I have no idea if I hit my target or not, but I don’t waste time checking. Instead, I turn around to make a run for it. Before I can get a few steps away, I’m again grabbed, by my hair, and swung around to face the man. This time, instead of a look of lust, there’s a look of pure rage.
“You stupid cunt!” he yells before backhanding me. The blow lands squarely across my face and is so hard, I see stars as I land with a loud thud on the cold and unforgiving pavement.
My face is screaming, and when I hit the ground, I feel a shooting pain from my wrist, all the way up my arm as I try to stop the force of my fall. It’s pure agony. I can’t breathe.
I struggle to roll over, but as soon as I’m on my side, I regret it immediately. The man has recovered from my attack completely, and is now looming over me.
He kicks out his foot and it lands a harsh hit to my stomach. If I thought I couldn’t breathe before, I was wrong.
“Pl—Please…stop,” I try to say, but I’m not sure if I succeed.
My attacker leans down and reaches out, but stops before making contact when we both hear a man’s voice somewhere in the near distance.
“Now is that any way to treat a lady?” His voice is masculine and rough. And in any other situation, I’d be afraid of the edge I hear in it. But not tonight. Not right now. Because tonight, he’s my knight in shining armor. He’s going to save me.
Chapter Two
Torq
I finally get to scratch an itch I’ve had for the past couple days.
I’m a member of the Rough Riders MC, out of Reno. Our club is widespread, having connections all over the US, and into Canada. We even have a few international chapters. We’re not as big as some of the other MC’s around, but we have our advantages, like our strength, business smarts, and money. Sometimes, size isn’t what makes you the meanest and most feared club around; it’s your reputation and actions.
I’m the Sargent at Arms in my club. Some call me an enforcer. When my club has beef with someone, or if something with one of our businesses isn’t going right, they send me to get to the bottom of it and fix the problem by any means necessary; even if I have to kill people to do it.
Tonight, my job is to find one of our many drug dealers we use to get our product out on the streets and see if the rumor’s we’ve been hearing about him are true. I had to travel through five states to get to him, but I do what needs to be done.
Some of our businesses are legit—strip clubs, bars, automotive shops, and tattoo parlors. Then we have under the table businesses that aren’t so legal, like selling guns and drugs. We even dabble a little in mercenary work. Granted, those deals are handled quietly, and only very few people know of those dealings.
One thing we don’t deal in is flesh. Sure, we have our strip clubs, and if the lady you fancy is okay with taking you into a back room and fucking your brains out for a little extra cash, we don’t see a problem with that. But we don’t sell women and we don’t prostitute them. It’s always their choice.
So when we heard that Georgie had a little side business, we decided it was a problem.
When you work for the Rough Riders, you only work for the Rough Riders. You don’t take our product, skim a little off the top for yourself and bail, and you sure as fuck don’t take liberties and kidnap girls you find while on the job to sell to the highest fuckin’ bidder.
Georgie had decided to start doing the latter, or so we heard, so tonight I’m going to pay him a little visit. Find out what’s truth and what’s not. But if what we hear is correct, he’ll be having the worst night of his life. Me? I’ll be having some fun, letting the devil inside me out to play.
When we hire people to sell our product for us, we always get a rundown of their operation and where it is they’ll be selling our shit. We like to keep tabs and a close eye on everything. It’s our baby, so we need to know it’s being handled and taken care of like it would be in our own hands. We take this shit very seriously.
Even though I’m not from around here, or even know what this dude looks like, I have a good idea what streets he’ll be working and what time he’s usually around. I do my research before going on jobs, but even if I didn’t, our club owns most of this state, so all the drug dealers will be ours. And they all have their territory they’re supposed to work. That means, he should be the only one selling in this area. If I come across someone other than him, I guess I’ll just have to kill him and continue searching until I run across Georgie.
And if all that fails, I have other ways to hunt him down. I’m a man of many talents.
After leaving my cut in the saddle bag of my bike—don’t want to lead anyone to my club—I make my way down Fourth Street. It’s dark and barren, not a soul in sight. No pimps or girls, druggies or their dealers, and definitely no Georgie.
Suddenly, I hear a cry of fear break through the silence of the night.
“HELP! Please, somebody hel—,” a girl yells out.
Breaking out into a run, I follow the sound of the voice, praying I’m in time to save her.
I wasn’t there to save the last woman who needed my help, and she was my whole world. She was my mother.
Growing up, it was always her and me. My dad had died before I was old enough to even remember him. Something about a drunk driver or some shit, I don’t know the whole story. What I do know is that he’s gone, and I never knew him.
I thought we were doing just fine on our own, but my mother thought I needed a man in my life. She said I needed a solid role model—a father figure.
She dated a few guys, but as soon as they found out about me, they hit the road and didn’t look back. Mom started getting depressed and thinking she would be alone for the rest of her life, and that I’d grow up without a father. What she didn’t know was that she was all I needed. She was my whole world.
I was angry at myself for the longest time, thinking I would be the reason she would die alone and sad. I was always on my best behavior, trying to show that I wouldn’t be any trouble for the next man she brought home, and it worked.
