by J. C. Cliff
“Or did you?” Rush sneers.
With a quick jerk of his head he signals for Tank. My eyes shoot to the big burly beast and before I can say a word, the motherfucker has my arms pinned to the back of the chair and starts tying me up.
“What the fuck is this shit?” I growl.
Chaos implodes as it always does, and everything becomes blur of fast movement in the room. The second my hands are secured, Rush presses the sharp blade of his knife against my throat.
Glaring at me through narrowed eyes, he applies pressure to the knife and I bite back the urge to spit in the cunt’s face.
“You playing me, motherfucker?” he questions through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I hiss. “If it wasn’t for you pricks I never would’ve met the woman.”
“It’s too coincidental,” he roars. “You bring that cunt here, to my fucking club and you claim her on the strength of one fucking night. Then come to find out, Gianco is her ex-husband—”
“What do you mean Gianco is her ex?” I interject, sure I heard this fuck wrong.
Instead of replying, he lowers the knife and Saber lands an uppercut to my lower jaw.
“Don’t play it off, motherfucker,” Saber shouts. “Got your dick all up in that mobbed up pussy.”
“Back the fuck off,” Rush growls at Saber.
Anger boils through my veins as I spit a mouthful of blood onto Saber’s boots before I set them all straight.
“I’ll say it again, you motherfuckers were the ones who set me up with her in the first place. Yeah, my dick got all up in that shit, but don’t forget you people initiated it, you made me fuck her for the sake of the patch.”
Clenching my fists I yank at my wrists, trying to break free, but the bastard tied me up good.
“What if she’s working with them?” Dutch pipes in. “Granted, you kept her in that fucking room for most of the time, but how do we know you didn’t tell her any of our business.”
“I didn’t tell her shit,” I hiss. “And I sure as fuck didn’t know she was married to the mob.”
“We need to get her back and find out just how involved in all this she truly is,” Rush says, sneering at me.
I get Rush being skeptical, a man with as many enemies as he has, he needs to be.
“Anything you need to tell us, better spill it now, brother,” Brick growls, narrowing his eyes as he accentuates the last word.
“Last time I’m saying it, I knew none of this,” I shout.
“Why did you claim her? Don’t give me the bullshit about them having her purse either. If you didn’t know the broad, you wouldn’t have given a damn,” Rush accuses. “Did you know her ex had been stalking her? That she tried to file restraining orders? Maybe she made a deal with you, offered you a slice of the business in exchange for something.”
“Fuck no! You know how I feel about drugs. I know nothing—she told me nothing.”
The silence is interrupted by my ringing phone. On the second ring Rush lifts a brow then signals for Tank, who’s hovering behind me. Pushing me forward, Tank pulls my phone from my back pocket before stepping around me and laying the phone on the table.
“This is how we’re gonna handle this,” Rush starts. “We’re gonna put this phone on speaker and you’re going to talk to whoever it is as if we’re not here. Pull some bullshit by talking in code and I’ll slice your fucking throat from ear to ear,” he says.
In a matter of minutes, everything has turned to shit. I barely have a chance to process one fucking thing before another bomb is dropped on me. The idea of Ree being trapped with her ex who has been stalking her, drives me mad, but I need to keep my head. Especially with the club pinning me as the villain.
Keeping his eyes pinned to mine, he reaches for the phone and accepts the call.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I have no idea how long I’ve been trapped in the cellar of my parent’s home but every minute that ticks by feels like an hour. After pounding non-stop on the door for what seemed like hours, I realized my cries for help were falling on deaf ears. Part of me hoped my father would hear me but he was three floors above me and even if he could hear, he was too sick to help me. Which left my mother and Dean’s last words ringing in my ears.
None of this makes any sense. Dean has no business being here, let alone trapping me in the basement and that claim he made about my mother working with him, it doesn’t add up.
I must be delirious because for a second I find the situation funny. Who goes from being one man’s prisoner to another’s? At least I was taken care of under Blade’s captivity. I mean, he consoled me the night of the murder, and made sure I had everything I needed to be comfortable. He might’ve been an asshole at times, but his intentions were noble. Looking back, I truly believe he wanted to keep me safe.
Whereas Dean wants to hurt me. The man cheated on me, robbed years of my life by stifling me and feeding me lies and still hasn’t had his fill. If he could drain the blood from my veins, I’m sure he would.
Grabbing an old blanket, I shake the dust off and curl myself into the chair. I’d at least have a chance of escaping if there was a window but surprise, surprise there isn’t one. With no other choice, I close my eyes and start to give in to my exhaustion. All of a sudden I hear the doorknob jiggle upstairs and my eyes bolt wide open. Hoping it’s my mother, I push myself out of the chair and start for the stairs.
“Mother,” I call at the top of my lungs.
As I reach the stairs the door at the top of the landing opens and I’m blinded by the light that filters through the basement. Fighting for focus, I hear the heavy thump of footsteps. Lifting my head, I stare up at Dean as he makes his descent. The mere sight of his face both disgusts and angers me. For a moment, I contemplate trying my luck again and kicking him in the balls before making another run for it.
“Where is my mother?” I demand, glancing behind him at the staircase.
