Double Dare You: A Bedlam Butchers MC Romance

by Ruby Dixon

  Epic slams a hand on the dashboard. “We got these bastards! They won’t even know what’s coming to them!”

  His enthusiasm draws a reluctant grin to my face. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Hard not to feel cocky when we’re kissing bumpers with the semi, though. It’s been a slow, frustrating few days trying to find Becka, and we’re close to sealing the deal, so it’s hard not to feel that same excitement. I’m trying to be the cool, collected one in this pairing, though. It sure isn’t gonna be Epic. “Stick with the plan,” I tell him as he pulls out his gun and starts to roll down his window. “Let’s wait to get out of the city a bit more.”

  “We could take him right now,” Epic says. “Just shoot out his tires and boom—”

  “We could, but we ain’t. We’re gonna wait until there’s less traffic.” We’re still too close to the city. That means we’re still too close to police responders. “Twenty miles more and we’ll be past the outskirts. We’ll nail him then.”

  “Right,” Epic says quickly, and he lowers his gun to his thigh. He lays it there, as if determined to be patient. That lasts for all of a second, of course. Then he’s back to popping his knuckles.

  I’m surprised the kid has any cartilage left. I glance over at him as I change lanes, trying to make my driving pattern natural and unassuming so we don’t tip off the kidnappers. Then again, I guess I shouldn’t think of Epic as a kid. He’s early twenties, and while that’s young, he’s like any good young soldier—smart, willing, and quick to take orders. He doesn’t get plastered drunk with most of the prospects, always finishes a job, and is completely dedicated to the club. He’s just a little impulsive, that’s all.

  Shit, maybe I’m the one that’s the problem. Maybe I’m too old and tired for this shit at the age of thirty-two. Maybe I should hang up my cut and ride off into the sunset after this. I contemplate the idea for a brief moment, and then discard it. The Bedlam Butchers are my family. I’ll be part of them until they kick me out…or I’m six feet under.

  I let this comforting thought roll around in my head as I drive. The highway is getting more and more deserted the farther we leave the city behind, and it’s about time to pull the trigger. I switch lanes again, using my blinker like a good little citizen, and then drive the car to the left side of the rig.

  Epic looks over at me, and I nod. He pulls out his gun and rolls down his window, and I move the car closer. At my signal, he fires at one of the tandem tires at the back of the trailer. It shreds almost immediately, and the trailer swerves. I automatically move over a lane or two just to stay out of the way, and watch the truck. It doesn’t stop, just slows down and then continues rolling along.

  “I’ll be damned,” Epic says. “He’s gonna risk all his tires with that flat.”

  “Shoot out another,” I tell him. “We need them to stop.” Because while the Dukes of Hazzard might be into grabbing a moving car and jumping onto it, I’m not. Much easier to shoot a gun at a stationary target than a moving one.

  Epic carefully aims his gun and shoots at the far side of the trailer. This time, the tire makes an exploding sound like a car backfire, and the trailer swings wide on the road, shimmying back and forth. I’m pleased when it starts to slow even more and puts on its blinkers, heading to the side of the highway.

  I slam on the brakes. Someone honks at me and moves out of the way, but no one else stops. I pull over, too, about twenty feet behind him. “All right,” I tell Epic as the car rolls to a stop. “You know the drill.”

  “I’m on it.” Epic throws open the door the moment the car goes into park, jogging forward. He heads for the back of the semi. I get out of the car and train my gun on the cab, holding my breath. There’s a driver up there, and I’m guessing that he’s packing. I’m far enough back that I can see on both sides of the rig in case anyone tries to sneak around. I’ve got the easy job. Epic? Now’s the time he’s either gonna fuck shit up or get shit done.

  He heads to the truck, and I watch in the beams of the headlights as he messes with the latch. “Padlock and chains,” he tells me, rattling them. “Cover your eyes.”

  I turn away for a split second and hear him fire his gun again. When I turn back around, he’s tossing the chain aside and then pulling one door open.

  A shotgun blast rings out.

