by Mara McBain
No one wanted to answer that question. Chelios’ gaze remained level, locked on Rocco.
“Why is that, Constantine? Enlighten us,” Rocco demanded with a chilling smile. He gave the gun a grand sweep, as if to release the floor to Chelios.
“You’re the boss. Miss Taylor belongs to you. It isn’t a show of respect for her, but rather of your belonging,” Chelios said quietly.
Rocco’s eyes narrowed, his head cocking to one side as he contemplated the explanation. An image of Chelios helping his mother down the steps toward the end of her illness flashed in his mind, putting a damper on his ire. The Greek had been every bit as attentive to his father in his final days. He was as loyal as a lap dog. Lucky for Chelios, the answer rang true.
Rocco looked him in the eye. “Good answer. You get to live another day.”
Chelios didn’t blink as the gun went off, leaving a perfect hole between Dino’s eyes and blowing out the back of his skull like a firecracker in a rotting pumpkin.
Low storm clouds and choppy waters stretched in a monochrome gray for as far as he could see. Rocco lounged in the window seat, surrounded by tasseled throw pillows. The cushioned alcove had been Eva’s favorite hidey-hole. Had she planned her escape while staring out these windows? Rocco swirled the deep amber liquor in the decanter he held. A glass wasn’t going to cut it tonight.
Everywhere he looked there were reminders of Eva. Mixed emotions raged through him. There was no doubt the ungrateful bitch was going to pay for spitting in the face of everything he’d done for her. He wanted to beat every last spark of fire out of her, and yet that fire was what separated Eva from the rest. It was what fueled his lust and kept him coming back.
He’d played with more pussy in the past month than a gynecologist. He’d fucked and tortured them six ways to Sunday, and still, the bitches bored him. Taking a long swig of the brandy, he let his head fall back against the wall. What was it about Eva? His head thudded against the wall. More importantly, where the fuck was she?
His gut said there was something Chelios wasn’t telling him. It was in the way the icy fucker watched him with that blank expression. He hadn’t flinched tonight. The others had been sweating it, but the Greek had stayed cool. Rage started to build in Rocco again. The son-of-a-bitch better fear him.
Rocco took another long swig from the decanter and smiled. If they didn’t find Eva soon, perhaps the dour Chelios would be his next example. The look on the other mooks’ faces when he carved a permanent smile on the fucker’s face would be priceless.
Chapter ~ 29
The sound of car doors drew her eyes from the television, but it was the familiar broad shoulders and silvering flat-top that caught Becca’s attention. Turning to kneel on the couch, she thrust her fingers between cracked vinyl slats to get a better look. Rhys’ father was walking up the sidewalk at the trailer across the street. Another man hung back a bit, hand hovering near his hip.
Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward for a better view. Was this official police business, or had old man Stevens pissed off the Lords? Zeke pounded on the door and stepped back. Becca could tell by the way he twitched his jacket back that he was armed as well. Her heart raced as he stepped forward and banged his big fist again. He looked menacing in the gloom.
She caught her breath at a movement in the shadows behind the trailers. Eyes straining, she pressed her nose to the frost covered pane and watched for another glimpse. She frowned, barely making out a female form disappearing behind the neighboring trailer. She let out a small gasp as an idea struck. Mr. Stevens was Tawny’s father. Had that been her slipping out the back? Was Zeke looking for her? Had the slutty bike bunny finally done something to fall out of favor?
She scrambled to the other end of the couch for a better angle as the door finally opened. Becca grimaced in disgust as Stevens stepped out in sweatpants and a grimy undershirt. Prying up the window a bit, she tried to hear what was being said. The low rumble of Zeke’s voice didn’t carry. She caught only a word or two from Stevens. They were talking about Tawny, and he said he hadn’t heard from her.
Becca grinned. He was lying. Handing something to Stevens, probably a business card, Zeke stepped off the dilapidated porch and walked back to his vehicle. Becca shut the window and twisted back around on the couch. She bit back a giggle. It was too bad for Zeke that he had taken Ginny’s side in the ridiculous vendetta against her.
