by Addison Jane
Trafficking people.
That was one thing you wouldn’t find very often with MC’s. They had too much respect for family, too much fucking pride to be selling someone’s daughter, knowing how they were going to be treated.
“So I offered Carly an out.”
“And knocked her up at the same time,” Leo added for good measure.
“While I was married,” Huntsman added on the top, his face serious. Not ashamed of what he’d done, but just throwing it all out there. “Which she realized when she came to the clubhouse to let me know she had to head home to Athens.”
“Jesus Christ,” Wrench groaned, shaking his head.
“I liked Carly. She was just out to live her life, a free, fucking spirit, always the first to want to take on life and find an adventure,” Huntsman talked fondly about Meyah’s mom, but I could see the confused looks from my brothers and their old ladies.
“Are we talking about the same Carly?” Rose threw out there, knowing we were all thinking the same thing.
Leo huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I remember her being a lot more laid back when I first started dating Kim. Things changed when she had Denver. I don’t know why.”
“Because I came back.” We all spun around to see Carly walk through the doors, tears streaming down her face. Huntsman was out of his chair, ignoring the nurse who was yelling at him to sit down.
She stood there, looking entirely broken, completely destroyed, as Huntsman hobbled toward her, his eyes narrowed.
“She’s eighteen, Carly. You didn’t think in the past eighteen years you could have sent a fucking letter? A note? Maybe a fucking telegram?” Huntsman growled. My brothers were out of their seats in seconds following, feeling the tension starting to rise.
“I came back,” she cried, sounding stronger than I’d ever seen her before, determination written all over on her face. “When Meyah was five, I came back. The club had moved, so I went to Isiah to try and find you. I didn’t know you weren’t friends. I didn’t know he’d seen what we did as some kind of betrayal.”
“You went to him…” Huntsman repeated in shock like he was trying not to think about what was coming next. Like in his gut, he knew. “What did he do?”
Carly sobbed. A couple of the women moved to comfort her, but their men grabbed them and pulled them back.
“Carly,” Leo spoke softly as he held tight to a quietly crying Hadley. It was like we could all feel her pain. “You need to tell us so we can fix it.”
She’d spent years and years dealing with this shit, and finally, it was coming out. There was no more trying to act brave, trying to keep her children in a nice little bubble of protection. All of that meant nothing now because once it was out there, it was out there.
Tears slipped down her face, her breathing erratic as she tried to find the words. Finally, she took a deep breath, stood a little taller and lifted her chin. Like she wasn’t going to let him break her again. Like saying the words weren’t going to bring her to her knees. “His men… they raped me.”
Huntsman was the first to move, not caring he was obviously in a lot of pain. He moved in, grabbing her face, whispering words to her, that even though I couldn’t hear them, were sending shivers down my fucking spine.
The rest of the room was quiet
I could tell we were all doing the math.
If Meyah was five…
Denver…
Jesus Christ.
The rage built up inside.
I wanted my woman back.
But I also wanted her to have her revenge on this man who seemed to have single-handedly both created their family and then pulled it to fucking shreds.
“We need to get this plan sorted,” Optimus finally said after a few minutes. He turned to look at me. “We need to get Meyah back. But now, we also need to get Carly what she needs.”
Carly looked up in confusion, but Huntsman turned to me, his eyes blazing. “We need Isiah alive.”
I took a deep breath, running my fingers through my hair and going over the details in my mind. “Okay, let’s see what we can do.” I looked over to Hadley who I’d spoken to on the phone about a few details on the part of the old ladies. “Did you manage to get what we need?”
Hadley’s face instantly lit up with a smile, and she looked down the line at the boys. “Ten-four rubber ducky.”
“Optimus?” I questioned with a raised brow.
He nodded. “Should be here within a couple hours.”
“Good, let’s get her back.”
Baldy’s palm struck me across the cheek, bringing tears instantly to my eyes. I refused to let them fall, though.
Instead, I just looked straight up at Isiah’s henchman. “Fuck. You.”
A devious grin came across his face, and he leaned over the bed, his hand going to my throat. I grabbed his wrist, trying to tear it away as he squeezed and squeezed a little tighter with each second, cutting off my air supply. I gasped, trying to suck in more oxygen as my body battled against him, fighting back, kicking and scratching but not making him give up anything.
“Kero, cut it out, man. Isiah wants her as unharmed as possible,” Henchman Two ordered as he leaned against the wall.
Kero grinned widely before letting me go and sitting back.
I coughed, rolling onto my side on the bed, trying not to vomit as I struggled to breathe, dry-retching over and over again.
“You’re lucky, Meyah,” Isiah announced, stepping into the room while I was still vulnerable. I didn’t like it. I wanted to put my back against a wall so I knew I had at least a fighting chance of protecting myself. But I was still struggling to breathe. “I’ve got someone interested before I’ve even gotten around to putting your pictures up.”
The bed dipped beside me, and a hand grabbed a fist full of my hair, yanking it back uncomfortably and forcing me to look up at him.
