Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel)

by Marata Eros

  The Chaos guy named Puck stares at the big fucker, who'd really worked Noose over.

  Not too tough to do when a man's chained up.

  Puck stares, unblinking.

  The huge Chaos Rider shifts his weight. Finally, he breaks the staring contest first. “Fine. But you better do it right.”

  Puck stares more. I'd say we'd get along fine if he wasn't about to torture me. He has a way.

  They leave, and Puck turns around, shooting the interior bolt to keep everyone out.

  I flinch at the sound, a low moan of pain squeezing from between my lips at the involuntary movement, and my eyes shut.

  “I'm Puck.”

  I crack open an eyelid and look at him again until Noose distracts me by lowering his hand so slowly, it's thirty seconds before his palm is chest level, the chain rattling as he does. His middle finger shoots up.

  I laugh, then give a hoarse groan when my body seizes in pain.

  “Fuck. Off.” Noose's grin is bloody.

  I look at him in horror. He's got a slit for one eye, and part of his ear is torn.

  Puck puts his hands on his strong hips, giving a single nod. “Don't have a lot of time to get acquainted...”

  Noose keeps the finger extended through sheer willpower and grunts.

  I know it'll hurt, but I can't stop more laughter.

  Puck looks between the two of us. “You fuckers are hard men, I'll give you that.”

  I raise an eyebrow and wince. Fresh blood is a warm trail down my face.

  Puck walks to where we hang, and I tense, preparing for more beatings. He stalls out in front of us.

  “I'm a cop.” The flat delivery of those words is like a bad punch line, and they freeze me.

  Noose gives a bored exhale, keeping his finger like a stiff flesh pole in the air.

  Puck frowns in Noose's direction. “I know who you are, Sean King. You can stop flipping me off.”

  Noose carefully lowers his finger. “Don't,” he wheezes, “believe you, Chaos fuck.” He spits, tensing instantly, and pain washes over his face. Then Noose shuts that expression off like a light switch.

  His new one is glaring at Puck.

  “Fine—fuck,” Puck mutters and jerks something out of the interior of his cut. Looks like a wallet.

  He flips it open and brings it to my face.

  Hate to say it, but I know a real badge from a fake one—seen plenty to know the difference.

  Puck moves carefully to Noose and puts it under his nose.

  Noose gives it a slitted study from half an eye. “Looks legit.” He continues to scowl at Puck.

  “I'm getting you down now.”

  Thank fuck. I don't know why a cop is here posing as a Chaos Rider but don't much care at the moment.

  Puck picks up the chair that Mover had been in earlier and carefully places it beneath Noose. Once the weight of his body isn't part of his pain, Noose groans.

  Puck eases the big man on the chair. Producing a key, he unlocks the chain, carefully unwinding it from Noose's wrists.

  Noose latches onto Puck's cut like a cobra striking, hauling him in hard and fast. He rides him to the ground, and Puck sticks a .380 pistol into his gut. “Ease down, Sean.” His voice has dropped to whisper-quiet.

  Noose blinks, his blood dripping like liquid measles from the gashes on his jawline to the cop's face. Noose smirks, grinding his torso into the tip. “You gonna shoot me in the gut, ya pussy?”

  God.

  Puck nods. “If I have to.”

  Noose grunts and rolls off the top of him, stifling a scream as his back hits the cement. “Fuck!” he says softly and with feeling.

  “Hello,” I say.

  Noose rolls his face in my direction, and Puck stands, striding to me and yanking the chair from where he unlocked Noose. He hauls it to my position and repeats what he did with Noose for me.

  I don't go for the cop. I guess with the arm exercises Noose had me do, I might have been able to, but this Puck guy is here to help.

  I try to stand and fall to my knees instead, my hands hanging limply by my sides as I pant through the pins and needles of feeling surging through my limbs—the agony of wondering about what's happening with Sara.

  “I'll be fast, boys. Got to be.” His eyes meet ours. “I'm undercover, and after Ned had his showdown, the powers that be decided I needed to ride it out a little longer. So now my cover's blown but not without a good reason.”

