TANK: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  “You’re gonna have to figure it out. You got two days.” He pauses. “A lot can happen to your bitch and the kid in two days. It ain’t gonna be pleasant. If you make me wait longer, it’s gonna be even worse.”

  Click.

  “God damn it!” I raise the phone high and barely stop myself from hurling it across the room. I spring to my feet, start pacing the room back and forth, wired with a fury I’ve never felt before in my life.

  My stomach rumbles but there’s no fucking way I can eat right now. I can’t be in this apartment anymore. Not with Cady and Wren’s absence filling every square inch of space. I have to leave.

  I will find them. I will save them. I will never, ever let anyone or anything touch them again.

  Cady’s phone is on the charger in the kitchen. I check it, but it’s locked, and no messages flash up on the screen. Her purse is on the counter, too, and her keys are in it. I fish the apartment key off the ring.

  I leave, locking the apartment door behind me, then stick the key in my pocket with Wren’s medallion.

  Halfway to the clubhouse, my cell rings again. I brace myself for it to be the kidnapper, but it’s Tweak.

  “Got some intel for you,” he says.

  “I’m on my way to the clubhouse. You there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See you in five.”

  When I get there, Tweak’s in the kitchen, pouring himself a mammoth mug of coffee. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all. He rubs his eyes when he sees me, and dumps about an eighth of a cup of sugar into the mug.

  “What you got for me?”

  “Dragon’s brother goes by Demon,” he tells me. He reaches into a drawer for a spoon and starts stirring. “Real name is Howard, so hence the nickname.”

  “Yeah, I don’t give a shit,” I say impatiently. “What else?”

  “I got some intel on Demon… who he hangs out with, where he spends his time. No recent legitimate employment. Two stints in county. Three charges of domestic assault on his record. One first-degree sexual assault — that’s rape. One is felony domestic assault with strangulation.”

  “Jesus fuck,” I breathe.

  “Yeah.” Tweak raises the mug to his mouth and takes a long drink, then grimaces. “Shit, that’s hot. Anyway, I got people lookin’ in to where he’s been lately, and so far, he’s been pretty AWOL the last week or two. His normal hangouts, no one’s seen him around.”

  “Shit. Okay, what else? He have any other family than Dragon? We know where he lives?”

  “No leads on where he lives. Three sisters, two older, one younger. From what I hear, they ain’t in contact much. But we could go squeeze ‘em for information.”

  “We only have two days, Tweak.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Demon called me this morning. He’s giving me two days. If I don’t give him what he wants by then…” I trail off.

  Tweak nods slowly. “Ah.”

  “Shit, is that all we have?” I start to pace again, the kitchen suddenly seeming the size of a closet. “What else can we do? Where else can we check?”

  “I’ll keep lookin’. There was one more thing, though.”

  “What?”

  “The family business. Apparently their dad, and their granddad before him, own this junk yard. Auto salvage place. The dad died last year. Can’t tell whether the place is still open or whether it closed down.” He frowns. “May be worth sending someone out there to check things out. Have ‘em pretend to be lookin’ for a part or something.”

  I start to bark out a response, but then…

  The air goes out of my lungs.

  “Mustang…” I half-whisper.

  “What?” Tweak cocks his head to look at me.

  Jesus Christ.

  Could Jess have been trying to give me a signal? A clue?

  She knew damn well that old car I was fixing up was a Charger, not a Mustang.

  A Charger, which I was restoring little by little with parts I got from salvage yards.

  “Holy shit,” I marvel. I turn to Tweak. “It’s gotta be.”

  “What? What is it?” His coffee sits on the counter, forgotten.

  “I gotta get hold of Angel,” I tell him, pulling out my phone as my heart starts to pound. “Don’t go anyplace. I’m pretty sure he’s about to call church.”

  25

  Cady

  Hours pass again. Hunger comes first, then thirst.

  Wren held out as long as she could while having to pee, even though I told her to go ahead. Eventually, she couldn’t hold it any longer. Now there’s a tiny puddle of urine in one corner. Every once in a while, the tang of it reaches my nose. It smells like fear. It smells like defeat.

