I have no idea why Oz’s solution was to bring me back home, rather than just letting me stay at college. But trying to get information out of him is like squeezing blood from a stone. The men of the club don’t tell the women what’s going on. Not even old ladies or daughters. They say it’s for our own protection. But it’s maddening as hell.
So, for the past month, Oz has basically had me under house arrest, and I don’t even know why. Every time I’ve pressed him on it, he just waves me away and says, “Not your place to know. Your place is to obey.”
Have I mentioned my dad is a bit of a neanderthal?
At first, I tried my best to be a good, obedient little girl — even though I’m twenty-one freaking years old. I’ve stayed at home, done my schoolwork, and waited as patiently as I could for the all-clear from Oz that life could go back to normal again. But instead, he’s just gotten more paranoid as time passes. And angrier whenever I try to find out what’s going on, or when I’ll be allowed to resume a normal life again.
I admit that I’ve been going a little stir-crazy.
So when Deb proposed going out for a few hours tonight, I figured it would be a harmless way to let off some steam. I knew Oz would be at the clubhouse dealing with some business, and estimated I had at least until midnight before there was any chance he’d be home. So, like a thirteen year-old stealing out into the night through her bedroom window, I took a chance and ignored Dad’s strict orders to stay home with the doors locked.
It never occurred to me that Oz might have me followed. And I sure as hell didn’t bank on being kidnapped by my own father.
And now I’m about to pay for disobeying him. Just like anyone in Dad’s world pays for anything other than total obedience. But unlike the Death Devils and their strict code of club justice, I have no idea what the price is that I’ll have to pay.
4
Thorn
I don’t know what I was expecting when the Devils brought Isabel to the meet-up.
But nothing could have prepared me for the angry spitfire struggling to free herself from the men who pulled her from the van.
“What the fuck is this, a hostage situation?” I snarl in disbelief.
“Oz told us she wouldn’t come willingly,” one of the men mutters, tightening his grip on her bicep as she tries to writhe away from him. “We decided it was better not to give her the choice.”
“By fucking kidnapping her?” I retort.
The girl is clearly here against her will. And from the looks of it, she wasn’t taken from her home. Aside from the hood that’s covering her head, she’s got on clubbing clothes. She’s wearing a little black dress that looks practically painted onto what is objectively a fucking perfect body. She’s got on high sandals, but the heel on one of them is broken, causing her to stand at a fucked-up angle when she’s not trying to land a kick to one of the Devils’ legs.
“Why the fuck is she dressed like that?” I demand.
The larger man speaks up. “We nabbed her at Buzzy’s Roadhouse.”
Nabbed is right, it seems. And not without a struggle. One of her knees is swollen and purpling. In spite of myself, anger flares deep in my belly. There’s no cause for this treatment, for fuck’s sake. Even the smallest of the men is almost twice her size. I can’t imagine Oz would have wanted them to handle her like this.
Next to me, Beast and Gunner are scowling at the situation unfolding in front of us. They don’t look any more impressed than I do. I shoot Beast a look, and he shakes his head in disgust.
Isabel’s chest is heaving with exertion, rising and falling rapidly as she continues to struggle against the man holding her arm. It’s hard not to stare at her tits, cupped as they are by the tight fabric of her dress. Though I try to keep my focus on the job at hand, I can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like in my hands. My cock hardens at the thought.
Down, junior. We have work to do.
“I’m going to make a phone call to Oz,” I growl at the men holding Isabel. Nodding to Gunner, I murmur, “Don’t let them do anything fucked up. And don’t let them leave.”
“Got you,” he mutters back.
I step away, out of the pool of light created by the street lamp we’re standing under. We’re in Death Devils territory, in a part of town that no one comes to for any good reason. Even the cops tend to stay away from here. Especially at three in the morning at the deserted end of a dead-end street, with nothing but abandoned warehouses as far as one can see. Tossing back one last scowl of disapproval, I dial the number Rock gave me for Oz’s phone. It’s late, but too fucking bad. I need some answers before I go any further with this.
If I thought Oz might be asleep at this hour, I was wrong. He answers at the end of the first ring. “Yes.”
“It’s Thorn.”
“You at the pickup?”
“Yes I fucking am! What in the hell is going on, Oz?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says mildly.
“Your girl here has been brought to me tied up, with a feckin’ hood over her head.”
If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let on. “And?”
“I thought I was to be protecting her, Oz. Not kidnapping her, for Christ’s sake.”
“My daughter doesn’t always act in ways that are in her best interests.” I hear him pull in a sharp drag from a cigarette, then blow it out. “She was told not to leave the house. She disobeyed me.”
“Oz, in our last conversation, all you told me was that you had a credible threat to your girl’s safety.” I hear my tone harden. “I could use a little more info here. Especially now that I know I’m to be holding her against her will.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line for a second. I hear him take another drag of his smoke.
“I have many enemies, Thorn,” he finally says. “Perhaps no more than any other MC president, but certainly no less.”
“Go on.”
