Wrecking Beauty

by Celia Loren

  “No, stop!” Addison screamed, tears beginning to flow down her face.

  “Hold him,” Owen said to the man next to Cutler, and the man holstered his gun and grabbed Cutler’s arm, pulling him up to kneeling again. Cutler swayed, and Owen kicked him in the stomach. Cutler keeled forward, gasping, his body heaving. Again the man pulled him up, and Owen punched him in the face, again and again.

  Forgetting the man next to her holding the gun, Addison threw herself onto Owen, sliding down him until she was kneeling herself, grasping his waist in supplication.

  “Please, Owen, please,” she begged her face streaked with tears. She stood, letting the sheet fall around her ankles so that she was naked in front of him. She gingerly took his hand and brought it to her face, running her lips over his swollen knuckles. “Take me. I’m the one you want. I will do anything you want. Anything.”

  Owen locked eyes with her, then suddenly brought his hand across her face in a wild slap. Addison gasped as she was almost thrown off her feet, but righted herself.

  “Take me,” she said again, and Owen slapped her again, harder.

  “Please,” she whispered, as she struggled to remain standing. Curled on the floor, Cutler groaned indecipherably.

  Addison searched Owen’s eyes for some glimpse of humanity, but could find none. He stared back at her, unreadable.

  Suddenly he knelt on one knee beside Cutler’s writhing body and, grasping a chunk of his hair in his hand, he pulled Cutler’s face up to his.

  “You can hear me?” he growled. Cutler grunted out a barely decipherable word in the affirmative.

  “Then hear this: I’m going to take her, and leave you alive. And I’m going to do this because I want you to know that while you live, she is being tortured. Hell, I might never kill her. I might just keep her hidden away somewhere for when I want something to play with. Remember that, every minute of every day,” he hissed.

  Addison felt her stomach drop and a wave of nausea overtake her at Owen’s words. Her knees buckled in fear, and blackness overtook her vision. As she collapsed, she felt an arm around her, catching her. She looked up into the eyes of one of Owen’s men, the one who had been standing by the desk.

  Wordlessly, he stood her back on her feet, steadying her with his arm. When he felt she was stable, he walked back toward the door and picked up her dress, then walked back and handed it to her. Addison looked up at him, thankful for this small act of kindness.

  She pulled it over her, suddenly so aware of her nakedness. Turning to see Cutler, tears sprang again from her eyes as she saw the bloody pulp they’d made of him. She saw him struggle to move as he registered her, and she moved to kneel by him.

  Owen’s arm stopped her.

  “Sorry, no time for whore goodbyes,” he said, as he pushed her toward the door. She stumbled toward the doorway, catching herself on the desk as she saw her shoes on the floor and bent to put them on, feeling numb.

  She looked up through her hair and saw the man who'd given her the dress catch Owen’s arm and say lightly, “I don’t like to leave loose ends,” as he nodded toward Cutler. Addison held her breath.

  “Don’t question me right now, Viktor. We'd have a hell of a time explaining a dead body in our hotel, wouldn't we? Besides, he’s the bottom rung. Who the fuck’s going to believe what some biker trash has to say about Owen Devlin?” Owen sneered. Viktor held his gaze, then they seemed to come to an unspoken agreement and Viktor shook his head and stepped out of Owen’s way.

  “Let’s go,” Owen commanded as he grabbed Addison’s arm and pulled him out of the room. Addison looked over her shoulder for as long as she could, watching the other two men step over Cutler as though he were a bag of trash. She just managed to catch his gaze as she was pulled out the door. I need you…she tried to project it through her eyes, and was surprised to realize she meant it. I'm falling for him…and I’ll never see him again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cutler watched Addison disappear out of the hotel room door, his vision blurry as he wavered, on the verge of blacking out. No, he thought, I have to help her, tell the Reapers. He crawled toward the door, but only made it as far as the desk when his vision completely clouded over and he lost consciousness.

