by Snow, Jenika
Ride Hard
Deadly Scorpions MC
Jenika Snow
Jenika Snow & Jordan Marie
RIDE HARD
By Jenika Snow & Jordan Marie
Copyright © January 2020 by Jenika Snow & Jordan Marie
First ebook edition © January 2020 by Jenika Snow & Jordan Marie
Cover design by: Robin Harper with Wicked By Design
Content Editor: Kayla Robichaux
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.
Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.
Contents
Synopsis
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue One
About Jordan Marie
About Jenika Snow
I find Ride in my basement.
He’s chained, angry, and wants to punish someone. He wants revenge.
I understand, because I’ve been living in hell, wanting that same exact thing. I can’t do that, however. I have more than just myself to think of.
I feel sorry for Ride, but I can’t let that sympathy jeopardize me or my mom.
Then, something happens. Something awful. Something that can’t be undone.
The only person I can turn to is Ride.
I beg him to help me. We strike a bargain. He’ll come to my rescue, if I help him escape. It’s a bargain with the devil, but I don’t have a choice. I have to trust him, trust that once I free him he won’t kill me.
But it’s not my death he wants.
It’s not even money.
He wants me.
Chapter One
Ride
Jesus.
I feel like a fucking Mack truck hit me.
I shift against the cement floor, the cold, damp stone seeping into my bones. I’m so sore I grimace with the movement. I try to pull my hands apart; the cramping of my shoulders and wrists is such an overpowering pain it nearly takes my breath.
I can feel the burn of the ropes against my skin, and although I attempt to fight it, there’s no way to get free. The same harsh rope is cutting into the skin at my ankles. I try to take in my surroundings, but it’s so fucking dark I really can’t make out much. I think I’m in some type of storm cellar. The stench surrounding me is strong. Musty, dirty air is all I can manage to take into my lungs, causing them to burn.
I listen to the noises around me, but it’s just silence. I’m not a man who has much time for fear. I’ve actually never felt it, at least as an adult. If I were ever going to succumb to the emotion however, it would be now.
Still, I beat it down and do my best to remain calm. I try to piece my memories together, and really, that takes much more effort than it should. I left the party at the club early, just wanting to be alone.
We’d just burned Creek’s cut and shared a drink in his memory. The rest of the men were letting off steam, and I just wasn’t in the right frame of mind for that shit. Creek was a good man, and he was gunned down, shot in the back by some fucking coward trying to make a name for himself by bringing down one of us.
The Deadly Scorpions have finally taken over Bastrop, Texas. We have ventured into San Antonio and Houston, making our connections, so we’re set up to run our businesses without being fucked with. It hasn’t been easy, and it’s been bloody, but I had mistakenly thought the worst was over. Creek’s death was proof I was wrong. As President of the club, I feel the weight of Creek’s death more than others. My brother trusted me, put his life in my hands, and I fucking let him down.
That’s why I left early. I just needed to be alone and grieve. I got out to my bike, felt this sharp pain at the back of my head, and then the world went black.
All of that tells me absolutely nothing about why I’m here or how to get free.
I’m left here wondering if whoever did this will show his face.
If he does, I can only hope like hell I get an opening to get free. It would help if I wasn’t tied up like a fucking prized calf at a rodeo. I don’t know how I’m going to solve that problem, but hopefully I’ll figure something out quick.
Chapter Two
Langley
My stepfather is an idiot.
I’ve said that a million times, but I’ve never meant it more than I do right now. I watch as he staggers around outside, completely blown out of his mind. He’s been high since he got back from San Antonio—or wherever he went. He wasn’t exactly coherent when he told me he was leaving. He kept mumbling something about celebrating, because he was finally going to get revenge on the man who ruined his business.
My stepfather isn’t a banker or anything like that, by the way. He’s not even a mechanic. The business he keeps grieving about is drugs. Albert “Einstein” Mays is about as small as a smalltime drug runner can get. He had a few junkies working under him and did his best to supply the east side of Houston in crystal.
I should have left him alone to die years ago. I may only be twenty-one, but even I know Einstein is going to wind up dead, either by OD’ing on his own drugs or at the hands of someone he fucked over. I can’t leave however. Leaving, would mean abandoning the one person who has always loved me.
Mama Emmaline.
