“Jackson?” I ask Sarge as we begin to walk inside.
“In your room.”
“Great, thanks.”
“Either there or the meeting room.”
The paramedics walk past us and go inside, looking for Lion.
“Where’s Aaron?” I ask Sarge.
“Inside.”
Sarge and I both walk in to see the paramedics looking at Lion’s leg, “We’ll need to take you to the hospital,” one says to Lion.
“Not gonna’ happen. Stitch me up here.”
“We don’t have the equipment, and we can’t. You may need to have it operated on, so we need to take you to the hospital,” the persistent EMT tells Lion.
“No, stitch me up or leave me alone and I’ll do it myself.” Damn, he’s got balls to stitch that shit up here.
“Lion,” I say, my tone holding authority.
“Not going,” he declares, his eyebrows knit tightly together.
“Lion,” I say once more, my voice quiet, though I’m fucking seething that he’s defying me.
“Fine, take me to the damn hospital.”
They get a stretcher out and lift him, Lion crosses his arms in front of his chest, signaling that he’s pissed off.
“No club emblems allowed in the hospital,” one of the paramedics says pointing to Lion’s plain black leather cut with the small patch stitched on the front that says ‘Prospect’.
But the back of the cut has the crest of the MC, our intensely burning red scull, with flaming red ‘Hunters’ curved above it. It’s the same as on our bikes and clubhouse.
“Lion,” I say and hold my hand out for it.
“This is bullshit, man,” Lion growls with a sneer at the guy about to wheel him out. He takes off his cut and gives it to me. He makes it clear he’s not too pleased about it.
After the paramedics leave, the cops hang around for a while. Brian walks over to me; I’m standing looking at all the shit and debris lying around the place.
“I can get them out of here for now, but once first light comes, they’ll be back. And the FBI’s coming too. They’ve already been deployed.”
“Fuck. When?” I ask, running a hand through my hair.
“Before first light. You have maybe a few hours.”
“Thanks, Brian.” I hold my hand out to him to shake.
“Clean up whatever it is you need to get done before they get here.”
I nod and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Within half an hour, all the strangers are gone, leaving just the members, minus Dark, waiting around in the meeting room.
“Jason, keep look out. You.” I point to Shark, another prospect, “help him.”
He nods, and both Jason and Shark walk outside, keeping an eye on the yard, watching for the assholes who wanna try and take my club down.
I close the meeting room’s doors and go to the head of the table, sitting in my chair.
“What the fuck?” Aaron asks. It’s the first time since this afternoon that we can talk openly.
The entire table erupts in excited talking. Questions are being asked and no one really has any answers.
I bash the gavel down once, and a blanket of quiet fills the room.
“This is what we know. Dark’s gone. Aaron went around to his place and his old lady said she hadn’t seen him. Sarge was getting inked when the shop got shot up, and he saw two of ‘em carrying the girls out of the fucking beauty salon they were in.”
A collective ‘fuck’ is heard around the table.
“I’m thinking Dark’s a mole for Cain. And Cain did this,” I say, addressing the table.
“Or,” Aaron says and sits forward in his seat.
“Or what?” I ask.
“The Crowes.”
Shit, yeah. Crowes.
I lean back in my seat, resting my left ankle on my right knee.
“I’ll set a meet with Skinny,” I say, thinking out loud.
“We take the fucker out, screw the sit down,” Aaron says, chest sticking out, anger rolling off him in waves.
“We take the Crowes down, we’re in for a shitstorm. ‘Cause we know the Crowes are hooked up with the Excalibur cartel,” I say and watch the reactions of the entire club.
“We need to take Cain’s offer, keep us in his good books,” Aaron says, and the table murmurs, half nodding their heads.
“Then we may as well hand the club to him, ‘cause if we take his offer, he’ll own us.”
“Not unless we have a meeting with him and tell him what the score is,” Cruise, one of the members says.
