by Kim Jones
SAVING DALLAS
FOREVER
Kim Jones
Published by Kim Jones
This book is the final book in a three part series.
Other titles by Kim Jones:
SAVING DALLAS
SAVING DALLAS MAKING THE CUT
www.kimjonesbooks.com
www.facebook.com/kimjonesbooks
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Kim Jones
First ebook edition: March 2014
First print edition: March 2014
Editing provided by:
Mandy Smith
www.rawbooksonline.com
[email protected]
DEDICATION
Punkin, this one is for you.
SAVING DALLAS
FOREVER
PROLOGUE
DALLAS
PRESENT DAY
“Picture it, Sicily 1979, a beautiful young woman, trying to find her way in the world, meets an aspiring, handsome, business man for the first time.”
“You’re talking about you and dad?”
“No, I’m talking about Giorgio Armani. Your father was a schmuck.”
Despite the circumstances, I laughed as I listened to Sophia and Dorothy’s conversation from the T.V. sitcom, “Golden Girls”. Due to the blindfold I wore over my eyes, I couldn’t see them, but someone had been nice enough to leave the T.V. tuned to a decent show, and the volume loud enough for me to hear. I knew I was in a hotel somewhere in Atlanta, Georgia. I knew it was three men who had captured me, and I knew that at any minute now, my saving grace was going to burst through the door and rescue me. So far, I had not been harmed, other than my hair being pulled, and losing feeling in my arms and legs, due to the duct tape that bound them. Once again, I had been kidnapped and secured with thick tape that was sure to remove part of my skin when it was finally cut off. I mean, what the fuck was the deal with the duct tape? If this kidnapping shit was going to continue to happen in my life, then at least they could be professional about it, and use rope, zip ties, cables, or something other than damned duct tape. I was in a chair, between two full size beds, in a shitty room that could be rented by the hour. The sound of the door being opened had me smiling. He was here.
“What the fuck is so funny?” the voice asked. My smile disappeared, because it wasn’t the voice I’d been expecting. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you expecting LLC?” he asked, his voice laced with fake regret. I remained quiet and still, my mind racing as I prepared my next move, which wasn’t possible, because of the motherfucking shitty ass duct tape. “I don’t know what is so fucking special about you. I mean, a million bucks to take you out seems a little extreme. But, I guess if that’s what the buyer wants, then that’s what he will get. Since I have you here, all to myself, I’m going to have a little fun with you.” Don’t panic. Don’t panic. I kept my mind in a trance, thankful for the yoga classes I had been attending. Well, there wasn’t a whole lot of yoga, but laughter was therapeutic too, and there had definitely been a lot of that. I focused my mind, letting the happy memories of the past few weeks block out the rise of the terror growing within me. His footsteps moved closer, and I could feel his hot breath on my face. “Oh, what fun we are going to have.” I tried to tune him out. I tried to focus on the sound of the door opening. I took Sophia from the “Golden Girls” advice and tried to picture the moment, the look of shock on the face I had yet to see, the sudden intake of breath, as he realized his life was about to end, and the gunshots that would ring out to announce his death. I tried, and I failed miserably. He moved from in front of me, heading off in the direction of what I knew was the bathroom, giving me time to breathe a little more easily, regain control of my mind, and gather my thoughts.“Dallas, have you ever heard of waterboarding?” my deranged captor called from the bathroom.
“Like behind a boat?” I asked, incredulously. What the hell was he getting at? I guess he wanted to pull a Charlie and take me to Mexico to live out the rest of my days with him. Not gonna happen, shithead. I felt his presence again, and held my breath when he leaned over me. The blindfold was removed, and as my eyes adjusted to the lighting in the room, I saw that the man was wearing a ski mask. Well, shit. I really needed to see his face. He was of a large build, but that’s all I could tell. He wore a long-sleeved black t-shirt, black denim jeans, black boots, and black gloves. This man could be anybody. He walked to the door, opening it, and telling whoever was on the other side to put their masks on. Two men entered, one tall and lanky, and the other shorter, with a stockier build. They were both dressed in identical black attire to the first man.
