Consume Me

by Ryan Michele

  “Damn, woman.”

  She waves her arm. “No big deal. Shit happens.” Princess yawns. “I gotta crash,” she says, and instantly falls asleep.

  Soon after, my mind twists and turns with everything that I’ve learned and seen these past few hours, and I finally fall asleep, too.

  Becs and Zeb sit at the bar nursing their beer. Two club mommas lie on the couches on the far side of the room, fast asleep. Zeb and Becs discuss the dealings of the night and try to come up with a plan to get rid of Santos and Frank once and for all, but they have yet to come up with something that would really work.

  A small metal cylinder rolls on the floor, landing in the middle of the room, and their eyes turn to it.

  “What the fuck?” Becs growls.

  “Fucking grenade! Get the fuck down!” Zeb yells and everything goes blurry as they crash to the ground, paralyzed.

  A few moments later, Santos, Frank and their goons strut into the clubhouse like they own the place. Santos believes that his expensive pressed suit, light green shirt and tie cost more than the whole damn building he’s in. Santos is not impressed with the space one bit.

  “Pitiful,” Santos declares.

  Santos nods to Zeb and Becs, who are down on the floor unable to move. They hear the intruders but everything is muffled and seems far away to them. Santos has always loved concussion grenades. They do the trick, immobilizing threats for a short period of time. Enough to keep them restrained. One goon moves from behind Santos, holds up a taser, aims and fires, hitting Zeb in the stomach. The shock causes him to shake and go still.

  Santos knows it’s really not necessary for the stun but better safe than sorry. And it’s fun as shit seeing them flop on the ground like dead fish.

  Goon number two takes out his taser, shooting it off and hitting Becs in the shoulder. Becs passes out. The goons use duct tape to restrain their arms and legs and place a piece over their mouths.

  “Take care of those two,” Santos says, motioning to the two women lying on the couch. They sit with wide eyes as if stunned into shock. Dumbass women.

  Another goon holds out a stun gun, pressing it into one of the women’s sides. “Nighty night,” he says creepily. Then he turns to the other woman, pressing the gun into her back as she tries to turn. Lights out for her also. The goon tapes the women up.

  “All right, quietly, start checking everything, open every door. Soon as you see Paige I want to know.” Five of Santos’s goons, including his son Frank, move through the clubhouse, guns in hand. Santos saunters behind the bar, nonchalantly pouring himself a shot of whiskey.

  He tosses it as goon five comes up. “Got her.” Santos moves from the bar and follows the goon down the hallway. The goon grabs the handle and turns it very gently. The door swings open and a woman rolls to her side, opening her eyes.

  “Mother fucker!” Princess yells, gripping her gun that she never goes anywhere without. All the while, she kicks Blaze hard enough to wake her. Princess lets off a shot just as something hits her directly in the chest. Her body convulses then goes limp, her gun falling to the floor with a thud. One of the goons tapes her up.

  “No!” Blaze screams, moving from the bed backward toward the open door of the bathroom.

  Santos doesn’t waste any time as he approaches her, grabbing her around her waist. Her smell permeates the air, making him rock hard. Santos hasn’t had a fighter like her in years and can’t wait to get back inside of her. And he will.

  “Let go. I’m not going with you!” Blaze screams, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, bile rising from her stomach to her throat. She swallows repeatedly, trying to get it down and succeeds but keeps fighting. She’d rather die than be anywhere near this man.

  Frank steps in the room and comes close to Blaze, her heart falling to the floor. “Look who we have here. Damn, I can’t wait to get reacquainted with you, sis.” His fingers touch Blaze’s face as she continues to fight Santos’s grasp. “But for now. Lights out.” He places a stun gun to Blaze’s arm as Santos lets go of her. She falls hard to the ground, the smell of burnt flesh filling the room from the contact.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Santos orders. “Get over here.” He points to one of the goons. “Carry her and get her in the car. Now,” Santos demands, plucking a pair of jeans off the floor.

  The goon picks up Blaze’s limp body and carries her past Princess, Becs, Zeb and the two women still lying on the couch. He places Blaze in the car and Santos sits next to her. Frank sits in the passenger seat and goon three drives. The other goons get into the car behind them.