Pulling the sleeves of her hoodie down over her numb fingers, Tawny crouched behind the tool shed. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Peeking around the corner, she could see Zeke and Murphy sitting in the car in front of her father’s shithole trailer. She cursed under her breath. It was one of the disadvantages of a small town; everyone knew your family tree. Zeke was probably figuring out what branch to shake next. She was screwed.
Swinging her purse over her shoulder, she backed into the woods that surrounded the trailer park. Looking back over her shoulder, she picked her way through the brambles as quietly as she could. It had really grown up. Didn’t the kids around here play in the woods anymore? She let out a little scream as her boot slipped, and she skidded down an embankment.
Her heart thundered in her ears as she waited for the sound of car doors. After several tense seconds, she carefully stood, brushing off the snow and frozen leaves. Scrambling up the other side, she found the familiar path. Despite the situation, she smiled, thinking of the number of times she had snuck out and took this same route into town to party with her friends. Her smile faded. She would’ve had no problem finding a place to crash in those days. She broke into a jog.
They’d be watching her apartment. Hell, she wasn’t even sure which they to be more afraid of at this point. Did Chelios know she’d gone to Handlebars and Hotrods? Could she get to her car? Her purple Cavalier was parked behind the building, but was far from inconspicuous. She was just going to have to wing it when she got there—and pray.
Throwing the last few things in a laundry basket, Tawny crammed her comforter on top. Worst case scenario, she’d sleep in her car. Grabbing up her purse and keys, she opened the door a crack and peeked down the hall. She’d stuck to the shadows close to the building and hadn’t seen anyone when she came in, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.
She hurried down the hall, barely daring to breathe. She’d decided to take the back emergency exit. Over the summer she had stepped out on the landing a couple of times to smoke a cigarette and stare at the canal. There was no alarm on it, and no one else used the rickety metal stairs.
Reaching the door, she pushed on the bar and let out a sigh of relief when it squealed open, pushing snow out of its way. She winced at the shrill noise and scanned the canal banks. There was no one in sight. God was on her side for once.
Moving the basket to her left hip, she reached for the railing. The heavy door slammed against her back and she pitched forward with a scream. Her nails scrabbled for a hold on the icy railing, the laundry basket flying from her grasp. The stairs came up to meet her.
She was so cold. Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth, and she struggled to swallow. A stab of white hot pain shot through her arm as she tried to raise a hand to her face.
“I warned you to choose your loyalties wisely.”
Her eyes flew open at Chelios’ words, or at least one did. Her right eye seemed to be swollen shut. Tawny tried to sit up. Panic lanced through her. She was naked, her ankles and one wrist bound to a metal table. Her stomach heaved at the sight of her right arm bent at an unnatural angle, splintered bone sticking through the skin.
“Not too pretty, is it?”
She tried to answer him, but her words came out muffled. Feigned sympathy flashed across Chelios’ face.
“The gag makes it a little difficult to converse, but we’re going to need that. Like most women, you don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, and you think that a pretty smile and a few tears are going to make everything better. I told you to think about who you were dealing wi
th. You should have listened.”
He stepped to the side and she tried to follow him with her one good eye. She flinched away, shaking her head franticly and straining against the bonds as he flipped open a wicked switchblade.
“You know the shit thing about this?” he asked, pausing and regarding her until she tentatively shook her head. “I liked you.”
Tawny nearly choked on her fear at the past tense. He stepped back to the table, running his gloved finger over the side of the blade.
“You being a hometown girl, maybe you can confirm this for me. This place looks like it might have been used for a butcher shop.”
She squinted at the whitewashed brick walls, freezing on a rusted clock with a black cow staring back at her from the center. Images of a large man with a jovial smile and a bloody apron flashed into her mind, and she sputtered as gorge rose in her throat.
Chelios smiled. “That’s what I thought. This is an ironic choice of venue then.”
