by Lynn Burke
Face morphing into a mask, my father stared at me. “They raped you on the night they took the proof of life picture.”
My mother sobbed again at the finality of my father’s tone, and my mind reeled.
I’d snuck out to enough movies to know what he meant by a proof of life picture -- and I also realized if they’d received one, that Bowie had without a doubt been in on the extortion. The bondage scene. The newspaper he’d carried out of the room after leaving me to rest.
“They never hurt me,” I said although I wanted to rant and rave, curse Bowie to the highest heavens. “They protected me. Kept me safe.”
“Classic case of Stockholm Syndrome,” the man behind me said.
“That’s bullshit!”
“Oh.” My mother reached for me again with a wobbling smile, but I stepped back. “I promise we’ll get you treatment -- the best money can buy, sweetheart. We’ll have you home where you belong, and eventually, you’ll forget all about this, these men, and find a godly man who will marry you regardless of your scars.”
“I don’t have any scars except for the ones you’ve inflicted on me!” I yelled, so damn fed up, I wanted to cry again. My mother recoiled, and my father’s frown returned, deep and heavy as I’d ever seen.
“You will not speak to us that way, young lady,” my father said, his voice stern in a way that used to make me shake, my backside clench in readiness for his belt.
“I’m eighteen and can speak however the hell I want to!” I seethed, every thought but self-preservation gone from my head. Wonder where the hell I got that from. “I’m an adult! You have no legal hold over me anymore. I’m going to live my life how I want to, when I want to -- with whoever the fuck I want!”
Both of my parents blinked at my tirade.
“Honey,” my mother tried again, reaching for me, but I backed against the agent I hadn’t realized stood so close.
“Let me out of here,” I said, turning to look at him, the same man who’d taken me from Bowie’s office. My heart ached all over again. “Please.”
Lips in a thin line, he dipped his head and opened the door, his hand on my lower back.
“Hannah!” my father called as my mother burst into tears, but I clenched my jaw, hardened my heart, and stepped over the threshold into the muffled hallway. The door closed with a loud click, but I still couldn’t breathe easy.
“This way.” The agent motioned farther down the hall. “Third door on the right.”
I went where he directed and slumped onto one of the metal chairs beside the type of table I’d seen in countless shows and movies where people got interrogated. As the nose-burning scent of bleach wafted past my face, I wondered if the Devil’s Outlaw brothers sat at similar tables close by in the same building.
A female officer followed him in, a smile and pity on her face.
A heavy sigh, and I slouched me, eyes clenched as the agents pulled out the chairs across from me with a screech and settled in a quiet rustle of clothing.
“Now,” the man said, his voice low and all caring-like -- not that I trusted him worth a shit. “Can you tell me about your abduction?”
“No one kidnapped me.”
“When did they take you?”
I opened my eyes and glared at the male agent. “No. One. Kidnapped. Me.” I bit each word out so the dense asshole would get the message.
He glanced at the female, who offered me another smile. “We know they were holding you against your will --”
“Why the hell would you think that if it wasn’t true?”
“We received a tip to your whereabouts --”
“What? From who?” I shot, glancing between the two.
“It came in anonymously, but as you can see, it led to your rescue.”
“I didn’t need rescuing! I finally turned eighteen, so I took off on my own and went to the Devil’s Strip Club to apply for a job.”
The male agent’s lips thinned as he pressed them tight.
“I’m telling the truth,” I said, leaning forward and glaring at him. “You need proof of that? Check their cameras. They’ve got them all over the club. Better yet” -- I sat back, realizing I had the perfect solution, the perfect proof they needed I spoke the truth -- “call Cadence.”
“Who’s she?” the female asked.
“My roommate. The one I moved in with over two months ago. Call her in. Question her about me, my past, how we met -- everything you’re dying to know -- without me seeing her first to get our story straight.” I settled back in my chair, a grin on my face even though my heart still lay heavy in my chest.
