He orders one of his goons to take her to the safe house. I listen to every single detail needing to know exactly where his safe house is. That’s where I will find Wilder.
“East wing?” the goon asks.
“In my bed.” Alejandro rolls a toothpick between his lips. “Walk her up the lane naked to show the world she’s mine.” Jesus Christ. These men are messed up in the head. It’s no wonder Roan’s family took part of them out. Christ Almighty.
“Have the car, boss.”
Alejandro presses the gun to the temple of the man. Jesus Christ, this man is off his fucking rocker. From what I can tell, the goon is his right-hand man, and Alejandro doesn’t give two shits. Men like him are dangerous because everyone is disposable in their eyes.
“I said, walk her over there naked.” He presses the gun harder. The man doesn’t back up, standing like a stoic soldier. “And be back in fifteen minutes.”
The man races from the room, dragging the girl. Her knees scraping along the cement. Another group of fuckers enters the room. Alejandro continues to roll the toothpick between his lips, studying me.
“I should’ve made you fuck her, biker.” He jerks his chin. “With a gun held to your head.”
He roars in laughter, amused with his sick self. His other men don’t dare join in or move.
“Take him back out there, and let’s teach this biker bitch what happens when you tango with the Carlos family.”
I’m dragged back out to the center of the warehouse, while Alejandro rattles on about how his cousin was taken down by the Diamonds. It was him who went back to Mexico and built up their regime. His drug game strong in the States, but he never forgot about his thirst for revenge. Neither have they, fuckhead.
All of the puzzle pieces fall into place as I sit here and listen to this fucker tell me what we knew in the first place.
Ricky fucked up by owing Alejandro money. Zoe found out about it all and he killed her. Ran like the pussy he is. Demanded money from Eden to get his slimy ass out of hot water. The dumb fuck missed the memo with Alejandro, because according to him, you don’t mess up with him and live to tell it. We’ll see about that.
He was playing fucking mind games with Ricky then caught wind his dead girlfriend had connections to the Diamond family. Fucked-up thing is, she didn’t. Farthest from the truth. An event of chain reactions pulled us all together in this clusterfuck. Ain’t about to talk reason with Alejandro though. My brothers and the Diamonds are on it and will find me. It’s my job to survive until then.
“Armando, five minutes,” Alejandro says.
I look over to him not understanding what he means. It happens so fast I can’t even think to make it out. A big motherfucker that towers over me glares down and smiles. His teeth yellow and the front one missing.
“You throw a punch and you get shot. Each round is five minutes with a different man. One of our favorite games around here.” Alejandro’s voice fills the air. “Just a little reminder to never cross us.” Shit.
Armando slams his forehead down on mine without warning. Alejandro bellows with laughter in the background then barks for someone to start the timer. My head spins and throbs. Armando, not affected in the least, begins his beating. With each punch and the slamming of my back down onto the unforgiving concrete, rage builds up in me. When the slimy bastard decides to nail me in the nuts, I lose all control. My arms go into action, squeezing the sides of his head. My knuckles crack against his skull. Armando is stunned and swaying, but I don’t stop.
CRACK.
I smell the gunpowder first then feel the bullet lodged in my shin. The rest of Armando’s torture is nothing compared to what it was in the beginning. Pussy got rattled with a fair fight.
“Time!” Alejandro shouts.
Two more rounds and one gunshot pass before it seems the men grow bored. I’m bleeding fucking everywhere. Determination and love for my woman, my family, and my club are the things keeping me alive.
My chest heaves, blood blurring my vision, my back flat on the floor.
“It ain’t over yet,” Alejandro claims, bends, and lifts me partially up by my hair. “Shame. Shame. You’re not on my team. You’re a warrior. Never had a man go this long. Last round is your choice. Torch or slice and dice.”
I stare right into his cold, lifeless eyes. “Fuck. You.”
He spits in my face, tossing my head back down. It bounces off the cement floor. I’m numb. I don’t even feel it. In fact, I feel nothing except the beat of my heart slowing down. These men won’t, and more importantly, don’t deserve to see me hurt. Fuck that shit. Where you at, Curtis?
