Something ain’t right here.
I know my brothers expect me to bust in guns blazing, but with my family on the line, I need to keep my head and my head says to proceed with caution.
We make the drive back up the mountain, avoiding the gated front entrance, cutting up a dirt path to the back of the property, where a decrepit pole barn stands, a relic of the old days of the Lords when they were involved in all things that brought death down on the club.
If Scourge was lying about where my family is, it just might mean death for him.
Sneak, Blaze, and Carver meet us, walking out of the pole barn. Sneak and Blaze are tall and lithe, but like snakes—all muscle. Similar blue eyes and brown hair, they look like they should be twins, though Sneaks like six years older and they ain’t blood related. Carver on the other hand, he’s a giant motherfucker—barrel chested, crazy, wild beard hanging down past his pecs that he keeps somewhat tamed by three rubber bands. The hair on his head is equally as wild. But it’s his attitude Scourge should fear. Nicest guy ya’ll ever know to his friends. But if he doesn’t like ya or yar stupid enough to threaten someone he cares about, watch out.
I look to Scourge. “Aye, I’d hate to be in yar shoes right now.” Then I snicker and despite his stone face, I see the way his throat bobs and the bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.
We move him from the van as one unit, not taking any chances that he might try to escape now that there’s no one to save face in front of. He keeps darting his eyes around, scanning the empty field and woods behind the barn as we walk inside. Before Scourge gets a chance to catch his bearings, Crass shoves him face-first into a rusty, metal folding chair. The douche trips over his own feet.
Sure hope he’s up to date on his tetanus shots, as he knocks his head hard enough to ricochet off the seat. There’s a trickle of blood where the skin tore, replacing the sweat. His words come slurred when he spews his bullshite. “E’rybody knows the Lords’re fuckin’ pussies now.”
Crass moves in, picking the fucker up by his hair and the Horde bastard loses it, crying out. Holy shite, I’ve never seen Crass this angry before. I think it has something to do with why he got involved with helping Elise and Liv when their thing with Houdini started and why he eventually transferred chapters, but still. If anyone ever doubted he was a badarse motherfucker, watching him now would change their minds.
“Who’s the pussy now?” Crass grounds out, dropping Scourge in the chair and waiting for him to answer. It’s clear Scourge thinks it’s rhetorical because he doesn’t respond. “I fucking asked you a question,” Crass repeats, bending to get right in his face, and when he still doesn’t answer, Crass presses his thumb into the deepest cut on Scourge’s forehead, pressing and grinding it against the wound.
Scourge cries out, “Stop. Please god, stop.”
But Crass doesn’t stop, digging his thumb in there deeper. “Why’d they take those women?”
When he still doesn’t answer I lose patience, stepping behind the chair to grab his arm. I twist it and bend it back at an unnatural angle. Enough to really hurt, not enough to break it—yet. Carver has his knife out, ready to show our prisoner exactly how he got his nickname, but it never comes to that. With tears rolling down his cheeks and snot bubbling from his nose, whether from the pain he’s already experiencing or the anticipation of what’s to come, he crumbles. “It’s a trap,” he finally says.
“Trap?” Boss asks, stepping closer.
“Rage has us workin’ with that dirty deputy, Rodrick. You been tryin’ to clean up the county…ah!” he cries out. “Stop… please stop.” I may have accidentally twisted his arm a little harder. “He was goin’ after Lord women because he knew y’all would lose your minds, people fuckin’ with your women. He tagged the ginger’s woman as the one to target, seein’ as he ain’t seen him around in a few weeks.”
I begin to lose it and twist his pinky finger until I hear it snap. He doesn’t just cry, he screams. Crass presses harder against the open wound. “Fucking finish,” Crass orders.
“What Rodrick got planned?” Boss asks next.
“He’s expectin’ y’all to invade the warehouse as one unit. Rest of the deputies don’t know Rodrick’s in on this shit. He’s settin’ up a sting. You there with the guns and drugs, he gets the commendations he wants—word is, he’s gunnin’ for the Sheriff position this next election—and he gets rid of the men gettin’ in the way of his money.”
