by Lynn Burke
“Why did you do this?” I tried another question as his hand dropped and he stood once more. Gaze still latched on my face, the silent bastard reached into his front pocket.
My diamond bracelet, unable to catch the light, hung dully from his fingertips.
I swallowed against the rising terror attempting to choke me.
“He’ll be here soon.” My captor spun and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him. The click sounded once more, and a sob ripped from my chest.
Another of Senator MacGillroy’s goons had me stolen from beneath Austin’s nose, and short of a miracle, I feared my final moments of life would play out once he arrived. So much for that golden ticket to a better life. So much for hopes of rising above where I’d come from, finding happiness in something better than what I’d been dealt.
Tears poured from my eyes, snot from my nose, and I swiped both onto the cotton of my shirt over my shoulder.
I wanted to live. I wanted to experience a few more decades -- I also wanted to experience Austin again.
Just once more.
Clenching my eyes shut didn’t hinder my tears, didn’t relieve the ache in my chest.
I’d found something magical with him, something I didn’t expect existed for me, and the fact I finally admitted as much to myself, with death possible less than an hour away, twisted my stomach.
Gulping for air to keep from vomiting, I lay on my side, trying like fuck to focus on the cold of the floor, the bite of the cement on my cheek.
I hadn’t realized what I’d found until it had been ripped away.
Another stupid mistake.
What I wouldn’t have given for that chance to live the life of a badass biker’s old lady, poor yet sated. Well-loved, well-protected, in the comfort of his warm arms, in his bed, tied in his ropes, our gazes connected as he claimed me over and over.
The ache in my chest spread through my body as my sobs quieted.
I wanted that. I wanted Austin with a sudden fierceness only assurance of impending death could bring.
There had to be a way -- I wouldn’t give up. Wouldn’t just lay down and let the bastard end my life. The senator loved power, loved attention and praise. If I could get him to give me a chance to prove myself to him, convince him of a couple lies, perhaps I could still eventually walk away.
A few deep breaths calmed me, and focusing on being positive, I sat back up and leaned against the wall beneath the window.
Senator Oliver MacGillroy would come for me -- I just had to figure out how to get in his head.
* * *
Austin
The address Val had given me led to a small auto shop on the other side of town. No blue van parked in the small lot, but I pulled up anyway, intent on finding someone who knew something.
No one sat behind the office’s desk, and I pushed on through into the shop. The ratchet and whirl of an impact wrench drowned out the ‘80s music from an old boom box beside the door and pulled my focus to my left.
A grease monkey in filthy blue jeans and work shirt stood with his back to me at a lift, removing a truck’s tires.
“Hey!”
“Be with you in a minute!” One last buzz of the wrench and he turned -- but I’d already made my way to him with a few quick strides.
“The fuck!” The wrench dropped from his hand as I grabbed him by the throat and shoved him against the lift’s post.
“Blue van.”
“The fuck!” He grabbed hold of my wrist, and shot his foot toward my shin.
I thrust my knee into his groin, and he sagged with a groan. “Where the fuck is the blue van?”
“Stolen.” His grease-encrusted fingernails dug at my hands, but I ignored the sting.
A door slammed shut.
“What the fuck?” A voice I didn’t recognize tore my scowl from the mechanic -- another approached with a long, hurried gate, his bulk promising my fists a good workout.
I smashed the first mechanic’s head against the post, and he dropped like a sack of shit, groaning. The other fucker barreled into me, and I landed a solid hit to the side of his head as we stumbled backward, his shoulder in my stomach ripping the breath from me.
He pummeled fists into my abs, but I’d already tightened for the impact, my own fists landing against his kidneys.
“Motherfucker!” A few more curses ripped from his lips as he pushed off me, his fight stance suggesting years of honing his skills. Lucky for me, I knew a thing or two myself.
“Blue van?” I asked, sidestepping as he thought to circle me and force me toward his buddy who still groaned on the ground.
