by Jenika Snow
No, she was alone one out in the world, and if she truly wanted to be free this was where she needed to be. This was what she needed to do in order to finally be where she wanted, even if that meant staying in this cabin with the man that had kidnapped her.
Chapter Ten
Goddammit.
That word played over and over again in Fury’s head. The ground was cold and hard beneath him, and when he opened his eyes the pain in his temples was something fierce. He rolled onto his back and stared at the bathroom ceiling. He’d passed out on the fucking floor like an amateur.
Fucking hell.
What time was it even? How long had he been out?
Fury pushed himself off the ground and leaned against the wall, the room spinning as he was still fucking drunk.
Shit.
He rubbed a hand over his face, felt pain assault him from lying on the floor for God knew how long, and finally managed to stand. He braced his hands on the sink and hung his head, just standing there for several seconds. Finally lifting his head and staring at his reflection in the mirror, he groaned at the way he looked.
His face was covered in dark scruff, really only a day or two from a full beard. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his hair was fucked up. He was still a little drunk, but felt like shit as his hangover was starting to really take root.
Splashing some water on his face, Fury grabbed a hand towel and wiped himself off. The glint of silver caught his peripheral vision, and he turned his head to look into the hallway. For long seconds all he did was stare at the chain and lock on the floor. He didn’t move, didn’t even comprehend what he was looking at. And then it hit him.
That’s the chain and lock that are supposed to be attached to Angelina.
He looked toward the bedroom, and then toward the living room.
Fuck.
Pushing the door all the way open until it slammed into the wall, he hauled ass down the hallway and toward the front door. Who knew how much of a head start she’d gotten, and although he should have been thinking about being pissed off she was gone, all Fury could think about was if she was okay. The forest surrounding the cabin was treacherous in a lot of areas, with sudden drop-offs and steep hills. If she wasn’t careful and her fear was taking control, she could get really fucking hurt.
He heard the sound of something sizzling right before the scent of food slammed into him. Fury rounded the corner and stood in the kitchen, seeing the back of Angelina. Two pots were on the stove, one having steam rising up from it, the other cooking meat.
She looked over her shoulder at him, the fear clear on her face as she slowly turned around.
“You’re finally awake,” she whispered, holding a ladle.
Fury looked between her face and the ladle covered in what appeared to be spaghetti sauce on it.
She is still here, even though she’s not chained up? What the fuck?
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his head, not sure what was going on. “What the hell?” he asked.
She shrugged, and the expression on her face showed she was just as confused as he was. “I thought about leaving, was at the front door, too, but something in me had me stopping.”
This was the craziest thing to ever happen to him, and he’d had one crazy as hell life. “So you thought staying with the man that drugged and kidnapped you was a better option than taking your chances out there?”
She shrugged again. “It’s fucked up, believe me I know.”
His head was spinning, and pain started behind his eye. Fury didn’t know where to proceed. She was either stupid, or scared of being out there. Either way he didn’t know if keeping her here was the best option. Of course he’d thought of letting her go, but he’d always shut that option down. She wasn’t a prisoner any longer, yet she wanted to stay with his bastard ass?
You want her, want her to stay because you’re selfish.
“Why the fuck did you stay?” Fury knew he sounded like an asshole now, his voice deep, accusing.
She was silent for a second, but then set the ladle down and ran her hands on the rag she held. This hardened look crossed her face. “Because there isn’t anything for me out there. I leave and my father finds me, locks me up, pissed I ran from the family. This is the first time in my life I haven’t felt like I was somewhere where I shouldn’t be.” She shook her head, and he heard her exhale. “Even chained up because of you I felt … safe.”
It was Fury’s turn to stay silent. “Fuck,” he said and turned from her, bracing a hand on the wall because the room decided to spin something fierce. “Looks like we’re both pretty fucked up, Angelina.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, liking the way her name rolled off his tongue.
She licked her lips. “Yeah, I’d say I was pretty screwed up well before you came along.”
Fury turned around and faced her once more. “You really want to stay?” He lifted a brow and watched her nod. “And you realize what I plan to do to your father once I find him?”
“Kill him?”
Fury let out a gruff sound of agreement.
“Sal was never my father, not really. He never treated me like a daughter—”
“And that means you’re okay that some man wants to fucking kill him?” Fury’s voice was raised because of his annoyance, and the fact his hangover was coming on strong.
She looked down at the ground for several seconds. “My father’s done a lot of bad things.” She lifted her head. “I’m sure there are a lot of men that would like to take him out for killing their loved ones. I ran for a reason, because I couldn’t stand the life of knowing my father and brother killed for the sheer sport of it or if someone looked at them the wrong way.”
The pain in her voice struck him in the heart, and it was a weird fucking feeling. Fury didn’t give a shit about a female’s feelings, or at least he never had before. But seeing Angelina like this, and hearing her upset over her family, pissed him off and made him homicidal. He wanted to go out and hurt the person that had made her feel this way.