“No, Dallas. Waterboarding is not to be mistaken for wakeboarding. Waterboarding is a form of torture. A towel is placed over the face, covering all airways,” he said, walking back to the bathroom, as the two men flanked me. “Then, water is poured over the breathing passages, and it gives the captive the sensation of drowning.” My breath quickened, along with my heart, as he talked. He emerged from the bathroom with the room’s ice bucket, which I was sure was filled with water. He sat the bucket on the cheap dresser, and went back to the bathroom, returning with two more buckets.
“Please,” I begged, my voice shaky and unsteady. All thoughts of staying calm vanished from my mind. I feared death by drowning more than any other, and the mere thought of it had me breaking out in a sweat. I was beyond panicked, as I felt my feet leave the floor. The two men had my chair tilted back, so that my knees were in plain sight. I was so focused on the man with the bucket and towel that I had not noticed the other two had flanked me. The rush of blood to my head made me slightly dizzy as I struggled to try and free my hands. I attempted to move my legs, but they too were securely attached to the chair. Even my waist had been restrained, leaving me with no room to move. “Please. Please, don’t do this. I haven’t done anything wrong. Just leave me alone,” I said, panting, desperately trying to persuade him to stop. He stood beside me, bringing his face close to mine.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.” The scent of his breath was minty and cool. This didn’t seem right. Even though I had not seen his face, his voice was friendly. He had not done anything to severely harm me, and I figured he had some sort of conscience. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who could torture a human being, yet here I sat, immobilized, and at his mercy.
“I’ll pay you more than what you were offered. I’ll pay you ten times more,” I said, my brain keeping up with my hurriedly spoken words, as I thought how this offer could also buy me a little more time.
“Unlike you, I don’t have a price on my life. If I take money from you and let you go, then I will die.” He started to move, and I stopped him with another rush of words.
“You can still kill me. Just not this way. I’ll pay you the money and then you can do what you like with me. Just not like this. Please,” I begged, fighting hard to prevent my eyes from turning to the door in the hope that it would open. Where the fuck was he? The man surprised me by laughing.
“Oh, Dallas. This won’t kill you. It will just make you wish you were dead. You’d better take a deep breath.” He placed the towel over my face, as I screamed and tried to kick, thrashing my head from side to side. It was no use. Somehow, the towel was being held securely over my face. I was gasping for air, struggling fiercely against the restraints. My hands had gone numb, and the pain in my wrist was no longer important, as the fight to survive kicked in. I tried to scream. I had to convince him to stop, but there was no time. My efforts to plead and beg for mercy went unhe
ard, as my head was held in position. I managed to gulp in a breath of air before I was blasted with cold water, which seeped through the towel, and into my nose and mouth. I tried to tell my brain to hold my breath, but as soon as the air left my lungs, I unconsciously sucked in more. I felt the burn as the water hit my lungs, scorching them like fire. I fought hard to free my body from the restraints, but my vigorous attempts had no effect. I was no match for the three men in the room. I tried to cough, but the constant flow of water, and the towel pressed tightly to my face, only allowed the liquid to sink further into my lungs. I felt my eyes bulging from their sockets, and the piercing pain in my chest was so intense that I wished that death would take me instantly. My neck felt strained, as I struggled to move my head to no avail. I was going to die. My heart beat so hard in my chest that I could hear the heavy, thumping rhythm in my ears. My tongue lashed out of my mouth, trying to stop the water that flowed freely, but it was met with the towel that was stretched tautly over my face. Just as the welcome darkness started to close in, I was pushed upright, and the towel was removed, prompting me to see stars, as I vomited profusely down the front of my shirt. I sucked in big gulps of air, each breath burning more than the last, as my teary eyes blinked furiously to regain focus. Each breath I managed to pull into my greedy, burning lungs was forced back out of my body in a stream of watery vomit that I couldn’t control. When my stomach was empty of the water I had swallowed, I sat gagging and dry heaving, frantically fighting to will my body under control. After what seemed like an eternity, my vision refocused slightly, and I found myself alone as I sat heaving air into my burning lungs, shaking with the pain in my chest at each breath I took. I was going to live. I wasn’t sure how much longer I had, but at this point, I was glad for just another minute. As I sat covered in my own vomit, trembling from the bitter cold water, I closed my eyes, and allowed my mind to drift to happier times. A time when I was with Luke and my family. I wanted to reflect on the past month of my life, and dwell in the peace I had once known. As the gun I wore hidden under my shirt pressed painfully into the small of my back, it encouraged me to think of what once was, and what could have been; not on a plan that had gone horribly wrong.