  Okay. I nod, catch my breath, take a deep inhale I shouldn't have, and cough up what feels like half a lung. I clutch my ribs and manage, “My stepsister—”

  “Riker Locklear.” The words drop out of his mouth like twin bombs.

  My eyes bulge. “What?”

  “We have our people on this already.”

  I stagger to a stand, just about dump it, and stay standing by grit alone. Mover had told us Riker's place in the Chaos hierarchy. What does this new bullshit mean?

  Noose is already upright, leaning against the wall. Looks like his arm's broken. There's a shitty gray hue to his skin.

  “Rose is gonna be pissed about this,” Noose comments nonchalantly.

  God. “Rose?” I ask incredulously. “You’re barely alive, Noose—just—fuck it.”

  Puck smirks. “Heard that about you boys, tough as nails.” He looks over at Noose. “Looks like you dislocated something with all your acrobatics in the chains.”

  Noose shrugs. Grimaces.

  Puck chuckles. “We know that Riker is the new ʻNed.ʼ He doesn't have the brains for the things that Ned did, but he's as vicious. Different pawns for different tasks.” Puck's gaze shifts to me. “I'll get you out of here, but you're not a police officer.” He gives me the full weight of his serious gaze. “And Sara is now a matter for the police.”

  Sara is not a matter—she's the woman I love. The woman I'll always protect.

  My head snaps to him. I ignore my pain and shamble toward him like a newly risen zombie. When I reach Puck, I grab at his cut. “What do you mean, Sara?” My grip is solid. I shake him. “I heard you about Riker—hell—fucking Mover told us Riker was their new drug runner.” I don't say anything about the guns. “He said Riker wanted Sara in exchange for his cut of the money.”

  Puck shakes his head. “I've been undercover a long time now. Six years, and I've never seen Mover this desperate to fund the coffers of Chaos. He doesn't seem to care who's hurt in the process.”

  He pries my hands off his cut. “I'll drop you guys at the hospital.” His eyes meet mine. “I will get Sara.”

  “Get her?” I ask like I've just been the recipient of the biggest sucker punch in the world.

  Puck blows out an exhale like a cannon of air, scrubbing a hand through his pale blond hair. “Not the way I wanted to tell you, but a friend of hers called in that Sara has been missing.”

  “Since when?” I croak from my abused throat.

  Puck glances at his cell. “Since last night. Guess she visited with said friend the prior evening and went back to her apartment around midnight. When the friend came back to return the daughter today, there was no response. Looks like foul play. Purse, keys are there. But only one shoe is there. Signs of a struggle...”

  “Riker,” I say in a dull voice.

  Puck nods. “There's a police report from that address of a 9-1-1 call from a week ago. Cops thought it was nothing. But the call was duly noted, and the guy matches Riker's description to a T.”

  Not nothing. Sara had already been freaked when Riker paid her a visit, and she tried to get the cops to protect her. But Riker must have already threatened her. Got her to shut her mouth.

  How?

  Doesn't fucking matter now. Sara's with Riker, and I'm here—all busted up and not a clue where she's at.

  “Come on, fellas. I'll get you out of here.”

  Noose flips him off again. “Coulda saved me the beating, asshole.”

  Puck's lips twitch. “Piss and vinegar.”

  Noose slings an arm aro
und Puck's shoulders. “I'm not sugar and spice, like some pussies.” He eyes Puck then spits another thick, blood-laced loogie on the floor to join the rest.

  Puck shakes his head, grabbing onto Noose's hand that dangles over his shoulder, and half drags him out a door at the far end of the room. I'm just better enough that I drag my own sorry ass after them and dump myself through the doorway and into a large garage.

  Dark-colored SUVs line the place. No bikes. I scan the interior then cautiously move forward.

  Puck heaves Noose against the side of one, opens the back door, and half lifts, half shoves Noose onto the bench seat in the back.

  Puck turns to me. “You okay in the back, head down?”

  I nod, and wince at the fucking pain. Figure the only thing that doesn't hurt is my big toe. “Yeah.” My answer is barely above a whisper.

  He starts the vehicle, and we roll out as the automatic garage door opens.

  I recognize the building as I peer out the back of the rig. It's the same one where Rose was held and they did their gangbang action.

  Good thing Noose is barely conscious.