“Tell him what the score is? Insist he runs it our way? How do you think that’s gonna play out for us, either way? We’re on board with the Pace family now. We screw with them, then we deal with their people who, incidentally, is 15.”
“I heard she was working for them,” Wake, another one of the members, says.
“Shit,” a few of the members moan, defeated.
“For now, we’re in lockdown. The old ladies and kids are at the safe house, I’ll arrange a meet with Skinny. The girls are gone, and we need to get them back,” I say as I stand and stretch my back.
“Fuck ‘em, J, they’re just cunts. You can find others,” Wake says, clearly not giving a shit about the girls.
From the corner of my eye I see Sarge’s face harden. He’s getting pissed off fast, ‘cause his girl is gone along with mine.
“That’s not how we work,” I state, walking toward Wake, acting as a barrier between Sarge and him.
No use in the club fightin’ among ourselves. We can let off steam later, when the girls are back and we’ve sorted this clusterfuck out.
“They’re just dead wood,” Wake keeps going. He’s bound and determined to cop a round with Sarge.
Sarge’s anger is starting to show. He’s shaking his head and holding on to the meeting table, knuckles going white.
“That’s not how we work,” I say once more as I put my hand on Wake’s shoulder and dig my fingers into him.
“They old ladies?” Shit, Wake’s a dumb motherfucker, not knowing when to keep his mouth shut.
“Yeah,” Sarge answers.
“That’s not how we work,” I emphasize the words, making it clear by my tone that I’m pissed.
“Whatever.” Wake slumps back in his chair, the rest of the members avoid my eyes.
I’m going to find Nix, and get her back. If anyone’s laid one finger on her, I’ll kill ‘em.
Simple as that.
She’s my woman. No fucker has a right to touch her.
TWENTY-
FOUR
Phoenix
It’s been a full day since I’ve been in this room. The door opened late yesterday, just when the sun was setting on the horizon, and a huge, burly, heavily-armed man walked in with a tray of food.
He looked at me, his eyes starting at the top of my body and slowly moving down. His face morphed from indifference to sheer lust. I could tell that he was fighting his desire for me. But he must’ve remembered something, possibly orders from the guy who hit me yesterday. He just shook his head and left.
An hour later the same guy walked back in, deadpan and emotionless. He took the tray of uneaten food and left.
I wasn’t going to eat anything. I had no idea what it had been contaminated with. What if they had put some type of sedative in it, or poison? I wasn’t going to risk it. So instead, while I was in the shower, I gulped water from the tap.
I was permitted to shower, and walk around in here, per the instructions of Mr. Psycho.
Now, I’m standing at the foot of the bed, not sure when or who will be coming through the door. Just a few seconds ago I heard the click of a lock, but no one has come in yet.
My pulse is pounding in my ears. I’m shaking from fear and nerves, and my body is cloaked with cold sweat. The anticipation of the person about to enter gives me hope that someone might be looking for me.
The door swings open, and Mr. Psych
o steps through.
His back is straight, his chest out. His presence commands my attention. But screw him if he thinks he’s going to get it.
I roll my eyes, slump my shoulders and look out the window to the right of the room, where the old tree gently swings in the light breeze.
“Kneel,” he commands. I refuse. “I said, kneel.” His voice hardens.
I know this is going to earn me a beating. I already have one large bruise under my eye where he backhanded me twice yesterday.
I continue to look outside. I won’t be his pawn; I won’t let him break me.
I greeted Jaeger with a double-barrel when he showed up to my home. I’m certainly not going to roll over now. Although the odds are stacked against me, I’m still going to fight. I have no weapon and I’m stuck who knows where, but he’s not going to take my will away without a fight.
“Kneel before your Master,” he growls, anger and spite quite clear in his delivery.
I swallow the huge lump in my throat, close my eyes and hope to God he doesn’t kill me. But maybe death will be better than what he wants to do to me.