The two agents exchanged a look. “Do you have her number?”
I rattled off her cell, still smiling, and the agents stood. “We’re still going to have you checked out by medical staff and have a rape kit done,” the female said, but I shook my head.
“You’ll do no such thing, and if you push me, I’ll bring in my father’s lawyer. I might not like the man who sired me all that much, but he’s still my father. He was willing to pay two million to get me back; I’m sure he’s willing to pay even more to protect me from something I don’t want.”
I wasn’t one hundred percent sure on that last bit, but money had its advantages, something I’d learned well and good as a rich man’s only daughter.
The two agents left, and I exhaled another heavy sigh and lay my head, cheek down, on the cold table.
Just a bump in my life. Just a lesson well-learned. The hurt Bowie had caused wouldn’t hold me back. Hell no. I would go sky-diving. Learn to fly a plane. Find another high to spend the bit of money I’d been able to save up, then I would find another place to dance. Maybe take up Cadence’s offer to meet Jackson.
The plan settled my head but did nothing to ease the ache inside every inch of my body. I bit back my tears, telling myself Bowie had gotten what he’d wanted, but he’d also given me a taste of living.
I would choose to focus on my gratitude, and eventually, the heartache would fade.
Chapter Seven
Bowie
Exhaustion flopped me on my bed. I’d never been so damn wiped out in my life. Fucking Hannah into Elysium -- twice -- wanting to knife the FBI fuckers until their blood pooled at my feet, the anxiety of being in the police station for fucking hours, being grilled for something I hadn’t fucking done…
I groaned into my pillow.
Every single one of the Outlaws had been released in the middle of the night without so much as an apology for wrongful arrest. Turned out, Hannah’s roommate had verified her story, clearing us from the kidnapping charges.
As for the extortion, once our club’s lawyer arrived and demanded evidence showing the Outlaws as the extortionists contacting Hannah’s parents, all hell broke loose. They had a proof of life picture, one that showed the supposed kidnapped victim. They claimed it was Hannah, but our lawyer said dozens of young blonde women could be made to look like Hannah Harris. There was no birthmark, no tell-tale signs on the image that it truly was her.
Any bastard with Photoshopping abilities could have been the one to take advantage of the disappearance of the Harris girl.
The law finally let us go. Not that I had worried those charges would ever stick. Through Val, we’d been extorting money from the affluent and D.C.’s politicians alike for years and hadn’t ever been caught by email or bank accounts. He covered our tracks beyond good.
The thought Hannah might claim the proof of life picture as being real flitted through my brain, but I knew my angel. She might be pissed as hell for what we’d done, but there was no fucking way she’d turn us in for it if the connection between us had been real. I’d hurt her, though. Fucking deep. Lied, just like she’d said.
Felt like a fucking prick, too.
I’d planned on going straight to Cadence’s apartment -- and taking what belonged to me -- but Gunner told me to lay low for a few days. Cool off in the event the FBI or cops caught me in the act of carting her off like the caveman he knew I would be.
Wait to see if any more shit rose from the supposed proof of life image.
Obeying his order sucked ass, but as a patch member of the Devil’s Outlaws, I had to do as my president said. Even though fucking exhausted, I slept like shit, and the two cups of coffee I downed on my way to the compound didn’t do jack shit to lighten my mood.
Gunner had called a meeting, and every patched member in town crammed into the compound’s bar. Minus the club whores, our number still sat close to fifty, the most brothers we’d had since the last president had started our brotherhood. We had a handful of prospects, but none of them were allowed in patched-only meetings.
“Most of you know by now what happened at the strip club last night.”
Nods seemed to be the consensus, but a few brows raised in question. Gunner gave a short and sweet version of what went down, thankfully leaving out the part about how involved I’d become with Angel -- and the fact that we really had secretly demanded ransom.
“We need to lay low until this whole pile of shit fades,” Gunner continued. “I don’t want to give the law any reason to fuck with us -- they’ve had it in for us since that last botched ransom six years ago.”
