Not a question, but he answered, knowing honesty would help find the gal faster. “Nope, I got no fuckin’ clue where. But I can give some insight on the why.”
“And the woman? What is she to Wrench?” Twisted held his silence, waiting, and as he expected, Retro put it all together from whatever clues he had. “What is she to Po’Boy? I know from the limited digging I’ve been doing the three of them have been seen around New Orleans, where Po’Boy’s got his place. And I know she is not just Wrench’s next-door neighbor, but something more. Those two boys, they’ve been the talk of the party more than once, leaving like they do and heading out together. Assumption is they were doin’ the woman. No harm, no foul. But her reacting the way she did, I’m getting there’s more to this. You wanna lay it out for me before we go farther?”
“Don’t you think we need to be working out how to find out who took her?” A soft gasp behind him and Twisted turned to see Penny standing there, hand covering her mouth. “Hey, baby. I’ll be off the phone in a minute.” That was a clear indication he needed privacy, and given she didn’t usually buck his demands, the fact she took a step towards him was a surprise. “Penny—” he started, and she cut him off.
“Is it Crissy? Is she in trouble?”
“Shit, is that Penny?” Retro’s voice held a thread of amusement mixed with regret. Probably because he knew how she could be.
Before Twisted could answer either of them, Penny got his full attention. “I called Ace. Tell Retro after I got off the phone with him, I called Ace. He already knows, too. So if something’s up with Crissy, we need to know.”
“Wanna tell me why you think there’d be somethin’ up with this Crissy chick?”
Shoulders back, Penny stood and stared at him. “Wrench came to me early on, wanted to talk about what was going on with him and Po’Boy and this Crissy. If she’s in trouble—” She held her hand out, palm up and he watched it tremble as she said, “baby, we gotta wade in.”
“Baby doll, I’m not sure Po’Boy—”
She cut him off again, and he thought he heard Retro snort laughter on the other end of the call. “Po’Boy isn’t here, Twisted. He’s not here, and neither is Wrench. I don’t know why, but I suspect you have something to do with some of that.” She held up a hand, palm facing him. “I know you can’t tell me everything. But if she’s in trouble and they aren’t here, then we have to wade in.”
“She’s got a point, man.”
“Sure, now you wanna chime in with your two cents’ worth? Now you bought me my old lady’s wrath if I don’t do some kind of shit to make right whatever fucked up play you had going with this chick went sideways?” Twisted tipped his head down, looking at the toes of Penny’s boots. She was dressed for riding. Shit. She’d expected something. Maybe not this call, but she’d expected a call. Fuckin’ lucky I was still here. “You got a point, and you cover that motherfucker with your hat. Jesus.”
“Crissy was in Wrench’s place, said it was trashed like someone’s been squattin’ there. But she said his bedroom is trashed, as in trashed, and she said there was a picture of the three of them pinned to the wall with a knife. About then she encountered someone who evidently came into the condo behind her. I’m guessing she didn’t arm the alarm because we got nothing on the entry logs. Sounded like she took a hit or two, man.” Twisted’s neck angled, and he looked away from Penny, not wanting her to see the look he knew would be on his face at the knowledge. “Chatter, a lot of noise, then a voice.”
“Who?” Po’Boy’s face came to mind, him talking about Crissy and how she’d bridged the gap between him and Wrench in a way that made them all better. She took a hit or two. Twisted remembered coming out of hell to see Penny next to a dead man, her hands bloody, her face bruised. She took a hit or two. “We’ll kill the motherfucker.”
“You know Thorne? Sam Rotain’s old man?” Nothing more or less than he expected, and Twisted held his peace, trying to not react. He made a noise and Retro seemed to understand he couldn’t speak. “Pretty sure it was Thorne.”
***
Crissy
There was no slow rise to consciousness. One moment she was entirely unaware, and the next Crissy was fully immersed in noise and pain. When she opened her eyes, she saw the noise was coming from a radio alarm clock. Blinking 12:00, it seemed to be stuck in “get the fuck out of bed” mode, shrieking again and again at a high volume. The pain started in her head and radiated down through her jaw and into her back, and had her squeezing her eyes closed. She tried to move and woke more pain, one side of her ribs aching sharply.
