TANGLED WITH THE BIKER_Bad Devils MC

by Kathryn Thomas

  I measured the time by a small, silver clock that ticked loudly above my head. Except for the TV that was brought in yesterday to entertain me, it was the only thing I could watch. I told myself that every second that passed was another second closer to Race rescuing me. Though with every visit and movement of the little hand that he didn’t barge into the basement with guns blazing, I started to doubt Race would ever find me. Was he even looking?

  At six o’clock, my dad appeared in the doorway with a smile as wide as the moon. He walked me arm in arm to the leather couch at the end of the room and then placed my dinner tray on my lap. It was more fast food, but what was I supposed to expect out of a club full of men who probably had never seen the inside of a kitchen.

  “I was thinking of letting you shower tonight. You have been good, and it’s about time.”

  “About time for what?” I ask with a hint of suspicion.

  “Oh, you’ll see,” he replies, his eyes staring at the closed door. It was unusual to see it shut. I can’t remember the last time he had it closed.

  I’m suddenly not that hungry “I would like to shower,” I admit, my voice tired. I can’t remember the last time I bathed, let alone changed my clothes or ran a comb through my hair. “But I’m not going to shower with guards.” The dead man’s hands grasping under my shirt replays in my mind. I know that no one would dare attempt it now, but the fear is still there, eating away at me.

  “No. I wouldn’t think you should. You’ll use the shower in my office. I’ll post Erickson and Mort outside the doors so you’ll have your privacy.”

  “And you? Where are you going to be?”

  “Don’t worry about me.” He smiles again as he places a hand upon my knee. “We’ve got a big night ahead. I’m told we have visitors coming.”

  “Visitors?”

  “Yes, Del, and I don’t think you’re going to want to miss them. I want you to be there, watching everything. Then you’ll know and understand exactly who can take the best care of you and your baby. You’ll see what family means to me.”

  I gulp as I try to understand his cryptic way of talking. Everything is a puzzle or a riddle when he speaks to me. Nothing is straightforward. Maybe it comes with the territory of faking your own death and becoming the leader of the rival gang, but the theatrics are driving me mad. There are no guests of his I would ever want to see, especially when it is in relation to my baby.

  “I picked out an outfit for you,” he adds as I try to stay focused. “It’s upstairs along with the rest of your things. I had my girls pick it out at the maternity store. I’d let you wear your old things, but I don’t know if you’ll fit into any of them. You’ve filled out in the few days since I’ve had you here. That’s good.” The way he beams at me is as if me being pregnant and somewhat healthy is some kind of accomplishment to celebrate. It would be laughable if I could afford to muster up some kind of humor in this situation.

  The decrepit upstairs of the building isn’t much different from the dungeon downstairs. Cramped, darkened, and reeking of mysterious smells, we push through clouds of smoke and through lines of men crowded in narrow hallways. As my father appears, they pull away, parting the seas for their Moses. But they aren’t looking at him as he passes. Their eyes are trained on me. Some leer, licking their lips and daring to make clicking noises through their broken teeth. The rest laser onto me. No doubt, they’re wondering if having me as some collateral or bait is going to be worth the effort and the bloodshed. For each of these men, I imagine just how Race will take them down when he finally arrives.

  “Take your shower and get dressed,” Dad says as we walk into a small office space, “you’ve got ten minutes.” He flips on the switch and gestures both to a side room where I hear water already running and a pile of clothing neatly folded at the foot of the door.

  “Ten minutes? That’s not long—”

  My father shuts the door to his office before I can protest. I turn my head towards the clock, noting the time. The last thing I want is one of those assholes to walk in on me while I’m not dressed yet.

  I peel off towards the shower. The feeling of my legs moving freely is invigorating enough, but the touch of warm water sends me reeling. I take each moment in, smelling the hotel sample soaps he’s left behind and running my hands through the tangles of my knotted hair as I massage my scalp tenderly. Nothing has ever felt better… Well, besides Race.

  As much as I would pay my life savings to stay a minute longer, I race out of the shower with towels wrapped around my body and hair. I nudge the door open, so I can grab the pile of clothing he’s left for me. I don’t know what I imagined he would select, but this is far from what I envisioned a father picking for his daughter. The black silk dress accentuates the curves of my rounding stomach and then falls right above my knee. The plunging neckline emphasizes my slightly larger breasts, and the push-up helps fill it in. The whole outfit moves like waves on my body as I struggle to throw my wet hair up into a messy bun at the top of my head.

  I’m nearly done covering myself in the sample-size lotion bottle when I hear the knock on the door. “It’s time, Delilah.” My dad doesn’t wait for my answer before opening the door on me. I take a few steps backward, holding on to the side of the sink for support.

  My father’s face has given away nothing to me, but in the moment of him seeing me like this, all dressed up and ready for a night out, I swear there’s something close to his twisted version of affection or admiration there.

