Reign (The Henchmen MC Book 1)

by Jessica Gadziala

  Five men came running from different directions, guns at their sides, looking around for some kind of threat. Seeing Reign, they stood down, looking at the destruction, looking at their president, understanding coming over their faces.

  Chuck, a man around the same age as Vin, stepped forward. “Go hit something,” he told him, clamping a hand on his shoulder. “Gotta run through this energy if you want to handle this clear-headed. Go hit something.”

  Reign nodded stiffly, taking off toward the basement.

  When he was gone, they all turned to me.

  “We got shit,” I said, shrugging. “Wolf is out trying to find some.”

  “Nothin' worse than nothing to do,” Chuck said, nodding.

  “Should we be worried about our families?” one of the others asked.

  I shook my head. “This is personal,” I decided to share. “Your women and kids are safe.”

  “Someone is fucking with the prez and we ain't handling it?” Vin asked, looking a mix of confused and angry.

  “He said it's personal. He ain't involving everyone in his shit.”

  “That ain't how we handle things, man. Someone fucks with one of us, they fuck with all of us.”

  I nodded. Because that was true. It was how it had always been.

  That being said, the people who fucked with us in the past were nothing compared to V.

  I shrugged a shoulder.

  “He has his reasons. We'll all get more information when he's ready to give it. Right now he doesn't need us all sitting here acting like bitches 'cause you're feeling left out. Do your jobs and wait for orders.”

  Their heads jerked back, surprised, chastened. Then they nodded, and filed back to whatever the fuck they had been doing.

  Half a day in charge and I was feeling heavy. Physically, emotionally heavy. It was new, foreign. My life had always been different from Reign's. He got the burden, I got the fun. Booze and bitches and runs. I never had to deal with the weight of the men's questions, their anger, their nervousness.

  Half a day.

  And he had been dealing with the shit for years.

  It was no wonder he needed to escape to his cabin, he needed to spend so much time on his bike alone, sorting through shit.

  Fuck.

  I hopped off the bar, making my way toward the basement where the chain was swinging viciously.

  I stopped at the bottom step, watching him fly at the bag, his fists moving fast enough that they were hard to keep your eyes on. He had been down there for a good twenty minutes and he didn't seem any less tense. If anything, he seemed all the more worked up.

  He needed his woman back. He needed her there to soften his sharp edges. To give him what comfort he could get. To let him have one piece of good in the shitstorm that was his life.

  “Don't think it's working, bro,” I said, moving across the floor.

  He stopped punching, shaking his head, his breath coming out hard. “They fucking have her again,” he said, looking up at me with haunted eyes.

  “I know man... we'll...”

  I was interrupted by the sound of boots on the steps, hard, heavy.

  Wolf was back.

  He walked across the floor, his body tense, his eyes hot.

  Then he looked at Reign and strung together more words than I had ever heard him speak at one time before.

  Nine words.

  Nine words that changed everything.

  “There's something you need to know about Richard Lyon.”

  Twenty-three

  Summer

  Two days. Two days.

  I scratched the marks into the wall like I had done at V's house. But not with a bloody fingernail. No. I ripped one of the lamps off the nightstand and used the square edge to etch huge, three foot tally marks on the wall beside my bed. Mostly because it would piss off my father. He had always been a freak about the house being in good order.

  There wasn't much I had control of anymore, but at least I could tick him off a little bit.

  Fact of the matter was, Richard Lyon, the man in the house with me, the man who had taken me from the Henchmen, the man who had locked me in my room... he wasn't the man I knew.

  He was a whole different monster and I felt sick that I had spent my entire life not seeing who he really was. It wasn't like there hadn't been warning signs. There had been fucking warning signs. I had just... ignored them. Brushed them aside. Pretended to not see them.

  There were more times than I could count in my life where he had let the Dad mask slip. Where I had seen pieces of the man underneath the persona. When I caught sight of the coldness, the deadness in his eyes.

  God, how had I been so freaking clueless?

  All my life.

  I had been living some kind of elaborate lie.

  And, sitting alone in my childhood bedroom twenty-some odd hours a day, I had nothing to do but beat myself up for being so stupid.

  There was a soft knock and I sat up on my bed, glaring at the door when it slowly opened.

  “Hey darling girl,” he said, giving me a kind smile. His eyes drifted, looking over at the ruined wall. I got a head shake and pursed lips. It wasn't much, but it was something. “I'm afraid I can't do dinner with you tonight. I have some business to attend to. But don't worry,” he went on, his words slick, “Lee and the other men will be here to protect you.”

  Right.

  Protect me.

  From escaping.

  But still. It was a small victory. Not having to sit across a table from him, trying to figure out what I could haul at him while he tried to keep casual conversation with me like he hadn't kidnapped and held me hostage. Like I hadn't been held for three months at some psycho's house. Like I hadn't found salvation in Reign's arms.

  “Works for me,” I said, my tone cold.

  At that, he sighed. “One day, baby girl, you're going to see that I did this all for your own good. I mean... a biker? Summer, I raised you better than that,” he told me, shaking his head, moving back into the hallway. “I'll see you in the morning,” he told me, shutting and locking the door.

