by J. L. Leslie
“I can’t allow you to get away with everything you’ve done. Stealing our product, our customers. Taking me against my will.”
“Let’s not forget who stole from who first,” I remind her. “Give me your wrist.”
She glances toward the door and then back at me. I stand there with her cuffs in my hands, waiting on her to make a move. She doesn’t move toward the door but takes the handcuffs, placing them on her wrists and securing them.
“I’m hungry,” she lets me know. “I assume you’re feeding me tonight.”
I watch her go sit on the bed, looking down at her feet. I take the ankle cuffs and secure them, my hand caressing her calf before I stand up and start toward the door.
“Yes, I’ll feed you tonight.”
I leave her with that and with the satisfaction of knowing I’m decimating her exactly the way she is me.
Mackenzie
I could have fought Warren, taken my chances while the cuffs were off and hopefully, I would have ended up walking right out of this basement and never looking back.
But there was a part of me that was terrified if I did that, fought him, I would be losing a chunk of myself. Losing a huge chunk of myself that’s integral to my existence. I cannot explain, and I won’t try to.
I am safe here. I don’t have the pressures of Hell’s Fury weighing on my shoulders, stressed that one mishap could have me ending up like my brother.
I’m not pretending at my nine-to-five job, unable to reveal my true self, putting on this show for my co-workers.
I’m not constantly wondering what Harper and Layla are doing, missing my best friend and the moments we used to share together.
Here, I am free.
But that doesn’t change that I can’t stay down here, hiding from the world. I can’t pretend that Warren won’t hurt me, kill me, when I know he’s capable of that. I still have to get out of here.
When Warren returns, he has pizza, and my stomach grumbles at the smell of it. He places the box down on my mattress and removes the cuffs from my wrists so that I can eat.
“One of your members is missing. Thought you should know,” he informs me.
“Who? Since when?” I ask, desperate for information.
“Suzanne and don’t know.”
“I need to go find out what’s happened,” I tell him, and he shakes his head.
“I’ll find out and let you know. Right now, there’s nothing to know.”
I’m annoyed that he’s blowing this off as insignificant. Suzanne would never leave her kids behind. If she’s missing, something has happened.
“Are the Sinners behind her disappearance?” I ask him, not sure that I actually want to know the answer to my question.
“I’m not discussing club business with you.”
His response is short and clipped, the exact way I imagined it would be. I knew he would say this because I would say the same.
“The boxes are packed with my parents’ things. Things they didn’t want to take with them when they moved,” he says, effectively shutting down any further conversation on club business.
“Is this where you grew up?” I ask him, and he nods. “Where are your parents now?”
“They moved out of state,” he replies but doesn’t fully answer my question. I imagine it’s to protect them, considering I didn’t even know his parents were still alive. I wonder if Lucien and the Sinners know.
“I’ve always lived in California, different cities, but always in California,” I tell him, unsure why I feel the need to divulge that information.
“Did you come back to L.A. because your brother was killed?”
It still makes me sad to think of Matthew and how I lost him. Sad and angry. Which is why I joined Hell’s Fury.
“Yes,” I answer him. “Hell’s Fury had the answers I was searching for after he was killed.”
“And you thought joining with them would make things better,” Warren muses. “Has it?”
“In some ways, it has,” I answer, honestly. “When I lost Matthew, I lost the rest of my family too. None of them showed up to his funeral, not giving a flying fuck that he’d died simply because he was in a motorcycle club. They cut him off, so I cut them off. Hell’s Fury took their place. Isn’t that why you’re with the Sinners?”
He laughs a little, shaking his head. “I changed my whole life to be part of the Rykers, the club I was with in Verdana. I guess when that didn’t work out, I needed another club to fill that void. I couldn’t go back home.”
“You’re here now. This is home, right?”
“I suppose you’re right,” he grins, and I find myself smiling back at him. “But you know we can’t stay like this. I do have to let you go at some point and then whatever happens, happens.”
He’s meaning whether I retaliate or if Suggs does. I know I’ve made threats, but I doubt I can kill him any more than Harper could Lucien. And I honestly don’t know how I would react if Suggs took his life.
“Is this our last night together?” I ask him, noting the desperate tone to my voice.
He moves the pizza box and pulls my feet to him. He removes my restraints, massaging my feet and ankles with his hands.
“No,” he answers, and I manage not to sigh in relief.
We fuck like it is my last night with him though. Each of us exploring the other, kissing each other’s scars, and touching each other’s souls.
Chapter Sixteen
Warren
The main part of our income is the drug trade. As far as I’m aware, the Sinners have been dealing coke since the club started. Our suppliers have changed over the years, but Anterio Jimenez was our long-time supplier. Then Ford Taylor, our former president, fucked that up by negating on deals.
Lucien made right on the money, paying Anterio back every cent that was owed, but by that time, Anterio was working with only one club, and that was Hell’s Fury. They provided his cargo with safe passage, making it possible for him to import it into L.A. without being suspected by the DEA.