The sound of a torch igniting to life, then intense heat starting at the bottom of my right boot creeping up my leg.
I lived. I loved, are my last thoughts before I give in to the torture. Peace surrounds me in the darkness. My body is weightless. I’m about to check the fuck out.
21
Eden
The door to the room bursts open, yet I don’t move when wood splinters spray into the room. His smell still lingers on my skin. The taste of him in my mouth. The coppery scent making me sick. My head throbbing and my skin burning alive where he touched me. But none of that matters. Saxon. He told me to keep fighting. He was more than willing to go with them. I’m not a fucking idiot. Saxon would do the same thing a hundred times over for my safety.
“Eden.” My shoulders rattle. “Fuck, Eden, you need to talk.”
Curtis blurs in and out of focus. He never stops shaking me. Long moments pass before the reality sinks in. They can get Brick back. His brothers. They will kill every last one of them.
“They, they-uh, they took him.”
“Who?”
“Step the fuck back,” Katch roars.
His voice cuts into all the confusion swirling around in my head. He stands at the end of the bed with his hands on his hips and his stone-cold killer mask on. The man would scare demons, but in this moment, he comforts me. He’s pissed and out for blood, all for Saxon and Wilder. I focus in on his face, studying him and all the determination streaming from him. With each second that ticks by, I muster up the courage to speak.
“Cartel. They mentioned that. Spoke Spanish and were horrible.”
“Fuck.” Curtis picks up a lamp, ripping the cord from the wall, then throttles it into the wall. It’s a waterfall of glass pouring down on the nasty carpet.
“Let’s go. Time to call on the Hell’s Lovers charter here.” Snake slaps Curtis’ back. I wonder if the man has a damn death wish. “They’re already up to speed and just waiting on the call. They know where his warehouse is and the ins and outs.”
The men move in unison like a well-oiled machine. They’re a system of outlaws working together to bring justice. It’s Snake who helps me up from the bed and dresses me. He’s uncomfortable, but I don’t have the energy to do it myself. Not to mention my throbbing head and burning cheek.
“He just went with them so freely.” My chin waivers right along with my voice.
Snake slips on my flip-flops then peers up at me with a stern face. “Of course, he did. Brick would do it one hundred times over to save you. The man loves you.”
The next words hurt like hell. “They’re going to kill him. They had death in their eyes.”
He plants a palm on my leg. “No way they can kill that stubborn fucker. He wouldn’t want you worrying about this and making yourself si—”
“Trust the club,” I cut him off.
He nods. Stands and strides away. I’m not sure I can stand on my own legs, and dressing me was as far as it went for him. I do my best stumbling over my own nervous feet until I’m behind the brothers out in the parking lot. Even knowing very little about the club rules and the ways of it, I do know my ass doesn’t sit on another man’s bike.
I’m thankful when Dilan goes to Saxon’s truck. I follow him, getting into the passenger seat. It’s all wrong. Saxon’s scent still lingers in the cab. I can hear his hearty chuckles and fe
el his body next to mine. But none of it’s there. Rage begins to brew up inside of me with the vision of Dilan behind the wheel following the pack of roaring motorcycles in front of us.
With each mile that ticks by, the rage turns into something more powerful and intense. A feeling I can’t describe. I’m ready to break. Right on the verge.
Trust the club. Trust the club.
I focus in on my breathing. Counting the seconds that pass as I exhale then inhale. Repeating the process until my mind calms down and my body catches up with the events that went down tonight. My fingers dance up and down my leg. I focus on that, too, centering myself. It’s a fucking struggle, and I’m barely hanging on by a thread of solace. But I don’t break. I refuse to.
When Dilan throws the truck into park, I finally let myself take in my surroundings. The clubhouse is as similar as it is different. It’s smack-dab in the middle of the city, disguised as a mechanic shop. The men roaming around have the same Hell’s Lovers patch on the back of their cuts.
There are long lines of bikes with men standing guard waiting to get the hell on the road.
“Eden.” Curtis jerks his chin calling for me to go to him.