And I will. Her father will be just as dead as her fucking brother.
****
They sat in silence at the table in the kitchen, the pasta sitting uneaten in front of Angelina. She wasn’t hungry, and she’d only made dinner to keep herself busy and have her mind on other things.
Looking up at Fury, she saw him chowing down, and this amusement filled her despite the situation. Even after the initial shock of seeing him up, and realizing that she had actually stayed despite no longer being chained up, things had still been tense and weird. Angelina caught him looking at her, the feeling of his gaze like fingers on her body. She couldn’t deny the attraction she felt for him. It had been instant, even if he’d been the “bad guy” at first.
“I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a long fucking time,” he said in his gruff voice that sent a shiver up her spine.
“It’s just spaghetti and meat sauce.” In her family this meal was pretty standard and easy to make, although there were about a hundred different variations of it.
“It tastes like fucking gold.” He didn’t look at her as he polished off his second helping. Once he finished dinner he grabbed his beer and took a long drink from it, and she was surprised he was even in the mood for alcohol given the fact he’d been piss ass drunk just a few hours before.
“Hair of the dog and all that shit,” he said, and she realized she was staring at him. He lifted up the now empty bottle. “I don’t need to read your mind when what you’re thinking is spread out across your face.”
She smiled, but it was forced, and she knew pretty distant. Angelina pushed her food around, her stomach cramping at the distaste of even wanting to eat it.
“You’re not hungry?” Fury asked, and she looked up from her plate.
“Not really.” Angelina leaned back in the chair.
“You should eat something.” He tipped his chin toward her plate. “No sense letting good food go to waste, and you’ll
just be hungry in a couple of hours.”
She could have said something sappy about how he sounded like her father, but it would have been a lie. Her parents hadn’t given a shit about what she ate. More times than not she’d been in the kitchen eating with the staff anyway.
She ran her hand over her eyes, feeling so tired all of a sudden. And then she remembered that little sliver of information she might be able to give Fury to help him find Sal. How wrong was it that she was actually okay with him taking out her father?
If Sal isn’t taken out you’ll never truly be free. He’ll never just let you turn your back on the family.
“I think I know where to find my father,” she said, this sting in her heart taking root. She may not have ever had a real relationship with her dad, but there was still that blood connection between them. But the countless lives her father had taken, the lack of remorse, or empathy for the families that were now fatherless, brotherless … even wife and childless, had resolve settling inside of her.
Fury didn’t respond to what she said, but he watched her intently. He leaned forward and braced his forearms on the table, clearly waiting for her to finish speaking.
“My father owns a home out in the middle of nowhere, not too much unlike the set-up you have here.” Her heart was thundering behind her ribs.
“A safe house?” Fury asked, and she nodded.
“Yeah, I guess that’s a good description. In the past he’s gone up there with my brother and a few of his men when things have gone shitty.”
Fury had a clenched jaw, and his knuckles were white from how tightly he was holding them in a fist. “And what, he’d just leave you in the heat?”
She thought about what he said, not actually realizing that, yes, her father had totally left her at the main house. She’d always had staff around, even a few guys to watch over her, but never once had he taken her to the safe house. Angelina shrugged, trying not to seem like she cared.
“Although I’m sure you already know this, your father is a motherfucker.”
Angelina couldn’t help it. She actually laughed. “Yeah, that he is.” She sobered as she thought of a life without her father or any other Cardona watching over her, making sure she toed their line and followed their rules.
“You think that’s where he’s hiding out?”
Angelina nodded. “It’s as good a guess as any, to be honest. I never heard of any other place he stayed at.” She thought about her father up there without her brother.
Marco’s dead.
The words played out in her head, yet she felt no emotion. She also didn’t feel any empathy at the thought that her father could be dead sooner rather than later. But when she thought about the fact she could have a hand in it she did feel guilt over a life possibly ending because of her words and actions.
“Killing him is the only option?” she found herself asking. When Fury didn’t say anything right away she looked at his face. His expression was stoic, unwavering.
“Killing him is the only option, Angelina.”
Chapter Eleven
Shorty brought his palm down on the club whore’s ass, watching the flesh shake like a warmed bowl of pudding. He held a joint in his other hand and took a hit from it. Although he was fucking tired as shit, falling asleep wasn’t something he could probably do right now anyway.
“Let me see it, Shorty,” the club bitch said as she looked over her shoulder, this sexual gleam in her eye. She shook her ass in front of him, bouncing that meat right over his flaccid cock. He might touch the club girls, even make them come, but truth was he’d never stuck his tongue or dick in any of them. He had his own issues going on with that, but these used up girls were not his thing.
“Fuck no,” he said and leaned back on the couch.
“I heard it’s huge,” she moaned and turned around, her big tits moving back and forth as she shook her chest in front of him.
