What? She tipped her head to the side, because the cadence of his words was familiar, sounding out of place in the deep voice. “Drago?”
The smile on his face broadened, slashing across his features like a bloody rip. “In the fuckin’ flesh.” Head angled up to keep his gaze on her, he offered her a half bow, arms out to the side. “You’re a lot stupider than I expected.”
“What?” She verbalized this question and took a step to the side, wanting to put distance, or perhaps the car, between them.
“You know who your daddy is, right, little girl?” Faith blinked, because that question didn’t make any sense. “He’s one of the most powerful men in the region, and after what happened to his boy years ago, that man protects what’s his with a singular focus. But you—” He chuckled, sounding like Sammy did when he was most pleased with himself, arrogant and sure of his own competence. “—gave yourself up like a prize on a platter. This—” He took a step towards her and she glanced at the house, freezing in place when she saw more than a dozen men of varying ethnicities had come out on the porch to watch the encounter. “—is going to be fun.” No longer feet away, Drago’s voice came from beside her and she yelled out in surprise when his hands gripped her arm and shoulder, turning her to face the house head-on. He shouted, his words echoing off the building to bounce back against her skin. “See what I got us, boys? This here’s our bargaining chip to earn a place at that goddamned table we’ve been denied far too long.”
Fingers tight on her skin and bones, he drove her before him towards the silent house, giving her no option but to go with him. Terrified, she panted in short bursts of air as he ignored her fists and nails. Faith’s head rang when he casually drew his arm across his body to backhand her brutally when she threatened him with her teeth. Bleeding from her nose and mouth, she fell on the stairs, turning onto her back to look up at the circle of men hovering over her. Oh, please no. Hardened eyes, scars drawing story lines across their skin, they stared at her. One man’s eyes held sympathy, and she reached towards him. “Please.” He quickly shuffled out of sight, his place in the circle taken by a man with dark skin, dark eyes, and a mouth so cruel she cringed away.
Drago shoved aside two men and thrust his hand towards her. “Fuck you.” She slapped his hand away and he grunted and aimed for her hair instead, the ripping pain making her cry out again. He lifted Faith to her feet by his grip, tears leaking from her eyes as he pushed her hard, not letting her get her feet under herself. Faith’s stomach flew to her throat as she flailed and tripped on the lip of the porch, falling to her knees, palms landing on the unvarnished wood with a meaty slap. Everything had gone so fast, she hadn’t had a chance to really react and wavered there a moment until a splatter of blood from her nose colored the planks between her hands.
A fist in her blouse lifted her, the collar chokingly tight against her throat, cutting off her air. “Oh, yeah.” Drago’s voice sounded from behind her as a hand groped her breast, another thrusting up under her skirt to graze the curve of her ass. Revolted, she screamed and tried to whirl out of reach, coming up hard against the Mexican man. “This is gonna be fun.”
“Bedlam.” The Mexican’s voice lashed like a whip, cowing the men, his arm trapping her against his chest. She kicked out hard, catching Drago’s leg just above the knee and he screamed, going down in a pile.
“Bitch, I’m going to kill you for that.” He stared up at her, then shifted his focus over her shoulder. “She ain’t yours, motherfucker.”
“She is not yours, Bedlam. Damaging her will not encourage the Rebel cooperation you so desire.” Faith dug her nails into his wrists, drawing blood as she tried to dislodge his hold. “Stop, girl.” Faith let her legs go limp, dragging against his strength and he hoisted her like a sack of potatoes. “I am your defender, girl. Be still.”
Faith swiped her dry tongue across her lips, wincing as she probed the tear at the corner with the tip. At least they didn’t rape me. Her brain supplied another word at the end, but she ignored it. Yet. At the man’s words, she’d stopped. Not because of what he’d said, but the way Drago’s face looked as he stared at her. Hungry, angry, and mad.
