Buttercream.
“Lucy!” I turn just in time for her next missile to hit me smack on the forehead. I wipe the sweet goo off my face with the backs of my hands and look across the room to where Lucy is crouched on all fours, tears rolling down her face. Izzy isn’t much better. She’s leaning against the countertop, her face bright red as she tries to hold back the laughter.
“Oh, it’s on.”
I don’t have much to work with, but as I feel around for something to throw back, I find an egg carton. We didn’t use them all so I throw three: one at Izzy, and two at Lucy, one for each time I got hit with the icing.
Lucy catches the egg with a deftness I hadn’t expected and immediately launches it back at me. Within seconds, it’s all-out war, and ingredients, raw and baked, are flying around the room. When Lucy sneaks up behind Izzy and dumps the whole batch of icing over her head, she screams, and one of the brothers comes running, slipping on something and skating across the floor, colliding with Lucy and sending them both crashing to the floor. The room falls silent. Then Izzy starts laughing and throws each of us a kitchen towel. It was a short reprieve, but a fun one.
A huge crash makes us all jump and my eyes go to the brother on the floor. The door to the kitchen bursts open and the other brothers and a couple of the prospects fly in. "Everyone get in a room and lock the goddamn doors!" one of them shouts, and the girls and I all race up to Nikki's room, all memories of the lighthearted fun we just had stripped from us as the threat against us becomes very real.
Nikki does a quick head count then slams the door shut, locking the three bolts she has in addition to the normal lock. Then she pulls out her phone, shooting a text to Twisted. I dig around for my phone to do the same but find my pocket empty. I left it in the kitchen. The room looks almost identical to Cutter’s which makes me wish he were here. Boot sounds on the stairs make us all freeze.
“Get away from the door,” Nikki hisses.
There’s a loud crash and I cover my mouth, trying to hold in my fear.
Another crash. The door shakes in its frame.
"Fuck, they're kicking in doors." Tracie looks around at the room, shoulders squared, looking every inch the old lady. There is no trace of fear on her face. It’s like she has a job to do, and she’s going to do it. “Whoever it is, we all stick together. No one sasses off, either.” She looks over at Nikki.
A shadow appears under the door and my heart jumps into my throat. The whole room freezes and my lungs burn like I’ve forgotten how to draw breath. I wait silently for something to happen and when nothing does, my shoulders drop and I close my eyes, relieved.
A hand on my arm startles me, but when I hear Lucy whisper, “This way,” I follow. Nikki has opened her closet doors and we’re all huddled in the corner. I open my eyes just in time to see the door fly off the hinges, the hard wood crashing to the floor, dust flying up into the air, making it hard to see, I cough and wave my hand in front of my face.
Men. Three of them.
With guns and ski masks.
“Any of these?” one of them asks, stepping aside to let a fourth person enter the room.
“Well, look at what I found.” A sick smile spreads out over Dylan’s face and my stomach drops.
The girls all look at me. “That’s the delivery guy,” Lucy whispers.
"No,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “That's Dylan."
He walks toward us and the girls move in front of me, shuffling themselves around until I’m right at the back, pressed into a corner of the closet. Dylan lifts his gun and points it at Lucy’s head. “Get the fuck out of my way. Doesn’t matter to me if I shoot you or they do later.”
No one moves. I can’t see him, but I hear the gun being cocked. I take a deep breath and push past Lucy and Nikki taking a couple steps toward Dylan. I will not let them get hurt because of me. My legs shake, threatening to give out under me. As I step out into the open space, Dylan smiles and offers me a hand. I don’t take it.
“Told you there was no escape. You and I are going to leave, before things get crazy around here.” His hand grips my hair and he pulls me toward the door. “Have fun, ladies.”
I wince as he drags me behind him, racing toward the door. I fight to keep up, almost stumbling twice on the stairs. As we move through the clubhouse, I see more men in ski masks. Prospects and brothers are lined up on their knees in the main room, hands locked behind their heads, guns trained on them. Everyone’s eyes widen as they take in what’s going on.