“That’s none of your concern, but don’t you worry your pretty little head, she knows you’re here.”
I still can’t fathom my mother being okay with this. It’s not like he’s whisked me off on some grand vacation to woo me. He’s locked me in her goddamn basement.
“I don’t believe you,” I grind out.
He shrugs, brushing away a piece of lint from his three-piece suit. To think I once found this man irresistible makes me want to smack myself in the head.
“I don’t really care what you believe,” he says, his whole demeanor nonchalant. Lifting his eyes to mine, he cocks his head and delivers a sinister smile. “She supports everything I do.”
He slides one hand into his pocket as he takes another step closer to me.
“Are you ready to have a civil conversation,” he asks, changing the subject.
“There is nothing civil about any of this,” I spew.
“Okay then,” he intones.
With a quick nod he walks to the trunk that sits just next to left of the staircase. Narrowing my eyes, I watch him flip open the lid. As he bends to retrieve something, I try to look around him, but he whips around and tosses something at me.
On instinct I hold out my hands and my eyes widen in shock when I catch my purse. Dropping it like it’s a fireball, I take a step back and gasp. Everything spills out of my bag, including my cell phone and I lift my eyes from the floor which is scattered with my belongings.
“It was you!”
“So, tell me, Annmarie, who is it you’ve been letting fuck what’s mine?” he sneers in disgust.
Reeling from the revelation, my chest heaves as I gasp for breath and I watch with horror as Dean takes another step closer.
“Who is he?” he roars, causing me to flinch.
My father’s words ring in my ears, reminding me that I am strong, that I am my own woman, and I don’t take shit from no one, certainly not this pig.
“Who I fuck isn’t any of your business!” I holler, squaring my sh
oulders back.
Again, he flashes me that wicked smile of his as he crosses his arms against his chest and speaks in a calm, even tone.
“I didn’t expect you to give the gutless fucker’s name up,” he admits. “But don’t you worry, I know everything I need to know.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Dean?”
Ignoring me, he continues with his tirade and begins to pace.
“My guys got your boy’s license plate. Seems you shacked up with a piece of shit biker and in a biker compound no less,” he scoffs.
“Your guys?” I question, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “You’re an investment banker, what guys do you have besides a bank teller and Uncle Sam?”
He laughs at me—the bastard fucking laughs at me.
“You really aren’t very bright, are you? So naïve you can’t see what’s been right under your nose,” he says, sobering up. “I’m not an investment banker, you twit,” he hisses. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my lips and if I wasn’t so taken back by his revelation, I’d spit in his face. Maybe spending a few days at a biker compound rubbed off on me.
“I’ve been working for your father since we got married.”
Another gasp sounds from my mouth as I take a step back and lift a hand to my lips. I shake my head in disbelief, trying to rack my brain to see how I missed the signs. My father is into private sanitation—at least that’s the story I’ve been told and been telling people for as long as I can remember. It was all a cover. A ruse my mother drilled into me from a young age and I believed it. Apparently, a young girl should never go around telling people her father is one of the most notorious gangsters to ever rule the streets of New York.
My whole life has been one big façade, it’s only fitting I married a man living one too.
“What do you mean you work for my family? You’re a gangster?”
He ignores me and continues to harp on Blade. My head spins, and I feel like I’ve entered the twilight zone, unsure what revelation I should be focusing on.
“I couldn’t send my men over that fence. The last thing I need is to get involved with biker trash but, that guy—”
“How?” I stammer.
“How what? How did I know where you were or how do I know that douchebag Johnny—or does he go by Blade now?”
He closes the distance between us and leans into me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Let’s start with how I know your pal, Blade,” he taunts. “I know him, because I used to fuck his sister.”
At his confession, my hand goes to my stomach and I try to suppress the nausea building inside of me. I suspected he cheated on me. It was the driving force behind my decision to leave the marriage, but hearing it come from his mouth makes me sick.
“You bastard! You… You lying, cheating, filthy bastard.”
“What’s the matter, Annmarie? Your biker neglected to tell you? I’m sure he knew but I suppose that’s not a conversation he would’ve had being buried in your pussy. She was a sweet little piece of ass, too. Big tits and a tight pussy—little Carrie was what dreams are made of.”
Hearing him say Carrie’s name I’m reminded of Blade and the anguish he expressed when he spoke of his sister’s death.
“You sick bastard,” I shriek as I lunge for him. Before I can touch him, he catches my wrist and squeezes.
“It’s a pity she had to die,” he says, feigning remorse.
“Who are you?” I whisper as my body trembles uncontrollably and tears fill my eyes. A gasp sounds from my throat as I start to connect the dots and my eyes go wide as I stare at him in shock.
“Oh my God,” I say. “You’re the one who killed her.”
His eyes slice back to mine and he pauses for a moment, contemplating how to answer.
“No darling, I didn’t,” he says with a shake of his head. “Your mother did,” he sneers. As the venomous accusation leaves his lips, his mouth twitches
“You lie!” I scream, yanking my wrist from his grip. He’s quicker than me and before I know it he has both my forearms secured to my sides.
