Raw: Street Demons MC

by Ada Stone

  I needed to threaten him, to bury him. I needed something we could use.

  “Don’t worry about that,” I told him tightly. “Keep your mask on until we can get to the cameras. And don’t take off your damn gloves.”

  Wildcard nodded, itching at his hands. He wasn’t good at sitting still and right now it took everything he had not to jump up and do something, even if it was only pacing. It was the knowledge that we were in a very precarious position that kept him still. That and a gentle reminder that was my hand on his arm every so often.

  My cell phone vibrated and I slid it out of my pocket. I had the screen dimmed as low as it would go, but it still seemed much too bright in our cloak and dagger darkness. I was probably only paranoid, but I couldn’t help but feel like the guard and the cameras and the whole damn city could see the little light from my phone as I checked my text message.

  It was from Bobby, Jr.

  All clear. One in the back, out cold.

  And that was our cue. So long as no new guard was going to sneak up on us, we could head in. We’d have to take care of the guard on our end, but that went without saying. And Wildcard wasn’t all that upset at the idea of punching a cop in the face, even if it was only a security guard.

  Glancing over at Wildcard, I gave him a nod. “Let’s go.”

  I led the way towards the front entrance, trying to stay in the shadows as much as possible. Wildcard followed dutifully behind me. We were both wearing ski masks and had donned dark colored long-sleeved shirts so that we wouldn’t have the markings of Heaven’s Wrath and so that we as individuals couldn’t be recognized. I knew I had more than a couple of identifying tattoos and it would make me pretty easy to spot.

  I sidled up to the corner and pressed myself tightly against the wall. I glanced around the corner to make sure that the guard wasn’t looking, then I motioned with my hand for Wildcard to follow. We made a break for it. I ran flat out for the guard, knowing that even if this man didn’t see us, the cameras would. Which was why as I punched the man hard in the jaw, hard enough to knock him out cold, Wildcard went for the camera. He didn’t bother destroying it—the footage would probably be saved digitally at this point already so it wouldn’t do any good—but instead used a can of black spray paint to coat the lens. When that was accomplished, the two of us headed inside. I’d grabbed the guard’s keys and we got in without a hitch.

  The door opened to a long hallway with more cameras. Wildcard took care of those, too, though we didn’t take off our masks. As we continued, I searched for the right door. It was an office that would hopefully have the information, but it looked like the whole building was nothing but offices. I began to randomly open doors, looking for the right one.

  Thankfully, most of the rooms were empty. They were set up like bare shells, open and available for immediate use—they had desks and chairs, but that was it—but otherwise unoccupied. That made it easier when I finally found an office that did have things in it. Like a picture set on the desk, framed in some gaudy gold color. A desk lamp, a name plate. And a filing cabinet.

  I motioned for Wildcard to follow me, then pointed at the filing cabinet. Wildcard nodded, then I tossed him my phone. We didn’t know if the cameras could pick up sound or not, probably not, so we weren’t taking any chances that somehow, someone might recognize our voices. That meant we communicated mostly through hand signals and nods. When Wildcard caught my phone he knew that I wanted him to keep an eye out for text messages from the Bobby Boys or from Schumacher. They were lookouts now that we were inside and would be the ones to let us know if we had troubles outside.

  With Wildcard watching the door and my phone, the camera out of commission, and no other obstacles in sight, I went for the filing cabinet.

  It was locked, so I spared a few minutes to search for a key. When I couldn’t find it, I pried the door open. Inside were files named by project. Orphanage. Library. Concert Hall. All of them seemed like they were generous donations to the general public, but I knew better. This was all a front.

  I kept searching through the files. They probably all had some kind of evidence against Sal that I could use, but I was looking specifically for the charity project, the one that had already collapsed. I had a witness who would talk about the shoddy building materials and I thought I had a shot of talking to the other people involved in the accident to sue or testify if I presented some of the evidence I found.

  Except I had to find evidence first. Calvin would go a long way for my case, but eyewitnesses were unreliable at best and any good lawyer—which Sal would have—would start there and tear the case down as he went.

  But documents? Those went a long way.

  I continued to sift through the files. I was lost in them, determined to find something, anything, that would save Zoe and get rid of Sal once and for all, but I was floundering. I had nothing.

  After a moment, I felt Wildcard’s hand on my shoulder. He motioned for his wrist as though pointing to a watch and then thumbed the door. It was time to go, he was telling me, and I knew he was right. The guards wouldn’t stay unconscious and someone was likely to notice that the cameras were blacked out. The cops—real cops this time—would be here soon and it was important that we weren’t.

  I nodded once, but continued through the files. I had to keep looking.

  And there it was. Project Charity. It was marked in red and there was red tape sealing it up. I didn’t have time to look through it, so I just shoved it under my shirt and turned to Wildcard. I grabbed a few other folders just so no one would know what I was after specifically, then followed Wildcard out the door and back down the hall.

