“Vi,” Roc said, hands up in a placating gesture even though he was pale under the arena’s harsh lighting.
Scanning the crowd over Roc’s shoulder, Vi saw his mom and Kayla, both their faces pinched with worry and Magnus, Theo, Dagen, and Ollie surrounding a devastated looking Luca, but he couldn’t find the one other face he was searching for. “Where is he?” he demanded. “Where’s Niko?”
“We think somewhere in the building.” It was obvious that Roc was trying to pull on his private investigator exterior and failing. Fuck, it must really be bad.
“What do you mean, you think?”
Reaching back, Roc took the phone out of Clark’s hands, tapped the screen, and then held it up for Vidar to see. On screen was Niko’s face, one eye already swelling with a strip of duct tape covering his mouth. Dark eyes glittering with anger stared out at him from the phone screen and for a moment Vidar thought he might actually throw up. Then he saw the text:
Lose the fight. Or lose your boy.
The nausea rolling through his stomach evaporated, replaced by an all-consuming rage. He barely felt Rory and Harbor try to grab him. Barely felt the official he shoved aside, or the way the metal wiring of the cage door tore at his wraps when he forced it open. He threw Ronan Drake against the cage and pressed a forearm across his throat.
“So this is how you plan to beat me? Where is he?” Spit flew from Vidar’s lips as he roared into Drake’s face. The fucker would have more than just a broken arm when Vidar was through with him.
Except instead of a slow smile or a cocky “I got you” grin, Drake’s eyes widened and he held out his arms to the side, not even trying to fight back. “Where’s who man? I’ve got no idea what your talking about.”
He didn’t believe the innocent act, but it threw him enough that the rough hands grabbing at him managed to pull him back. With his chest heaving, he let Harbor, Rory, Dagen, and Theo escort him back across the cage to where Roc with standing, eyes studying Drake.
“I don’t think it’s him, Vi,” Roc said when he was close enough, moving to stand right in front of him and take Vidar’s face in his hands. “We’re going to find him. Niko was wearing his smartwatch and it’s showing still here in the building. If the fuckers that took him are who I think they are, they won’t know to take it off.”
Vidar could hear the commotion behind him as Harbor and Theo tried to placate the referee. Shit, what would those fuckers do to Niko if they expelled Vidar before he got the chance to fight?
“Find him,” he said, suddenly, staring into Roc’s eyes. “Find him and I’ll pretend to play along.”
“I will.” Roc stormed out of the cage, not wasting another second. Vi watched him until Roc reached Clark, Mace, and the other biker. Taking a deep breath, he turned and started apologizing. He needed to be in this fight to keep Niko safe long enough for Roc to find him.
Chapter Nineteen
Niko was tired of people hitting him. Or cutting him. Or throwing him on the ground. His eye was throbbing where they’d punched him, but thankfully wasn’t swollen completely shut...yet. Twisting his wrists where they were duct taped behind him, he tried again to pull his way free without drawing attention to himself.
The two guys that had grabbed him were standing on the other side of the room, watching something on one of their phones. The room looked like a utility closet. Several big pipes ran along the sloping ceiling and there were several sets of storage shelves. The floor was smooth concrete and the overhead fluorescent lights had the tiniest pulse like the ballast was about to go out.
The men were both wearing dirty jeans, flannel shirts, and thick soled black boots. Each time one of them moved his right arm, Niko caught sight of a sun tattoo with a black X across it. There were only a few things that Luca had told him about his time with the Crossmen, and one of them was that the full-patched members all got that tattoo somewhere on their bodies. Being at the mercy of members of the same motorcycle club that had taken and tormented his brother set Niko’s blood on fire.
“Your boyfriend better get his shit together and throw this fight right or we’re gonna gut you and leave you on his doorstep.”
Oh. God. That’s why they’d taken him? To get Vi to throw the fight? There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that just for a moment thought they’d used the wrong leverage, but he told that insecurity to shut the fuck up. Vidar loved him, and Niko knew he’d do whatever he had to to keep Niko safe.