He saw that as a reason for exclusivity. That exclusivity cost him and his men their lives.
The way the cartel works is if you take out someone, you claim their spot. We took out Jimenez and laid claim to his product, three warehouses full, and his money, which is more than enough to keep the Sinners secure.
But we also take on his enemies. We are now the cartel with the same target on our backs that he once had. In others’ eyes, we are new to this side of the trade and vulnerable. We went from being dealers to top supplier. We have to constantly prove ourselves to Braga in order to receive his product from Mexico.
Without his trust and confidence in our capability to run things as smoothly as Jimenez did, we won’t have anything to deal. We can’t go running back to Wakeford & Sons, the supplier we used when Jimenez refused to do business with us, and beg for him to work with us again. We ended things on good terms with him, but that isn’t how this business works.
If Braga pulls out, we are made to look weak, and our enemies will fucking annihilate us. From this point forward, we have to remain on top, even if that means we will forever be looking over our shoulders.
There are days that I feel I’ve been looking over my shoulder for too damn long. Back when I joined the Rykers, part of the reason was because I didn’t get accepted into Stanford. The life I had planned out for myself wasn’t falling into place, and I was pissed.
The other part was because, although my parents loved me more than anything, I could see their disappointment. Their only son failed. My future had been mapped out since I was born. I would be following in my father’s footsteps, attending Stanford to study medicine and then taking over his practice.
Dr. Warren Mathis.
I always thought it had a ring to it, but turns out I was meant to be doing something else. I fit right into the club life, and it was an escape from the pressure of going to school, becoming someone I was never meant to be.
I am exactly who I
am supposed to be.
I fuck up, sometimes making decisions I don’t understand, like the woman lying beside me, but this is the only life I know now, and I have no desire to escape from it.
Mackenzie stirs, rolling onto her stomach. She is unbound, no cuffs on her wrists or ankles. I wanted her to be able to explore my body without restraints, the same way I explored hers.
She fell asleep shortly after, her body satiated and exhausted. Her clothes are still strewn on the mattress. The half-empty pizza box is on the floor.
I touch the scars marring her back, watching her face to see if she opens her eyes. She doesn’t, so I continue, counting each and every mark. Each line. Knowing that she went through hell to bear these marks.
Apparently, I’m not the only one who has fucked up. My scars are just on the inside.
Mackenzie
Warren touches each mark on my back, no doubt counting how many I have. Harper and I endured the same punishment. Me for fucking up on orders and her for betraying us with Lucien.
She should have been kicked out of the club. Made an outcast.
Donia calls her punishments just, equal, but giving us all the same punishment for different acts is not equal.
Harper was ordered to kill Lucien McNamara. Instead, she fucked him and fell in love. She chose him over Hell’s Fury. She’s proven we don’t share the same bond that they do, and we never will. I guess that’s why she left the club.
I was ordered to fuck Ford Taylor, the former Sinners’ president, and make him fall for me. Seduce my way into the Sinners, much the same way Harper did. Use him to gain intel, and then we would take them apart from the inside.
Only my plan didn’t work any better than Harper’s did.
Being with Ford was terrifying. He had an old lady he’d sent out on some job. I never knew when she was coming back, but I always knew when she was failing. He would come to me, having us meet at the same shitty motel, never once bringing me to the Sinners’ clubhouse, and punish me for her failures in ways that still make me shudder.
He was a cruel man, gaining excitement over the fear he inflicted. He liked to degrade me, urinating on me as I crawled on all fours in front of him attached to a dog leash. This was, of course, after we would fuck.
I know in that area, I’m not like most women. I’ve seen movies and read books about how couples make love, and also seen and read about kinky sex. I like a little pain with my sex and Ford gave that to me, giving me the pleasure I craved, but then he would destroy all of that pleasure.
After he nearly suffocated me and left me with two broken ribs and a concussion, I told Donia I was done. Donia and I were the only ones who knew of my mission. She likes to keep certain aspects of the club under wraps, only disclosing information to key members. That was information, she said, that didn’t need to be disclosed to anyone.
I never told Harper. Never confided in her about what happened to me. I took my punishment in front of the other members of Hell’s Fury, shocked that Donia was enraged by my decision, and never correcting her story that I failed at making a delivery.
I live with these scars on my back as a reminder of what happened to me when I allowed someone else to degrade me, control me. When I let a man take almost everything from me.
Warren leans down and kisses the sensitive flesh of my back, his soft lips moving over each scar. He wouldn’t be doing this, showing this tender side of himself if he knew I was awake.
I can tell myself this is different, attempt to convince myself that what Warren has done is not the same as what Ford used to do to me, but I know that isn’t true.
What he’s doing is still degrading, still removing control from me, and I’m well aware that he can take everything from me.
But I’m not ready to leave my prison yet.
Chapter Seventeen
Warren
I’m reluctant to leave Mackenzie but I know I need to change shifts with Reid and go on patrol. Patrol isn’t an awful job since I get to ride my bike for it, but being on patrol also means being ready for anything that might go down.
