by Ker Dukey
“Nothing yet at the hospitals. Police scanners have been alerted to the scene though, so it won’t be long until hospitals’ computers are updated. I dug into the girl Jenna’s background, and she has a cousin in Jersey, twelve.”
Getting leverage on Jenna to keep her quiet is paramount because killing her as collateral damage won’t help make the princess play ball in whatever plan Prez has conducted.
‘They’re close. They talk every day and vacation together,” he adds with a tight smile.
“Good job. Let me know as soon as you have more on the body count.”
“Will do.” He nods, picking up his laptop and leaving the same way he came.
“So, what are we going to do?”
Brenner is going to owe me for this one for the rest of his goddamn life. I meant what I said about the club coming before everything else, but some of us sacrifice a shit load more than the rest.
Church is called and everyone except me is inside like Prez planned. He’s going to drill the brothers to find out if any of them saw Brenner or the other two fuckheads tonight and get to sorting damage control. Keeping everyone confined to one place means I’m free to get the princess out without being seen.
My head is throbbing and racing with uncertainty.
“She’s never going to go for this plan,” I mumble heavily to the empty halls.
“Yes, she will.”
My head spins in the direction of my father’s voice.
“What are you doing? You got a meeting.”
“Chatter has some bullshit he wants to tell the brothers. It will keep them busy for a while. You know how that fucker likes to talk. You ready?”
Straightening my spine and rounding my shoulders, I nod. “As I’ll ever be.”
The throbbing down the side of my face is worsening and I know it’s more than likely a mess, but I can’t bring myself to check it out in the mirror. My stomach keeps growling and I’m anxious to know where Jenna is and if she’s okay. Being in this room is making rage bubble and pop in my veins. Brenner’s shit is everywhere; dirty laundry piled in a corner and porn mags littering his bed and bathroom.
The scent is one of sweat and dirty sex.
Gag.
My bladder was threatening to release itself so I had to stand to pee for fear of what I may catch if I sat on the toilet seat. Not that it matters if they decide to kill me.
How long have I been here? Hours and hours have passed since someone last came in, and if I don’t text my dad soon, he’s going to send out a search party.
Footfalls outside the door send icy chills up my spine. I move to the side of the dresser to have something between me and whoever comes inside.
Please don’t be Brenner.
The lock disengages with a slight clank and then the door swings open.
The two men from earlier enter, and after staring at them side by side, I’d say the nice one who offered me water is the older man’s son. They have the same crystal clear eyes and perfectly shaped noses.
“Hey, princess.”
I hate that nickname, and only Cutters brothers call me it. No one in my circle of friends outside the club calls me princess.
“Are you letting me go now?” I ask with a tremor in my tone. I don’t want to show them any weakness, but I’m a club brat. I’ve seen what gets done to clean up messes, and this is a mess of epic proportions.
“You love your daddy? Your club?” the Prez asks, walking over and pushing some crap to the floor. He sits on the corner of the bed, his presence dominating the room.
I love my brother.
As if reading my mind, his eyes flicker with blue licks of fire. “I know your old man knocked up a club slut and she and the kid live at the club.”
What is he doing?
My insides coil and churn as the chaos inside my head fights for reason.
“What are you getting at?” I breathe, sick of the games.
“Your father knows you have a boyfriend but not who?”
My stomach bottoms out and a pain stabs at my chest at the thoughts of Dean.
“So? He’s dead now. Your fucking lunatic son killed him!” I screech, scrambling backward when he gets to his feet and advances on me.
“That will be the last time you ever speak of that, do you understand me?”
His large finger points right in my face, and I want to slap it away and tell him he can’t treat me this way. I’m a Cutter princess. I’ve never wanted to be part of the club but it doesn’t change the fact that I am, and no one in my life who isn’t my father has ever mistreated me or raised their voice to me. Except for Axe.
“You and Slade have been fucking around behind both mine and your father’s back. “
What?
“I knew nothing about it until you turned up here together. Married. Eloped.”
No. What the hell is he…?
“As much as I don’t like my son going behind my back, you’re his old lady now and the princess of our club.”
“My father won’t stand for that!” I choke out, shock solidifying my blood and numbing my body.
“He will kick the shit out of Slade, and rightly so.”
My eyes drag over to the son he calls Slade. He’s staring at me with hard eyes and a furrowed brow. “I can take it.” He nods.
Like I care if he can handle a beat down. I’m not fucking marrying some stranger, especially a biker.
“It will fortify our club’s pact. Unify for a better future.” He sounds like he’s talking about the future of humanity.
“Listen,” Slade speaks up. His voice is gravelly and slides through me, rippling like a wave and turning my stomach over. “We’re not trying to condone and cover up what Brenner did.”
“That’s exactly what you’re trying to do.” I laugh without humor.
Inhaling a full breath, he tries again. “We need to make this right. Brenner and the other two brothers will pay for what they did, but it will stay within the club and it won’t ever be mentioned outside these walls. I know this is a bullshit gig for you. Someone barged into your life and turned it on its head and you’re left to deal with the fallout. You were brought up in the life. You know that what’s best for the club always comes first.”