Chapter 1
Red
Six Months Earlier
“Will someone please hold the fucking ladder before I bust my ass?” I yelled to the room, flailing my arms around, and almost losing my balance.
“Damn, Red. When did you become such a bitch?” Big Al asked, smiling up at me from under his flat bibbed hat. I wanted to strangle him with the chain he wore around his neck, which featured the number 13 embossed in a diamond shape dangling from its center.
“They will be here any minute and I don’t want these cheap ass streamers I bought to be hanging uneven. Since you have been here, you have been on that damned phone the whole time. Couldn’t you take time out of your busy life to just hold the ladder while I adjust them? Please?” I added sweetly, giving him that smile I know he can’t say no to. Big Al and Mary had come from Lake Charles to be here with us to celebrate the arrival of the club, and mostly Dallas. Somehow, I had been in charge of the homecoming party, while Brooklyn sat at the table sipping Canadian Mist, informing me that she had had her time in, and it was time for some of us other bitches to step up and take over. She looked up from her whiskey on the rocks to find me staring at her, and pursed her dark red lips, blowing me a kiss from across the room. Bitch. Damn, I love that woman.
“You gonna stand there all day staring at Brooklyn, or hang the fucking streamers?” Big Al snapped me back to the present with his playful scolding, while shaking the ladder causing my arms to reach up and grasp the top of it. Asshole. Damn, I love that man.
“Babe, you want me to hold it?” I looked down to see Mary, standing four-foot nine at her tallest, and laughed. I would crush her if, for some reason, I lost my balance and fell. Mary was the ol’ lady that we all dreamed of becoming one day. When her man was ready to ride, she had everything packed and loaded an hour before they left. When they stopped to get gas, she immediately began wiping the bike down, cleaning it of any dust, while the rest of us scurried off to smoke cigarettes and gossip. Yep, Mary made us all look bad and here she was, ever the good ol’ lady, doing it again. Skank. Damn, I love that woman.
“I got it, babe, I’m enjoying the view.” I heard everyone laugh and turned to see that a crowd had gathered behind me.
“What?” I asked, looking into the faces of the ones I loved. The ones I would give my life for, yet at this moment, I wouldn’t think twice about taking any of theirs. It suddenly occurred to me what I must look like. My torso was leaning over the top of the ladder, with my ass stuck out in the air for all to see. Someone, my guess is Brooklyn, so conveniently placed the ladder a little too far out, so that I had to reach to hang the streamers that were looking better by the minute, if I said so myself. “Bunch of perverts,” I muttered, causing the room to erupt into laughter once again.
“Come on, Red. Do us a little dance. You know, for old time’s sake.” I shook my head in disgust, as I recognized Bryce’s voice behind me. The six-foot five Sergeant At Arms for the Devil’s Renegades, Lake Charles Chapter, was not someone to mess with, but at this point I thought I could take him.
“I am going to pretend I didn’t hear that, and y’all better be glad Regg ain’t here to hear it either,” I said in a chastising tone, but just the mention of Regg’s name had me realizing how much I missed him. If anyone was glad all this shit was over, it was me. I needed Regg home where he belonged. I was pretty needy.
“We’re just teasing, babe.” Big Al attempted to soothe me in his strong Louisiana accent, as he gave the ladder a little shake, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had done this in the hope of seeing a little jiggle from my ass. I looked down at him, and saw him smiling up at me once more, and I knew his statement was sincere. No one in the room would ever use my past against me, unless it was in the form of a joke. Bastards. Damn, how I loved them all.
