Brute’s Property: A Motorcycle Club Romance (The Blazers MC) (Claimed By Him Book 3)

by Kathryn Thomas

  “I’m so sorry,” I find myself saying, still not sure how to read this person. Just like how he didn’t look like a member of a motorcycle club, he looks too straight edge to be held up in some torture dungeon holding cell with my druggie brother.

  “It’s fine,” he says, “but I made a promise to your brother that I’d find you and get you that note. It says that he’s sorry for everything he’s put you through. His time is running up, so I think he just wanted to let you know that he loves you.”

  “He loves me?” I repeat back. He’s not said that to me since we were kids. I recall the time he took a beating a little too hard from my father. Half deaf from the ringing in his ear, he laid on my bed, sobbing into my lap without any shame or fear. When it was over, when my dad stopped stalking outside the bedroom door, Mark told me that he loved me. It was rare to hear it again now.

  I swallow hard. “Where is he being held?”

  The man stands a bit straighter, his eyes darting side to side as he answers, “They were keeping him at their main warehouse down on the north side. It’s in Edgewater.”

  “Could you bring me there—to where Enrique is holding him?”

  “What do you think you’re going to do if I take you there, Jenna?”

  “I’m going to get him out of there.”

  My throat goes dry and my head races. I remember what Rev said to me earlier about how I could pay my brother’s debt to Enrique by working directly for him. I knew that I wouldn’t be doing office work or providing professional counseling. What Enrique would enlist me to do would be much more than just washing dishes for a fair wage.

  Still, as the man leads me towards his car and away from the hotel room where I last saw Rev, I try not to think of the danger of what I’m doing. In my head, I’m saving my brother from death. I’m giving him his life back by offering mine up.

  It only takes us twenty minutes to get past the looming skyscrapers and the beachfront crowded with Chicago tourists and suburbanites. Neither of us says a word to the other, but the man driving begins to appear more anxious as we get closer to the exit on Lake Shore Drive. A small pool of sweat dots his temple while his nine fingers twist over and over against the sewn leather of the steering wheel.

  As we pull into the lot for the warehouse, he clears his throat. “We’re here. I’ll walk you in.”

  “Walk me in? Aren’t you afraid they’re going to... “ I look down to his hand, which he almost pulls away immediately.

  “No. This is different.” He gets out of the car and walks several feet ahead of me. Within seconds of me fighting to keep up with him, we are flanked by two large men wearing jackets similar to the men who assaulted me in the bar. A shiver travels up my spine, and I breathe in deeply to keep myself steady.

  The two follow us in a back door and through a long, narrow hallway where an industrial light flickers and buzzes overhead. It leads to a wide-open space where remains of old machines, now completely dissected for parts, lay to the side. More men mingle around, watching us from a distance without much attention. They lean against boxes, check notes off on their clipboards, or sip on beer bottles.

  “Well, well, well... I’ve been waiting for you.” I spin towards a large metal fire escape behind me. On the second floor, a man stands on the clearing of a rusted staircase. By the way everyone’s eyes turn towards him, I can only assume this has to be Enrique. But he looks much younger than I imagined. While he’s almost completely bald, as he comes closer, I can see that his face is nearly untouched. His pale blue eyes practically glow with sadistic excitement.

  “Good job, Hermes.” Enrique clicks his fingers and one of the men who escorted us in from the parking lot hands the man who drove me here a wad of cash. “I didn’t think you could do it, but... here we are.”

  My face turns beet red, smoking under the surface, as I turn to him. I should’ve known better than to trust anyone who says they’re associated with Enrique. I let myself believe him for a millisecond, and I end up here—in the hands of my enemy. The man gets to walk away, having turned me in for the ransom, while I face a future completely unknown.

  What a fool I am! I deserve to be here. I force back the lump in my throat and the tears welling in the corners of my eyes as I face Enrique, examining me from head to toe. Slithering like a snake towards me, he whispers into my ear, “I should’ve known that if Rev were keeping you alive, you’d be a fine piece of ass.”

  “Where’s my brother?” I ask through gritted teeth, still holding out hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all a lie.

  “Your brother?” He laughs, looking at the rest of the group. “She actually believed Hermes! You really think I have him here? Shit no! But it looks like I’ve got something better—a money maker. You know, I like to employ guys like your brother—guys who know the territory and have connections they can sell to. But there’s nothing like a lady to bring in the big cash. I’ve got no doubt you’re going to earn your keep and your brothers.”

  “My keep?” I whisper. “Can’t we negotiate or something?” Who the hell am I kidding? I know the answer before he can open those peachy fat lips of his to cackle at my innocence.

  “Who the fuck do you think you’re dealing with, princess? You do what I tell you, and I let you live. You do your work right and make it worth the time for my clients, and I’ll make sure you eat.”

  “And what about my brother’s debt? Can I go when I pay it off?”

