His to Protect: Midnight Riders MC

by April Lust

  Santos laughed again. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Zelda flinch. She was a haggard mess and I wanted nothing more than to get her away from all this, to someplace safe where I could tend to her and make her feel protected, safe, and most of all, loved. Unfortunately, if I didn’t get this whole thing with Santos taken care of, one way or another, there was every possibility that even if she managed to get out of here, there would be no safe place for her.

  Escape wasn’t the only thing I was concerned with anymore. Maybe I could take down the guard and grab Zelda, making a break for it while Santos was still hacking and a little disoriented. Maybe I could throw her on my bike and we could run as far and as fast as possible.

  But I wasn’t naïve.

  Santos was a powerful man with more members in Wicked Titans than I had in the Berserkers. Which wasn’t all that important to me, except that right now it meant there was a good chance that I wouldn’t be able to stop him that way. If it was an all-out fight between my boys and his, sheer numbers would dictate that I would lose. The Berserkers just weren’t strong enough right now to pick and win that kind of fight. All of that meant that outright fighting with Santos’s boys was a bad idea. Something we couldn’t win. But it also meant something else. It meant that if I ran with Zelda right now, we wouldn’t get far.

  Maybe if we got lucky, I could get Zelda out of the city. There might be enough gas in my bike for that. And let’s say I did. What then? Money and resources, things like that, would be pretty scarce because I couldn’t risk that he had a means of tracking that. There was every possibility that he had the sort of connections that would allow him to get information on bank accounts or other things like that.

  Especially since it was no secret that he was engaged to Zelda. It didn’t matter that he was a bastard who, not five minutes ago, had just been trying to rape her. Officials wouldn’t know that. Whatever contacts he had wouldn’t know that. They would only know what he told them. They would only know that Zelda was “missing” and that he was a “concerned husband” searching for his “beloved” wife.

  No larger piece of bullshit had ever been conceived in my personal opinion, but it wasn’t my opinion that mattered. It was only those who he could convince, and he could be very convincing.

  Snakes were like that.

  So running wasn’t an option. A full, all out fight wasn’t an option. That only gave me one thing left. Being sneaky. Being smart.

  “You’re sure you want to play it this way, Santos?” I asked one last time, more to rub it in his face when I produced the information I had than anything else.

  He smiled maliciously at me. “Is there any other way to play it?”

  I reached behind me, but the guy with the gun didn’t like that too much. “Don’t fucking move, asshole.”

  I gave him a look that said exactly what I thought of him and his leash, then promptly did the exact opposite of what he said. I finished reaching behind me and produced the folder with a flourish.

  Santos and the gunman both stared at it blankly for a minute. It was clear that neither of them had any idea what I was currently holding in my hands or maybe that guy with the gun would have already pulled the trigger. In fact, it occurred to me that if I wasn’t very, very careful, I would be dead before I even got the chance to make my threat. Which was not a good thing.

  Where the hell is Wildcard?

  I’d brought him and Bones both with me. Schumacher had lingered by the door, but after the ruckus we’d been making up here, there was a good chance that he’d raced inside. There was a possibility that my guys were dealing with Santos’s men—or worse, but I wasn’t in any mood to consider that just yet—but they should have been nearly finished with them.

  Unless there had been a lot more men in this place than I had reckoned when we went to the door.

  “What the fuck is that?” Santos demanded, motioning towards the folder. You could still see the red tape lining it, cut open, but still stuck to the cardstock that the folder was made out of. After a moment, Santos narrowed his eyes at the folder. Like maybe he had some idea now of what it might contain. But he didn’t say anything else, instead just waiting for me to explain what I was holding and why I thought it was important enough to wave around like a fucking bulletproof shield. Which it most definitely was not.

  “Evidence,” I replied simply. Santos frowned, but before he said anything more, I kept talking. My eyes flickered over to Zelda as I did so, evaluating her, wondering if she would have the sense right now after everything to run even if things went south for me. I wasn’t sure, but I hoped so. “The kind that might cause you a little bit of trouble if it got out.”

  The man pointing the gun at my head made a move, baring his teeth and stepping forward at the same time like maybe he was going to hit me with the gun instead of shoot me. Or maybe he was just going to try and bite me, I couldn’t tell.

  Before he got too close or had any funny ideas of his own that his boss hadn’t had the time to think through and consider yet, I stepped back just a little and waved the folder at him. “Easy, bullets for brains. This may seem like just a piece of paper, but it’s pretty important to your boss there.” I motioned towards Santos and it was enough to get the gunman to pause. He looked over at Santos, who gave a single, quick shake of his head, then didn’t move any further. He’d wait for Santos’s all clear before he took me out.

  “Alright, what is it, Nester boy?” Santos finally asked, forcing himself to smile tightly, attempting to appear calm and collected and not at all like I was holding something that might forever fuck up his life.

