Indulge

by C. D. Breadner

  Buck held onto the Holy Shit Handle in the roof over the passenger window, eyes on the road and not his even-keel pal. Mickey never freaked out. Mickey didn’t get rattled. Shit. What the fuck was going on here?

  At the clubhouse they headed straight for the board room, Buck falling into step behind Mickey. His blood was pounding in his ears. Maybe he was getting shit again. That was possible. Jayce might just be pissed that the subject was even broached, but Buck didn’t think so.

  Only Spaz, Tank and Jayce were in the room. Mickey shut the doors behind Buck, who took a moment to study the faces around him.

  Spaz looked shell-shocked. Jayce looked furious. And Tank looked … apologetic.

  Buck thought his knees might give out. “Is she dead?” he croaked.

  Mickey put a hand on his shoulder. “Sit down, man.”

  Buck pulled away. “I don’t want to sit down. Someone tell me what the fuck is going on here.”

  “Sit down.” This time it was Jayce, and his tone was cold with violent potential. Buck sat, even though he didn’t think that anger was directed at him. Not anymore. “Spaz checked your phone, and there were a few messages sent from Gertie’s phone.”

  Buck nodded along with Jayce’s words. “That’s what Mickey said. What were the messages?”

  Jayce took the phone from Spaz, played around with a few buttons then handed it to Buck. “They came with photos.”

  Buck snatched the phone away and opened the first message. It just said, No need to send help. We got this. He opened the photo attachment and his heart stopped.

  “Buck?”

  Buck shook his head at Mickey’s voice. “I’m going to fucking kill them.”

  His hand cranked down hard on the phone, and his eyes couldn’t look away. His Gertie, pulled across a pool table, stripped from the waist down, while a faceless man in a Gypsys kutte was balls deep in her. Her mouth was open like she was screaming.

  “I think you’ve seen enough.” Mickey tried to reach for it but Buck avoided his hand and went to the next message.

  Just waiting for Daddy to return our calls. Another photo, close up. Some pig’s dick in her ass. Couldn’t see her face, but there was no doubt in his mind it was his girl.

  “They are fucking dead.”

  “They are.” The voice surprised him, because it was Jayce agreeing. He met his president’s eyes with no small amount of shock. “We get her out of there, and we make them hurt.”

  Buck nodded. “Good.”

  “Get to her apartment. See if she’s there by some miracle,” Jayce instructed, swinging his gaze up to Tank. “Go with him. Don’t let him go vigilante by himself.”

  Buck was back to his phone. A third message was waiting, and he opened that one too. Thanks for breaking her in for us, Buck. Another photo. He opened it, his vision starting to go red. She was out, it looked like it anyway. Totally unconscious. Thor had her propped up against his body, holding her face by the chin so she was facing the camera, his other hand on a breast, under her shirt. The prick looked like he was laughing.

  The date and time of all three messages were the night they found out she’d been a mule. A week ago. The last time anyone had seen her.

  This was medieval, old-school shit. Taking a woman like property and messing it up. Breaking it. Rendering it useless. Buck looked up at Jayce again, knowing that the anger was part what was happening to Gertie, and part what his own old man had done himself back in the day. The day when this was how they all conducted business, that is. Jayce’s own father had told him they’d all done exactly this kind of thing. They’d come back from the war fucked up, hooked on heroin or morphine, out of their heads with anger and irrational fear. It wasn’t until he was old, rotting away in prison, sober as a judge that it all got to him.

  Under Jayce the Rebels didn’t do this shit. If they wanted a man hurting they just found him and hurt him. His family, kids, wife were all off limits. They’d made a few widows but they didn’t go after them and hurt them directly. Come to think of it, the Mexican cartels tended to work this way.

  “So they want her father to turn himself in,” Buck guessed, closing the phone. “And this torture was just to get under our skin.”

  “We’ll go check her place. Maybe they let her go.”

  Buck was shaking his head before Tank finished. “Even if he turns himself in … why wouldn’t they kill her?”