  As soon as we got outside, I heard the distant sound of sirens blaring—and getting closer. But that was fine. We were already out.

  Yanking off my mask, I called to Wildcard, “Tell the others. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  After all, we had a meeting with Sal in just half an hour.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Zoe

  I paced because there was nothing else I could do. The room was large and had a huge bed in it, just like the other one I’d been in the previous night. But this wasn’t Sal’s main bedroom, rather a guest bed or something like that. Probably for when his guys did something stupid and were on the run. Or maybe for whores or something equally unpleasant. Whatever the case, it didn’t matter. I was a prisoner and it didn’t matter where I was locked up, that didn’t change.

  Sal had ushered me in here at gunpoint. He’d locked the door and the windows—which had bars on them, too—leaving me with no way out unless Sal decided to let me go.

  Which I highly doubted.

  He was angrier than I’d ever seen him, and then he was calm. Calm was actually worse than anger. Yes, it had hurt when he hit me and the bruises were still achy and would probably hurt for days after all of this was over, but they didn’t scare me the same way a calm Sal did. It meant he was shoving down violence, plotting and planning, coming up with the worst possible thing he could do to you.

  I wasn’t sure what that was just yet, but I knew it wouldn’t be good. And I didn’t know if I would survive it.

  Maybe I would have been able to come to terms with that. Death was one of those things that was awful and terrifying, but it came to us all eventually. So maybe I could suck it up and just accept that I was at the very end of my rope and that was that. I didn’t really think I’d be able to calmly walk to my death, but maybe. Maybe I could be brave like that.

  The problem was I didn’t think it would be just my death.

  I had overheard a little of Sal’s conversation with Nick. I was sure that was deliberate on his part, or maybe he just didn’t care enough to think about me overhearing. There was every possibility that Sal had already written me off as dead anyway so why worry about a dead person overhearing anything that might later be incriminating? Either way, I had listened in, unable to ignore it. Because I had heard Nick’s voice and it gave me a treacherous spark of
hope. Because I wanted to believe he would come for me.

  After everything that we had been through together, there was a good chance that he wouldn’t come. That he wouldn’t care that Sal had me in his dangerous hands and would do any manner of terrible things to me because I had betrayed him. Just like I’d betrayed Nick.

  Except I hadn’t betrayed Nick, not the way he thought, and now I was in over my head. Would Nick come for me? Maybe. Maybe he would simply because he was a good guy, but he’d been in prison for five years and I was starting to think it had changed him.

  I was hoping it hadn’t, but I just couldn’t be sure. So much had happened in that time.

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted Nick to come for me. Of course I wanted to be rescued and fall back into Nick’s arms like some sort of swooning princess from a fairytale with a dragon and a knight in shining armor. But that wasn’t very realistic no matter what the circumstances were. Beyond that, it was stupid.

  What if Nick came? I couldn’t honestly believe that he would make their exchange across the board. Sal was too angry with me to just give me over to Nick. The only hope I had that he might was because if Nick really did sign that piece of paper, that false confession, then Nick would go to prison. And not just for a little five-year stint like he did last time. This would be for years, maybe even life. I didn’t know how bad the drug ring operations had gotten, and with Nick’s history of being in prison, and so recently, well, I could see them sticking him with every minute of time they could.

  If things really did go like that, I could see Sal letting me live if only to see that the love of my life was behind bars and unlikely to ever be a free man again, much less come to me. That sounded like an awful, lonely existence, and it was the exact sort of “fair is fair, eye for an eye” thinking that Sal would do.

  I didn’t like that, but at least we would both be alive. And I told myself that I could try to get Nick out. Maybe testify or go against Sal.

  And as soon as I had that thought, I knew for certain that I wouldn’t walk out of this alive. Sal couldn’t afford to let me go, because surely he had had the same thoughts as me. If he let me go and Nick went to prison, of course I would fight against Sal. And that could get him into the kind of legal trouble that he couldn’t afford.

  No, even if Nick signed the paper, even if he came to save me, I was dead. My only hope was that it would be quick.

  I shuddered against that cold, dark thought, wishing more than anything that it wasn’t the truth. But I felt it in my bones that there was no alternative. Sal would kill me, both out of vindictiveness and necessity, and Nick would spend the rest of his life in prison. How had we gotten to this point?

  I could still remember the first time I’d found myself wrapped up in Nick’s arms in a passionate embrace. So sweet, tentative, because he always seemed sure that he would lose me at any moment, but beneath that sweetness was more raw energy and passion than I had ever seen in anyone.

  More than I thought I could handle—more than I could let myself walk away from.

  He paused to kiss me, a soft, sweet kiss. It was a reminder that this was my choice—as he told me again and again, every single day we were together and even on the times we weren’t—and that he wouldn’t push me any farther than I was willing to go.

  Except I was willing today. Willing to go to places I hadn’t ventured in a long time, not since my first time with a boy who couldn’t have cared less about me or my pleasure or my heart.

