Through force of will, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his brain and let them squabble there. To the fore, he pulled resolve. This was their play; they’d all agreed. Times were desperate, and Marissa and her father could be the key that would open a path to success for them. Success meant saving Signal Bend. And saving Lilli, who, Isaac knew, would be Ellis’s next target.
He looked at Show, who had pulled himself together fairly well over the past two weeks, focusing his energy on the job and on his need for revenge. “You ready for this, brother?”
Show nodded, and the three of them headed down the hallway to the Room. Bart went through the double doors and hanging plastic dock strips, but Show pulled Isaac back.
Isaac turned and raised his eyebrows, questioning Show’s hesitation. His eyes intent and his voice low, Show gritted, “She dies, Isaac. She doesn’t go home to daddy. Don’t give a fuck what he gives us or what you promise him. Her life for Daisy’s. Don’t take that from me.”
Isaac heard a desperate bite to his friend’s tone, and he put his hand on his shoulder. That kind of bloodlust wasn’t part of Show’s makeup. He looked like a badass motherfucker, and he was tough as anyone, but he wasn’t brutal. He was thoughtful. He was honorable. He treated women with a gentle respect. Or he had, before his teenage daughter had been raped to death. “I told you, brother. It’s your call. When it comes to it, it’s your call.”
Show nodded with evident relief, and Isaac guided him into the Room.
Little freckled Marissa was a blubbering mess. Vic had fucked her hard one last time and then dragged her naked ass into the Room. Now she was bound to one of the metal chairs. She was gagged, too, but she was still making a fair amount of wet, whimpery noise. They hadn’t done anything to her yet, other than the humiliation of being naked and bound to a chair, circled by a bunch of angry bikers. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly why she was there, and her fear was so heavy it stank.
Isaac pulled a stool up and sat down in front of her. Her eyes were huge and wet, mascara smeared across them like a mask. She had a fair number of bruises and bite marks, especially on and around her tits. Vic’s reputation as an animal was well earned. She’d worked hard for the intel she’d gotten out of him. He wondered if she still thought it was worth it. She wouldn’t by the time they were done.
Victor’s culpability in this disaster had not yet been addressed. Show wanted his patch, but Isaac had talked him down. They couldn’t afford to lose another member, not now. Vic was happy to have the chance to buy back some good grace by feeding this skinny little bitch rigged information, but Isaac knew that if they were still standing when this crisis passed, Vic’s patch would probably be up for a vote. He was sure Vic knew it, too. That made him extra loyal and careful now, and Isaac intended to put that to good use.
“I’m gonna talk to you a little, honey. I can see you know enough to be scared, and that’s smart. That college education didn’t go to waste, then. You should be scared. We know what you’ve been doing. Taking advantage of poor, stupid Vic like that. That’s some bad shit, little Marissa. You know what happened because of you?” He stopped and gave her the chance to respond with a nod or a shake of her head, but she simply stared, her chest heaving, snot running from her nose.
He looked at Len. Normally, Vic would be his go-to for this work, but Vic had done all he was going to do to her. He liked it too much, and Isaac didn’t want him enjoying himself now. Len could go equally hard, but he was cold-blooded about it. He didn’t get off on it. He worked, he didn’t play. Len came around now with a long, slender metal cocktail pick. That’s all it was—a cocktail pick. Isaac stood so that Len could take the stool.
His mouth set grimly, Len lifted Marissa’s fingers with a gentle grip. As if he were studying them to determine where to start, he massaged each one. Marissa tried to talk, to beg, through the terry cloth of the towel with which she was gagged. Len selected her index finger and slid the pick between her nail and its bed. She went rigid, and she screamed—one continuous, muffled note that took on a higher pitch when Len pulled the pick back out.
When she was quiet again, Len stood and Isaac sat. “Okay, honey. I asked you a question. Just nod or shake. You answer it, and then I’ll let you know how the rest of the day plays out. Do you know what happened because of you?”