  I offered him a smile, glancing at Zelda quickly—she was staring at me curiously, the terror only marginally softened—before focusing again on Santos. “It’s the information on the charity project. You know, the building that collapsed several months back?” I quipped, jogging his memory though based on the stricken look on his face he hardly needed it.

  Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, he made himself smile at me though it turned into more of a grimace or baring of teeth. It wasn’t pretty whatever it was. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Nester. They already investigated that collapse and found that Vanguard wasn’t at fault. No harm, no foul.”

  My smile widened. “So you admit that you are a backing partner of VCI?”

  Santos cursed, then quickly dropped pretenses, growing tired of my game. “That’s public knowledge,” he spat at me, though I could tell by how angry he was that he didn’t like that I knew. It might have been public knowledge, but it wasn’t widely advertised. In case Vanguard went under, he wanted to make a clean break from them so that no one would end up pointing the finger in his direction.

  “Besides,” he added, his voice gruff with anger and irritation. “We did everything by the books. Nothing in there can hurt me.” He jerked his chin towards the file.

  “Is that so?” I asked mildly, unaffected. “So you know that this file contains receipts for purchases of subpar materials? That there are stress tests and weight calculations and transcripts of conversations between you and a Mr. Caraway regarding prices versus strength when choosing building materials?”

  Santos paled. “I don’t—”

  But this time I didn’t let him finish. “Let me just tell you what’s in here, since you clearly don’t know. Your manager of VCI got wise. He seemed to think that you might throw him and his people under the bus if things got too hot. So on the top portion of this file, I find the ‘official’ reports that he was expected to give to the authorities. Which, as far as I can tell, he did. And beneath those, lo and behold to my great surprise, there was a second set of documents. Documents that held very specific information that ties you not only to VCI, but to their decisions regarding materials, cost cutting measures, and the overall knowledge that that building wasn’t safe. You knew it was coming down and so did they. Your manager just wanted to make sure that if he went down, you went with him.”

  “
What do I do, boss?” asked the gunman, glancing between me, the file in my hand, and Santos, who was red faced with anger.

  Santos opened his mouth to answer—likely to tell that asshole to shoot me and get ahold of the file—but before he got the chance, there were the sounds of shouting and things breaking coming from just outside in the hall. It was just enough of a distraction that no one shot me right then and there.

  A second later Wildcard burst through the door. Behind him, I saw Bones, who was cursing as he beat one of Santos’s men to a bloody pulp. I could only imagine that there was a trail of bodies behind the two of them, probably still alive but in pretty bad shape all things considered.

  Wildcard didn’t waste any time and used the distraction of his sudden appearance to his advantage. He barely wasted a second scanning the room and taking stock of what was going on. He saw the gun, Santos, Zelda, and me holding the file. That was enough for him. With a war cry that was piercing and a little nuts, Wildcard made a mad lunge for the gunman.

  Santos’s man widened his eyes and let a single cry escape his mouth before Wildcard landed on him. The gun was knocked from his grip instantly, sliding across the hard floor to bank off of a wall and skid under the bed somewhere.

  It was a shame, because I would have liked to have it—Santos had said no guns, and I’d obliged only for the sake of Zelda’s safety—but I was grateful nonetheless that it was at least no longer in the hands of one of Santos’s men.

  Thank god for small favors.

  The man reacted to Wildcard, pulling his fist back and then throwing it as hard as he could towards my guy. But Wildcard dodged easily and took the man down, landing on top of him and suddenly throwing him into a fury of flying fists that the man had no chance of blocking or retaliating against. He tried at first, but in a few moments he was unconscious. For a few moments longer, Wildcard continued to beat the crap out of him until the man’s face looked like hamburger meat.

  It wasn’t pretty, but I was grateful just the same. It was good to have Wildcard on my side. The man was an animal.

  When he looked up at me, I said, “What the fuck, man?”

  “Sorry, boss,” Wildcard apologized, breathing heavily. He had a cut across his forehead that was bleeding profusely—he swiped at it repeatedly, only for it to drip right back into his eyes—and what looked like a healthy bruise forming on his jaw. “We got held up in the kitchen.”

  “What, were you sitting down for fucking dinner?” I asked incredulously, but there was no bite in my words and my expression must have been one of pure relief, because Wildcard only shrugged at me and grinned.

  A grin that dropped instantly as we both saw Santos, as though moving in slow motion. He darted away from me and I turned just in time to see him grab a strong, painful grip on Zelda’s upper arm. She cried out, yelling at him to let her go, and tried to jerk away from him. She struggled and I surged towards her, about to kick Santos’s ass for what he was doing, but instantly we both paused.

  Santos had produced a gun from somewhere—probably the top drawer from the chest of drawers behind him—and now had it pressed against the side of Zelda’s head. She couldn’t necessarily see it, I didn’t think, but she could definitely feel it and there was no question in her mind what it was.

