Of all the goddamn luck. It was like being dropped off the face of the earth. She’d vanished without a trace. Even with Madam Belle’s magick, they might never find her.
It would be up to her to stay smart, play along, watch for a chance to escape, and be ready when it came. Maned wolves were fast. Four times faster than a jackal. She was in superior physical condition. If she could shift and find terrain where their bikes couldn’t go, she stood a chance of getting free.
It was a lot of ifs but it was all she had at the moment. Unfortunately, the drug in her system was still blocking her attempts to change.
They hosed her down like a farm animal and dragged her into a barn with cages in the stalls. Phantom strutted in, carrying a shock collar that he fastened around her neck before sticking her in an empty cage.
The door locked shut with a sickening finality.
“Toad will get you a slop bucket. Try to hold it until then. This is what you get when you turn down good money. The next man who buys you might not be so nice.”
Rory glared at him through the bars. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Oh, trust me, we will,” Phantom hummed. “You aren’t the first piece of pussy to come through here and disappear. You’re just a whore. They won’t look for you long.”
Phantom and the other two men returned to the clubhouse, leaving her alone with a pale, skinny boy. Hand on his crotch, he rubbed himself through his jeans and eyed her like his favorite dessert.
Scooting away, Rory sat in the corner with her knees drawn up to her chest. Phantom had admitted to this not being their first kidnapping. How many people had the Death’s Head MC snatched? What had happened to the other women they had taken? Did they intend to pimp her out? He’d mentioned men buying her. Maybe they had a bordello of their own with a stable of unwilling captives.
The jackals were sick enough to do it.
“Try not to piss in your cage,” the young man told her. “I’m the fucker who has to hose it down when you bitches can’t hold your bladder.”
It was hours before someone came for her again. Cramped and stiff from sitting in the same position for so long, Rory hissed and groaned. Her throat was parched. Her stomach was empty. She’d had nothing to eat all day, not since she’d fixed breakfast for her and Quake.
“Let’s go, bitch,” her handler snapped. “You don’t want to keep the President waiting.”
She stepped into the chilly evening air. It was just dark enough to start seeing stars. She’d missed lunch. Maybe they intended to feed her supper. With her luck, they’d throw slop in a bowl and make her eat it with no hands like a good pet. She could almost see it now, on all fours, sporting fake ears and a tail hanging from a plug in her ass.
He dragged her to the clubhouse and hauled her inside. The common room was strangely empty save for echoes of conversation and familiar smells that drifted down the hall. He didn’t head for the clubhouse dining room. Instead, he took her to a private one, reserved for club officers and important visitors.
Unfortunately, Phantom was among them. His lascivious gaze swept over her body, making her keenly aware of her nudity. He sat on the far side of the table. At its head was the leader of the pack, a tall, beefy, and heavily tattooed beast of a man whose cut identified him as the President. He wore his dark hair fairly short on top and shaved on the sides. A short scruff of beard covered the determined set of his jaw.
“Here she is, Khan. Enjoy!”
Dinner or her or both? she wondered, noting the undisguised hunger in the President’s ebony eyes.
Khan was a man used to being in command. Tonight, he intended to master her.
Raising his hand with the back of it facing her, he flexed his fingers, summoning her. Doing her best to ignore the rude comments and lewd studies of her anatomy, she padded over to him, her bare feet finding every piece of grit on the stained concrete floor. When she was within reach, he stopped her with a slash of his hand and looked her over like he’d inspect an animal at a livestock auction. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because he motioned to the far side of his chair.
“Sit here,” he ordered. “And keep your mouth shut unless I’m putting something in it.”
Ignoring the pinch in her stomach, Rory hurried to obey, settling on a large cushion and bracing herself for whatever was coming. The not-knowing was fraying her nerves. She could handle anything if she had time to prepare.
