BLACK HEART AND RED REDEMPTION
IRON DOGZ MC #3
RENÉ VAN DALEN
BLACK HEART AND RED REDEMPTION
Iron Dogz MC Book Three
Copyright © 2019 René Burrows writing as René Van Dalen
ISBN 978-0-620-86463-3
Cover Design Danielle Burrows
Cover Copyright 2019 Danielle Burrows
Cover Photograph unsplash.com
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U S Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading and electronic sharing of any part of this book without permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author's intellectual property. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is coincidental.
Warning: This book contains graphic language and sexual content. Intended for mature audiences, 18 years and older.
DEDICATION
For Mari.
Because you loved Beast right from the start.
And as always for 13 1 13.
She cast her blazing eyes on me
And plucked a licorice leaf;
I was her captive slave and she
My red-haired robber chief.
By John Betjeman
The Licorice Fields At Pontefract
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
COMING UP NEXT
OTHER BOOKS BY RENÉ VAN DALEN
THE IRON DOGZ MC
PLAYLIST
GLOSSARY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CONNECT WITH RENÉ VAN DALEN
CHAPTER ONE
Tori
My heart hammered violently in my chest as I lay hidden in the space behind the washing machine and tumble drier. One of my guards had shoved me into the tiny little hidey-hole right after we heard the first shots. With a tight lipped warning to shut up and stay put until he came back for me he had shut me in the dark. The space was small and tight, forcing me to tuck my head into my knees. The pain was excruciating but I clamped my mouth shut and breathed through it.
In my head I kept repeating a well-known mantra to drown out the pain.
You’ve had worse, remember, you’ve had worse. This is nothing. You’ve suffered through worse and survived. You’ll survive this too.
Pain throbbed along my ribs and thumped in my badly sprained wrist. But it was nothing compared to the burning fiery pain in my leg and back. The bastards had focused their punches and kicks on my face, ribs and especially my leg and lower back. I was petrified that a year of painstaking reconstructive surgery and rehab had been destroyed and then worsened by forcing me to contort myself to fit in the hidey-hole. But there had been no other options it was the hidey-hole or nothing.
Dominick’s doctor had taken care of my ribs and wrist but she had been worried about my leg. She had wrapped the entire leg in elasticated bandages and ordered me to keep it immobile until I could get to a specialist. I knew that if I survived today a visit to an orthopaedic specialist would be imperative if I wanted to walk without a limp. And I wasn’t going to think about dancing right now. Survival came first.
The gunshots suddenly ceased and I froze while breathing very, very quietly. Silently I waited for one of the guards to come and let me out, they didn’t, and I knew that was bad, really bad. I heard doors slamming, glass breaking and men shouting.
Oh God. They were searching the house.
My heart raced wildly as I panted in fear. It felt as if my heart was going to explode in my too small chest.
Mocking voices echoed through the house and I kept my hand tight over my mouth and my head on my knees to stop the fearful whimpers trapped behind my lips from escaping.
“Victoriaa, oh Victoooriaaa! Come on out bitch. You can’t hide from us. You know we’re going to find you. Make it easier on yourself and come out now.”
Shivers of pain and fear wracked my body and I gritted my teeth pushing my face tighter against my knees. I couldn’t allow the faintest squeak to escape. If I did I would be dead. And my death would not be easy.
How the hell had my life turned into this craptastic mess? I wanted to snort at my very stupid question. I knew very damned well why I was caught up in this hideous mess.
If I had stayed in the visitors lounge at Maingarde Enterprises none of this would be happening. I would be safe at home instead of hiding in a dark little hole.
Has it really only been a day since my life turned into a bad mafia movie?
A day ago I was at Maingarde Enterprises waiting to speak to Dominick Maingarde about funding a dance school for underprivileged children when I overheard them. Two men in the office behind me had very casually been planning the murder of a well-known local businessman. Their voices had carried to where I was standing. I should have pretended I hadn’t heard a thing. Instead like a bad movie heroine I gasped and alerted them to my presence. When one of them carelessly ordered a security guard to ‘silence the bitch’ I ran.
It had felt absolutely surreal when I had realised my life wasn’t worth a second thought to those men. Then for some stupid and unexplainable reason instead of running to Dominick I went home. Home!
What the hell had I been thinking?
They were waiting for me when I got home, forcing their way inside when I tried to slam the door in their faces and lock it. I ran from them, to my bedroom where I could put a door between us. I wasn’t quick enough. They didn’t kill me immediately. Instead they beat me, hurting my already weakened leg asking their stupid questions.
‘What did I hear?’ ‘Who did I see?’
I denied hearing or seeing anything and endured their torture while praying for a chance, just one tiny little chance, to get away from them. I sent up several silent prayers as they kicked and punched me until I lay bleeding and in excruciating pain on the floor of my bedroom.
And then my desperate prayers were answered. The bastards decided to have some fun before killing me.