“Fuck!” Boss explodes and turns to storm out of the barn. My guess, he’s heading to talk to Duke. Chaos follows, along with Blood. Duke’s lieutenants.
Crass looks to me. “Better go. I got this. Promise.”
My brothers have my back. They always have my back and even though I don’t sit at the table, it’s my woman and babes on the line; therefore, I earn a say in the rally room. We walk fast and quiet. Not much activity at the clubhouse tonight. Everyone’s on high alert, waiting for the prez to give our orders. We stomp to one of the doors behind the bar. Boss, Chaos, and Blood go in first. I wait outside until I’m summoned, which doesn’t take long. I walk in and take my spot against the wall.
“Can ya keep your shit together?” Duke asks me.
I nod. “Aye, I’ll keep it.” What are my choices?
“I’m thinkin’ those girls’ll be scared. They’ll need their daddy… and Frankie, she needs to know you’ll always come for her.”
“Agreed,” I say.
Chaos speaks up. “How do we go about it?”
“Send me in,” I say. “Me and a couple of brothers. They won’t expect us.”
“Rest of us can spread out in the tree line. We can send in small groups as needed.” Blood waits for Duke’s decision. It won’t be heavily guarded, not if he wants to bring in the Sheriff’s Department to take us out.”
Duke keeps nodding his head as he considers this plan. “I want Crass, Carver, Sneak, and Blue there with ya. Then we’ll have other groups set up, but you don’t need to be in on those. Sneak’ll get ya in. Crass and Blue’ll keep yer shit tight and Carver’s a crazy motherfucker when he needs to be.”
Everything he said is true.
“Callin’ Crass, Blue, and Carver down,” Boss says, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Blaze and Hero can keep an eye on the prisoner ’til we get up there to deal with him. But we’ll need them at the warehouse, so you’ll haveta send a couple brothers up to watch over him once we mobilize.”
We spend the next couple of hours piecing together a plan and making sure every man knows his place so we don’t have any fuckups. Part of the plan involves me and some of the brothers taking the van and the other brothers’ll ride toward the destination in the back of one of the shipping company’s long trailers.
It sucks not being able to ride, but the pipes are too loud and for this to work, we need that element of surprise. We don’t move until it gets dark. Another element of surprise. At dusk, Crass, Blue, Boss, Chaos, and Blood climb in the van with me. Blood drives. The rest of the brothers mount their rides to converge behind the warehouse of the shipping company and will follow as soon as everyone gets loaded.
“Brother, you got your shit together?” Boss asks as we speed down the back state highways crossing the county. How many times they gonna ask this question? Blood doesn’t fuck around. He uses the least-traveled routes to keep us from getting pulled over and alerting Rodrick we’re onto him.
I turn to stare at Boss. “Does my shite not seem together?” The last thing I need is for my brothers to start ragging on me when I feel like I’ve been doing everything to keep myself tight.
“Me and Chaos both know what you’re goin’ through. I’m gonna be real here. Nothin’ brings a man lower than knowin’ his family’s vulnerable in the hands of some crazy fuckwad.”
The wind has been picking up all day, blowing leaves and sticks across the road. Small cyclones of dirt and wind swirl up around the gravel shoulders, awaiting the storm rolling in. The thick clouds darken the sk
y from the blue of night to black. An ominous play by Mother Nature, considering what we’re about to do.
Fat raindrops begin to pelt the windshield as Blood makes the turn down Squirrel Crick Road. Fuck—I got a bad feeling things are gonna get worse before they get better.
16.
Frankie
“Maybe we chose the wrong woman,” one of the Horde—I can’t see his name patch because he’s turned away from me, but he’s wiry with dirty blond hair—says to Rodrick, as if I’m not sitting right in the room with them.
Unfortunately, this gives Rodrick cause to look directly at me and scowl. Then, without giving me enough reaction time to even flinch, his hand shoots out to fist the back of my hair and he pulls at it hard enough to tilt my head up to look at him. “Where’s yer man now, bitch? He get tired of yer ass? Not a brother who likes settlin’?”
I whimper with tears sliding down from the corners of my eyes as my scalp burns from where he pulls. I can’t help it. I wish I could because I don’t want to come off as weak in front of him, but it hurts.