“Fucking stolen, you Goddamn prick!” Spittle flew from his lips, and I focused on remaining cool. Collected and in control. Mad violence could result in mistakes, something I didn’t have time for.
He rushed with a right hook, but I ducked and weaved, smashing my fist into his kidney again. Doubled over, he cursed a few more times.
A waste of fucking time… I needed to put him down and call Val again.
The office door flew outward, and Bowie quickly scanned the shop. His gaze landed on me, and I nodded, letting him know I had things handled.
Another two punches to the doubled-over dick sagged him to his knees. One blow to the side of his head slumped him to the ground beside his buddy.
I turned and strode off, grabbing my cell from my back pocket, adrenaline keeping my knuckles from hurting.
Bowie backed into the office as I neared, Brewer a few feet beyond him. “Val filled us in,” Bowie said as I swiped my cell.
“Blue van was fucking stolen,” I told him while lifting my phone to my ear. “Val!” I barked when he answered. “Tell me you’ve got something, because this was a Goddamn dead end.”
“Fuck.”
My ears rang, blocking out the music still playing as though the shop’s daily running hadn’t been interrupted.
Another call came through, and I glanced at the number, recognizing it from earlier as Breslin. “Hang on, Val.” I switched calls. “Yeah?”
“I found him,” Breslin said. “Shawshank is Carl Ross. Old CIA op -- he’s got a place up in the sticks of West Virginia near Harper’s Ferry.”
“Got an address?”
He spouted one off, and I held Bowie’s intense stare, repeating what Breslin said. Bowie nodded, and I switched back to Val.
“Carl Ross -- ex-CIA,” I said, striding past Brewer, intent on hitting the highway. I gave Val the address, and he promised to give me a call with everything he could find.
Bowie and Brewer hopped into Bowie’s truck and followed me out of the parking lot, but I only went a few blocks before pulling over at a grocery store. They parked, hopped into my truck with the bag Val had sent along, and I took off once more.
“What do we have?” Brewer asked from the back seat of my cab, his tone as level and calm as always. My brother had spent years as a sniper and knew how to keep his shit when it hit the fan.
“I’m going with my gut,” I said, my voice tight as my chest. “MacGillroy could have snagged her and carted her off to his Goddamn yacht to feed the fishies, but --” I stopped to swallow the dread cutting off my air.
“He wouldn’t take that chance,” Bowie said, pulling a pistol from its sleeve attached beneath the passenger seat.
“Agreed,” Brewer said as Bowie checked the mag.
Bowie handed me the pistol, and I shoved it in the back of my waistband.
“There’s two more in the back,” I said, even though I knew my brothers wouldn’t have come empty handed. “The fucker hired Shawshank to get rid of the problem.” My voice caught, and I decided to fuck the consequences. I stomped on the gas as we hit I-270 north.
My cell rang, and I tossed it to Bowie as I focused on watching for cops while speeding toward the state line.
“What’d you find?” Bowie asked Val after putting the call on speaker.
“Carl Ross has a fifty-acre farm. Lucky for you,” Val said with a chuckle,
making my scowl deepen, “I’m a sneaky fucker and got live feed of the area.”
“What are we looking at?” I asked.
“Five sentries walking around the outside from what I can see.”
“Thermal?”
“Showing another two inside -- one perhaps on the roof.”
“Any stationary?” Brewer asked.
“Yeah, north eastern corner there’s someone not moving around, heat index softer than the others. Can’t tell what floor, though. Everyone else is moving around.”
“If she’s there, that’s her,” Brewer said, the slide and click of a magazine letting me know he’d found one of my two hidden guns.
“Bowie, hook up my GPS -- Val, you stay on the line until we got our earpieces set up.”
“Will do, Austin,” Val agreed. “Want me to send backup?”
I noted a cop up in the distance, so I backed off the gas quick as fuck. “They won’t make it in time, but get Comet on the road with a couple brothers to take care of the mess I’m going to leave.”
“Drac and I are coming along.” Gunner’s voice came through Val’s cell in the background.