  Jayce and Spaz shared a look. Tank sighed. And Mickey put a hand on his shoulder again. “We’ll get her back, Buck.”

  He couldn’t imagine the pain and fear she must be in. He couldn’t put himself in her place. Jesus, he couldn’t hate her.

  Fuck.

  “We’ll go check her condo,” he agreed, tossing the phone down and standing up. “And then we’ll find Thor and the rest of those assholes. And when the time is right … I get to kill them.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Gertie awoke suddenly and she knew that meant she’d been having a nightmare. The thin sheet of sweat on her skin confirmed it, as did her rapid breathing. Thankfully, she remembered none of it since she was living in a nightmare already that she was never going to be able to forget.

  The bed was empty; it usually was when she woke up. She had no idea when Bark got up but he was a ninja in the mornings and never roused her. She sat up, body stiff, and yawned through a long stretch.

  She ignored the aches in the obvious places. On some odd level she appreciated that it still hurt and didn’t seem right. Gertie didn’t want to get used to this kind of treatment.

  From a drawer in the dresser she pulled out a pair of jeans. She didn’t know whose they were, and they only kind of fit, but it was what she had to cover herself with. She pulled a T-shirt on with it and fearfully peered out into the hallway.

  The clubhouse was quiet. Really quiet. She couldn’t hear a single voice, and no one was moving around. She darted for the bathroom, did her business, and then came back to Bark’s room. There were still no other signs of life around, and she checked the clock.

  It was eleven in the morning. Bark must have given her that Valium later than she thought. But where the hell was everyone?

  Like a jolt it came back to her. The plan, the attack. The ambush on the McClune home. This was the day they planned on killing, or at least hurting, Trinny.

  Shit.

  Gertie gazed around the room for some kind of weapon. She didn’t for one second think they’d left her alone in the clubhouse, but the quietness gave her hope. The only thing she found that could maybe keep her safe was an empty bottle of Jack.

  She also found a couple more tablets of speed. She took one, hoping like hell it would kick in fast. If anything put off this sudden desperate bid for freedom she’d never feel the urge again, she just knew it.

  With the bottle tightly grasped in one hand by the neck she eased the door open, not a squeak to be heard. Holding her breath, Gertie ventured ducking her head into the hallway, not only looking both directions but listening as well. She felt as though she could hear air at that point, and it might have been from her extreme focus. Or the speed.

  One foot in front of the other, she told herself internally, her bare feet carrying her down the filthy linoleum tiles of the corridor towards the hall. It was so quiet she couldn’t be sure she was even awake.

  First thing she had to consider was transportation. There were various vehicles out front, but she had no idea how to hotwire a car. Or truck. And she doubted the keys would be left out.

  Shit. How was she getting out of here?

  She’d have to walk to another building, use their phone at the very least. Get word to Buck, tell him that Trinny was in danger. That was her new mission. If she didn’t get away, well … She’d deal with that.

  When the main door came into view she wanted to burst into tears. It was so close. A week in this fucking hell hole, no hope to get a breath of fresh air. And here she was, so close –

  A footstep scuffed behind her, and rathe
r than run she did the stupid thing and turned around. And her heart dropped.

  Bark was standing in the hallway in T-shirt, jeans and kutte, his brows drawn together. “Gertie? Everything okay?”

  She swallowed and turned, heading for the door. She tried to hurry, but he caught her. An arm clamped around her waist, hoisting her up off her feet. He wrapped his other hand around her chest, keeping her head back against his shoulder. Her arms were pinned, she couldn’t head-butt him, and all she could do was kick like a fucking beetle on its back.

  Shit. Now she really wanted to cry.

  “Easy, easy! Calm the fuck down, Gertie!” His grip remained tight until she stopped thrashing. In all honesty it was making her heart race almost frighteningly fast, and she knew the speed was hitting the blood stream now that her pulse had picked up.

