by K. L. Savage
“There he is,” Skirt says, taking off his brass knuckles.
The sand grinds against my fingertips as I stand, a silent fury filling me as I stare at the clubhouse and head back inside. The scuffing of boots against the ground tells me my brothers are behind me.
There is one man that might know where she is.
And this time, I’m going to listen to my gut.
I’m not leaving this clubhouse, not until I have answers, and not until I’ve raised fucking hell.
Oh no, I’m going to be late for my own wedding.
No, late isn’t the right word
I’m not going to make it.
My head swims with dizziness, and nausea rips away inside my stomach like a storm swirling in the middle of the sea.
Don’t throw up on the vintage dress, Mary. Whatever happens, whatever you do, keep the dress safe.
When I get out of here—at least, I hope I’ll get out of here—I’m going to marry Knives as we planned. Reaper was right; we should have never left the clubhouse. Now was not the time to be selfish, but I wanted to be. The club never gets to be selfish, and I wanted more for myself, and so did Knives.
This is what we risked. We knew something bad would happen, but I thought we could have one night to ourselves.
What a joke. No one can ever get one night without something bad happening.
“Mary, it’s good to see you again. Do you need anything, Sweetheart?”
The sound of my father’s voice has me turning over in the silk sheets on the luxurious bed. There’s a chandelier in the middle of the room and a chaise lounge in the corner that has gold trim and white cushions.
Turning to my left, I notice the view of Vegas. The flashing array of different lights has me mesmerized for a second. There is a large Ferris wheel in the distance. Reds, whites, greens, blues, neons, the hotels around us putting on a show to attract all the tourists.
My father’s fingers graze down my neck as I look out the window, and it has my skin crawling like a thousand cockroaches. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Don’t fucking touch me.” I scoot away from him until my back hits the headboard.
“Mary,” he tsks. “You know what happens when that pretty mouth leaves a curse in this world.” He starts to unbuckle his pants. “I searched everywhere for you. And when Mr. Moretti said you were with a biker group; I knew I had to save you.”
The belt cracks in the air as he walks around the corner, looking more threatening than ever. His white hair is combed back, and his beard is a few shades darker, a grey on its way to turning to snow. He has a gold chain around his neck with a gold cross hanging from it, settling in the middle of his chest.
And if I remember correctly, it has his favorite bible verse etched in the metal.
Colossians 3:20.
Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord.
A crock of big fucking shit if you ask me.
I’ve never seen a more despicable man in my entire life. He doesn’t serve God; he serves himself.
Instead of wrapping the belt around my wrist like he used to do, he wraps it around my neck, pulling the belt tight. My hands fly to my neck, and I gasp. I kick, and my back bends as I struggle to breathe. My fingers curl around the black belt to pull it away from my airway, but it’s too tight.
The blood rushes to my face, and I choke, gasp, and cough.
“You thought you could get away from me? You thought you could run away from me? You can never get away from me. I fucking own you, Mary. You’re mine. Wherever you think you can go, I’ll follow. You will not disobey me again. You will serve me, you will get on your knees, and fucking worship me. It’s what you are meant to do.” He tugs tighter to drive home his words, and I’m worried that he isn’t going to let up.
I’m going to die.
I know what he means when he says I need to get on my knees. It’s something I’ve never done before with him.
Fear soaks into the marrow of my bones when I dissect his words.
The only man I’ve ever been on my knees for is Knives, and I don’t care if my dad kills me; Knives is the only man I’ll ever worship. My father can go to hell.
He rubs his erection against my arm, and tears prickle my eyes. From the pain of the belt against my neck, the terror of feeling him along my arm, my freedom is slowly slipping away. I’m back in his clutches, and I know this time, he will make sure he will never let me go.
He wraps the belt around the post of the headboard, which has me lifting to get the pressure off, but it doesn’t work. I can’t get a full breath of air. My windpipe is constricted, and it has me barely choking. My heart is racing, and my lungs are already burning. He fumbles with his zipper. The sound of it lowering has me kicking harder, struggling more to get away. I pull on the belt, tightening the constriction further.