“Be a good little bitch and smile when he comes in,” he ordered. “Nobody wants a moody little cunt, that’s far more work than needed.”
He climbed off the bed, his hand still in my hair, and pulled.
I screamed, trying to grab the sheets but not able to get a hold of anything as I was pulled off the edge of the bed and down on to the hard wooden floors, pain vibrating through my hip and thigh as I landed directly on it. My hands pulled at his wrists where he held my hair as he dragged me from this bedroom, down the hall, and into some kind of separate living area.
Tears streaked down my face as I was pulled past room after room, catching flashes of half-naked girls, men in business suits, and guys with guns.
The pain was excruciating.
I felt like my hair was being torn out strand by strand from my head.
But I also didn’t want him to think he was winning, I didn’t want him to think I would even lay down and play a good little girl, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to let some buyer think that.
I was going to raise hell, make it appear I was uncontrollable, that I wouldn’t be silenced, and that I would be too much trouble.
I needed time.
Because I’d been knocked out for so long—I had no idea what day it was, whether it was morning or night, or even where the hell I was.
I knew Ham would be looking for me. That my uncle wouldn’t rest until he found me. And that Ripley was going to lose his shit when he found out what they’d done to Huntsman.
My body slammed into the back of a sofa, and the tension on my hair was released.
“Get her up, have her looking pretty for when he comes in,” Isiah ordered.
Another man grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet and dragging me toward a sofa that looked like it was straight out of the Queen’s palace. The floral pattern was pretty, the shape of it more like a bed you would see in a shrink’s office for people to lay on.
He pushed me down onto it. “Try and look pretty.” My whole body screamed in protest. It wanted to rest. It wanted to just roll over and sleep. I couldn’t keep fighting them because
they were stronger, and I was running low on energy.
I was going to have to do something. Something that would stall them. Maybe something which would make them lock me back up when the buy said no.
The buyer wants her as unharmed as possible.
I was already cringing at the thought of the pain, but if I could get him to hurt me, bruise me, split my lip or something, then maybe the buyer wouldn’t want me. Perhaps that would give the club more time.
Isiah walked over to the edge of the room where there was a small wet bar and poured himself a drink.
“Did your mom leave you on a street corner when you were a baby or something?” I asked loudly. The men who were standing on either side of me were ready to grab me if I ran stood a little taller, their eyes widening. “Because you have some serious control issues with women.”
Isiah chuckled softly as he continued to pour his drink.
Whiskey.
No rocks.
“My mother was actually a wonderful woman,” he responded, turning around to face me. “And this isn’t about control, it’s about respect. I’m a busy man. Why shouldn’t I know I’m coming home to a clean house, dinner cooked, and a pussy to fuck raw at the end of the day?”
My body tingled with anger. “And that’s what your mom was? A maid, a cook, and a piece of ass?”
Isiah’s eyes flashed, and I knew I’d hit a sore point. He walked toward me, swirling his drink in his glass.
How much fucking alcohol did this guy consume?
Constantly needing to have a drink in his hand.
Maybe it was a nervous thing. Did men like Isiah get nervous?
Or maybe it was just so he felt fucking fancy as he sold women off like he was an auctioneer at the county fair.
“My mother respected my father,” Isiah affirmed through tight lips as he came forward.
“No, your mother was a weak-ass bitch,” I countered.
The glass half full of whiskey went flying across the room, smashing against a large, expensive looking painting. Everything came crashing to the ground. My heart started to race, but I didn’t let it faze me. I was going to have to deal with a little pain if I was going to get out of this one. Which meant making this man angry as hell.
“I hit that weak point? You still think your mom was this amazing woman when she was just too weak to stand up for herself. She wasn’t an amazing woman. Keep telling yourself that if you want to sleep at night, but just know that the reality is she was a slave. She was someone’s bitch.”
He walked toward me, and my mouth kept running even when I saw him pull back his fist.
“She was your asshole father’s little bitch, and the only reason she looked after you, was because if she didn’t, he would beat her into next we—”
His fist hit me in the side of the face, throwing me off the fancy sofa and onto the wooden floors again. My ear was ringing. I couldn’t hear anything or get my bearings, and it instantly felt like my cheek was two times the size it should have been.
Hands grabbed my arms, lifting me back on the sofa.
I shook my head, trying to get the ringing out. Attempting to open my eyes through the pain, the room was blurry and rolling.
I grabbed the side of the sofa to help keep me steady while Isiah pulled over a glass top coffee table and sat on the edge of it. His eyes were dark like his pupils were fully dilated.
Was he on some kind of drugs?
Or did he just get off on causing others pain?
I always thought men like Isiah were too proud to sink to the level of the people who they sold shit to. They always needed to feel like they were better than other people. But this guy was fucking crazy. He was either on something heavy, or he had some serious mental issues with the way he viewed women.
The club cherished their women, even the club girls were always treated with respect and were never forced to do anything they didn’t feel comfortable with.
They had a choice.
The women he brought here didn’t have a choice.
They were broken down, day by day, beating by beating, until they had no will left.