  In the garage, Derek, one of the hang-arounds, wipes his hands on a cloth getting the grease off from the truck he’s fixing the carburetor on. He doesn’t sleep much these days and working on trucks is his way of coping. Losing his baby sister in a horrible way when he could have prevented it, eats at him every moment of the day. He should have helped her, but he was too late. Derek has been around Ravage for a couple of months and is very interested in joining the club.

  He hears a loud noise in the night sky and peers out the small window of the garage door. It was the clubhouse door slamming shut. Men he’s never seen before are getting into two black shiny cars. One man is carrying Blaze, the hot woman from X, Tug’s girl. Her head hangs down, bobbing around painfully. Shit.

  Derek grabs the keys to the Explorer sitting in the lot and quietly sneaks out to the car. He watches the cars leave, turns the ignition, and drives out of Ravage on the car’s tail. He lifts his cell out of his pocket and calls Pops.

  By the time I got out to the cabin where the guys took the asshole that blew up the cars, he is tied to a chair, bloody, and one of his shoulders is contorted in some strange way. GT is wearing brass knuckles, punching the guy in the chest and stomach, more than likely breaking a few ribs.

  I move over to Pops. “Find out anything?”

  “Only that he was paid to set the bombs. Other than that, nothing yet. We’re gonna let Rhys have a turn for a bit.” He turns to me. “You want some shots?”

  “Fuck yeah¸” I say, not turning to him but keeping my eyes on the grunting man in front of me. GT hasn’t even broken a sweat.

  “You want these?” GT turns, holding out the brass knuckles, a grim line on his face.

  I step forward. “Yeah.” I nod, moving in front of the guy.

  “Before I break your jaw, want to tell me where the hell Santos and Frank are?” The man has dark hair, is dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt that is covered in blood. He’s about my age and dumber than a box of rocks.

  “I told you everything I know. Some guy came to me, told me what I needed to do and I did it,” he sputters out and most of the words sound breathy and painful to say. “Gave me cash. That’s all I know.”

  Pops nods, indicating that’s the same story he’s been giving. Fuck. He’s a go between. Shit! I unleash my anger on the guy, throwing fist after fist at him. With each punch, a small amount of relief comes over me, but not nearly enough.

  By the time I stop, his head is hanging down to his chest, his chin touching it. Blood comes out in several spots and his breathing has turned into wheezing. Good.

  I step back when a hand comes to my shoulder. Pops. “Let Rhys have a bit with him.”

  The man somehow raises his head but his eyes are closed. Moans of pain escape his lips as Rhys steps forward. He unties one of the guy’s hands and brings his arm out to the side. He jerks it violently, the guy screaming in what has to be excruciating pain. A crack of bone echoes the air, and if I were any other man I’d probably flinch at the sound, but I don’t.

  I stand to the side, my arms crossed in front of my chest.

  Pops’ phone rings. “Yeah.” He takes a step back, listening.

  “Stop!” he orders the room, and Rhys instantly does. Everyone’s eyes swing to Pops as he listens on the phone.

  “You stay on them. You hear me. Do not lose them.” Pops’ face contorts to anger and the vein on the side
of his face begins to tick.

  My eyes widen as Pops’ eyes come to mine. “They got Blaze.”

  “What. The. Fuck!” I yell, ripping my fingers through my hair. How in the hell did this happen?

  I grasp the gun out of the back of my jeans, put it to the guy strapped to the chair’s head and pull the trigger. His body falls limp.

  “Where? We have to go,” I say to Pops who is listening on the other end of the phone.

  “Load up. They are on Hausller moving north.” His attention goes back to the phone as we get on our bikes. “Text me directions if they change course or if they stop. But whatever you do, do not lose them.” Pops growls, hanging up the phone. “Cruz, go to the clubhouse and find out what the fuck is going on there. The rest of us, let’s go.”

  We load up.

  My back and neck ache. My arms feel like they’ve been touched by a live wire, they burn so bad. I can’t move, even though I’m trying with all my might. My thoughts drift and one thing stands out… Santos. Oh my God. Shit. I have to get out of here. I have to. No one will be able to find me if they get me too far from Ravage. Shit!