She met Samuel, the local sheriff. He was a few years older than her, but when she introduced him to me, he didn’t run. He got major points there.
At first, things were really nice. He’d take us out to eat, we’d go to parks, and he even took me to a baseball game.
Then, after they got married, things went downhill, fast. I guess he didn’t need to pretend anymore because he’d already gotten what he wanted. So instead of being his usual sweet and charming self to my mom, he was cold and mean. Instead of being loving and accepting of me, he was resentful and hateful.
I always thought it was because of me, that I was the reason he was mean. That I was the reason my mom wasn’t happy. I tried to pretend I was happy, hoping that would bring her out of her sadness, but it never worked. I hated myself for what I was doing to her because her new husband didn’t like me.
Over the next few years, I’d tried everything to be the son Samuel wanted me to be. I thought if I was better, he’d be nice again. But nothing I did helped. If anything, I made things worse.
I tried to be invisible, staying out of his way, hoping he’d be nice to my mom again and they could be happy together. If she was happy, then I could live with that, even if it meant I’d lose her.
It didn’t work. Things got even worse yet. Instead of hateful words and angry looks, the abusive Samuel started lashing out. It started with just a slap upside the head when he thought I was being stupid, or a shove when he didn’t want me around. I never saw him lay a hand on my mother though, so I took it. Anything to keep it away from her.
After a while, I thought maybe it was how all fathers treated their sons, how they turned boys into men. I had no clue what was going on and how wrong it was, until I spoke with one of my friends at school.
I didn’t go into detail about what Samuel was doing to me or how he
treated my mother, but I tried to ask in a roundabout way how his dad treated him. Turned out, his dad never laid a hand on him. Never said anything harsh to him or his mother. Sure, he got spankings as a kid or got grounded, but nothing like what I’d been dealing with for over two years.
That’s when I knew what was going on wasn’t right, but I still had no idea what to do about it. I mean, Samuel was a cop. Maybe my friend was wrong and his dad was the one who was wrong. I was confused, but at the same time, clear on what was happening in my own home. I just needed to find the right way to fix it, and I would, but I had to go about it the right way. We were dealing with an abusive cop, so it had to be handled delicately.
I needed proof, but every time I’d see my mother with a bruise or cut, she’d tell me she fell down the stairs, or ran into a door. I’d never seen Samuel lay his hands on her, and I doubted going to the station and telling them that one of their own was verbally abusive to his wife would do anything. It would only accomplish pissing him off even more. And even though he’d hit me, it was never enough to really leave a mark, so that was out of the question.
Not wanting to do anything rash, I waited and I planned. I just took too long. Walking home one night when I was fifteen, I was barely up the stairs to the house when I heard screaming. My mother was crying and begging him to stop. I was stunned and afraid at the same time. I had no idea what to do. And in my fear, I was too late.
By the time I’d opened the door, everything was quiet. I was stupid to think it was all over and Mom would be sitting in the bathroom, licking her wounds. Instead, Samuel was hovering over the motionless body that used to be my mother. His hands and face were covered with blood, and he had a look of shock on his face, but it was still laced with anger. It was enough for me to know he didn’t regret what he’d done.
My whole life changed in that instant. I rushed toward him and beat him with a strength, rage, and hatred I never knew a person could possess, let alone a fifteen-year-old kid. I killed him with tools from his own toolbox that were sitting by the door. I don’t remember what I beat his face in with, but it didn’t matter. I don’t regret what I did to him, I only regret being too late to save the only woman I ever loved.
I lost my mother and my childhood that night, along with respect and trust in the law, but I gained something else too. I gained a new family, a loyalty and love from people that are just as evil as me. The Rough Riders saved me and gave me new hope for a life I could have, even if it wasn’t what my mother would have wanted for me.
So when I hear a girl screaming, begging for help, I know I need to save her. Maybe it’ll give me a little relief or salvation for not being able to save my mother all those years ago.
The woman isn’t screaming anymore. I can’t even make out any crying, but what I can hear are sounds of a struggle. I know those sounds well, since I hear them on a daily basis. I’m the cause of those sounds most of the time, but they’re usually coming from men.
Slowing my steps, I take a deep breath and slow my breathing. I need to have the element of surprise. But first, I need to scope out the situation, know what I’m dealing with.
Finally, the couple in question come into view. I see a woman on the ground. I can’t tell who the man is, but when I see him kick her in the stomach while she’s already down and unable to fight back, I see red.
I quietly pull on my leather gloves as I sneak closer, paying close attention to my surroundings and the man who’s still standing over the woman. I don’t know what he plans to do with her, or to her, but he won’t be laying another digit on her.
By the time I’m within reaching distance of the douchebag in front of me, I can tell by the clothes this woman wears that she’s not from these parts. I don’t even need to see her face to know she doesn’t belong here. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Now is that any way to treat a lady?” I ask in a chilling voice that’s full of anger and authority. If this guy doesn’t cower before me, he’s fucking dumb. Even without wearing my cut so he could see my colors, or knowing my reputation, just the sound and menace in my voice should be enough to make him run for the hills.