  He set her down, but didn’t let go. “I’m letting go. You run again and I swear to Christ I’m tying you up. Understand?”

  Gasping, she could only nod. So he let go with one arm first, paused, then released her while snatching the bottle out of her hand. He held it up as she spun to him, arms around her stomach.

  “What was this for? You gonna knock me over the head with it?”

  Gertie sniffled, her eyes feeling wet. “I have to get out of here.”

  His lips pursed, and he lowered his hand. The bottle dangled at his side. “Gertie, I am so sorry about this. I know you probably find it hard to believe, but I am. This kind of shit isn’t what everyone here wants. There are a select few that think this is how shit is done, but I don’t like it.” He swallowed, brows coming together. Then he sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “They’re meeting the cartel today. They left me here to keep you locked down. Right about now the Rebels clubhouse is getting word the cartel wants to meet them over a shipment they lifted from us. When they roll out, they’re sending a group to McClune’s house. Not fancy, but it’ll probably work.”

  Gertie frowned. “Why are you telling me this?”

  He held the bottle out. She stared at it. “Take it, dammit,” he snapped and she did, strictly out of fear. He reached into a pocket, pulled out a key ring and tossed it to her. She nearly dropped the JD decanter but she caught them. “The Ram 1500 out there, the old piece of shit with the rust around the wheel wells? That’s mine. Brown keys will start it. It looks like shit but it runs.”

  Gertie stared at the keys, then him. “What?”

  He turned away, pointing to the top of his head. “Try to hit me up here, not the back. Less likely to cause permanent damage.”

  Gertie swallowed, eyes on the bottle again. “Why?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder. His smile was wry. “I told you why. Now knock me out and get the fuck out of here.”

  Gertie’s hand tightened up on the neck bottle again, nodding shakily. “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Do it hard enough so it’s believable that you knocked me out.”

  “Okay.”

  “But not here,” he repeated, hand on the back part of his head where the skull juts out.

  “I get it, I get it,” she said, stepping closer. “And thank you,” she added before raising her hand and swinging.

  The bottle made a bad sound coming down on top of his head. It kind of thunked, didn’t break at all, and with a grunt Bark stumbled forward, dropping to one knee. She was about to hit him again when he ducked and covered, shouting “I’ll pretend to be out! Jesus, you don’ have to hit me twice!”

  She backed up and dropped the bottle. That’s when it broke. She gave a slight squeak, backing up more as Bark stood and turned to her, his face screwed up in pain as he touched the top of his head carefully.

  “Now, go,” he instructed. “Get the fuck out of here.”

  “Where’s my phone?”

  “You don’t want it.”

  “Please, I need it. I need to call. I might not get there in time.”

  Bark rolled his eyes, then strode to the bar. From a bottom shelf he pulled out a huge glass mug. He tossed aside a few pens then pulled out her phone and handed it over. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, but she was already grabbing the phone and running for the door.

  In the lot she immediately found his truck. It was, like he said, a piece of shit. Yanking the door open Gertie all but dove inside, nearly fumbling the keys because of how her hands were shaking. Somehow the key found its way into the ignition, and the engine turned over on her first try. She tore out of the lot with a squeal of rubber, thumbing through her phone directory and selecting Buck’s number. She brought the phone up to her ear and hung a dangerous left-hand turn. She had no idea where she was going. She didn’t know Hazeldale at all, but she was sure she knew which direction the main drag was. And the main drag led right out to the highway.

  There was no answer. She got his voice mail, the message simple. “You got Buck. Leave me a message.” His voice sounded so good she was suddenly crying again, aware of the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “Buck,” she sobbed into the phone. “God, I hope you get this. Don’t go out to meet the cartel, tell Jayce he has to go home. They’re going after Trinny. It’s a trap. Please, let me know if you get this.”

  She hung up, tossed the phone into the cup holder mounted to the hump in the truck floor, and turned onto Main, which would take her to the highway and Bakersfield. Markham was on the opposite side, a good thirty-five or forty minutes’ drive away. Her blood was really humming now, her brain a whirl of confusion.

