God, I’m such an idiot.
It was the prospect of facing death. That’s all. It turned most guys into sappy pieces of garbage. That’s all it was. It wasn’t real.
Kayla was like an oasis. He was thirsty. He was dying. He was exhausted. But when he got to her, she was just another pit of sand. She wasn’t his answer. She couldn’t be. He was no fucking good for her. She was a survivor. She’d be okay. She had dreams and plans, like she said. She deserved a good life, not someone like him who thought he could come along and what? Screw it all up for her? Everything he touched turned to shit and ashes. He’d never done a single good thing in his life for anyone. He was nothing and she was the sun, so bright and blinding and beautiful it hurt to look at her.
“I have a mother,” he mumbled, because he couldn’t stop the words, even though he wanted to snatch them back and ram them down his throat. “I send her money once a year to let her know I’m still alive. I- I’m going to write her something so she’ll know what happened to me if I don’t come back tonight. When I’m done, I’ll shove it under your door. It will be addressed. If something happens and I don’t come back, mail it.”
Kayla’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. It took him a full minute, because he really was a dumb ass through and through, to realize that she was trying not to cry.
Which made him feel even worse, because there was nothing about him that was worth her tears.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Your dad will too. We’re going to win. Tonight. Tomorrow you can probably go back to your life. To that restaurant. Name it after your mom. She’d probably like that.”
One lone tear trickled down Kayla’s cheek and as he turned and walked, setting a world record for the fastest time to reach a door ever, she whispered behind him.
“There won’t be any need to mail your stupid letter, you shit-head. You’ll have to grow a set of nuts and tell your mom how sorry and fucked up you are in person. And of course I’m going to name it after my mom.”
If the club wasn’t on the brink of war, he might have laughed. He would have grasped onto that damn olive branch and clung to it. He might have even told Kayla he wished he hadn’t spent so many years of his life being a huge dick-head and that he wished he could do just that.
Real life wasn’t pretty though and there was a good chance, being the lowest man on the club’s totem pole, that he wasn’t coming back.
So instead of believing in the sliver of hope she offered, he shook his head, slipped out, shut the door behind him, and slid the lock into place.
Chapter 16
KAYLA
Kayla’s head ached and the room spun. The first thing she realized, when her vision cleared and the black spots faded away and the throbbing at her temples turned into a dull ache that ended up right behind her sore, grainy eyes, was that she wasn’t in the room at the clubhouse.
She blinked harder. What the hell happened? Where am I?
It came back to her in a rush. The yells of men in the halls, the handle rattling and finally, the knob being shot off. The door kicked in, three men dressed in black, big, burly, frightening looking men with murder in their eyes.
She’d stood, thought about running, eyed their guns and remained where she was. She was ashamed to say she didn’t fight. She’d been too afraid. She’d resisted when the first one grabbed her arm, his gloved hand like a talon biting into her skin. She’d clawed at his face when his hand came up, trying desperately to do anything to save herself.
After that, it was just blackness.
They’d drugged her, Kayla slowly realized, as the rest of the fog cleared out of her head. They’d used a rag like they did in the damn movies. They’d taken her out of the clubhouse and now she was… she had no idea where she was.
She blinked harder, trying to focus, trying to think. It was hard, with her head aching and her stomach churning. Fear clamped down like an iron band around her heart, and she was glad she was lying down, or she might have fallen over.
The bed was large. A king. The comforter was black and expensive looking. Kayla did a slow perusal of the rest of the room, taking in her surroundings as though somehow, if she could do that one small task, she might magically be able to figure out where she was.
The room was filled with antique furnishings that looked new. They’d obviously been well cared for in their lives; huge, grand pieces. There was a massive desk on one side of the room. It overlooked a large window, but the drapes, actual black drapes with gold tassels at the bottom, were drawn across. A huge wardrobe with intricate carvings stood opposite the bed. The night stands had white marble tops and gold legs. Paintings in gilded frames hung on the wall. It was like she’d actually gone back in time and ended up in a palace.
The wooden door on the opposite end of the room opened. A man stepped in and Kayla was reminded that this was no fantasy. Her eyes swept the room quickly and she saw it, in the far right corner. A camera, blinking back at her. They’ve been watching me the entire time.
An icy shiver of fear crawled up her spine and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She eyed the intruder, but didn’t move. She didn’t try to sit up. It was better if he thought her weak or incapable. Taking him by surprise might be her only chance to escape.
“Who… who are you?” she asked thickly, not because it was an act, but because her tongue felt thick and swollen in her mouth from whatever those men drugged her with. “Where am I?”
The man eyed her with beady dark eyes. He wore power like a mantle about him. He was the kind of man that was born into privilege and spent his whole life being served and having people fear him. He was the kind of man who commanded attention just by walking in the room. His face was cold, but his eyes were colder. He was old, probably older than her father by a few years, likely pushing sixty. His hair was stark white and had receded with the passing of time, but was combed back neatly. His black suit was immaculate, probably the kind of clothes that were made, not purchased. His shoes were expensive black leather, without a scuff or mark.
Those dark eyes swept over Kayla, taking in every single detail of her figure. They slowly trailed up to her face and though she was wearing clothes, she felt naked under those frigid eyes.