I’ve been going along with the Horde, doing what they ordered me to do—never putting up a fight, never—not until now. Not until seeing that dead, evil look in his eyes and my heartbeat speeds up, thudding, thudding, thudding hard against my ribcage because I know something worse is on the way.
My skin prickles in an unnerving way a split second before he tugs hard on my hair, hard enough that I either stand or spend the next few months sporting a significant bald spot. I stand and immediately get shoved face-first over the table, knocking some of the cleaning products onto the floor.
But it’s when I hear the clinking of his belt buckle that my fight-or-flight seriously kicks in. The unzipping of his fly could’ve been a building collapsing for as loud as it rings in my ears. My hands flat on the table, his still fisting in my hair, he kicks my feet wider apart.
Now tears flow for a completely different reason.
Rodrick shoves my pencil skirt up to my hips. “Gonna fuck ya,” he grumbles in my ear. “Gonna tear up every hole you got just in case he decides to fuck ya again. He’ll take one look at what’s left ’a ya and toss yer ass aside because when I’m done, bitch, you’ll never take a dick again.”
While he’s distracted by attempting to rip off my panties—the man isn’t even strong enough to rip them off the first try—I bend my knee, crushing my heel in his balls. And as I caught him completely off-guard, he got the full brunt of my kick, a kick that might have taken away his ability to father children, not that the world would mourn missing out on the scumbag progeny from the likes of Rodrick.
He squeals like a piglet trying to escape the butcher and falls to his ass on the floor. I use that opportunity to make a break and sprint for it, though somehow, he manages to snag one of my ankles, tripping me up, and I fall face-forward, using my hands to brace, jamming my wrist while clipping my chin on the hard cement floor.
It could be a ripe peach the way the skin splits. Blood oozes from the open wound that stings badly and if I survive this ordeal, will probably leave a scar. Seems all my stunt accomplished is to set off a beast. I thought he was bad before, and he was, but now—before his eyes looked dead. Now I see death in them. My death.
I attempt to scramble away, but he’s on me, tackling me to the ground again, trapping me beneath his solid frame.
“Now I’m gonna fuck ya lookin’ in yer eyes. I wanna see yer fear. Can already smell it.” He breathes in deeply, flipping me over. I claw, kick, hit, and bite. Anything I can do to get him off me. He’s not going to violate me.
This feral warrior cry rips from somewhere deep inside me as I prepare to end this. Maybe I would’ve ended it, maybe I wouldn’t have, but Scud doesn’t give me the chance, shouting, “The fuck you doin’?” while ripping Rodrick off me. “You use her, she ain’t worth shit.” Then he looks to me. “Get up. Go clean yourself, then get back to work.”
Pushing up, I’m back to using strictly one hand because the injured wrist I kept immobilized with that towel is the same wrist I jammed again when I first went down.
I’ll be lucky if I don’t need surgery on it.
Between my wrist and my chin, not to mention the aches and pains from the struggle, it takes me forever—or what feels like forever—to hobble my way to the bathroom to clean up the best I can.
The best I can is the operative phrasing because I’m a mess, taking three bandages from a box sitting on the back of the toilet to cover the gash on my chin. For my wrist, I supplement the towel with almost an entire roll of paper towel the Horde had lying next to the box. Between the two, it keeps my wrist stable enough to hopefully prevent any further damage.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that as I hobble away from the bathroom, I’m only feet away from the door that leads to the outside. Time is hard a mother to keep track of in this place, what with only getting glimpses of day or night when one of the Horde boys comes inside or leaves the building, but since it seems that a bit of it has passed since the last time one of the boys showed up, I figure it has to be close to night.
I could probably do it right now. Make a run for it. No one would think twice about seeing me move out the back—but at the same time, if I did get found out, what would happen to Brighton and the girls? Rodrick would probably kill them.
All those thoughts jumbling around my head, it takes a beat to register the sound ripping through the building and my blood runs cold. Then I run. Every step hurts worse than the last, but Brighton’s screams echo so loud in my ears, I’m not sure if it’s a memory of the scream I just heard or if she’s still stinking screaming.
That sonofabitch Rodrick has my best friend by the hair, dragging her out of the room she’s been staying in with the babies.
