Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

  “That’s nice.” His pudgy fingers ran over the mark, making my flesh crawl. “You brand all your bitches?” he called out.

  I was too high to combat his hands. He seemed to have as many arms as an octopus.

  “Only the specialest ones.” Ned was a watery silhouette in the distance.

  Ricky had given me an extra powerful dose that evening.

  The drugs invaded my veins like the creep’s fingers invaded my body.

  I squirmed, but that made him even more handsy. Like he thought I was into it.

  Then I heard the distinct rumble of motorcycles.

  A lot of motorcycles.

  That could only mean one thing unless my ears were playing tricks on me.

  Except Ned recognized trouble too.

  He began giving orders, arming up.

  I was helpless to stop anything now.

  “You’ll be the first to die tonight, Mercy, if’n it comes to that.” Ned threatened from across the bleak room.

  Thirteen

  Angel

  AFTER MERCY LEFT, I was unbearable. I didn’t imagine my mood getting any better any time soon either.

  Impossible to be around, I avoided the bar. I stayed away from the tat parlor. I snarled at anyone who dared to talk to me.

  Upstairs in my room, I’d opened the dresser drawers housing Mercy’s clothes dozens of times. I thought if I emptied them out—tossed her stuff away—I’d begin to move on.

  In the end, I always shoved the drawers shut, her clothes untouched.

  I couldn’t get rid of Mercy that easily.

  Couldn’t get rid of her at all it turned out.

  The third night, I did a wide loop on my Harley around an area I was supposed to be avoiding. Cruising to the mouth of the alley that the White Lair backed up against, I throttled down and cut the engine.

  I’d remembered Mercy mentioning something about the two pitbulls, and I’d come prepared.

  I threw some of Sol’s ribs over the back wall then quickly scaled to the other side.

  The dogs happily munched on the bones, only looking my way when I threw more meat to them.

  They weren’t so bad.

  Couldn’t say the same about Mercy’s fucked up family.

  In the back, there was a whole compound of squat square structures. I crossed the pavement on silent feet, trying to figure out which little concrete box could be Mercy’s.

  Then I saw it.

  Out of all the ugly desolation of the place, there was one bright spot. A small chipped and cracked terracotta pot with some kind of flower blossoming healthily from within sat beside one of the doors.

  I remembered her digging around in the flowerbeds in the courtyard.

  That one had to be hers.

  I wondered if she was inside.

  My heart beat faster.

  Under the cover of darkness, I slipped from shadow to shadow to the cement block hut.

  Hand on the door that was no more than ply board and at best a flimsy barrier, I touched the board like it was Mercy’s soft skin.

  I wouldn’t interfere.

  I wouldn’t intervene.

  I wouldn’t judge her.

  I left her new boots right outside with the sharpened blade tucked inside. They weren’t pretty flowers or pricey jewelry but they were more important than any other token could possibly be, and I hoped she understood.

  I hoped she’d find them first.

  Riding away on my motorcycle was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

  At maximum speed, I took corners at a deadly angle.

  I welcomed the wind.

  I cranked down near Thunder Road.

  I stomped straight up to my room. Straight out to the balcony.

  Staring straight up to starlight so much like the tats on her arms.

  I was lost without her.

  * * *

  The next evening, Sol entered my room without even knocking.

  “I’m not in the mood. Get out.”

  “Mebbe you ain’t in da mood, but you in a mood, Ange.” He started making a pile of half empty dishes, shaking his head at the collection of mostly empty bourbon bottles.

  “I don’t need a fucking maid. I just need to be alone.” Sitting on the edge of my bed I hadn’t made in days, I tensed my jaw and cracked my knuckles.

  I really needed to punch something.

  “You be needin’ someone to knock some sense into ya. Mebbe I’ll give your mamere a call. Or better yet, Storm.”

  I shot up and into Sol’s face in an instant. “You try it, old man, and you’ll damn wish you hadn’t.”

  He didn’t even wince. “I gots something to tell ya, ’bout that night Mercy left.”