“One of my enemies is a man named Fowler. Let’s just say we had a business deal together that went bad. We disagree as to the reasons.” He hesitates. “Fowler is a man who enjoys torture. Not only the physical aspects, but the psychological. And, it seems, this extends to his sexual proclivities. He has been known to abduct the spouses and daughters of his enemies. Use them.” Oz’s voice turns quiet. Deadly. “Take photographic evidence of the process, and send the mementos to them, before killing the women and returning their mutilated bodies.”
“Jaysus,” I hiss, running a hand through my hair.
“Yes.” Oz lets out a deep breath. “So you see, I need Isabel protected and in a safe space until my club can neutralize Fowler and his men.”
“Take him out,” I specify.
“Correct.”
“Does Isabel know this?”
“She knows only that I believe she’s in danger,” Oz replies. “She was reluctant but obedient at first to stay at home and out of sight. But it’s been over a month now, and she’s gotten… restless. Defiant.” Puff. “Hence, the little stunt she pulled tonight, going out with her friend.”
I frown. “Why haven’t you told her? Wouldn’t she be more willing to stay put if she knew the severity of the threat?”
I can hear the chill in Oz’s voice through the phone. “That I told her to do it should be enough.”
A-ha. Oz is used to being obeyed. By everyone, it would seem.
“Isabel is my only daughter, Thorn. My only living relative. I cannot protect her and look for this man at the same time. I need to know she is safe. You, my friend, will keep her safe. Your club will keep her safe.”
There’s an implied or else at the end of Oz’s sentence. I know my club’s relationship with the Death Devils will live or die on what happens here. On whether I keep Isabel alive and out of harm’s way.
“Understood,” I answer, because I have no choice.
The phone clicks. Oz is gone.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, shoving it into my jeans. This job, which I never want
ed to begin with, just got worse. Not only am I forced to spend the foreseeable future sitting around at Connegut with my thumb up my arse, the girl I’m guarding doesn’t even know enough to be grateful for it. And now, the added problem that she does not want to be protected. Which means I have to keep her from escaping to boot.
Not to mention the fact that she’s both older and hotter than I expected. Even without seeing her face.
What a load of fucking bollocks this is turning out to be.
I run through every curse word I can think of on the way back to Beast and Gunner and the Devils. “Well,” I sneer. “It appears we’re all sorted. You numb nuts think to bring the girl a change of clothes, at least?”
The one looks at the other, who shakes his head and has the decency to look at least a little abashed.
“Good Christ.” I spit on the ground in disgust. “Gunner, will you get Alix to pack a bag for the girl when you get back to Tanner Springs? Bring it to the safe house your next trip up.”
Gunner gives me a brief nod at the mention of his old lady. “Will do.”
“All right,” I say tiredly. “Go on then, your work is done, you fuckin’ robots,” I snap at Oz’s men. “Give her here. Tell your prez to ring me for an update tomorrow.”
The smaller of the two men lets go of Isabel’s arm, and the larger one thrusts her toward us, looking obviously glad to be rid of his charge. She stumbles a little but rights herself. I take hold of her arm to guide her the last couple of steps. When she’s standing in front of me, I reach down and lift her small purse up and over her body, taking it from her. I look inside briefly. Lipstick. Keys with a small canister of pepper spray. Billfold. Nothing surprising.
“Oh. Here.” The larger one reaches into his pocket and hands me a mobile phone. “Hers,” he says, nodding toward Isabel. I take it, check to make sure it’s off, and slip it into her bag.
The Devils climb back into their van. The engine starts, and I barely bother to watch as they drive away. “All right, brothers. Let’s get this over with.” I take Isabel by the arm again. “I’m sorry, darlin’, but you’ll have to keep the hood on for the time being. Can’t have you seein’ where we’re going, now can we?”
At first, the girl pulls away from me. “You plannin’ on feelin’ your way there with your toes?” I ask, amused. I try again, and this time she grudgingly lets me do it. I take a couple of steps, but forget that she’s got a broken heel to one of her shoes. She stumbles again, and I pull her up by the biceps. The weight of her pulls at the zip ties that bind her wrists. The girl gives a muffled cry of pain. I look down and see that the ties have cut into her flesh, breaking the skin.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath. I give her time to get her legs back under her, and once she’s righted herself I pull out a knife from my back pocket. I slip it quickly under the tie, severing it. “I’ve let you loose for now, but don’t make me tie you back up again, you understand?”
Her only response is a muffled grunt. For a second, I don’t register why, and then it dawns on me.
“Jaysus, you can’t be serious?” I shake my head in disbelief as I reach under the hood and pull the rag from her mouth. Just as soon as I’ve done it, the girl lunges and tries to kick me, aiming wildly with the foot that has the shoe with the broken heel.
“Now then, is that any way to say thank you?” I ask in a hurt tone.
“Fuck you,” she hisses.
“That’s better,” I chuckle.
We continue toward our own van, which is parked a few steps away, the doors open. I help the girl inside, then wait until she slides as far away from me as she can, into the opposite corner. Beast climbs in and takes the seat ahead of her, sprawling out so he’s sitting sideways. I get in beside the girl and slam the door. Gunner gets into the driver’s seat.
