Find Her: Avenging Angels MC Book 1

by Nia Farrell

  She bruised like a peach. They’d learn that quick enough.

  Bull had called Reaper from the van as soon as they were inside, for instructions on what he wanted done with her. Bull’s order for the driver was “safehouse.” Like the Avenging Angels, the Demons had a secret place, removed from their headquarters and hidden from the world.

  God, she was so fucked.

  They put her in the basement, which was mostly one large undivided space, except for a rough, wooden-walled room in one corner. Maggot pulled off his bandana, ripping a few hairs from her head that had caught in his knot. She lost a few more when he cut her packing tape gag with his knife.

  He was a little more careful with her wrists, easing the tip of his blade into the gap where they met and slicing the clear plastic tape to free her hands.

  Rose shook the blood back into her fingers and blinked, helping her eyes adjust to her surroundings. The walls were bare concrete. The air was musty but the floor was dry, at least. A single incandescent bulb spilled a circle of light that lit a pair of cots with dirty blue tick mattresses but failed to reach the corners.

  One of them had a galvanized pail that reeked of ammonia.

  “Your piss pot,” Bull told her. “Your bed.” He pointed to the one farthest from the door. “Until Reaper comes. Then you’ll be warming his. Good night, princess.”

  She stood, rooted, until the last of them had disappeared up the open wooden steps. Only then did she allow herself to collapse onto the cot.

  Only then did she let herself cry.

  God damn it all to hell. She never cried. But what the fuck else was she supposed to do?

  The only thing she could do. Whatever it took to survive. As long as there was life, there was hope. As long as she was alive, there was a chance to escape, or be rescued. She wanted to see the Demons brought down, beginning with the four who had taken her.

  Rose prayed like she hadn’t since her first communion. Lord, keep me safe. Let me stay alive long enough to see my mother again, and my daddy, Papa Bear, and my brothers, Luke, Sam, Dylan, and Ritchie. Even that damn Flynn, so I can kick his ass, if nothing else.

  Exhausted beyond words, she forced herself to void in the piss pot while the light was still on. With no roll of tissue in sight, she squatted above it as long as she could. Cringing when she pulled up her panties and jeans, she dragged her ass back to bed, rolled to her side on the thin, bare mattress, and curled in a ball to conserve body heat. Asking for a blanket to ward off the chill would require someone to bring it. She’d rather be cold and lonely than see any of them again tonight.

  She spent a miserable night, too cold to really sleep, too apprehensive to relax. Every sound seemed magnified, from the men’s conversation over cards to the thunderstorm that swept through, interrupting power to the house and throwing her into pitch black darkness. It was back on an hour later, but it seemed like an eternity.

  Wide awake since daybreak, she sat on her cot, hugging her knees, listening to her stomach growl, and wishing like hell she had something to eat. Eventually, life stirred upstairs. Feet shuffled in the kitchen. Pretty soon, she smelled coffee. And bacon.

  What she got was a plate of cold eggs, a bottle of water, a paper towel, and no flatware to eat with.

  Bastards.

  “Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile and trying like hell to sound like she meant it.

  Bull leaned against a post that stretched from the basement floor to the beam above it, supporting the weight of a load-bearing wall.

  God. He wasn’t going to go away. He planned to stay and watch her.

  Given her choices, to eat like a pig at a trough or shovel it in with her fingers, Rose chose the latter. She wet the paper towel and wiped her hands, picking up what she could and pushing the rest to the edge, where she scraped them into her mouth. She drank most of the water, saving some for later, and she kept the paper towel. She’d need that, too, and not for eating.

  “Good girl.” Bull preened, thinking he sounded like a Dominant. “Now, show me those tits, and I’ll let you have fifteen minutes in the bathroom upstairs. Shit, shower, wash your hair, brush your teeth. Whatever the fuck you want to do. Flash ‘em, and fifteen minutes is yours.”

  Dear Lord, that was tempting. So fucking tempting. But there was no guarantee that he would follow through. She might be wrong, but she was pretty sure that Reaper would want her cleaned up and ready for him, which meant that she’d get that shower eventually anyway. She could stand going dirty for a little while longer.