  I laid back on the bed, my feet hanging over the edge because I still had my boots on. I never took them off. Not even to sleep.

  I had considered grabbing for the gun, using it.

  Two things stopped me.

  One- the mini military he had walking the grounds. Even if I managed to get a shot off, there was not much chance I would escape. And then... who the hell knew what kind of punishment I would get if he lived through the bullet?

  Two- okay. He wasn't the man I thought he was. But he was still the man who came and checked under my bed for monsters as a kid. He was the man who bought me a pony of my sixth birthday. A pony. He was the man who encouraged me with my school work. He was the only person in my life who had given a damn about me. He was the only parent I had. And I just... couldn't bring myself to shoot him.

  But I kept the boots at the ready just in case.

  I wasn't taking any chances.

  The thing about being held captive they don't tell you, is that it's boring. Sure, it's nerve-wracking and scary for a while. But mostly, just fucking dull as hell. No television. No books. No one to talk to to keep yourself from going crazy. I spent a lot of time showering. And staring at the walls.

  The night got late, darkness coming through the windows.

  I laid back, falling into a purely boredom-induced sleep.

  Again, I didn't get a chance to scream. I woke up with a hand over my mouth.

  My eyes flew open, arms swinging to fight when I felt a body come over mine, knees pinning my forearms, a man's full weight settling on my chest.

  Then I saw him.

  Martin.

  Fucking fucking Martin. With his dead eyes.

  And he was smiling at me.

  He reached behind him, pulling out duct tape.

  Again.

  In what universe did boring, good girl Summer Lyon end up kidnapped three fucking times in f
our fucking months?

  That was all I could think as I felt the duct tape slide over my cheek, his hand moving little by little so he could cover my lips without me being able to open my mouth and scream.

  Which I would have. I would have screamed bloody fucking murder. Because no matter how frustrating and ick-inducing being held captive by your own fucking father was, it was nothing compared to being dragged back to V's. To being tied to that bed. To being beat and starved and carved up. To, very likely, being raped.

  I would have moved heaven an earth to get Lee's attention.

  But my mouth was covered and then I heard the handcuffs slide open. An arm was wrestled up and the bracelet went around my wrist, then the same was done with the other wrist.

  “V has been missing you,” he informed me, lifting off my body and hauling me up by the chain between the cuffs. “Says I can have all kinds of fun with you if I brought you back,” he informed me, pulling me across the room and toward the door.

  Not quietly I might add.

  He wasn't whispering or murmuring.

  He was talking just as loud as he pleased.

  And I was getting familiar enough with the seedy underworld of society to know that that wasn't a good sign.

  Then, to prove my point, we went into the hall.

  And there was Lee.

  Slumped up against the wall on the floor, his body in weird contortions. Blood spattered all behind him from the bullet hole he had in his forehead.

  I felt the bile rise up in my throat and was forced to swallow it back down.

  I'd never seen anything like that.

  A man dead like that. Horrifically. Brutally.

  And, not entirely understanding why considering he was one of my captors, I felt unbelievably sad. He was dead because of me. I was dragged down the stairs and out the front door and before I was shuffled into the trunk (yes Martin, unlike Wolf, had a trunk), I saw the devastation all around. My father's entire mini-military was dead. Shot dead. Blood everywhere.

  I gulped back more sick as the trunk slammed closed.

  Bodies were piling up because of me.

  And maybe they weren't all great men, but they were people. People who had their lives ripped away because V wanted me back.

  So maybe he should have me back.

  Maybe me dealing with my torment was worth keeping others alive.

  My father.

  The Henchmen.

  Reign.

  Oh, god, Reign.

  When I wasn't busy hating my father or trying to find a way to escape (there were none), I was thinking about Reign.

  Seven days. I hadn't seen him in seven days.

  And I missed him, like he told me I would.

  Like I had never missed someone else before.

  I missed him like a limb suddenly ripped away.

  Like something vital.

  He had to know that I was gone by then.

  And he would think it was V all along.

  And he would come for me.

  Fuck.

  I wished I had a way to contact him. To tell him to let it go. Tell him it wasn't V. Lie my ass off. Tell him I took off. I needed to get away, start a new life. Tell him to move the fuck on.

  Because I might have been able to live with a whole militia dying because of me, but I couldn't live with Reign dying for me. Or Cash or Wolf or any of the other men for that matter.

  I thought about the gun in my boot.

  And then I thought something awful.

  Something I never thought I would think.

  Something that, on a normal day, seemed weak and cowardly.

  But in my situation, it seemed noble and brave.

  It seemed like a very viable option.

  I could take myself out of the equation.

  Permanently.

  I could save myself the beatings, the starvation, the brutality.

  I could save my father from getting involved with V.

  And, more important than all, I could save Reign.

  I drew in a shaky breath, feeling my body roll around as the car drove away.

  The cuffs would come off eventually. The cuffs would come off and the ropes would go on. And the ropes would be untied for me to use the bathroom. Or right before my beatings in the basement.

  Hell, maybe I could take V out with me. Or, at the very least, Martin.