  Nick wasn’t like that. I’d been scared to fall for him, terrified that it would end in catastrophe and I would lose not only the romantic connection that was impossible to ignore, but also the friendship that I’d come to rely on.

  But he was too much to resist and I didn’t want to anymore.

  His home was just shy of a shack, settled not far from the swamp lands where alligators, snakes, and god knew what else liked to lay in wait for some poor unsuspecting victim. A quick, stupid meal. But they were out of my head as his lips pressed against mine, lighter than I knew they wanted to be, but he wouldn’t push. Nick was scared to lose me, I knew, so he wouldn’t push.

  “Sorry about the place,” he breathed, sounding genuine. Nick didn’t usually care what other people thought of his living conditions, of his clothing, of his bike, but he seemed to care what I thought and it warmed me.

  A tingle raced through me and I shook my head. “Don’t apologize for it. I like it.”

  He gave me a skeptical look, but didn’t question me when I pushed at his shoulder to get him to go inside. I caught half a grin as he turned to open up the door and lead me inside. His hand found mine and it was just as warm, sweaty even, as mine was.

  The heat was almost blistering, coupled with the heady humidity to make it the kind of day that clung to your skin and shoulders like a wool jacket. Muggy, unbearable, but I didn’t pay it any attention. Not now. Even when we went inside and all the windows were open, because there was no air conditioning hooked up right now and the place sucked at holding in cool air anyway, losing half of it to the cracks and crevices that threatened to crumple the little place at any moment.

  It wasn’t quite a studio apartment, though it wasn’t far from it. There was a kitchen which attached to the living room, which had a bed pushed up to one side beneath a window that looked out to the road and the swamp beyond it. There was a door painted an off-green color that led to the bathroom and a second one that would take you to a small room with a sink and tile floor. A mud room, tiny, but still there.

  “It’s not much, I know,” he said, his tone apologetic once more.

  I shook my head, because I really and truly didn’t care. I didn’t come from money and even if I had, I liked to believe that the way I felt for Nick—all-consuming desire, sweet affection, clingy friendship—would push aside any misconceptions I might have after seeing a place like this.

  “It’s perfect. I don’t want us to be in different rooms anyway,” I told him, and I was a little surprised to find how low and sultry my voice had become.

  Nick looked surprised, too, his eyebrows shooting up high onto his forehead as he stared at me with eyes slightly widened. Slowly, his lips pulled into a smile, devious and promising. He stepped towards me. “No?”

  I shook my head again, my hand going to the low neck of my shirt. I’d worn a V-neck today that dipped low enough to show a long line of cleavage that had a tendency to earn my catcalls and stares wherever I went, and a pair of short shorts that I knew Nick liked because he always stared at my ass when I wore them. My bare skin was hot as my fingertips just barely touched it, the space between my breasts slick and shiny with sweat as I trailed my middle finger down the valley.

  Nick’s eyes were riveted to my fingers, willing them to go lower, willing to do more. My finger caught the edge of my collar, tugging on it a little bit, just enough that it pulled down even farther and my bra peeked out from the sides of it.

  Nick stepped closer to me. I could feel his heat wafting towards me, consuming me, different than the heat of the day and so much better.

  “No,” I finally answered him, swallowing heavily. My breathing was picking up and my heart was pounding a mile a minute, so loud that I wondered if he could hear it, if he could feel the drumming of it beating out like wings in the air.

  He stepped closer again until we were so close to touching that I could feel electricity spring between us. He licked his lips; mine parted. And then his mouth was on mine, devouring me. His hands wrapped around my body, jerking my hips against his, rubbing himself against me, showing me that he was already hard and pulsing with need for me.

  It made me moan and he swallowed the sound.

  Abruptly, we pulled apart and he took a step back. I blinked at him in surprise, trying to clear my lusty, hazy vision so that I could see—and maybe think—clearly. I opened my mouth to ask him what was wrong, why he had stopped, but I snapped it shut a moment later when I saw him.

  He was running a hand through
his sweat dampened hair, his chest rising and falling heavily. He was taut with tension, nervousness, and desire all at once. And when he looked at me, I realized that he had backed off not because he didn’t want me, but because he did want me, bad enough that he didn’t want to rush this.

  That was when I realized for certain that this wasn’t just a fuck to him. It was more. There was passion and lust, of course, and there was no questioning whether or not he wanted to drive his hard cock deep within me. But beyond all of that, he also felt affection and maybe something stronger for me.

  He wanted this to go right.

  When he still hesitated to come back to me, I smiled at him encouragingly and opened up my arms. I stepped to him and wrapped myself around his tense, trembling frame. A moment’s hesitation, and then his own arms came around my body.

  For a long while we just stood there in each other’s arms. Then, finally, his mouth found mine again. There was still that fire fueled passion lingering in his lips, but they were softer this time, slower. He worked his mouth against mine tenderly as though he had all the time in the world. As though he wanted to savor the moment.