She nodded, her head bobbing emphatically. Isaac wasn’t surprised that she’d known, but to have her confirm it—she’d known. She’d known what the intel she was getting could do, how it could hurt, and she’d kept right on taking what Vic gave her and sending it along to the people who would use it. He had no appetite for what they were doing now, but he had no sympathy for this girl, either. She was no innocent.
Weeping, she tried to talk again, but her words were obscured by the towel. Isaac had no need yet for her words. She had nothing he needed to hear. Her father, though, might.
“You don’t need to talk right now, sweetheart. Just do what I say. That’s the way to play this. Things’ll go better for you that way.” He looked over at Show, who was regarding him steadily. He’d meant it when he’d said it was Show’s call. He would probably have to make promises today, but the only one he knew he’d keep is the one he’d made to Showdown. What happened to Marissa Halyard would be up to the man she’d hurt most. It was the least Isaac could do.
It was all he could do.
He nodded at Bart, who brought another stool over and set a laptop on it. Isaac looked back at the shaking, weepy girl, feeling no sympathy for her, yet feeling the weight of what they were doing nonetheless. “Here’s what’s next, Marissa. We’re calling your daddy. Using your Skype account, so I bet he picks up. We’re gonna let him get a load of you. And then we’re gonna talk to him. You’re gonna do whatever we say. If it comes to it, you’re gonna say what we tell you to say. That’s how you keep hope alive that you walk out of here. Catch me?”
Again, she nodded emphatically. Her sobs and tears had abated for the moment.
“Good girl. Okay, let’s do this.”
Isaac stepped out of the way, and Bart placed the call. The face of an obviously wealthy man—with thinning but elegantly groomed white hair, a ruddy golfer’s tan, and an expensive and perfectly pressed striped dress shirt—filled the screen. Behind him, a wall of windows overlooked downtown Chicago, Lake Michigan glittering off in the distance.
His expression was warm and devoted at first; then he really saw the state his daughter was in. “What—Marissa? Oh, sweetheart. What—who? Jesus! Who’s there?”
Without moving in front of the camera, Isaac said, “Calling back in one minute. Make sure you’re completely private and won’t be disturbed when we do.” Bart killed the connection.
Looking down at Bart, who was squatting next to the laptop, Isaac asked, “You’re sure you’ll be able to tell if he’s alone or tracing the call?” Bart nodded, and that was good enough for Isaac. He didn’t need the technical description that he was sure Bart would love to give him. Not the time to let the kid’s geek loose.
Bart placed the call again, and this time, when Halyard came onto the screen, he looked aptly horrified. He’d put his daughter in the middle of the lion’s den, served her right up like a pig on a spit, and Isaac knew he’d believed her to be safe. Rich people. Thought they were above everything.
“Marissa, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” Her father’s voice was rough with regret, and Marissa whined and began to cry again.
Isaac sat down on the stool between the screen and Marissa. “Okay, Martin. This is our endgame. You play right, on my side, and Marissa’s hurting as bad as she’s gonna. You miss your play, and you watch her hurt more. You disconnect at any time, and she dies hard. You know what went down here a couple of weeks ago. You had your hand in that. So did she. So you can imagine what’s owed now. Think about that, and make your move.”
Martin’s face warped into a snarl. “You’re an animal.”
Isaac sighed. “No. Actually, I’m pretty ci
vilized. Can’t say that about everybody in this room, though. First mistake, Martin. Not looking good for your little miss here.” Ignoring the sick weight in his gut, he stood and nodded at Len, who grabbed Vic. They walked to the far side of the room, picked up a metal table, and carried it back. Then Len unbound Marissa from the chair. She fought, screaming around the gag and kicking, but, with Havoc’s help, Len muscled her to the table and bound her to it, her arms over her head and her legs spread. He looked back at Isaac, who nodded again, and Len removed her gag.
“Please don’t. Please. Please!” Her words collapsed back into sobs. She was tiny, naked, and shaking, and Isaac felt the first stirrings of sympathy for her. He looked over at Show, who was staring at the far wall, his jaw twitching rhythmically. Isaac didn’t know how to read that. He sat back down and faced Halyard. “You see how this is going, Martin?”