Mama Emmaline isn’t really my mother. Sadly, she’s the mother of Einstein, but even she will tell you she has no idea how that happened. Emmaline is the type of person to give you the shirt off her back. Her son is the complete opposite. Still, from the minute my worthless mother got messed up with Einstein, Mama Emmaline took me under her wing. She loved me, protected me, and did all the things my mother failed to do. When my mother died of a heroin overdose two years ago, it was Mama who held me, let me cry, and did her best to put me back together again. She was going to take me away from here, away from Einstein, and we were going to start over, have a better life, just the two of us.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
Mama suffered a stroke, which left her paralyzed on her left side, unable to care for herself and at the mercy of Einstein. Which means I’m at his mercy, because no matter how much I might want to, I’m not leaving here, and I’m stuck living with Einstein, because Mama Emmaline needs me.
Still, I see the writing on the wall. Something bad is going to happen soon, and I know that, because my stepfather has finally lost what little sanity he might have had.
He kidnapped one of the Deadly Scorpions. I don’t know who; I don’t know which one. I don’t know anything about the Scorpions, other than they’re an outlaw motorcycle club who owns a lot of Texas and has the firepower to back that up.
I don’t know much about bikers, specificall
y outlaw bikers, but I’m pretty sure having one of their own kidnapped calls for vengeance and a lot of blood.
I just have to find a way to make sure Mama and I don’t get caught in the crossfire.
Chapter Three
Langley
I can hear him moving around downstairs, and every time he grunts out, no doubt trying to escape, my heart speeds up.
Einstein’s passed out on the ratty couch in the living room, the pipe he just hit filled with crystal, but give him a few hours and he’ll finish that off.
I lean to the side, the kitchen chair I’m on squeaky from the shift in movement. Einstein doesn’t stir at all, remaining slouched to the side, the TV on but the volume off. The colors from the screen reflect off his body—reds, purples, blues, and whites. It’s like a kaleidoscope across his too-thin, junkie ass.
I look at the vent on the floor, the one that directly leads to the basement. I swallow, my throat feeling tighter when I hear the sound of shuffling filter up. I stand and head down the hallway to check on Mama. She’s sound asleep, her oxygen tank making this white noise I’ve become accustomed to. As I head back out, I see Einstein’s cigarette resting between his fingers and walk over to him. I take it, snub it out, and just stare at him. I hate him with everything I am.
He’s ruined more lives than I can count, and because of his fucked-up views and goals, he’s going to get Mama and me killed for this shit he just pulled.
I look at the basement door and exhale slowly. They’ll come for him—the MC—and I know when they do, they won’t care who’s innocent. They’ll take down anyone associated with Einstein, and that includes Mama and myself.
I swallow, my heart racing as I step closer to the basement door. The stench of cigarette smoke, old age, and the greasy shit Einstein brought home to eat linger in the air.
Instead of going toward the basement, I head back into the kitchen and grab a cup out of the cupboard. It’s cheap plastic, aged, and worn, the fast food logo on the side all but rubbed off.
I fill it with water from the tap, which probably tastes like chlorine, because the water in this shitty town is fucking disgusting, but I doubt the man in the basement will care about that. I doubt Einstein has given him food or water since he brought him here, so anything at this point is probably a delicacy.
Of course, I’ve thought about letting him go, saving Mama and me, but I’m not stupid. I know, even if I free him, the MC will still come after us for revenge. So right now, I need to make him see me as human, have him relate to me, view me as a person. Maybe, just maybe, I can have him empathize with my situation and spare us.
Just maybe, Mama and I can get out of this alive.
Einstein, on the other hand... I don’t give two shits what happens to him.
I grab a paper plate and head over to the fridge. There’s not much in the way of food selection, not when I have to scrounge this piece of shit house for money just to buy some fresh fruits and vegetables. But there is a box of pizza from last night, so I pull it out, take two slices, and set them on the plate. I nuke them for forty-five seconds, the scent of cheese and pepperoni filling the ‘70s style kitchen.
I glance at the basement door again, unable to hear him through the vent over the hum of the microwave. I zone out, thinking about the type of man he might be, how dangerous or violent he probably is, and if he’ll try to hurt me.
It’s the ding of the microwave ending that draws me back to the present. I take the plate out and grab the water, exhaling slowly and making my way toward the basement door. I glance over my shoulder at Einstein still passed out on the couch. He’d go ape-shit if he knew I’m going downstairs, but fuck his junkie ass. He doesn’t care about Mama or me, and he sure as shit doesn’t care if we make it out alive. He only cares about himself and whatever bent beliefs he has.
I open the basement door, the musty scent of age and mold, dirt and dampness instantly wafting around me. The light’s off. So I reach out and flick it on, a muted yellow glow illuminating the old stairs.