  Yup. They came prepared. Epic drops a few feet, his head barely visible over the edge of the trailer. He aims carefully and then shoots again. I hold my gun cocked and ready in case things go south, but Epic exchanges a few shots with the guy, and then it’s silent.

  “You get him?” I call out when a few seconds creep past and there’s zero noise.

  “I think so,” he yells back.

  “There just one?”

  “One way to find out,” he says to me, and gives me one of those ridiculous grins of his. Then he swings a leg over and climbs into the rig.

  Fuckin’ idiot. He’s gonna get himself killed and give me a goddamn heart attack. Last thing I need is to lose another partner. Tension prickles up and down my spine and I wait—wait for him to report back, wait for more shots to be fired, something. As I stand my ground, the door to the cab opens. The driver. He lands on the pavement of the shoulder, and I train my gun on him.

  But he doesn’t turn. He runs.

  Ah, fuck. I can’t let him leave. I can’t let him get away, because there’re a million things that could go wrong. He could tell people what happened. His people could come after mine. He could name us as visitors to the stable earlier that day. Nope. Even though I hate it, I raise my gun and shoot him twice in the back.

  You’d think that after serving in Afghanistan and then joining the Butchers, I’d be used to killing guys. I’ve done more than my fair share. But thing is, it doesn’t get any easier. Every time I kill someone, I think, there goes someone’s kid. There goes someone’s buddy. Someone’s lover.

  I guess because I’d like someone to be thinking about me when I meet my end. That I won’t die alone.

  Epic rushes back out of the truck, hopping down to the ground. His gun is at the ready, and he looks at me. “What is it?”

  “Runner,” I say calmly, my gun still raised. I’m waiting for a second runner—or more—in case the man in the cab had company. “What’s in there?”

  “A fuck ton of doggy cages,” Epic says. “Full of hot women. It’s fucking sad, man. You gotta see this shit.”

  “I will.” I continue to watch the cab. “Is it clear in there?”

  “Yep. I nailed him in the head, because I’m awesome.”

  “Just the one guy?”

  “Just the one.”

  Mmm. Not sure I like that. It might be arrogance because they thought the coast was clear. Or it might be a trap. “Stay there. Look for anyone hiding. I’m going to check the cab.”

  “I can go—”

  “No, you stay back here with the girls. Stay alert.”

  He nods, his mouth flattening, and assumes a protective stance in front of the back of the trailer. I head forward, walking carefully toward the cab of the eighteen-wheeler. It’s still idling, the sound loud and distracting. If there’s someone waiting in there for me, I’ll never be able to hear him.

  The body of the driver’s about ten feet ahead of me, face down on the ground. There’s a gun near his hand, discarded. I move forward and kick it under the rig, just in case there’s someone nearby. The door hangs open, and I move in, gun at the ready.

  My eyes focus on a dark shape in the cab that moves, and I almost shoot—and then I realize it’s a girl. She’s huddled on the floorboards on the passenger side, and her face is stained with tears and running mascara. She sniffles and stares at me, wide-eyed with horror. Her lipstick’s smeared, too. Ten bucks says that the driver was helping himself to a taste.

  She’s not Becka, though. Which means she’s not my problem.

  I tilt my chin at her, acknowledging her presence. “Who else is in there?”

  “Just me.” Her eyes spill over
with new tears. “Please d-don’t shoot me.”

  “You got any weapons?”

  She rubs her arms and gives me a pitiful look. “I don’t even have any clothes, mister.”

  I wave my gun at her, indicating she should crawl forward. She scurries out of the cab and sure enough, she’s as naked as a jaybird. “Go stand by the side of the truck,” I tell her. I can tell she doesn’t have a weapon—hell, I can tell where all her piercings are—and so she’s not a threat. “Make any sudden moves or try to run and my partner will shoot you.”

  She just sobs and nods, moving where I directed her and watching me with sad eyes.

  Great. Another girl that our white knight is gonna wanna rescue. Even I’m not asshole enough to put a bullet in her just for being forced to give a blowjob in the cab. But I need to make sure we’re clear. I shoot one last look in her direction to make sure she’s not escaping, and then climb into the rig.