“What is it you want?” Halyard slammed his fist down, and his image on the screen shook. Marissa had fallen into a steady, moaning whine.
“You know what we want. Lawrence Ellis. Enough to take him down. You’re his money guy. You give us what we need.”
“I can’t. You have this naïve idea that you have a chance. You don’t. You can’t beat him. He’s beyond your reach. You’re all idiots for trying to fight him. This isn’t David and Goliath. It’s Tom Thumb and Gargantua. Pack up and get out before he really comes for you. You think he’s hurt you? You have no idea what he can do to people in his way. I do. I know. Nothing you can do is as bad. I can’t help you.”
He wasn’t saying anything that Isaac hadn’t already confronted in his own head. All the Horde knew that their chances were so slim they might as well be nil. But they were not men who lay down. They fought for what was theirs. And now, Martin Halyard had forced Isaac’s hand. With a sigh and a sad shake of his head, he stood again and nodded once at Len, who immediately walked to the end of the table, opening his belt as he went.
“Hold up. No.” That was Show, who stepped up to the table. “It’s me. This is me.”
Jesus Christ. No. Isaac couldn’t let him do it. Len, Havoc—those guys could do the dark work and come out the other side intact. They could compartmentalize. Vic, well, he didn’t need to compartmentalize. He was a sick fuck and enjoyed it. But Show would come to regret this. He’d never recover from the loss of his girl if he laid the abuse of this one on top of it. He held up his hand, stopping Show, then spun back to the laptop and squatted down. “Last chance, Martin. Give us Ellis. Now. Won’t ask again.” Christ! Halyard had to give them something. Could a father let this happen to his child?
Marissa screamed, “Daddy, please! Oh please!”
Halyard was sobbing as hard as his daughter was. “I can’t. Oh, God. Oh, Marissa. Sweetheart, I love you. I’m so sorry.” He stared at the camera, his anguished eyes meeting Isaac’s. “Please. I will do whatever I can. I will give you money, help you start someplace fresh. All of you. But I can’t give you what you’re asking for. I can’t.”
“Isaac.” Show’s voice was low and sharp, a warning.
“I’m sorry, too, Martin. Really am. But this is our home.” He stood and turned to face the vista of the room: Marissa Halyard, bound to a table, weeping quietly. Len, belt still unbuckled, standing behind it, his face a blank. Havoc, looking serious and alert. Bart, sad and nauseated. Even Vic, hanging back near the tools, looked ill.
Show stood at the end of the table, staring down at the trembling girl. Isaac addressed him quietly. “Show. Brother, think. Think first. I told you it’s your call. But I want you to think. Don’t want to lose you, man. I need you strong. I need you with me.”
Show didn’t answer. He stood, staring silently down at Marissa. The room froze, waiting for him to move. Long, tense seconds passed, and then Show said to Marissa, “Her name was Daisy. Say it.”
She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Wh-what?”
Show kicked the table, hard, and she screamed. “SAY IT,” he shouted over her.
“D-Daisy. Her name was Daisy.”
“She was fifteen. Say it.”
“She was fif-fifteen.” A lilt of fragile hope entered Marissa’s voice.
Then Show stared again. From the laptop behind Isaac, Halyard whispered, “Please.”
Show turned his stare to Isaac and held for a few seconds. “Do what you want with her.” He turned on his heel and left the Room.
Isaac watched him go, then turned back to his brothers. Marissa was quiet, finally, maybe relaxing a little, thinking the danger was passing. From behind him, Halyard said, his voice quavering, “Isaac? Mr. Lunden?” Isaac ignored him.
For the first time, Havoc spoke up. “He said to do what we want. I want to give him justice.” Isaac looked at Len, then Bart. Both nodded, Len readily, Bart reluctantly.
Vic, still farther back from the rest, said, low, “Head in a box, man. That’s what he said.”
Everything was sideways. How did they end up in a place where they were torturing women, ready to rape them, deciding to kill them? How the holy fuck had it happened?