“And what if I don’t want to get married? I’m eighteen years old and your brother just killed my boyfriend.”
The sound rings out into the room before I register it’s happened. A giant paw-like hand connects with the side of my face. Fire ignites a path over my cheek and my mouth fills with blood as a tooth pierces my gum. My legs shake and almost buckle from the strength. Although he’s drawn blood, I know he held back. The fact I’m still on my feet tells me this.
He hit me. Bastard.
“I warned you about saying those words.” The Prez seethes as his frame appears to grow imposing in my space.
He shakes out his hand like it’s got germs on it. I hope it stings.
I spit the blood to the floor and glare at him. The biker brat I never let take root is clawing from inside me, wanting to ravage the flesh from his face with my bare hands.
Slade goes to the bathroom and comes back with a washcloth soaked in cold water, placing it on my cheek. His eyes widen, the pupils swallowing the color like spilt ink on paper. “You will be my wife, my old lady, and no one will ever touch you like that again. That I fucking promise.”
He spins to glare at his father who cranks his neck and sits back down on the bed. I snatch the cloth from his hand and step away from him.
“If you love your brother and club and don’t want a war where casualties will be maximum for them, including you and the boy, you will take the out I’m giving you. And remember, my son is giving up a lot here too, but it’s our way of life and you know it. Sacrifices have to be made by us all at some point.”
Tears, fat and salty, leak from my eyes as a sob retches from inside me. I crumble to the floor and hide my face against my knees, holding myself.
How the hell d
id this happen?
Rolo, my kid brother, isn’t even two years old and his life is already being threatened. What choice do I have?
Lilith’s Army is a bigger club, a mother chapter with smaller chapters spread far and wide who will all come to aid in the war if one begins. It would be a bloodbath. I can’t have that on my ticket.
My eyes burn, sore from the tears.
I wipe my face with the palm of my hands and drag my eyes up Slade’s body. He’s wearing leather shit-kicker boots that have slight scuffs on the front. His jeans hug the right places and droop a little around his butt, the belt hanging low on his hips. The black tee with Black Stone Cherry’s logo emblazoned on the front stretches over his pecs and shoulders but has loose fabric over his torso. The cut patch reads “SGT AT ARMS” So he keeps order. Ha, figures.
My gaze moves up to his face. Scruff coats his chin a few days past needing a shave, and his lips are full and rosy. His features are pronounced and beautifully constructed. His eyes, big and expressive, are bordered with dark lashes; a black thunder cloud looming over the clearest ocean. Thick, almost black hair lays unruly, shooting off in different directions over his head. Tattoos peek from the neck of his tee, and my curiosity wants to see where they lead. He’s almost too good looking to be real. How is he single and unmarried?
He looks older than me. In his late twenties maybe?
“How old are you?” I find the words slipping from my dry lips without permission.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Kids?” I ask, curious how many club whores he’s knocked up over the years.
His eyebrows nearly reach his hairline at my question. “Like, do I want them?”
No, do you have them, idiot?
A snort from the Prez still sat on the bed makes me startle. I forgot he was still here.
“You can talk about this shit on the road.”
“Where are we going?”
“You eloped, remember? So you have to fucking elope.”
“What about Jenna?”
Saying her name is like bringing a storm into the room. The grim expression shadowing Slade’s face makes my heart skip.
“Our doc’s taking care of her. She’ll be fine.”
Doc? Oh, God.
“Here.” The Prez hands me a cell phone. It’s Jenna’s.
“Text your father and tell him you’re staying with her for a few days.”
“I want her released, that’s the deal. Release Jenna and then I’ll go and get married with out a fuss.”
He leans back looks up at the discolored ceiling fan before blowing out a heavy breath and sitting forward.
“Fine, as soon as she wakes up she’s gone. Now text your old man.”
My hands shake over the keys as I type the message. I sometimes text him with her cell because mine goes flat, so he won’t be suspicious, but he will be pissed that I didn’t tell him in person.
The cell is snatched back from me and I hold my tongue from throwing a cuss at him.
So many questions whizz and snap through my mind and I know I won’t get answers from him, but I might from Slade when we’re not here anymore.
Getting to my feet, I brush off my butt and then become immobile, as if someone has frozen me to the spot when Slade’s hand reaches out to grasp mine.
I don’t want to touch him.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to get married.
He takes my hand, too strong for me to resist, then pulls me behind him and out of the room. He drags me through his clubhouse, which is empty and quiet. We leave through a back entrance that comes out at the side of the building right next to the trash cans. Perfect. I drag the polluted air into my lungs. Even with the garbage scent, it smells a hell of a lot better than that stuffy bedroom I’ve been held in for God knows how long.
“I need you to behave,” Slade warns me, his voice deep and commanding, his eyes wild and haunting all at once.
My feet itch to take off running. I can’t risk the club. My brother. Jenna.
When he continues dragging me toward a line of Harleys, I want to cry. I feel it bubbling inside me like a boiling pot waiting to explode and spill hot, scalding fury everywhere.
