by Cat Mason
“I wouldn’t be worried about that, if I were you,” I reply on a breathless whisper.
“Oh yeah?” he challenges, arching a brow. Loosening his fingers a bit, his eyes drop to where the fingers of his other hand toy with the button on my jeans. Popping it open, he traces the edge of my panties with his index finger. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’ll kill you myself.” Narrowing my eyes at him, I dig my nails into his skin as hard as I can and drag them down his arm.
Hissing through his teeth, he releases his grip on my throat. “You’re gonna regret that.”
He charges me. As if on instinct, my knee comes up, connecting with his balls. “Fuck you,” I ground out, shoving at his chest with both hands, knocking him off balance. The only thing I can think of is getting as far away from him as possible. I run for the door, but his fingers wrap around my ankle, yanking hard. I fall to the concrete floor. Pain jolts through my entire body, but I don’t give up. Grabbing onto the table leg with both hands, I kick him with my other foot.
Reaching up with his other hand, he grabs a fist full of my hair, yanking so hard that I feel some of the strands tear from my scalp. I cry out, tears springing to my eyes. Yanking my hands free from the table, Richard flips me over and straddles my body, effectively pinning me to the floor. “Trust me, Roanne.” Releasing my hair, his fingers slip beneath my shirt. Leaning down, his lips brush my ear. “I’ve waited a long time for this. Once I’m done, you won’t even remember his name.”
“No!” I scream, bile rising in my throat. There can’t be anything in my stomach at this point, but I would give anything to be able to puke on this motherfucker right now. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I seethe, when his hand grazes the underside of my breast.
Pulling his hand from my shirt, he slaps me hard across the face. “Ideally, I’d prefer you to be conscious,” he informs me, slamming the back of my head to the concrete. “But I’m not above knocking you out.”
My hand reaches out, fingers spread in an attempt to grab the table again for leverage. I won’t give up. I can’t stop fighting. My fingers slide through something wet and mushy before brushing over a cool metal handle.
I stop kicking. Turning my head to the side, I sigh, my heart nearly leaping in my chest when I see a fork that must have been on the tray of food he brought in this morning. “That’s better,” Richard says, his voice softening. Leaning down, his lips run along my neck while he rips at my shirt. “This is how he felt.” He smiles against my skin. “How Alfred felt knowing he was taking what wasn’t his.”
I refuse to let this happen. He will have to kill me first. This is it, one of those moments Jensen was talking about, where I have no other option than to possibly take a life. Wrapping my fingers around the handle, I slip my free hand along his cheek. “Please,” I whisper. His body shudders, a moan leaving his lips as I meet his eyes. “Go to hell,” I ground out, stabbing him in the throat with the fork as hard as I can.
“Bitch!” he roars, blood running down onto both of us.
I fight against him with everything that I have, kicking and hitting him as hard as I possibly can. “I’ll kill you,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’ll fucking kill you if you touch me again.”
When he rolls to the floor, I don’t waste a second getting to my feet. Opening the door, I run out of the room, desperate to find my father and get the hell out of here. My eyes scan the stairway and every corner quickly, watching for Ivy, or anyone else, but I don’t see anyone. Twisting the knob, I fling open the door, finding the room empty. “Fuck!” I scream, kicking the door. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I try to think.
A foot connects with my back, sending me face first into the wall. Everything begins to spin as I crumple to the floor. “You don’t get it,” Richard growls, his feet moving toward me. “I never wanted to hurt you, Roanne. You’re different from them. Innocent in all of this. Just like me. All I’ve done is try to keep you safe, protected from all of Ivy’s shit, and this is the thanks I get?” His hand fists in my hair, tugging until I meet his eyes. He shakes his head. “You’re not getting rid of me. It will take more than a goddamn fork to kill me.”
A gun fires from the other side of the room. I freeze, a terrified scream lodging in my chest. Collapsing next to me, Richard cries out in pain, his hands clutching his side.
“I bet bullets would.”
My eyes immediately snap up, filling with tears the moment I see Schrader standing in the doorway, his gun drawn and pointed at Richard’s head. “Down here!” he shouts, moving toward me, but keeping his focus on Richard. “You’re one dead motherfucker,” he taunts, kicking him in the side.