  *

  Two broken ribs, fractured arm, cheekbone, and a certain concussion have the big knotter laid out.

  Noose moans as a nurse sticks an IV in him.

  His hand strikes like a whip, capturing her wrist. “Stop poking me with fuckinʼ needles,” he slurs.

  She looks at me for help.

  “Hey, big guy,” I say, “let the nurse give you the feel-good juice, man.”

  Noose rolls his eyes to me, but only a slit of one stares at me like mercury fire. “Don't like being all fucking looped and shit. I know you're going after Sara. Don't do it without me.”

  I look at the nurse. She's offloading the shit from a syringe right into the IV. Good. Noose is a mean sonabitch when he's hurt. I think about that for a sec. Or when he's well.

  His eyelashes flutter, but his free hand remains like a vise on my arm. “Don't go alone,” he whispers, his eye moving to the nurse. “Shut your ears, ma'am.”

  The nurse huffs and pats his leg. She swings the curtain shut and leaves us.

  “She gave me sumpin’,” Snare slurs. Then his eyes roll around in their swollen sockets. He appears to wake up as I try to ease my arm from his grip. His eyes snap open. The one that's swollen even has a tiny opening in the center, surrounded by an angry mass of red tissue. “Take Lariat and Wring. Those fuckers will watch your back.” And with that, he falls backward, releasing his grip.

  I turn to go.

  Noose flares to life again, sitting up like a plank in the bed.

  I jump at the suddenness. “Fuck!” I hiss.

  “Promise me, you dumb fuck.”

  “Promise,” I answer automatically.

  Noose flops backward.

  I watch him warily. Soft snores begin to pour out of him seconds later, his mouth so dry the skin of his lips is cracked.

  I leave the hospital as quietly as we arrived, speaking to Trainer on the way out.

  They patched me up, but I hadn't been antagonizing the Chaos guys the way Noose had. He'd done it for me. I knew what Noose did because I've done it before myself. Hell, plenty of boys that were now men had protected others through sacrificing their own flesh and blood for the cause. We never forget. We recognize it in others.

  Though Noose's sacrifice is the first time anyone's done it for me. He figured if one of us could make it, that'd be enough. They'd been so busy beating Noose they'd been distracted from beating me as badly. Noose's sacrifice paves the way for me getting Sara.

  Searching for her is going against the law. But that's what being a one percenter's about: being my own man even when no one wants me to be.

  I text the boys. Lariat and Wring text back that they were already in route and only slightly behind Trainer.

  In twenty, they're at the back entrance to the hospital, and I'm telling them about Mover. That a meeting between the presidents is not in order—it's nothing but a trap.

  When I get to the part of the story where the cop shows up and saves us from our torture, Lariat and Wring get identical looks on their faces. Disbelief.

  “I know,” I admit. “But if he wasn't legit, there'd be no way this would've gone down like it did. No Chaos Rider would have gotten us to the hospital to tend the wounds they gave us. Noose was fucked, and I was getting there. Then this Puck cop shows up, runs through the spiel of his undercover gig...” I shrug.

  Wring is thoughtful, palming his chin. “Seems a little too neat.”

  Lariat nods. “Trainer's got Noose.”

  I nod.

  A tension seems to run out of them. “Bad fucking scene. Guns taken, cop involved, your old lady with this drug dickhead.”

  “My dad.”

  Lariat claps me on the shoulder, and I tense, pain radiating through my body. “ Sorry,” he says, “forgot you're all fucked up.” His face smooths out to serious. “Got feelers out, Snare. We'll get her.”

  “I want to do him.”

  Wring lifts his shoulders and nods. “It's your right, man. But hear me.” His intense eyes, nearly as bright a blue as mine, pierce me to the marrow. “If he's getting saucy, threatening your property, you”—he thumbs his chest—“my precious ass, or anyone else that matters, I'm popping him. Vengeance or no vengeance.”

  I swing my gaze to Lariat. He whips his palms up. “Not just an accountant,” he says with a grin. But his eyes are hard as flint chips in a resolute face.

  Riker Locklear's going to die.

  I don't know by whose hand, but fate's finally asserting itself, or karma.