I stand there for a moment and just stare down, afraid of what greets me downstairs, wondering if I’m making a huge mistake. This could end badly if I screw this up, but then again, it’s already fucked up, isn’t it?
I push past my fear and uncertainty and take that first step, then another and another, until I’m standing at the bottom, looking into the darkness, unable to see much of anything. There’s only one glass block window off to the side. It’s tiny, the glass cloudy, so you can’t see out of it. But it’s night out and the glow from the moon barely comes through.
“Hello?” I murmur softly and take a step toward the darkness. I hear shuffling to my right, swallow past the lump in my throat, and go over to the wall to flick the light on.
The yellow glow fills the dank space, and I instantly see him. He’s sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the wall, his hands behind his back. There’s a chain wrapped around his waist that’s attached to a metal support beam to his side, keeping him stationed and not giving him more than two feet of lead.
He’s only about ten feet from me, and I feel my eyes widen when I have a really good look at him. He’s huge, with his legs stretched out in front of him, his feet tied together with a rope. His shoulders are broad, his arms huge and muscular. He’s wearing jeans that are now dirty, no doubt from being on this nasty-ass dirt floor. The white shirt he wears is just as grimy-looking, and the patch on his leather vest shows he’s the president of the MC.
Goddammit, Einstein.
I feel tiny compared to him, like an ant that would be crushed under the heel of his boot.
“I… I brought you something to eat and drink.” I hold up the plate and cup as a peace offering. I glance up at the ceiling, where I know Einstein is still sleeping. When I look back at the man, he still has his focus trained right on me, his eyes seeming dark, like black pools.
He wants to hurt me; that much I can see instantly. Yeah, I can only imagine the things he’s thinking about, all the violent acts he probably wants to do to me.
I inhale slowly and take a step toward him… and then another one. I don’t get more than five feet before I stop and crouch, setting the plate on the ground and sliding it toward him. I do the same with the cup, a little bit of the water sloshing over the rim. But I realize his hands are tied behind his back and there’s no way he can eat.
“If you promise not to hurt me, I can untie your hands so you can eat.”
He doesn’t speak for long seconds, doesn’t even move. I want to take a step back, realizing how foolish this idea is. But then he shifts and pulls himself up a little bit more. I watch him lean to the side, showing me his bound hands. For a second, I just stand there and look at them, his fingers long, those hands masculine. How many people has he caressed with them? It’s a thought out of nowhere, but I can’t help but wonder just the same. He wouldn’t caress me. No, I imagine he would wrap them around my throat the first chance he got.
I look around the basement for something to cut the rope and see a pair of gardening shears off to the side. They’re rusted, probably dull as hell, but right now it’s the best I have. But then I realize I need something sharp, something more intimidating.
I need something that might scare him enough to not hurt me.
I almost snort at that thought. No doubt nothing scares him.
I go back upstairs, grab a butcher knife, and make my way back down to where he is, holding it up as if warning him that if he doesn’t, I’ll slit his throat. Of course, I won’t. I can’t. The very idea of hurting him, or someone in general, makes me sick to my stomach.
“Please don’t hurt me. I don’t want to use this on you,” I whisper softly, but he doesn’t move or speak, just stays to the side so I can still see his hands.
My movements are slow as I go toward him, and when I’m a couple feet from where he sits, I keep my gaze on him as I reach out with a knife and slip it under the rope. I don’t cut it right away, just stare at him, his
eyes locked on mine. He’s got a couple days’ worth of growth on his cheeks and jaw, his dark hair short and messy around his head.
My heart is racing so hard and fast that it actually hurts. I can feel beads of sweat on my forehead, nervousness making my hands shake a little.
And then I bring the blade up, slicing through the rope, and all but stumble backward. But still, he doesn’t move, even now that his hands are free.
Ever-so-slowly, he sits back and rests against the cinderblock, his gaze trained on me.
“You should eat and drink that. You know, to keep up your strength.” I nearly grimace after saying that. Him keeping up his strength probably isn’t the best option for me, right? I mean, keeping him weak is safer, but seeing him tied up disgusts me. If I knew for a fact he wouldn’t hurt me, I’d have released him by now.
“Okay,” I say softly, looking at the untouched food and water on the ground just a foot from him. And with one more glance in his direction, I head back upstairs, close the door, and lean against it, unsure what the hell I’m doing.
Chapter Four
Ride
Jesus, fuck….
I can’t tell you the last time I was surprised—the hit on the head notwithstanding. I’m still alive today, because I’ve learned to read people, and the one thing I’ve been taught over the years is that people only look out for themselves.