When she woke, she also recalled, not just what she’d seen in Ty’s condo, but what had happened to her. She remembered where she’d seen her attacker before and wasn’t surprised his was the first face she saw now. “Thorne.” That came out as a bare murmur, since it hurt to talk, because talking meant moving her jaw, and just tensing to force out the single word had the pain levels jacking up to unbearable. He hadn’t yet realized she was conscious. Across the room, he stood in front of a window in what she believed must be a motel. It’s sure not the condo.
With the distance she would have to cover, there was no way she could take him by surprise as he had her. On that thought, remembering the fist that had barreled toward her face, she thought, fuck it and decided to take care of one of the problems at hand. The unceasing racket from the alarm. Lifting her arm gingerly, she tested the bounds of the pain, finding it bearable. Thank God, she thought, pressing the button on top of the clock. At the sudden silence, Thorne jerked around to look at her, and Crissy found herself staring in surprise at what she saw, because he didn’t look like a criminal, which of course he was, because he’d knocked her out and kidnapped her. Instead the expression on his face was nearly grieving, eyes swollen and red, and she wondered at the source of his anguish.
“Where is she?” His mouth was hard, lips thinning as he asked an incomprehensible question. Trying to hold her jaw still, Crissy shook her head. She who? “Where is she?” Thundering the words, he took two fast steps in her direction, and she saw his hand curling into a hard fist. “Where.” Another step. “Is she?”
Thorne loomed over her and Crissy pushed at the mattress with her heels, trying to gain a little room. Wincing at the pain, she clenched her teeth together delicately, then hissed, “Who?”
“Fucking Sam. Sam.” He pounded the mattress between her knees, and she pushed harder, sliding her back up the headboard, slipping sideways against the pillows. “Fucking Sam, where is she?”
“I don’t know.” He jerked a fist towards her face, and she flinched back, her chin knocking the point of her shoulder painfully. Tears stung her eyes and she held her breath until the agony subsided. “I was looking for Wrench.” Instinctively she used Ty’s club name, trying to map her way through a minefield she couldn’t even see.
“Fucking Wrench.” He twisted away, back towards the windows, and she saw the butt of a gun sticking out of the waistband of his pants. “She liked his goddamned dick. Had a way of making sure a man knew he weren’t the first.” His words so bizarre she could only stare at the back of his head for a moment. “Figured Wrench would come back, know where she is.”
“You were in his condo.” Speaking came easier this time, and she pushed away from the headboard, angling her hips towards the edge of the bed.
“Figured he’d be back, or she would.” He turned, staring at her, his reddened eyes eerie in the light filtering through the thick curtains. “But you showed. So then I thought you’d know where he was, way he was all up in your business all the fuckin’ time. Where is he? You gotta know, right? He’s your old man, right? You’re his old lady?” He shook out one fist, and she saw the knuckles were bruised. “You gotta let Ace know I didn’t mean to hurt you, right? Gonna let Wrench know? He gonna be pissed, and I’ll take my beating, but I had to get you out of there before she came back.”
She shook her head, not a negative response, just not understanding. Is he
insane?
Thorne’s lip curled and he angled his chin to the side, staring at her out of the corner of one wide eye. “Aww naw, you gotta tell ‘em. You gonna tell ‘em, right? Gonna let ‘em know? I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He lifted a hand beseechingly, taking a step closer. “It’s just a little blood, mostly. Just a tap, you just gotta get cleaned up. I just tapped you. It’s only a little blood, honey.” He semirepeated himself, and she flinched when he came towards her and pointed at her face, the gesture bringing him too close for comfort. The skin under her nose pulled and prickled, and Crissy lifted a hand to find dried blood coating her skin. “You wanna clean up?” Thorne offered again, gesturing towards the bathroom.
The way he switched back and forth between angry and overly nice made her gut clench. Working off that feeling, she tested her legs, finding them only a little wobbly. “Yeah. If I could.” Unwilling to turn her back on him, she moved towards the bathroom blindly, feeling every backwards step before trusting her weight to it. Slowly but surely she made her way through the doorway, hand on the knob as she stared at him. Will he really let me just walk in there? “Thanks.” Before she could push the door closed, he had crossed the room, placing a big hand flat on the door.