  He sighs heavily, a hand near his mouth, as he exclaims, “You look exactly how I imagined.”

  “Thanks,” I try to say without blushing. I have dreamed of this– of my dad seeing me like this. I don’t want to tell him too much or to show him that I care a rat’s ass about his approval. This is not how it’s supposed to be. No father is supposed to kidnap their grown child, murder a man for her honor, and then use her as some pawn in a scheme. My heart and head wrestle back and forth until the moment passes.

  “Where are we going?” I finally ask, willing to break the silence between us.

  “To meet some people and settle some business. After that, you’re going to have dinner with me and Andre.”

  “Andre? Who the hell is Andre?”

  “My second. I told you– he’s willing to take you as his old lady to secure his position. We’ve settled it all.”

  “I-I’m not going to do that,” I stammer. “I’m not some damsel you need to arrange a marriage for.”

  “Given that you’re knocked up and unwed, I’d say someone’s got to handle your affairs.”

  “You have no idea about my love life. Race is—”

  “I don’t want to hear a fucking word about that bastard, Delilah. Not after tonight.” He throws an arm around me, pushing me forward.

  “Where are you taking me!” I scream this time as I struggle against him. “Please! Just tell me what you are going to do!”

  He doesn’t answer. By the time we reach the door, his men are already waiting for him. The two men take me from him, leading me away towards a black van parked in the connected garage. I bang against the tinted windows, only able to see my father jump on the back of a parked bike. He peels out first, and the van begins to roll backward and then out onto the street. The darkened night sky shades the way as we travel back to where I first came from, towards Devils’ territory.

  It’s a ten-minute drive before the car stops and the driver parks. He steps out of the van, but he doesn’t come for me. I try to unroll the windows, but the most I can do is push them open by the corners. I can only see so much, but I can make out a brown and green field littered with trash.

  On the opposite side of the lot, two headlights from at least two other motorcycles flash a pattern. My father flickers his light back, and the small group from the Roadheads makes their way across the field.

  My eyes dart to the other side, waiting for a sign. My heart races. It thumps a war beat in my ears. I throw my fingers through the crack
of the window, pushing myself as close as I can towards the opening. And that’s when I see him.

  Race.

  He strides through the field with his hands in his pockets. His hair is swept back so I can see his firm glare fixated on my father. Three steps behind him are Nicco and Seb, both looking slightly apprehensive but battle-ready.

  It’s Nicco who speaks first. “Where is she, Preacher?”

  “My girl is safe and sound, just like I promised you.”

  “I want to see her!” Race roars through the night, glancing at the van. I am tempted to scream at him, to let him know that I am here, but I don’t want to be the spark that lights the match.

  “You’re not seeing anyone until I’ve got what I’ve been promised.”

  There’s a long pause where everyone stands stone-cold in their spots. The group looks around and then back at a fourth motorcycle parked between the both of them. Nicco calls out something that I can’t quite make out, but the driver turns his lights off and then walks quickly towards the center of the two groups. As the figure grows closer, I begin to notice the tight black jeans, the long T-shirt, and the hair tied in a braid.

  Before anyone can say a word, I scream out into the night, “Mom! No!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Race

  “Where is she?” Shannon asks as I walk through the door of the diner. She nearly drops the plates to the ground when Nicco appears behind me.

  The only response I can muster is, “We need you.”

  Just an hour earlier, we had reached out and got ahold of Preacher. It had definitely not been easy. The detective–the one we had paid a small fortune for– wanted protection from his boss. He had wanted there to be no way for Preacher to determine it was him double-crossing him.

  While I couldn’t make promises, I respected the request. What the detective did give me was an address to an old bar and restaurant in Roadhead territory. She is there, he promised me. He wouldn’t move her–at least, not without him knowing it. But there had been a dead body, and Preacher had a reputation for having very little patience– and for taking blood for no good reason.

  I had a relatively new enforcer drop the message to the door. His instructions were simple. Place it in the hands of a rider and then get the fuck out of there before being killed. Don’t come in riding with colors or patches. Take an unmarked car and stick to the main streets. The note was the most important part. It needed to get into Preacher’s hands as fast as possible.

  Soon after the rider came back, my phone rang.

  “Preacher?” I asked as casually as I could, though my blood boiled at the thought of the bastard on the other line.

  “Race, I presume.”

  “Where is she, Preacher?”

  “You mean my daughter?”

  “I mean my woman,” I corrected him.

  “Your claim means nothing to me. She was my daughter first.”

  “She’s carrying my child, you fucking son of a bitch!” My voice rose with my temperature. I was not about to let this bastard keep me away from what was rightfully mine.