Now I can’t breathe at all.
“You’re a gift from God, Mary. My gift. Your mother hated how much I wanted you. How much I loved you. Still love you. I think you were always supposed to be mine.” He pulls out his cock, one I’ve seen one too many times, and I close my eyes.
His hand rubs up my leg, his fingers digging into the same spots Knives did, pressing against the bruises.
Bruises that were left from love and desire. Knives wanted me so much, he couldn’t contain himself, and my father is ruining the passion Knives left for me to remember.
My father groans, fucking his fist as he lifts my dress further. “What’s this?” he asks breathlessly, tracing the fingerprints Knives left behind. He knee-walks on the bed and settles between my legs. He tries to jerk them apart, his cock hard and leaking precum, angry that I dared to be with someone else.
“Were you a whore, Mary? Did you spread your legs for someone else?” His hands hook around my thighs to pull them apart, but I keep them shut, the edges of my vision turning black from the lack of air.
The more I struggle, the more I can’t breathe.
If I don’t struggle, he gets what he wants.
Me.
I refuse to let another man have me.
“Was it that fucking guy with you at the boutique? Was it him?” he roars, yanking my legs apart so hard that the muscles tighten and cramp. I cry out, the pain unbearable in my upper leg. I feel like it’s pulled or strained, and in the moment of weakness to try and compose myself, my father bends his head down and inspects the bruises. “I’ll forgive you,” he says, kissing one of the marks.
A tear trickles down from the corner of my eye from his kiss. “I don’t want your forgiveness,” I croak, lifting my leg, damn the pain, and kick out again. My foot smacks against his face, but it isn’t enough for him to get away from me.
He pins my legs down and crawls up my body, keeping his hands tight on my hips to keep me down. His bare cock rubs against my leg, and I sob, not wanting him anywhere near me. “Please, stop. Stop! I don’t want you. I hate you. Get off me. Get off!” My voice is hoarse as I struggle to yell as loud as I can, but the strap around my neck makes it impossible.
He backhands me, drawing blood by splitting my bottom lip open. When he notices, he smashes his lips against mine and licks the droplet off.
I do the only thing I know to do. I bite down on his lip as hard as I can until I can feel the give of his flesh as my teeth sink in. His blood flows into my mouth, and he screams, pulling away from me. His cock is flaccid now, and he is holding his hands over his mouth. I spit, spewing his blood that’s gathered on my tongue. A red haze covers his face, and when he drops his hands, the way he looks at me promises nothing but torture.
His brown eyes dance like devils as he looks up me and down. “You found fire while you were away.”
I think about Knives’ nickname for me: Hellraiser. I suppose I am.
I’m not about to let this monster put my flames out.
“That only makes it more fun for me.” He reaches up to the post on the headboard and unwraps the belt, then loosens the clasp, and I gasp, welc
oming the oxygen. It’s all he gives me, though, before choking me again and wrapping the belt around the post. “I love you so much,” he says, rubbing his nose against my cheek.
I stop struggling for a moment, needing to get as much air as I can. The more energy I have, the better chance I have of getting away.
“It’s why it’s going to hurt so much when someone else will own you.”
I’m not perfect. I try to school my features, but the shock shakes me.
“Oh, yeah. Your beauty is money, sweetheart.” He traces my jaw with his lips, inhaling as he licks the tears off my face. “Our time will come to an end. I think you’re going to make someone very happy. There’s an auction in ten days. So many other women, so many men wanting to buy.”
“You’d sell me?” I choke.
“I love you. I don’t want to, but there’s an offer on the table for you that is too good to pass up.” He checks his watch and sighs, placing a kiss on my cheek. “I have a sermon to give. I do virtual church now, and it’s brought in so many new believers, Mary. You could be a part of it; you could be at my side instead, do you want that?”