  She handed him her empty plate and stepped back, out of reach before answering. “No,” she said. “No, thank you.”

  Bull shook his head. “You’re not going to get half an hour, princess.”

  “I don’t expect to. I’ll do without, thanks.”

  “You sure about that? You play hard to get with me now, and you’ll pay for it later. Once Reaper’s had his fill of your pussy, that ass of yours is mine. With lube or without—either way, makes no difference to me, but I fucking guarantee, it will to you.”

  Rose suppressed a shudder. He’d do what he wanted, anyway.

  Bull straightened and pushed himself off the post. “No? Last chance, sweetheart.”

  She stood, unmoving.

  He shook his head and heaved a sigh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She managed to stay standing until he was out of sight, then collapsed onto her cot, shaking like an addict in the throes of withdrawal.

  What had just happened? What the fuck had she done?

  God damn it, Rose! You’ll drive yourself crazy trying to analyze it. Right or wrong, what’s done is done. Now snap out of it, soldier!

  For some reason, the voice of her conscience sounded like her oldest brother Luke. Vice President of the Avenging Angels MC with the road name of Mad Dog, Luke had been in a Marine RECON unit with that hot techie friend of his, Michael O’Flaherty. If anyone could find her, it would be them.

  Reaper didn’t come that day. Or the next, or the next. Upstairs, the Demons spoke in hushed tones, careful to keep any club business to themselves. In the basement, they made it clear that they were pissed to be stuck here with her. The Demons were keen on finding another “party favor,” since Rose was off limits.

  However, that didn’t stop them from trying to get what they could. She had deemed it wiser to kneel in the van than risk injury. Here, she had a choice. She might reek, and her teeth were grunge, but she refused to kneel or expose herself for their pleasure. They didn’t push the issue the first day. On the second day, they tried again to make her beg for the slop that they were feeding her. By the third day, when Reaper still hadn’t come, Bull decided that they deserved something for their trouble.

  Rose finally got to shower, but it was with the door open, and four sets of leering eyes watching every move she made.

  Screw them. At least she’d be clean.

  One by one, the cocks came out. Maggot, Snake, Tank, and Bull. Short, skinny, crooked, and big enough to make a hooker cry. Fisting their dicks, they beat their meat, jacking off into the shower and spraying her with ropes of cum—all but Snake. Bull made him pump into a paper towel that went in the trash.

  Grateful for that much, Rose washed her hair and scrubbed her teeth with a finger, using her nail to scrape bits of her lunch from her gum lines and the sides of her teeth. Finished, she turned off the tap and took the bath sheet that Bull handed to her.

  “Nice ass,” he said, cupping his balls with his free hand. “I look forward to tapping it, princess.”

  Ignoring him, she toweled her hair and rubbed her skin until it glowed a healthy shade of pink.

  “Laundry next.” Bull pointed to the pile of clothes in the floor. “Add yours to the rest. Ours gets washed, dried, and ironed. Do it right, or forget about supper.”

  Rose bit her tongue rather than tell him to go fuck himself. Feeding her was an afterthought as it was. Peanut butter sandwiches, Chinese noodles, cold eggs, and colder
wieners so far. Who knew what they’d decide to share tonight?

  Wrapping the bath sheet around her, she tucked the corner to secure it, gathered her clothes, and waited to follow the others out.

  Bull went last, stopping abruptly at the door. She barely missed running into him.

  “You saw what I’m packing,” he said. “Every inch of that’s coming your way, once Reaper’s done with you. He’ll make you cry, but I’ll make you squeal. Your choice, whether it’s a good sound or a bad one, princess. You just need to play nice with ol’ Bull, here.”

  Rose looked at him and told him flat out, “You’d better pray that my family finds me first, otherwise you’ll have no dick, your balls stuffed in your mouth, and a metal pipe shoved up your ass. The Angels take care of our own. Hurt one of us, and you’ll pay. But me? The President’s daughter and sister to four more Angels? Hurt me, and the club’s going to unleash the wrath of God and send you Demons all to hell.”

