by Wilde, Kati
“It’s all good, brother,” Stone says and lifts the glass out of my hand, holding it up out of the danger zone as we begin threading through the crowd.
“You can have that, if you want!” I call ahead to him. “I’m not much of a beer drinker!”
But Stone must be, because his glass is empty again by the time we reach the back corner of the tavern. A handwritten sign with ‘Private Party’ scrawled across a sheet of plain paper is slapped up against a wooden post. A popular party, by the looks of it, with more people crowding this area than were up at the bar—maybe because there’s plenty of liquor here, too, and what looks like a free-for-all on pitchers of beer.
Stone pulls me in closer again, voice raised over the noise. “Normally I wouldn’t introduce you to my brother, because he’s real fucking pretty! Women see him and suddenly I’m dog meat or they’re into a threesome. But I won’t risk losing you in this mess!”
“No worries either way!” I cling to his side, steeling myself for what’s coming next, trying to think of how to explain it quickly and believably. Because Stone’s life depends on it. “I don’t trust pretty, and I’m not interested in sharing you with anyone!”
“Good, because I’m not into sharing, either.”
He keeps pushing his way through the bodies, forging a path for me in his wake. Everyone’s taller than I am, so nothing’s visible except a forest of shoulders and vests and beards. Abruptly the forest clears and I’m facing the most beautiful man that I’ve ever seen.
Except I’ve seen him before, in the house where I woke up today. It’s the blue-eyed devil who called in the favor from the Iron Blood—the one who’s setting up Stone to be taken to the Cage.
And Stone says this man is his brother? But he isn’t safe here with him.
Panic thrums through my veins. What now? What now?
I barely hear Stone greeting the man and introducing me. Only see the devil’s icy gaze on me when Stone’s arm circles my waist. He must be wondering why I haven’t already drugged Stone. Why I haven’t already taken him stumbling outside, where he’ll be easy pickings for the Iron Blood. That cold stare locks with mine and I begin shaking, because I wasn’t expecting this. Now I don’t know what to do.
Except stall. And keep playing along.
I glance up at Stone. Who’s been so sweet to me. So good to me. And I will save him.
But I need time to think. Pasting on a smile, I take his empty glass. “You want me to get you a refill before we go, baby?”
“I sure would, darlin’.” His gaze is hot on mine and he doesn’t immediately let me go as I move away. His fingers drift across my hip as if he doesn’t want to be separated even by the ten feet to the nearest table for a refill from one of the pitchers.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. I don’t know if the blue-eyed devil is watching me, but Victor and Hotel probably still are. So I have to make this look good. While my back is to Stone, I not-so-surreptitiously slip a vial out of my bodice. They’ll see me. They’ll think that I’m drugging his drink like I’m supposed to.
I take my time at the table, pretending to slyly dump the roofie into a glass while also being so completely obvious about it that I’m waiting for someone to call me out at any moment. For someone to shout that I’m putting a date-rape drug into someone’s drink. But apparently no one sees me.
Or maybe in this crowd nobody gives a fuck.
Despite the show I’m giving, not a single drop of the drug makes it inside the glass—and the table’s such a mess, no one could possibly tell that a few milliliters of dissolved Rohypnol are mixed in with the puddles of spilled beer.
My racing heart trips over itself as I make my way back to Stone. His eyes are still eating me up, yet there’s something more…guarded in the way he’s looking at me. As if he suspects what I was doing with his drink.
Was my pretense too obvious? Am I going to lose his trust before I even get a chance to help him?
Stomach roiling with nerves, I hand him the glass—and he takes it. Thank god. Whatever put that look on his face, it isn’t the beer.
So maybe it was something the blue-eyed devil said. “Are you all right?”
“Better now.” As if he’d rather have me close than ten feet away. He tilts his head toward the other man. “Just discussing the perils of defenestration.”
“Being thrown through a window?” That’s…a strange topic. Or maybe it’s not. The scarring on Stone’s face might have been caused by broken glass. “Is that what happened to you?”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t you be pretty and smart.”