  Preacher, for his part, didn’t seem the least bit phased by me. “Again, that means nothing to me. My grandchild will be raised by real men. Roadhead men.”

  “Like hell he will be.”

  “You know,” he said, “when I joined the Roadheads, I had to prove my worth. My first night with the club, I fought their best fighter. Killed the man in under ten minutes. I didn’t have to kill him; I only had to knock him till he quit. But I beat the shit out of him until he couldn’t breathe just so the rest of the men could see I meant business.”

  “What does that have to do with Delilah, Preacher?”

  “It doesn’t. Not a goddamn thing. It does, however, have everything to do with you.” He paused, almost as if he were thinking to himself, before continuing. “I want to know what you’ve done to get that plush seat you got with the Devils.”

  “Hey, fella,” I said, holding my anger at bay as best I can, “I earned my badges just like you did. But you want to know what the difference between you and me is?”

  “This oughta be good.” He snorted.

  I continue as if he hadn’t interrupted me. “It’s that I at least got some integrity. I respect the codes of the road. You do remember those, right? Like the Number One rule: don’t mess with any man’s claimed lady.”

  At this, Preacher guffawed. “I don’t plan on messing with her. In fact, I’ve kept her comfortable, given her food. Hell, I’ve even taken out a guy who put his hands on her without my permission. She’s been treated like a fucking queen around here. And she will continue to be when I’ve got her linked up with Andre...”

  His voice trailed off before I gave in. “What the hell do you want for her? What do we need to give you?”

  “Give me? I don’t need anything that you have.”

  “This isn’t about the clubs? The territories?”

  “No. This is a family matter– one you managed to stick your damn nose in.”

  “You left your family. You left Shannon and Del to fend for themselves. You’re just a deadbeat bastard coming back from the grave.”

  “Shannon is what I’m after, son.”

  “What?” I asked, not understanding. “You have Shannon too?”

  “No. But I’m willing to work out a deal with you.” His voice almost lightened as he explained, “I can’t take Shannon the same way I took Delilah. She’s got the old dogs watching her every move, and I don’t mess with men from my past. So I’m willing to make a deal with you. You get Shannon, bring her to me, and we can talk about me releasing Delilah.”

  “How do I know this ain’t a fucking trap?” I asked, not exactly believing his intention.

  “I’m not going to give you that time to think it through, boy. You’ve got an hour. Get Shannon and meet us in neutral territory– the abandoned lot on Story Street. Two men and Shannon only. Any more and I call it off, and you’ll never see Delilah again.”

  I turned my head towards Nicco. He’d been listening to almost every word but hadn’t interjected. From the look on his face, he was as eager as I was to get shit settled between this maniac and us. One nod gave me the green light.

  “I’ll be there, Preacher.”

  The phone clicked, and the clock started. We had an hour to convince Shannon to confront the devil in her past. I thought it would take more, but as soon as I explained where Del was and that she was pregnant, the game changed. Shannon would do anything to get her away from Preacher, even if it meant sacrificing herself.

  To my surprise, she drops the tray of plates on the countertop of the restaurant, walks off, and returns with a biker helmet and the keys to her own ride. She expertly trails behind us as we cross in and out of Roadhead and Devils’ territory. It was her idea to take the middle ground so she could stand between us when shit went down.

  She was and is right.

  Now, face-to-face with the bastard, her appearance isn’t softening Preacher at all. If anything, the pulsating electricity between our two groups is magnified with her standing in ground zero.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Preacher?” Shannon asks, jumping straight into the action without any hint of fear. I can see where her daughter gets her fire. “You took Delilah? You hunted her down like some punk messing with your business? She was happy and safe where she was!”

  “She was working as a waitress with yuppies and slumming around with shitbag Devils, Shannon! That’s not the life I want for our daughter!”

  “Let me see her!” Shannon cries out, her voice cracking slightly. “I need to know she’s safe.”

  Preacher doesn’t break eye contact with her as he clicks his fingers towards the two goons lurking behind him. One turns and heads towards the black van parked at the edge of the lot. The door opens, and I watch with feet plastered into the ground as I watch Delilah appear. Her hair dangles over her bare shoulders as the man drags her by her stomach towards us. She cries the ent
ire way, clawing out towards us in a dress that clings to her body.

  “Mom! Why? What is going on?” Her eyes turn towards me, pleading as she cries, “Help her! Don’t let her do whatever it is he wants her to do!”

  “Delilah!” Preacher barks out. “Quiet!”

  “Don’t you dare talk to her like that! You’re not her father. You gave that up the minute you walked out on us years ago.” Shannon’s burst is defiant, but it only angers Preacher more.

  “You always were an insubordinate, pushy bitch. No wonder this one wound up knocked up by some trailer trash boy.”

  “Don’t you fucking step up to me, Preacher,” I interject. “Don’t you dare forget who I am.”