Dylan pulls me toward the back exit. “Nice doing business with you, boys!” He shouts as he turns and knocks the delivery door open with his hip, dragging me through it, not stopping when I trip and fall. The next few meters he drags me across the car park, cutting the skin of my cheek on the loose gravel.
From the ground, I see the wheels of what looks to be a beat up car. There’s a beeping noise and he pops open the trunk. He bends down and lifts me up, dropping me inside. With his hand on the trunk, he looks down at me.
"I cannot wait to make you pay for this shit."
It isn't a threat. The look in his eyes lets me know it's a promise. Too late, I see the rise and fall of his fist before it slams into my cheek, making my head spin as my head snaps back.
* * *
My head feels like it’s been split in two. I touch it with my hand feeling the sticky liquid. I pull my fingers away and hold them close to my eyes.
Blood.
I have no idea what time of day it is because the windows are blacked out. My eyes adjust to the light cast out by an old flickering lamp. The room I’m in is completely bare except for the lamp, the handcuffs around my wrist, and the metal radiator behind me. There’s a door in the far corner but it’s closed, and there is no glass for me to see out of.
The metal handcuffs clank against the radiator as I try to move, already knowing that it will be no use. The clanking echoes like fireworks. I hear footsteps on what sounds like stairs and then Dylan appears in front of me.
“I was waiting for you to wake up. The stuff I have planned is no fun if you’re asleep. I want to hear you scream and enjoy the taste of your tears.” He holds up my phone. “I grabbed this for you. Figured we could make a little video for the asshole that thought he could take you from me.”
He places the phone on the ground, against the wall, angling it so that the camera is pointed in my direction. As he takes steps toward me, the light catches on something metal in his hand.
“Please don’t do this.”
His laugh echoes around me. “How I’ve missed hearing those words from your lips. I always warned you never to leave me. Now you’ll pay for it.”
He squats down in front of me and I can smell him; the sickly combination of cheap aftershave and sweat that I remember all too well taking me back to another time and place. One I thought I’d left behind forever. I swallow deeply as he traces the apples of my cheeks with the point of the knife I’d seen him use time and time again, the smell of fish guts still clinging to it. Slowly he brings the blade down to rest against my throat, applying a slight pressure before trailing further down to the neck of my shirt, cutting through the material, each stroke opening me further to him. The remnants of my shirt hang limply at my sides. Dylan runs the blade over the swell of my breasts, whistling at the sight of my bra. It’s one I’d bought with Cutter in mind. I look up at the ceiling, blinking away the threatening tears. “Looks like someone’s been shopping.”
The cold metal of the blade touches against my sternum. The knife cuts through the delicate material with ease, sliding through it like a knife through butter. I feel the tip press against my skin for a second time, but instead of moving, Dylan pushes, the tip piercing my skin, my cry rattling around the room, blood running down my stomach and pooling at the waistband of my jeans. “Scream as loud as you like. There’s no one to hear you.”
He puts down the knife but I feel no relief. I’m not naïve enough to think that he’s done with it.
As he takes a set of keys and moves behind me to remove the handcuffs, I keep my eyes on the knife, wondering if I have time to snatch it. Dylan’s gaze follows my own. “Oh, baby.” He moves and kicks out his foot, sending the knife back toward the door. “Brave little thing you’ve become, haven’t you? I think I’m going to enjoy breaking you again.”
Keeping on eye on me he backs away and retrieves the knife which he now pressed to the top of my pants as he repeats the same torture. Once I’m completely bare he stands up and yanks me with him. He grips my wrists, the rough touch I’ve tried to forget back and worse than ever. The cuffs fall to the floor and I fight the urge to rub the raw skin.
“Undress me.”
I don’t want to touch him. My eyes move to the stairs as I try to come up with some way to escape.