  There’re condom wrappers and some trash in the back seat of the rig, but other than that, it’s clean. I feel under the seats and find another piece—a sawed-off shotgun. I grab it, turn off the truck, and pocket the keys. I climb back out and grab the naked girl by the arm. “Come on. We need to move fast.”

  “W-what are we doing?” she asks as I pull her along toward the dead body.

  “We’re moving him off the side of the road so no one pulls over to see what’s going on.”

  “Everything all right up there?” Epic calls out, voice hollow from inside the trailer.

  “Good,” I yell back. Then I point at the dead man. “You take his arms.”

  She sobs and gives girlish little wails as we work, but she’s a trouper, and in a matter of moments, we have our dead driver hidden behind a tire and out of sight from the highway. I put a hand on her back and lead her toward where Epic is waiting.

  He looks surprised to see me and the naked girl, a frown on his face. “We’ve got seven back here. All cherries belonging to the Cage. Who’s she?”

  “Personal candy is my guess.” I gesture at the truck. “You find her yet?”

  “Thought I’d wait for you.”

  I can’t decide if I’m irritated or pleased. “We need to hurry,” I tell him. “Don’t need anyone stopping by to see the show here. Find her and let’s go.”

  “What about the others?” Epic gazes at the weeping, naked girl at my side. He pulls off his vest and hands it to me. “You didn’t even give her a shirt, man. Here, honey, you can have mine.”

  I roll my eyes. White knight in action. But I hold his cut while he strips off his shirt and hands it to the girl. I’m not looking at his naked torso as he puts his cut back on. Ride partner. No more, no less. Once that’s done, he climbs back into the semi-trailer. “I shot out the interior lights,” he tells me. “Figured we didn’t need to broadcast this shit to the world.”

  “Smart move,” I tell him. It is. He’s thinking sneaky for a change.

  “Found some keys, though. Just gotta figure out which one goes to each cage. Not so easy in the dark.”

  I gaze in, watching him head deeper into the darkness. From my vantage point, the semi-trailer looks mostly empty, though I can see a cage in the distance. It looks like something for kenneling a pit bull, not a grown woman. But inside, I can see a shape lying down, and I’m guessing it’s one of the girls.

  “I think we should take ’em all,” Epic tells me. “We don’t know which one is Becka.”

  “She’s the one that looks like Lucky,” I snap. “And we’re not taking all of them.” I peer at the cage. The girl in there shifts, but she’s silent. “Why are they all so quiet?”

  “I think they’re drugged.”

  Well that’s just fucking great. It throws a kink in the plans. I don’t mind giving the girls the keys to the truck, or even letting them hitchhike home, but a bunch of drugged girls and a naked one? That’s just serving them up to perverts and any lowlifes crawling along the highway at night. But I don’t like the thought of this interfering with our job to rescue Gem’s younger sister. “We can’t take the risk, Epic. We just need to get Becka and leave.”

  “So we leave them here?” He doesn’t sound happy. I hear the keys jangling as he walks. “Doesn’t take much to unlock them all and bring them with us.”

  I shoulda guessed. “And what are we going to do with a bunch of women?”

  “Have a party?” Epic says, and laughs. “We could send them back to the Butchers clubhouse. They’d be safe there.”

  “And how are they gonna get there?”

  “We can split up. One of us takes Becka to safety, and the other can cart the ladies to meet up with some of the Club. I bet we can get a few prospects to come meet us and take them back to HQ.”

  It’s not the worst idea, but I still don’t like it. “Be easier to put a bullet in their heads.” Not that I would. But I’m starting to get pissy that we’re standing here arguing right at a crime scene. All we need is some dipshit to pull over and offer assistance.

  The girl standing next to me lets out another muffled sob.

  “Aw, don’t be a jackass, man. They’re just girls. They’re gonna be scared. Wouldn’t you rather save them and have them be grateful than let them walk on the side of the highway? You know the Eighty-Eight or the Hard Nine are gonna come looking for them. You really want to leave them as slaves?”