  He backhanded her across the mouth.

  Rose’s head snapped to the side. Checking for damage and not really finding any, she recognized it for what it was—a warning shot.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he growled. “Not another word. You do what you’re told, when you’re told, and fucking like it. Reaper will be here tomorrow,” he added, his words laced with menace. “Let’s see how you’re walking and talking then.”

  She was fucked. Or as good as fucked, unless by some miracle the Angels found her first.

  Rose kept her thoughts to herself and did what she was told. Laundry washed, dried, and fucking ironed. Who the hell ironed these days?

  She did the men’s clothes first. Swabbing the machine down with bleach to hopefully sterilize it, she bailed in enough water to rinse the sides and spun it out before washing her things separately. Whatever Snake had, she sure as hell didn’t want it.

  She worked all afternoon on an enclosed back porch with a window that afforded her first real view of the property. The century-old farmhouse had original woodwork, beefed up doors, and updated windows. Behind the house was a small building (probably for chickens, back in the day), an outhouse, an old red wooden barn that was falling in on itself, and a huge, round-roofed corrugated metal machine shed, with more than enough space for everyone to park out of sight.

  The back porch boasted a coat rack with hangers, a hand sink, a washer, dryer, hot water heater, and a floor fan that did little to help the oppressive July heat. Her long auburn hair never did dry. Instead, it soaked through with sweat.

  In need of another bath by the time she finished, Rose wet one corner of the towel she was wearing and gave herself a quick wipe-down before putting on her clothes. She considered gathering the stack of laundry and presenting it to Bull as a peace offering, then thought better of it. She hadn’t been told what to do, other than iron it. She’d better ask him what he wanted, or the next hit might be with his fist.

  Peering through the door and seeing no one in sight, she grabbed the towel that she’d been wearing, tiptoed to the basement door, and eased her way downstairs. Hugging the handrail, she placed her feet as close to the edge as she could, so the boards didn’t creak with her steps. She spread the bath sheet beneath her mattress, to hide it and use for a blanket tonight, then carefully made her way back upstairs.

  Rose found the men gathered around the television, watching footage of a warehouse explosion in Minnesota after a police raid the day before. Turned out, the northern chapter of the Blackwater Demons was involved.

  The men were pissed.

  “Goddamn mother fucking cops,” Tank growled. “Ain’t none of our brothers come out of that alive.”

  “Five members were arrested at the scene and have been charged with kidnapping, aggravated assault, sexual assault, rape, and murder. The recovered victim remains in intensive care. Another young woman is said to have been killed earlier, before the police standoff, but her body has yet to be found. Cadaver dogs will be brought in, once the fires have been put out and the site is safe enough for the search to be conducted. This is Dee Evans, reporting live from the scene in Mt. Sterling, Minnesota.”

  “Well, fuck,” Bull spat. “That’s gonna cost us our first born. It’ll take a fortune to bail ‘em out, if they’re not being held without bond. No wonder Reaper ain’t come yet. Shit. After all that hell breaking loose in Mt. Sterling, he’s gonna need his little piece of heaven here.”

  Maggot cleared his throat, alerting Bull to her presence.

  “Laundry’s done,” she said. “It’s stacked on the washer and dryer. I didn’t know where you wanted it.”

  “Jesus God dammit! No one said you could come in here. Get the fuck downstairs, bitch. Now!”

  Rose spun on her heel and raced for the basement. Listening for sounds of pursuit and hearing none, she slowed when she reached the door and descended the stairs, planting each foot in the center of the step, making the boards creak loud enough for them to hear, if they cared to listen. There was no need for secrecy, and no hurry now. She wasn’t about to risk a fall, if she could help it.