I do, finding my legs are still unstable as shit. He grabs me by the forearm, stabilizing me. Didn’t think I was that transparent.
“You’re gonna stay here. You’ll be safe. Yeah?”
I nod knowing if I open my mouth, I’ll crack. Never have I felt so damn lost in the world. Everyone I’ve loved has been punished for it. I gulp down the anxiety and worry, silently promising myself to trust the club.
“This is Rose, the club prez’s wife. She’ll take you to a room. You’ll stay there until you get the call from us.”
I nod. It seems it’s the only thing I’m capable of doing. I bite down the words dying to spill out. I want to know all the details. Be the one to help and save even though I have no ability to do so. But I don’t.
Rose wraps her arm around my shoulders. Her touch is warm and welcoming. There’s no judgment or pry stare coming from her. Just comfort. Rose smells of lavender and cigarette smoke. She has her own leather cut on, her face adorned with slight wrinkles, and her salt and pepper hair pulled up high on her head. With one look, you know without a doubt she’s the queen of this club.
I relax in her arms, watching the men storm out of the clubhouse. She guides me down a long hall until we are in a room. It’s complete opposite of Saxon’s at Hell’s Lovers MC. This one is welcoming with warm colors covering the bed and windows. Pictures and posters covering the wall. Rose with the same man in every single one. The frames showcase the couple throughout the years, and they all have one thing in common: they’re together.
My heart squeezes, cutting off my oxygen. Then I leap out of my skin when the thunderous roar of motorcycles fills the room. The engine roars, gravel sprays against the outside of the building, and then the sound fades off into the distance.
“C’mon, sweetie.” Rose nudges me then guides me into a bathroom. “I’ve been where you are several times. Ain’t no words to ease your pain. And also something that never gets easier. Unfortunately, it’s a part of the world our men live in. They can’t help but be passionate, bullheaded, and driven. Baby girl, you just need to hold it together.”
“I feel like I’m going to die,” I say without thinking. The words are bitter and honest.
She responds with a tight hug pulling me in. Rose doesn’t let go for a long time. The wall barricading back the tears shatters. Rose catches every single one of my tears and never tells me it’s going to be okay, which I appreciate.
I’m sick of hearing those words, or ‘We will get Wilder back.’ No one can guarantee that fact. They can sacrifice everything in the mission, but there’s never any for-sure deal. This woman holding me knows this all too well.
“Now we got that out of the way,”—Rose soothes her hand down my back—“gonna need you to get showered. I’ll get some clothes for you. Then we wait.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Anytime, baby girl.”
Rose leaves me alone in the bathroom to shower. The water is hotter than hell, scalding my skin. It makes me feel alive. Keeping me from falling further and further down the rabbit hole. I have to hold on. Sit and wait, praying to a god I’m not sure even exists. But I’d do anything in this moment. They have my whole world right now. I can’t let myself even begin to think about the what ifs.
I’m thankful Rose has her shower well stocked. It’s a little thing that makes me just that much stronger. Like promised, she has clothes laid out on the bed. I’m not sure how she did it because Rose has to be a few sizes bigger than me and these clothes are not club-whore attire. A black pair of yoga pants, a Hell’s Lovers MC T-shirt fitted for a woman, and pair of Nikes with socks tucked in the top.
I take my time dressing. Then find myself staring into the mirror running the brush over and over through my long hair. It’s hypnotizing and numbing all at the same time. I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. She’s broken and whole. Scared and hopeful. She is a woman living with her entire universe in limbo. One small snap could take everything away.
“Cleaned up real nice, Eden.” The door to the room snaps shut.
I turn to see Rose with a tray of food and a bright smile. “Time to eat, and none of that nonsense about you’re not hungry or your stomach can’t handle it.”
She sits on the bed placing the tray on the mattress. I notice there’re two plates of food with large sandwiches, barbeque chips, and chocolate bars. “We are going to sit our ass down and enjoy some good food.”
Rose isn’t one to argue with, so I sit down cross-legged in the middle of the bed with my wet hair soaking the back of my shirt. I pick at the sandwich, nibbling at the cheese. She doesn’t reprimand or scold me but simply enjoys her own sandwich.