“You thirsty?” I ask her, aware the rag in her mouth might have parched her.
The girl freezes for a moment. Then the hood gives a quick nod.
“Gun. Toss me that water bottle, will you?” I call. He does as I ask. I unscrew the lid. The girl is rubbing at her wrists, and I reach over and grab one of her hands. She startles at the contact for a second. Then, feeling the bottle on her skin, she wraps her fingers around it. Sliding the neck under the hood, she tips her head back and takes a long gulp, then another. Within seconds, the bottle is drained.
I can’t help but watch the smooth, creamy skin of her neck as her throat works. The gentle rise of her breasts catch my attention again. I’m not often this close to girls I’m not planning to fuck or currently in the process of fucking. Jaysus, this girl’s body is ripe for the taking. I’m just starting to realize how hard having her in the same room with me for days, if not weeks, is going to be.
Isabel finishes the water, and with a small sigh, she hands it back to me. “Thank you,” she whispers, so softly I almost don’t hear it.
“You’re welcome,” I say evenly, and suppress a smirk. “Hungry?”
The hood nods.
“Beast, grab the girl something she can eat with that hood on,” I say, nodding toward the large box of supplies just in front of him. He rummages around, and eventually produces an apple. I take it from him and catch hold of her hand again. It trembles a little, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Here. The best I can do for now.”
For the next few minutes, the only sounds are the van’s engine and the girl’s munching. When she’s finished, she holds the core quietly until I take it from her. She’s trying to get me to let my guard down with her. Docile as a lamb for now, it seems.
I don’t expect that’ll last.
5
Isabel
Somehow, I end up dozing off in the Devils’ van, despite the awkward position I’m in. I’m awakened by the sound of the car door sliding open. Someone cuts the tie binding my ankles. I’m unbuckled, and then pulled out of the seat and hoisted over someone’s shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes.
“We’re at the dropoff,” Lazarus grunts. He carries me a few feet, then dumps me unceremoniously on the ground. I stagger a bit, the foot with the broken heel slipping a little. He pulls me forward, and I fight him a little, but of course it’s useless. From listening to the sounds around me, I know there are at least three Devils here, counting whoever is driving the van. I can’t talk, or fight, and I can barely walk.
I’m stood up, Lazarus’ hand clenching my upper arm. I continue to struggle, just because I can, and almost manage to connect my foot with his ankle. He shakes me roughly enough to rattle my teeth, and I stop.
Footsteps approach in the gravel. More than one set.
“What the fuck is this, a hostage situation?” a male voice growls.
“Oz told us she wouldn’t come willingly,” Lazarus replies. “We decided it was better not to give her the choice.”
“By fucking kidnapping her?” the voice asks, sounding angry. Whoever it is has the hint of an accent — Irish, I think? Or Scottish? I’m not sure.
The men continue to argue back and forth. I’m taking it all in, trying to figure out who I’m being given to. My stomach is starting to churn with fright again, but I work to force the fear down.
“I’m going to make a phone call to Oz,” the accented voice snarls. I hear him step away from us. There’s no banter or conversation among the others as they wait. I strain to hear the conversation between the man and my father, but he’s too far away. All I can make out is the frustrated, clipped tone of his voice.
When the man comes back, I’m handed over to him by the Devils. I struggle again, but lose my balance and almost fall. The zip ties cut painfully into my wrists, and I cry out in spite of myself. When I’m standing upright again, the man swears under his breath. Then, suddenly, the zip tie is off.
“I’ve let you loose for now, but don’t make me tie you back up again, you understand?” he murmurs, his voice low and close to my ear. In spite of myself, I shiver a little.
I try to mouth a response
around the rag. For a second, he doesn’t say anything. When he does, his tone is tinged with disgust and disbelief. “Jaysus, you can’t be serious?”
Before I realize what’s happening, his hand is reaching under the hood, pulling the rag from my mouth. I take the first deep breath I’ve had in hours, and then realize my brief opening. Quickly calculating, I pull back with one foot and thrust forward, try to kick him hard in the shin. Unfortunately, I’m too wobbly and off-balance to connect.
Instead of being angry, though, he seems more amused. “Now then, is that any way to say thank you?” he teases me. This infuriates me.
“Fuck you,” I spit.
“That’s better.” The asshole actually laughs at me. I’m too pissed to respond.
A few minutes later, we’re in another vehicle, and I’m belted in securely, with the hood still over my head. I’m in completely uncharted territory. The only thing I know is that these men aren’t the Devils, and that Oz has given me to them. I’m so angry at him, at them, and particularly at the man with the accent that I want to scream, to lash out, to scratch and punch and maybe even kill. But I know I’m in too helpless a position to do much of anything right now. I sit and fume, planning ten different scenarios in my head, all of which involve inflicting great, lingering pain on every single one of these men, including my father.
About half an hour into the drive, I decide to test how much attention these men are paying to me. Slowly, as slowly as I can bear it, I start to inch the hand closest to the window up toward my neck.
THORN: Lords of Carnage MC Page 3