Footsteps come from outside the door. Looking over, I see Jensen step into the room, his chest heaving. The breath rushes out of my chest on a heavy whoosh, tears slipping down my cheeks. His face fills with relief, then just as quickly, turns menacing. Storming toward me, his eyes fill with rage as he crouches down beside me and looks me over. His fingers linger over my torn shirt, before dropping to his gun holster.
“He do that?” he asks, jerking his chin in Richard’s direction.
“I’m fine,” I reply, my lip quivering. “Please, just take me out of here.”
“Yes or no?” he asks, brushing the hair away from my face. I nod. Standing to his full height again, Jensen slips his gun from the holster and turns away from me. “You put your filthy goddamn hands on my woman?” Bending at the waist, he grabs Richard by the front of his shirt, jerking him to his feet. “Bad idea, Dick.”
“Really bad idea,” Schrader chuckles.
“I used more than my hands,” Richard replies, looking over at me. “Few seconds more, I’d have been buried deep inside her, making her forget all about you.”
Cracking his head from side to side, Jensen exhales harshly. “The only place you’ll be buried deep is in a motherfuckin’ trench out in Shadow Ridge.”
“You can’t kill me!” Richard spits angrily. “I’m a Federal Agent. Do you have any idea what will happen to you?”
“Not a fuckin’ thing.” Pressing the gun into Richard’s crotch, he squeezes the trigger, letting him fall to the floor in a heap. Cupping himself, Richard curls into a ball, heaving and wailing in pain. “Dead Feds don’t talk, Dick.”
“Name’s not very fitting anymore, is it, shithead? Have to start callin’ you Ick now, since you’re missin’ the D,” Schrader laughs, kicking him in the face with his boot. Richard’s face bounces off the concrete, knocking him out cold. “Want me to put him down when he wakes up?” he asks, waggling his brows. “I’d offer to do it now, but it’s just bad manners to kill someone when they’re not awake for it.”
“The piece of shit can bleed out for all I care,” Jensen replies, discarding Richard and turning his focus back to me while tucking his gun away. His eyes soften as they drop to mine. Reaching out, he lifts me into his arms. “Come on, Baby. Let’s get you out of this shithole.”
“Where’s my father?” I ask, frantically. “She took him, didn’t she? We can’t leave until we find him. She’ll kill him.”
“Who?” Settling me on my feet, he cups my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek. I wince, hissing out a breath. His face hardens, his body vibrating with fury as he traces my jaw.
“Ivy.”
“Ivy?” he asks, his brows knitting together in concern.
“Miracle,” I blurt, swatting his hand away. “Her real name is Ivy Vaughn.”
“What?” Jensen and Schrader both ask in unison.
“It’s been her,” I reply, shaking my head. “This whole time, she’s been behind everything.”
Jensen’s body tenses. He and Schrader exchange a look, then, without a word, Schrader bolts from the room. “If they’re still here, they won’t get past the guys. We’ll find them.” Wrapping his arm around me, Jensen tucks me protectively into his side before leading me from the room. Closing the door, he slides the lock into place.
Heading upstairs, we move q
uickly through the house. I shake my head in disbelief. Do people actually live here? The floor is covered with trash and debris from outside. A small stained brown couch sits in the center of the room, with a few scattered folding chairs surrounding a small round table. There are holes in nearly every single wall, and electrical wires hang down from where I assume a ceiling fan or light source once was. A large wooden staircase is beside the front door, leading up to what I assume is a few bedrooms or something, that are probably in just as poorly run down shape as the rooms down here.
Although, I guess criminals don’t exactly jump to book the Taj Mahal to hold and torture hostages.
Outside, there is shouting before gunshots ring out. Drawing his weapon again, Jensen pulls me behind him before stepping through the opened front door. The moment his boots hit the porch, he goes on high alert. His hands and gun moving seamlessly with his eyes as he scans the yard.
“Get the fuck down!” Jinks voice booms, followed by another round of gunshots.