He stops and turns to look me over, his eyes dropping to my bare legs. I can’t cover them, despite wanting to.
“We’ll take the truck.”
Thank you.
My eyes rake over his face, lingering on his oval shaped orbs that sparkle in the moonlight; those dark lashes any female would kill for make his eyes appear impossibly bright. He’s so attractive, like really out of my league attractive. How did he come from a biker club and not a Hollywood film?
I can’t help the stir of self-conscious thoughts invading my mind.
What does he think about having to marry me? I’m not ugly by any means, but compared to him? What if I’m not his type? Too thick, too thin, too young. Why do I care? It’s not like it’s real.
It dawns on me that he too has just had his world turned upside down. Does he have an old lady already that he hasn’t married yet? Will she be pissed and gunning for me? Will he still be with her?
Images of Dean flutter like confetti doused with rain in my mind, sticking like mush to my conscience. His body is barely cold, and here I am worried about being pretty enough for some cute biker I’m about to marry. Traitor bitch.
It hurts, the pain physical in my chest, the grief, pouring down and sticking to me like a second skin.
Brenner will pay for what he’s done.
I will be their princess if that’s what they want.
They have just let the wolf into the hen house, and I’m hungry for revenge.
Avery’s entire body is vibrating in the seat; she looks a like she’s been pulled through a hedge backward and stomped on. The bruise on her cheek blossoms in an array of color across her pale skin. We’re going to have to be away at least a week before that goes down. Maybe she can use make-up to cover it up. Bitches are good at that shit. I caught Rhiannon doing it once to cover hickeys on her neck. She shit a brick when she caught me in the mirror, watching her. Little Sam Hanes didn’t know what hit him when I grabbed the little fucker and stuffed him in the trunk of my car and kept him there for an entire night. I finally let him out the next day and told him next time the car will be driven into the river with him still in it. He didn’t come near her again.
I sense her shift next to me, wrapping her arms around her stomach.
“You okay?”
“I’m hungry. Can we grab a burger or something?”
A smile spreads across my face. Women are usually coy as fuck around me. The rare occasion I’ve taken any of them out to eat, they pretend they don’t need to eat, or order a salad. Surely no one likes that rabbit food; it’s bland as fuck.
“Sure, princess. We can grab a burger.” I’m curious to see if she does actually order one.
Rolling her eyes, she says, “I’m not your princess.”
She might not like the term, but it doesn’t matter. She was a princess to the Cutter club, and now to ours.
I didn’t plan on having an old lady; they can be a distraction, and a tool used against you. They can also bring a world of pain. Just look at poor fucking Stormy and my old man.
But this is different. We haven’t fallen in love. This is a business deal, and as long as we’re both discreet, we can live our own lives.
I drag my eyes back over her body, at the curves in all the right places in her tiny shorts. She looks like one of those booty dancers from an MTV music video.
My thoughts drift, wondering how many men she’s had inside that body of hers. She’s built for sinning, but with her father, I doubt she had much chance to do any. The realization pleases me, and the fact it pleases me makes me angry. I shouldn’t give a fuck. Maybe it’s male pride bullshit. No one wants an old lady who’s been around the block a few times.
I pull in to a drive-thru and look over at her expectantly. “What
do you want?”
She tightens her arms around her stomach and her cheeks flush red. “I don’t have my purse.”
Does she really think I’m going to make her buy her own food?
“I got you covered. Order whatever you want.” I tried to keep the amusement out of my voice but I’m tired and this has been the most fucked up day of my life.
“I want a number two, large meal, please. Ooh, with a vanilla shake.”
I bite my lip and nod before relaying this to the stupid voice box asking me for my order.
“Number two, large, vanilla shake.”
“Is that all?”
“And an apple slice,” she pipes up.
My grin spreads so big I can’t look at her and I hide it behind my arm. “And two apple slices.”
I can sense her eyes on me, the narrowed glare at my amusement. Pulling around to pay, I grab her food. She snatches it like a broke drug addict being offered crack. She unwraps the burger and takes a huge bite, the sauce spurting out of the sides and smearing up her cheeks. She sighs as she chews.
“Good?” I ask, trying to keep the laughter from my lips.
“So good. I feel wrecked and that makes me hungry.”
She fucking looks wrecked. Any other girl would have probably gone into shock, curled into the fetal position, and never left it.
“Is Slade your road name?” she asks between bites.
“No. Frost is my road name. No one calls me Slade except my old man.”
“Good to know.”
This is shit she will need to know if she’s to be convincing when telling her father we fell so fucking hard for each other that we eloped without permission.
I may have to take a bullet over this.
“I’m going to book us into a motel and we can spend the night getting to know each other.”
Her hands drop, her half eaten burger landing on the wrapper in her lap. Her mouth is gaping and her eyes flare with such ferocity, I swear I can feel the heat coming from them.
“I’m not fucking you,” she states bluntly, disgust tugging her lip into a sneer.
She has sauce up her face, her hair resembles Edward Scissorhands’, and she is black and fucking blue from my family members taking a hand to her.