  When he awoke, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He looked toward the clock, 3:30AM. He couldn’t have been out for very long. He couldn’t distinguish between the different injuries on his body, all he felt was pain. He threw his arms up to the desk, pulling himself up and crying out from the pain. The room spun around him, and he leaned over to the trash can to throw up. The clenching of his abdominal muscles sent another wave of pain throughout his body. He gingerly touched the spot where he’d been kicked on his stomach. He had to think.

  The Reapers must still be downstairs—they wouldn’t leave without him. Unless Dallas…he pushed the negative thoughts out of his head and began pulling on his clothes.

  He lurched toward the door as he pulled on his boots and got out the door. He sped up into a run as he went down the hallway to the elevator. He punched the elevator button furiously until it dinged open in front of him. He rode it back down to the second floor where the Sovereign Lounge was, bouncing from foot to foot.

  When the doors opened, he rushed around the open atrium, drawing astonished looks from the people he passed. I must look like hell, he realized. The bouncers' eyes widened, but they didn’t stop him as he rushed through the doors of the club, looking around for his brothers. The crowd had thinned out considerably, and he quickly spotted the Reapers in a tight circle around their tables. Their body language was different now than it was earlier; they were closed in, almost forming a phalanx.

  Ajax glanced up as Cutler rushed toward them.

  “Cutler! Fuck…” he said as he saw Cutler’s extensive injuries. The rest of the club stood up immediately, drawing him into their circle. Their mouths were hard lines, their eyes focused and angry.

  “Where’s Dallas?” Cutler sputtered, trying to catch his breath.

  “We haven’t seen him for over an hour,” Greyson said, as they leaned together. “We couldn’t find you either, and we knew something must be wrong. What happened?”

  “Dallas betrayed us. They took Greta, he told them where we were. They ambushed Addison and me, and they took her.” His body tightened as spoke.

  “First things first, we have to get out of here together. We can’t separate or they’ll pick us off,” Greyson ordered.

  “We have to go get Addison—now,” Cutler broke in. “They’re probably torturing her as we speak.”

  “We can’t go after her half-cocked, Cutler, we don’t even know where she is,” Greyson said, attempting to calm him.

  Cutler slammed his hand down on the table, causing the glass on it to jump an inch in the air and fall back down with a crash.

  “We need to find a place to regroup, come up with a plan,” Greyson continued.

  “I have a place, but we have to make sure we’re not followed,” Cutler said. Greyson raised his eyes at him—this was new information. “Somewhere private,” Cutler continued, eyeing him.

  “OK,” Greyson said. “We’ll follow Cutler out, then break up into smaller teams, just like we had to after that Stones concert when Ajax hit on that Angel’s girl.” Ajax smiled wryly. “We’ll meet back up at Cutler’s spot and go from there.”

  Cutler nodded, practically jumping out of his skin in his desire to get moving. With a grim nod, Greyson indicated they should start. Together, they moved toward the door of the club, keeping watchful eyes on everyone who came near them. The bouncers kept a careful distance away from them, and they arrived at the elevator without incident. They separated into three groups in the elevator, with Greyson sticking close by Cutler to keep him calm.

  As they rode the elevator down, Cutler remembered his ride in the other direction with Addison. The feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach threatened to overwhelm him, and he tried to push it down. He glanced up to the ceili
ng and saw a small camera move in the corner of the elevator. Without thinking, he reached up and tore it off its fixture, the wires sparking as they were pulled from the wall. He slammed the camera to the ground and stomped on it until tiny pieces were crunching under his foot. He felt Greyson place a steadying hand on his harm, and he willed himself to take a deep breath.

  The elevator doors opened into the garage, and when the rest of the club joined them, they headed to their bikes.

  “You stay with me,” Greyson whispered to Cutler, but there was a command in his voice. Cutler nodded. He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly right now, and could rely on Greyson to reign him in. With a loud rumble, the bikers started their engines together.

  Cutler felt an emptiness around his waist where Addison’s arms had held him when she rode behind him. He was surprised at how used to that feeling he had become in such a short time. They pulled out of the garage, driving around the security checkpoints where cars had to check out with their tickets. He fell in next to Greyson as the rest of the club split up to throw off any tail. He drove mindlessly, his thoughts consumed by the slow hum of anger. When they passed Craig Road, the rest of the gang joined back up with them, confident they weren’t being followed, and Cutler led them along side streets back to his secluded house.