“Leave it open.” She nodded, disappointed. That emotion forgotten when she turned to face the mirror, gasping. Eyes mapping her face, she took in the damage she’d only felt so far. Black and blue bruising on her jaw and cheek claimed a space on her face she could barely cover with a single hand, and her chin and neck were hidden behind a dried layer of blood. The effect was as ghoulish as any Halloween makeup she’d seen and she could only stare for a moment. “You all right in there?” His voice came from outside, not near, so he’d probably moved back to the windows. In response she turned on the water, dropping a clean washcloth into the sink’s basin, waiting for the stream to warm.
Cleaning up took longer than she’d expected, terror still thrumming through her made working around the tender areas a more difficult task than it seemed. She heard the rumble of his voice several times, caught a glimpse of his form pacing in and out of the mirror’s reflection, crossing in front of the windshields and roofs of vehicles she could see through the window. Staring at her image, she recognized the fear in her eyes as she struggled to make sense out of the few things he’d said.
As far as she could tell, there were only two things that didn’t quite ring true. The first was though she’d seen Sam around the condo, Thorne claimed to be the one camping out, which didn’t make sense. The second was even if he’d been the one to knock her out and bring her here, he was flat scared of both Wrench and whoever this Ace was. The fear in his face had echoed what she’d seen in her own features, and he hadn’t been acting. Since he seemed to think she was Wrench’s significant other, she could work that to her favor.
She rinsed out the washcloth, frowning at the reddened stains that remained. Swallowing hard, she lifted her eyes to her reflection again, consciously lowering her shoulders as she pulled in a steadying breath. Thorne’s voice sounded again, and she turned towards the door, walking out of the tiny room which was no haven, and into what felt like the lion’s den.
***
Wrench
Shoving hard with his boots against the pavement, Wrench backed the bike into his space with an economy of movement that spoke to familiarity. Heeling down the kickstand was second nature as was thumbing the kill switch on the bike. A moment later he stood to one side, key in hand, and had turned to walk towards his condo. As he had for weeks now, he focused on the car he’d already looked for, parked in front of Crissy’s place. He remembered the first time he’d seen her, one corner of his mouth curling up as he murmured, “Butternut.”
“Wrench.” Key to the door, he heard his name shouted from across the parking lot and pushed the door open as he turned and watched Pony trotting his way. “Jesus, man. Answer your fuckin’ phone once in a while.” Wrench pushed a hand into his pocket, coming out empty when he remembered leaving it at the clubhouse. Shit. Pony asked, “Where the fuck you been, man?”
“Out.” Not a sanctioned run, he’d been looking for Po’Boy, and wasn’t about to talk about that with an IMC member, no matter they were friends. Pony reached past him, holding the door open as Wrench turned to walk inside, stumbling over Wrench’s boots when he stopped in his tracks. “What the hell?”
“Jesus, you’re a slob now?” Pony knew him better than that, and from the corner of his eye Wrench saw him pull a pistol out of his vest. Wrench matched the movement, the familiar weight comforting. “Tell a brother when you pull shit like this.” He pulled the door closed, the security of a locked entryway less comforting than it could have been.
“Yeah, don’t you know I’m messy?” Easy banter covered the sound of their advancing footsteps, and would hopefully soothe whoever had done this, if they were still here. Wrench turned to the side and saw his alarm blinking green. It hadn’t been armed. “You want pizza?” He covered the kitchen, saw it empty, saw Pony doing the same to the main living area. “I could order some.”
Moving up the hallway, he left the bathroom for Pony, checking the first bedroom, losing sight of his friend for a moment while he opened and checked the closet. Pony laughed softly, and said, “Pizza sounds good, man. I’m starved.” The shower curtain rattled.