  Fear masked her features for not the first time tonight and it pained me to know that she was once again in trouble.

  How had I let this happen?

  “Give me the file!” Santos roared at me, jerking Zelda by the arm to emphasize his words.

  “Don’t hurt her,” I told Santos, keeping my voice calm, though even I could hear the tremble in it. Wildcard made a move as though to rush Santos, but I held out an arm like a bar to stop him. I shook my head just once and Wildcard backed off.

  I couldn’t risk Santos losing it and shooting Zelda.

  “Give me the fucking file!” he yelled at me again, furious and panicked, a dangerous combination for anyone, but especially a snake like Santos DeArma. “Give it to me or I’ll fucking kill her!”

  I had no doubt that he would do it, too.

  I thought of the folder in my hand, how it was growing damp from my sweaty palms. I thought of what it contained, of all the people Santos had hurt and would continue to hurt. I thought of how this file was the only thing I had left to use against Santos. After this, it wouldn’t matter about Calvin or those injured or who else might think Santos was guilty. He would throw his manager under the bus, VCI would go down, and that would be it.

  Then I thought of Zelda and realized that there was just no choice. I had to save her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zelda

  I was trembling, I couldn’t help it. For the last few minutes it seemed like everything was suddenly moving at light speed, going so fast that an unbelievable amount of things had happened in only the blink of an eye. I watched as Nester came bursting into the room, my unexpected knight in shining armor.

  I had resigned myself to my fate. Santos was going to have his terrible, wicked way with me and then he was going to give me to his men. He was going to pass me around like some sort of sick toy until everyone had gotten a piece of me. And then, maybe, I would have been lucky enough to die. It was terrible on levels that I didn’t think I could live through—who could?—but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  When Santos had undone his pants and begun to stroke himself, growing hard at the thought of raping me of all the horrid things out there, I had felt a sickness overtake me. I was going to lose my mind, my sanity, my self-worth. Everything that I valued.

  And then I would never have even the smallest chance of getting Nester back.

  It seemed like a stupid, trivial thing to think about in that moment. Santos was on top of me, pinning me down, and his men were everywhere, inside and outside of the house, and he was about to do terrible things to me against my will—and Nester was what I thought of. I thought of how angry he’d been, and how terribly hurt he was, too. I thought of how we had loved each other for so long, cared for one another, promised to always be there for each other. And then I thought of how I had fucked that all up.

  I’d abandoned Nester for all the right reasons. Santos had propositioned me and I accepted only as a means of protecting Nester from a worse fate. There was, realistically, no chance of me and him getting back together and I had known that at the time. When Santos told me to dump Nester and be his girl instead, I had known that he would never let me go afterwards. Sure, Nester was in prison for only five years, but my fate with Santos was a lifetime. But I told myself that once Nester was out, we could work that all out. We could find a way to get away from Santos, to run and never look back. I could save up money in an account that Santos didn’t know about. I could purchase a car that he didn’t recognize.

  And I had done many of those things. I hadn’t been able to get a car, because I had to make a choice between buying a new car and saving up enough money to live decently, if modestly, for several months before I could get a job. But I figured that I could use my car to at least get out of town and then I could sell it and use the money to get a new car. The important part was getting away.

  It was the reason that, when Santos told me to drop out of school because it was “unbecoming” of a woman, I didn’t resist as strongly as maybe I would have under normal circumstances. School was expensive and if I was just going to run anyway, then there wouldn’t be money and time enough to do both. So I sacrificed my schooling—a lifelong dream, though I tried not to dwell on it—and put that money towards a secret savings account instead. It had the added benefit of making Santos happy, making him feel as though he had won something. That he was in control of me.

  But he wasn’t. He had never been.

  Not until tonight. Santos wasn’t the kind of man who just hit a woman for no reason. But he wasn’t the kind of man who never hit a woman either. He was all about control, about making sure his women were listening, were obeying like good little housewiv
es. And I hadn’t given him any reason to doubt that I was just that. It was self-preservation to some extent, but it was more, too. It was also about how I knew he had an unnatural amount of control over what happened to Nester in prison and until Nester was out, I couldn’t risk that he would do something terrible to him.

  So I obeyed. I was dutiful. I dressed and talked and ate what Santos liked. I was the kind of woman he wanted and that kept me safe, or at least unharmed.

  But then Nester got released from prison, time served. And everything changed. I hadn’t wanted to think about how hurt and angry Nester would be after what I’d done, but of course he was. As soon as I saw him on my doorstep that day, I knew he was. And I knew that he had every right to be. He didn’t know what I’d done—not the full extent of it anyway—or more importantly why I’d done it. How would I have felt if he’d broken up with me and suddenly began dating some other woman? Worse still, what if I’d known that woman my whole life and she’d spent most of it trying to make me miserable?

  I would have been furious, of course. That’s the only reaction to have. A very normal, human reaction.