”
“There are women here. Someone died. How could you… You’re just as bad as they are!” I spout.
“The girl that’s dead isn’t dead. She’s an agent too. This is real shit. It took me years to build up trust with this group. Years. If you’re going to ruin that for me, I’ll shoot you. I won’t have my case compromised. When Cohen came to us, he had already used one of the members to ship your kid off, or I would have found a way to put him in protective custody. He’s gone. I can find him, but in order to do that, you have to let me trade you to the seller.”
“You’re a good guy?”
He rubs his graying mustache, his bulging bicep flexing against his shirt. “I’m better than most, but I wouldn’t say I’m good. I do what I have to for my position to look real, to be real, and for the most part it is. I do things that you won’t like. I have to. I’m close. I need to bust this child ring they’re running, and then I can take these bastards down once and for all. You to cooperate, okay?”
This horrible man is claiming he’s an FBI agent. I find it hard to believe, but whatever fucking universe I have crossed into is most definitely real. I mean, who the hell shoots two people to keep up appearance?
My eyes well with tears, fucking lagoons as Skirt calls it, and I let out a sad laugh that turns into gut-wrenching sobs. I want to go home. I want my son. I want Skirt. Why has my life been so damn difficult and uphill.
“I know, I know. It’s an emotional time. I get that. I need you to get your shit together, okay? I can’t have you losing it on me in front of twenty bikers who will tear me to shreds.”
“I want my son,” I tell him. “Promise me you will find my son, and I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
His hands land on my shoulder, and he stares into my eyes, the sinister side of him gone. “I promise to do everything in my power to bring your son home to you.”
He doesn’t say he’ll find Aidan or bring him back, but his promise to try is better than nothing. “What are the chances of getting him back? How many kids have you saved?”
“Do you want me to lie?”
“Yes.”
“All of them,” he says as he takes a knife from his pocket and cuts the zip-ties from around my wrists.
I rub my wrists to ease the ache. “Don’t lie to me,” I say instead.
He clenches his jaw and tucks the knife back in his pocket. “Bathroom is that way. Get cleaned up. Stay in this room. Borrow one of my shirts. I need to go set up the exchange for you. Once you leave my hands, I can’t promise protection, Dawn. Where you’re going, you’re going to have to hope I get there with my team in time.”
“How. Many. Kids.” I don’t give a damn about me. “No more lies.”
“None. Every trail goes cold because the ring moves around so much.”
It’s a punch in the gut that has me doubling over. The pain is unbearable. The thought of my little boy lost in this world forever is too much to bear. “Thank you,” I force out, even if it comes out more as a whisper, a sound being carried in the wind.
“Don’t thank me. Not yet. I’m sorry for grabbing you when you got here. I fucking hate doing that. I hate being this man,” he says. “I can’t wait till this job is done.”
“Your road name makes sense now.” I point to his cut laying on the bed. “I was wondering why you were called Mercy.”
“In the club? It’s because I don’t show any.”
“Outside of the club, you do.”
“This conversation never happened, Dawn. Please, don’t make me kill you.”
“If my son isn’t found, you might as well,” I say, numb to the core as I make my way to the restroom. His arm blocks the doorway, and when I look up at him, his mustache twitches.
He runs his hands through his graying hair and leans down. “Don’t ever give up on him. He’ll always be out there. I won’t. It’s my job. I care. I will search until it kills me, Dawn. I will do this job, be in this club, until they lead me to whoever they are working for, trading people, human fucking beings, drugs, and weapons. You can’t let this break you because the obsession of not knowing what happened to your son will eat you alive.”
He walks over to the plastic bin he uses as a dresser and pulls out a shirt and a pair of boxier briefs. “I know it isn’t much, but it’s better than what you’re wearing. While you’re here, you’re mine, so you’ll listen to me. Got it?” He holds out the clothing and then sees how much blood I have on my hands and folds them neatly on the bathroom counter.
“Got it,” I say, impressed with how clean the bathroom is. The warehouse is a piece of crap, but his area is clean. The sink is plain, the tile is a bit rotted, and he has a rug covering most it, but the edges are peeling and black, giving away the mold growing in here.
“You have to listen to me or this won’t work.”
“I’m an ol’ lady. I know how it works.” I step inside the bathroom, and he enters with me, slamming the door behind him and locking us inside.
I step back and crane my neck to look at him. He’s intimidating to say the least. Over six-four, wide, built like a Mack truck, and now that he’s in this small space with me, door locked, I wonder if he’s going back on his word.
His wingspan is bigger than the width of the bathroom as he presses his palms on either side of the wall. “You’re an ol’ lady? To who? Where? Tell me everything.”
“You don’t know? Cohen didn’t tell you where he got me? How can you be an FBI agent and not know of the chapters around you?”
“Because I don’t look at shit like that. My plate is full. We were just supposed to be passing through, but a few brothers liked it here. It lead me to Cohen, and Cohen got me a new lead, even though it meant it was your son, and now you’re here. What chapter are you affiliated with?”
I still don’t trust him. “I’m not telling you anything, Mercy.” The last thing I want to do is be loose lipped to a guy who claims to be an agent. Even if he does have a badge, I’ve learned lying comes easy to a lot of people.
“Smart girl. You’re learning.” He leans in again. “But if you tell me, I can let them know where you are. I’m sure your guy is going out of his mind with worry.”
I want to tell him. I’m torn. What if Mercy ambushes Ruthless? “If you really want to know, you’ll figure it out for yourself. I’m not giving you any ammunition.”
“You might survive this, Dawn,” he says, impressed.
I hold my head up high and turn on the shower. “You might too.”
“I need to go out there.”
“No.” I wrap my hands around his wrist and stop him from walking out that door. “Please, don’t leave me alone showering with men like Cohen waiting to get me. I’m ‘yours,’ remember? Can’t you stay?”
His eyes soften around the edges, and he flops the toilet seat down and sits, the hard plastic groaning from his massive weight. “Yeah, I can do that.”
I step in the shower and close the curtain, thankful that the material is black and not clear. I toss the shirt over the rail and it lands with a sick, wet plop on the ground. The water flows dark pink as the blood is washed from my skin. I bite back more tears as my eyes tingle with the emotion I’ve been holding back.
I’m about to break—no, shatter.
And Skirt isn’t here to pick up the pieces.
“Thank you,” I say to Mercy, and he gives me a grunt in response. Any man outside this room would get in the shower and force me to their will. Mercy doesn’t do that. He sits there, waiting patiently, and gives me the peace of mind I need by protecting me.
He shows more mercy than he thinks he does, and I’ll be forever grateful to him being a light in a really dark, twisted, fucked up, haunted tunnel.
Chapter Twenty
SKIRT