Tawny shook her head, willing him to understand the pleading words spilling around the gag. He traced the knife down her cheek and caught a tear, holding it up for her to see. She shook at the blood staining the blade. It was so sharp she hadn’t felt a thing. He leaned down and kissed her forehead before stroking the knife along the other cheek.
“This pretty face won’t deceive another man.”
The knife burned down the slope of her forehead, biting into her cheekbone before slicing deep across the bridge of her nose. She arched in pain, screaming through the gag. The blade flashed in front of her eye, sinking into her flesh and crisscrossing his previous cut. Tangy copper flooded her open mouth. She gagged, trying to spit around the gag. Blood obscured her limited vision, elevating her terror.
She jerked away from a touch at her ear. The knife trailed a line of fire between her breasts and down her belly.
“Stay with me, darling. We’re just getting started.”
Chapter ~ 30
Ginny yawned and reached for her travel mug of coffee as she navigated the quiet streets. Not many were up and about at 5 a.m. on Christmas Eve, but she needed to get the turkey in the oven if the Lords were going to eat at a decent hour. Pulling up in front of the clubhouse, she slipped from the warm Durango and hurried around to the back. Most of the food was already here, but she had picked up a few last minute items. Bracing a box on her hip, she looped the plastic grocery bag handles around her wrist and slammed the lift gate. She fumbled for the clubhouse key on her ring as she stepped up onto the curb.
Her eyes narrowed to a squint in the dim light. Dark streaks ran down the burnished clubhouse door. She cursed as her toe caught something on the sidewalk. The box on her hip was sacrificed in an attempt to catch her balance. Canned goods scattered.
“What the hell?” she muttered, turning to see what she’d tripped over. Her ire fled. She stumbled backwards, pressing against the brick building. A woman lay sprawled and naked on the sidewalk. Cuts crisscrossed every inch of her skin, leaving her flesh raw and exposed. Blood smeared her body, spreading into the dusting of fresh snow that had fallen. Ginny’s hand flew to her lips, the forgotten grocery bags bouncing off her chest.
Shaking her wrist, she tried to get the twisted bags out of the way and reached for her purse. Her hands shook violently, and she nearly dropped the phone as she stabbed at the keypad. She rolled her eyes at the chipper voice on the other end of line.
“I just tripped over a fucking dead body. That’s my emergency!”
There was a pause and Ginny could picture the perky twit blinking, unsure she had heard correctly.
“Are you sure they’re dead, Ma’am?”
It was Ginny’s turn to blink. Seriously? The woman looked like steak tartare.
“Have you checked for a pulse? What is your location, Ma’am?”
Rattling off the address, Ginny stepped carefully around the body. Her hands were still shaking as she stretched out two fingers to press against the side of the woman’s pale throat. She held her breath. She thought she felt the barest flutter against her fingertips.
“Oh my God,” she said in a rush of breath. “I think I feel a pulse. It’s really faint.”
“I’m dispatching ambulance and police to your location. Please stay with me. Can I get your name and phone number in case we’re disconnected?”
Offering the information on autopilot, Ginny unlocked the clubhouse and hurried inside. She dropped her purse on the couch and with a sweep of her arm, cleared the top of the large storage chest that served as a coffee table. Grabbing an armload of blankets, she ran back outside.
As she tucked blankets around the freezing woman’s feet, a familiar tattoo caught Ginny’s eye. An involuntary cry escaped her throat and she dropped her phone.
Ginny mouthed thanks at Kat and accepted a steaming mug of cappuccino as the detective droned on. Zeke rubbed his thumb over the base of her neck and down her spine, knowing where her tension pooled.
“You can search the premises as soon as you show me the search warrant.”
The words jerked Ginny from her warm cocoon, and she looked at Zeke. Why was he demanding a warrant? None of the Lords would have tortured a woman like that. If they had no involvement, why not just cooperate? The officer didn’t sound surprised.
“We can get a warrant.”
“I’m sure you can.”