  “What the hell can you tell me I don’t already know?”

  “Overheard somethin’. You let Mercy go outside alone, oui?”

  I nodded, holding onto the very last scrap of my patience.

  “She wasn’t alone.”

  Hot fire erupted in my veins. “Who was with her?”

  “Don’ know exactly.” He scratched his chin, wrinkled his nose. “One of them ones with the shaved heads.”

  “If you let him hurt her—”

  “Didn’t seem to want to hurt her. Dat old skinhead gave your gamine an ultimatum. Said if she go back to dem, no more trouble for the MC or you. He tol’ Mercy they be beatin’ on the other women they have ’cause she up and left, and it was gonna get worse for those’uns she left behind.”

  Dieu.

  It all made sense.

  The way she’d come back inside, acting unpredictably. The shots she’d drunk, the way she’d danced with me, and the wild hot sex.

  She’d known in all those moments she was leaving.

  “Why the fuck did you wait so long to tell me?” I glared at Sol.

  “Din’t wanna make it worse for you.” He shook his head sadly. “Saw how cut up you were.”

  “Goddammit! We gotta go.”

  Feeling more alive than I had in days, I flew down the stairs.

  Hitting the bar, which was already bursting with drinkers, I gave a shrill whistle.

  The music immediately cut off, and I bellowed, “Closed for the rest of the night! Come back tomorrow for more pussy drinks.”

  I herded grumbling hipsters out.

  “Unless any of y’all got a hankering to take down some Aryan asswipes,” I added.

  About seven hands shot up in the air.

  “Kidding. Get the fuck out.”

  Mercy hadn’t left of her own free will. Not really.

  And she’d been battered and abused enough for one lifetime.

  Time to end this.

  When I had the front door locked and all the men assembled—Lennox, Saint, Revenge, Slade, even the prospect and the rest—I put it real simple. “We’re going after Mercy.”

  “Dude. You can’t just kidnap a grown woman. You really wanna add to your rap sheet?” Saint openly questioned my sanity.

  “First, I don’t have a rap sheet.” Or if I did, Storm had erased it. “Second, couillon, Mercy was blackmailed into going back to those animals.”

  “Fine. I can respect that.” Saint tapped ringed fingers on his chest.

  Slade looked a little less than impressed. “What’s the plan?”

  “Infiltrate and rescue.”

  He squinted at me with hard eyes. “What would you know about carrying out a mission?”

  “Remember that one time with Blaize and saving her from Venom and the bomb vest?”

  “Whoa. What?” Revenge rocked forward. “When the fuck was that?”

  “Before your time. Slade knows what I’m talking about.”

  Slade gave a reluctant nod, a grin beginning to twitch on his lips. “Been a long time since we went full-on attack mode.” He patted his KA-BAR. “Veronica will be happy.”

  “So frigging twisted,” Lennox muttered.

  And Chase the probie looked about ready to shit his pants.

  Rallying the dudes
, I gave a quick description of the White Lair compound and its occupants we were already familiar with.

  “Chase, Saint, you’re taking the van.”

  “The van? What the fuck for?” Saint asked.

  “Because of Mercy, that’s why.”

  No more questions were asked as I barked out orders.

  Guns. Ammo. Knives.

  Water. First-aid kit. More guns.

  I didn’t know what condition Mercy would be in.

  Hell, last time, she’d been branded with a hot iron.

  Before I even knew her she’d been used as a sex slave and drugged to her eyeballs.

  I quickly gathered blankets, and Sol passed me a bag.

  “What’s this?”

  “Her clothes.”

  “Won’t need those. I’m bringing her back.” Then I squinted at the man. “And you’re coming with this time.”

  His shockingly white eyebrows shot up.

  “She likes you. Trusts you. You’ll ride in the van, and no way in hell are you to leave it once we get to their hideout.”

  I was about to do something I swore to Storm I’d never do again. I was gonna walk way on the wrong side of the law.

  Those fascist fucks deserved a divine reckoning, and I needed Mercy back.