Dinner was served family-style, with platters and bowls passed around the table. Khan filled his plate and fed her from it, offering her morsels to eat from his hand. Grateful for sustenance, she tried not to think about hygiene or germs or where his hands had been and prayed like hell she didn’t catch anything. Spurn his offerings, piss him off, and he might just put her down like a dog.
The first time she made a mess and let something drop on the floor, he made her lick it up.
“No hands,” he snapped. “Pets eat and drink with their mouths. Toad! Bring the bitch a bowl of water!”
Her handler wasn’t happy about it, but he obeyed—the same as Rory must if she knew what was good for her. She ate from Khan’s fingers, drank from a bowl, and wondered if he planned to send her back to her cage or keep her for the night. Occasionally, he’d pick up a lock of her magenta hair and rub it between his fingers. As the meal progressed, he grew bolder, grabbing her tit and pinching her nipple. Thankfully, that was as much as he could reach unless he joined her on the floor or made her stand.
She was still guessing when he finished his sixth beer and called it a night. “I’m off,” he announced, belching unapologetically. “Come on, bitch. Time for inspection. Phantom says you’ve got a sweet mouth and a sweeter ass. Let’s see if he’s right.”
7
Earlier that day . . .
Quake entered the clubhouse a reluctant hero, admired by some, heckled by others.
Everyone wanted to know about last night.
“So . . . what does premium pussy taste like?” Chaos wondered, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark shades.
Quake shook his head and blew him off. “A gentleman never tells.”
Beast’s laughter rang out. “Bullshit! You ain’t no gentleman, Quake. An asshole, yes. A gentleman, no.”
“Come on, spill it,” Mason joined in with an eager grin. “It’s sure as shit none of us are ever going to be able to afford a girl like Magenta.”
Rolling his eyes, Quake made his way toward the stone fireplace. Their clubhouse was big enough to accommodate all the fiery personalities in their cadre. As warriors, their skills had been honed and perfected through centuries of battle. They’d lived long enough to be set in their ways, stubborn but wise enough to know when to yield, when to stand firm, and when to push on.
Right now, his brothers were being damn pushy. Sex must have addled their brains. It had only clarified his mind and strengthened his resolve. One way or another, he was determined to have the maned wolf shifter again.
He’d boasted about women before but Quake didn’t feel right telling them about Magenta. Last night might not mean shit to her, but to him, it was something to treasure. Rather than let his memories be defiled, he’d keep their stolen moments to himself—especially after her rejection just now.
Maybe she’d gotten spooked when she’d seen his brothers waiting outside. Quake considered the possibility. She’d been fun and flirty in her cutesy purple car. Her conversation hadn’t felt forced or fake. Magenta had genuinely enjoyed his company. Strippers were used to having an audience . . . , playing to the crowd, but everything had changed once they got here.
Maybe it was being in unfamiliar surroundings. She wasn’t playing a part. Wasn’t dressed to seduce. Christ, even her face had been free of makeup. He was still amazed that she’d let him see a glimpse of the real woman beneath all the show.
How many other men could say that?
“Yo! Are you listening to me?” Rock barked, making him jump. “Stone wants to see you in his off
ice.”
Quake met the gaze of the other club Enforcer. “Okay, thanks.”
Leaving the rest of the men to discuss whores they’d banged and ones they wanted to, he made his way deeper into the clubhouse. Stone’s office was located next to their communications room in the back. His office was as much a retreat as a workspace, a place their Prez could get away from everyone else. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows offered a relaxing view of the lake. The clubhouse was far enough away from the light pollution of the city to see the stars in the night sky and the pinpoints of lights from The Dragon’s Den a mile away.
Quake rapped his knuckles on the smooth wood of the door.
“Enter,” Stone called.
Slipping inside, he approached his leader who was seated behind a sturdy wooden desk. An antique sword was mounted on the wall behind him, displayed beside a shield with the emblem of the Knights Templar blazoned across its surface. They’d all kept relics from the past. Pieces of times long gone when they had fought alongside others to stop darkness from consuming humanity. The world around them might have changed but their cause was the same. Fight evil in all its forms. Defend those who couldn’t defend themselves. Bring light to those in need.
