LOST KING: THE KINGS OF RETRIBUTION MC

by Alvarez, Sandy

  "Yeah, Jake, I got you."

  Satisfied with my answer he steps out into the hallway where Bella is waiting. He mutters something to her, and she nods then walks off.

  "Bella will be back in a minute. Close your eyes and rest."

  Letting out a deep sigh, I squeeze my eyes shut and think to myself there is no way I can rest right now, but no sooner do those thoughts creep into my brain when a sudden wave of exhaustion takes over, and I fall asleep.

  I wake sometime later to the sound of clinking glass, and when I open my eyes, I see Bella setting down a tray of food on the table beside the bed.

  "Are you hungry?"

  "Not really, but I know I need to eat something," I say sitting up in the bed and leaning back against the headboard. "How long have I been out?"

  "About two hours. I came in earlier, but decided it was best to let you get some sleep."

  "Bella, you don't have to fuss over me. It's late. The kids—" I go to say when she stops me.

  "The kids are fine. They're with Alba, Grace, and Mila." Picking the tray up off the table, Bella brings it over and sets it on the bed in front of me. The delicious smell of chicken noodle soup causes my tummy to rumble. Knowing Bella, the soup is homemade. None of that can stuff for her. Plucking the roll off the plate, I tear a piece off and dip it into the soup, then pop it in my mouth. Thank God my stomach doesn't protest.

  "Soup was about the only thing I could keep down when I was pregnant with little Jake and feeling nauseous," she says softly.

  "It's perfect. Thank you, Bella," I choke out. "It's funny you know. Someone who was once the patient is taking care of the doctor," I observe.

  Bella places her hand on my arm, squeezing gently. "No, it's family taking care of family."

  A beat of silence later she adds, "you'll get through this Em. The club will find Quinn. The guys will stop at nothing to bring him home."

  "I keep thinking about what those men are doing to him. What he must be going through," I choke out. "They sent his cut, Bella."

  "What are you talking about, sent his cut?"

  "I followed the guys outside earlier. Someone delivered a package. Inside was Quinn's cut. It was covered in blood and piss."

  "Oh my God. I didn't know. Logan hasn't told me much of anything."

  "If those men can beat the hell out of a child without an ounce of remorse, then imagine what they are capable of doing to Quinn. Clearly, them sending his cut is a warning or message. What I want to know is what they want."

  "I don't have any of the answers, Em, but I have faith in the club, that they will take care of everything. Our job as their women is to keep it together, and stay strong."

  I finish the rest of my lunch in silence while mulling over Bella's words when the bedroom door opens and Grey stands there with a look of shock on his face. My stomach plummets with the thought of bad news.

  "Someone is here to see you," he says in a weird tone.

  Who in the hell would be here to see me? I wonder to myself. My silent question is answered when my brother brushes past Grey. "This place does wonders for my ego, Em. You know you've made it when badass bikers are in awe of you." The smartass says waltzing into my room wearing his signature ripped jeans, a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up putting his tattoos on display, and combat boots.

  "Oh my God, E! What the hell are you doing here?" I cry climbing out of bed and launching myself into his arms. As soon as I'm engulfed in my brother's embrace, I feel a small sense of peace wash over me. Everything you hear about twins is true, and Easton fills a void in me that nobody else can.

  "I called him," Bella confesses. "As soon as you arrived at the clubhouse, my gut told me you would need your brother, so I reached out to him."

  "Thank you, Bella," I croak.

  "You're welcome. I'm going to go and let you two catch up. If either of you needs anything, let me know."

  Once Bella leaves shutting the door behind her I murmur into my brother's chest. "I can't believe you're here. How?"

  "The band had a show in Albuquerque last night. My assistant gave me the message about an hour after the concert ended saying some chick named Bella needed to talk to me. When I called her back, she gave me the watered-down version of what was going on. So, an hour later I was on a plane to Polson."

  "What about your tour?" I protest.

  "We have a two-week break, but even if we didn't, I wouldn't give a shit. My sister comes before the band," he states with conviction. "I have to say, Em, you have some kick-ass friends. I'm kind of impressed that Bella chick was able to get my number."