“Don’t even fucking think about it.”
He grabs my jaw so hard I think it might shatter under his grip. “Now fucking undress me before I break both your hands and make you do it with your mouth.”
He releases me and as tears stream down my face I unbutton his shirt, each time one of my fingers brushes his skin, he moans and grinds against me. When I get to his pants, I start to sob openly, no longer concerned about hiding my pain. He gets off on it. Maybe this will get it over with quicker. I pull his jeans down and find him bare underneath them. He is wearing boots and as I reach for them he stops me.
"Wait."
He lifts his foot and smashes it down on top of mine. Earth shattering pain strikes me and I collapse to the floor, my foot throbs, and the pain radiates throughout my entire body. “Now you have no chance of getting away until I’m done with you.”
I hear the boots and jeans hitting the floor and immediately feel him at my back. He forces me onto my stomach, pressing my head hard against the wood floor. Gripping my hair, he turns my face toward the camera.
“Say hi, and good-bye.” His slick voice almost cackles. “Bet he hasn’t had you here yet.” His hand runs over my ass and I buck away. “You always were a boring lay.”
Releasing my hair, his hand smacks my ass, sounding like a crack of thunder. He’s relentless in his strikes as he delivers one after another until I’m begging him to stop.
“Shut up!” The knife in his hand slices across my back and I yelp. “Keep fucking screaming and I’ll shred you.”
I feel him at the opening of my ass. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming, tasting my own blood as he surges into me, making me feel like I’ve been ripped open. I can’t hold the scream that comes out but he doesn’t yell. When he starts to pump in and out of me I feel a warm liquid on my skin, and I know with certainty it’s blood.
His movements start to slow. I don't understand why until I feel the pain shoot up my lower back, the knife moving across my skin almost like he is writing something down. I writhe in pain and try to fight the little bit that I can, but with his weight on top of me, all I do is make the knife sink deeper. Within a few minutes, the knife stops and he stills with a groan as he finishes inside of me.
“That’s a nice piece of work I did right there. Maybe I’ll need to match the front somehow.”
He eases off of me and stands. His foot kicks out at my ribs and as the crack reverberates through my chest, all the air leaves my lungs, the force of his kick sending me over to my back. My vision blurs as my fresh cuts touch the floor and I arch my back.
“You know I like things to be symmetrical.”
He stalks over to where his boots are, slipping one on his right foot before walking back over to me. Over and over, he stomps, kicks, and grinds his foot against me. The screams that rip through me leave my throat raw. I move to cradle my injured arm but any touch only creates more pain.
I fight the urge to throw up. My eyes close. I don’t want them closed. Closed means I can’t see what’s coming, but it’s a struggle to just open them again. I feel a slap against my face and my head lolls to the side. As a second and third slap connect, my eyes flutter open.
"Oh, we aren't done yet. Don't you pass out on me.”
He straddles me, his thighs caging me in, pinning my hands against my sides, and his rough hands grip my breasts as I wince and try to keep my eyes open.
He traces the knife across my chest and as it cuts through my skin, blood runs down my ribcage and onto the floor below me. Fog creeps in at the edges of my vision.
“I think I’ll tear you apart one more time before the asshole ends up here. Not that he’ll ever have the opportunity to take you again.”
He forces into me. Pain consumes me from the inside out. It’s like there is something inside of me, tearing me apart. My mind cannot focus on anything other than the burn that ravages me, the rough wood rubbing against my back.
There is nothing left of me. There is nothing more I can do. So I just start to scream as loud as I can. Someone has to be around.
They have to hear me.
Dylan's face twists and he drops the knife. His fists start to swing wildly, making contact with a new piece of skin each time. After the first few punches, I lose the resolve to fight back. My body goes limp as I become his human punching bag. He starts to drive in and out of me, still landing blow after blow, and as he stills on top of me, his hands grab at my breasts, twisting the bloodied and bruised skin as he finishes.
