by Cait Jarrod
Celine parked beside Charlene’s Hyundai.
“Do you mind if we look around a bit?” Charlene asked, climbing out of the car. Larry had said Andrew worked at the farm under an alias. If so, maybe she could figure out what he was into.
“Sure, I could use some fresh air, but I’m stuck wearing flip-flops.”
Celine joined her on the sidewalk and a shoulder bumped her. “How was staying here the other night?”
“Can I tell you something without you believing I’m crazy?”
Celine gave a single nod.
“The other night, I saw strange things.”
Celine raised a sculpted eyebrow. “Yeah? Like what?”
Charlene figured she’d start with one incident and judge Celine’s reaction before telling her the more peculiar things. “I saw the lights the guys talked about.” They followed the sidewalk passed the back door and stopped. Charlene pointed to the front field. “Out there.”
Celine scanned the area. “Honestly, the place gives me the creeps. At the same time, it’s fascinating. Want to take a walk? We’ll stay clear of the fence row where Larry and Jake said the traps were.”
How wise was it for them to trounce around the place when gang members, snakes, and traps had been seen? Yet, she really wanted to put an end to the mystery that surrounded Andrew. “I need to figure out what Andrew is up to.”
Celine nodded. “I can understand that. He is, after all, the father of your child.” She nodded toward the field. “Do you think the answer is out there?”
“I don’t know.”
A low rumble came from somewhere in the distance.
“What’s that noise?”
“I—” Celine’s words broke off and the color drained from her face.
Adrenaline spiked through Charlene’s blood stream. Men with guns sped toward them riding four-wheelers. “Oh, shit!”
“No…don’t say oh, shit,” Celine snapped. “Oh, shit means something really…really bad is about to happen”
Two more four-wheelers came from the sides of the house.
Charlene raised her hands and pressed her back against Celine’s. “They think we’re trespassing.”
“We are.” Celine’s voice rose. “I told you when Larry appears, something big is going down.”
“Oh, shit.”
****
Rage bolted through Andrew’s veins and he fisted his hands. His eyes narrowed on the man he’d fought against for the leadership of the Impalers for the last month. The battle turned personal as soon as Monk sent his goons after Charlene. “She’s my wife, you imbecile. Let her go.”
“Mouse…mouse…mouse.” The beady eyed man shook his head, making a tsking noise. “You’re out of your league now. Imposing your authority on my crib won’t work.”
Andrew thought about the Black Scorpions arriving today, how the gang members would have his back. “I have backup coming. You’ll regret ever tangling with me.”
“I already do.” Monk shifted his hat on his head and rubbed a fresh scar above his right eye. “Thanks to you, I’ve had dealings with a group I never wanted to come in contact with. The Black Scorpions are ruthless, vile, and don’t give a shit about anyone. And look what you did.”
Andrew swallowed around the lump lodged in his throat. No one was supposed to know about them.
“You call the sons-o’-bitches to come here and try to take over my small-time operation. You fucking tell them that if they take the reins from me that you’ll hand them over an FBI agent.” Monk slid another hand over his face and tugged a gun out of the back waistband of his pants and aimed it at Andrew. “How the fuck could you? I gave you a job. I knew you were power hungry, but to call them? Try to deal with them? You just signed the entire group’s death certificates.”
‘Oh-fucks’ pinged around in Andrew’s skull.
“Now, I have to try and deal with them. Our gang will have to disperse and hope to hell the Black Scorpions won’t track us down. I’m already missing two people. Rona and Hulk didn’t return from checking the fences.”
Andrew looked around the underground room Monk forced him into, the scent of dirt and weed making his head spin. The plants that filled the room had disappeared, leaving a table and a chair. If Monk decided to leave Andrew in there, no one would ever find him.
His mind flicked on his sweet Charlene wearing the see-through nightie this morning. Why had he ever threatened her? When she arrived at the Manor, Monk had gotten all weirded out and forced Andrew into this pit of a hole. “Let me go. I’ll straighten this out.”
