by Kerri Ann
After what feels like hours, as I rest my head and keep my trap shut, eventually my dad walks out of the back with the man named King. “Lucius.”
Sitting back on the stool, resting against my hands, I perk up at the mention of my father saying my name. Standing at my side, looking down on me with a pinched, sorrowful gaze, he states, “This is something I can’t fix.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Busta
Waking with a start, the last words of my father still ring heavily in my head.
This will be a disastrous day. I feel it. I feel it so deep in my bones that every nerve itches and my skin feels alight. With my arms still wrapped around Obi, I feel sweaty and overheated. Everything can go wrong. Everything.
If I fuck this up, there’s so many people that will be ruined with it. This happened once before with the Cruel Intentions, and the guilt of it is crushing again. The weight of it on my shoulders feels like a building collapsing. It’s awkward and disgusting. To think, this all happened because of my relationship with King.
A few weeks back I was still the DEA informant, snitch, mole, whatever the fuck you want to call it, but I was also a Broken Bow that followed orders, that felt I was surrounded by a team of men that I trusted—that trusted I was a Bow through and through, and that I’d follow the club rules as holy writ. That was until her. Until I saw her in that club. Until I’d been asked to sit her sorry ass. Until I’d...
Until I fell for her.
True set me with the task of dragging info from her about the Horsemen, and in turn, set me in her path. Now I’m wrapped up in her arms, truly satisfied to stay there all day, to avoid our fate. To avoid the fate that can go terribly wrong. This must go right, not only for her, me and the clubs, but for my family and everything that destroyed us.
King had set up the club. For a long time, the club thought that they were untouchable, that they were beyond the law. It was King. He told me that. There was nothing in our control. Now that it was affecting me and my family, I saw it firsthand. I was also informed that if I wished to save the membership from Children’s Aid, jail terms—though he couldn’t save them all—that I’d have to cooperate. Dad too.
Stepping into church, the body of Marion was covered with a towel. The stain of his blood leeched into the carpet, but his head—or what was left of it—was covered by the green and gold towel.
“Have a seat, kid,” King instructs.
Again, another fucker thinking I’m their kid. They don’t have the right to treat me as such. Good fucking luck.
“I’ll stand, thanks.”
Shutting the door to the inner sanctum, that I’d only seen peeking through the partially opened door, standing here feels prohibited. I don’t have a right to be here as an unpatched member of the Cruel Intentions. Then again, this fucker and his agent friend shouldn’t be in here either as far as I’m concerned. I shut my trap, though, and wait for Dad to tell me what the fuck is going on.
Taking a seat at the head of the table, King knowingly takes the position of power. Pulling out a chair beside him, he taps it. “Have a seat, Hector. Let’s give a rundown to your son on his new job.” The smarmy look on King’s face tells me this is something I’m going to despise. As his buddy takes the seat beside my dad, he motions for me to have a seat across the table.
“Lucius, sit.” Without his usual growl and gruff demeanor, Dad’s tone is apologetic and subdued. Imploring me with his eyes, I relent and take a seat.
Rubbing his hands together, then smacking them, King starts. “So, Lucius. You’re a young lad. Strong-willed too, I suppose, and I think you and I can come to an agreement on something that can benefit the many.”
“I doubt it.”
“See, this is where you’re wrong. I know you can.” Smiling, King looks to both of us. “Let me break it down for you. Dear ol’ Dad is being deported. He’ll be handed to the Mexican authorities, and he’ll be imprisoned until he’s shanked in jail. The rest of your family will be torn to pieces. Cody will be sent to juvie, Children’s Aid for your sister, and a somewhat comfortable jail—in the case of your mother. That will be for aiding, abetting, and the other charges that your dad has, but as accessories to the fact. Light and freedom will not be theirs. Oh, and your sister, Dejene, will never see the face of that babe. An abortion will be swiftly conducted.” With King stating this so callously, Dad rises from his chair. King doesn’t look his way. “Have a seat, Hector. We haven’t gotten to the best part.”
