Talking cruel about my mother, that’s a punch to the gut that I feel deep. She wasn’t dumb—she was addicted and now she’s gone and it’s his fault. Tears begin to flood my eyes. “R-Raif said we were going to St. Louis.”
“No, we”—he gestures between himself and Raif—“are goin’ to St. Louis. You’re stayin’ here with Misti.”
“No,” I say before I think. “Misti hates me.” And she does. She absolutely hates me because I’m a constant reminder of her husband’s cheating ways.
“You think we want a fucking bitch hangin’ around? Hard to get pussy that way, eh, boy?” He looks to my brother, like they’re having some kind of bonding moment. They probably are. Raif has been spending more time with our father and the club than me lately. My brother laughs, but from the look on his face, it’s because he doesn’t want to piss off Dad, not at my expense, at least. “Get your bag,” our dad orders. “We gotta roll.”
A few moments later Raif walks back into the front room carrying a small duffle over his shoulder. The front door pops open and Gage sticks his head inside. “Knock, knock,” he says.
“Hey, man,” my brother greets his lifelong best friend.
Cue the asshole, my father walks back into the room with his duffle. “Hey, boy.” He greets Gage with a chin lift. “Goin’ to St. Louis this weekend. Welcome to come. Lots of easy pussy to wet your dick.”
I flinch. The thought of Gage and easy pussy turns my stomach. “Nah, no thanks, Ripper. I got something I need to see to. Maybe next time.”
Raif and the old man offer back pats for Gage as they leave, a glance for me from my brother only. Nothing from my father. I don’t exist for him unless he’s cutting me down. Once we hear the rumble of Harleys out front, Gage walks the two steps over to me and takes my hand in his, pulling me toward the front door.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Seeing to what I need to see to.” His smile is glorious and only for me.
I pull the front door shut as he pulls me through it over to his bike and helps me mount. Then he slides on in front of me and twists to put his helmet on my head.
“Where are we going?” I ask, giddily squirming on the seat.
“I bought a boat. We’re goin’ out on the lake.”
My thoughts are ripped from that perfect memory when the sliding door creaks, then groans and slides open. I still. Oh, god.
Houdini.
No. It can’t be. It can’t. It can’t. It can’t. But apparently, it can.
“Miss me?” he asks. Bile rises from my stomach to burn the back of my throat. My eyes water partly from the bile, but partly because I know I’m not getting out alive this time.
“No,” I whisper. Not to his question, but to his mere presence. Though he mistakes my response and snickers. I feel woozy and my heart begins to beat like a racehorse running the Preakness in my chest.
“Well, I missed you.” There’s an evil, mad glint in the stare he aims at me, his face marred by angry, red welts where the wasps had stung him. It’s a small consolation considering that more than knowing I’m not getting out alive, I know whatever comes next is going to hurt. “Now, sit tight. I’ll deal with you in a second.”
He takes to meticulously setting up a tripod made for a smartphone already connected to the tripod base and aimed in my direction, and taps an app to bring up the phone’s video. Attention back on me, he bends forward to grab my arm tight enough to leave a bruise and hauls me over to the horseshoe welded to the floor. At the sight of the shackles he pulls from the bag by his feet to clip my wrists, I gasp and begin the pointless struggle to get away.
A cuff to my right cheek shuts me down. He pulls a second pair of shackles for my ankles and then a thick leather collar, which he fastens around my neck. A thicker chain attached one end to the collar, he secures the second end to the horseshoe.
Then he bends down to pull something else from the bag. My body begins to shake uncontrollably because in his hand he holds a long rod with a thick, heavy, plastic handle and a head with two brass contact prongs. That’s no Taser. I’d seen pictures of that thing online before. A cattle prod. He flicks the switch on… to a cattle prod. I hear the electricity coursing through it in the small room. Smell it.
His eyes gleam, alighted by some psychopathic joy. His smile looks manic.
“Please, no,” I beg him meekly.
“Yes,” he says to me as he leans forward to press record on the phone. Then he faces the camera. “You brought this on yourselves.” He touches the prong end of the prod to my thigh. Unimaginable pain shoots throughout my entire body, my muscles constrict, shrinking me into a ball. There’s a heart-wrenching scream filling the room and I realize it comes from me, though I feel disconnected from the noise.