Right on Jensen’s heels, I put my hands on his shoulders, attempting to peek around him. It’s a sea of chaos all around us. The guys are all screaming at each other, bullets are being fired in all directions. Wrapping an arm around me, Jensen leaps over porch railing, taking me with him. Twisting his body, he takes the brunt of the landing as we hit the ground. “Keep your goddamn head down.” Pressing a kiss to my forehead, he leaps to his feet and runs for the water’s edge. “Let him go,” he shouts, aiming at her. “It’s over.”
Pushing up on my hands, I see Ivy and the man she arrived with earlier, dragging my father out of a boat on the opposite side of the lake where several armed men stand waiting for them beside two large black SUVs. “This is far from over, Sweetheart,” she laughs, forcing my father to his knees at gunpoint. “I’m only getting started.” Sliding the barrel along the side of his head, she presses it to his temple. His face is void of emotion as he stares straight ahead.
Fear courses through my veins. “No!” I scream, scrambling to my feet. Ivy’s other hand shoots up and the shooting stops, everyone’s eyes moving to me. I don’t care. I refuse to hide in the grass and watch my father be executed. “Don’t,” I plead, stepping forward, holding up my hands in surrender. “What do you want, Ivy? Money?”
“Goddammit, Roanne,” Jensen barks, keeping his gun pointed at Ivy, though I have no idea if he can even hit her from this distance. “I said stay down. Let us handle this.”
“Anything you want,” I continue, ignoring him and moving closer. “I’ll make it happen. Just let my father go. Please.”
The moment the word ‘please’ leaves my lips, her facial expression changes completely. “I know exactly what I want,” she says, confidently. Her eyes drift closed, a smile spreading across her face. “Suffering.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Stone
BANG.
The gun goes off.
Alfred’s body falls to the dock. My heart seizes in my chest. “No!” Roanne screams from behind me, her knees buckling, sending her crashing into the dirt. “Oh my God. No!”
“You fucking bitch!” Squeezing the trigger, I empty my clip. Ivy runs up the dock, the guy following hot on her heels. My last bullet nearly takes them both down when I hit him in the hip. Ivy turns, firing off two shots with her own gun. Quickly, another man runs to help, loading them into the back of one of the vehicles, while five or six other men put down enough cover fire to keep us back. “You’re dead. Do you hear me?” I roar, angrier than I have ever fucking been in my entire life. “It doesn’t matter how far you run. When I find you, you’re fucking dead!”
The SUVs spin out, leaving a trail of gravel and dirt flying through the air. Holstering my gun, I head straight for Roanne, needing to get to my girl. Lying on her side, Ro sobs uncontrollably into her hands. “I’m so sorry, Baby.” Lifting her into my arms, I tuck her into my chest. Pressing my nose into her hair, I breathe her in, needing to be grateful for the one thing that has gone right in the middle of this clusterfuck. Regret and guilt surge through me, only making the rage brewing inside me burn brighter. I should have killed Ivy—Miracle—whatever the hell her name is, back at the clubhouse when I had the chance.
Now, Al is dead.
No one around me needs to place any blame, the self-imposed guilt already lies heavily on my shoulders.
I swore to Roanne that I would keep her safe from shit like this. I failed. Hell, the people who hurt her were right under my goddamn nose the entire time and I never suspected. Especially not D.A. I promised her that I would get her father back alive. Not only have I failed her there too, but I have no doubt the image of her father taking his last breath, and the satisfaction on Ivy’s face when she squeezed the trigger, will be permanently burned into Ro’s brain for the rest of her life. The sting hurts like a bitch. Not only because she is hurting, but because I had love for him too. I never thought anything could hurt as much as when I lost my parents. Watching the man who chose to raise me, after they died, be murdered right in front of me, along with nearly losing my girl, definitely ranks right the fuck up there.
“Stone!” Huck shouts, making my entire body tense. “Schrader’s hit.”
“Shit,” I bite out, carrying Ro over to where Jinks is opening the backdoors of the van. “Get him into the back of the van. Jinks, call Torch. Make sure his sister hasn’t left yet. If she has, tell him to get her back.” Reluctantly, I ease Roanne down in the back. Sliding my fingers under her chin, I tip up her face. The second those green eyes meet mine, the devastation I see there fucking guts me. “Stay right here.”