Monk’s brown eyes lit into Andrew. “You’ve got that right. You will iron this out, but on my terms. Push the button on the wall behind you.”
Andrew twisted. A small brown knob, almost the color of the ply board, was an inch from the ceiling.
“Push it!” Monk ordered, and thrust the gun at him.
Andrew did. The door opened into a smaller room, he’d never seen.
“Get in there!”
Monk might as well kill him then let him rot in the hole. “No.”
“If you want to see your wife again, you’ll do as I say. Between you and her, somehow, someway I hope to get the gang out of this fucking mess.” Monk’s gaze went distant before shooting back on Andrew. “Now, move!”
Andrew stepped into the room and stared at the empty cell, his gut plummeting. He fucked up. “Come on, Monk. I’m sorry.”
“Are you sorry you stole my car? Used it to shoot a federal agent? You set my ass up. I won’t only be dealing with the Scorpions but the fucking FBI. Because of you, I have to do things I promised my mom I wouldn’t ever do. I’m not made for this type of shit.”
Andrew twisted toward the guy that he became close to in order to use. “Really man. I am sorry.”
“You know, you’re not dumb, but in all your scheming there’s one thing you didn’t count on.”
Andrew arched a brow.
“My brother is a Black Scorpion, you stupid fuck.”
Andrew saw the club swinging at him a second before sharp pain pierced his skull. Darkness invaded his vision and his body went limp.
Chapter Nineteen
Charlene swallowed, trying to shove down the golf ball-sized lump in her throat. It didn’t work. Four-wheelers surrounded her and Celine on all sides. Fear barreled through her system while adrenaline shot through her veins, leaving her antsy and shaky.
The drivers, wearing Impalers hats, flannel shirts, and blue jeans parked the butt of their guns on their thighs glared at them.
“Roach, get them!”
Charlene followed the direction of the woman’s voice to a four-wheeler off to the right. A petite woman with purple hair, cascading around her shoulders, eyed her.
“I’ll help.” A shaggy, brown-haired man with a porker-sized belly rolled off his seat and stormed toward them, a rifle in his hand.
Nerves wracked through Charlene’s body. “Support me,” she whispered over her shoulder to Celine and intertwined their arms.
The closer Roach came, the more foreboding he looked. A wad of something stuck under his bottom lip. His face was caked in dirt as if he hadn’t washed in ages. “Let’s go!” he shouted, motioning with his gun.
Charlene and Celine didn’t move.
Roach gripped the gun in one hand and reached for Charlene with the other.
She leaned back against Celine, kicked out her foot, hitting his stomach, and flung out her other leg. Charlene’s foot connected with his wrist.
He grunted, dropped his gun, and slumped to the ground.
“Run, Celine!” Charlene yelled and darted into the open field at the back of the house toward a rock pile, just behind a fence.
Lungs burning and muscles screaming, she dug the soles of her shoes into the spongy ground, pushed harder, and raced through the knee-high grass.
Reaching the pile, she grabbed a hand-sized rock, and pivoted.
A hand covered her mouth and an arm pinned her stomach to a
fat one, stopping her movement. “Don’t.” Foul-smelling breath hit the back of her neck and drifted over her face. Fear shot through her. She hauled her arms backwards and plunged the rock into Roach’s head.
He grunted, but held onto her left arm.
She smashed the heel of her hand into his nose. Bones cracked.
The grip loosened.
She shoved off him and darted for the wooden fence.
“Bitch, don’t run or I’ll shoot.” Roach’s voice was a little more than breath, but the tone was deadly.
Charlene stopped half way up the boarded fence. Guilt and regret gnarled its way up her spine, as she couldn’t leave Henry motherless. She jumped to the ground and faced the man, sitting on a pile of rocks and pointing a gun at her, blood dripping from his nose and the dark circles forming under his eyes.
“You boys can’t do anything right.” With her eyes fixed on Charlene, the purple-haired woman approached, tugging a thin piece of plastic from her pocket and spun Charlene by the shoulder. “You, missy, will behave yourself.” The woman looped the plastic around Charlene’s wrists. “You run. You get hurt.”