  No one else has come down to check on us.

  I’m going through every story, song, and game I can think of to keep her occupied. We’ve sung “B-I-N-G-O,” “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” and even “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall” — changing ‘beer’ to ‘Coke’ — until Wren got tired of it.

  While we’ve been singing, I’ve been trying to think of ways to save us. If our captors continue not to feed us or give us water, we only have a couple of days before things get really bad. I’ll have to get us out of here before then. But there are at least three men, maybe more, and all of them are stronger than us. And the longer we wait, the weaker we’ll be.

  I spent at least an hour looking around the room, feeling the walls and every nook and cranny for something I could break off and use as a weapon. Nothing. I thought about trying to break the window to use the glass as a blade, but I don’t have anything to break it with. And anyway, the noise would have alerted them to what I was doing.

  With growing despair, I look down at my slip-on sneakers and feel a pang of angry regret. If only I was wearing shoes with laces, maybe I could have tied them together and figured out how to strangle one of the men. Maybe I could have done it quietly enough to surprise the next one, and knee him in the groin, then gouge his eyes out, or something.

  I’ve moved on from singing with Wren to telling her as many of the Aesop’s Fables I can remember, when without warning, the deadbolt slides and the door opens. The man from the diner steps through. Behind him, I see a larger, hulk-like figure in shadow. Has someone been guarding the door this whole time?

  “Good news. Your boyfriend gives a shit whether you live or die,” the man says, giving me the same sneering grin I remember too well.

  My stomach leaps. Tank knows we’ve been taken! Oh, God, please help us, Tank!

  Next to me, Wren goes rigid with fear. She needs me to be brave and calm.

  “What do you want with us?” I ask, working to keep the fright out of my voice.

  “You’re bait,” he says simply, with a shrug.

  “What does that mean?”

  “What the hell’s it matter to you?” he counters. “It ain’t like it’s gonna make a damn bit of difference to you either way.”

  I try ignore the voice of panic in my head that tells me it’s true. Right now, I have no weapons and no options. I can’t assume Tank will get to us in time to save us from whatever fate awaits. The only chance I have is to get this man to talk as long as possible, and hope he’ll let something slip that will help me figure out how to escape.

  “I just can’t figure out why a waitress at a diner who didn’t like having your hands on her made you so mad you decided to kidnap her,” I shoot back.

  “You really think I give one solid shit about a frigid cunt like you?” he hisses. I put my hand protectively around Wren’s shoulders, resisting the impulse to cover her ears. “It ain’t you I was lookin’ for. It’s that piece of shit you’re fucking.”

  “Could you please not use language like that around the child?” I grit out through clenched teeth.

  But he just scoffs. “You think that kid’s sensitive fuckin’ ears matter to me?”

  Shit. That was a misstep. I want him to ignore Wren as much as possible. That’s the best way t
o protect her.

  “So, what do you want with Tank?” I try again.

  “I need him do something for me. He needed some incentive. You’re the incentive.”

  A small flicker of hope ignites ins my belly. “So… if he does what you say, you’ll let us go?”

  For a moment, he just looks at me. Then, to my horror, he starts to laugh.

  It’s a brutal, inhuman sound, that shears through my nerves. I only manage not to scream because Wren is still clinging to me.

  The man comes a step closer to me. His eyes lock onto mine, and the expression of loathing in them makes my legs feel like water.

  “The Lords of Carnage took everything from me,” he rasps. “Every fucking thing. And I won’t stop until I’ve taken everything from them. Starting with you.” He looks down at Wren. “And you.”

  “Don’t touch her!” I choke out, wrenching her roughly behind me. I mean the words to come out loud, forceful, but the fear constricts my throat. I sound weak, defenseless, and it terrifies me to hear myself. Adrenaline spikes through me like a hit, and my body begins to tremble as I start to imagine the unthinkable. The worst things he could do.

  Not to me. But to Wren.