I can feel myself slipping away. The promise of nothingness, of a place where everything doesn’t hurt, is too great for me to fight.
“Not yet. I have one final surprise for you, and it’s a killer.”
His words chill me. And the accompanying smile lets me know that there is a good chance I won’t make it out of this house alive.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cutter
The warehouse is in complete darkness. Not even the moon is out. There are about fifty fuckin’ windows but nothing to see; at least, not from this distance. Hidden down the side of a dumpster, Whip and I wait for the signal from Pres. When he got a tipoff early last week that this is where the guys who hijacked us are staying, the brothers immediately set to work on a plan of attack. It couldn’t have been more perfect: abandoned warehouse, four access roads, no neighbors. It was like they were asking for us to come after them.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pres: Side door.
I signal to Whip, moving swiftly down the side of the building, my gun in my hand, two backup rounds tucked into my waistband. They may be stupid, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be armed.
Twisted and Lady meet us at the side door, Twisted carrying a Halligan bar. The wind picked up around us and I held up a hand, stopping the boys listening for any sign of movement inside. For all we know, they could be waiting for us to break in. Which is why Pres and the other brothers were over the opposite side. Fuckers won’t know which way to look.
I give the “all clear” signal and Twisted winds up to swing the Halligan into the door when Pres rounds the corner.
What the fuck.
“It’s a fuckin’ trap,” he says, out of breath. “Nikki texted. There are men at the club. Fuck!”
I start running toward my bike. Fuck the warehouse. Fuck everything. I gotta get back to Jaz.
Pres jumps on his bike and brings it around in front of us. “Split up. Half in front, half at the back. These fuckers have guns but they’re in our house. Silencers on. Take out as many as you can without the others knowing. Park at the end of the road and walk the rest of the way. Back half go in a few minutes early.” As he rattles off orders, the pit in my stomach grows.
Something tells me there is more to this rogue club.
Dylan is involved.
I just know it.
We race toward the club, each of us anxious knowing that our families and our girls are there. Sure, we have guys on them, but they aren’t our best men.
Once the bikes are parked we split up, and I join the group heading in through the back. I want to be one of the first in. I need to find my girl. The steps leading down to the back door are ung
uarded so we move quickly. Lady moves around the corner but comes straight back. “Two,” he says. “Left and right of the door.”
I nod, attaching the silencer to my gun before moving quickly and quietly.
Two bodies hit the floor.
I wave the guys forward into the club. The lights are on but the only sounds I hear are men shouting. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Moving through the kitchen, I climb onto the worktop and peer through the vent.
Our guys are on their knees next to the pool tables, except for Mouse, who is lying face down and from this angle I can’t see whether or not he’s alive. Pres was right; the guys are fully armed, and they don’t look like amateurs. A quick count tells me we’re outnumbered from this side.
I send a group text to Whip and Pres, letting them know the situation and suggesting we all go in at one—just like we’d planned back at the warehouse.
I scan the room, finding the girls huddled in one corner. I run between them, moving them out of the way in turn.
Jaz isn’t with them.
Lucy runs to Whip, jumping into his arms. I know I should give them a moment but, fuck . . . Jasmine.
Tears run down Lucy’s face and even from here I can see her shaking. I reach out to touch her shoulder and she jumps. Whip shoots me a death stare, but that doesn’t even come close to what’s twisting my gut. His woman is safe. He’s holding her in his arms. Lucy opens her mouth but before she even says anything, I know.
“He was here.”
“Fuck!”
Everything I look at turns red. It’s like someone has dropped a film down over my eyes. Everyone clears a path for me as I barrel through the room, heading straight for the fucker Pres still has alive. The boys have taken him to the kitchen and when I walk in, they’ve already got him tied to a chair, his hands cable-tied behind him, his left eye all but closed. Twisted stands behind him, shaking his hand out, the knuckles swollen and bloodied.
Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC Book 5) Page 17