My head shot up at the sound of pipes in the distance, and the entire house erupted into frenzy. I clambered down from the ladder, which was swiftly pulled away from me, and pushed into a closet. I heard Maddie hollering from somewhere in the house that they were here, and watched as she appeared, her arms loaded down with Devil’s kids, and a camera dangling from her mouth. I scrambled to find a mirror to fix my hair, my heart beating excitedly as I started shouting orders at everyone, instructing them to hide. I caught a glimpse of all the women, as I ran through the living room and crouched down behind the couch, while the men stood around shaking their heads at them. I rushed into the bathroom to find it empty, and fluffed up my red hair, which cascaded halfway down my back. The orange top I was wearing was quite a sight, with a scoop neck line that barely grazed the tops of my breasts, and had long sleeves that were slit from the shoulder to the wrists, exposing my tanned skin. The bottom was tight and gathered at my waist, revealing the slightest hint of my stomach. My black skinny jeans sat low on my hips, and showed off my “Property of Regg” tattoo that graces my lower back; my 25th birthday present from him. My killer heels were open-toed, and laced up to my ankles, showing off my perfectly painted, neon-orange toes; another favorite of Regg’s.
“Red, come on!” Brooklyn yelled from the kitchen. The bikes were close now, the pipes rumbling loudly as I danced in place for a moment at the thought of seeing my man. I ran from the bathroom to find the house dark, and nearly broke my neck stepping on someone.
“Fuck, Red!” Maddie snapped, as my stiletto collided with her toe.
“Dammit,” I heard Mary mutter, as I slapped her in the head, feeling my way around the room.
“Sorry,” I said through my laughter. I found a spot next to Logan and hunkered down, listening as the sound of cheerful voices got closer and closer to the door. They were home. My family was home and no matter what happened in the future, nothing could take the happiness out of this moment.
Dallas
On the ride home, I had never felt freer in my life, yet I wore a leather vest covered in orange patches that read “PROPERTY OF DEVIL’S RENEGADES PRESIDENT LLC” that let everyone know that free was something I was not. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, pushing all thoughts of the previous forty-eight hours of my life out of my mind, as we rode home at a leisurely pace of ninety miles per hour. I had to be the luckiest woman in the world. I had found the man of my dreams, a blood sister, a beautiful blue-eyed nephew, and a host of brothers and sisters that I never knew existed. If my life was taken from me tomorrow, I could say that I had lived the dream. Nothing could take this happiness from me.
By the time we arrived at Luke’s, the sky was dark and the cool October air had turned frigid with the sun’s descent. No one seemed to notice the cold, as we pulled up and dismounted from the bikes. Every face was plastered with a smile as cigarettes were lit, and talk of the ride began in earnest. I learned that every stop we had made between Lake Charles and Hattiesburg served as a memory, permanently imprinted on each of our minds. At a gas station in Hammond, Louisiana, I learned that Ronnie, the president of the Devil’s Renegades, Lake Charles Chapter, loved beer infused with tomato juice. He loved it so much that he downed three sixteen-ounce cans, then led us into oncoming traffic. I should have been mortified, but I could only laugh as each bike made a U-turn in the middle of the highway, each full-face helmet shaking visibly with laughter once we made it safely to the median. In Kentwood, Mississippi, we spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how Regg was going to strap a four-foot, stuffed red rose to his bike. He said Red would kill him if he came back with nothing to give her. He managed to bend it enough to sit on his back seat, and secured it with a bungee cord; cursing himself the entire time for not bringing along a PROSPECT, someone who dedicated a minimum of one year to the club in hopes of one day becoming a member. These were just a couple of the memories that were created on our short 5-hour journey back to the new life that awaited me. I removed my gloves, and flexed my fingers, which were now numb from squeezing Luke’s leather cut so tight, not in fear of falling off the bike, but in fear of not being able to hold onto him. I turned to him, as he graced me with a beaming smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