A few grumbles broke out, but he continued, raising his hand to quiet them.
“Stay away from whores outside the club -- that means no prostitutes. No purchasing marijuana outside of the club, either. Keep your fucking fists to yourself. No public rumbles with outsiders or other clubs. I want your assholes squeaky clean, and if I get so much as a hint of shit wafting off you, I’ll take your colors. We clear?”
His dark gaze slid over the group as each and every one agreed with either a nod or mumbled, “Yes.”
Gunner dipped his head. “On another note -- someone dropped an anonymous tip that the Outlaws were the ones holding Angel for ransom.”
“The fuck?” Brewer said, crossing his arms, his blue eyes glinting with rage from the front row of brothers facing our president.
“Pretty sure I know who it is,” Gunner said.
I shot a glance at him, so fucking ready to rumble, my clenched jaw ached.
“And I’m going to deal with it. Quietly.” He peered across the group of us again. “That’s it. Watch yourselves.”
I made my way toward him, my fingers itching to hold a blade. “Who the fuck called them?” I asked, not bothering to keep my voice lowered.
Gunner grasped my shoulder and steered me toward his office, nodding for Drac and Val to follow us. He didn’t speak until the door closed behind us. “Avril told me that Kitty has had it in for Angel since day one.”
“Fucking bitch,” I muttered, clenching my fists at my sides.
“Jealous bitch is more like it,” Val said. “Want me to get into her phone records and find out?”
“Can you?” Gunner asked, sitting behind his desk and grabbing the bottle of whiskey off it.
“Get me her number, and I’ll get your answer within an hour.”
“God, I fucking love you,” Gunner said with a chuckle, which Drac joined in on while lounging in one of the two chairs across from him.
“I could just tie the bitch up and get her to talk,” I said, still standing and needing to punch or stab something.
“Keep your hands off her, Bowie,” Gunner said with a scowl. “We don’t need any shit to go down right now, and hurting Kitty will piss off Kat and half of the other dancers at the club.”
I pressed my lips tight and nodded -- again hating that I had to obey, but Gunner was right.
“Get Kitty’s number to Val,” he continued. “And Val, get me the answer I need.”
“And if she is the one?” I had to ask.
“Then I will deal with her just like I told your brothers.”
I dipped my head. “You need help, you let me know.”
Chuckling, he tipped up the bottle and guzzled a few swallows. “Will do, Bowie. Now get the fuck outta here and go open the joint. We’re going to need all the cash we can make to see us through the next couple of good-boy months.”
* * *
Hannah
Even though I’d made a plan and promised myself I would move on, I cried for two days straight. The first night, I spilled the story to Cadence, and she had a few buzzed curses to spew about the man who had used me to try to get money from my parents. She agreed that everything he’d said to me had been a lie, a manipulation of his position in power to get what he wanted.
Anger and hurt warred for dominance in my mind and heart, and I hugged and soaked my pillow over and over again, half-tempted to turn his ass in for that picture I’d seen -- and claimed hadn’t been me. I hated him. I also was half in love with the bastard and couldn’t bring myself to be the one to land his ass in jail.
Finally, on day three, Cadence took me to the club she danced at, and I met Jackson. My skin crawled as he shook my hand and checked me out. I did not want to dance for him -- or anyone near him for that matter. Cadence claimed he hit on all the dancers but that he was totally harmless.
I wasn’t so sure, and we left not long after.
“What if he wasn’t lying?”
I jerked my head toward Cadence as she drove, her focus on the traffic lining Route 495. “About?”
“Wanting you. Needing you. Hell, that kind of passion, that type of connection you say you felt can’t be faked. Trust me.” She glanced over with a soft smile. “I’ve had enough liars in my life, and not a one said or treated me the way Bowie did with you.”
“Damnit, Cadence, why are you just now telling me that? I thought we were in agreement he’s a lying son of a bitch!”