“Huck!” I shout, knowing he grew up not far from here. “Where does that road come out? There any way to cut them off?”
“That service road leads to Airport Road,” he replies, helping Schrader as he limps up the bank, his hand angled on the backside of his hip. “They’ve probably paid off the alcoholic fuck that runs that barely functional service yard and have a private jet or some chopper waiting. Eight minutes and they’re airborne.”
“Ah,” Schrader hisses, when Huck releases his grip. “Careful, you fuck! I’ve been shot.” Bracing himself on the hood of D.A.’s truck, he holds up his hand, waving his blood covered fingers at me. “That vindictive whore shot me in the ass.”
“Get pressure on the wound,” Doc says heading our way. “Torch’s sister will get you stitched up when we get back to the clubhouse.”
Schrader’s pain filled face lightens into an expectant smile. “I hope she’s good with her hands.”
Doc blows out a breath. Reaching around me into the van, he grabs his black duffle. “We still torchin’ the place?”
I nod. “I don’t want a trace of this shit hole left standing.”
“You really did get shot in the ass, didn’t you?” Looking down at the blood soaking through Schrader’s jeans, Doc chuckles. “What’s that feel like?”
“How the fuck do you think it feels, Old Man?” Schrader grunts, his brows knitting together. “There’s a bullet in my ass.”
Doc laughs again, harder this time. Slapping Schrader on the back, he shrugs. “With all the bitchin’ you’re doin’, you’d think the bullet was lodged in your vagina.”
With some help from Doc, Schrader climbs into the van and lies on his stomach in the floor. Resting his cheek on his folded arms, he stares up at Ro and rolls his eyes. “I take a bullet because Huck’s gun jammed, and suddenly he’s a fuckin’ comedian.” Reaching out, he covers one of her hands with his. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. Ro’s eyes close slowly as she exhales, tears rolling down her face, splashing onto her chest. She shouldn’t be here. Closing up the van, I get with the guys and start working out a plan. Since I want to get Roanne the hell away from this place, I take the van back to the clubhouse. Doc and Huck offer to retrieve Al’s body, so that we can arrange a proper burial, before they take Laswell’s car to a chop shop a couple towns over. Without Torch here to wire up the house, Jinks steps
up to handle it before driving D.A.’s truck back for Shy to deal with once she is ready.
The ride back is quiet, except for Schrader’s constant ranting about his now deformed and uneven ass. Every time I hear him fumbling with his belt buckle, I have to threaten to use my gun to even out the other side to keep him from flashing us and scarring Roanne any more than she already is. When I pull the van up beside the clubhouse, Torch is outside talking to Jace Kennedy.
To my surprise, Jace jumps in and helps Torch get Schrader out of the van and inside where Henley is washed up and waiting. I can honestly admit that I am pretty impressed with that kid’s new attitude. Whether it was the ass beating we gave him a while back, or the come to Jesus moment he had with the ditch instead of the front end of D.A.’s truck, doesn’t matter to me.
The little shit is acting like a decent fucking human being.
Who am I to question one of the few positive things to happen around here lately?
With Ro tucked into my side, I shake my head as we walk through the door. Schrader is bent over the pool table, his pants to his ankles. “How bad is it?” he asks, shifting around nervously.
“How about you let me have a look before we talk about amputation?” Henley says, pressing a hand to his lower back to keep him still.
Pushing off the table, Schrader glares at her over his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”
“Either be still or I’ll clamp you to the table by your balls,” she warns, jabbing him in the nose with her index finger.
Coming out from the kitchen, Shy is carrying a stack of towels and a bottle of whiskey. Her eyes widen the moment they land on Roanne. Rounding the bar, she dumps everything onto a table on her way to us. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out, grabbing Ro’s arms and looking her up and down. “Schrader told me some of what happened when the guys drug him in here. Are you okay?” she sighs loudly, shaking her head. “Sorry. That’s a stupid question. Of course you’re not.”