“Yeah, it is.” He didn’t deny he was packing a big fucking cock. Being known around the club as sporting a nearly ten-inch pecker made him a legend around the MC, even if none of the females actually saw it. But his former life, before the club, was pretty fucked up, as was the case with the majority of the club members. Maybe that’s why they all worked so well together and became a family? They all knew what fucked up was.
The club whore stopped moving and looked him up and down, this confusion on her face. “You like guys or something?”
Shorty lifted a brow. “What the fuck does that matter?” He didn’t like dick, but it shouldn’t have made a difference. Shorty had known plenty of hard ass guys that were into strictly cock. Didn’t change who they were or the respect he had for them.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, but it would explain why no one here with a pussy can get that monster you’re hiding behind your pants up and at attention.”
Shorty didn’t move, just stared at her as he puffed on the joint.
“We all know you haven’t fucked any of us. Makes us wonder if you like dick instead is all.” She shrugged but kept dancing for him.
He was getting tired of this fucking conversation. “Fuck off, bitch.” Shorty wasn’t gay, but it shouldn’t have mattered anyway. “Ever think I just can’t get hard for loose twat?”
She stopped dancing and huffed out, but he could have fucking laughed that she was offended. She was a club whore, a woman that had no issues with spreading her legs for any of the MC guys that crooked their finger. That’s what all these women at the club did, and they eagerly begged for more with hopes that one day they’d be an old lady.
When she didn’t move to get the fuck back he stood to his full six-foot-six height, not trying to intimidate her, but just trying to get the hell away. He didn’t get the name Shorty because he was petite. “I said fuck off.” She still didn’t move, but now had her hands on her hips and her lips pursed. So he was the one to fucking move away. He didn’t have time for this bullshit. He walked past her and went to the bar. Shorty was running on a handful of hours of sleep over the last two days, was drunk, high, and had blue balls. He might not fuck these women, or get aroused by them, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to be balls deep in some warm, wet cunt. He just had his own issues to work through, and getting involved with a woman, especially a club whore, was far down on his list of priorities.
He took a shot for the road, and headed down the hallway to the room he was crashing in for the night. Once the door was shut behind him he got undressed and headed into the bathroom, cranked on the shower, and stepped in before it warmed up. Shorty braced a hand on the wall, closed his eyes, and breathed out. He thought about having a woman pinned down beneath him, seeing her wide eyes staring up at him as she didn’t know what in the fuck was going to happen. She’d slap him, bite him, give him hell, and he’d relish all of it, fucking get hard because of it.
He felt his dick get hard as those visions played through his mind. He didn’t doubt he could find a willing woman at the club to slap and hit him, to act like she didn’t want it. But that wouldn’t get Shorty off. He liked giving pain, but also liked receiving it. It’s what made his blood rush through his veins, what had also made him tick. He was fucked up, he knew that, but he’d accepted it, as well.
Grabbing his dick had a harsh groan leaving him. In his mind he envisioned the stinging slap across his face. He’d lean down and lick her tears away, hear her moan, because deep down she’d want him, want whatever he gave her. Shorty wasn’t a rapist, would never force himself on a woman, but people who enjoyed the kind of serious, hardcore play he liked were far and few between. A woman might act like she enjoyed it, but deep down she wouldn’t.
He squeezed his cock as he stroked himself, pain moving through his dick and right up his spine. The pain felt good, made him harder. Shorty started jerking off like a madman, bringing his fist down to the base of his cock right before sliding it back up to the tip. He added more pressure to his dick, the pain and pleasure mixing as one. He felt his orgasm rus
h forward. The pain had his balls drawing up tight and a hiss leaving him, but fuck, did it feel good.
He braced his forearms on the tile and breathed out, just letting the water beat down on his back.
Yeah, Shorty was one fucked up asshole.
****
Nando sat in the plastic chair in front of the window of the motel room he’d rented out for the night and stared at the Bleeding Mayhem clubhouse. He was using a long-range scope, the smoke from the cigarette hanging from between his lips wafting around him.
The only security detail he saw were the two guys standing on the other side of the gate bullshitting with each other. These men were either careless and stupid, or thought they didn’t need the protection. Maybe they didn’t. It wasn’t like they were a crime family, or part of an elaborate operation that needed around the clock security. All they had was some fucking gate that went around the perimeter of the clubhouse, as if that could keep someone out if they really wanted to get through.
He watched them for ten more minutes before putting down the scope and rifle and leaning back in the chair. Nando finished off his cigarette, rubbed the butt out on the bottom of his boot, and felt adrenaline move through him. He was good at his job, good at tracking and hunting. It might not be the most law-abiding work, but Nando knew when it came to staying afloat he had to do what was required of him. And what was required of him to do to this fucking MC looked like it would be easy pickings.
****
Angelina was still thinking about the dinner they’d just finished and what they’d talked about as she cleaned up after dinner. This felt so … domestic, yet at the same time it kept her mind from wandering and her hands busy. Even though there was so much hanging over her: Fury planning on killing her father, her giving up a location where her father most likely was, and recently finding out her brother was dead, all she could think about was Fury.