  “If you made Rev break off his contract with me, I know you’re worth way more than what your brother owes me...” He licks his lips as he places a hand around the curve of my butt. My spine stiffens as I force myself to look up into his eyes. “Oh Jenna, I think you’re going to be staying here for as long I want. Welcome to the Red Dukes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Rev

  It takes everything in my power not to punch this motherfucker out. Vic sits at his desk, his flashy white teeth staring back at me like a shark’s. He slides his feet on the metal top and leans back in the old-school desk chair.

  “You wanted to talk to me, you’ve got my attention,” he says.

  Now that I’m here with him, I’m second-guessing the decision to leave Jenna and follow Vic back to his clubhouse. I’ve been here several times before—each with Vic asking me to join the Blazers—but each time I had a clear answer for him: HELL NO. But today, it was me who needed to do the asking.

  “I need to make a deal with you,” I mutter under my breath, my fists balling at my sides.

  “A deal? Ha!” he scoffs, “You know I’m already giving you and that girl of yours protection in exchange for a favor. I don’t need to do a fucking thing more for you unless...”

  I know what he’s going to say. Unless you give in and become a Blazer and pledge allegiance to my crew and me only. I’ve been dreading hearing those words the entire ride over here. Every attempt at planning a comeback or some way out of this has fallen short. I have to make a compromise instead.

  “I get you, Vic. And you know I ain’t never going to join up with any crew—yours or the Red Dukes.” I clear my throat before he can get up and kick me out of his office, “What I will do is make you a deal. I’ll go exclusive. I’ll freelance enforcer for the Blazers only. I won’t be working for Enrique or any of the clubs in Illinois or Indiana for a year.”

  It’s a big offer for a small-time guy like me. For the few freelancers who never commit, we become this hot commodity—like the one untouchable guy who can’t be caught. Laying claim to a guy like me shows total dominance in the region. And since the other club VPs and heads know what I’m capable of, they know not to mess with the club I become exclusive with.

  On the other hand, the deal is crap for me. I’ll make zero to nothing unless Vic mercifully ups my pay for the jobs he’ll assign me—if he gives me any at all. The ass could decide to keep me poor and desperate, so I’m more likely to join up with the club in full. Luckily for me, I’m good with my money. If he doesn’t give me
work, I’ve got enough money to last me a year, but it’ll be close. And then, there’s the whole PR thing. When a year’s up, I’m no longer running with the reputation riding solo has given me. It’ll take me years to get back that name in this community.

  Vic mulls it over for a few, awkward moments where I stand before him with gritted teeth and a throbbing headache.

  Finally, just as I’m about to back the fuck out of here, he says, “What is it about the girl that’s gotten you here? It can’t be those tits or those legs. She’s got none of them.”

  He laughs again, but it’s more reserved than before. He eyes me up and down, taking me in as a doctor would to a patient complaining of the plague. I’ve become untouchable. Different. And I fucking hate it.

  But there’s a bigger problem here than him suspecting I’m about to drop a hammer on him. I’ve got no answer for him on the Jenna question. At least none that I’m ready to say out loud to a guy like him. He wouldn’t understand how her warm, willing body has linked to mine. And hell if he’d care if I actually found the way she cared about her brother appealing to me. It showed devotion, and you don’t find that around these parts. The more I’m with her, the more I learn about her and her body, and I want to discover even more.

  My teachers used to tell my parents that I had this thing called oppositional defiance, where some part of my brain was set off when I couldn’t get my way. I’d go mad when they told me to do my homework or clean my room. I’d transform into a monster when I couldn’t get what I wanted when I wanted it. Being told there was something wrong with me—something I couldn’t control on my own—made it that much worse.

  Now, Jenna’s become the thing I want more of—her hands around my neck, her candy sweet voice asking me questions about myself, her glimmering green eyes staring back at me like there’s a fire hidden in her too... I want that. As much as I hate myself for admitting it, I fucking want her. And being told I can’t have her—that I have to pass her off—has triggered that pissed off giant in me. And I’m going to do just about anything to make sure I keep her.

  And if that means giving Vic and the Blazers my loyalty, so be it.

  Finally, after too long of a pause, I figure out how to deflect. “I need to get back at Enrique and the Red Dukes. The fucker doesn’t tell me how to do my job or get in my way of completing it. He’s ruining my reputation, and I’m not having any of that.” I raise my voice as dramatically as I can. “Are you with me, or was this bullshit a goddamn waste of my time?”

  Vic leans forward in his chair, throwing his feet back down on the ground. He reaches over his desk for a piece of green scrap paper and one of those fancy, shiny black pens that he collects. He scribbles something before handing the paper to me. “This is the address of where they are running their main opps out of. When you’re ready, I’ll send a couple of my guys with you—guys who know how to do what you do.”

  So that’s it, then. In this situation, there’s only one answer: I start a war. What Vic was telling me to do was assemble an army, ride in there with Blazer flags flying, fight to the death, take out Enrique, and claim the territory for Vic. It sounds so easy as I think it all over as a checklist, but I know that there’s much more to it than going in with guns blazing.