She’d been passed off to another man and, accompanied by half of the crowd from the porch, they’d moved her through the house and into the basement, a laboratory maze of halls and rooms that felt far too large for the footprint the house had boasted. He’d shoved her into a room at the end of a hall, slamming the door behind her. It had only been moments before the door opened again, the Mexican man had sauntered in as if this were the country club and he a preferred member.
“Hello, Faith.” He smiled and a scar she hadn’t noticed before pulled his lips to one side, thinning and distorting the expression. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Not likewise. Let me go.” Faith lifted her chin and stared him in the eyes as she clenched her fists, daring him to come closer. Drago had surprised her, but these assholes didn’t know she’d grown up fighting with a much older brother and his friends, in addition to the tribe of Rebels kids who earned their place in their own hidden hierarchy by fists and blood as much as by who their fathers were. Faith was always a leader in their group, and it had made her stronger than these men knew.
“I cannot.” He shook his head. “Not until I have the answer I need from an old friend.”
She shook her head. “You know who my dad is?” He nodded, that painful-looking smile drawing tighter, lips pressed bloodless across his teeth. “Then you know the hell he can rain down on you.”
“I have hell of my own to command.” He shook his head. “Pawn in a game too large for you to understand, girl. I’ll make a call or three, begin the process of changing the rules.” He stepped backwards and used the heel of his boot to pound against the door. “Bedlam’s move was ill-considered, but until I hear one way or another, I’ll need you to remain our guest. I had other plans already in motion, so we’ll see whose bears fruit fastest. Your father will look for you, but he won’t find you here. You’re in this now, girl, and that’s good for my cause. The only thing better than having you here will be when I get his woman.”
“Guest?” She swiped at the blood covering her mouth and chin and held the palm of her hand out, offering him a view of red-colored flesh. “I’m a guest?” They can’t get Cassie. Dad would die. “Who are you?” I need info. She stiffened her spine, giving him the most disdainful look she could summon. “Why am I here?” I’m going to get free, and Daddy will need to know.
The door opened behind him at his signal and three men filed into the room. Faith backed until the heels of her feet hit the wall and stood there, arms lifted in front of her. One carried a heavy wooden chair, and another held ropes, the third approached her warily. The Mexican man pulled a gun from the small of his back and Faith cursed herself for leaving her purse in the car. Her handgun was hidden in a zippered compartment built for that purpose, the gun and bag a present from her Aunt Mercy. She stared into the small round barrel and saw his finger flex on the trigger.
A final, frantic heave of her muscles proved the final push needed and Faith sobbed soundlessly when her hand slipped free from the constraining hold of the ropes. She brought her arm around her front and rolled the shoulder that ached the worst, then reached around the other side and fumbled blindly at the ropes holding her there. It took a hundred breaths, counted in an effort to keep her composure, because the longer she fought to free herself, the harder it was to keep a lid on her panic.
Her sole focus was on escaping her bonds, but she didn’t have any kind of plan on how to get out of the room. The door had to be locked, and the one window was small and placed high on the wall. Even if she moved the chair, it would be out of reach. Once she got out of the room, there’d be the endless hallways to untangle to find the exit. She didn’t have her keys, her purse, her phone—nothing. I have my brain, she reminded herself, grimacing as her fingernail bent backwards tugging a loop loose. Wriggling her hand free, she cu
pped her abused wrist in her other hand, refusing to look at whatever damage she’d done. Fifty breaths later, her ankles were free and she threw the rope into the far corner of the room, as far from where she stood as possible.
The metal loop still surrounding one wrist clanked loudly when she leaned against the wall and slid until she hunkered on her heels, staring at the door.
What now?
***
Garrett
The bike roared under him and Garrett leaned far over as he navigated the curve that took him off the main highway and down to surface streets nearly thirty miles over the posted limit. He’d been riding hard for an hour and a half, pushing the older bike to its limits to cut the miles between him and where he knew in his gut Faynez was.