“You’re worthless, you know,” he murmured, studying me as I tried to gather my wits. “Just like your mother. Stupid. With these big fucking dreams. Maybe I should turn down the buyer and just give you to my men like I did with her. Then you two will have something to bond over.”
“I hope you rot in hell,” I growled, my skin prickling at his words, reminding me of what he put her through, and how he was responsible for the woman she’d become. How he took away her beauty and her soul.
I wouldn’t let him do that to me.
Or any other fucking man.
I had one who loved me, who wanted me to succeed, who would always stand behind me and support me no matter what. Ham would never break me down. Never treat me like a piece of ass who wasn’t worthy.
I needed to get back to him.
I needed this to end.
“Maybe my men will have just as much fun, or maybe even more. No doubt the whore runs in your veins.”
I threw my body forward, slamming into him with every ounce of energy left inside me. My momentum pushed him onto his back, and with the weight of us both, the glass table shattered into pieces beneath us.
I wouldn’t let him speak like that of her.
She wasn’t a whore.
She would have seen through Isiah. She was far too smart to think a man like him could be anything more than deadly.
Whether she really cared for Huntsman or not, I wasn’t sure. But what I did know was that he got her out.
The both of us hit the ground with a thud, in a pile of fucking broken glass. I rolled to the side, across the shards, groaning in pain.
“You stupid little whore,” Isiah screamed as two men helped him up off the floor. He shook, whether in rage or shock, I wasn’t quite sure, but there was a deep gash across his palm, blood already streaming down his arm and a couple little cuts across his face. If he had any more injuries, I couldn’t see them, and he seemed to be standing pretty well, even with blood dripping continuously onto the carpet.
I instantly knew I was in trouble, though.
Deep fucking trouble.
I’d let my anger and need to protect my mom’s name get the better of me and hadn’t thought about what I was doing. A blinding pain in my leg alerted me to the fact that I hadn’t exactly got away scot-free. And that I should probably have thought twice about throwing myself at this fucking psychopath into a glass table. Because there was now a four-inch gash in the side of my thigh, and the blood was already beginning to come to the surface and drip over the sides.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Romeo’s voice boomed through the room, stalling the crazy for a moment, and in that second, I thought everything was going to be fine.
I was going to get out of here.
Isiah was going to get what he deserved.
That’s what I thought.
“My buyer said he wanted her uninjured.”
I thought wrong.
“What the fuck happened to her,” Romeo exclaimed as he stepped into the room.
I wanted to rush inside after him, but I knew the moment I saw her I wouldn’t be able to control myself. The act I was playing would be right out the window, and we would be completely screwed within seconds. It had taken us all day to get plans into place, and I couldn’t ruin them by losing my shit in the first few minutes.
Instead, I waited in the hallway, trying not to pace and look concerned.
“I’m going to have to speak to my man about this. He didn’t want a fucking broken bitch because you can’t control your temper, Isiah,” Romeo roared, completely in his element with control and making these shitheads feel like they were nothing.
Romeo knew how these guys worked. He knew what steps we needed to take and what path we needed to follow if we were going to get Meyah out and make Isiah regret touching her.
Or Carly.
“Fucking clean her up, will you. I’ll give you five minutes.” Romeo stormed out of the room, Isiah on his heels.
I pursed my lips and stood a little taller. “I didn’t want her harmed,” I growled, staring Isiah down like he wasn’t one of the darkest bastards in hell.
Isiah’s nose twitched, and he clenched his fists at his side. “The little bitch has a mouth on her.” He was holding a washcloth to his hand, blood staining the white shirt underneath his suit jacket and there were a couple of scratches on his face.
I tried not to smile knowing that Meyah was giving this asshole absolute hell.
That was my woman.
“Cooper and I need to have a chat about the state you’ve put her in, and whether he still wants her,” Romeo snarled.
Isiah’s eyes narrowed. “There are plenty of other buyers out there, Romeo.”
My brother scoffed. “Ones that are willing to take the fall out that’s going to come with her because you have some idiotic vendetta?” Romeo tsked and shook his head. “Get her cleaned up.”
I could tell Isiah wasn’t happy about being talked to like he was a small errant child, but I also knew he’d been pretty desperate to get rid of Meyah quickly, knowing the longer he held onto her, the more danger he was in if the club found out what had happened.
He stomped back inside the room, throwing orders at his men to patch her up.
Knowing she was hurt somehow was making me itching to walk right in there and put a bullet in his head.
A few minutes later, I took a deep breath and stepped into the room next to my brother.
Meyah was on a sofa not far from the door, her eyes barely cracked open, and her hands bound behind her. There was a piece of tape over her mouth.
“Did you drug her?” I asked, concerned as hell as I made my way toward her, trying not to act too concerned but my old friend, Kero, stepped in front of me, his hand on my chest. I looked down at it then back up at him. “Get your dirty ass hand off me before I break every goddamn finger on it.”
“Move back,” he ordered, and I reluctantly took a couple of steps back toward Romeo.
He was also staring at her in concern. “What happened?” he demanded, turning to face Isiah who just shrugged as he tended to his wounds.