“Thanks, brother.”
“We’re on our way.”
A door slammed on Val’s end, and thankfulness for my brothers, for men bound by pacts rather than blood, flooded over me.
Saving Cadence wouldn’t bring cash to the Outlaws, wouldn’t offer anything but my own piece of mind -- and happiness, I hoped.
“Thank you,” I muttered as I passed the cop.
“You’d do the same for us,” Bowie said handing two earpieces from the tactical bag, and I watched the rearview.
The cop didn’t pull out, so I stomped back on the gas again, my truck’s engine roaring the release I held inside.
I’m coming, Cadence. Hang in there, baby.
Chapter Nine
Cadence
Time passed -- seconds, hours, I couldn’t tell. The light waned in the window, and I tipped my head back against the wall, fighting off deep-seated shivers as darkness closed in on me. Thirst ravaged my throat, but I wasn’t about to call out and ask for water.
Eventually -- too fucking soon -- the click sounded again, and the overhead light flooded the room, creating a shadow in the opening doorway.
The scent of the senator’s cologne reached me before my eyes adjusted to the glaring light.
“Thank God!” I cried out, scrambling to my feet. “I knew you would rescue me!”
The senator chuckled and stepped into the room. Blond hair askew and tie hanging as though yanked free, his appearance hinted at his mood. “Rescue?” He snorted. “I’m the one who had you brought here.”
Fake-ass tears filled my eyes as I glanced beyond him to find Thing One taking up residency in the doorway, his arms crossed and dark eyes empty and as cold as the basement room. “But --”
“I warned you, Cadence,” the senator said, moving closer as I cowered against the wall, “to keep your Goddamn mouth shut.”
“But I didn’t tell anyone!” Tears dripped off my chin. “Why would I betray the man I’m in love with, the one who promised to spend the rest of his life with?”
He stepped closer and leaned down, peering in my eyes. “Love?” He shook his head. “You really thought I’d leave my wife?” He tsked while fingering my hair. “She was my way to the top, Cadence, while you were nothing more than a willing, wet hole. One of many.”
I blinked, trying to wrap my head around the past tense -- and the fact he’d been fucking more than just me on the side.
“She wanted a divorce.” He glared at me, and I wondered how I had ever found the man attractive. “A Goddamn divorce!” Spittle flew from his lips, and I fought to keep from cringing. “But I couldn’t let her ruin me, oh, no.” He huffed another snort as though amused. “I had that little problem taken care of along with the other whore who attempted to blackmail me.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. I swallowed against my rising terror, knowing I had to stall -- had to find a way into his fucked up brain and get him to cave.
“W -- we had something special.” I tried for a smile, one full of assurance and a love I sure as fuck didn’t feel. “Tell me you don’t feel that connection, Oli, all those hours lying in bed and talking late into the night?” I fought off the memory and ache of doing that very thing with Austin.
“Yeah. Well.” He dropped my hair and stepped back, lifting his chin. “Maybe in another lifetime, sweetheart, but in this one, I have plans. Big ones that don’t allow for a tainted record.”
I wanted to scream that he should have kept his Goddamn cock in his pants, then, but I bit my tongue, focusing on keeping my tears from rolling.
“If you’ve taken care of the real problems,” I whispered, “then there’s nothing standing in your way, Oli. I can be the woman you need, the supportive wife she claimed to be. I know how much she let you down.”
Fuck, did I long to have my hands free, to run my palms over his chest, giving him the physical touch she’d withheld for years, the affection he craved. “Give me a chance to prove myself.”
He glanced down over me, and I moved closer, swaying my hips, keeping my gaze locked on his face.
“Let me show you again how good it can be,” I whispered, pressing my tits against him. “How good I can be. I’m just as hungry as you -- I’ll do whatever it takes to help make your dreams come true.”
He stood like a rock, hard and unyielding, but I rubbed against him, needing to remind him of how much he loved my big tits.