He’d stayed in the background, listening as Hoss talked to his dad. Then Myron had dropped an information bomb that had them all scrambling. Sammy had seen something suspicious on Faynez’ computer and had called to have the tech wizard check it out. Myron hadn’t started before now, but was now digging through her files to find whatever it was that had set Sammy’s nerves tingling. They couldn’t connect with Sammy because he was on the road, on the team’s bus somewhere between Fort Wayne and Utah, and wherever he was, he had no signal.
Garrett had known where to look. As soon as Myron talked about the little bit Sammy had given him, Garrett had known. He’d seen something similar a few weeks ago, and she’d laughed it off as a way to pass time while her dad worked in the studio. The conversation he’d seen was innocent enough, and Garrett knew well what it meant to have a need to fill time until the most important people in your life paid attention to you again. That’s how he had always filled his days between seeing Faynez. It wasn’t cheating on his feelings for her, because nothing happened, and he was careful to keep all his chats PG enough even Dolly could have read them, but he understood.
He’d slipped from the kitchen and into her bedroom. Booting up the computer had taken only a moment. Since his fingerprint wasn’t in the unlock system, he’d had to guess at her password. He swallowed hard at the memory. Jonny’s birthday. A few clicks later and he’d opened the log of recent chats, which included the days between Myron pulling a backup and today.
Blood running cold through his veins, he’d read the back and forth, watching with clenched fists as it ramped up more and more, this Drago teasing and taunting her with a flair that was masterful in a way, entirely designed to have one result. Faynez trusting a stranger enough to meet in person.
“Gar-boy, where are you?” His father’s voice boomed through Hoss’ house and Garrett sat up. He’d been slumped over the keyboard, forehead cradled in his palms as he tried to think of a way to get Faynez out of whatever mess she’d gotten herself in. “Come here.”
He couldn’t ignore a direct summons, so he put the computer to sleep and straightened the covers on her bed. “Coming.” Out the door, he closed it quietly behind him, reverently almost. She’s gonna be okay. He made his way to the kitchen to find his dad and Myron had joined Hoss at the counter. There were more phones on the surface now as Myron connected with different members to leverage various specialty skill sets. “How can I help?” His dad turned to him, grief pulling deep lines into his face and in that instant, he saw the mortality of his own father for the first time. Heart stuttering in his chest, Garrett asked, “Dad?” No answer for whatever question he’d asked, and honestly, Garrett didn’t even know what that’d been. “Has there been any word?” Shaking his head, Mason held out one arm and Garrett stepped closer, letting his dad curl him close.
“Nothing. Cassie caught the one call, but there’s not been anything else. Myron can’t ping her phone, either, which means it’s been turned off.” Hoss turned, his face as hollow as his voice had been. “Do you know anything, Garrett? Has she said anything to you about anyone?” Garrett shook his head slowly, the weight of what he’d just learned resting heavily on his conscience.
Hoss looked as torn up as Mason, and Garrett cut another glance up at his dad. I can save her. He knew where she’d gone. He’d looked it up on maps on her computer, something she clearly hadn’t done, because it was labeled as an MC clubhouse, records showing it had gone back and forth between Outriders and Diamante, two names he knew well. Those organizations had been written with blood in club lore for as long as he could remember. If I tell and Dad rolls the club, there’ll be blood. A war like the ones old members talked about, bringing death and destruction for everything they loved. A single man however, could get in and out without anyone matching him against any given patch. Dad won’t let me prospect yet. Mason had told him he had to wait until he was eighteen, and if he still wanted then, he’d sew the rocker on himself. But I’m not club. Not yet.
He eased away from his father’s grip, making his way to the living room. It was the work of moments to slip outside through the sliding glass doors, and once in the garage, he straddled his bike. After a brief moment of hesitation, he dismounted and moved to his dad’s bike. Digging in the saddlebag, he found what he was looking for and stashed the leather pouch in his bag. Transmission in Neutral, he rolled the bike down the sweeping drive, jumping to mount the bike only after it was moving quickly. He made it a block before the bike had slowed where it needed to be pushed. Another block and he felt comfortable starting the engine, not revving it like he normally would, praying it wouldn’t stall. Out through the security gate, edging his way around the closed traffic control arm, he ignored the irritated shout of the guard.