Is he intimidated by smart? If so, it’s good to know there’s something that intimidates a man his size. With a laugh, I tell him, “I’ll try.” Though not very hard, because I need to be smarter now than I’ve ever been before. “I’d rather be something else, anyway.”
“What’s that?”
Alive. Free.
But I’ll settle for keeping Stone alive and free, instead.
Chest suddenly tight, I shake my head. Because the blue-eyed devil is watching me closely, and the only way to help Stone is to get him away. So I gesture at his beer. “Why don’t you finish that up and we’ll head out?”
Maybe that was too pushy. Because Stone frowns but downs the beer, and I can feel his gaze on me as I desperately plan. His chugging the drink should give us a few extra minutes. Surely Victor and Hotel will hold off until they think the drug has started working. That’ll give us a head start.
I’m not even sure where they are. My gaze searches the crowd, trying to see them. But it’s impossible.
“Ready, then?”
I nod, and Stone slings his heavy arm around my shoulders, begins guiding me through the mass of people.
“You all right?”
I glance up. Stone’s watching me with that guarded look again. Probably because I’m terrified and not hiding it well.
But everything I say might be picked up by the microphone in my wig. So I have to be careful.
Swallowing hard, I curl my finger so that he bends his head closer. I go up on my tiptoes, my mouth near his ear. “I’m just overwhelmed by all the people. Do you think there’s a back way out of here?”
He nods and changes direction, heading for the bar. I keep searching for Victor or Hotel, or any of the Iron Blood that I might recognize—but I’m not tall enough to see beyond my immediate surroundings. But Stone is so big that anyone watching him must be able to follow his route easily.
Shit. Heart thundering, I cling to his arm as he pushes through a swinging door and into a brightly lit kitchen that smells of grease and onions. Almost immediately, it’s easier to breathe, easier to hear. A harassed-looking man in a hairnet calls out that we can’t be back here, but Stone simply continues on, his stride long and easygoing.
Too easygoing. We don’t have any time to lose. Gripping his hand, I begin moving faster, getting ahead of Stone and pulling him along.
He grins. “In a hurry?”
That grin dissolves when I rip off my wig and toss it aside. “Come on. Come on, come on.”
“Hold up.”
We can’t. “Where’s the exit?”
Even as I ask, I see it. Stone doesn’t put up any resistance when I drag him in that direction, but something in him is changing. Or something hidden in him is emerging. Something sharp and deadly.
“What’s going on, Cherry? Who are you running from? Is someone after you?”
The steel in his voice tells me that if I don’t give an answer quickly, he’s not taking many more steps.
“They’re after you,” I tell him, then ease open the exit door. The back lot is empty, deserted. A huge dumpster sits to the left. “I’m supposed to drug you and then hand you over to some guys who will make you fight to the death.”
“Are you talking about the Cage?”
I glance back at him in shock that he knows about it—and am even more stunned when I see his broad grin. As if he’s glad to be targeted
. “You know it?”
“Yeah, I know it.” He laughs before his eyes narrow. “Who the hell sent you in here after me? The fucker you called your boss?”
“Yes, but he’s not in charge. He’s just a guard.” And is probably looking for me right now. I pull on Stone’s hand. “We have to go. We have to run.”
This time he pulls back, shaking his head. “Nah. We need to head back inside, rope my brother into this, and hole up somewhere while you tell us everything.”
“We can’t go back in.” Desperately I haul on his wrist, trying to get him outside with me. “Your brother was the one who set you up. He pointed the Iron Blood in your—”
One second I’m pulling on him. The next, my back is shoved up against a wall and Stone looms over me, his hazel eyes burning with fury, his face a lethal mask.
Terror closes my throat. Because this man…this man isn’t the one who kissed me at the bar. This is someone who might kill me in an instant.