“Please, Oli…”
One second I fought to keep from gagging at the overpowering scent of his cologne I used to like, the next, my head yanked back from his fists tangled in my hair. “One last present,” he murmured. “In exchange for returning my wife’s diamond bracelet that’s worth ten times your life.”
Wife…
He’d never meant the diamonds for me. My throat tightened, irking and baffling me at the same time. I didn’t want the fucker’s love or adoration, so why did that fact hurt? I twisted my bound hands -- and was reminded the gift I’d thought he’d given me no longer encircled my wrist.
Oliver pushed me down, and I went willingly, keeping my gaze on his face exactly as he liked, forcing lust and love to shine in my eyes. “Untie me,” I whispered, “so I can touch you while you fuck my mouth.”
He groaned and yanked on his belt buckle, but shook his head. “I kind of like you bound for me.” His smile heaved my stomach, but I forced a small one in return. “In that case, I want to be bound for you.”
His semi-erect cock slipped from his shoved open slacks, and he palmed himself with one hand, tangling his hair in his other. “Dawson.”
Thing One approached. “Sir?”
“Hold your gun to her head.”
His goon complied without a word, the cold metal of his gun’s barrel pressing into my temple.
“You so much as scrape me with your teeth,” Oliver whispered harshly, his hand wrapping tighter in my hair, “and Dawson here will blow your Goddamn brains all over the wall.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled and opened wide.
* * *
Austin
I parked a few hundred yards down the road from Ross’s property, and outfitted with three guns apiece, Bowie, Brewer, and I hurried through the snow-covered woods. Earpieces and mics hooked the three of us up with Val, but we kept our silence.
He’d hacked into a fucking satellite somehow, so we had live eyes on the farm -- and he’d informed us a few minutes before arriving that a limo had pulled up in the front carrying three more people, all of which had gone inside.
The senator, I expected, along with his two goons Cadence had told me about. Six outside, five in, one hopefully Cadence. We might be outnumbered, but I wasn’t going to wait for the backup a half hour behind us. Didn’t have the fucking time.
Darkness had fallen, my lungs drawing in cold air as we hurried through the trees. While Bowie and I didn’t have
any military training, Brewer and Gunner had schooled all the patched members in the basics -- going beyond and into SEAL training with the Outlaws’ officers.
The three of us would easily be able to clear the entire house without a word, but taking care of the sentries outside the farmhouse would alert those inside of trouble.
Thank fuck for Bowie’s sneaky ways and the knife he held in his hand -- and for Brewer’s built-in silence in his Beretta. I hoped to get inside without raising a ruckus. Even so, knowing my two brothers’ abilities with handguns kept me optimistic.
Light filtered through the trees a few seconds later, and I slowed, scanning the clearing around the farmhouse while crouching a good distance away. Bowie and Brewer stopped alongside me, their breath fogging same as mine.
I could make out one sentry patrolling the front of the house to the left. “Val?” I whispered toward my shoulder where I’d clipped my mic. “Where are they?”
“Two on your left, two on your right, one loner on the north side of the house,” his replied through my earpiece, loud and clear.
Brewer pointed up, locating the sixth. “Roof,” he murmured.
I narrowed my gaze, peering in the darkening sky, trying like fuck to see what he did. “What?”
“Sniper with a rifle. Widow’s walk.”
“Fuck.”
Knowing Brewer wished he’d brought his own sniper rifle along, I pursed my lips, wondering what the fuck to do.
He motioned Bowie and me to the left, giving me the hand signals letting me know he headed to the right -- and I didn’t doubt his ability to clear that area. “I’ll take care of the others and distract the sniper long enough for you to take out those two fuckers in the front and get inside.”
I nodded, and hunched over, made my way through the trees, ears straining for Bowie’s footfalls behind me. Couldn’t hear jack shit, the sneaky fucker.
We stayed well inside the tree line, and from our vantage point and the exterior lights on the farmhouse’s porch, I could easily make out the two sentries meandering around. They came together as we waited for Brewer’s distraction, both lighting up cigarettes.