“I think you know who I am,” the man responded, his words heavily accented.
“Mar- Marcello?” she stammered.
“Very good.” His face broke into a smile, but it was more frightening than his down-turned lips had been. “First guess. You’re a smart one. Mariani raised you right.”
“You- you know my father?”
“Of course I know your father. A small, insignificant player who spent most of his life working in legit business until he started exploring other options when funds got low. Your mother… where do you think the money came from? I know you weren’t involved. I know you knew nothing of it. I’ve looked into both of you thoroughly. There isn’t anything I don’t know. When he joined forces with Drake Cannelli a year ago, he came onto my radar. No one, no one takes what is mine and lives to regret it,” Marcello seethed.
Kayla didn’t know the whole story. In fact, she knew almost nothing about what her father, or the Drake Cannelli she kept hearing about, had done. They’d obviously done something very, very wrong. Pissed off or double crossed the wrong man.
“So I’m here… because you want revenge?” Her voice quivered, though she tried to keep it strong. It was hard when her throat was closed up tightly and her heart was hammering out a frightened, frantic pace in her chest.
Marcello sighed like she wasn’t so bright after all. He stalked across the room and came to stand before her. Kayla didn’t sit up or show him any deference, though she wished he wasn’t looking down at her. Maybe it was best to let him. To play the frightened, naive, innocent girl who posed no threat to him.
Or maybe he meant to kill her either way and it didn’t matter.
“You’re here as insurance,” Ma
rcello began, voice tight. He was no longer smiling and his eyes had narrowed into hard slits. “I have sources who’ve informed me that Drake Cannelli and the bunch of biker scum he’s allied himself with plan to make a move against me. They think they can wipe me out. You’re here because your father picked the losing side. You’re here because there still might be time to salvage things. You see, I haven’t got this far alone, unfortunately. Life is about choices. It’s about being smart enough to make compromises. That’s where you come in. If your father is a wise man, and I’m sure he’s infinitely wise where your well-being is concerned, he’d be smart to shift his focus and choose a new business partner. In fact, if he’s smart at all, he’ll convince Drake Cannelli that having me as a friend and associate is much, much smarter than having me as an enemy.”
“So you’re going to- barter, using me to bribe my father?”
Marcello chuckled deep in his throat, but it was a horrifying sound from a man who probably hadn’t truly laughed. Ever. Kayla’s heart raced faster, so fast that it was physically painful. Her lungs clenched up and it was impossible to breathe. She remained frozen in horror on the bed, completely at the mercy of the man before her. An evil man.
For some reason, she thought of Shawn. She’d thought he was a bad man. That he’d done things that were shameful and wrong, things that were dark and unspeakable.
He was nothing like this man. She’d only been with him for a single night and part of the next day, but she’d seen into his soul and she knew that no matter what he’d done, at heart, he was a good man. A man who wanted better than the hand he’d chosen for himself, the hand he thought it was best to play. She could see the pain and regret written there, the hope that he’d get another chance.
The string that had unexpectedly wrapped its way around her heart, joining her to his, pulled tight. She closed her eyes, wishing he was there. Wishing he’d save her, take her away.
Which was stupid. Because he barely knew her.
They’d had sex. They’d shared a moment, an experience she’d never had with another person. That didn’t mean he actually gave a shit about her, or that he’d lift a finger to get her back if it wasn’t what his prez or Drake Cannelli wanted. He wasn’t her hero. He wasn’t a hero, or even an anti-hero. Period.
“Oh no,” Marcello laughed outright. He gave his head a shake, like he didn’t actually realize she could be so stupid. “I didn’t take you to use you as bait or a bribe. No, I took you as a peace offering. An olive branch, if you will. If your father and Drake Cannelli change their tune and decide that it’s in their best interest to work for me-”
“You’ll let me go?” Kayla blurted, before she realized how stupid it was to interrupt a dangerous man while he was giving his grand victory speech.
“Of course not.” Marcello edged closer, until he sat down on the bed. Kayla shifted away quickly. She should have stood her ground, because her actions brought on that dark, evil smile. A smile that wasn’t a smile at all, but a predatory curling of lips. It made her sick to her stomach. Her skin crawled. “I doubt you’ve heard, but Drake Cannelli deprived me of something that was meant to be mine. His sister was promised to me, but instead he gave her to some biker scum who fancied himself in love with her. He took her away, disappeared, no doubt just as Cannelli wanted. He thought he was freeing her…” Marcello laughed again, that bleak, evil sound. “So it seems that I’m in need of a wife.”
He reached out and caressed Kayla’s shin, above her jeans. His touch was frigid and she jerked away. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she thought she might actually be sick all over the bed. She could only imagine what Marcello would do to her, so she swallowed thickly.
“I’ll never be your wife,” she spat. “Never. My father will never let it happen. Drake Cannelli is coming for you. They’re all coming. You’ll see. My father didn’t pick the wrong side. He picked the side that is going to put you into the ground, where you belong.”