  I try repeatedly to open my eyes, and this time I’m able to just a crack. Santos sits next to me and Frank is in the front seat. My body won’t move when I know I’m telling it to. Dammit.

  Santos sneers over at me. I close my eyes quickly, but I’m too late to fake. “Paige. My darling, Paige.” Pins and needles poke my skin as his arm wrenches me over to him, but I don’t cry or scream. It does no good and they get off on that more.

  “Thought you could hide from us? Even going to some white trash, biker gang to protect you?” His grip on my arm tightens to the point of utter pain, definitely leaving bruises. “Dumb bitch. You should have known we’d find you,” he growls, his eyes crease together in a face that I have always feared, but so much is radiating through me.

  “I’ll admit you did do a pretty good job, considering it took me four and a half fucking years to hunt you down. But I’ve got guys everywhere, ones that even watched through the fucking window while you fucked that piece of shit biker.” I try not to flinch at the mention of Tug. I’d give anything to be in his arms. “Saw video of you dancing and believe me, you’ll be doing a lot of that shit where we’re going.”

  He releases me and pushes me toward the window of the door. Thank God, he’s not touching me.

  “Been following you for about six months now.” He continues to speak, his son turns around in the front and I want to puke at the way he ogles me. I’m only in a t-shirt, giving him a good view. The bile rises and I hold it down. I need to think. I peer out the window, taking my eyes from the guys, trying to place where we are. I think we are in Crawville, about fifteen miles outside of Sumner, so not too far away… yet.

  I don’t let his words affect me, but he doesn’t stop as he knows I’m listening to every single one. Unfortunately, he knew me quite well from when I lived with him. He’s smart and doesn’t forget.

  “I knew setting a trap at your work would get all your biker boys in a tizzy.” He chuckles in a creepy way as fear rips through me. “That’s why I hired some man off the street. He knows nothing of us. All he was paid to do was attach the boxes with the bombs and hit the switch. I knew those men of yours would be around and find him.”

  I can feel his eyes on me and scoot as close to the door as I can get, not wanting to breathe the same air as him. “That’s what happened, huh? Your man left you to deal with the asshole. It was prime time for me to come in. I was going to send someone, but I didn’t want it fucked up. Sometimes that happens and this needed to be smooth.”

  He turns to his son. “How much longer?” His voice is dripping with authority and like the ever-doting son, Frank answers.

  “Ten. Fifteen minutes. Plane is fueled and waiting for us.” Plane. Oh shit. No. No… I can’t let them get me on the plane. If they do, I’ll never be found. I can’t endure this. I just can’t. Shit. I try to think, but he keeps talking and I want to throat punch him to shut up, but I never would, the punishment would be too severe.

  “See, we are going to take you to Italy. You will love it there if I decide to let you out of our home, which is highly unlikely. You’ll be lucky if you make it out of the bedroom.” His smirk is wickedly ugly. He’s dead serious. Shit.

  The door handle is very close. If they slowed the car a little bit, I can open it and fling myself out of the car, preferably somewhere where there are lots of people. I pray it’s not a childproof lock that won’t let me out.

  Santos throws something at me, hitting me in the side. My jeans. Thank God. “Put them on,” he orders and I do as I’m told. “Can’t have you traipsing around the airport naked. But don’t worry, once we get to our home, you will never be in clothes.”

  My body is sore, but I manage to get the jeans on. My faculties are coming back to me, and I’m not the same little girl he remembers. I will fight with everything inside of me. I just hope that he doesn’t shock me with that thing again.

  The car speeds along and Santos decides to remain quiet, a new thing for him. He was always a talker, never shutting up, used to drive me crazy when I lived with him. His silence is more unnerving than the words that come out of his mouth, shit.

  The bright lights of the airport come into sight. It is do or die time. Literally.

  The car slows down at what I would assume is a security checkpoint. A building is set off in the distance and I instantly know my plan. I’ll open the door, run with everything I have, and get to safety. I can do this. I must do this.

