King's Ransom: South Side Sinners MC

by BT Urruela

  Annalise watched the emotion in every line of his face. If he was just placating her, he was damn good at it. Every word came across raw and real in a way she had never experienced before. Was it really possible, sitting here in this dank cage, to finally feel a sense of freedom in meeting someone just as torn by this life as she was. “I …” she started, but somehow couldn’t find the words. “So, the whiskey is your escape? The drugs? You don’t really seem like an alcoholic, or a drug addict. How do you let it all out?”

  “I guess I just haven’t lost myself completely yet.” He let out an uneasy laugh. “Haven’t lost all my fight. I can probably put that on watching my father slowly kill himself with the booze and the pain meds. Those are really the gateway drug, you know? He had knee surgery a couple years after my mom died. He was bad before that and all, but once he got the taste for pain meds, he was never the same. And I grew up around exactly what you’re talking about with your mom. It would start in the morning, with a few incoherent hungover grunts, followed by a double shot of whiskey to down a fistful of Percocet, and by seven p.m., and a lot more of both, he was pissing himself and unable to walk. I got to help him to bed most nights. And I just never wanted to end up like that. Always kept it in the back of my head as a reminder.” He hesitated for a moment as she remained quiet, pensive, and then he asked, “When you make it out of this, you’re not really gonna try that suicide shit again, are you?”

  His question tore her open. She scooted away from the bars and back into the darkness of the cage, ashamed for him to see her. For one crazy moment, she almost forgot. She almost let herself have hope, even if that was with a kidnapper, for what was left of her miserable life. “I’m not worth saving,” she mumbled quietly. “Don’t put yourself in danger with your crew over me. Don’t do it. If my father double crosses you, just kill me before the others can.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she retreated as far as the cage would allow.

  “Listen, I saw what I saw on that stage. Regardless of who you really are on the inside, or what you see when you look in the mirror, you own that stage. All the other stuff can be changed … improved upon … but you got something else inside of you. Something rare. Something to give to the world.” His eyes darted to the floor. “And I do whatever is needed for my crew, no matter what’s required of me. It’s the life I lead. The cards I hold.”

  “I wish I was as brave as you are. You own the hand you were dealt. I have spent so long hiding it and hiding from it, I don’t know any way out.” She let out a long sigh. “I don’t have any worth left off the stage. I guess like a drug it used to be enough, but now …”

  “I don’t own my hand any better than the next person. I’ve been hiding behind this crew my whole life. Behind my gun, behind my duties. And it’s all meant jack shit really, when it’s all said and done. How depressing is that? When all you’ve ever really known is the thing you’re most sick of?” The alcohol seemed to free his nervousness as his tense shoulders relaxed, and he rested lazily with his back against the beam. “For Christ’s sake, my father would’ve never stood for a woman being in this cage. Not ever.”

  She leaned forward slightly from the shadows. No matter what he had done, the anguish in his voice pulled at her. She wanted to wipe the pain away. Annalise couldn’t begin to explain why his wounds tore at her so deeply. Why the connection felt so powerful.

  Foot falls from the stairs pulled Dimitri’s attention and he seemed to wipe away tears that weren’t there.

  “Mask,” she whispered almost inaudibly.

  “Oh shit!” Dimitri jerked a hand down to grab the mask and he hurried to put it back on.

  Charlie appeared at the foot of the stairs and put a hand up as he approached them, his glasses over his ski mask, and it brought a laugh out of Dimitri. “Hey bro, I’m done eating if you’re wanting to get upstairs and get some sleep,” he said, still chewing the last of his food. He held out a Styrofoam container. “Got her a burger too.”

  Dimitri grabbed the container. “Thanks, bro.” He looked at her, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He glanced back toward Charlie and replied, “I’m good for a few hours, man. Get some sleep.”

  Charlie jokingly saluted Dimitri, nodded his head toward Annalise with a broad, knowing smile, and then he turned on his heel and continued back up the stairs.

  “I hope that’s okay. I was kind of enjoying the company,” Dimitri said with a smile. He tilted the Styrofoam container and handed it over to her through the bars.

  “I’m glad you did,” she said, smiling back, and she took the container, setting it on her lap as she sat back down on the cot. “Well, let me welcome you to my lavish abode,” she joked and motioned toward the bars. “Can I interest you in half a burger?”

  He put his hand up. “No, please. It’s all yours.” His eyes trailed the thick steel bars as she took a bite from the burger. She eyed the crude construction too as she chewed, and Dimitri nodded his head toward the cage. “My old man made this thing himself, you know?” He shrugged. “Again, never for people like you. Though, I’m sure through your eyes, no human being deserves this kind of treatment.” He hesitated, his eyes still taking in the cage. “But we come from different worlds.”

  She wasn’t sure why she spoke so frankly, but something about his honesty inspired and emboldened her. “I can think of a couple. One in particular,” she answered coldly.