  He opened his garage door, and the Reapers pulled as many of their bikes in as they could fit into the relatively small space. Greyson pulled off his helmet as Cutler cut his engine.

  “There room around back?” he asked. Cutler nodded. Greyson walked out into the driveway to wave the rest of them around the side of the garage to the fenced-in backyard, where at least their bikes wouldn’t be visible to the casual passerby.

  Cutler led the Reapers into his house. As they filtered in behind him, he realized how uncomfortable he felt with this many people in his private sanctuary. Greyson came in last, and they settled around his living room and the kitchen bar. Cutler glanced at the stool pulled up to the bar, thinking of the last time Addison had sat there, and his throat tightened. He went and sat in it himself, trying to feel her presence there.

  A silence fell around the room as the Reapers processed their once-again changing circumstances. Greyson stood next to the TV, trying to summon the right words. He ran his hands through his salt and pepper hair, then took a deep breath.

  “Look, we lost a good man just a couple days ago, and I know we all feel what happened to Cutler tonight like it happened to each one of us personally…” An assenting grumble crossed the room. “We’ve all experienced these kinds of losses and assaults before, in our old clubs, but none of us saw them coming now. The Devil’s Reapers are a brotherhood, and I know that some of us want to go after those that have hurt us. And I know that there are some here that have turned their back on that life, and want to handle it in a different way. You’re all grown men, and I respect both of those choices. I can’t decide for all of us what to do here.”

  Cutler felt his stomach drop. What? He thought it was a done deal. They have Addison.

  Drifter, a portly man in his early forties stood up, pulling nervously at his light brown beard. He cleared his throat.

  “Look, I’ve lost too many guys in my day to go up against Viktor Malitzka and who knows how many Russian dudes. Cutler—I know what happened tonight hurts, and she seemed like a great girl, but…”

  “So, what—we just lay down and let them fucking walk all over us?” Cutler exploded. “They murdered Kyle and Salem, beat the shit out of me, and kidnapped Addison, and we should just forget about it?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying Cutler! But maybe this isn’t our fight,” Drifter snapped back.

  Cutler saw caution in Greyson’s eyes from across the room, and he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down enough to make a logical argument. He stood up slowly.

  “I thought when I joined this club that we dealt with things together, as a brotherhood. That’s what Kyle told me anyway, when he asked me to join. He was the strongest advocate for all of you, would’ve done anything for any one of you. That’s why he agreed to help Salem’s cousin in the first place, because he would give the shirt off his back for the people he loved.” Cutler looked around the room as he talked, seeing some of the men shift uncomfortably, and some meeting his glance, their eyes filled with as much emotion as his.

  “Everyone in here knows that I turned my back on my old lifestyle. I’m not out looking for trouble like I used to be. But trouble has come to my doorstep, our doorstep, and I’m not going to run from it. It’s not vengeance for Kyle and Salem—it’s justice. And for Addison, it’s freedom. You all met her tonight. She’s…she’s…” He struggled for words for the first time, suddenly unable to describe what she meant to him. “She didn’t go looking for this either.

  I met Owen Devlin tonight—he did this to me personally,” he continued, gesturing to his injuries. “I’ve met a few sociopaths in my life, and I assure you that he is one. This is all a sick game to him, and he is going to torture her until she dies, or someone stops him. Until we stop him. Please fellas...I can’t do it alone, but I’ll try if I have to.” With another deep breath, he stopped talking. He had left it all on the table for his brothers to decide. He sat, waiting.

  Ajax stood from the couch. “Maybe I’m just drunk from all the alcohol Addison bought for me tonight, but I’m with Cutler.” Several of the Reapers sitting near him nodded in agreement.

  “Hang on,” a voice called from the corner. Lefty stood up from an old armchair, crossing his skinny arms. “How many of these Russians are there? ‘Cause they are mean sons a’ bitches, I can tell you that right now.”

