by Drew Elyse
Since the day Hunter was born, Jager had been busy. In fact, all of the guys seemed to be busy—excluding Slick, who was also busy, but that was at home with his wife, daughter, and new baby boy, so I hadn’t seen him to tell how he seemed. The brothers were frequently off doing who-knew-what, who-knew-where, even logging less hours at the garage.
At first, this must have been doing whatever they did to get their hands on Yeltz.
In the aftermath of that, with him gone, I expected the seemingly constant activity for the club would lessen. I knew occasional disappearances and the once-in-a-while late night call out would be par for the course. Still, I’d been around for months and this level of activity wasn’t always the way of the Disciples. This difference was not explained to me. It also had not been explained to Cami or Ash. Something was going on with the club that went beyond hunting down Yeltz. And whatever it was was important.
“Doesn’t not knowing what’s going on bother you?” I’d asked the women one day while we held down the fort at the understaffed garage in Cami’s office. Jager was not overly fond of me being alone in the days after they found Yeltz. He explained this as being concerned that what happened might start to fuck with my head. I thought this was true, I also thought there was more to it he wasn’t sharing.
Ash shrugged, but Cami had answered, “You haven’t been around that long. For one thing, we grew up with this. Roadrunner might have kept things from you and even admitted to doing so if you asked, but it’s different when you’re around and can actually see something is up and no one will tell you what. But for another, there are a lot of times when you will get to know. Being an old lady is a tricky role sometimes. Our men open up to us. Sometimes, they’ll tell us club business that maybe not all the brothers would want us being privy to. Then, it’s our job to keep that knowledge to ourselves. Other times, we won’t get to know. They have their reasons—privacy of their brothers, protecting us, whatever—and I don’t always agree with them, but it boils down to the fact that when you love a Disciple, you have to take him as he comes.”
There was a lot there, and not all of it was great. Though I knew she was right.
Regardless of my misgivings, I had chosen Jager. I hadn’t done that blind. I’d always known the club at some level through Dad. In the months I had been around, I had gotten to know it far better. I’d made my choice having that knowledge, so I had to accept that.
I also knew she was right about the fact that they would share when they wanted to or felt they could. Jager and Dad could have made a different choice when they’d gotten Yeltz. I knew it. They might even have intended to, seeing as Jager had left that night without me. But when it came down to it, they made the decision to let me know what they’d learned and gave me the opportunity for closure.
That conversation was something I reminded myself of frequently when Jager would state, without explanation, he was “heading out” or “had business to see to” before doing just that.
Accepting that meant I went about getting ready despite having no clue what I’d do with my day. The pattern of feeling that way was getting old. I sent out a few applications for jobs, but hadn’t heard anything back yet. None of them interested me much, but I was eating through my savings even without having rent to pay. I also just needed to get out of the house. I was fine on days I’d help out Jager, Dad, or Cami, and even when I’d spend time with Deni, Ace, or Ash. The second I was stuck sitting around the house, I got restless.
My plan had been to go into the gym with Jager since I’d been in the middle of a few things when we’d left the night before. I tried calling him to see if he'd be home soon, but got nothing. I wasn’t surprised, but it also meant I was at a loss for what to do. I sent along a text asking him to let me know what his plans were when he could.
That done, I got to sorting out other plans for my day.
I was at Ash and Sketch’s house, sitting sideways on the couch. Emmy was standing on the cushion behind me. She’d come to me with a brush saying she wanted to brush my hair. Although Ash had given me wide eyes that told me this was definitely a skill she hadn’t mastered yet, I said yes. She was so excited, I figured whatever rat’s nest she might land me with would be worth it. I’d sort it out eventually.
Jasmine, who I’d met the day after my confrontation with Yeltz, was still staying with them. She’d been essentially Ash’s only friend before she returned to Hoffman, as well as Emmy’s regular babysitter. Their obvious love for, and Sketch’s gratitude for her taking care of his girls when he couldn’t, meant she was part of the family.
She was a petite, African-American woman with the kind of amazing bone structure that meant her face should be plastered across glossy magazine pages. She was also sassy, but sweet, and she was incredible with Emmy because the love our resident princess had for her was definitely mutual.
“And then,” Emmy continued the story she was telling us, “Uncle Daz said Twix is better dan Skittles!”
Clearly, to her four-year-old self, this was the height of blasphemy. Jasmine and I gasped accordingly.
“He’s so silly,” she stated, still yanking away at my hair.
Ash had left the room a few minutes ago, answering a call from Sketch. She walked back in, looking nervous. Jasmine noticed it at the same time I did, and she saw Ash’s eyes were on me.
She jumped right to, saying to Emmy, “You want to watch a movie, Ems?”
My hair fluttered down and I felt the couch jostle as Emmy jumped and cried, “Yes!”
“Alright, come help me pick,” Jasmine said, leading Emmy to the entertainment center, where all Emmy’s DVDs were stored. I got up, following Ash back out of the room.
“What’s going on?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. He just said Ace is coming here for you. But he also said he wants me to be sure the alarm is set when you leave and the three of us aren’t supposed to go anywhere until he gets back.”