“Motherfucker, you promised! No fuckin’ way will something like that happen to my baby girl.” My Dad will rip the roof off this building and rain down hell if they think someone will harm her or that child. They’ve really pissed him off. Does it make me insane if I want to see him kill these agents with a gavel?
Waving off Dad’s anger, King continues. “So, as I was saying, that is what can happen. But it’s up to you, Lucius.”
“What do you want from me?”
“We’re recruiting.”
“Then go grab yourself a team of little robots that tow the company line. You lost two informants today with Marion and Colton. Poor souls. Killing themselves was awful. Suicide is not the way to go.” I’m sarcastic and dangerously close to probably pissing these guys off, but I don’t care.
“Yes. It is sad. So, here’s the proposal, and you only get one shot at it. Accept it, or take door number two, the door that will ruin your family. Ready?”
Grinding my teeth, I zip it as I wait for his proposal.
“You’re gonna come work for me. You’ll volunteer, naturally, and you’ll excel at it. Top student, passing with flying fucking colors, and you’ll become our top guy. If you do, I’ll put your family in safer places than jail. Get me? You become one of us and help me do what I need. Johnathan here has already approved it. He’ll make sure your father stays in the US—in a maximum-security prison, in solitary. Your mom will be sent to live with relatives in Colorado or some other shit state, and your sister and brother will be relocated to unknown locations to live freely and without persecution until they hit age of majority. They fuck it up on their own after that and it’s on them, but until they do, they’re my responsibility. That’s the deal. They walk, the club closes shop and doesn’t reopen, and you become a DEA agent for me. Simple. Easy peasy.
“You hold up your end of the bargain and do everything as a model fucking guy, or they end up in the hellholes that they should’ve been in all along.” Resting back in the president’s chair, he’s altogether too comfortable in that seat. He’s blackmailing my family and me into servitude. I can’t believe it, and I don’t understand why.
I ask, “Why me?”
“Well, honestly, I’ve been watching you for a year. You’re tough, you’re a cunt that takes no shit from anyone. Your knowledge of club life can assist us. You’ll do a fabulous job of being a fucking asshole in our infiltration division. You’re exactly what I need.” Crossing his arms, King is dangerously content with himself.
He isn’t giving me much of a choice. All I have to trade is myself to the DEA.
“I guess I have no choice.”
Smacking his hands together and gathering up the gavel, he raps it on the plate. It rattles my teeth and makes me want to make him eat the most religious part of my life. I want him to shit slivers.
Standing, King grins. “Glad you’re joining the team.” Starting toward the door, King turns to Johnathan. “Have Lucius sign his paperwork. Make sure Hector signs off too as a willing participant, and we’ll get this show on the road.”
Stepping out into the hallway, King disappears, leaving me in the care of my father, who looks worn-out, and Johnathan and two other DEA agents, who seem stoic and disconcerted with the process.
He slides some papers across the table. “You’ll need to sign this.”
“Sure. How do I sign with my hands behind my back? Stupid cunt.”
Cocking his head sideways, clearly not impressed with my smart response, Jo
hnathan motions for one of the other officers to uncuff me.
Rubbing my wrists after the cold bracelets are gone, I look at the paperwork set before me. There’s at least twenty pages, full of jargon and shit I don’t get, and it only has one spot to sign. Not wasting time reading through something I don’t understand, I lift up the pen and sign it, then push it across the table to the jerk’s awaiting hands. “Here. Just promise they’re all safe.”
“As safe as we can make them,” he says coolly. I wonder how dangerous this is, how badly I’ve signed my life over to the devil, or if I’m trading one prison for another.
“Will I get a copy of that?” I ask him.
“Yeah. You can read it as a bedtime story after training.”
My dad picks up the pen, signs beside my name, as well as signing other paperwork they toss at him, then deflates slightly. The strong, dangerous president is now a ward of the judicious system.