“Don’t you even suggest that Gunner did this,” he snarls. “Not for one fucking second. That man has saved my life a million goddamn different ways. So give me a choice between him and you, and it’s him every fucking time. You understand?”
Mutely I nod.
His burning eyes watch me for another long second as I tremble wildly and desperately try to keep myself from crying. Because I’m not mistaken. Who could forget a face like that man has? But if what Stone says is true, of course he’d believe his brother over me. Just like I’d believe Matt over everyone else, too.
And Matt is why I have to keep trying. No matter what the cost.
“Please,” I whisper brokenly. “Don’t go back in there. I don’t know him, so maybe there’s something I don’t understand. But please don’t go back in there.”
His gaze softens and he sighs. “All right. We’ll head out, get you somewhere safe. Then I’ll send him a message and we’ll...”
He blinks. Then blinks again, pulling back away from me, and I can’t stop my cry of dismay when I see who’s standing behind him.
Victor. With a hypodermic needle that he tosses aside, his gaze on Stone as the biker turns…stumbling a little.
“Ah, shit,” Stone says, slurring.
Oh god. Whatever Victor injected the big man with is moving fast through his system. And I’ll never be able to carry him. There’s just one decision left to make—to run. As fast as I can. To find a phone, to get help, anything. With a sob, I fly through the exit.
And slam straight into Hotel.
6
Stone
Well, shit. If I’d known that finding the Cage was as easy as kissing a redhead, I’d have kissed a few more.
Or maybe just kissed that one. Cherry. Fuck, her mouth was so sweet and hot. Maybe the rest of her was sweet and hot, too. I can’t remember much beyond her bringing me a beer while I was talking to Gunner—while he was warning me away from her, because the girl was obviously a fucking mess.
But I like messes. So that wasn’t going to slow me down.
Now Gunner’s probably laughing his ass off. For sure he’s going to come at me with a smugfucking ‘I told you so,’ because I woke up about a half hour ago feeling like absolute shit. Like a hangover, but worse. Probably from whatever Cherry slipped into my drink.
I should’ve known. That girl had trouble written all over her. And she looked real nervous the whole damn time.
Except when I was kissing her. So I hope she’s here, so I can find her and kiss her again.
Wherever the fuck here is. Some kind of cell, with bars at the front and overhead, but the walls are made of wood. An aluminum roof forms a peaked ceiling, with ductwork and pipes going every which way. Lights are off, but there must be more cells like this one. I can hear other men snoring and shuffling around on their beds.
I’m buck naked on my own bunk, which doesn’t bother me much. Except I don’t know where my kutte is. I don’t give a shit about the rest of my clothes. But my Hellfire Riders vest, yeah—I care a hell of a lot. Knowing someone took that off me gets my blood going.
But no worries. Because I’ll get it back.
And suddenly it’s playtime. The halogen lights pop on overhead, flooding my cell. Some golden oldies start up, shit I haven’t heard since my dad gave me rides to pee-wee football practice. From all around me come the sounds of men getting their asses out of bed—and that throws me about ten years ahead of pee-wee football and straight into boot camp.
I hated boot camp. Loved everything else about my time in the service. Fucking hated boot camp.
But I know how this works. And the important thing to learn from boot camp isn’t the basic training. Nah, what really matters is getting to know the men around you, figuring out what the people in charge want from you—and how hard you can push back.
Gray sweatpants wait for me by the sink. I drag them on, swallow a couple of handfuls of water, and head over to the front of my cell.
And holy fucking shit. A laugh busts out of me, because straight across a concrete aisle is one of the assholes I’ve been looking for. “Handlebar, you stupid fuck! You’ve got every brother in the Butchers searching for your ass.”
The big biker glances over. A grin spreads across his bearded face and he heads for the bars—moving not quite as easily as I’m used to seeing him move. Got beat up some, then. Either here or in the Cage.
But if it was in the Cage, all that matters is that he won.
“But it was a Hellfire Rider who found us? We’re completely fucked, then.” He smirks, shaking his head. “What brought you looking?”