He is giving me an option?
My tug on the belt around my neck, sneering at him. “You’re giving me an option? I thought the money was too good to be true?”
“If you wanted to be with me, start a family, be at my side as my wife, I will not put you in that auction. I want to know if you’ll be mine or if you want to be someone else’s. Your faithfulness is priceless to me.”
The bile creeps up my throat, helping the belt choke me further. A family? He wants his own daughter to have more children with him?
I can’t hold back. Bile works its way out of my mouth, down the belt, and my chin. What would his followers think? He can’t marry his own daughter. He is delusional.
“Our bloodline will remain pure and holy,” he says, finally taking the belt off my neck. I bend over and throw up over the bed, stomach bile searing my throat. “I know it will take some getting used to, but I think you’ll be happy. I can tell the buyer I’m no longer interested. It’s up to you.”
So my options are, get raped by my father for the rest of my life, or get raped by someone else. With my dad, at least, Knives would know how to look for me. What if I’m at the auction, and the man who buys me lives in Europe? Knives will never be able to find me then, but the thought of being with my father, for years, forced to have his children… I don’t know if I can do that either.
“Where is Mom?” I ask, spitting out the remainder of spit in my mouth. “Is she okay with this?”
“I sold your mom a year ago, sweetheart. I have no idea where that bitch is. She wasn’t a true believer.” He tucks himself into his pants and zips up.
“No! You fucking bastard. How could you do that to her?” I launch myself across the bed to… I don’t know, kill him? But with one backhand to the face, my head snaps to the side, and I fly to the floor, landing with a hard thud on my shoulder.
“If you don’t choose correctly, maybe you’ll see her.” On that note, he walks away, shutting the hotel door behind him.
I’m slipping in my own puke, crying, and I know whatever choice I make, it will kill me. I used to want that, but now that I have something to live for, the last thing I want to do is die.
Putting my elbow on the mattress, I use it to lift myself up. I have to try my best to make sure not to look at the puke against my arm or leg. I need to call Knives, but as I look around the room, I notice there isn’t a phone.
But there is a notepad.
Walking over to it, my heart broken because of my mom and what’s she is going through, I pick up the thick pad of paper. My eyes widen when I see the name.
Maximo has to be behind this auction.
The notepad says, “Circus Circus.” It’s an old notepad, because the hotel and casino no longer have a name while he renovates.
I’m in a web full of lies and deceit.
And the more I struggle, the further I sink.
It’s been ten days since I’ve last seen Mary. Ten, long, depressing days. I’ve lost myself. All I do is search the city. Day in and day out. At night I torture Maximo, but the bastard has stayed quiet. His wounds are infected, and he fucking smells like shit. If he doesn’t speak soon, I’m going to have his tongue cut out, and right in front of Maximo, I’ll feed it to Happy.
Then I’ll start taking from other body parts.
I haven’t slept. I’ve drunk myself into a stupor.
And I wake up at night, crying out her name, fear gripping my heart when my dreams turn into nightmares. I’m always clutching the sheet, drenching the blankets with sweat and reaching out for her.
Only to find her side of the bed cold.
I miss her.
We were supposed to get married, and my job, my one job, was to protect her.
I’m running out of time.
Today is the day Seer said Mary was going to die. I have to make sure that does not happen. The last ten days have made me realize just how precious life is with Mary. I didn’t understand it before, but now that I think about it, all the fighting we did before I kissed her, I wouldn’t have been able to be without it.
“Knives, you need to go get some rest,” Reaper says, standing by the sink. He leans against the counter, crosses his legs at the ankle, and sips his coffee. I’m not the only one tired. Everyone is.
We have searched every single hotel in Vegas. From top to fucking bottom. She’s vanished, and it’s time for me to start thinking that maybe she isn’t here anymore. I’ll need to search the globe for her.
Every damn city, town, and abandoned building this damn world has to offer, I’ll tear it down. I’ll find her.