  “With Owen Devlin tonight, there were two Russians and Viktor Malitzka,” Cutler answered.

  “Come on, there are seventeen of us, counting out Dallas,” Ajax pointed out. “We can take them!”

  “Yeah, and where are they?” Drifter asked pointedly. Fuck. Cutler shook his head. He didn’t know.

  “We’ll find them,” he protested, “we’ll track them somehow.”

  Barrow, a 6’3’’ bear of a man, stood. “I’ve got contacts around town. I can put out some feelers.”

  Next to him, Angus spoke up: “Yeah, I can put the word out, too. We’ll find her. Not too many places for out-of-towners to hide.”

  From around the room came encouraging nods from the Reapers to Cutler. Greyson looked around, taking the temperature of the room again.

  “Drifter? Lefty? Anyone have any more concerns?”

  Drifter looked around, and saw he was in the minority. He shook his head and sat quietly.

  “If you’re all in, I’m in,” Lefty announced. “Provided we can find her, that is.”

  Cutler felt a swell of relief, but it was soon tempered by the knowledge that Addison was still in danger. He couldn’t get the cold look in Owen’s eyes out of his mind.

  Greyson nodded. “Then it’s settled. We’ll split up again and put out feelers around town. Everyone start gathering what they’ll need. We’ll have to be well armed against these guys.”

  “I’ve still got some IED explosives, and a dozen KG-9's” Ajax piped up.

  “Good. For right now, we’re preparing for any situation since we don’t know what we’re headed into. We’ll refine our plan when we get some intelligence. Stay close to your prepaids, and don’t get caught in any dark alleys with your pants down.”

  A grumble of agreement spread across the room, and the men stood up and began moving toward the exits. Several came over to Cutler and patted him on the back, offering him assurances. He winced as they touched him, his pain beginning to return now that he had a second to breathe.

  Ajax and Greyson approached Cutler at the counter as the room began emptying, and they could hear the sound of the bikes pulling out onto the street. Ajax crossed to the freezer over the old fridge and pulled out an ice tray. He laid a dish towel that was hanging on the edge of the sink onto the counter, then snapped a handful of ice cubes onto it. Gathering
the cloth into a ball, he handed the ice pack to Cutler.

  “Here. Your nose looks terrible. Can you breathe through it?” Ajax asked.

  Cutler realized he had been breathing through his mouth and tried to pull air through his nose. A jolt of pain shot up his face, radiating across his eye sockets and to the back of his skull. He grimaced and shook his head. He raised the ice to his nose, ignoring the pain at the contact and trying to feel some relief from the cold.

  “You want me to crash here tonight?” Ajax asked as he turned the water on and refilled the ice tray.

  “I think that might be a good idea,” Greyson added.

  “I’m good,” Cutler said. Greyson raised his eyebrows at him. “Honestly. I’ve got a few guns here; I can protect myself. Look, I appreciate it, really, but I just want to be by myself till we find her.”

  Greyson and Ajax exchanged glances as Ajax returned the ice tray to the freezer, but didn’t press it further.

  “You got your phone on?” Greyson asked.

  “Yup,” Cutler answered.

  “I’ll call if we get any leads on where they are. Try to take it easy until then,” Greyson said.

  With a nod, Ajax and Greyson left. Cutler leaned on the counter until the sound of their engines disappeared. A drop of cool water fell from the ice onto his hand that was gripping the edge of the counter. He stared at it, watching it pool on his skin, then drip down off the side of his hand to the floor. His body pulsed with pain, and he felt frozen.

  He closed his eyes, as Addison’s face came unbidden to his mind. He could feel his hand brushing the hair off her face this morning as she sat eating her breakfast. He dropped the melting ice onto the counter and crossed into the bedroom. On the bed, he saw the black Metallica t-shirt of his that Addison had worn while she was eating breakfast. He sat on his mattress at the foot of the bed, and gently picked up the t-shirt, folding it over in his hands. He raised it to his face and smelled it. He could just pick up her scent—not the shampoo that she’d used in the shower, but a particular smell that was all hers.