I hear the scuff of his shoes against the soft carpet and he’s charging toward me, waves of fury rolling off his body.
I brace myself, instinctively knowing that I’m about to get backhanded again. I wince and close my eyes, waiting for the moment of impact.
Rough hands grip my throat. He applies pressure with his thumbs, and I struggle to pull his strong hands away, trying to get them to relax their hold. But it’s futile. He’s too strong.
I feel myself starting to slip. A brilliant, bright blackness begins to overtake me.
But it’s so peaceful, so beautiful, so quiet.
“You fucking slut,” I hear a jumble of drawn out words and that’s what makes it to my ears.
The black is so beautiful, and it’s pulling me toward it, like a high-intensity magnet, reeling me in.
Stunning and beautifully isolated. I love this feeling. I’m so free.
“No you don’t.”
The tightness around my neck eases and I feel my body collapse from under me. My legs are gelatinous and I know I can’t support myself. The safest place for me to be is here on the floor, as I float up and away from this shell called a body.
I hover above me, looking at the man. He rakes his hand through his hair, stabbing at it, angry.
He drives a boot into the torso of the slumped being on the ground. Am I dreaming? Did he just kick that person?
He lowers himself carefully and places an ear to the mouth of the woman beneath him. He gently sweeps her fiery red hair away from her face, as he cradles her head and brings his mouth down on hers.
I close my eyes, not wanting to see this intimate exchange. Why is she lying there? What’s happening to her? I need to wake from this dream.
I feel my lungs fill with air and I instantly begin to cough, trying to open my eyes. The light in the room is so bright, but he’s here, the man I saw in my dream. He’s holding my head and looking down at me.
“I’m glad you didn’t die,” he says as he bends closer and takes my mouth with his.
The kiss is soft and gentle and such a contrast to the hardness and intensity that he’s shown me so far. But he isn’t Jaeger, and his breath is laced with scotch as he grips my hair and holds my face to his.
His tongue keeps delving into my mouth, but I don’t respond. I don’t want any part of him in any part of me.
I try to pull away but his clutch is controlling, hazardous, and severe.
“Don’t,” I say against his lips. “I don’t want you.”
He pulls back and looks into my eyes. His own fevered gaze is spine-chillingly cold. There’s a darkness so deep inside him that his entire body seems consumed with it. The shadows that veil his eyes are plagued with sin, damned by malice, and pure evil courses through his body.
My own breath leaves me as the realization of my immediate future catapults into me, holding me tight. I’m going to die by the hand of the man who’s taken me.
“I said for you to kneel before your Master,” he says in a low, steady tone. He lays my head down on the carpet, stands and takes a step back. “You’ve made me repeat myself too many times. I don’t take well to my slaves being brats.”
The word ‘slave’ sends an icy chill down my spine. I know what he wants. I’ve read enough to know what BDSM is. Though I believe he’s certainly not a Master, but more of a controlling, deranged psychopath. Because my understanding of BDSM is that it’s all safe, sane and consensual, at least that’s what I’ve read.
“No,” I whisper with as much authority as I can muster.
Without a second’s hesitation, he hurls himself at me, grabbing me by the shoulders and putting me on my knees in front of him. The moment he steps back, I lift my face to look at him, challenging him with just my eyes.
“Lower your gaze, slave.”
“No,” I fight him.
“Lower your fucking eyes!” he yells.
“No,” I push further.
He won’t break me, he won’t take my mind.
“Lower your eyes,” he screams as he steps up to me, closing a fist and drawing it back.
“Fuck you!” I holler and stand from the kneeling position I was in.
I haven’t even fully straightened before his fist connects with my face. The first blow shocks me, although I was expecting it. The second punch knocks me to the ground. With the third punch I feel the skin on my face split and warm liquid begins to drip to the floor.
“Kneel!” he yells again.
“No,” I say even more determined than I was only seconds earlier.