Shit.
That was not good. That was so, so not good, and Ash’s voice had a bit of a shake to it that told me Sketch hadn’t said those things lightly. It had been a warning, a serious one, and she was taking it that way.
I thought about the text I sent Jager hours and hours ago that had gone unanswered.
Ace was coming for me. Not Jager.
Why not Jager?
“Ash,” I started, all of my anxiety bleeding into just her name.
She stepped into me and gave me a hug. She knew where my mind had gone. Hers had already been there on that call.
“Just stay calm,” she murmured. “I know it’s hard, but we don’t know anything. Something’s going down, yes. But it might be that they need Jager more. He’s got a lot of skills that are important to the club. He might be the one sending Ace, wanting to be sure you’re safe.”
Right. Jager would do that. If there was something wrong, he’d want to be sure. So would Dad. But wouldn’t I be safe with Ash? And if I wasn’t, wouldn’t Sketch want her elsewhere too?
“Go to my master bath,” Ash instructed, her tone even but gentle. “There’s another brush in there. You can fix your hair before he gets here.”
I thought fixing my hair was unimportant, but I followed her instruction. I had no idea what was going on. Maybe I needed to have it together in more ways than one.
It took some doing to repair my hair from the mess Emmy had left, but I managed. I also managed to keep my mind focused on that task rather than spiraling into fits of panic over whatever was going on. When I was back downstairs, I could hear Emmy singing along to Under the Sea brokenly, since she didn’t know all the words.
Ace was there. Ash must have seen or heard him pull up and let him in before he could knock. He watched me descend, his face controlled, but tight with the effort of keeping it that way.
“Tell me,” I demanded.
“We need to go,” Ace evaded.
His lack of answer scared me far more.
“
Ace, please, tell me.” I didn’t attempt to keep the panic from my voice. I was panicking and he needed to know. He needed to know exactly how scared I already was. Whatever he was keeping from me, the lack of knowledge wasn’t keeping me calm.
He came close and spoke low, probably so Emmy wouldn’t hear. “I know you’re freaking, but I need you to keep it together. Right now, you might be the best shot we’ve got at fixing this.”
No.
No, no, no.
That was not good.
“You need to tell me,” I begged.
He sighed, not with impatience, but in a way I knew he hated having to be the one to say whatever came next.
“I tell you, you gotta promise me you get on my bike so we can sort this. You might want to break, but you can’t. You have to keep it together until we get to the clubhouse and see if you can help. I’ll tell you everything when we get there. Yeah?”
I didn’t want to agree to those terms. I knew, absolutely, when I heard what he had to say, I wasn’t going to want to stay calm, but he said I could help. For Jager, for Dad, for the whole club or whoever was involved in whatever was happening, I would do what I had to.
“I promise.”
As if it all happened in slow motion, I watched Ace’s control over his face dissolve until the anguish and fury was clear. That shot through me even before he spoke and drove that feeling home.
“They took Jager.”
“Where is Yeltz?” the fucker with the brass knuckles demanded.
I hadn’t answered him. Not when he woke me, not when he’d landed the first blow, or the second—I kept my mouth shut.
I didn’t make a fucking sound until Kuznetsov dragged his ass down there and stood in the open doorway to the cell they had me in. Only when he was there and I could smile into his smug fucking face while I spoke did I say it.
“He’s fucking dead.”
That wiped his satisfied expression away in a flash. With a nod of his head, he gave the order and those brass knuckles came flying at me again. I didn’t care. It fucking hurt, but it was well worth it.
After the blow, Kuznetsov gave a hand flick that made his men clear out. A fucking hand gesture, like they were deaf dogs or some shit. They locked me in as they left.
Before they were out of earshot, I heard the motherfucker ask, “His bike?”
“We have it,” one of his lackeys answered.
“Destroy it.”
That was for my benefit. I fucking knew it, but it didn’t stop me from fighting the chains they had me dangling from. Any asshole who damaged my fucking bike was getting skinned alive.
I stopped myself from struggling when a door slammed in the distance. They were gone, and they were obviously just fucking bright enough to make sure the shit they bound me with would actually hold.
I’d been watching Kuznetsov’s place. We hadn’t stopped after bagging Yeltz even though it was risky. The dick knew we took his prisoner and he no doubt knew we’d done it on his property. He was out for blood. Still, I wanted the man taken down, and I wanted that for my woman.
Fuck, thinking about Ember stung more than anything the prick with the hardware had done.
I knew, without a fucking doubt, the cell I was in was the same as the one she’d been kept in. There had to be more than one down here. She’d been on that dirt floor, staring at bars just like those, having no fucking clue why she was there.
Fuck whoever touched my bike. If I ever got the chance, I was going to skin Kuznetsov alive.
She was probably freaked the fuck out. I didn’t want her feeling that shit.
I really didn’t want her living through whatever might come my way.
There was not a doubt in my fucking mind that I might not walk out of that building. That didn’t scare me. It pissed me off, made me want to rage at the universe for deciding this might be the time when I wouldn’t have given a fuck before Ember. It made me want to kick my own ass for not drinking in every fucking moment I’d had since I met her.