  Whatever it is, the fucker's going down for all the people he's hurt along the way.

  18

  Sara

  My mind drifts. Thoughts of Jaylin crowd my skull. As a baby. Then a toddler. Me pumping milk from my breasts as I cried between sets because I couldn't be at home with her. That I had to leave Jaylin at day care.

  All the times we held hands on the twirly thing at Gasworks Park. The lazy summer days spent on a blanket, looking for shapes in the clouds as crickets made warm music around us.

  Life.

  Life with Jaylin.

  My eyes open, and with sight, my memories fade. I look around, a pounding in my temples keeping time with my accelerated heartbeat. Cinder block walls close in around me, lifeless as a tomb.

  Screaming is a hard thought, but I don't commit aloud.

  Riker took me. Snare didn't come back. Jaylin is with Lola. I'm going to die.

  I'm never going to see my baby girl again.

  Riker wasn't going to wait until I made up my mind about lying for him with Denny and Micah.

  I try sitting up, and bindings tug against my wrists. My shoulders tense from being in one position too long, and drool's dampened my T-shirt from when I was unconscious. I can't get to my nose when it itches, and I ache to touch my face. Move. Assess things. I can't.

  I move my toes, and one foot is bare. The realization that this horrible man came into my home and stole me from my safe place and left my shoe behind, well... it makes me pissed. The backs of my eyelids burn with tears of rage instead of sadness.

  I'm glad. Sadness will just get me dead faster. I don't want pity—I won't beg. Because Riker doesn't care about his granddaughter.

  An awful idea grows inside my mind.

  Snare doesn't know about his daughter. Riker does. He can claim her if I show up missing. Insist on DNA and boom—suddenly he's grandpa of the year.

  Because my mom is in the hospital, eternally sleeping thanks to Riker. Not that she'd be any better than him. She's responsible for us being with him in the first place.

  I squeeze my thighs together, and the soreness between my legs reminds me of Snare, my lips giving a sad lift.

  I can't completely regret my teen years living with Riker. If my mom hadn't married him, I'd never have been with Snare.

  I lift my chin, staring with defiance at the door that leads out of this
mausoleum. I'd take my two times with Snare, and our forbidden love, over a hundred times with a man I was allowed to be with.

  I swallow my self-realization like a bitter pill and scan the space. There are no windows. The hour and day are unknown. Chains hang from the ceiling, and a drain is in the center of the room.

  The cement around the drain is stained a rust color. I gulp back bile, viewing the evidence of blood so thick it can never be expunged, and my bladder begins to burn with the need to pee.

  A steel door clanks open, and Riker moves through with another man.

  Oh my God. Gooseflesh washes over my skin. The fine bumps feel like tiny hills of fear as I run first hot, then chilled.

  It's the man I gave a blow job. I can't think of his name, but I'm remembering he's MC. Like Snare.

  Not like Snare, Sara. No one is like Snare.

  I try to avoid terror, but it chases me through the corridors of my mind. It’s a maze only the terror knows, and I've lost my way. Fear nips at my heels as I run.

  “Sara, this is Mover.”

  Mover chuckles. “We're already acquainted.” He licks his lips, and I shudder.

  I'd give Mover ten blow jobs if I could get away from Riker. “You didn't give me a chance to”—I wet my suddenly dry lips, dying for water, a bathroom—“answer you about Micah and Denny.”

  Riker shrugs, his hair slipping over his shoulder. It's coal black, like Snare's, but is starting to gray at the temples. He smiles at me. “I lied. Those two fucking brats are buried in the system somewhere. I forged the docs. Pretty smooth job, eh?”

  My mouth drops open, and Mover gives a masculine chuckle. I glare at him. “Doesn't sound like she saw that one coming.”

  “Nope. She was never very bright. Just fuckable.”

  Oh God.

  Mover's eyes narrow between the two of us.

  Riker's attention returns to me. “I gave you something that I thought you'd buy. I don't give a fuck about those kids. They were just leeches to feed and take up my limited resources.”

  Mover rolls his eyes to the ceiling, clearly making an effort at tolerating Riker's behavior. I don't bother to figure out their relationship. I know that Mover would be more sympathetic than Riker.