His foot connects to my stomach, and a stabbing pain causes all the air to leave my body. I double over in pain and clutch my stomach, while thick red blood drips into my eye, clouding my vision.
“Kneel or I’ll sell you or use you in my brothel.”
I lie on the floor, trying to catch my breath, not able to get air into my body quick enough. My pants are shallow and labored as I try and recover from the beating he’s just given me.
“It’s your choice. You kneel before your Master or I’ll sell you to the worst possible person I can find.”
He steps back and lets the words hit me with the full effect he intended.
When I catch my breath, and finally am able to move, I kneel before him.
I’d never survive a brothel, or wherever else he would sell me.
Moments tick by, my head’s spinning as I’m getting light-headed. He walks around me, slowly examining me like a race horse he’s considering buying.
“You’ll address me as Master.”
I remain quiet, I don’t say a word. I don’t think I’ve got any fight left in me today. If he hits me once more, I may lose consciousness again.
“You’re so beautiful, Dillon.” He squats in front of me and lifts my chin with one finger. “So very sexy, I’m proud of you for realizing that I’m your Master.”
I close my eyes so I can’t see the beast in front of me. He’s truly demonic and scares the shit out of me.
“When I leave, I’ll send in a first aid kit. Tomorrow when I come back, I want you naked and on your knees waiting for me.”
He softly squeezes my chin and lifts my head. His mouth descends onto mine, as he begins to kiss me with vigor and excitement.
“Hmmm,” he mumbles against my lips. “I can’t wait ‘til I taste your cunt.” He waits for a reaction, but I don’t give him one.
Inside though, every part of me is screaming at him, with everything that I am. I want to lunge at him and fucking kill him.
But my body is broken. It’s bruised and battered and I can barely stay upright even in this kneeling pose.
“Answer me,” he says, quietly.
“You didn’t ask me a question.” I brace myself again.
Instead of the thwack of a fist, I hear laughter. Deep rumbling as he chuckles with passion.
“You’re q
uite right, my beautiful slave. I didn’t, and for that I apologize. Tomorrow, will you please be waiting for me, kneeling and naked?”
This guy is truly a brute with deep-seated psychological issues. He goes from devil to caring in the same sentence, but I’m under no misapprehension. He can easily kill me and he wouldn’t think twice about doing it.
“Yes, Master,” I say in a tiny voice through clenched teeth.
“Good. And please eat. It upsets me to think that you’re going without. Until tomorrow, my sexy slut.”
He steps out of the room, closes and locks the door behind him.
I collapse back on the ground, exactly like yesterday, but this time I sob uncontrollably.
I cry because I still have no idea where Milina is.
Or what’s happening.
Or why Jaeger hasn’t found me.
But mostly I cry because for the first time in my life, I feel alone and frightened.
TWENTY-
FIVE
“Skinny,” I say as I hold my hand out to him, trying not to start a war with him, or the Excalibur cartel.
“Jaeger, what’s happening, man?” he asks as he claps a strong hand to my back, trying to show dominance in our exchange.
“Clubhouse got shot up.”
“Heard. That’s seriously fucked-up shit. You pissed anyone off?”
“Who don’t we piss off?” I light up a smoke and turn my body so that he and I are talking without any of our crew listening.
He lets out a humorless chuckle and nods. “What do you need?” he asks as he leans against his bike.
“We don’t need anything, just seeing if we can help you at all?”
He brings his eyebrows together, causing a deep crease in the center.
“Whatcha’ fuckin’ playin’ at?” His voice gets angry as he reaches inside his cut and pulls out a Glock.
“Hunters got no beef with the Crowes,” I say as I catch sight of Sarge beginning to hover, tense. I shake my head, discreetly, telling Sarge to stay where he is.
Skinny’s crew sees that he’s holding a gun to my head and start walking up to see what’s happening.
“You took the house and the girl. We’re not happy,” he says as he lowers the gun, still kept in his hand, ready to kill me.
Grit Page 17