  Blackmail her? Hurt her? Drug her?

  I’d goddamn castrate the lot of them then feed them their puny nuts down their throats.

  We headed onto the streets in tight MC formation, the van bringing up the rear. We made it to the shit-brown bar down near Esplanade. Same flag with the big black swastika out front now joined by the Confederate standard.

  Racism . . . alive and well.

  I hated the sight of the place.

  Hated the inhabitants more.

  All except for one.

  Disembarking from our bikes as one unit, we hadn’t exactly made a stealthy approach.

  “Tell me why we’re here again?” Slade immediately pulled out his huge blade, and I did the same.

  Stalking up to the building, I cast my eyes through a grimy window.

  And Jesus Christ, Mercy was there, front and center. The sight took my breath away, and not in a good way. Her eyes red-rimmed and hazy even from a murky distance, she half slumped over while a fatty groped her breasts.

  She was clearly hopped up on some serious shit, and my blood boiled red immediately.

  “We’re here for her,” I muttered through a tight jaw.

  “We’re going to start another turf war. Is she really worth it?”

  Barging against Slade, I locked my forearm around his throat. “The only reason she came back to Thunder Road the second time was to warn me, to warn us. They fucking branded her with a swastika on her breast ’cause they found out she’d been to our place. So yeah, she’s worth this and a hell of a lot more than anything I could ever give her.”

  I leaned in harder. “And she’s an addict. Not by choice.”

  “Well shit. I didn’t know you’d grown a pair of balls.”

  “Keep it up, Slade. I’m warning you.” I flexed my forearm.

  Pulling a slick move, he ducked out of my hold. “How about save it for the Aryan twatholes.”

  “Yeah.”

  He motioned me to the door and gave a hand signal to those behind us. “On three.”

  One.

  Two . . .

  We busted inside, coming up against guns all around.

  They’d heard us. They’d expected us.

  Slade pulled a bomb from his bag of dark ops tricks and tossed the canister into the middle of the rednecks.

  Bright light pulsed in strobes from the device, blinding the cunts.

  With their momentary disorientation—bleating and swearing as bright white flashed—we rushed forward.

  In the ensuing mayhem, a wild shot whizzed past my cheek, and I turned to see Lennox duck just in time from the bullet’s trajectory with a boxer’s acumen.

  “MERCY!” I yelled, blocking a gun muzzle that came up against my face.

  I cracked my elbow down on the shitkicker’s wrist. His fingers released from the gun’s grip, and I flipped the pistol to my hand. A second later, and I skull-butted him with the hilt.

  Someone rammed into me from behind with the force of a bull seeing red. I slammed into a table, overturning the surface with a crash.

  I barely got my bearings before something sharp grazed down over my ribcage. The hot pain pushing more adrenaline through my system, I swung to land a lancing blow across my attacker’s chest.

  Maybe not enough to kill. But enough to shock.

  Blood spurted in a red arc.

  “Mercy!” I shouted again, searching for her through the chaos.

  I saw her just as she slipped her knife from the sleeve of her shirt. Wheeling on the fat man struggling to keep her in his embrace, she plunged her blade into his gut.

  Then the oldest asshole of them all, her skinny grizzly uncle, pulled her away. He swung at her face so hard it’d be a miracle if she didn’t pass out.

  FUCK.

  I tried to plow my way to her through flailing fists and clashing blades. Through shots fired and crimson blood gruesomely gushing.

  I stopped just long enough to grab Revenge’s hand and haul him to his feet.

  The man he’d grappled with wouldn’t ever be getting up again by the looks of it. His neck twisted at an odd angle.

  Self-defense and all that.

  Trained back on Mercy and her uncle, I shoved through another brawl.

  The crazy-eyed neo-Nazi held a needle poised at her neck. “You’re not fucking getting her!”

  I was close enough to see.

  Not close enough to stop it.

  “Let’s see how much Mercy-girl likes a hot shot.”

  “Fuck you. NO!” Rage shot through me as the plunger went down, Mercy injected with an overdose of high-octane drugs.