Oh, god—the babies. I need to help Brighton, but the babies are babies. I need to make sure he hasn’t hurt my girls.
With his attention all on Bri, I pivot to take the wall, keeping off his radar. He pulls hair from her skull; I see him rip it out and she cries loud enough to make my gut clench. When he punches her stomach to shut her up, it takes everything in me to cover my mouth to keep him from hearing my gasp while I watch the most beautiful soul I’ve ever known double over as she loses her breath, unable to cry out anymore.
Tears rim my eyes and I have to look away. The closer I get to the room he pulled her from, I hear the precious sound of my Macie, my girl. Her cries sound angry, not hurt. But I have to see her to know for sure, which means as hard as it is, I turn my attention away from Rodrick and Brighton and slip through the open door. The girls’ carriers rest on the cot, my girls in them.
“Hi, babies,” I say softly. Macie hears my voice and stops crying. She hiccups, her face still red and looking a breath away from starting up again. I pick her up first. It hurts with my wrist mangled, but she’s more important than my pain. I kiss her cheeks, the top of her head, her chin. Anywhere I have to in order to calm her down.
Once I have her good, I place her back in the carrier, hook her in, and lift Mollie, who coos and babbles at me happily. “Mollie girl. I’ve missed you,” I say softly to her. Then I kiss her cheeks, the top of her head, and her chin before I have to hook her back in, too.
I move to the table with the formula and water to prepare a bottle for each baby and limp them back over to fill the girls’ bellies until I make my way back to them again, then I check their diapers.
Leaving them is an entirely different pain than the one in my wrist or my leg, but it cuts no less deep. “Love you, girls. I’m get us out of this… I promise.”
Then, as hard as this one is, I go. And it’s I do, because after sneaking out of the room, I follow Brighton’s screams to another smaller, adjacent nook, where he’s got Bri’s hands chained above her head—and I get the distinct feeling this isn’t the first time a person has been strung up from that metal hook.
“Not allowed to fuck the Lord’s whore,” he says to Brighton on a disgustingly evil sneer that mak
es me want to rip his slimy lips from his disgusting face and shove them up his ass. “Sucks for you.” As he finishes his villain-of-the-year speech, he reaches up to yank at the collar of her T-shirt. I hear the threads ripping, but like with my panties, he doesn’t have the stuff to rip it off her, and I’m not about to give him the chance.
He pulls harder.
The cotton tears at the shoulder.
We both see the strap of her bra.
I think only I see red.
And I launch.
Bent forward, I make sure to use my shoulder instead of my head and neck to plow into his side, knocking Rodrick off balance.
“Ya fuckin’ cunt!” he screams. “I’m gonna kill ya.” The evidence on his face proves his intent.
“Not this time!” I yell back, shrill and full of hatred for this nasty, poor excuse for a man. I punch him, not letting up. Punching him. Choking him. Squeezing his neck until his face turns purple. While it does, I lift his head to slam it against the cement floor.
I must be running on pure adrenaline because there should be no way with my broken wrist my actions should be possible. Unfortunately, I get overzealous with my actions, slamming him down too hard with my bad wrist. It might have been fractured before, but I feel it full-on break now, causing me to cry out. He takes advantage of my momentary lapse of concentration, managing to flip us—someone else must be running on adrenaline, too.
“Cunt!” he shouts again, slamming his closed fist against my jaw. “Fuckin’ cunt.” A second punch makes contact along with his continuing shout. The cut on my chin reopens, splitting even worse than before. “Got nothin’ to say now?” Spittle flies from his mouth, hitting my cheek and getting in my eyes along with my tears. “C’mon, cunt, fight back so I have a reason to kill ya.”
And he is, with or without giving him the reason he wants, I know he’s going to kill me because I lack the ability to get up. Rodrick is not the kind of man to let such a choice opportunity pass him by. Part of me is ready to let go… to be done with the pain and violence. But then, I swear I hear my sweet mamaw’s voice in my head telling me, “not yet” even as he pushes up from the floor, kicking me in the ribs over and over, a continuous assault with the metal toe of his cowboy booted foot.
Scotch: Unraveled (Brimstone Lords MC Book 4) Page 15
