King's Ransom: South Side Sinners MC

by BT Urruela

The way the dim Coleman lantern from across the small room lit her face, it was as if she were a painting, to be hung in some grand hall with other great works of art. He couldn’t spot a flaw on her. As she took a sip of the whiskey, her eyes steadied on his, and his breath caught in his throat, his gut a turning wheel. He wanted to kiss her, couldn’t fight the feeling away even if he tried.

  She drank deliberately, slow and steady, her lips pouted in just a way that he swore he could see it. She wanted him too.

  “Can I ask you something that might sound a little bit crazy?” His head was cocked to the side, admiring the little grimace she made every time the whiskey hit her tongue—that scrunched nose and wrinkled brow.

  “Mmm,” she hummed as she swallowed and licked the last drop of whiskey off her lip. “Sure. Can’t be crazier than sharing whiskey with a debaucherous motorcycle man who has me chained to a radiator,” she answered, scrunching her nose again, half-laughing at the ridiculousness of her situation. The mischievousness in her tone then mixed with a growing desire to taste him instead of the whiskey.

  “Good point.” He chuckled. “I was just thinking, have you ever gotten that feeling like you’re right where you’re supposed to be but you never had a choice … that your path, just like everybody else’s, was already set out for you when you were born. Pre-ordained, I guess. And you and I, for some fucked-up reason, were supposed to be here?” He pinched his lips tight and put a finger to his lips. Hesitating for a moment, lost in thought, he eventually said, “I don’t know. I get hit sometimes, with like, déjà vu but heavier. Like one of those dreams that leave you feeling like you were actually in them. A wave of it just came over me.” He shrugged, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Or maybe it’s just the whiskey,” he said, and let out a nervous laugh.

  Annalise sat speechless for a moment, letting his words sink in. How could he possibly echo her inner thoughts? When all rational thought would tell you there’s no way the situation could end well, could destiny really be so bitter to let them taste the pure euphoria of this moment and then rip it all away? Why now? “Like somehow it was all planned out, a Shakespearean tragedy, and we are just the pawns reset, time and again, life after life, until we get it right.” She paused and turned toward him, leaning in slightly. “Dimitri, what if fate only sets up the game, and it’s up to us how we play it out?”

  “And what’s your next play, Ms. Hale? What comes after this?”

  “Well, if we are only promised one night, it should be …” She hesitated and reached for the flask. One more shot of liquid courage and she looked at him through hooded eyes. “Memorable,” she finished. Her heart filled her chest as it rose and fell. No time for regrets. Sunrise may bring hell and all its fury, but the music played and even the fallen could dance. “’Course, I am chained to a radiator, so I guess the proverbial ball is in your court.”

  He laughed abruptly. “I guess it is, huh? And how do you suppose a night gets any more memorable than being handcuffed to the radiator in a rundown house, awaiting a ransom far less than what you deserve.” He winked at her and smiled, and couldn’t help but feel just like he had back in 2001 when he kissed his first girl, like he hadn’t any clue how to not show every last card he held.

  “Well, jeez, this is hard to top. Radiators are so cozy after all. But perhaps not that memorable, and I guess springing this joint and going for a greasy burger and fries is probably out of the question.” She tipped her head to the side. “How about you? If you had one night left on this spinning rock and you could do anything you wished, what would it be?”

  “Honestly, just a little bit of normal would do me just right. My life has been just one big pile up after another. I’d like to just sit down one day, not give a fuck about the time or day or responsibilities, and just let the whole damn world pass me by.”

  “What do you imagine normal looks like?” she sat back and asked, wistfully daydreaming for a minute then, with a smile, she leaned back toward him, bumping his shoulder with hers. “I’d sit on a porch with you in the night breeze and share a flask.”

  He smiled wide. “That seems about the kind of normal I would conjure up. In an old rocker set right in the middle of paradise. Sounds ideal right about now.”