“Let’s find some booze, pour it down her throat to loosen her up, and have us a little party. I want to shove my dick in every fucking hole and make her bleed before we end her.” One of the creepy bastards said while looking down at me with cold dead eyes.
“Hell yes, we’ll lock her in the bedroom so she can’t get out. Not that she’ll get far with her fucked up cripple leg. She’ll be right here waiting for us when we get back.” Number two gave a nasty laugh as he grabbed his crotch suggestively.
My escape replayed like a movie in my head as I shuddered with pain in my little hidey-hole.
I waited for two maybe three seconds after they had shut and locked the door before I moved.
Breathing in painful little pants I dragged myself across the floor to my bedroom door, stood up against it and quietly slid the bolts they hadn’t noticed shut. Then I hobbled over to my bedside table where the emergency key was taped to the bottom of the drawer. It was a very special key. A key that unlocked the burglar guards covering my bedroom windows. In the distance I heard them throwing things out of my cupboards as they looked for booze. With my hands shaking wildly I balanced on my good leg in front of the window.
I didn’t bother holding back my pained groans because it helped to cover what I was doing. Quietly pushing the curtains to the side I fitted the key into the first lock and held the pillow I had picked up from my bed over the lock, deadening the noise as I clicked the three locks open one after the other. The burglar guards silently concertinaed as I pushed them out of the way. I thanked the deities that the window sill wasn’t high off the ground and stealthily opened the window. Groaning with pain I gingerly lifted my injured leg out the window, balancing on my good leg I lowered myself down on the windowsill. Sitting sideways in the window I carefully lifted my good leg out then slid down onto the grass while holding on with my good hand, trying not to put any weight on my injured leg. I almost managed it. Almost but not quite.
Red hot pain shot through me when my leg bumped against the wall and I bit my lips to keep a pained cry from escaping while my eyes blurred with tears. Trying to stand was even worse and I gritted my teeth against the pain. Dark spots flickered across my vision and I was petrified I was going to pass out. Taking a deep breath I forced myself to stand on one leg, pulled the curtains back over the window and slid the burglar guards closed as silently as possible. The loud clicks as they locked had me cringing in fear and I quickly pushed the window closed. Forcing myself to move I hobbled across the lawn and out the gate as fast as my aching leg and ribs allowed. I couldn’t call an Uber or Bolt because my phone was inside with those animals. Not once looking back at my house and praying that the bastards were too busy looking for booze to look out the windows I made my way down the street.
I was hobbling and staggering down the side walk when Mrs Van de Merwe, who lived two houses away from me, brought her little car to a screeching halt next to me. Her pale blue eyes were wide and shocked as she buzzed the passenger window down.
“Liewe hemel my kind! (Good heavens my child) Klim in! (Get in) I’ll take you to the hospital. Who did this to you?”
I was grateful for the ride but there was no way I could go to the hospital. I had to get to Pixie. It was the only place where I knew I would be safe. Her tattoo studio was under the protection of the Road Warriors MC, it was the one place where I felt sure those bastards couldn’t touch me. Plus she was Dominick sister.
“Thank you so much for stopping, Mrs Van. Please, not the hospital. If you could drop me off at Pixie’s shop my friends will help me. This guy is crazy and he has connections everywhere. He’ll be looking for me at the hospitals. Please, promise me you won’t tell anyone you picked me up. He’s dangerous and I don’t want him to hurt you.”
She gave me a narrow-eyed look and I knew she didn’t believe me.
“I don’t know why you girls aren’t more careful about the men you date. Is he one of those bikers I’ve seen at your house?” She scolded angrily but didn’t give me a chance to answer. “I will drop you off but I want your promise that you’ll get help. The bastard can’t be allowed to get away with this.”
“It wasn’t the bikers, Mrs Van. They would never beat up a woman. It’s against their club’s code. I promise I’ll get all the help I need once I get to Pixie’s shop.” I said softly.
Her sharp pale blue eyes scanned my face before she nodded, apparently satisfied with my answer, and we rode in silence until she pulled up in front of Mainline Ink.
“We women need to stand together against abusers, child. They have been getting away with it for much too long. This is my small contribution as one of the sisterhood.” She gave me a wink and a small worried smile.
“Thank you, Mrs Van. Promise me you won’t go home yet; stay away as long as you can. And if anyone asks any questions pretend you’re a batty old woman or something. Keep yourself safe, please.”
Her face softened. “I’ll be as nutty as a fruitcake if anyone comes asking, sweetheart. You take care of yourself. And if you could let me know that you’re okay I would appreciate it.”
I nodded and gathering my courage in both hands I slid out of the car then watched as my grey haired saviour slowly drove away after one last worried look.
Zanele screamed when I slowly and painfully hobbled through the door and the shop descended into complete chaos as everyone stormed to the front. Everyone except the man in the leather kutte who immediately closed and locked the door behind me then had a phone to his ear. He would be calling it into the club. Damn.