  “Don’t say a fucking word. You hear me,” Santos growls and I know he’ll be watching me like a hawk. I’m only going to get one chance to get away.

  The car stops and the goon rolls down his window as the officer at the gate surveys the car. Then his gaze goes to Santos behind the goon, that’s my chance. I throw open the door. Something grips the back of my shirt, but using all my power, I somehow get free. I run. Run like I’ve never run before. My bare feet burn, running on the harsh pavement, but I don’t care. I keep going.

  Shouts and screams come from behind me, as the sound of bikes and gunshots fill my ears. I don’t stop but burning in my shoulder slices through me. I reach and feel wetness on my shoulder. I swipe the spot and come back with bright, red blood. I’ve been shot. They shot me, shit. I run zigzagged as I go. I saw once on the internet that a moving target is much harder to hit. I have to get away.

  We roar through the night with Pops in the lead as he keeps checking for texts from Derek. He leads us directly to the airport and my stomach lurches. Fuck, if they get her on that damn plane, I’ll probably never find her. Shit!

  I ride as fast as I can. Two black cars are stopped at the checkpoint for the airport. A woman, Blaze I can tell immediately from the long brunette hair that I love so much, jumps out of the car and starts running fast. Grabbing my gun, I shoot as the men all file out of the car after her. My brothers begin to fire. An asshole is chasing Blaze and I take off toward him. More fire but I don’t look. I have to get to her.

  Another shot and Blaze clutches her right shoulder. Shit, he fucking shot her. I race after the guy, weaving through my brothers and the assholes. Blaze’s step falters as the guy who shot her catches her, using her as a human shield. My eyes focus on the silver gun pointing at my woman’s temple. My stomach drops, but I keep my stone face in place.

  Blaze’s eyes meet mine, pleading for help. I park the bike, gun pointed at the two of them. More gunfire explodes behind me, but I don’t dare turn, just trust that my brothers have my back.

  “This bitch is mine. Been mine for fucking years. You think I’m gonna let you have her?” The younger man barks out in a fluster. He’s so damn uptight with his tailored pants and white business shirt. His hair comes into his eyes and he twists his neck to remove it. I think I have a shot but then he moves. Shit. This must be the son, Frank.

  GT comes up to the side of me. “Others?” I ask.


  “Taken out, all of them.” He holds his gun up too. My eyes flash behind the asshole and Pops has somehow got behind him. How the hell did he do that? I need to keep this ass’s attention.

  “That woman is mine, I hate to tell you.” Tears form in Blaze’s eyes and it fires my anger more. I will destroy this son of a bitch.

  “You wish. She may have fucked you but she belongs to me. I was her first and will be her fucking last,” he growls, his arm wraps around Blaze’s middle, holding her tight. One of her arms is limp, the other is being held by his hand.

  After a few blinks, Blaze’s eyes change. Fire flares inside of them and I know she is going to make a move. Pops is creeping up, but it’s going to happen now. Before I can blink, Blaze lifts her foot, bending at the knee, and kicks the asshole behind her in his knee. The asshole wobbles in pain and Blaze somehow releases her good arm, and punches him in the nose. The asshole turns at the blow. With Blaze out of the way, I take the shot, blowing his hand that is still holding the gun completely off his body.

  Blaze turns and runs to me, and I catch her in mid-leap. GT and Pops move toward Frank. I keep my eye on him but shield Blaze. She trembles in my arms and I remember the shot. “Babe, let me see your shoulder.” She squeezes then turns, blood trickling from her body.

  I yank off my shirt, pressing it to the wound. After wiping away the blood, I see it’s a flesh wound, but I’m not taking any chances.

  GT and Pops wrap the asshole up with duct tape, take him to the car that Derek is driving, and throw him in. Pops leans down to Derek. He then rushes to Dagger, GT and Rhys, talking in hushed voices.

  “I need an ambulance!” I yell. He nods, hitting buttons on his phone. My girl’s eyes are open but her breathing is a bit too shallow for my liking.

  “So I leave you alone and you get kidnapped? What’s up with that?” I try to joke with her and keep her mind off of the pain that I’m sure she is in. I was shot in the thigh during my service and it hurt like a mother bitch.