  "They have their ways."

  "Come on, Em, the sun will be up in a couple of hours and you need some rest and Uncle East needs his beauty sleep," Easton says and I shake my head at the idiot. Ten minutes later I'm laying in bed next to my brother listening to him snore. Sleep escapes me the rest of the night but the uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring doesn't.

  Chapter Twenty

  Quinn

  The first snowfall has blanketed the ground outside making it the perfect backdrop as Emerson and I enjoy the warmth from the fireplace while snuggled on the oversized couch in the living room of our home.

  "I love you," Emerson's soft voice says while she runs her fingers through my hair.

  My hands rest over her growing belly. Dipping my head, I let the warmth of my breath play across her neck when I whisper in her ear, "I love you," then press my lips against her skin.

  "Did you feel that?" Emerson smiles and places her hand over mine.

  "She's active today," I wait for her to kick my hand again.

  Emerson giggles. "What makes you so sure our baby will be a girl?"

  I don't know any other way to explain it. I feel it—I feel her. "Intuition, Sunshine. I have no other explanations. It's just how it's supposed to be."

  Sitting forward, Emerson reaches for the fetal doppler sitting on the coffee table. "You want to hear the heartbeat?" she snuggles in between my legs and leans back against my chest. Lifting her shirt, Emerson exposes her round belly. Turning the doppler on she moves it around searching.

  Whoosh whoosh.

  My face lights ups. The rhythm of our baby's heart beating fills the room. I close my eyes and vividly picture her with blonde hair like me and her mother's captivating grey eyes. I place my hand over hers—over where our baby's heart beats.

  Without warning, I'm torn away from the blissful moment. With a fist full of my hair, my head is jerked back. My eyes immediately fly open to find Twiggy keeping me from moving, while his President lingers over me with a white five-gallon bucket then proceeds to dump a torrent of water over my face.

  I struggle for a breath of air only to be doused again. Four times—back to back water is poured over my mouth and nose before it stops.

  "Wake up," his laughter mixes with the sound of the high-pitch clunk of the bucket striking the floor.

  I cough from inhaling stagnant smelling water into my lungs. My eyes watering from the struggle to breathe seconds ago. Pulling in a deep breath, I fill my lungs with much needed oxygen. My scalp stings after the other prick releases his grip on my hair. Shaking my head, I compose myself and reclaim my bearings. Fuck. That will wake you up.

  I'm not sure how many hours I've been here now, but it has been long enough for the assholes to beat me, inject me with a drug, then wake me up and repeat the process several more times. If I took a guess, I'd say maybe a few days? The beatings have done a number on me. I can't breathe out the right side of my nose. That could be due to the fact I felt the bone crunch breaking the damn thing. The ringing in my ears is constant. Taking deep breaths hurts like a motherfucker. Cracked ribs are most likely the cause. I'm pretty sure the wound from where I was stabbed in my thigh with an ice pick is infected by the sensation of radiating heat and pain I feel. That is until the drugs kick in.

  I know the club is trying to find me, but let's be real, how in the fuck will they find my ass? I'm in an underg
round bunker somewhere in the mountains of Polson. It will be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Not that I don't have faith in them doing the best they can to find me. I'm realistic about the fact I may be here for a while before they have the good fortune to stumble upon the place. And knowing Reid, he'll use his technical skills to find a way to pinpoint my whereabouts. I hope.

  Scanning the room, I see Boulder and two of his ass kissers are the only men in this underground hotbox aside from myself. I watch as their President makes his way to a small table located near the other end of the bunker. Twisting on his heels, he heads back carrying a black duffle bag in his left hand. Hauling a chair across the floor, he stops. "Seems as if your brothers might need a little more motivation to realize I mean business," he drops the bag at my feet. Tilting forward he brings his face close to mine, his breath smellin' like he ate ass for breakfast. "Gives us more time to get to know one another a little better. Don't ya think?" he taunts.