“Oh sweet Jesus, Tori!” Pixie cried out when she saw me.
Pixie Maingarde, the owner of Mainline Ink, has been one of my besties since nursery school. We became friends when she kicked the school bully in the vajayjay for snatching my ballet bag and ran her off. I was three and she was seven, one of the big girls at school. My age didn’t stop her from becoming my friend. And our friendship only grew over the years.
Dancing has been a part of my life ever since I attended my first dance class at the age of three. As young as I was I knew I was going to be a dancer. It was all I wanted to do. My mother enrolled me at a ballet academy and eventually at the School of the Arts. I joined my first ballet company at the age of fifteen. My career took me to London and then to New York. It ended at twenty six when the tour bus our dance company was travelling in was hit by a run-away truck. I was lucky to survive the crash. Many didn’t. Ilya Ivanov, my best friend, sometimes with benefits, and dance partner had been one of the unlucky ones. He died holding my hand as we lay trapped in the wreckage.
Pixie had been there for me when I needed a friend and a shoulder to cry on. She came to New York and held me as I grieved for Ilya and my friends. She held my hand when the orthopaedic surgeon gave me the devastating news. That my life as a principal ballet dancer was over. If not for my friend I don’t know what would have happened to me. I was sunk in a deep and dark depression and refused further treatment. What was the use? Without my dancing what was left for me? I felt I had nothing left to live for.
It was Pixie who bullied me into agreeing to the surgeries and rehab that gave me my mobility back. Without her at my side I don’t think I would have made it because my parents were so wrapped up in my brother’s new baby they didn’t notice, or care about, the state I was in. It’s because of her persistence that I now walked without a limp and I could still dance, not the way I had danced before but I was still able to point my toes and dance.
After the latest abuse to my leg I wasn’t sure when, if ever, I would be dancing again or if I would walk without a limp. I would have to see an orthopaedic specialist, but not today. They would be watching for me. Unfortunately I had to see a specialist or the damage to my back and leg might be permanent.
It freaking sucked.
“Let’s get you into the back, girl. Who the hell did this to you?” Pixie asked as she and Zanele half carried me to the private room in the back where they did piercings and stuff. I couldn’t smother the groan of pain as they helped me up onto the table.
Before I could tell her the shop shook with the rumble of several bikes pulling up. Not long after Rooster followed by Crash and Boxer stormed into the room, they took one look at me and exploded.
“Who the fuck did this? I need names, Tori.” Rooster growled as he dropped down to his haunches next to the table.
I told them what I had overheard and the resultant beating. Pixie snarled viciously and snatched up her phone but Rooster grabbed her wrist, not letting her dial.
“Are you sure you want to call him, Pi
xie?”
“Hell, yes. This is his mess, this happened because of his fucked up business and he needs to make it right.”
Rooster let go of her and nodded but I could see he wasn’t happy.
Pixie stood with the phone against her ear and without the courtesy of a hello started snarling at her brother.
“Dom, get your ass to my shop right-the-hell now. Your fucking bitch of a partner ordered her goons to kill Tori. No, I’m not fucking joking. She’s here at my shop beaten to shit and the bastards hurt her leg. Thank God she got away before they could rape her. And she needs an orthopaedic specialist, today.”
She frowned angrily as she listened for maybe half a minute. “Okay, we’ll be here.”
Rooster put a finger under my chin and lifted my head so I could look in his eyes. “Tori, sweetheart, we can’t be seen with the bastard so I’m going to have to leave before he gets here. But I promise you we’re on this and we’ll be keeping an eye from a distance. I swear we’ll do whatever we have to, to keep you safe.”
I nodded wordlessly. Rooster gently stroked a finger over my bruised face, kissed me on the forehead and then they were gone.
Dom arrived soon after with several unsmiling men in dark suits at his back.
Pixie gave him hell when he arrived, but he didn’t say a word, just looked me over with a heavy frown. He left the office and we could hear the murmur of his voice as he quietly spoke on his phone. When he came back in he gently picked me up without saying a word and carried me out to the waiting SUV parked at the back door of Mainline Ink.
He brought me here, to this house. He said I would be safe. He had said a lot of things.
I wasn’t safe. Those crazy bastards were here. Looking for me.
Please, please don’t let them find me. I prayed silently.
They were getting closer. I could hear the cupboard doors in the kitchen slamming open and shut as they searched. I knew why they were looking in the cupboards. I wasn’t a big, or rather, a tall person. Like Pixie I was short and petite. My life as a ballet dancer had honed my muscles and kept me slender. Even though I was no longer dancing professionally I kept up my daily ballet workout. If I wanted to I could easily pass for a young girl, which I would only do under duress. I loved my heels (even though I now had to be very careful when I wore them), my fashionable clothes, my make-up and my regular hairdressing and spa appointments. I was a total girlie girl.
Black Heart And Red Redemption (Iron Dogz MC) Page 1