There’s always a chance one of the Sicarios might venture into our territory. For that matter, one of Hell’s Fury might.
There is also the possibility that one of our enemies is setting a trap and luring us, knowing we’ll be out patrolling.
Regardless, it’s safer to patrol than it is not to. At least we show the businesses on our payroll that we’re being vigilant.
I head out of the basement, leaving Mackenzie sound asleep and trying not to figure out why I kissed her scars the way I did. That sounds like some romantic shit, and I don’t have a romantic bone in my body.
“Fuck, I’ve been waiting out here like an hour,” Reid gripes. “I’m not being held responsible for you being late for your fucking shift.”
“I can worry about myself,” I assure him. “I’ll be back later to relieve you.”
He nods, and I send Wiggie a text letting him know I’m on my way. I hop on my bike, riding off so I can catch up and cover my missed ground before daylight. We’re teaming up during patrol so that none of us go missing and end up dead again.
I haven’t questioned Mackenzie about her involvement yet, even though I should have the first night she was there. If I ask her, am I prepared for the truth, or will she deny it?
I make a right turn and slow my bike down, scanning the streets and businesses. Wiggie probably already checked this area, but I’ll cover it again just in case.
I feel my phone buzzing in my back pocket and curse in annoyance. I pull my bike over and retrieve it so I can see who’s texting me.
Damn it. It’s Wiggie, and he’s found a body.
I speed off down the street to where he’s at, curious as to which one of us has met with the reaper now. Wiggie is standing over a body that’s covered with a sheet. I can see the blood seeping through the thin fabric.
Harco is there in the Suburban, and his laptop is on his lap, no doubt he’s disabling the security cameras on the streets so we can see what the hell happened before Hightower arrives.
“Same MO?” I ask and Wiggie nods.
I lean down and lift the sheet, surprised to find a woman there and not one of our guys. This must be Suzanne, one of Hell’s Fury.
She isn’t hanging up on display anywhere, but her intestines are not inside her body. That’s where the blood is coming from. She’s practically gutted.
“Did you get the order for this?” I ask Wiggie, brows furrowed.
“Nope,” he shakes his head. “Lucien might think they’re behind the deaths of our men, but without confirmation, he wouldn’t retaliate.”
I know he’s right about that. He’s still waiting on me to get him a confirmation on their involvement.
“I got something on the cameras,” Harco lets us know. “Looks like the sound of the bikes scared him off. He wasn’t finished with her.”
I walk over to Harco and peer over his shoulder while Wiggie looks on from the other side. The footage is from a camera across the street. Whoever it is, it is definitely a man. I don’t know of any woman who is built like that.
I study him as he effortlessly carries the body down the sidewalk. He’s smart enough to be wearing gloves and a mask and not to park his vehicle where it could be seen by any cameras.
He looks startled, and that must be when Wiggie was arriving because he lies the body on the pavement and gets the hell out of there, leaving the sheet behind with her.
“I’ll call it in to Lucien,” Wiggie says. “See what else you can find Harco, and Warren, you go search the area where he ran off to.”
I get my gun ready, holding it firmly in my hands. I’m quiet as I make my way around the corner. I check the ground for tracks or for anything left behind.
There’s nothing. Not a single trace of evidence.
We’re no closer to finding out who’s killing our men, but at least we eliminated one of our enemies. Hell’s Fury isn’t responsible.
Mackenzie
I almost sleep soundlessly through the night; the cuffs no longer an irritation for me. I know how deranged it is that I’ve gotten used to them so quickly, but I have.
This basement almost feels more comfortable than my own home. My home is filled with memories of Harper and Layla. I catch glimpses of them when I look out my window. I can’t hide away in there and pretend that I haven’t lost them.
In here, I only have a few memories. Sure, they might haunt me one day, but right now I like reliving them in my head, and I like knowing that if I were to look out the window, I wouldn’t see people I used to consider family.
“Mackenzie,” Warren’s voice stirs me from my thoughts.
I sit up, taking him in with his tight jeans and gray t-shirt. I don’t even mind his Sinners’ cut. It suits him.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I tell him with a lazy smile.
Instead of coming over to me, he stays close to the door. I frown when he runs a hand through his hair because he only seems to do that when he has something on his mind.
“We found a body while we were out on patrol,” he says. “It was Suzanne.”
My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes fill with tears. “No.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes.
I jump off the mattress, running toward him in a rage. The cuffs on my feet stop me before I even get close to him, and I fall to my knees. I slam my hands on the hard concrete.
“How could you do that?” I scream at him. “How could you?”
I lie over, hitting the floor with my fists, and letting my tears fall down my cheeks. Warren approaches me, dropping down beside me and pulling me into his lap.
My mind roars for me to fight him, but I sob against his chest. He whispers to me, telling me that it will be alright, while he rubs my back. Somehow, I believe him.
He holds me while I cry, raging at him. He lets me get it out of my system, hitting his chest one minute and then sobbing on his shoulder the next.