Unfortunately for this guy, he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed. He doesn’t run or even cower back after getting a good look at me. Instead, he actually snorts. The look that enters his eyes is one of defiance. It’s comical if he thinks he can take me on.
Looking back down at the girl who is still below him, he says with a cruel grin, “Good thing she’s not a lady. At least, not for long.”
His hand moves to her face and travels down her cheek to her neck, then farther south, toward her chest. I see her cringe—in pain or disgust, I’m not sure—and hear her whimpers, but she doesn’t look at me. Her eyes are closed tightly, for which I’m grateful for in this instance. I don’t want her to see what I’m about to do to this man. That hand he has on her will not be attached to his arm much longer.
I look to her face, which is one of beauty, marred in fear, blood, and what looks to be a good bruise forming on her cheek. Turning off all my emotions, everything except my rage, I take the last step forward, putting me in the best position for the pain I’m about to inflict on this piece of shit. I wish I could take my time and torture him, but that’s unlikely. Unless I knock him out and carry him to another location. But I have to think of the girl too when this is all over with. I’ll need to make sure she’s okay.
Throwing my arm out so fast, it’s like a strike from a viper snake, I pummel his face with a hard right hook. I placed it just right on his chin so he’d fly off to the side, not landing on the girl.
She quickly rolls to the side before scurrying out of the way, without me even having to tell her. Good girl.
I don’t pay much attention to where she goes, keeping my eyes on my target. He’s the one I need to focus on, and if the girl’s still around after, then I’ll tend to her.
The blow to his face wasn’t hard enough to knock him out, but it was enough to stun him. He’s lying on the ground, shaking his head, trying to find some semblance of balance.
“You make a habit of touchin’ things that don’t belong to you?” I ask, not really caring if he answers or not. Actually, it’d be better if he just kept his mouth shut. He’s already done enough to warrant my kind of justice. No reason to add more punishment on top of the painful lesson I’m about to teach him. Well, if I don’t kill him, he’ll learn the lesson I’m about to teach.
Looking up at me with contempt in his eyes, he spits blood out of his mouth and it lands next to my boot. Motherfucker.
“That bitch belonged to me the second she stepped foot on my turf. But if you fuckin’ want her, I’ll sell her to ya real cheap. After I tear that pussy up, of course,” he says, laughing bitterly.
Grabbing him by the throat, I lift him off the ground so far that his toes barely scrape the concrete below. “Wrong answer,” I say through gritted teeth. I hate men like him who enjoy taking from a woman against her will.
I don’t have any weapons with me besides my knife, since I wasn’t planning on any type of torture or murder tonight, just a fact-finding mission. Of course, if the need arose, I knew I could have found something to get the job done. I always do.
But I’m not about to dirty my own blade on him. Luckily for me, I was able to get a good visual on what he was packing as I stalked him, so I know he has a pocket knife in his back pocket. Not my tool of choice for a scumbag like him, but it’ll have to do.
With my free hand, I’m able to retrieve the knife without losing my hold on him. Flipping it open, I’m a little disappointed with the size of the blade. I can still make it hurt and kill him, which is all I need in the end.
I wish I had time to play with him more, make him cry and beg me for his life, but I’ll make an exception just this once. This motherfucker isn’t worth my time, and I need to get this over with fast. I�
�ve already been out in the open too long.
With the knife in hand, I look him in the eyes and see the first spark of fear enter his expression. ’Bout fucking time, dumbass. You should have run the minute you heard my voice.
“I normally like to take my time, so forgive me if this is a little rushed. But don’t worry, I’ll make it quick…and painful,” I say, smiling cruelly.
I thrust the knife so far deep into his gut, that I swear part of my hand enters his stomach cavity. I give a twist for good measure before pulling it out, letting his body drop to the ground like the sack of shit he is. Hovering over him like he was moments earlier with the girl, I get ready to plunge the knife into his neck, when bright lights shine on me and I hear sirens for the first time.
Fuck, how long have they been there? Acting quickly, I position my body just right and slide the knife along the road and watch it fall into the gutter below. At least there will be no weapon for them to use as evidence, and they can’t say I used my own since it’s still securely attached to my belt.
“Freeze! Put your hands above your head!” I hear an officer yell through a loud speaker.
Standing up, I turn to see five cops with their guns pointed at me. I have no idea what these dickheads are going to do since I’ve never been in contact with anyone on the right side of the law in this neck of the woods before. If I were back in my town, they wouldn’t even try to pull a gun on me, knowing that I’d pull one of them too. But these assholes? I think I need to see how big their balls are.
Instead of putting my hands up like they ask, I just stand there, looking at them with contempt.
“I said put your hands above your head!” one of the officer’s yells out, taking a step toward me. Looks like he’s the bravest of them tonight.
“Make up your fuckin’ mind. You said freeze. How am I supposed to put my hands on my head when I’m not supposed to move, asshole?”
Instead of pushing their limits, I decide to comply…for now. We’ll see what happens later though. I know they don’t have enough to charge me, not without a weapon, so they can only hold me for a day before they’ll have to release me. After that, depending on how they treat me, I’ll decide what to do then.
The Preacher's Daughter Page 2