None of this should be legal. Yes, this totally goes against the right to lawful proceedings, but we’ve signed over our lives because we have no other choice. This is do or die. This is be or be nothing. I’ll be damned if I’m anyone’s nothing.
Leaving that meeting, feeling—no, knowing I’d signed over my life to the government I despise, that I’ve always been told to reject, there’s a deep pit in the bottom of my stomach that aches. Will I rail against this? Will I find a way out of this? You bet your ass I will. It could take me years, or fucking days, but at some point, I will find a release from this.
It only took the agents a few hours to round everyone up. Sending each on their intended paths, they clear out the dead and I sit there, watching families torn apart. Thankfully, they gave me a chance to say goodbye to my sister and brother, but my parents were taken away quickly. The agents didn’t want a hassle from our parents. Their voluntary incarceration had to be done quickly, so they left nearly as quick as the ink dried.
At that age, I didn’t really get what had happened. I knew I was saving others the fate we had, but my parents had pled guilty and no contest as they were led away. My brother was taken by a team of agents, our best friends were taken elsewhere, and as they fought the removal from the only place they’d known, it was depressing. The hardest part for me was my sister escorted out with a medic. Not with family. She was stressing over the whole thing. She attempted to kill herself in the bathroom when left alone for a moment.
That signature was exactly what I’d signed to not have happen. My family was destroyed.
The warm body beside me is a great reminder that I had something to fight for again after all these years. If I were given the chance to do it all over again, could I? No. I wasn’t prepared to live a life in jail. King was saving me in a way. I don’t appreciate it, and I still hate him for it in every way, but he did do something that was right for the seventeen-year-old me.
I vowed then that I would find a way to bring down King. Now with it in my grasp, I can taste it. The bitter tang of revenge is sitting heavily on my tongue. He’s cocky, he’s glib in his position of power. He’s used the wars between the clubs to his advantage. He’s not expecting us to rally. King, in his smug way, won’t expect us to work it out.
He doesn’t expect his well-trained pet to rebel.
Stirring slightly, Obi curves her ass along my hips.
“There’s sunshine. Why is there sunshine?” Tucking the blanket above her head, it hides her sweet muffled sound. “Make it go away.”
Pulling me from the murderous rage I was simmering toward, Obi’s sweet disappointment with the light is humorous. Could I stay here all day? Yes.
I can be late.
I can show up fashionably late.
“The sunlight is inevitable in California. You can’t avoid it,” I tell her jokingly.
Raising a hand, she slams it against my mouth. “Stop talking. Your voice is too loud. God, why do guys have to sound like a tractor when you just want quiet hangovers?”
Laughing through her fingers, I decide that quiet isn’t what I want. Licking her finger, lifting my head slightly, I suck her finger into my mouth.
“Oh, come on.” She pouts. “Hangovers don’t go away when you do that.”
I release her finger. “Maybe you’ve never had the right guy waking you when you’ve had a hangover.” Pulling her hips closer, flicking the edge of her thin panties, I yank on them, feeling the soft material give.
“Did you just break one of the last pieces of clothing I have left to wear?” Her dark tone isn’t sinister. Oubliette is about as dark and sinister as a rainbow covered unicorn riding on a cloud owned by talking donuts and sparkly dogs.
“I have a theory.” Running a hand down her hip, delving within her heat, my cock pokes into her backside as I enjoy her warmth.
“You do?” She wiggles her hips back and forth. “I don’t think you have a theory. I don’t think you’re a planner. I think you’re a fly-by-the-seat, go-with-the-flow kind of guy, Lucius.” Reaching her hand around, she grasps my stiffening cock. “Or do you plan to cause mayhem and destruction?”
Hitting that on the head, she’s damn near exact in her assessment.
“I plan mayhem and destruction. From experience, just flying by has caused me a world of hurt.” Rocking within her hand, feeling the softness of her grip, I can tell she’s fearful of her grip being too tight. I cover her tiny one with mine. “You can’t hurt me. Not like that.”
“How can I hurt you then?” She means it in a playful way, but with the reminders of family and what I’ve lost, I take it completely different.