  Doing my best, I lean back as far as I can and breath through my one good nostril to avoid the stench. "Jesus, your breath could gag a maggot. Never in my life have I smelt ass mouth that bad before."

  He sneers.

  Oh yeah. He's pissed.

  Reaching into his cut, he pulls out a cigar and actually bites the fuckin' end off. Who does that? This guy has watched way too many movies.

  "You're a funny guy aren't ya?" Striking the lighter he sets fire to the torn tip and takes a few tokes to get the tobacco leaves burnin'. "You like the movies, pretty boy?" he asks.

  His use of the word boy rubs me the wrong way. I can handle a lot of insults, but callin' me a boy—. "Boy?" I glare at him. "You're dealin' with a man, motherfucker," I spit in his face, which in return earns me a bitch slap across my cheek.

  "You'll be cryin' like one by the time I'm through with you." With the cigar dangling between his lips, he crosses his arms over his chest. "We're gonna film ourselves a little video," he puffs on his cheap smellin' cigar, then blows the thick smoke in my face. Twiggy sticks both hands into his front pockets and steps aside revealing a cell phone mounted on a tripod.

  He's been recording this whole time. Dammit.

  I can do this.

  Whatever he has planned for me today—I'll make it out on the other side. I tell myself a few times as I cut my eyes to the phone hoping the guys take notice.

  I try telling them with a look. Don't give in to these motherfuckers.

  He thumps the built up ashes from the end of his cigar, letting them fall to the floor, then studies the hot end for a moment. The chair he's sitting on creaks from his weight when he stands. Helpless, I keep my eyes trained on him while trying to watch out for the dickhead on the other side of me as he watches.

  Not gonna lie. It's pissing me off that the fucker is wearing a satisfied smirk knowing they got me by the balls.

  "Let's see if your brothers value your life more than their club or this town," he pauses and grabs me by my hair. Lurching my head to the side, he takes the hot end of the cigar and burns my neck with it. Instinctively I recoil from the pain. But even through the agony of the fire ripping through my neck, and the smell of my skin being singed, I refuse to show these assholes weakness.

  Releasing me, he picks the bag off the floor and pulls out a hammer. Twiggy slides the chair out of the way as his President stands in front of me with the hammer swinging at his side. I know the blow is comin'. Doesn't mean I'm prepared for it as he raises the hammer bringing it down across my left kneecap. Not as hard as I anticipated but hard enough.

  Clenching my teeth, I ride through the pain.

  The hammer switches hands, and while I'm still trying to ignore the pain from the first blow, he almost shatters my other knee with the second.

  I hold in my curses. Motherfuckers and a son of a bitch are on the tip of my tongue. It's not easy, but I won't give them the satisfaction.

  Dickhead laughs.

  It fuels my anger. Rage starts to dull the pain, and I focus all my energy on that feeling alone.

  "Impressive," the Reaper prick says lookin' down his nose at me. "Seems you have a high tolerance for pain." He turns his back towards me and rummages through his bag of tricks. When he turns around, he's clamping a small pair of vice grips onto a long thin sewing needle. Reaching over his shoulder, Boulder grabs a small torch from the shelf behind him. Lighting it, he heats the tip of the needle until the metal glows as red as the flame.

  The President kneels in front of me and grabs ahold of my right pinky and shoves the searing hot needle under my nail bed.

  Every muscle in my body tightens, and I growl in pain as he pushes it in further and leaves it there. He repeats the process nine more times. Each time I lose the ability to keep silent. Each time I scream because the pain becomes too much.

  I die a little inside knowing I've shown weakness.

  One last needle comes into view. One I am more than eager to feel the prick of. Another sign of defeat, but the thought quickly leaves my mind only to be replaced with hunger. I don't want to be here. I know I'll feel better than I do right now.

  I won't feel at all.

  I know if I close my eyes I'll see her.

  * * *

  Time doesn't exist for me. The drug they continue to inject into my veins has fucked with my senses. Everything has become distorted, but I'm okay with that.

  The line between needing to keep my wits about me and wanting to escape has become a war I would have never in a million years thought I would have to deal with.