Back in the hallway, he glanced back at Pony, tipping his head towards the master bedroom. One room left to check, and he felt Pony’s presence at his back as he pushed the already ajar door open. Chaos greeted him, and he tried to look past it to ensure the room was empty. By the time he turned from the closet, Pony was stepping out of the bathroom, and both men lowered their weapons to their sides. “Empty, brother,” Pony said, then whistled low. “Who in the fuck did you piss off? I need to know so I can avoid that shit.”
“Hell if I know.” Gaze flicking from one thing to the next, he surveyed the damage. “Jesus, whoever it was did not go gentle.” He bent, using the finger of one hand to flip items over, tossing them to one side. “All my shit, man.”
“What’s that?” At the question, he straightened to see Pony pointing behind him and turned towards the bed, freezing in place. “Vicar’s,” he pushed out between clenched teeth. “Fuckin’ Vicars?” Stepping towards the machete, he stared at the picture of Po’Boy pinned to the wall. The background was familiar. Po’Boy in Plaisirs Caches, and he remembered that night, suddenly fighting against going hard. With a grunt, he leaned closer, angling to see around the blade, all thoughts of sexy times pushed out of his head when he saw the rest of the image. Crissy in the curve of Po’Boy’s arm, Wrench pulling back after kissing a stunned Po’Boy, leaning over his two lovers in a way that screamed intimacy. It was an image he would have framed if he knew it existed, would have brought out time and again to look at, as he did the ones on his phone. Not able to pull his eyes from the picture, he reached up and wiggled the blade, capturing the photo between his fingers as it fluttered free.
“Got a fuck of a lotta red here, brother.” Pony’s words pulled him around, and he made his way around the bed, stopping short at the drying pool of blood on the floor. Not a spray or splatter like from a gunshot, it was an impressive amount soaking the carpet. He took another step and felt something hard under his boot, pulling back and kicking a ruined shirt to one side to see a familiar rectangle shape under the next layer of clothing. Toeing things aside, he leaned over and picked up the phone, using his thumb to activate the screen.
Fear froze him, because he was staring at another image, this of himself and Po’Boy, both of them grinning up at the camera. Taken so long ago it nearly seemed a lifetime, this showed what had been the beginning of things for the three of them. “Crissy,” he muttered, “it’s her phone.” Scanning the floor, he took in the amount of blood again, then looked at the blade he’d tossed to the floor beside the upended bed. It didn’t have any staining on it that he could see, but there could be a dozen reasons for that. With the clothes tossed everyw
here, it would have been easy to wipe it clean before leaving it in the wall. The screen darkened as the phone went back to sleep, and he thumbed it again, focusing this time on the missed texts and calls. With shock, he recognized the Alabama number and shook his head. Lifting his eyes to stare at Pony, he asked him, “What in fuck would Retro be doing calling Crissy?”
Chapter Nineteen
Po’Boy
He groaned, the noise sounding thin to his ears, and opened his eyes. Blinking to clear his vision, Po’Boy strained to see, looking for any clue to tell him where he was. Light from across the room hit a mirror on the wall at a known angle, and he sighed, relaxing minutely. The suite. He swallowed and sighed. Fuck of a dream. Not his normal nightmare, but the idea of Grover dispatching him to trip traps in an unknown house was weird enough to classify as a nightmare.
Then he tried to move.
Pain blasted through every muscle, yanking away the comforting thoughts of being safe in a familiar place. He strained against the bonds that held him still, arching to see above his head, catching a metallic glint at his wrists. His feet were similarly secured, and his balls tried to crawl up into his belly when he realized he was naked on the bed, legs spread wide, exposing his privates to the chilly air.
Shivering, he pulled at first one leg then the other, finding no give in whatever shackled him. Fucking hell. He scanned the room. Not seeing anything or anyone to tell him what was going on, there were no clues as to how he’d gotten from that house to here.
Over the next few hours, he kept testing the bindings on his legs, working the handcuffs back and forth on the headboard with no success. The wound on his wrist reopened, making his skin slippery, but the cuffs were too tight for him to have any hope of slipping through. Each movement was hard, agonizing and coming at a cost of pain-filled nausea.
Thoughts of the redhead filled his head, and he concentrated on what the man had said before he’d lost consciousness.
Neither This Nor That Box Set 1 Page 58