Turning her body to face me, Oubliette’s starry, beautiful eyes request an answer. “Break my heart.”
She smiles. “If anyone’s going to get a broken heart here, it’s me. I’ve taken a risk. I think I’ve taken all the risks so far. Stolen after seeing a murder, murdering someone who tried to cause me harm, taken hostage—again, set under a microscope at a clubhouse, got in a fight with a kitten at said club, and now it seems I’m stuck in something that has nothing to do with me because of my job and club business. It’s all been about club business. I think the person who has the biggest risk here is me. Hearts are the least of our worries.”
Taken aback by her glib reply, I know it’s going to put an abrupt stop on my sex this morning, but it has to be said. I’m not one for letting things lie. “Cynic much?”
“Sometimes.” Kissing my forehead, she rises out of bed. “I mean, honestly. I’m not your girl—not in the true sense. You didn’t date me. You didn’t take me out for a fancy dinner to get to know me before kidnapping me, so excuse me if I’m sarcastic about my role that I play in this fiasco.” She looks around the room. “Where are my shorts? The least you can do is let me wear something as I walk out of here.”
Flinging shirts, my jeans, and finally stepping into the bathroom to look, Obi is concerned about leaving my house in a naked state. I’m not, because she’s not without me as her escort. That was the point. I don’t intend on her leaving this house alone. Yes, I’d mentioned that she was going to the meet with me, but not without clothing.
Tossing off the covers and grabbing up my jeans, I sling them on, as well as a fresh shirt. “Feel free to watch whatever it is you’d like. The fridge is stocked and the hangover should be enough of a deterrent to stop you from emptying the liquor cabinet.” Washing up and starting toward the garage, I still hear her tossing the room for her shorts. She won’t find them. Before I slung her in bed, I took all of her clothing and hid them in the garage. My pants are excessively big on her tiny frame, even with those sexy as fuck hips, and I don’t know many women other than whores that will walk around without panties. Color me tickled and sufficiently surprised if she will.
Pulling the door to the garage, Obi pops out of my bedroom, storming down the hall. “What do you expect me to do here, Lucius? Play house? Hang out and wait for you to return? All because you stole my underwear and shorts?”
She stomps past me, heading into the garage
.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask with a wide smile.
Picking up a helmet off the workbench, she slings it on and stands by my bike, wearing nothing but a Bows T-shirt she’s pulled from the drawer. “You rip my clothes, steal my shorts, and think you can leave me to wander in your home while you ride away? Nope. I’ll ride naked if I have to.” She takes the helmet off. “Fuck it. I’ll walk or hitchhike. Naked should get me somewhere. I’m going to my house to grab something to wear, Busta, and you,” she huffs, poking me in the chest, “are taking me.”
What a sight. Obi’s naked, if not for the shirt. The shirt lies just past her thighs, and it would stretch farther if it wasn’t for those lovely hips and ass, but the white material leaves no imagination as to what’s under it. “You’re not riding naked, Obi. I have somewhere to be that doesn’t involve this shit.”
“I’m going with you. You don’t get a choice. Hangover and all, I’m your problem today. Let’s go.”
“No,” I say sternly.
Crossing her arms directly above that perfect set of tits, she starts to jump across the seat.
“You’re not riding my bike naked.”
“I’m not,” she mocks while putting the helmet across again, and doing up the chin strap.
“You’re right. You’re not,” I say, though if I’m being brutally honest, I think this is hot as fuck.
“I’m not naked. I’m wearing a shirt, Busta.”
“Close enough,” I mutter. “Look, you’re naked. There’s more seen than not.” Stepping in her space, I reach out through the shirt and tweak a nipple. “You’re not naked—not yet, but damn well close enough, Obi.” Shit, I shouldn’t have done that. My cock knows by autonomic responses that touching that milky white skin is a bad idea. Her rosy nipples call to me. My semi relaxed member is back awake and ready to fuck her until she relents. Until she passes out and I leave here without her.