  She leaned toward him with her eyes closed and rested her head on the edge of his shoulder. “Bet the moon would be huge.” She tipped her face up to its imaginary light and into the cool breeze. “Crickets chirping and big, fat frogs, and not another soul for miles … Yeah, I’d take that … and maybe a cheeseburger.” She turned toward him with a slight laugh, not realizing he had leaned toward her, and brushed his face. The stubble of his beard tickled her lips as she turned her head. Whiskey, cigarettes, and that fucking delicious cologne enveloped her senses. She shook her head and pulled away, thankful the dark room hid the hue of her face. Who am I kidding? What do I possibly have to offer this man. She turned away, wishing like anything that he felt what she did and that, for once in her life, she was brave enough to do something about it. He would never want you if he knew the truth about you. No one ever will. She hadn’t cared before she met him.

  “I’ll grill the burgers if you bring the beer,” he said with a stupid grin.

  “I’m not old enough to buy beer,” she retorted, her grin full-faced. “Know anyone that could hook me up with a fake ID?”

  Their four-year age difference suddenly seemed like a lifetime in experience. He grew up streetwise, she grew up sheltered from everything. Both were like prisoners in their own worlds. Yet in that moment, in this dank house, their worlds collided for one night, shattering the prejudice, and painful walls that created their invisible prisons.

  He looked at her sideways. “I knew your age, but when you said it just then, it caught me completely off guard. You’re not like any nineteen-year-old I’ve ever met before. You’re quite ‘together’ for being so young, you know?” he said. “Pops was never normal, but my childhood wasn’t the worst. It started to get bad about the time puberty came around and, I don’t know, I kind of became aware of everything fully for the first time, all at once.

  “And then I started to question everything. I missed the mom I never knew, started to miss my dad, who had started choosing the bottle over me on a full-time basis, and I felt like my whole world was caving in. In the weirdest way, the alcohol and the drugs, they saved me. They let me stuff a little of that awareness back down. Blissfully ignorant, or something like that.”

  She reached up and traced her finger over the stopwatch once again, almost absentmindedly. “You seem so much older now, more intense somehow. I guess together is a mask we all try to wear.” She paused and looked up at him. “You are the first person I’ve ever been able to take it off around. That probably sounds stupid, but everyone else expects me to be perfect and smile all the time. Practice, pose, smile. Always perfection, no matter what’s going on inside. You met me on my worst day. You’ve seen the weakness and the ugly and you know it, you understand it. Most of the kids I know don’t have a clue.” She let her hand drop but he caught it.

  “It doesn’t sound stupid at all. I feel the same way, like our uglies get along well together,” he said, his eyes lingering on that finger tracing his skin, the goose bumps that trailed his flesh because of it, and he took a breath. “Funny how the worst of it all always seems to force the mask off, forces you to question yourself. You in that dressing room and now in this shithole, paying dues you don’t owe. For me, it was when I came to the full realization that I’d never have a relationship with my mother, and my pops was a heartbroken alcoholic.”

  His voice hitched, and he glanced away, pausing for a moment. “It was like a sucker punch really. Straight to the gut. And if I’m being honest, I haven’t really felt like I’ve caught my breath yet. And oddly, I can’t tell anyone this shit and with you, it’s like the floodgates have opened.” His hands were shaking and he forced a smile, crossing his arms to hide them. “I don’t think I mentioned it yet, but my old man, he died j
ust before we, uh, before we took you.” His laugh was nervous, forced. “So, it’s been an interesting week.”

  “Oh my God, Dimitri, I’m sorry. You just lost him?” Annalise looked down, feeling like a spoiled shit for whining about her problems.

  He brushed her off, clearly feeling uncomfortable enough as it was. “No, please, it’s okay. Really. He was ready to go. Had been for a while. It’s just been hard to process and make sense of it, with all of this going on.” He let out an uneasy laugh, shaking his head at himself with a shameful expression. “Says the man to his captive. I can’t believe I’m doing this, here talking to you like this. Like you’re my therapist.”

  She laughed a little, that nervous laugh that had escaped her lips so often in the last twenty-four hours, and she leaned into his shoulder. The movement was familiar, like one would a close friend but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “Well, I am quite the captive audience,” she joked, jingling her cuff against the radiator. The pun was corny but she smiled up at him warmly before sitting back up.