  Wren, whose soft whimpers are turning to wails as she shudders against my leg. Wren, who’s already known so much hardship in her young life.

  If we survive this — somehow, if we even manage to survive — how damaged will Wren be?

  I can’t let anything happen to her. I can’t.

  “What do you want me to do?” I cry desperately at the man standing over us.

  “Shut that kid up,” he growls. Squinting at her angrily, he raises his arm as though to backhand her.

  I pull Wren closer, try to quiet her. “Shh…” I murmur, as she sobs into my waist. “Shh, Wren, quiet now…” I lift my head, steel my gaze with his. “If you don’t want her to cry, stop scaring her.”

  “I don’t give a shit if she’s scared. She’ll be quiet, or I’ll make her be quiet.”

  My courage dies in my chest. I rock Wren against me, shush her again until her sobs are muffled hiccups.

  “What are you here for?” I challenge the man. “If what you need is from Tank, not me?”

  “Oh, you have something I want,” he hisses. His mouth curls into a leer. The same leer he gave me at the diner that day.

  And suddenly, I realize what’s about to happen.

  “You can’t,” I whisper.

  “The fuck I can’t.” His chest rises and falls with what I thought was anger, but now realize is something else. Something even more sinister. “You’re gonna do what I say,” he pants, reaching for his belt. “You try anything funny, there’s a guard outside this door who ain’t as nice as I am.”

  There’s nothing I can do to prevent him from taking what he wants.

  And what’s more, if I struggle, I know Wren. There’s a chance she’ll try to stop him. And I can’t risk having him hurt her.

  I know what I have to do.

  “Wren,” I say softly.

  My trembling increases. I lift her chin gently, and wait until she looks up at me, terrified.

  “Go over into the far corner there, sweetheart.” I nod toward it, and she follows me with her eyes. “And… turn so you’re facing the wall. I… I want you to close your eyes, and sing to yourself. Okay?” Tears start to stream down my face. I keep my voice as steady as I can. “Sing the Name Game song, honey. Start with your name, and then mine, then your daddy’s, then Snoopy, then anyone else you can think of. Don’t open your eyes, and don’t stop singing, okay? No matter what.”

  “No…” Wren moans softly, her eyes pleading with me.

  “Shhh… Do it, honey. You do what I say, and everything will be all right. I promise.”

  Wren starts to cry again, softly, but she obeys. Letting go of me, she goes to the corner, squeezes her eyes shut, and starts to sing-cry the familiar melody in a tiny, halting voice.

  I wrench my gaze from the little girl, and turn to face my captor. I’m silent as he pulls off his belt.

  “Take those pants off,” he orders.

  Pushing down my rising panic, I do as he says. He tells me to put my wrists together, then ties the belt tightly around them.

  “Turn around, and spread your legs.”

  My gut wrenches, but I command myself to be strong for Wren. I turn, spread, and brace myself against the wall with my bound wrists. Then I close my eyes, breathe, and wait for the inevitable.

  As he puts his rough hands on my hips and starts to pull me toward him, there’s sudden shouting, from somewhere far away. Outside.

  A fist pounds on the door, twice. “Demon!”

  “Shit,” the man hisses. He lets go of me. The door opens, and before I know what’s happened, he rushes out of the room. The deadbolt slides shut behind him. There are more shouts as their footsteps hurry away.

  “Wren!” I cry, as I struggle with the belt around my wrists. I manage to loosen it, and pull on my pants quickly. I have a weapon, I think jubilantly.

  Wren runs to me. I kneel down and wrap her in a fierce hug. “You did so good, baby,” I whisper in her ear. “I just need you to be strong for a little while longer, okay?”

  “What’s happening? Is Daddy coming to save us?”

  “I hope so, baby. And if not,” I promise her, “we’ll save ourselves.”

  I wrap the belt around my wrist and hand, keeping the buckle end hanging loose at the end.

  I wind up, tell Wren to stand back, and bash the window with the buckle as hard as I can. Once, twice. On the fourth try, it breaks.

  “Help!” I scream. Behind me, I hear Wren start to yell, too. “Help! We’re here! Help!”