All this news is coming at me like a tidal wave and I can’t process any of it fast enough.
“Why?” I ask, breathless as tears start to stream down my face.
“Why what, sweetheart?” Dean taunts.
I’m not sure what I’m asking, because I want to know all the why’s to so many things at once. I don’t know where to start. He lets go of one arm and lifts his hand, gently caressing the side of my cheek. Flinching, I pull away out of his reach. “You want to know why I keep stalking you? Why I need you to stay married to me?” he asks with a humorless lilt to his voice. “I will tell you why. Because I have to protect my investment.”
“Investment,” I choke out. “You don’t need me, not when you were clearly cheating on me with anything that moves.”
He rears his hand back and his palm connects with the side of my face, taking me back. Lifting my hand to my heated skin, I grind my teeth and fight the urge to scream, knowing it won’t do me any good.
“That’s no way to talk to your husband,” he bellows.
“I—am—not—your—wife!” I fire back. “And I never will be.”
“Are you sure about that?” he questions, his tone mocking.
“What do you mean?”
He gets in my space again and I catch of whiff of his expensive cologne. Another thing that makes my stomach turn.
“I control half of New York, sweetheart.”
“And,” I prompt, “that means what to me?” Because I could give a shit less what he controls at this point. “You’re a pig and I want nothing to do with you. Let me go,” I demand.
“Not going to happen,” he snaps, pulling me in by the waist. Desperate to have his hands off me I struggle to break away but he overpowers me just as he always has. His hot breath brushes against my ear as he whispers, “You love your dear ole dad, don’t you?”
I freeze at the mention of my father.
“You touch my father and so help me God, I will slit your throat, you motherfucker.”
The bastard laughs again, and I continue to struggle out of his grip.
“You’re hurting me!” I snap.
“Pain is going to be the least of your worries if you don’t cooperate,” he tells me.
Having had enough of his games and his confessions, I scream at the top of my lungs. Dean manhandles me and soon I’m on the floor with Dean pressed against me, my back against the cold, hard concrete.
“I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to do this, but you leave me no choice,” he growls.
My eyes grow wide the second he produces a needled syringe filled with fluid. With one hand covering my mouth, muffling my screams, he lifts the other and injects the needle into the side of my neck.
Never having done drugs before, whatever he’s pushed into my veins hits me fast and hard. Everything starts to blur before it fades to black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
In an eerily calm manner, Rush accepts the call and puts it on speaker mode before setting it on top of the table and shooting me a glare. With a jerk of his head, he gives me the signal to proceed.
“Yeah,” I greet the caller, leaning forward in the chair so he can hear me.
“Got some info for you,” Buzz replies.
Drawing out a sigh, I pray to God the bastard reveals enough information to expunge me of all the false accusations all these motherfuckers are accusing me of without any probing.
“Go ahead,” I urge, lifting my eyes to Rush as Buzz continues.
“So, this girl you wanted me to look in to, she wasn’t lying about her father being sick. The poor bastard was discharged from the hospital a couple of days ago. According to the medical records I came across, he’s been fighting cancer for years. A while back he was in remission, but now it’s back and judging by this report, the guy is living on borrowed time. If your girl is looking to say goodbye to her dyin
g father, she needs to go home, and she needs to do it quick or it’ll be too late,” he says, pausing for a moment. “I got an address. You got something to write with?”
My eyes slice towards Saber as he rips a piece of paper from a pad. Brick tosses a pen across the table and once Saber has both in his hand, he gives me a nod.
“Yeah, go ahead,” I tell Buzz.
He rambles off the address and Saber shoves the paper under my nose, making me read it back to Buzz to confirm what he’s written down is correct. Just as Rush is about to disconnect the call, Buzz speaks up.
“But Blade…” his voice trails and I narrow my eyes in response, looking between Rush and the phone, wondering what else he’s got for me.
“Shit,” he mutters.
“What is it?” I question.
He hesitates for a beat before clearing his throat and revealing the next fucking blow, “Her father is one of the most notorious gangsters to hit Long Island and I don’t mean he’s some fucking kneecap-breaking hitman either. He’s the boss, man. The fucking don. You need to be careful, you can’t go into this with your eyes fucking blinded by some pussy.”
For fuck’s sake.
If this shit got anymore twisted, I’d be the lead in the reboot of the Twilight Zone.
“Got it,” I hiss, clenching my jaw. “Thanks man.”
Rush pokes the screen, disconnecting the call before he sends the phone flying across the table. Patience thin, he turns to me and begins questioning me like I’m on a witness stand.
“Who the fuck was that?” he growls, slamming his fist against the table.
Staring him in the eye, I give him the truth.
“A trusted friend from my past.”
“You got any other friends floating around from this so-called past of yours?”
“None of them I’d call friends,” I grind out.
“A past you’ve held tight to your chest,” Rush reminds me. “We don’t know jack shit about you. All I know is you showed up on my doorstep looking to prospect, and saved my ass by slicing and dicing some motherfucker looking to kill me. Now, there are guys coming out of the woodwork and you speak of a past you held tight to your fucking chest. What the fuck are you doing with contacts near Long Island—conveniently, the location where all this shit is playing out?”