Vidar and Drake circled each other. Each stepping in with a jab and backing off quickly to not get caught with something riskier. He tried to keep his mind in the fight, and not on Roc out there right now trying to find Niko. He had to trust his man and play this balance right. If the officials suspected he had intention to throw the fight then he’d be headed straight to jail, and if the assholes that took Niko didn’t win whatever they’d bet on him losing...well, he couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about another fucking person hurting Niko.
Vidar swore when he got him back he was going to wrap him up in bubble wrap and never let him leave the house.
“Why’d you attack me?” Drake said when they locked in a clinch. The man had certainly grown into himself and resembled nothing of the scrawny sixteen-year-old he’d been the last time they did battle. He was a couple inches shorter than Vidar now and a couple inches broader to make up for it. His dark hair was buzzed down to stubble and tattoos covered most of his torso. His eyes though. They were the same gray Vidar remembered.
Vidar didn’t know if he should trust Drake, but some instinct pushed at him.
“One of my boyfriends is missing,” Vidar said, breaking the clinch and bouncing back, shifting side to side, and moving his head in an attempt to not be an easy target.
Drake looked stunned for a moment before getting his own bounce back. While he was digesting that news, Vidar shot in, grabbing Drake’s leg and dropping him to the mat with a single-leg takedown.
“But why,” Drake wheezed, breath knocked out of him. “Oh shit, you asked if that was how I planned to beat you? Fuck, someone’s holding him ransom, aren’t they?”
They were both breathing hard, and usually in a spar, Vidar wouldn’t even be winded yet, but his heart was hammering in his chest and he felt like he had to fight for every bit of air he managed to pull into his lungs.
At this point, he didn’t see any reason to lie about it. “Yes.”
“Fuck,” Drake swore, pulling guard by wrapping his legs around Vidar’s hips and holding on so Vi couldn’t raise up and punch him in the face. “This is not what I wanted for a rematch with you.”
The bell rang, signaling the end of the first round. Vidar straightened up and climbed to his feet. “It’s not what I wanted either.”
The goons were restless. They had the volume turned so low on whatever they were watching that he couldn’t hear anything. A plain, folding metal chair was hard and cold beneath him, and he thought he’d felt a bit of a rough edge on the hinge, but every time he tried to squirm around to saw at the tape on his wrist with it, his captors took notice.
“What’s he doing?” one of the men said with a growl at the phone’s tiny screen.
“What he should be. He’s gotta make it look real,” the other, with the forearm sun tattoo replied.
Niko wondered if they were both Crossmen members. Rocco told him that when they’d rescued Luca the Iron Heretics had used that raid to break up the Crossmen chapter and run them out of Heretic territory. Were these on a revenge mission? And he just happened to be an easy target to make them some money while they were at it. Shit, he hoped they hadn’t gotten near Luca. Or Rocco. Or Vi.
He pushed those thoughts away and focused on creeping his arms to the side without turning his shoulders. He just needed to find that rough edge he’d skimmed over earlier, then maybe he could get the hell out of there. As the tip of one finger grazed over it, the door to the room rattled in the frame. The goons ran over to brace against it, but in the next
moment, the lock clicked and a rough push sent his captors flying back.
A huge bald man he’d never seen and a leaner, long haired guy filled the doorway for a moment before they were striding into the room. Long hair, kicked one of the goons right in the nuts, and when he bent to grab himself, Long hair grabbed the back of his head and brought up a hard knee right into the goon’s nose. A sickening crack sounded and then the goon howled as blood gushed down his face.
The big bald guy landed a punch to the other goon’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. Niko didn’t make a sound, hoping these guys were on his side when the long haired guy turned pretty green eyes and a salacious smile on him. “Hey, Niko. We’ll be your calvary this evening. I’m Mace and the big guy is Axel.”