And if I find her in her grave, I’ll join her.
I need my Hellraiser.
The bickering, the frustration, the madness she makes me feel, I need it. I’ve always needed it.
“Rest?” I laugh bitterly, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands to bring life back into them. “You wouldn’t rest if this was Sarah, just like any of you wouldn’t. You want me to rest? You want me to laugh too? Tell a joke? Dance? What the fuck do you want!” I slam my fist on the table, and everyone looks away from me. “She’s gone.”
“Our answers are downstairs, I know it,” Mercy says. “Maximo knows a lot more than he is saying. I can feel it.”
“Me too,” Mason says, running a hand through his hair.
He’s changed so much and hasn’t changed at all. His hair is longer, and the scruff on his face isn’t to grow a beard, but because he keeps forgetting to shave.
“I say we get a little more creative,” Tongue adds, staring down at Happy, who is at his feet.
“You want us to threaten him with a baby gator? What’s that going to do?”
“Torture. Happy is growing, but his bite is strong,” Tongue says proudly, puffing out his chest as if his kid is the best there is.
I can only imagine Tongue as an actual dad. He would be so protective, so intense, and his kids would probably be just as fucked in the head.
I drop my head in my hands, and my stomach growls, but I ignore it. I can’t even think about eating right now. I haven’t been able to stomach anything. Not with the vivid images playing in my mind every second of every day.
What if she’s been calling out for me? What if she’s been crying every day? What if she’s been fighting and it hasn’t mattered? What if he has been using her? I can’t get her eyes out of my head. They are pleading for me to save her, and I can’t.
I’m fucking done with this. I’ll kill Maximo for what he has done. I don’t give a fuck if he is Moretti’s brother or not.
No one deserves to live after what he has done, but as long as Natalia’s life is in his hands, I can’t go too crazy. We have to save Natalia too. Innocent lives cannot be sacrificed. I have to try and think smart.
We find Mary. We find Natalia.
We kill Maximo.
I w
ill kill her father.
This bullshit is done, and Moretti can take over as the mafia boss again. At least with him, we didn’t have to worry about shit like this.
I check to make sure I have my ninja stars and get up from the chair. My girl’s life has a fucking time bomb on it. I’m not about to let it go off.
I swing the basement door open and hurry down the steps. I don’t tell anyone what I’m doing. I’m not asking Reaper for permission for what I can and cannot do to Maximo.
I’m just going to fucking do it.
Opening the playroom door, the metal hits against the wall as I stomp in. Maximo’s head is bent, his breathing is labored and choppy, and his suit is nothing but soggy scraps from the blood, cuts, and piss saturating him.
His days are fucking numbered.
I grab him by the thick of his hair and yank his head back, then slap him across the face. “Wake the hell up!” He doesn’t move; he just groans. “I said, wake up!”
When he doesn’t, I let go and move around him. Along the wall is a counter with various tools, but it’s the gasoline I’m after.
I’ll set him on fire and send his rotten soul back to hell.
Taking a page from Boomer’s book, I grab the red jug of gasoline and head toward Maximo, circling him like a lion, a beast waiting to fucking kill.
It’s amazing how I went from feeling nothing to feeling everything in just a few days of being with Mary.
I sit the jug down on the floor, the floor vibrating a high-pitched frequency from the weight, and slip a few ninja stars from my pocket.
Maybe this will wake him up.
Gripping the silver between my fingers, I admire the pointed hooks on the tips of the star, then fling it through the air. A whoosh of a blade spinning sounds before thudding against Maximo’s eye. His left eye opens, and he beings to scream. Blood flows down his right cheek in thick streams, and my nostrils flare when I hear his pain.
I was taking it too easy on him before.
I fling another, landing right in his crotch, and another painful wail begs for me to stop.
Never.
“You took my fucking eye! You took my eye!” Maximo pulls on the restraints doing his best to get out of the trap he is in. “And my dick! My dick is bleeding.”