  Even as I thought that, I knew I couldn't. Yes, I had the gun. Yes, I knew how to use it. But I wouldn't be able to. Not to take someone else's life. Not even people as sick and twisted and undeserving of breath as V and Martin. I couldn't do that.

  But I could turn the barrel on myself.

  I could do that.

  Resolved, I kicked out my legs, pressing them against the back seats of the car to hold my body still.

  I should have been freaking out. Breaking into a cold sweat. Feeling sick to my stomach. I should have been running over all the things I would never get a chance to do. Get married. Make babies. Grow old. Have a good, safe, sweet little life. I should have been devastated that I was going to take that away.

  But I wasn't.

  I felt resigned.

  I felt like I had a mission.

  To save people from trying to save me.

  And dying in the process.

  I wouldn't have been able to live with that anyway.

  For the first time in almost four months, I was going to be in control of something.

  That was something to cling to.

  To comfort myself with.

  The car stopped. I heard Martin's door open and close. I felt the trunk pop. Then he was looking down at me, a smirk toying with his lips. “Welcome back,” he said, reaching in and hauling me out. He set me on my feet and I turned to see other cars pulling in. V's men got out in varying degrees of dishevel. And it hit me that V had sent his own mini army to get me back.

  I swallowed hard, looking away from them.

  “I think we can remove the duct tape now, don't you?” a voice hit me and I turned to see V walking out of the house, wearing a pristine blue suit with a white shirt and striped blue tie. He looked like he was walking out to meet an old friend, giving me a smile.

  A fucking smile.

  The sick fuck.

  Martin reached up and ripped the tape off my lips, the skin smiting as he did.

  “Summer, Summer, Summer,” V said, coming up toward me, his head tilted to the side slightly as he looked me up and down. “You look well. All plumped up again.”

  Okay. I knew I was in a kidnapping situation. And I knew that these people had hurt me in countless ways over months. And I knew that I was pretty set on taking my own life at the first opportunity, but somehow... being referred to as 'plumped up' was offensive. It was stupid and girly and insecure, but it stung.

  “Yeah, that happens when people fucking feed you,” I spat angrily to cover my ridiculous inner battle with my self-confidence.

  V's shoulder shrugged, his smile spread. “Still got a lot of fight in you, huh?” he asked, turning his smile on Martin, sharing something silently.

  Martin spoke next, to V, “Yeah, it's gonna take double the effort, I think, to break her this time.”

  Break me.

  They never broke me.

  And I felt the need to let them know.

  “Break me, huh?” I laughed a little hysterically. “Is that what you think you did? Because I'm pretty sure a broken person doesn't escape her tormentors and then get the pleasure,” I said, twisting my head to glare at Martin, “of beating the ever loving shit out of one of the men who used to beat her.” I paused, watching Martin's eyes get tight. “And then order his death. Happily.”

  There was a spark of surprise in his eyes before he tramped it down. I turned my head to look at V whose smile, somehow, had widened even further.

  “We figured Deke had met with some... difficulties.”

  “If by 'difficulties' you mean had the life beat out of him, then yes. Yes, he did.”

&n
bsp; V laughed, waving a hand. “He was disposable,” he said casually.

  I felt Martin tense behind me, knowing, I guessed, that he realized that if Deke was disposable, so was he. Must have hurt his pride a little. “Hear that, Martin?” I asked, carelessly poking the sleeping bear, “It sounds like you're disposable too.”

  I was rewarded by being thrown forward.

  Wrists cuffed, there was nothing I could do to break my fall but round my shoulders so my head didn't crack fully onto the pavement of the driveway.

  I might as well not have even bothered.

  My head smacked hard, sending a swirling black through my consciousness that I fought hard as the pounding started in my temple and I felt the hot trace of blood running down the side of my face.

  “That was hardly necessary,” V said casually as if Martin had just spoken out of turn instead of given me a fucking concussion.

  I saw V's feet move and knew that he was the one who pulled me back onto my feet. I pulled my lip in slightly, licking the blood off of it. “I don't know, V, it looks like you're losing control of your men.”

  To my surprise, he threw his head back and laughed. It was full. Hearty. Like he hadn't heard a joke that funny in ages.

  “Oh, sweet girl,” he said, looking at me, still grinning like a mad man, shaking his head like he was talking to a silly child. “I had thought you would have figured it out by now.”

  Figured it out? Figured what out? What was I missing?

  “Hey, I don't think...” Martin broke in, sounding like he was uncomfortable, like V was saying something he shouldn't.

  V waved a hand, brushing Martin's concerns aside. “Things have changed, Mart,” he informed him. “Time the truth came out.”

  “You're sure that...”

  “I'm sure,” he said, his words firm. Then he turned his focus back on me and the smile picked up again. “You're not as clever as I thought you were. That's unfortunate.”

  “Oh, please let me tell you how much it hurts that you low life pieces of shit are disappointed in me,” I said dryly.

  To this, he chuckled. “At least you found that spunk. I knew it was in there somewhere.”

  I rolled my eyes, suddenly realizing I would rather a beating than useless freaking banter in the god damn driveway. “Are you going to bring me to the basement or stand here gabbing all day, V?” I asked.