Then it had been balls-to-the-wall riding, weaving through traffic on the streets until he hit the highway, fighting to hold his speed to less than his racing pulse demanded, cruising the line of being stopped if he was seen by the cops.
He sat upright on the bike, slowing as he rode away from Columbus proper, making his way through the tangle of backroads he’d memorized from the map. A mile from the clubhouse, he idled into the driveway of an empty house, listed on a realtor site as lease-to-own. Garrett stashed his bike behind the garage and retrieved the package, giving the bike’s tank a light pat in thanks as he walked away. The bike had done a great job for a machine older than his old man was, and he twisted around to look at the paint job Bear had done for him, the word Beast worked across the surface of the Indian’s tank, twisting through billowing clouds the shifting colors of Faynez’ hair. Good name, he thought, and then focused on making his way through the small line of trees that separated him from seeing the building where he knew Faynez had to be.
He paused at the edge of the woods, staring across at the decrepit building. Garrett counted six bikes behind the building and saw the end of a familiar car sticking out of a falling down outbuilding. It was quiet here, the sounds of birds in the trees and fields the loudest sounds he could hear. If that car’s Faynez’s…I wonder. Without giving himself time to think about what he was doing, he yanked his silenced phone from his pocket and turned it on. Once it was active, he ignored the missed calls and texts, going straight for the speed dial for Myron.
One ring and the man answered, raw anger and fear in his voice. “Yeah?”
Garrett tilted his head. Myron was never that short with him, always taking time to talk and joke around. “Uh, Myron?”
“Jesus God, Garrett. Are you okay?” Belatedly, he realized Myron had probably feared he’d been taken too, given that the call from her kidnappers originated on Faynez’ phone. “Where the fuck are you?”
“That my boy?” Mason’s voice echoed through the line. “Give him to me.”
There’d be no arguing with that tone, so Garrett quickly said, “I know where she is. I’m here. Tell me how to get in, Myron.”
As he’d hoped, Myron retained control of the call, asking him, “You’re where, exactly? Where do you think Faith is?”
Hoss barked a question in the background, then the tone of the call changed and Garrett knew he’d been put on speaker. On the spot and in the spotlight, something he’d tried to avoid for as long as he
could remember, he attempted to keep his voice steady when he answered. “I’m here. I know she’s in this building in front of me. But Dad—” His voice broke and he swallowed, took a breath, and pushed through. “Dad, if you come here, it’ll be war. I can do this.” He straightened, standing tall and fisted one hand on a hip as he told these men, people he’d looked up to for as long as he’d been breathing, that he wasn’t backing down. “I’m going to do this. It’ll be easier if Myron can help me, but I’m here and I’m not waiting.”
Myron’s voice was farther away from the phone as he said, “Fucking hell, he’s outside Columbus.” Silence and then Myron told them, “Diamante.”
“Boy, you stand down, now.” Garrett shook his head even though his father couldn’t see him. “Now we know, we can make a play. They haven’t called again, Gar-boy, we don’t know she’s there.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s the address the asshat gave her to lure her here.” He hurried to reassure Hoss, because he knew the man would be ripping his hair out. “Uncle Hoss, she didn’t know. I swear. She made plans to go to the mall, not this.”
“How do you know this, Garrett?” Myron was closer to the phone again and Garrett heard keys tapping. “Oh, hell. You got into her computer? I see what you found now. I was just looking at what I’d pulled, and it was days old. Fuck.”
“Garrett, stand down.” The command in his father’s voice was hard to ignore and Garrett’s muscles trembled. “You stand the fuck down right now.”
“Dad, I can’t. I’m here now, and if they’re hurting her—” He stopped when he heard an anguished yell, knowing his words had ripped that sound from Hoss’ throat.
Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4 Page 90