  “If I could exchange him with you and have a go at him myself, trust me, I would. But he’s one of our oldest members, and one with a lot of backing. He doesn’t say what goes, but he doesn’t just get killed off without retaliation either. That’s starting a war in our world.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of the big guy locked in here. How do I tell him that’s not who I meant. What kind of sick person wants to see their own father locked in a cage, bleeding, and begging for mercy? She shook the thoughts out of her head. She passed him a knowing look. “Trouble in the South Side Sinners world?”

  He glanced at his arms quickly, a confused look on his face. “How did y—” He shook his head and rolled his eyes as if he had figured it out. “Doc, right? The big ginger who stitched you up? Asshole had a tank top on, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, I was out of it but not that far. But don’t blame him. I saw it earlier when your boy with the pipe rolled up his sleeves before trying to take his cock out. He got himself all worked up in a sweat, trying to reach me through the cage,” Annalise answered, raising her eyebrows, and she laughed.

  He laughed too, though he stifled it quickly. “Not meaning to laugh about that last part. That shit makes me want to turn his dick into sushi and force it down his fucking throat. I just find it funny thinking how my grandfather must’ve really had no fucking clue what kind of business we’d be getting into when he decided where the tattoos should go.” He shook his head. “Kind of hard to keep concealed, and just a tad conspicuous.”

  “You guys should really consider a tramp stamp,” she offered as seriously as she could muster while fighting back a giggle. “It’d be hot … I mean, dangerous and fear-inspiring.”

  He grabbed a fistful of shirt and pulled it to the side, exposing his lean midriff, and he bent a little at the waist. She caught the glimpse of a tattoo on one side, and a scar on the other. In an impression that slightly resembled a woman from North Jersey, he said, “Oi vey, Jimmy! Should we start sawing his arms or his legs off first? I can never remembah.” He laughed, sitting back square and lowering his shirt. Shaking his head, he said, in his normal tone, “I oughta bring it up at the next meeting.”

  Fully laughing as much as she could while holding her side to keep from popping the stitches, Annalise rolled on the mat and clapped in approval. “Oh yes! I’d love to be a fly on that wall.” As funny as it was, she couldn’t help but notice all the ink etched into his rigid abs. Holy shit! The heat wave came again. They looked carved out of granite. She tried to laugh it off and pretended not to notice.

  “
To think of the clout a tramp stamp would bring us around here. We’d never have another problem again, I’m telling you. I’d find myself in early retirement. No more debts to collect.”

  “I’m sure you would be the envy of all the gangs,” she mocked, unable to erase the image of his shirtless abs. Fuck, what is wrong with me? “Do they all mean something?” she started, like Alice edging toward the rabbit hole … just one more look. She pointed to his ribcage.

  He put a hand to his stomach, covering the tattoo that trailed his right side beneath his shirt. For a brief moment, his hand clenched the shirt in mid-motion. “Do you wanna see it?” he finally asked.

  Fuck yes, I do. “I … um … If you want to show me,” she stammered. What the hell am I saying?

  He lifted his shirt slowly and exposed a large tattoo in vivid contrast to his tan skin. “It’s a Matryoshka doll for my mom.” He traced the tattoo with his hand. The body of the doll was an upside-down skull, rich in grays and reds, black intermixed; the face was that of a woman in deep sorrow. It ran the length of his right ribcage. He cleared his throat. “My mom was Russian. One hundred percent. Hence my name.”

  “I bet she was lovely. The tattoo is breathtaking, but she looks so sad. Like her whole world had crumbled.” Annalise reaches forward through the bars absentmindedly, as if to touch it.

  “Yeah, it’s of a Matryoshka doll my mom brought with her from Russia when she moved here to be with my dad. One of only a few things she brought. He said it was her favorite thing in the world, but she rarely talked about it. Just said her mother had given it to her when she was younger, and that she didn’t know why it looked so sad, but she loved it regardless.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “It’s been like an idol in our house ever since she died. I think it’s not so much about my mom as it is about her journey. The tattoo, I mean. She died at forty-one, healthy as can be. And then, she was just gone. It’s a reminder for me to be thankful for what I have. I’m not sure what the doll meant to her.”

  He dropped his shirt and motioned toward his back. “I have a phoenix on my back, and well, if you knew the kind of kid I was growing up, it’d make a whole lot of sense.” He let out a laugh and shrugged. “I’ve come a long way since then. I’ve got a few for friends who died, and some just to represent things that I love. I’ve always enjoyed the pain of getting inked, like a badge of honor. Wearing a little of your soul on your skin. When it’s done for the right reasons, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother. Growing up without her must have been really hard.” Annalise sat, knees pulled in, arms wrapped around them, taking in the sight of the man before her. The male dancers were always strong and even some were defined but in a slighter, almost more feminine way. Not hard and rugged like Dimitri … Dimitri. Why the hell did his name send shivers coursing through her. Each tattoo, each scar, told a story, added a layer of mystery and depth to this terribly complex man.

  He passed an easy shrug, but he carried a new nervousness in his features. “I appreciate that, but it’s hard to miss someone you’ve never known, you know? Someone you never met. And with my dad the way he was, I had to grow up quick. No time to mourn when you’re caring for someone who knows nothing but mourning. I only know her through old VHS tapes and photo albums.”

  “How old were you when she passed?” Annalise ached to put her hand on his arm. He looked so broken somehow.