When he pulls the prongs away, he looks back at the camera. “Even trade. A whore for a whore.” Before I can recover, he touches the prongs to my thigh again. This time, I vomit all over myself and the floor. As he pulls the prod away again, he tells the camera, “I want the Hollister whore and her bastard.”
He hits the button to end the recording. “Now, wasn’t that fun?”
I don’t respond because I can’t respond. The tears continue to leak from the corners of my eyes while low, keening whimpers leak from the corners of my mouth.
“I figured you’d puke,” he says, tossing a clean T-shirt over to me before he unbuckles the collar and uses a key to unshackle my wrists and ankles. He knows I won’t try to fight back. I still can’t move my muscles. They twitch in little spasms from the shock. “They always puke,” he finishes.
He disconnects his phone from the tripod and shoves it in the pocket of the black hoodie he’s wearing, then folds down the legs of the tripod to stuff it back inside the bag he’d brought. “Use the water from the bucket to clean yourself up. Careful, that’s your drinkin’ water too.” He winks at me, then. Bastard.
At last he throws a wrapped granola bar at me. It hits my head. I can’t even flinch. He laughs, but thankfully, he leaves.
There’s no way for me to know how long I stay lying in my own vomit. Not that it matters in the scheme of my life or where it’s descended. When finally the spasms ease and my muscles get their strength back, weak, but enough to hold me, I push up from the floor to peel the nasty shirt off. The puke stench fills the car. Whether I clean it off me or not, escaping the smell is impossible.
Careful not to get the vomit in the clean water bucket, I clean myself and dress, if you can call it dressing, in the tee he’d left. Michael hadn’t given me a bra or panties after the bath. As if a pair of panties could perform magic to keep a psycho from having his way with me if the urge arises.
Eventually, the hunger gets to me, my stomach nervous but not roiling. I tear open the wrapper on the granola bar, making sure to keep the bites small in case my wayward stomach decides to revolt.
The thought of Gage out there worried for me, it hurts my heart. The thought that he wants Elise and Gun absolutely terrifies me. Elise, my sister from another mister. Why can’t he just leave us alone?
God, what had I been thinking leaving the compound? I’d been safe there, safe with Gage. You don’t go off alone; I’ll keep you safe, he’d said to me. And what do I do at every turn? Go off alone. I left him and the compound, and then I just had to go back to work. The whole reason I’m in this mess is because I wouldn’t listen to the one man I should have been listening to this whole time.
If I’m honest, the whole reason I’d gotten on Houdini’s radar in the first place, the whole reason I’d lost my virginity to a man I didn’t love, was my fault. All my fault.
“I’m not going to wait forever,” I say, folding my arms in a ‘getting ready to argue’ stance. He tucks the tips of his fingers in each pocket, his thumbs resting against his hips, tipping his head to look at the ceiling of his bedroom as if asking the lord for patience. His mom is at work, where she always is now that his father is across the country in Seattle. They’re trying
to save up enough money for Mrs. St. James to join her husband, but moving costs money. They want Gage to come too, but he’d never leave Raif… or me. At least I used to think me.
“We’re not waiting forever, Liv. I plan to talk to him; we just have to go in easy. Raif’s my best friend and Ripper, you’re his daughter. It’s a respect thing with the club; I got to get his permission. And they prefer you not have entanglements when—”
“When what? It sounds like he’s grooming you to—you aren’t planning to prospect?” Utter shock, sadness and anger all hit me at once. Betrayal. He knows, knows I don’t want this life. I won’t be Misti or worse, my mother.
The guilty look marring his beautiful face says everything.
“You promised me, Gage, you promised you’d take me away from this life. I’d never have to worry about jackhole men trying to hurt me. I’d never be just the daughter of a club whore ever again.”
“Baby, you won’t be. If you’re my old lady, the brothers won’t touch you. Their kids won’t touch you. It’s a measure of safety. Raif and I’ll look after you, you’ll see.”
“No. We won’t.”
“Don’t say that,” he implores, using his big, blue puppy dog eyes in a way that would normally work for him. Not today.