  I sigh. “I don’t want to be bothered with any of this shit, including your excuses. Just open the cages and let’s go, all right?”

  I hear the keys rattling, and a moment later, a girl gives a soft groan. Epic groans even louder. “Come on honey, you gotta get out of the cage.”

  “Stand up,” I snarl.

  “I don’t know that they can,” Epic says, and he emerges from the shadows a moment later with a girl in his arms. She’s wearing a slinky black dress and stripper heels that she wobbles in. Her head lolls. Drugged all right. “Here, you take this one and put her in the car. I’ll get the next cage open.”

  Great.

  3

  BECKA

  I can’t pretend to be asleep for any longer. The back of my neck feels like scorched agony, my hand is asleep under my side, and my bladder feels like it’s going to burst if I don’t pee soon.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been out. I have vague memories of being given a pill and a glass of water, but I thought it was a painkiller after the horrible branding. I guess it was something else, because I had a lot of fucked up dreams, and then pain—and my bladder—made me slowly come to.

  I can hear someone puttering around nearby. Every now and then he’ll whistle or hum to himself, and I’ll feel the air move as he walks past, but that’s it. He doesn’t touch me. Maybe he’s not into unconscious chicks and is just waiting for me to wake up. That’s my fear, and one reason why I’ve been pretending to be asleep for the past hour.

  I do a mental tally to try and distract myself. My shoes are gone, but I seem to be in a bed with a scratchy blanket pulled over me. I’m still in the black dress given to me. No panties or a bra, but I didn’t have one to begin with. The brand on the back of my neck throbs, raw and horrible. I burned my hand on a hotplate once and thought that was agony—this is ten times worse.

  The insistent feeling in my bladder persists, and I bite the inside of my cheek, terrified. I could just pee on myself, which sounds gross and awful but somehow better than waking up and seeing who I’ve been ‘sold’ to. But what if it just makes my captor angry once he realizes what I’ve done? I’ve seen the other girls at the stable punished for smaller infractions, and I’m scared. I don’t think I can handle another branding.

  Slowly, I crack one eye open and look around.

  It’s…a motel room. I think. Which is weird, because everything I’ve been told by the stable master and his goons is that me and the other girls are going to be some sort of high-end prizes for an underground competition of some kind. This room is…well, it’s shitty. The wall is popcorned all over and yellowed with age, and t
he carpet I can see is brown shag that was probably looked dated even in the 70s. On the wall is an ugly watercolor painting of a cabin in the woods. Out of the corner of my eye, someone crosses from the tiny, dated kitchenette over to an ugly brown sofa and sits down, beer in hand. He’s not wearing a shirt, only jeans, and I suck in an involuntary breath out of fear. Oh God, oh God.

  He immediately turns to me, tensing. His eyes widen in surprise, and a grin crosses his face. “Well, look who’s awake.”

  And now I really want to throw up. It’s Frat Boy from the stables. Oh God. I’ve been bought to be passed around at a college kegger. A whimper escapes my throat.

  He looks surprised at my reaction, setting his beer down and moving toward the bed. “You okay? You’ve been out for a while.”

  I sit up and scuttle backward, terrified, as he approaches. I’m in here alone with him. Is that how we’re going to do this? He’s going to be the one to take my virginity and then the rest will show up later for their turn? “D-don’t touch me,” I say, voice wavering.

  A frown crosses his handsome face. “O-kayyyyy.” He tilts his head at the door. “My buddy’s gone to drop off the other girls. He’ll be back soon.”

  My lower lip trembles. I hate the word ‘soon.’ “What are you going to do with me when you’re done with me?”

  “Done with you?” The look on his face is puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  I flick my gaze to his bare chest.

  “Oh. Oh shit, man.” He laughs and gives a small shake of his head. “This,” he says, drawing an air-circle around his chest. “Ain’t what it seems. I gave my shirt to one of the girls in the truck after we ripped it off.”

  “What truck?”