  26

  Tank

  When Tweak and I have told Angel everything we know, he directs Beast to get all the Lords to immediately vacate the clubhouse. “Make sure everyone knows to stay the hell away from here until further orders,” he commands.

  Then, he assembles a team of us to go check out the salvage yard.

  The address Tweak found for the place is out in the country, on a flat, desolate patch of land that looks like it hasn’t had a blade of grass on it in years.

  In a nondescript car, Striker and Ghost drive up to the chain-link fence that surrounds the gate, which was closed but not locked when we drove by on the recon. Ghost and Strike are both wired up, so anything that happens, the rest of us will be able to hear it. I can visualize them, both in faded ball caps and faded flannel shirts that cover the pieces strapped to their bodies.

  I can’t risk going up there myself and being recognized. Not until we have some sense of whether Wren and Cady are in there. So I just sit here in my truck with Beast in the passenger seat and wait, fuckin’ praying that no one in there will recognize my brothers as Lords. If they do, this is gonna go to shit real bad, real fast.

  From where the rest of us are waiting just over a small hill, we can’t see Striker and Ghost get out of the car. Beast and I sit completely silent, listening through our ear pieces.

  “We parked the car,” Striker murmurs. “Ghost just opened the gate, and we’re heading in.”

  “And there it is,” Ghost continues. “We got eyes on an old fucker who’s spotted us. He’s comin’ over. Stand by.”

  From far away, I hear a voice calling, but I can’t make out what it says.

  “You open?” Striker calls back. “We need some body parts for a Jeep Cherokee.”

  More from the other voice.

  “You sure? We sure could use some help,” Ghost adds.

  “We’re closed,” I finally hear.

  “Aww, it won’t take but a minute.” Striker turns on the good ole boy charm, that same shit he tends to use with the ladies. “We drove all the way out here. We’ll pay good money if you got the parts we need. Look, I just moved back to town about six months ago. My daddy used to be a customer here. He said y’all were the place to go. You might remember him, Bill Morrissey?”

&nbs
p; “Wouldn’t have been me,” a craggy voice replies. “My brother used to own this place. He ain’t with us anymore.”

  “Ah, sorry to hear that,” Striker replies somberly. “So, look, you’re the only salvage yard around here as far as I can tell. Can you help us out? All’s I need’s a front fender and a driver’s side seat for a 2000 Cherokee. If you don’t know whether you got it in inventory, just let me look around for a while. I’ll pay top dollar.”

  The old dude starts to make hemming and hawing noises, and for a second I think he’s gonna let Ghost and Strike look around. But then there’s the sound of something slamming, and another, angrier voice yelling from a distance.

  “Fuck you doin’ here? We’re closed!”

  “Hey, there!” Striker calls back easily. “No harm no foul. We’re just askin’ your buddy here whether maybe he could make an exception for us, let us…”

  “Get. The Fuck. Outta here!” the other voice shouts, coming closer. “Are you gonna make me say that shit again?”

  “Ain’t no need to get hostile,” Ghost barks back.

  “You’re trespassin’ on private property! You need to get gone in thirty seconds, otherwise Smith and Wesson are gonna escort you out, you fuckin’ hear me?”

  “All right, all right,” Striker says, with an edge to his words. “Ain’t no need for this to get heated. Look, before we go, could you tell us… Holy… what’s that?”

  My body tenses.

  “Holy shit!” Ghost mutters. “Hammer!”

  It’s the code word.

  “Move!” Angel’s shout blasts through my earpiece. I turn the key and slam my car into drive. Flying over the hill toward the junkyard, I see two other vehicles coming from the other direction. As we descend on the compound, we hear the sounds of a struggle. I slam on the brakes in front of the gate and Beast and I fly out of the cab, half a dozen Lords behind us.

  Please fucking please let them be there.

  Anything else is too fucking horrific to contemplate. Because if Ghost is wrong — if Cady and Wren aren’t here — then we’ve just alerted Demon and his men that I haven’t turned on the Lords.