They were all still knights at heart, but their steeds were motorbikes instead of the horses they’d once ridden.
“Report,” Stone growled, not wasting any time. “Did the jackals return?”
Stopping in front of the desk, Quake remained at attention. “No, there was no sign of them.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Quake confirmed, feeling the intensity of the other man’s gaze on his face. “I stood watch all night, prepared to shift, but the house stayed quiet.”
Stone grunted. “The Death’s Heads do not forgive and forget. I suspect that Madam Belle and her girls are going to be in for a rough ride. We’ll have to keep an eye on The Pole Barn.”
“The Fae might not like that,” he pointed out, cupping his groin. “I don’t think any of us wants our dicks shrunk.”
“I’ll talk to her,” his superior continued smoothly. “Offer our protection with no strings attached and no expectation of payment in any form. We’ll do it because it’s the right thing to do. Defend those who can’t defend themselves the way you did last night. I wasn’t sure what happened until you texted me, but I commend you for your quick thinking and appropriate response. Madam Belle wasn’t happy that her bouncer let Phantom slip upstairs. I suspect he was bribed. If she determines that’s the case, he’ll be lucky to leave with any dick, let alone a tiny one.”
“When do you plan to talk to her?”
“Tonight. We’ll head out to the club and make sure the jackals aren’t hanging around or causing trouble. Meanwhile, remember that you and Rock are on the cards for the shifter fights in Chicago, Pittsburgh, and New York. We’ll save a crapload of cash in New York by staying with The Order of The Phoenix at the Citadel, but we still have cab fare and meals. Hopefully, the trip will pay for itself. I need you focused,” he warned him. “Head straight and dick down, got it?”
Quake hated that he’d have to leave with so much going on. Magenta, Phantom, the Death’s Head MC. He opened his mouth, intending to ask if there was any way he could bow out of this trip, but Stone nailed him with a look that sealed his lips. They’d made a commitment. They would honor it. Shifters who failed to show ended up getting banned from the big events and were forced to compete in small ones if they let them fight at all.
He’d fight his way across the country but he wouldn’t like it. With so much energy to vent, whoever he was up against had better watch the fuck out.
They’d pitted themselves against other supernaturals in the past. By keeping up the skills they’d learned as warriors, they were always ready for a good fight. Most of the matches they attended around here were set in tucked away barns or abandoned properties. Beast was their reigning champion at the moment—a position they’d all held. Dragons were competitive as fuck. Daily physical training included pairing off in the ring, on the mats, or in the outdoor arena where they did trial by combat, most of the time with blunted weapons but not always.
Their Viking, Ryder, loved his axe and enjoyed living dangerously, depending on their accelerated healing and lack of scarring to take care of any wounds. If broken bones weren’t aligned immediately, a clean rebreak would solve the problem. Fortunately, Dr. Stefano Laskaris, the local veterinarian, was a centaur shifter, perfect for keeping their secrets and serving as their medic when they needed one.
“Head straight. Dick down. Got it,” Quake quipped, knowing it was what he needed even if it wasn’t what he wanted. Magenta was miles away by now, off to run whatever errands an exotic dancer who whored on the side needed to be done.
Quake stepped out of the office and ran smack dab into Eagle Eye. So much for keeping his head straight. “Sorry, man,” he apologized. “You okay?”
Their most valuable prospect rubbed his shoulder and nodded. “I think so,” he said, circling his arm. Trotting up beside him, his giant wolfdog whined. “Chaya and I were going to go hunting. See if we could bring Cookie some fresh meat for the table.”
The eagle shifter and his wolf were an effective team with eyes in the air and a nose on the ground. Luckily, he and Eagle Eye had just bumped shoulders. Not the kind of injury that would interfere with flight.