  He nodded toward her cuff with a grin, and asked, “If I let you out of that thing, you promise not to run on me? Or try to kick my ass?”

  She giggled at the thought of trying to kick his ass. “You may be twice my weight, but you know I have some mad high kick skills.” She turned to him, her smile fading. “I promise. It would be awesome to relax my arm.”

  “I was thinking it looked pretty uncomfortable, and there are two armed guards right outside the door,” he said in a joking tone as he found the keys in his pocket. He scooted closer to her, their bodies touching, and he leaned across her with the key, smiling. “Pardon me.”

  Her breath hitched as his chest brushed hers. He struggled with the key. She couldn’t see what was going on as her face was almost in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Each time he moved, fidgeting with the cuff, her lips brushed his skin. The room turned into a sauna as his heart rate took off like the motor of his bike.

  Once her wrist was free and he let the cuff clatter to the ground, he drew back from her slowly. Wishing he could’ve stayed close, wishing that faint smell of perfume and shampoo she still carried was overwhelming his senses, and wishing too he had better control over himself, that she didn’t have such effects on him. The whole situation was supposed to be about business, and it felt the furthest thing from it to him. If you squint just right, it almost looks like a date.

  He motioned to her arm. “Better?” he asked, as she rubbed her wrist out and he pocketed the key.

  “Much,” she answered, trying to hide the friction burn already present on her wrist. She didn’t know why it mattered. Cool air cascaded on her skin as he pulled away, and she immediately missed his contact and felt stupid. He is never going to take a girl like me seriously. Annalise struggled to remind herself she was just a pawn. Yet, with him so close, it was easy to forget. “Thank you.”

  “Thanks for going along so well. I know no part of this is what you ever imagined happening to you in your life, but you’ve handled it better than most men could. I think, deep down inside, despite what we walked in on that night at the theater, you got a lot of fight in you.”

  She looked at the floor and then back up, her eyes locking on his. “Maybe I just needed something to fight for.” She couldn’t believe she actually said it out loud. She immediately bit her lip to keep from saying more and searched his face to see if he was laughing at her.

  He rested the back of his head against the wall, his eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling, and he cleared his throat. “I wonder sometimes what I’m fighting for. I look at my life and see something missing. I feel something missing. Sometimes it takes more than yourself. Sometimes a little strength rubbed off from another goes a long way. Sometimes another person’s gotta hold up the mirror.”

  She watched him, his face twisted as if he were in pain, staring at the ceiling. “Was your dad your strength?” she asked, searching for some insight. He couldn’t see how impossibly mesmerizing he was, flaws and all. She wanted the small distance between them to disappear.

  “Not my dad, he was too far gone when I needed him the most, but I have someone in the club who’s been like a father to me. He’s definitely the reason I’m here. And why I am the man I am today, for better, or for worse. And sometimes I think he’s still as lost as I am.”

  “I guess I should thank him. Or you might have just let Robbie have me.”

  “This guy, he knew my mom and dad before everything. He knew my grandfather, Gregor, who founded the Sinners, knew what the patch meant to the family. It’s a legacy. And part of that legacy is never letting something like this happen to somebody like you. He’s in over his head, I think. And tired.” He paused for a moment, his eyes falling to his arm, where his shirt sleeve exposed the club tattoo on his bicep. “I guess you could go and tell the cops on us no problem after this, huh?”

  “If you really think I would turn you guys in, there’s no way I leave this place … alive anyway.” She stared at him, unflinching, and swallowed hard. “Is that what you think? I guess you barely know me. Hell, I barely know you. Just when it feels like there’s something here. Something I can’t put my finger on, but I can’t bear to let go. You could just be fucking with me all along, right? Get what you want and kill me anyway.”

  “It’s not what I think, not how I feel at all, no …” His eyes were on hers, sincere. “I just wonder if some people in our little group never even planned on you making it out alive is all.”

  “I’m just the pawn, remember.”

  “You’re not a pawn to me, Annalise. But to some of them … yeah. You’re dispensable. I don’t know if you making it out of here alive was ever on their agenda. Don’t know if they even wanted your dad to pay. I should’ve tried harder to fight this, to not let them take you.”