She shrugged. “I’ve been too pissed over your broken heart to think about things from his point of view. It’s kinda what makes me suck at relationships, you know? Blinded by my own wants, needs, and thoughts. Gotta learn to see things beyond my own desires.”
“Damn.” I heaved a heavy breath. “If you’re right, I’ve royally fucked up.”
“Then again,” Cadence murmured, “if he wanted you as bad as he claimed, wouldn’t he have come for you by now? Explained his actions?”
“They’ve been cleared of all charges, but when I asked, Bowie didn’t deny they’d done it. If he still wanted me, he would have been apologetic, begging me to listen, to stay.”
“Thought the agents wouldn’t let you stay there?”
“True.”
“And if he apologized in front of the agents that would have made him appear guilty.”
“Shit.” I stared out the window. Perhaps I’d been wrong, but I couldn’t get over the fact he hadn’t tried to contact me.
“Why don’t you call that Avril woman and get the lowdown?”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” I grabbed my cell from my pocket and hit the speed dial Avril had insisted I add.
“Hannah!” A smile coated Avril’s voice as she greeted me. “How are you? We miss you around here.”
“I’m doing okay. Not really sure what to think or feel, to be honest with you.”
“You really cared for Bowie, didn’t you?”
“I still do,” I admitted, squeezing my eyes shut, “and it’s tearing me apart inside.”
“Hmm.” She fell silent for a few seconds, speeding my heartbeat.
“What?” I pressed when she didn’t continue.
“Bowie has been moping like a two-year-old who had his lollipop taken away.”
I snorted on laughter and covered my mouth. “What?”
“Moping,” Avril repeated, the smile back in her voice. “I swear that man is pining away for his angel.”
“What’d she say?” Cadence asked, but I held up my hand.
“He hasn’t tried to contact me,” I told Avril.
“I heard that Gunner told the patched members to lay low for a while. Keep out of trouble. Could be that getting involved with you again so soon isn’t a good idea until things calm down.”
“But they were cleared of all charges. What’s the problem?”
>
“The law has wanted the Devil’s Outlaws behind bars for decades, but they’re a shifty lot, always getting away with their bad deeds. It’s best for them to keep a squeaky-clean image until the law looks elsewhere for someone to bust.”
Avril’s words made sense. “Do you think he still wants me?”
“Did he ever say you belonged to him?”
I giggled, the memories ripe in my mind. “A few times, yes. He even said I was his property, if you can believe that.”
“Well.” She huffed what sounded like a smiled snort. “That changes things. Do you know what that means when a patched member calls you their property?”
“I know it means I’m untouchable to others -- which I have no issues with. I only wanted Bowie, anyway.”
“That’s not all it means.”
My eyes widened as Avril explained what becoming property of a biker meant. What it meant for me personally, and for Bowie’s and my future together.
“Old lady, huh?” I repeated the phrase I remembered reading about before. “You think that’s what he meant?”
“Definitely. He wouldn’t use the word property otherwise. No biker would -- that you can trust me on, for sure.”
We spoke for a few more minutes about asshole men and how they hurt us, and on a whim, I jotted down a number she retrieved for me.
“Well?” Cadence asked, pulling into our apartment building’s parking lot as I hit “end.”
“I think you’re right.” I hopped from the car, a spring in my step. “And, I think I know how to go about making things right. As soon as possible.”
Her brow rose as she hooked her arm in mine and we started toward the building’s rear entrance. “Do tell.”
“First off, I need to visit one of Bowie’s brothers.”
“Brother, brother, or MC brother?”
“MC brother -- one I’ve already met, actually. His name is Darling. Pretty hot.” I cast a glance down over my best friend. “He’d probably give you a taste if you wanted.”
Cadence snorted. “If I’m going to do a biker dude, it’ll be Austin, but what about this Darling dude?”
“It’s time to get my first tattoo, and he’s the Outlaw’s inker.”