The binding tightened. The plastic dug into her skin.
“Understand?”
Charlene nodded.
“That’s my girl.” The woman patted Charlene on the arm and looked down at the man Charlene bloodied. “For fuck’s sake. Roach, go help.” The woman pointed to the field off to the right.
Charlene glimpsed a barefoot Celine ducking into the woods. She must have run right out of her flip-flops. A thin man, with hair pulled back in a ponytail, chased her on his four-wheeler.
“Damn, Lavender, my head hurts” Roach whined, pressing a palm to his head.
“I don’t give a God damn what ails you. Go.”
Roach braced the butt of the gun on the ground to right himself then motioned for Charlene to go to the four-wheeler. “Move,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing into angry slits.
The sound of engines roared. In the next field over, three four-wheelers sped toward the wood line, stopped, and the drivers rushed into the woods.
Tears stung Charlene’s eyes. Please be okay.
“Now,” Roach screamed from the seat of the four-wheeler.
“I’d do what he said, honey,” Lavender said, patting a gun she cradled to her chest.
Reluctantly, Charlene moved toward the four-wheeler. The balancing act of steading herself on one foot without the use of her hands made swinging her leg over the seat behind him that much harder. Tobacco scent, dirt, and old sweat hit her nose. She gagged.
“I smell like petunias,” Roach laughed, started the motor, and drove through an opening in the fence to the edge of the woods to the other four-wheelers.
They reached the tree line. Roach didn’t move, just sat there letting the motor idle. In the distance, voices erupted. A moment later, Celine’s beautiful face came into view. Charlene’s heart plummeted. Celine had a bruised eye, fat lip, and blood dripped out of her nose.
Tears threatened to escape, as Charlene pulled her lips inward. This whole situation was her fault. If she and Celine had just gotten Charlene’s car and left, instead of nosing around to find out more about Andrew, none of this would have happened.
Two men clutched each of Celine’s elbows and a third trailed them. Scratches and scrapes marred their faces. A third man with two cuts on his forehead and a bleeding nose trailed them.
“What the hell happened to you fellas?” Roach asked. “Did you run into a tree?”
The one with the cuts on his forehead jutted his chin. “Probably the same thing that happened to your head.”
Charlene’s mouth gaped and she gazed at Celine. A darkness etched into Celine’s face, her jaw tightening. The sweet, carefree person Charlene grew to love had disappeared. In its place was a person with dark eyes and hard features. Celine looked ruthless and ready to kill. Judging by the scars on the three guys, she’d tried.
“You putz!” Lavender yelled, stopping her four-wheeler beside them. “Why’d you mark her up?”
“She fought us! Look at my face,” Albert yelled, binding Celine’s wrist. He grasped her shoulders and shoved her onto the seat of a four-wheeler.
“Don’t be a pansy, Albert,” Lavender snapped, gunning the engine and taking off.
The rest of the ATVs trailed.
Charlene grabbed the bar in the back of the four-wheeler and hung on. The bumps and dips in the rough terrain made the idea of her falling not only possible but probable.
The scent of pine, hay, and the smell of musky animals intensified, upsetting her stomach.
They rode through three fields and passed numerous buildings. Roach made a sharp turn, almost tossing her off, and stopped near a two-story rustic building in the midst of a thick grove of pine trees.
“You know what to do,” Lavender said. “Meet back at the shop.”
She and two other ATVs drove away.
Roach climbed down, grasped Charlene’s arm, and jerked her off the truck. Albert did the same to Celine.
Through tall grass, the foursome made their way to the opening of the building. Cow manure turned dirt covered the ground. Charlene’s tennis shoes sank in, and flakes of dirt seeped over the edges of her shoes.
If Celine didn’t like the feel of the composite against her bare feet or was grossed out by what they walked in, she didn’t make it known. Her expression was stoic, yet distant.
“Up there.” Albert yanked Celine to a ladder, leading to a small hole in the ceiling. “Go!”
Celine looked up at the ladder. “I can’t climb with my hands tied.”