  Okay, so Bark just threw her for a loop. He helped her get away. Why the fuck had he done that? She’d always sensed he was different from the other Gypsys. Less of an asshole, first off. But he was different in some other way she couldn’t place. There was something not as badass as the rest of them, and not just because he gave her safe haven at night and kept her stoned when she needed it.

  Even compared to the Rebels he seemed … different. But she had no idea what it was that set him apart. More like his brooding nature and attitude were all an act and he didn’t actually believe half of what was coming out of his mouth.

  She didn’t have time to think about that. She was out; she was free of Hazeldale town limits within five minutes and speeding her way home. For an insane moment she worried about getting pulled over, then a giggle bubbled up her throat, catching her unaware and she covered her mouth.

  She was still crying because her eyes were watering, but laughing at the same time. She was losing it. Freaking out. She had to keep it together enough not to crash the truck. But being worried about the police pulling her over was so fucking funny she couldn’t stop.

  Just keep it on the road, she told herself, wiping her eyes and breathing deep. Get to Trinny, keep it together.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  “We can’t just tell a cartel no when they demand a meeting,” Jayce was pointing out, and a fury of raised voices filled the board room.

  Buck’s head was pounding without the noise and arguing. Jayce was partly correct, but mostly Buck had to disagree. They didn’t want ties to a Mexican cartel. But this didn’t feel like a business conversation, possibly starting up a mutually beneficial relationship.

  It felt like a trap.

  Buck was mostly hoping Tank would convince Jayce that this was a shit idea, because his own head was fogged and his stomach was churning over concern for Gertie. His girl, in the hands of those assholes. The proof was there; the longer they left her to them the more damaged she’d be from the torture.

  It was a damn good thing they took his SAA patch. His concentration was fucked up. He couldn’t think straight from the sick feeling in his gut.

  “At least give me this,” Tank finally roared over the din in the room, hand out to get Jayce’s attention because the Prez had glazed over when the uproar started. “We head out towards them, then call them not far from the spot and ask that they come to us so we’re not walking into an ambush. All these guys want to go home tonight, man. At least give us that. And we roll out wel
l ahead of time. Surprise them if possible.”

  Buck’s eyes went from the VP to Jayce, knowing there was wisdom and self-preservation in the idea. Ideally Tank and Jayce wouldn’t both go to something that was obviously going to be dangerous. But Jayce was angry – furious, really – and he wouldn’t be left behind. It was alarming to Buck that his Prez, who had been quick to condemn Gertie and banish her for all time was just as angry about her mistreatment as Buck was.

  Buck had been angry she’d kept something from him – keeping anything from him would have pissed him off. This was almost unforgivable.

  Almost.

  He certainly wouldn’t have wished this harm on her.

  “They want to meet in an hour and a half, about forty minutes from here,” Tank continued. “We go now, see what we see when they’re caught unaware, and we have a better chance of getting the fuck out of there if everything goes to shit. That’s the plan that gets my vote.” The big guy leaned back in his chair, jaw clenched, chewing the inside of his cheek and staring at the table top. Tank had spoken.

  “All in favor of Tank’s idea,” Jayce put it out there.

  Around the room chairs and leather groaned as arms were raised in unanimous agreement. Buck even remembered to put up his hand, but he was still fuming. Still pissed at Gertie and confused by how much he was also sick with worry for her. And homicidal with the need to throttle Thor with his bare hands.

  “All right,” Jayce murmured, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop. “We ride out right now then. Get your shit and mount up.” He pointed his intentions. “Mickey, Rusty. You’re staying back with the prospects.”

  “Why?” Mickey asked, frowning.

  “You got a wife,” Jayce reminded him.

  “Fuck you. So do you.”

  “Just stay here,” Jayce snapped, getting to his feet. “If shit gets bad we call home and send all the families to the clubhouse, and I need someone here to make them feel safe until we get back. All right?”