The bald headed man, Axel, smiled at him gently, then walked behind the chair and tore the duct tape from his wrists. As soon as his hands were free, he tore the strip off his mouth with a wince.
“Thank you. Where’s—”
“Niko!” Roc came running into the room with Detective Clark right behind him. Niko was in Roc’s arms before he could blink, and didn’t fight when Roc squeezed him so hard he thought he’d have bruises.
“Baby, are you okay?” Roc asked, pulling back to look at his face.
“I’m okay,” he promised with a kiss to Roc’s lips. “Get me to Vi.”
The bell rang, bringing an end to the second round and grating on Vidar’s frayed nerves. Where the hell was Roc? He needed an update. Needed to know his men were safe. Going to his corner, he dropped onto the stool Rory sat down for him.
“They got him,” Harbor said, keeping his voice low and resting an ice pack on the back of Vidar’s neck as a big smile took over his face. “Niko’s safe.”
Vi looked at Harbor who pointed outside the cage out into the audience. Roc and Niko were standing at the barrier. Vidar stood on liquid knees and placed a hand on the cage, threading his fingers through the mesh. A deep, shuddering breath poured out of him. Rocco had his arm around Niko’s shoulder, holding him close and looking up at Vidar with the fiercest expression. He had their boy, safe and sound. The swelling of Niko’s one eye looked like it was starting to bruise, but he was standing tall with a smile on his face.
Vidar nodded at them when the ten second warning sounded, and the crushing weight that had been holding him down lifted.
He held out his gloves for Drake to touch when they met in the middle of the cage for the third round.
“Now, let’s see who’d win this fight,” Vidar said.
Drake nodded and tapped his gloves, and they poured every ounce of energy left into the third round. In the end, the crowd was on their feet and Vidar’s hand was raised in victory.
“Damn man,” Drake said, clapping him on the back once the referee released their wrists. “You’re as fucking tough as I remember.”
“Look, Drake,” Vidar started, only for Drake to cut him off with a shake of his head.
“Don’t apologize to me, man. What happened in that fight was the wake-up call I needed to get myself out.”
Vidar shook his head. “When I first got the call, I really thought this was about revenge.”
Drake laughed. “Nah, man. I just needed to know.”
“It was good to see you again, Drake,” Vidar said, extending his hand. “You’re a tough son of a bitch. I’m sure you’ve got a long and legit career ahead of you.”
“As long as you stay out of the cage, maybe.” Drake shot him a genuine smile before moving back to his corner and the people waiting to do interviews there.
Vidar turned just in time to see Roc and Niko entering the cage. Niko ran and Vidar caught him, gripping his ass and pulling him in, loving the feeling of Niko’s legs wrapped around him and the weight of him in his arms.
“Miss me?”
“You know I did,” Vidar said, eyes roving Niko’s face. “You okay?”
Niko nodded and reached to wrap one arm around Rocco’s shoulders so they stood in a little triangle, together, shoulder-to-shoulder-to-shoulder. Just as they should be. “I’m perfect now.”
“So am I baby boy, so am I,” Vidar said, kissing Niko soundly before pressing smiling lips to Roc’s.
Epilogue
September
His mom’s roses were bearing their second blooms for the year, perfuming the backyard and adding to the magical scene beneath strands of fairy lights twinkling against the darkening sky. Vidar pulled in a deep breath and looked around at his gathered family and friends.
Rocco and Niko were chatting with Kayla, Theo, Luca, and Rory. Niko had told him just yesterday that he thought he was finally ready to do his first tattoo. Vidar had eagerly volunteered and couldn’t wait for his man to lay something permanent into his skin. Niko didn’t have many tattoos past the full sleeve of bright flower blossoms and vines adorning his arm. Maybe he’d let Vidar put a tattoo on him someday as well. A band around a certain finger would sure look perfect on both his men he thought.
“I know that look,” Magnus said, coming to stand beside him. Magnus had shed his tux jacket and looked perfectly comfortable in his vest with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a glass of champagne in his hand.