The men glanced at each other before Albert tugged a knife from his pocket. He cut Celine’s tie, then Charlene’s.
Celine climbed the few rungs, braced her hands on the floor above and hauled her body out of sight. Albert went next.
“Your turn,” Roach snarled. He touched Charlene’s back and nudged her forward. “Move!”
She grasped a rung, made her way to the next floor, and scanned the interior. While the slats in the floor butted up to one another, the wallboards did not. Gaps of various sizes separated them. No windows, just a four-foot closed door.
Charlene’s gaze locked on the hooks hanging from the ceiling. She shuttered, her mind conjuring different scenarios from horror movies.
“Albert, throw me one of those nylons,” Roach said. “We’ll hang them by their wrists,”
Albert’s face twisted as he tugged out a plastic tie from his pocket. “How long will they stay here?” His voice was shockingly sympathetic.
“Until Monk arrives,” Albert said, working on tying Celine’s hands together.
Roach grasped Charlene’s wrists..
Monk? Who was he? She closed her eyes and tried to remember if Larry mentioned him and came up empty.
Albert grunted.
Charlene snapped her eyes open.
Albert bent over, holding his stomach. Celine rushed toward the opening in the floor.
Roach banded an arm around Charlene’s chest and brandished a knife against her throat. “You do it, she’ll pay.”
Fright shot through her and butterflies somersaulted in her stomach.
Celine paused, her shoulders stiffened, and slowly she turned toward them, her wrists still bound in front of her
Albert coughed, held a hand to his stomach, and straightened. “Get over here. Now!” he ordered Celine.
Celine sent Charlene a we-better-do-something-now look and slithered back toward them.
“Good girl.” Roach removed the knife from Charlene’s throat, closed the blade, and tucked the knife into his pocket. He clutched Charlene’s waist and lifted.
Albert stepped close, his vile breath assaulting her senses, as he maneuvered her wrists to slip over a hook.
The plastic ties cut into her skin as she hung from the ceiling. Her feet dangled inches above the floor.
“Let’s take care of that bitch,” Roach nodded at Celine. “Time f
or you to know who is boss.”
Like a shot of adrenaline pumping into her veins, Charlene used the hook for support, swung her legs upward, wrapping her legs around Roach’s neck, and squeezed.
Gasping, Roach hit at her legs and dug his fingers into her thighs.
Celine charged forward, head first into Albert’s stomach. He lost his balance and fell backwards into the wall.
“What the fuck?” Albert wheezed, curling into a ball and rolling onto his side, moaning.
Celine popped back to her feet.
Charlene squeezed her thighs tighter, pulling Roach closer to the hook. The strain on the binding loosened. She lifted her hands up and off the hook, clasped them together and leaned far enough back not to fall off but to slam her intertwined fists into the back of his neck.
He gasped and sunk to his knees.
Charlene fell backwards, hitting the wall and floor with a thud. Pain pierced her back and hip. The boards popped and creaked before giving way. She plummeted through the floor onto the ground below. A cloud of dirt sprayed her face and hair.
Celine dropped beside her, her hands free at her side. “Can you move?”
Thanks to the pile of crap, offering a cushion, she could move. “Yes.” Charlene eased up into a sitting position. “How did you undo the strap?”
“Knife.” Celine cut the binding on Charlene’s wrists. “Let’s go.”
Charlene jumped to her feet, swiped at the dirt clinging to her face, and ran after Celine toward the two four-wheelers.
“No keys,” Celine shouted, through heavy breaths.
Charlene hit her hand against the other seat. “Damn, none here either.”
“Get away from them.” Roach peered at them from the open door on the second floor. “Get the bitches,” he ordered Albert.
“Oh, shit,” Charlene gasped. “Come on.”
She and Celine rushed through thick brush and briars to the right of the shed. Thorns dragged across Charlene’s skin and snagged her clothes, but she didn’t care about the scratches stinging her hands, or that her lungs burned with each labored breath she sucked in. Determination lodged in her gut. She would see her son, her mother, and the one man who rocked her world…Larry, again.