“We’re done. I’m done. I refuse to be Misti and wonder every time you head off to St. Louis if it’s for easy pussy, or god forbid, my mother. My poor, desperate mother, who hung on, hoping for a life, for a love that my piece of shit father never planned to give her.”
“Stop, Liv. Don’t talk about Ripper.”
“I will, Gage. He’s a piece of shit and if you throw your lot with him, then you’re a piece of shit, too.”
“It won’t be like that for us, baby. I promise you. I promise. Just because he cheats doesn’t mean I will. I could never hurt you.”
“You just did.”
I had planned on giving myself to him that night. After the breakup, god, I’d been distraught and went to one of the few places that brought me solace. Wrigley Field. Straight into the arms of a lunatic. Stupid, I’d been so stupid.
If I’d only listened to Gage then. He wouldn’t have hurt me. I know that now. If I’d just stayed the night with him, we’d have shared a wonderful memory and I’d never have had to run. Because Houdini would’ve met some other girl.
That’s selfish. I know it’s selfish.
Okay, that’s enough wallowing. Enough. Now is the time to make plans. How do I get out of here? How do we keep Elise and Gun safe? If she’s back in Kentucky on the compound, then she’s safe. Nothing to worry about.
No other plans, save escape, come to mind. I spend my time checking every inch of railroad car I can touch and scrutinize with my eyes those I can’t, looking for any hole or weak spot. Any place I could dig at.
Even flipping up the mattress, there’s nothing that I can find. Righting it, I flop down on the edge, knees to chin, and try to regroup. Please don’t let us end this way. Please, please, please let me see Gage again.
Stupid, so stupid. There’s noise outside the car, like someone walking around. And I guess, I don’t know. I’d just sent that prayer out into the universe to see Gage again and then right after hear someone outside. Serendipitous.
“Hello?” I call out. “Hello, is someone there? Please help me! I’ve been kidnapped!”
The click from the lock and the door rolls open. So, so stupid. Why would I ever think it would be my Gage?
“I know,” he says. “Since I’m the one who put you here.”
He throws the same black garbage bag from the first time he visited, not the stretchy kind but a cheap black garbage bag, down on the floor of the car before he hefts himself inside and slides the door shut.
“Go ahead and scream your head off, no one will hear. You think I’m stupid?”
“No, I think you’re certifiable,” comes out of my mouth before I can think better of it. He snickers as his bearded mouth tips up in the corner.
“Good, gonna make it fun this time.”
My eyes grow huge. His comment unnerves me. But if I could take him off guard, he hadn’t locked the rolling door… If I could get out, lock him in…
Not paying me a lick of attention, he bends down to riffle through the bag. I take the chance and tackle him with a head-butt to the gut. He falls on his ass. Tactical error—I should have used my shoulder, not my head. Despite the dizzying effect of the hit, I scramble into a run, just reaching the rolled door before he catches my foot, yanking it out from underneath me.
Even throwing my hands out to block the fall, my chin still clips the metal and splits open. Face wound and all, blood begins to seep down onto my shirt, blossoming out into a saturated stain by the collar.
“And so it begins,” he mutters, and then I feel the cold, metal shackle clamp around my ankle.
“No,” I whisper. Electricity hums through the air.
14.
Gage
God dammit, he’s dead. I’m going to kill him, watch the life fade from his eyes and laugh while it’s happening, for what he’s put Liv through. I will never forget the screech when that prod touched her leg. It’s fucking burned into my memory like a brand. A brand of hate that he fueled and will regret if I have any breath left in me.
Though now we have a whole set of different problems. We’d been on the trail of Michael. Now? Who the fuck knows? Where do we go from here? That’s the hundred-million dollar question.
Sneak walks in to Liv’s bedroom, where I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. I had to take a time out, collect myself before snapping someone’s head off out of frustration. Two days—it’s been two days since that video came to Boss’s phone. And we’re no closer to a rescue. Sneak stops in front of me, his hands to his hips and head hanging. Worry lines etch between his brow and around his eyes.
He looks like a man who has news he doesn’t want to share. “What?” I ask, trying to hold the bark back from my voice. “Just tell me.”