At least Eagle Eye could get away with it in daylight. There was no fucking way gargoyles could fly unless it was nighttime with no one around to witness them in their true forms.
“Good luck,” Quake told him. “Whatever you find, I’m sure Cookie will do it justice.”
Eagle Eye headed out and Quake went up to his room to change clothes. Not that he didn’t enjoy the soft scent of Magenta still clinging to them, but he was a selfish son of a bitch. He didn’t want to share her with anyone.
He didn’t shower again, though. His nose was still attuned to her fragrance. He’d lose it soon enough. No sense in speeding the process.
With too much nervous energy and fights looming, he sought out Rock to see if he’d go a few rounds in the ring with him. They both needed to be in top shape before their fights, especially the one in New York. The last he knew, Rock’s opponent there was a lion shifter. He’d face off with a wolverine. The card was already set, saving the best fighters for last.
Being a holiday, the fight was larger than normal, and humans would be allowed, both in and out of the ring. At least there’d be no danger of someone shifting and tearing into the person they were fighting. Not that it happened that often, but you went into the ring knowing it was a possibility and watched for it, just in case.
The two gargoyle shifters headed for the gym, located in the large, finished basement that stretched the length of the clubhouse. They could fight, shift, do anything down here and no one would ever know. Stripping down to loose-fitting shorts, they stretched out and warmed up before stepping barefoot into the ring.
They were pretty evenly matched, having both mastered various martial arts disciplines throughout the centuries. They went at it no holds barred just like their opponents would meet them. With gargoyle stamina, they fought for an hour before Stone showed up and called time out.
Eagle Eye was with him.
Quake grabbed a towel and draped it around his neck, using the end to wipe the sweat off his forehead.
“Tell him,” Stone said, looking at him and nudging Eagle Eye forward.
Crap. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good, Quake could tell.
“What’s up?” he asked, not liking the worry on the young shifter’s face.
“That purple car that dropped you off this morning?”
Quake felt his stomach clench with dread. “Yeah?”
“We were hunting, and I saw it in a ditch. I landed to investigate. No one was inside. I checked the registration in the glove box. The address was the same as The Pole Barn.”
Magenta’s car. Christ. A sense of doom descended
on him, settling like a shroud.
“The back tire had been shot out,” Eagle Eye added.
Quake wanted to hit something. Fuck it all. She’d been ambushed. Two guesses as to who was behind it.
“Any sign of her? Maybe she got away.”
Eagle Eye shook his head sadly. “Chaya tracked her to the road. Her scent stopped at the pavement.”
Crap, crap, crap.
Quake looked at their President. “Have you called Madam Belle? Maybe she’s got some way to find her with the magick that she knows.”
“I’ll do that next,” he said. “I thought you’d want to know first thing.”
He was right about that. Now he just needed to fucking find her.
“Thanks,” Quake murmured, his mind already racing, thinking about where Phantom and the Death’s Head MC could have her stashed. God bless it, he’d sworn to protect her from the jackals, and now they had her. He was certain of it.
They’d be lucky to get her back unscarred and in one piece.
Their brothers were gathered in the common room. With their supersensitive hearing, they knew what was going down. To a man, every one of them was itching for a fight.
Stone was murmuring into his phone but the conversation was short. His expression when he finished was grim. “I just spoke to Madam Belle. Magenta isn’t back, and she has no way to track her. Looks like it’s up to us to find her.”
“What’s the plan?” Beast growled, cracking his knuckles in anticipation of what was to come.
Their President grunted. “Find a Death’s Head member and get what we need out of him. We should find one or two at The Snake Pit.”
Most of the jackals would be sleeping in late on a Sunday after a fight. Even with a thin crowd at the bar, they should be able to do a snatch-and-grab.
As soon as Rock and Quake got dressed, the cadre of Dragons trooped out to their rides, ready to bash heads and break bones to get the answers they needed.
They only needed one.
Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Page 90