“They tried to snatch our girl Zoomie a little while back.”
His face darkens. “Did they get her?”
“Nah. But it made us start looking for anyone else who went missing.” And we reached out to the Bedlam Butchers in that search. “Figured out they were nabbing bikers who were winning rally fights.”
“Hold up. You’re telling me that you knew this Cage shit was going on and you still got taken? And I’m the stupid fuck?”
“What the hell can I say? The bait had big red hair and a sweet little ass.”
“Yeah, the red hair did us in, too. One minute I’ve got her choking on my dick while Crash is plowing her pussy from behind, the next we’re here.”
Goddammit. I’m not a possessive man. I don’t give two shits about a woman’s past. And jealousy is a waste of time. Yet the way my gut tightens up, something in me isn’t too thrilled that they’ve had a taste of Cherry, too.
But I knew the girl was trouble before I ever kissed her. So I’m still into it.
“Crash here?” I’m guessing he is. Because if Crash isn’t here, then he’s dead—and Handlebar wouldn’t be smiling or joking. Those two Butchers are as tight as Gunner and me.
“Yeah. Four boxes down.” Handlebar tilts his head to my left, his gaze boring into mine. “He could use some fresh air.”
To get out of here. So Crash is alive, but not doing so good. “There’s no windows to open?”
Holes in their security. No doubt Handlebar’s been assessing it from the beginning.
“A few small ones,” he says. “But they don’t open easy from inside. Maybe they’ll open up from outside.”
Asking if the cavalry will be coming. “I’m basically one of those rancid farts that leaves a trail of stink—a trail that’s real easy to follow. After they get a whiff of me in here, I figure they’ll open up those windows fast.”
Satisfaction gleams in the other man’s eyes. “You always have smelled like you’re full of bullshit.”
“And I call that my greatest natural talent.” Another talent is knowing when to pay attention—which I’ve been doing. While Handlebar and I are yapping, a shift change takes place to my right. Not in a cell, but a closed-up room. Security station, probably. Manned by only one guard.
To my left, past five more cells is another closed-up room. A guard stops in front of it—not carrying any weapons except a stun gun, seems lik
e. I recognize that guard. The bastard who looks like a drill sergeant, the one Cherry called her boss. But that bastard isn’t a boss. Might be in charge here, but he’s not a boss, and that’s a real important distinction.
Drill Sergeant signals to one of the cameras and the door unlocks. The fucker’s carrying keys on a belt but there’s nothing to unlock on these doors except some restraints they’ve got set up on the bars. So it must be all automated and they need someone in that security station to open the cells.
And they’ve got a girl locked up behind there, wearing a wet dream of a nurse’s uniform. She doesn’t turn in this direction but heads straight down the aisle to another door. Drill Sergeant’s right on her ass, though he’s not looking at it. He’s scoping out the other guards on duty. I’ve already pegged them as militia—well-funded, by the look of them. Except for Drill Sergeant, though, I’d bet my left nut that none of them were in the service, and their training was most likely a souped-up, chest-thumping parody of real military training. The way Drill Sergeant’s eyeing them now suggests that he doesn’t one-hundred-percent trust them to be doing their jobs right.
Might not trust the nurse, either. When the next door unlocks, Drill Sergeant follows her in.
Cherry said she was a nurse. The woman I just saw didn’t have flame red hair down to her ass, but a light auburn that falls past her shoulders. Body sure looked like Cherry’s, though—all long legs, and not much in the way of curves. Her thighs and ass were still soft as hell, though. So were her lips.
I get a flash of—what the fuck, tossing a wig?—before the memory skitters out of reach. And a lingering image of Cherry looking up at me, mouth trembling and her emerald eyes filled with fear…and of me, feeling real fucking pissed off at her.
Because of something she said? Or because I figured out that she drugged me?
I can’t remember, goddammit.
“Stone.” Handlebar’s grave tone brings my gaze swinging back to him. “You got family?”