  I'm supposed to be the opposite of the man sitting here strapped to this chair, smelling of piss and hangin' on by a thin thread of hope. The positive take life by the balls and make it your bitch' kind of guy has walked out on me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The kings

  JAKE

  It's two o'clock in the morning, and I am sittin' here in mine and Grace's room at the clubhouse holding my baby girl as she sleeps on my chest. Logan, Gabriel, Reid and I rolled in about an hour ago from yet another dead-end search for Quinn. The club has been working in shifts. Once my boys and I returned Austin, Blake, Grey and the rest of the men hit the road. There is not a minute that goes by one of my men is not out looking for Quinn. When I said we wouldn't sleep until he is found, I meant it. The atmosphere at the clubhouse has become somber over the past few days. Emerson walks around in a daze. I'm thankful for her brother being here. If not for him she wouldn't be holding up as well as she has been. I talked to him briefly yesterday, and he informed me that he spoke to his manager and bandmates and was able to get his tour pushed back another couple of weeks.

  Standing, I walk over to the crib and lay my daughter down. When I'm satisfied she's not going to stir, I turn and make my way over to the bed where Grace is sleeping. Leaning down, I place a kiss on her lips. Since I know sleep will not be possible, I decided to get myself some coffee. Walking out of the room, I shut the door quietly behind me careful not to disturb my girls. When I come upon Remi's door, I open it and peek in on her. Laying in bed next to her is Katalina. When Quinn's sister is not with her mom, she clings to Remi. The two are best friends and practically inseparable. I'm glad Kat has a friend like Remi during a time like this. We haven't told the children a whole lot of what's happening, but they're not stupid. They know something has happened to Quinn and with his presence missing for so long they know it's bad.

  When I walk into the kitchen, I'm met with Quinten sittin' at the table with a cup of coffee. He was released from the hospital the other day and is on the mend. He acknowledges me with a nod.

  "How ya holding up, man?" I ask taking a seat across from him at the table.

  "I'm hanging in there. I have to keep it together for Vicky and Kat."

  "How's Vicky doing?"

  "Not good, Jake. This situation with Quinn is killing her. My wife is strong, but this—I don't think she will be able to handle it if he doesn't come home."

  "That's not going to happen, brother," I s
ay with certainty. "We're going to bring your boy home. You have my word."

  "I know the club doesn't like to divulge too much information, but I have to ask since we're talking about my son. What's the plan? What are you all doing to bring him home?"

  "I put in a call a few days ago to the Louisiana chapter. Riggs and his men should be rolling in sometime this morning. The last time I spoke with him, he said to expect him around eight o'clock. I also talked with Bennett, and asked him to get in touch with Ian. He's the best damn tracker we know. He's also not the easiest person to get ahold of, but Bennett said he'd run him down."

  "Thanks, Jake. I appreciate everything the club is doing for Quinn."

  "No thanks necessary. Quinn is family. We love him. My guys and I are prepared to go to hell and back if it means bringing him back. You're Quinn's father, but I love him as if he were my own son too. I would dance with the devil and trade my life for his without a second thought."

  "I know you would, Jake. Vicky and I both want you to know we don't blame you or the club for what has happened. We have and will continue to support Quinn's decision to be a part of The Kings. His mom and I are not naïve. We know the club has done some bad shit, and even Quinn has not always followed the law, but at the end of the day, he is our son. He's happy, and he's healthy. We couldn't ask for more."

  Once Quinten is finished speaking, he stands from his seat and tips his head before walking past me and out of the kitchen. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear those words until this moment. There was a small part of me that feared Quinn's parents would hold some sort of hatred towards the club for his kidnapping. In a way, I would understand if they did. Hell, I've been blaming myself for days. I keep replaying the shit in my head. Wondering what I could have done differently to better handle the situation with Satans Reapers. The one thing I regret was not killin' every one of those motherfuckers when I had the chance. As the President of The Kings, it's my responsibility to steer the club in the right direction. The choices I make as their President can sometimes mean the difference between life or death. Now I have to face the consequences of my decisions, but it's Quinn who is paying the price.