On a head nod, he does. “It’s not Liv,” he starts. Small fucking miracle. “I just got off the phone with Trish.”
Shit. Trish? She’s pregnant. Very pregnant. “Is she okay?”
A smile plays at the corners of his mouth now. “She’s in labor, brother. It’s early, but…”
“Go. Your wife needs you.”
“Timing sucks. I—” he starts to say something, but I cut him off.
“You’re gonna be a dad.”
“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m gonna be a dad.”
As selfish as it makes me, I can’t help but wonder if Liv and I will ever get to have that. A family of our own, part her, part me. I should be happy for him, am happy for him. “Give Trish my love. Now go. Take care of your family.”
A second nod of his head, he turns to leave. “Send pics,” I call out to his back.
“Let’s hope she looks like her mom. I’m not so photogenic. Lord knows what that woman ever saw in me.”
Being the old lady of a Lord isn’t the easiest life and isn’t for everyone, but I have no doubts about what the woman saw in him. Sneak’s a good man, a good brother and he knows his wife walks on water.
Now we’re one brother down and starting from scratch with finding Liv. My elbows to knees, I drop my face into my hands, holding on to the back of my head with my fingers digging into my scalp. The pressure and twinge of pain acts as a reminder that my woman has suffered so much worse and I can’t fall into a pity party just yet.
Think, St. James. Think.
Blood stands in the door and clears his throat to get my attention. I recognize his boots. Even if I don’t look up, he’s only got to talk. “I know we’ve had a setback, but Chaos, I got a lock on Michael.”
My head snaps up. He has my full attention now.
“Did a trace on the SUV plates. It don’t belong to the truck, stolen. Registered to an Alma Sayer. Checked her out, deceased I think.” He pauses and shifts to lean a shoulder against the door jamb
. “But I didn’t want to let any possible lead go, so I looked into her. Alma Sayer moved here ten years ago with her nephew, Michael.”
“Fuck,” I grumble.
“Yeah, well, the records—bank, medical—abruptly stop for her a year ago. The property is still in her name.” Blood scrubs his hands down his face, sighing. “I know it might not bring us any closer, but I think we need to check out her place. It might bring us some clues. I fucking hate my lack of contacts in this area.”
Checking out Alma Sayer’s place will be a fuck-ton better than sitting here with my thumb up my ass waiting. I hate waiting. I hate feeling useless. “Let’s go.”
Entering the living room from the hallway, my brothers all stand, ready to move out. Including a new face, Blue. He became a brother the same time as Hero and Blaze. All three men showed their loyalty to the club by helping rescue Elise and Liv, the first time, from that fuckwad, Houdini.
As if reading my confusion, he shoots me a somber chin lift. “Been at the clubhouse with Trish. So goddamn miserable, I knew it wouldn’t be long before she called Sneak back home. My sister’s got four kids, seen the signs a time or two. Hopped in the van, thought we might need it.” He shrugs. “Now I’m here.” Then he turns to walk out the front door, the rest of the brothers filing out behind him.
The decades-old white van we keep stored at the compound rests next to my truck. She might be ancient, van-wise, but she runs and she runs quiet. Perfect for recon jobs. Thank you, Blue. I walk over to the front passenger seat and climb in while Duke takes the driver’s seat. The rest of the brothers climb inside the back.
Duke clips his phone to the dashboard, the GPS app pulled up and ready to go. The roads we take become smaller and longer, winding through the mountains. Trees branches and thick brush envelop the daylight to the point we can hardly see the sun. This bastard lives deep in country. Deep. Winding. Unusual for a man who shows in town wearing slick business suits.
Finally, after several hours of driving, we turn down a dirt drive even easier to miss than Liv’s drive. A dirt drive gouged out and up the side of a mountain leading to a flat plateau. There’s a clearing with a well-maintained gingerbread cabin situated in the middle. Michael’s black SUV sits parked out front. The whole area turned flat. An abundance of dense forest surrounds the entire lot. We park back from the clearing, still covered by trees, and empty out from the vehicle silently to not give any advance warning if someone happens to be inside.
Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (Brimstone Lords MC 3) Page 12