“What look?” Vidar asked, feigning cluelessness.
“Can’t hide the look, brother,” Harbor said, coming at him from the other side and bumping their shoulders together.
“You both obviously need to lay off the bubbly. Magnus did you give him that good beer again?”
“I did not, and don’t try to deny it, Vi. You’re projecting it loud and clear.”
He covered his smile by taking a sip from his own glass, then let that same smile out when Dagen stopped on the other side of Magnus, the fairy lights reflecting off the platinum band newly adorning the third finger of his left hand.
“Loud and clear, Vi,” his youngest brother said with a soft smile as he looked out over their gathered family to where Ollie was standing with their mother. “And really since I’m the expert around here on these things, I should know.”
Vidar knew there was a matching platinum band on Ollie’s hand. He’d had them both in his pocket not twenty minutes ago.
“Ah hell,” Vidar said when Roc and Niko turned their heads and caught his eye. Niko’s smile was enough to light up the darkness around him. Then Rocco looked between he and Niko shooting a wink his way, and Vi knew there was no use denying it. He was a goner. “Maybe I do.”
The End.
Thank you so much for reading Vidar and taking this journey through the Open Wounds world with me :)
Ready for the next adventure? Check out Mace and all of the Iron Heretics MC in Disrupt.
Bonus Dagen and Ollie Short
Recovery
Takes place in the hospital between Ch13 and the Epilogue of Carry and Drag
The last twenty four hours were a blur. At least, he thought it had only been a day. The collage of pain, sleep, and the indignities of a hospital gown swirled around in his mind until he was nauseous with it. Thank god after he’d had to get up the first time, they’d let him wear just shorts instead. His left arm was in a sling that held it close to his chest and prevented him from moving it and further injuring his broken collarbone or pulling the sutures they’d used to close him up after the surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder. A fucking bullet. It still didn’t feel real.
“Do you need something, sweetie?” A warm hand smoothed over the skin of his forearm, and the gentle comfort it always brought blanketed him. His mom’s face came into view a moment later. “Some water?”
Dagen nodded his head and winced at the fresh stab of pain the movement caused. His mom brought the little white straw sticking out of a styrofoam cup to his lips and he drank gratefully. His mouth was so dry. Moving only his eyes, he glanced around the dim room. The clock on the wall read nine, and the darkness beyond the partially open blinds confirmed the sun had set on another day. He felt more clear than he had the other times he’d woken. Images
of his brothers, Magnus, Vidar, and Harbor, swam up out of the fog of the day’s events, their strong hands and sure presence helping to steady him when he hadn’t been stable on his own feet, and Ollie. Ollie hadn’t left his side.
“He ran home to grab a few things.”
He moved his eyes back to his mom’s face, finding a knowing smile pulling up the sides of her mouth. “He should stay there and get some rest.”
“You try telling that boy he needs to leave you to rest and see how far you get.” She pulled the one recliner in the room, which didn’t look comfortable at all, closer to his bedside and sat down. “He’s a sweet one, though. Poor thing was a wreck while you were in surgery.” Her words broke off, and she wiped at her nose. Dagen couldn’t turn his head any farther to see her downcast eyes, but he reached his hand in her direction, and hers slipped into it. “You scared us pretty bad, baby.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.” Dagen’s own eyes started to well and he closed them. The scene that had led him to this hospital bed breaking into his thoughts and sending a pulse of fear through him all over again. “He was going to shoot Ollie. I couldn’t—”
“Sssh.” His mom stood up again and brushed her hand over his forehead before pressing a kiss there. “It’s okay, baby. You did what you had to do, and I’m so proud of you. We all are. You just rest now.”
He was exhausted. Keeping his eyes open for only a few minutes felt like the equivalent of an eight hundred pound deadlift. For reps. It was exhilarating and painful, and you were ready to fall over and not move for a month when it was done.
Open Wounds: The Boxed Set Page 47