  “It happened shortly after I was born. Only a few minutes.”

  “Oh God, Dimitri … I’m so sorry.” She was starting to get the picture now.

  “Hey, some of us never knew our mothers.” He shrugged. “Others have ones who are a different kind of dead. Being born is high stakes Vegas.”

  “I hate gambling,” she muttered quietly. “Somehow the hope and then losing is so much worse than just giving it away.”

  He laughed. “Same. I lose every fucking time. But isn’t that how it goes for some of us?”

  “I guess we are just a couple of misfit losers,” she offered with a forced chuckle. Somehow finding a way to laugh with everything that had happened and everything that loomed in front of them seemed vital, like a lifeline, even if it wasn’t attached to anything.

  “A regular Bonnie and Clyde,” he replied, passing her a smirk. “I do see a little bad in you. A little glimmer of ‘Don’t fuck with me’ in your eye.”

  She grinned almost ear to ear. “Now that was a pair of badasses. They sure had a hell of a ride.”

  “Hopefully, we don’t come out of this like they did … full of holes. Welcome to the other side of the law, Bonnie. It gets ugly.”

  “Like Alice peering back through the looking glass at her old life,” she observed. Of course, her picture-perfect world had never been innocent. With everything he had told her, she was still too ashamed to tell him everything. He wouldn’t look at her the same. She would never be able to admit the truth to him or anyone else. This was her self-made prison. The truth was too painful to bear in the light.

  “You’ll be back at your old life before you know it.”

  Annalise watched the grimace deepen the lines of his forehead, as if he wasn’t so confident in his own words, as if his thoughts were physically ripping into him. She thought about his words. If all went well, she would never see him again. She wasn’t sure which was worse—the club taking their revenge out on her or going back to her father and leaving Dimitri behind. “You said you spoke to my father. When is the exchange supposed to be? If I’m allowed to ask.”

  “You are. We’re moving you to another house tomorrow, bright and early.” He eyed the watch on his wrist. “About three hours from now, just before sunup. Your dad is gonna get coordinates to a meet site that he’ll go to at six a.m. the next morning, and he’ll be given the coordinates to you once the money is checked and we ensure he’s not trying anything. If everything runs smoothly, you’ll be home for brunch.”

  Annalise swallowed hard. “T-Tomorrow,” she stammered.

  “Only to the new house tomorrow. You’ll have one more night with us before we make the exchange.”

  “Will you be there with me?” she questioned. Fear and a sadness she couldn’t explain crept in from the shadows and choked the voice from her throat.

  “That was the plan.” He smiled. “Me and a few of my guys.”

  Annalise nodded, relief flooding her. She wanted to slap herself. How could she possibly feel like this for her captor? Still, she had never felt like this for anyone before. Something about Dimitri drew her to him, even if it was leading her toward a flame she felt would ultimately consume her. “May I have another drink of your whiskey?” she asked, biting her lip. She desperately wanted to tell him everything, but the fear of his possible disgust held her back.

  He grinned wider, reaching for the flask. Removing the top first, he handed it over and asked, “You know what I really like about you, Annalise?”

  “What’s that?” she asked with her half-grin still showing, before taking a full drink and embracing the burn that descended from her lips down through her entire body.

  “You hurt like I do. I can see it in your eyes. It’s rare, you know. Not many can understand what it’s like to feel true pain, and loss. Some write that pain into songs. Some paint. You dance. I …” He stopped short, eyeing her.

  “You kill people,” she finished quietly. “Or at least lock them in cages,” she added with a wink, trying to lighten the mood. “Somehow, you and I are very much alike. If anyone else could ever see the darkness inside, they would never understand. Just look with disgust and pity. I can’t fucking bear that look. I …” She paused. Fuck, even then she couldn’t tell him. She took another swig before handing the flask back through the bars, closing her eyes and blinking back hot tears.

  “Somebody who’s seen the same kind of darkness could understand, I think. Maybe not all of it, but enough to help shoulder some of the weight of that burden. Then again, I’m a man surrounded by the habitually divorced and forever ba
chelors. What the hell do I know about anything?”

  “Your crew is like a family,” she noted. “I would take a rough but honest family over the fake Brady’s any day. So, which category are you? You mentioned divorced and forever bachelors … or are you …”

  “Well … I’ve never been married, which is more than I can say for most around here. As for being a bachelor forever, I sure hope that’s not the case, but in this life, you don’t really think much about it. I’ve had friends killed in this shit. Lost others to prison sentences. You kind of take every day as it comes and try to keep the what ifs out of your head. Not all abductees come already passed out and ready to take.” He grinned at her. “Some of them come armed, and none of them come voluntarily.”

  She didn’t even try to hide her satisfaction in the fact he had never been married. It was stupid, she knew fully, but somehow it made her feel less odd for never having had a boyfriend. She always felt like such an outsider in these types of conversations. He seemed to get it somehow. She had to change the subject. “Do you abduct a lot of people?” Annalise tried to imagine him sitting there, having this conversation with someone else in this cage. “Are you always this chatty with your captives? Or do they not usually go home anyway?”