  She reached out, placing her hand on his arm, in a futile attempt to comfort the man who held her prisoner. “I was dead when you found me. Hell, I didn’t even want to live until I met you.” She let out a slow breath. “They have no reason to keep me alive. Once they get their money. Even if all this goes to hell …” Her voice trailed off, the gravity of her words sinking in. Annalise took a breath and looked away.

  Abruptly, he grabbed her departing hand and brought it back to his arm. He set his own hand on top of hers. “I told you I was gonna get you out of this, and I meant that. You know, as long as I’m alive myself. Can’t be much of any help to you if I’m dead.”

  “Guess Bonnie is nothing without Clyde. She was a lot better armed than me though,” she said with a weak giggle, and brushed her nose against his chin. “Think I could knock someone out with a radiator?”

  “I think if you don’t get a hernia pulling that thing out of the wall, yeah, you got a fighting chance of knocking somebody out with it. Not sure how effective that would be though.” He laughed, and she felt his heart pounding harder the closer she got. “It won’t come to you needing a weapon, but if it happened to, do you know how to handle one?” He cocked his head, the tight grin spread wide.

  “A radiator? I’m pretty sure I saw Thor or Hulk do it in a movie once,” she joked back. “I’m kidding. No, I’ve never even held a gun. You and I grew up in completely different worlds. I’ve never even been in a fight. Until this week, I have always just done as I was told. I’ve had a lot of firsts in the last couple days.”

  “Well, then, if the time comes, I point, you shoot, all right?” he said jokingly.

  “Oh shit. I really hope it doesn’t come to that. I guess when you’re backed into a corner though … survival instincts, right? I’m not sure if a recently suicidal ballerina is your best sidekick. You may want to rethink this, Clyde.”

  He laughed. “No, it won’t. I promise. And, besides, I won’t be here during the drop.” A touch of sadness crossed his features. “I’ve gotta help support the operation, but you’ll have Trig and Charlie out here watching your back if anything does go down. They’ll teach you how to
shoot if need be.” He poked his tongue out at her, and then he shrugged. “Your dad plays ball, there’s no problem.”

  Annalise stiffened. The little hairs on the back of her neck went up at the mention of her father. She hated the idea of Dimitri leaving her there, she didn’t want to see him go. When he left, one of two things would be coming for her—her father, to take her back to hell, or his team, to kill her. A wave of nausea hit her. She fought through the split-seconds of panic, pushing them far behind her, wishing there was some way, any other way. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him and she forced the brave face back into place. “It will all be over soon, I guess, one way or the other.”

  There, in that room with him, it was so easy to forget the rest of the world. Forget everything that awaited them when the sun met the sky in the morning.

  “Is it weird a little part of me is gonna miss this?” he asked, nudging into her slightly and motioning toward the empty room with his free hand. “I mean, I could ask for some better scenery, and definitely different circumstances, but I guess you take what you can get.”

  She nudged back, relishing the contact. “It’s definitely weird. But I’m glad. I can’t say I will miss this place. But I will miss you.” She glanced around the dim room. She didn’t care where they were. When he touched her, the rest of the world fell away. “Dimitri, do you think there’s any chance that if none of this had happened, and we met in the street or in a club”—she paused and twirled a strand of chestnut hair—“that we would … you know, have talked or hit it off … something?”

  He cracked a smile and shook his head. “What does the enforcer for a motorcycle club tell a senator’s daughter about his occupation? I can say honestly, if you took away all the labels, and the whole messy back story, yeah, you and I would get along great. We would definitely hit it off. But, you oughta see where I spend my Friday and Saturday nights. No senator’s daughter would step foot in a place like that.”

  “I’ve only been to one club, and that was a week ago. Some dive that some of the kids from the company went to one night. The dancing was incredible. Nothing like the ballet. A waiter from the vegan place hooked them up. I can’t remember his name, starts with an R, I think, but he had a motorcycle. And your patch. He comes in almost every day at lunch …” She was just mindlessly talking. “Sorry, you couldn’t probably care less about my one club excursion.”