“You weren’t born into the biker world.” It’s not a question that leaves her lip but a comment.
“No.”
She laughs. Not the response I expected. “Oh, you poor thang. I’m sure you’re learning quickly. It’s not always the prettiest fairy tale, but to have the love of one of these men is priceless. I have no idea what’s going on or why you’re here, but just know this club is all in.”
I let it all out. Tell her everything from the day I found out Zoe was dead. I don’t leave out one single detail about Saxon and myself. And end with this morning’s events. Again, I find myself spilling every single detail.
“Oh, fuck eating.” She shoves my plate to the side and wraps me up in a hug again. “Like I said earlier, not one word I can say will help you right now. I’ll be by your side until we hear news.”
“I got in big trouble,” I blurt.
Rose leans back staring at me in confusion.
“I busted into church back in California.”
“Christ, child.” We both flop back onto the bed. I stare at the ceiling, while Rose gives me a rundown on club life 101. It’s the perfect distraction. I find myself even giggling at some of her stories. Her man and the club prez, Rocker, met his match in this woman. Her stories of fighting and getting into trouble match the happy and proud-moment ones. I’m in love with this lady.
22
Katch Sterling
No one fucking crosses me. I never lie or bullshit. My word is the gospel, and you better believe every fucking last word. I’m not a brother of the Hell’s Lovers MC, but they’re my family. By my side through thick and thin. Sent protection to guard my girl when we had our own trouble. The one man who stood by dedicating his time to keeping Caitlin safe was Brick. So, you better fucking believe they will pay crossing my own.
Blood will be shed at the mercy of my own hands, and not one single regret will be given. The plan is clearly laid out. The Hell’s Lovers chapter here in Denver knows exactly who these fuckers are. They’ve had eyes on them for some time now knowing this cartel was up to no good. So, when the call came in from Curtis, they were more than happy
to help for more than a few reasons.
Rocker, the prez here, is a badass. He rules his club with an iron fist, much like Curtis. The difference is, Curtis is young for a prez, while Rocker has been around the block a few times. The man holds nothing back. Then there’s the Diamond family. These cunts won’t see the triad of death knocking on their front door.
Our men surround their pathetic excuse for a compound. Fools like these rely on their intimidation factor to keep the enemies at bay. They messed with the wrong folk this time. Intel was relayed back to Rocker. They have Brick in the warehouse and still no sighting of the boy. Our best guess is he’s in the house up on the hill a few hundred yards from the run-down excuse for a warehouse.
I wait fifteen minutes here behind a tree with the end of a barrel focused on the front door. My orders are to wait thirty minutes, then we go in.
“C’mon. C’mon. Little fuckers. Let’s play,” I sing to myself.
Safety off, my finger on the trigger, I’m breathing steady. My entire body thirsty to squeeze the trigger with ease, not missing my mark. Right between the eyes of my target. Fuck, I need this. I hear a whistle in the far-off distance. It’s the signal; five minutes and counting. I’m a selfish bastard, really, hoping that front door flies open.
There’s always a clock running in my mind. I know at least three minutes have passed since the call. Not one second of the day ticks by without me being aware and knowing it. Then it happens; the door swings open and four men step out.
“Game on, bitches.” I steady my breathing. Study the men through the scope to make sure none of them are Alejandro or Ricky. Those fuckers will still get a bullet, but one to take them down. Not a kill shot. The man has a meeting with me and Curtis. Those cunts have full access to the VIP line to their appointment.
None of the men are Ricky or Alejandro, so I play a lethal game of eeny, meeny, miney, mo. The fucker covered in the most blood and taller by a few feet than the rest is my first choice. It’s fucking Brick’s blood, that I have no doubt about. The crosshairs line up right between his eyes. I let out one final breath then squeeze. The silencer on my gun does its job, making no sound when the round is fired. The monster falls back. His compadres going for the Glocks, looking around. I want to laugh right now but don’t. I repeat the process over and over until they all lie on the ground.
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