“If your gang was not—“
“Club. It is a motorcycle club,” Zeke corrected. “And if anyone affiliated with the Lords were involved, our doorstep is the last place we would’ve dumped a body. Unless you think that is just some sort of clever red herring on our part to throw you off.”
A muscle in the other man’s jaw ticked. Zeke’s steely gaze remained steady. Without another word, the officer turned on his heel and headed to the door.
“Are your people done with the front of the building? There will be kids here. I’d like to wash off the door and sidewalk,” Ginny asked softly.
The detective spun on her, his smile forced.
“Perhaps by the time I’m back with the search warrant I’ll be able to release the crime scene.”
“Smug bastard,” Ginny muttered, standing up from Zeke’s lap. Her husband caught her hand.
“Are you okay?”
“This bullshit put us behind schedule. I better get in the kitchen.”
“The savages won’t starve. Is there anything I can do?”
“Make sure the entrance off the ally is clear. Throw some garland and lights up around it, will you. I just don’t want Kennedy seeing that fucking mess out front. It’s not the kind of thing anyone needs to see today, let alone a child.”
Zeke tugged her back to stand between his thighs. “Are you going to be okay?”
Ginny sagged a little. “I’ll be fine. Do you think this was connected to Eva?” At her husband’s nod, she sank back into his lap. Her eyes were haunted. “I didn’t even recognize her. If it hadn’t been for that dragon tattoo on her ankle, I wouldn’t have even known it was Tawny.”
“There’re some sick bastards in this world, baby. I’m sorry you and Kat had to see that.”
“Thankfully they were putting her in the ambulance when Kat pulled up. She’s tough. Kat can handle anything, but—”
“But, she’s pregnant and you’re over protective of your BFF,” Zeke said with a little smile.
“Did you really just say BFF?” Ginny asked. Zeke shrugged. She shook her head and gave him a kiss before heading for the kitchen and tossing back over her shoulder, “I’m amazed at your pop culture knowledge, but for future reference, Kat and I drop the second F as just frivolous. We know it’s forever.”
Catching Kat off guard, Ginny playfully rubbed her belly before giving her a hard hug.
“I love ya. I don’t know what I’d do without ya.”
“Right back at you,” Kat said with a bemused look, but gave her a squeeze back. She waved a hand at the feast preparations. “Do you feel like doing this?”
“
Of course not. I’m tired, stressed, and terrified, but I will because it’s Christmas and because it’s what a good queen does.”
“Long live the queen.”
“I just want to call everyone and tell them to pack up and when they get here, lock and bar all the doors so I can keep my family safe.”
“I like it.”
“Of course you do. You always support my harebrained schemes,” Ginny said with a little giggle. “Somehow I think the testosterone crew will be a little harder to convince. Okay, where’s the checklist? I want to make sure we get things going and then run over to the hospital and check on Tawny.”
“Do you think she’s going to make it?”
Ginny bit her bottom lip for a long moment and then shook her head. “I don’t know. I thought she was already gone when I found her. She must have a lot of fight in her. Just pray for her, Kat. It’s all we can do right now.”
Tears dripped down onto Eva’s clasped hands. Her knuckles were white in her fervor. She wasn’t an overly religious person but hoped that God might hear her apology and prayers. As pissed off as she’d been at Tawny, she would never have wished this. She glanced over to where Mox was talking to one of the nurses in the corner. Legally, they really couldn’t tell them much, but the nurse was the Brawers’ neighbor, and he’d wheedled her into giving them the bare facts. She was in intensive care, and it was touch and go. No major organs had been hit, but Tawny had lost a lot of blood before being left exposed in the freezing weather.
A small part of Eva wanted to scream: “What kind of animal would do something like this?” But she knew—if not Rocco himself, then one of the brutes he employed. Had it been Chelios? It had been brave of Tawny to go to Handlebars and Hotrods after leaving the bakery. Eva wasn’t sure if she would have done the same. Ginny was right. The stripper had been caught between a rock and a hard place. Neither Rocco, nor the Lords, were used to being told no. Eva hoped she’d have the chance to tell Tawny that she understood.