Mostly, it made me fucking sick to think of Ember without me. She’d hurt, and that killed. I didn’t want that pain for her. I never wanted her to feel that.
I shouldn’t have let them get the drop on me. It was fucking stupid.
I’d seen the guards leaving their normal positions and knew what that meant. Something was coming in. I’d gone down near the access route to get a better look. If they were bringing in a girl and I could get pictures, that’d be enough to pop the motherfucker. All we needed was to get him sent away and he’d be dealt with.
There were powers that be—important, Russian powers—that didn’t appreciate a little shit like Kuznetsov even thinking he was big shit, let alone acting on that thought. They operated on a code of respect he’d violated. They wanted him gone, but didn’t worry over the matter much. But if we could get him locked up, they would sort it out. Kuznetsov was a nobody, but he’d once been a part of something larger. He might have names, and they wouldn’t risk that. And they knew, an honorless man like that, he would flip if offered the opportunity.
It had been a trap. I should have been smart and guessed they might try it, but my head was clouded by the shit they’d done to Ember.
I’d have probably been able to take the fuckers that ambushed me too, if it weren’t for Kuznetsov’s knack of drugging people instead of having a fair fucking fight he knew he couldn’t win. The asshole who got me hadn’t even been close. He’d shot me from a distance like he was goddamn animal control.
Never in my life had I made such a stupid move.
I just hoped my brothers could figure out a way to fix it.
Not for me.
But for my Ember.
Pasha Kuznetsov.
That was the name they gave me.
He was the man behind it all. Yeltz sold me to him. He had planned to sell me to god knows who.
And he was the one who had Jager.
Stone explained this. Dad was at my side, holding my hand. Ace was standing by the door to Stone’s office. All three men were emanating serious levels of fury, but were taming it for my sake.
They didn’t have to. This fucking Kuznetsov had Jager.
I was more furious than anyone.
“What do you think I can do?” I demanded.
They’d spent a long time on this story. I got it. But nowhere in it had it sounded like there was a reason we were sitting around in an office having this discussion. Jager was out there. There was no telling what they were doing to him. They needed to be working to get him free.
“What we’re discussing here isn’t strictly legal,” Stone forewarned.
I shifted forward on my seat, making sure he could see my expression well.
“I don’t care about legal. I care about saving him.”
Stone gave me a nod before producing a folder and handing it to me. Opening it, I saw it contained pictures of a house. It was huge and kind of gaudy, like the kind of place some celebrity who was way too into their own fame would get.
“I don’t…” I trailed off before I could say I didn’t understand what I was looking at.
The last picture had my attention. It was the back of the house. I couldn’t tell right away why the picture stood out. It was taken during the day. There were windows, a lot of them, including a bank of glass French doors on the first floor. None of the windows had blinds drawn, though the daylight made it difficult to see inside. There were two men in the photo, their backs to the exterior of the house. Guards.
There should be more. The thought came to me, but I couldn’t figure out why.
None of the men spoke, but I was only aware of their silence in a vague way. My eyes were moving over the photo, top to bottom, side to side. There was something about it. I knew it. It was like a puzzle, those ones you do as a kid where one thing has been changed between pictures. Something on the glossy paper in my hand was important.
The door.
There was another door aside from the glass ones.
It was painted to match the exterior walls, meant to be nondescript. It was off to the left, easily missed when looking at the photo.
Easily missed unless you’d been through it.
The memory flooded in, having been trapped somewhere in my mind until I saw that door.
I was awake, but only just.
I felt sick. Maybe hungover?
I didn’t remember drinking, but maybe that was how much I had.
My body was numb. Otherwise, I wasn’t awake enough to feel it.
I concentrated on opening my eyes and they cracked open.
It was dark, but there was some kind of light behind me a bit, casting a glow at my back and onto…what?
What was I looking at?
There was a surface, like a wall, just in front of my face.
That shouldn’t be there, I thought.
My bed was in the middle of the room. There were no walls that close.
My mind was foggy, but I forced myself to focus. That was when it registered. There was sound—a low, even sound. And we were moving.
A car.
I was in a car, and that wall in front of me was leather. I was lying in the backseat.
But why?
I tried to sort through memories. I’d been at the gym, teaching my kids. Janice had been struggling with her form, but it had only been because she felt inferior to the boys. There was nothing wrong except what she had in her own head. But I’d sorted her out.
After that, I’d gone home. I hadn’t had a shift at the bar. It was my night off, which meant junk food and catching up on the DVR.
That was all. I’d gone to bed.
And then…
The car turned and the smooth ride ceased. Instead, it seemed we were on jagged ground. More turns, one sharp and jostling. Something about the change had the anxiety I’d been feeling since I woke rising to the point it choked me.
What was going on?
My body was forced against the back of the seat as the driver hit the brakes. We were stopped, and for the first time since I realized I was in a car, I wished we were still moving. It didn’t matter that every second the car was moving meant I was probably going farther and farther from home. I just knew stopping meant nothing good for me.