Ellis. It came down to that one elusive son of a bitch. Isaac wanted his head in a box.
He nodded at Havoc, who turned and headed toward the tools. But then Vic charged forward, his arms over his head. “You vicious cunt!,” he bellowed and brought an axe down on Marissa’s neck, cleaving her head neatly from her body. She didn’t even have time to scream.
Her father did, however. He screamed until Bart slammed the laptop closed.
~oOo~
Isaac left Len and Havoc putting a beating on Vic for acting out of turn. Isaac thought Show might be right—if they got clear of this shit, Vic’s patch should go to a vote. Maybe more. But for now, they needed the warm body. As soon as he was clear of the double doors, Isaac slumped against the hallway wall and closed his eyes. He did not recognize himself. Or his brothers. Or his club. They’d become something he didn’t understand. And that was his fault. He’d led them down this path.
But there was no way back, not until Ellis had been dealt with. Or until he’d won, when it wouldn’t matter anymore.
He went out into the Hall and sent Dom back to help Bart clean up the mess. The Room had been the repair bay back when the clubhouse was Signal Bend Construction. Walls and ceiling of concrete, drains in the floor, it was an ideal space for wetwork now. A bleach rinse, a trip into the woods for a fire and a burial, and Marissa Halyard no longer would exist in any identifiable way. Except on Isaac’s conscience.
Show was at the bar, a bottle of Jack in front of him. No glass. He didn’t acknowledge Isaac coming into the room. Isaac pulled his burner out to call Lilli. His hand shook as he opened the phone.
She answered on the first ring. “Hey. You caught me putting groceries in the truck. Can I call you back in about five minutes?” She sounded significantly stronger than she’d been when he left her in the morning, and he felt a measure of relief, even amidst the stress of the day.
“No, Sport. Take a break, because I need to talk now. Where are you?”
In the pause that followed, Isaac knew her brain was pulling out the real information in the few words he’d said. “At the Walmart. Groceries. And, you know, other things. What’s wrong?”
Other things. Christ, he’d fucking forgotten the pregnancy test. “Maybe trouble. We’re locking down. You know what that means?”
No pause this time. “Yeah. What do I need to do?” It lightened his heart a little more that she began problem-solving immediately, casting aside any other questions.
“You carrying? Badge?” He knew they were; since the attacks, he was militant about that. Even he thought he was obnoxiously fixated on it. But he still wanted to hear her confirm it.
He didn’t miss the aggravation in her voice when she answered, “Of course.”
“Go back in, get enough basic food for about forty-fifty people for a few days. Coffee, booze, and beer we got, but not much else. Then get your beautiful ass here. Don’t go back home.�
��
“Isaac, the animals.”
“I’ll cover that, and I’ll make sure to get you some clothes. But I don’t want you back there. Lilli, don’t fight me. We’re in deep here.”
“Okay. Be safe.” He heard the military carriage in her tone. She was on the job. His warrior woman.
“You too, Sport. Jesus. You, too. I love you.”
He closed his phone and turned to Show. “She’s dead, brother. Her father watched. You really want her head sent his way?”
Staring straight ahead, Show said, “No. It’s done. Now what?”
“Now we hope Bart and Rick give us something more. We did that for nothing. It didn’t get us any stronger in the fight. Maybe upped the risk.”
“Not for nothing. That was justice.”
Isaac wasn’t going to argue the point. “Okay. I need you now. We gotta pull everybody with ties to us in, let the rest of the town know to batten down. You up for that?”
Show took another swig from the bottle and then put the cap back on. “Let’s do it, boss.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Badger and Lilli pulled into the lot about three hours later. Badge had to honk and wait for the gate to open, and then, as soon as they were through, the hangarounds at the gate ran to close it again. Lilli looked in the passenger door mirror and watched as they looped a chain and closed a big padlock. By the time Badger had parked, Isaac was at her door. He opened it and pulled her out of the car into his arms. Feeling the tension vibrating in his arms, she let him hold her, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Behold the Stars Page 17