  Rose sat on her cot and stared at the window, watching the light shift, dim, and die. No supper tonight. No surprise there. The liquor had come out early today, with the Demons toasting their fallen comrades. When they grew too inebriated or too agitated to give a shit about her hearing everything, she had to listen to all the ways they planned to kill the cops in Mt. Sterling and take out a rival club there. Like pieces of a puzzle, she gathered enough information to know that the women who’d been taken belonged to the Midnight Raiders MC.

  Seeing the end result should have put the fear of God into them. The Angels wouldn’t rest until they had her back and the Demons were destroyed.

  They were coming for her. She felt it with every fiber of her being. She could only hope it was sooner rather than later. Reaper would be here tomorrow. The gift she’d been saving for the man who deserved it would be stolen from her. Reaper might defile her body, but she refused to let him—or anyone—taint her spirit. She would survive, and the Demons would pay tenfold.

  The Avenging Angels would see to it.

  Chapter Three

  For the first time since being taken, Rose slept the whole night through. She was clean. She was warm—thanks to the bath sheet that she’d used for a blanket. And her family was coming for her.

  It was only a matter of time. But hers was running out.

  Breakfast was instant oatmeal that had been on the shelf long enough for bugs to have found it. Small, brown cylindric exoskeletons dotted the surface, and the gray paste was riddled with tiny white bodies of the things that had shed them. After listening to war stories from the veterans in the club, she reminded herself that they had survived much worse than weevils.

  Extra protein, she told herself, grateful for the plastic spoon that she’d been given. She finished the bowl without complaint and handed the empty foam back to Tank.

  “You’re supposed to brush your teeth, shower, and shave,” Tank told her. “Everywhere,” he added, smirking. “Reaper wants that cunt smooth as a baby girl’s.”

  At least she didn’t have an audience this time. Bull gave her thirty minutes, and she made the most of it, brushing her teeth, then stripping and stepping into the shower. A disposable razor and a half-full bottle of shower gel had been left for her to use. Sitting on the shower floor, she lathered up and scraped away, under her arms, up the length of her legs, then between them. Being denuded of hair felt weird, and seemed to make her pussy extra sensitive.

  Rose put her same clothes back on and used the comb on the vanity to work the tangles from her hair. If someone was going to shove their fingers in it, she’d prefer them to slide on through.

  With that last task done, she opened the bathroom door to find Maggot waiting for her. He looked miffed that she’d finished with a minute to spare.

  He put her in the basement. At lunch, he brought her a hot dog, with ketchup and mustard on a bun. About three o’clock, the windows rat
tled from the motors of 1200cc and 1340cc bikes coming down the gravel drive. They rolled past the farmhouse, headed for the machine shed out back.

  Reaper had arrived.

  The noise level upstairs radically increased, thanks to the additional Blackwater Demons. With the trouble in Minnesota, she didn’t know how much club business would be discussed before she was summoned.

  She didn’t have long to wait. A stranger came this time, wearing sergeant’s stripes on his cut. Mojo. The Blackwater Demons’ Sergeant at Arms was formidable, standing six feet and built like a brick wall. His face was hidden by a thick brush of black beard. His nose had been smashed to one side. His pewter gray eyes scanned the basement where they’d held her, missing nothing before coming to rest on her.

  “Let’s go, girlie. Reaper’s ready for you.”

  Mojo took her to a second-floor bedroom and rapped on the door. “She’s here,” he called.

  “Bring her in.”

  The door opened. The President of the Blackwater Demons sat on the end of the bed, the king on his throne, looking nothing like she’d imagined him. He was as beautiful as a fallen angel, with thick, silver-gray hair, a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, and colorful inked sleeves that showed beneath the edges of his T-shirt. His dark brown eyes were framed with thick, curling lashes. If he’d been anyone else, she would have called him a silver fox, but this was Reaper.

  Her sworn enemy.

  The bogey man she’d been taught to avoid since birth, and the man who held her fate in his hands.

  Mojo didn’t wait to be dismissed. The door clicked shut, as loud as a gunshot on nerves that were stretched taut.

  “Rose McLanahan.” Reaper tasted her name. “They say you’ve been behaving. Are you gonna be a good girl for me? Come ‘ere. Come on now.”