  Her blood pulled back into the syringe then pushed back in.

  I jumped over a pile of bodies, skirted another skirmish. My heart pounded just about out of my chest.

  Her uncle dropped her, and she went down limp as a ragdoll.

  I dove to catch her before her head cracked on the floor.

  Cradling her rigid form in my arms, I knew true horror.

  Right next to us, Saint slammed into her uncle like a freight train.

  Mercy’s eyes rolled back to the whites. Her body started convulsing in fits and starts. Foamed filled her mouth then drooled out.

  “Mercy!” I pinched her cheeks then slapped them gently.

  Any last light in her went out so fast it was like a candle blown out by a strong wind.

  Drawing her up in my arms while the life drained from her, I yelled, “Out! We need to get fucking out now!”

  Saint spun at the urgency in my voice. “Oh fuck. FUCK.”

  He led the way forward with his bloodied fists bruising anyone in our path.

  I ran like my legs were on fire, not even giving a second thought to the other men.

  On the street. To the van. Into the vehicle when Chase and Sol banged the back doors open.

  I hopped on with Mercy held close, and Saint climbed behind the wheel.

  Bullets started pinging by, and I was just about to slam the doors shut when Slade jumped in.

  The van screeching into motion, I curled over Mercy’s seizing body as the vehicle rocked before steadying.

  Then everything stopped.

  Her convulsions.

  All sound.

  Her heartbeat.

  “No. Nonononono!”

  “Give her to me!” Slade kneeled in front of me.

  “Fuck you. We need narcan. We need to get to a hospital!”

  “She’s going to be really dead if you don’t give her to me now.” He pulled an auto-inject narcan shot from out of nowhere.

  Saint took his eyes off the road long enough to check out the scene behind him. “The hell?” He looked out the windshield again. “You a walking ER or what, Slade?�
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  Slade laid Mercy gently onto padding Sol quickly spread across the floor of the van. He pushed the injection into her shoulder.

  Blinking rapidly, Mercy inhaled a fast breath with a wheezy whoosh of noise.

  She looked around wildly, like a trapped animal, until she saw me.

  Or I thought she did.

  Who knew how many drugs, how many doses, were swimming through her veins?

  Four days, I’d left her.

  Four days, I bet they’d shot her up.

  Four days, they could’ve easily bartered her for sex, and I didn’t know.

  My gorge rose in my throat.

  I crawled behind her in the cramped space. Sol covered her in another blanket, murmuring a prayer of some sort.

  I had her head in my lap and my palm over her heart, which raced quickly then slowed unpredictably.

  “Where are we going?” Saint asked. “Head back to Thunder Road in this condition, and she’s toast. We’re toast. That’s the first place the Hitlerites will look.”

  “The bayou,” I said.

  I gave directions to safety, and Chase relayed them to the others. We left the metropolis in a virtual cavalcade of motorcycles, the van heading the convoy.

  Throughout the journey, Mercy was touch and go.

  At one point, Slade gave her CPR.

  Then another shot of narcan.

  The cold sweat of pure fear slithered down my back.

  She stabilized briefly, and my heart was running as hard as a motorcycle at full throttle by the time we parked on a road in the back of beyond.

  “We gotta hike in,” I advised. “We’re going to my mamere.”

  Slade and I lifted Mercy out of the van, then she was in my arms again.

  Lennox, Revenge, and the rest humped packs on their backs as we headed into the Louisiana wilderness. Flashlights lit the way of a barely marked path.

  “Didn’t bring a stretcher though, did you?” Saint slid a ghostly smile to Slade.

  I wouldn’t let Mercy out of my arms, though, even if there had been a stretcher. She was hot and sweaty one moment, cold, shivering, and clammy the next.

  “Ouch. Shit!” I heard Chase stumble then curse. Then mutter, “That better not have been a snake.”

  “Only snake out here is the one in my pants.” Revenge pulled up the rear, and a moment of levity made everyone chuckle.

  Everyone but me.