  I look down at the address. It’s north. Whenever I usually see Enrique for a meeting, it’s at a bar on the south side. I should’ve known there was more to his operations. The Red Dukes were growing at a rate way bigger than a club running out of a run-down dive could. I should’ve known better than to trust that what he was showing me was what the real story was. Enraged, I shove the piece of paper into my vest pocket.

  “Do we have a deal then?” I ask Vic who’s still staring at me as if I’m about to explode.

  “We’ve got a deal, Rev. But if you’re gonna sign on with the Blazers, you best know that I’m not going to put up with this lone rider shit you’ve got going on. You show up, you do your work, and you train the guys I assign you to. And if you do what you do best, I may let you live when the year is up.”

  The muscle in my jaw holding my mouth to my cheek strains. I take a deep breath, trying to remain levelheaded. I was the one who came here looking to make a compromise. And when I did, I knew that Vic wouldn’t let me join up without making clauses of his own. But for Jenna, I’ll make it work.

  There’s nothing left here for me to do but shake the man’s dirty hand and be on my way. I need to get back to my place to restock on supplies if I’m going to wait out Vic and Enrique with Jenna. Information about where and when Vic’s men will be ready to roll would come later. I just have to sit back and wait it out like some punk lackey. The thought of that alone makes me want to punch a fucking brick wall.

  For the entire ride back home, and for the rest of the night, I think of nothing but her. From the moment she walked through the door of her brother’s apartment, there was something there. Why else would I have defended her against that prissy twerp that forced his way on her or the two Red Dukes that held her down at my cousin’s bar? I was so fucking blind to see it, but not that it’s out on the table, there’s no denying that what I’m feeling is more than just wanting to see that body bounce on me.

  I make the choice to go back home. Going back to Jenna just doesn’t seem right with all the shit I gotta think through, but as I sleep, I dream of her. Nothing in black and white this time. Everything is vivid and in technicolor. We sit alone, on a brightly colored bed. I try to touch her, to use a finger to scrape the bottom of her cheek, but she drifts from me. The further she gets, dream Jenna’s voice begins to whisper my name over and over until it’s gone. When I try to chase after her with arms outstretched, she fades in with the bedroom that doesn’t belong to me.

  I wake up in cold sweats, my bare legs twisted around a pile of pillows and blankets still messed up from the time Jenna was on my bed. I force myself to get it together. I am no good to either myself or Jenna if I melt into this fucking mess of a person. I switch out my blade for my gun today. Even the stale beer for breakfast sparks up that red meat-eating, blood-thirsty beast inside of me.

  Still, even with all the amp up, I arrive back at the motel feeling more nauseous and nervous than when I left. I don’t ever feel this way, especially not around a chick I’ve already nailed. My hands shake as I turn the handle to the door of the room. A small scrap of paper jammed between the edges of the door and the frame holds the lock from clicking. Already, something seems off—the door shouldn’t have been unlocked. Inside, I call out her name, and when I get no answer, I realize something about the room is different too. The TV is turned off, the bed’s been made, the towels have been cleaned up from the bathroom, and her shoes are missing from their usual spot at the end of the bed.

  Panicked, I assess these clues—she had to have left by her own free will. Her bag’s still here, though, and the makeup she uses is on the bathroom counter. Her perfume, the one that forever lingers in my nostrils, still sits out near the floor length mirror.

  I find the piece of paper next. It slips out when I go back to open the door.

  One of Vic’s men, the little guy, runs up to my side in the doorway, “Yo! Rev! I was told to not let you out unless you were doing business with Vic!”

  I don’t give him a glance. “You see her go?”

  “Who go?” he asks in disbelief.

  “The girl, you jag-off! She’s gone!” I roar at him. “I’m gone for one fucking night, and you couldn’t manage to keep her in there?”

  The second man runs to our side, staring at the piece of paper in my hands. He brushes his stringy blonde beard with his fingers. “What do you mean that she’s gone? She ran off?” he asks.

  “You didn’t see anyone else come in?” I snap, “Then yeah. She ran off.”

  They look at one another and then over their shoulders towards the room behind them. I have zero idea what they’re thinking, but I have no doubt it’s the reason why she was allowed to escape. Before they can say another
word, I run towards the banister and jump over the small fence. I sprint towards the main office where the man who checked me in earlier, one of Vic’s guys, sits in his lounge watching the Cubs game on an old box TV set.

  I march over, turning it off, as I shout at him, “Who checked in while I was gone?”

  “What the fuck man?” He stands up and storms towards me. Before he can say another word, his collar is in my hand, and his feet are off the ground. I toss him, like a ragdoll across the room to the window. His back slams against the glass so hard that I almost think he’ll break through.

  “I asked you a question, you stupid son of a bitch. Who checked in while I was gone?”

  The guy fixes his antique-looking wire frame glasses with his one free quivering hand and stammers, “A few people. There was this girl a few rooms down from you. She and her husband are regulars. They ain’t got anything to do with Vic or you.”

  Damnit! Why the fuck are these people so incompetent? This here is why I work solo.