Marcello might have been old, but he was fast as lightning. In a split second, he had Kayla’s wrist. He tugged her to him, clean off the bed. She fought him, planting a hand against his chest and trying to push herself away. He captured her wrists, pinning her back down hard against the bed. He leaned over her, pinning her with his weight. Though he was only average height and build, he was deceptively strong.
He bent and when he licked her cheek, tracing his tongue over her jaw and to her lips. Kayla screamed and gagged. She tried to wrench free, but Marcello held her fast. His breath was putrid, lust lighting up the dark hatred in his eyes.
“It’s going to be a pleasure to take you. I like the ones with spirit. You can fight me. Claw me. Scratch me. In the end, you’ll see. I’ll break you. I’ll fuck the fight right out of you. There won’t be a single hole that I don’t use. You will be my wife. You will take my seed and you will carry my son. Who knows. In time, you might even come around to enjoying the position. You’ll have the world at your feet. Anything you could ever want. You’ll be my queen.”
“Never,” Kayla spat.
Marcello’s hand moved to her throat. He slowly pressed down, cutting off her air supply. Kayla gasped and choked until there was no more sound. Her eyes watered. The black spots danced in front of her eyes again. Just when the room was about to fade away, Marcello released her. She gasped and choked and spluttered again, violent, rough sounds that she didn’t want to make.
All while Marcello stared down at her, triumphant and victorious. He was enjoying the show, she realized. Men like him lived for it. The torture. The fear. The pain.
“I have things to attend to. Business matters. I’ll be back later tonight, pet. Make no mistake, that sweet cunt of yours will be mine. Later. When everything else is settled.” Marcello licked his lips as he stood, as though he could taste her already.
Kayla barely managed not to gag as he walked slowly to the door. She remained as still as she could, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.
When he closed the door, she allowed the tears to come, scalding and bitter down her cheeks. She turned her face away and sobbed into the soft covers below her.
It was a minute later, that she realized she’d already lost. Marcello was probably no doubt watching her cry into the camera. Bastards like him got off on it. Seeing others in pain. Hurting others.
All she could do was close her eyes and take one deep breath, then another. She had to keep breathing. She had to keep going. She had to hope that somehow, some way, her father, Drake Cannelli, Shawn… that someone would come for her. That someone would save her.
It wouldn’t be Shawn. Kayla knew it, but she couldn’t erase the image of his face from her mind. If she was ever free again, she’d find him. It was amazing how having her freedom stripped away, her plans shattered, and the blindfold removed from her eyes, could shatter the walls she’d built around her heart. They were built to keep people out, to keep herself from feeling anything at all, but Shawn smashed right through them.
If she was ever free again, she’d tell him all the things she hadn’t really got to say to him that morning. She’d make him see that he could start over. That somehow he’d touched her heart, that he was the only person who had ever made her feel anything at all, and that was worth fighting for.
Chapter 17
SHAWN
Kill led them up the stairs of Marcello’s stronghold. The house was a newer construction, built of stone and timber. Like most pieces of shit, he lived on the outskirts of town, which made it easy to hide and wall himself in. It made their job even easier, since out in the country, no one was going to hear the shots fired.
They’d stormed the place, but Marcello’s men hadn’t been caught off-guard. They knew they were coming. There just weren’t enough of them. After they dropped the guards outside, most of the others turned and fled. They weren’t getting paid enough to sacrifice their lives, apparently.
Kill’s machete dripped blood. His guns spent, he’d thrown them awa
y during the skirmish outside and on the main floor. The bastard liked using that blade. He was a sick one. One of the sickest Shawn had ever seen. The guy was deadly efficient and the only person Shawn had ever seen spend hours practicing throwing knives at targets. He liked that hand to hand combat. He lived for the sport of it, for the final blow that would send his enemy into oblivion.
The house was quiet. Too quiet. Shawn swore that he could almost hear the dripping of blood from the bodies littering the foyer, the rooms below, and the stairs. The air was coated with the metallic tang of blood and gore and Shawn’s gorge rose. The adrenaline hadn’t faded away and his heart thumped hard. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Something wasn’t right. It’s too fucking quiet. Where the hell is Marcello?
Drake glanced around, his eyes tracking the mess. He cracked a smile and nodded at Kill. “Kind of reminds me of that day at my place. Good thing we’re planning on burning the fucker down at the end of this all. It takes weeks to get the bloodstains out. The carpets can just be thrown away, but the hardwood. Now, that’s a different story. I ended up having most of it replaced. Not the spot where my brother died. I left that one. A nice little souvenir, you know.”
Shawn wished the guy would just shut the fuck up. The rest of the men, those that hadn’t retreated back to the clubhouse clutching wounds and trying to staunch the damage of bullet holes, stirred restlessly on the stairs.
“You know, the bastard is probably right in that room.” Drake pointed when he reached the head of the stairs.
Shawn glanced in both directions down the hall. Kill did the same. He waved his machete, the entire length of it bloodstained, at the closed door. “Right. It’s the only door that’s fucking closed. If he’s not in there, he’s not here.”
“Unless he has some underground fortress that we don’t know about. I wouldn’t put it past the bastard,” Drake said, far too casually. It seemed like he was actually enjoying himself.
Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series Page 86
