by A P Foote
I hear the provocative smile in his tone as he rolls me down the hall, and I reach up and pat his hand in response.
The trip through the hospital and to the truck seems to take forever. My senses are heightened, nervousness and anxiety creeping into my bones at being so exposed and helpless.
After everything I’ve been through this attack has me somewhat shook. My hands won’t stop shaking, my breathing is ragged. Whether it’s from the bruised ribs and throat, that doesn’t matter, but the fact I’m not a hundred percent, that alone makes me nervous.
I’m looking over my shoulder every ten seconds and seeing shadows dance just outside of where the streetlights reach. Just waiting for someone to pop out and attack.
Dalton guides us to a black Ford, parked alone in the parking lot.
This is a horror film in the making. Two lovers make their way to their car, only to be brutally murdered before they could ever get to the safety of the vehicle. Typical.
A snort escapes my lips and Dalton finally breaks his silence. “What’s so funny?”
I shake my head, swallowing the pain down before speaking. “I was just thinking how we are about to be the stars of a Jason movie.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that would be my luck. You know, I don’t get that. Why do none of his victims carry any real weapons to put him down?” That’s actually a good question. “I’m always carrying, there is no way in hell I would let that shit go down.”
The truck beeps when we get to the door, he locks the wheels on the chair before opening the passenger side for me. Using the chair as a crutch, I stand not wanting to be exposed to the outside and anyone who could be lurking around any longer.
“Hey, hey hold on and I’ll help you.” He jumps back to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist when he helps me into the big truck, instantly relieved.
“Thank you.” I give him a generous smile. He smiles back before closing the door behind me. My heart leaps in slight fear when he grabs the chair and starts walking back to the hospital.
Is he really going to leave me here? Alone?
But he stops, second guessing his actions and, abandoning the wheelchair, he returns to the truck. Thank god.
He hops in, locking the doors as soon as they close. He has a mild look of panic, his uncoordinated movements causing him to miss the ignition switch twice before he’s finally able to slide the key in.
Did my movie reference spook him?
“What’s wrong?”
Dalton turns the truck over, the engine roaring to life and looks at me. “Huh? Oh nothing.” He adjusts himself, clicking his seatbelt into place. He throws the gear into drive and takes off through the parking lot. “Which way to the club?”
Ugh, the club. Of course.
I must have fallen asleep on the way there because one minute we’re pulling away from the hospital and the next we’re pulling into the clubs parking lot.
How did he know where to go if I fell asleep?
“Wake up, sleepy head,” Dalton coos. I sit up when he puts the truck in park, wishing I was still at the hospital or even back in my own damn house. I don’t want to be here, that I do know. There’s too much bad shit that’s gone down at this club house.
The last time I stepped foot in this place was my dad’s send off after he died. Even when Clyde and I were dating I would never come here.
Dalton guides me through the front holding my arm with one hand and opening the door with the other, being the perfect gentleman that he’s been from the start.
The smell of booze and sex hits me harder than the man who attacked me. The floor is littered with empty bottles and clothes from the bike bunnies, as Nix calls them. The relatively new wooden floors are marred from boots and chairs being dragged across them during the wild, fucked up parties they like to throw.
Moans reach my ears, bringing my attention to the far side of the room. Smoke lingers in the air, clouding around the three men pounding away into the blondes in front of them.
“Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me harder!” one of the blondes screams over and over. The man thrusts harder, the table the woman is bent over repeatedly slamming into the wall, chipping more of the paint that was already peeling. If he fucks her any harder, they’re going to bust the damn sheetrock.
His arm raises, palm in the wind as he brings it down slapping her ass, and she yelps and moans her excitement, begging for more. His hand reaches into her hair, yanking her neck, forcing her back to twist in ways I never thought was possible.
“You. Like. That. Bitch?” he says with each bunny fucking thrust, pausing in between words. Her grunts sound animalistic. She actually reminds me of a cat getting ready to slap paws with another cat. So not a turn on.
Dalton’s arm slides around my waist giving it a tight squeeze. Pulling me away from my gawking at the fuck fest, he leads me toward the back hallway where Clyde’s office sits at the end. Eyes follow us making me feel extremely uncomfortable and even more vulnerable than before.
He picks up the pace holding as much of my weight as he can without hurting my ribs, until we turn the corner and out of sight. My body tenses, my fucking emotions all out of sorts at the moment. I chalk it up to the medication leaving my body.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, loosening his grip. I nod realizing my throat is burning worse than it did before walking into this hellhole.
We continue walking the long hall until the last door appears. Raising my hand to knock, I never get the chance when its opened with a whoosh.
“Go,” I can hear Clyde call deep within the room. There’s… a woman. She’s about the same height as me with bleach blonde hair and stunning blue eyes. Her fake tits spill over her barely there blouse.
I know this bitch. She’s the one from the bar! Candy? Sandy, that’s her name. What the hell is she doing here?
I’m furious. The longer she stands there with that condescending, I just fucked your man look, the quicker my heart beats. The more adrenaline pumps through my body, the more I want to rip that smile off her plastic ass face. She’s taunting me at this point.
“Get out!” Clyde roars, closer this time. He yanks the door open finally seeing why his whore wasn’t obeying him. He freezes, shock and dismay flooding his face, not sure on what he should do.
“Kat.”
Sandy turns to Clyde, her hands palming his chest. “See, baby? I told you she doesn’t want you. She’s too busy with her new toys—” She looks over her shoulder at D.
“Shut the fuck up and get out!”
She huffs with a whine, sticking her bottom lip out at him which he just ignores. He always has been a heartless asshole. I should have known better than to let him as close as I did. He’s just using me to get what he wants once again. Why did I think he could change? My eyes burn in the sadness, the tears wanting to spill over, but I fucking refuse to let that happen.
I squeeze Dalton for reprieve from the anger and sadness; his thumb strokes my side in an attempt to soothe the raging beast inside me.
Sandy giggles, looking between me and Dalton, letting go of the door frame as she brushes past me, bumping her arm into my side and knocking me into Dalton. Fucking bitch. Stabbing pains shoot through my chest, and my hands shoot to my ribs covering them for protection against another attack that doesn’t come… from her at least.
Fuck this. My pain is gone being replaced with rage and vengeance. My body heats up melting the chill I’ve had since leaving the hospital, and the adrenaline rushing through my veins propels me around, my legs moving on their own to catch up to her faster than she can escape.
Turning her head last minute, she gets a glimpse of the bull, meaning me, before my hand wraps round her neck. My fingers dig into her soft, whorish flesh, my feet cementing themselves to the ground. No one could fucking budge me. I tighten my fingers, my nails gripping her skin as I swing her around, smashing her face into the wall next to Clyde’s office door.
She cries out in pain, clawing
at my hands before I pull back and slam her face into the wall again. She falls to the ground this time, covering her nose.
“Oh my god! You broke my fucking nose!” she sobs, rocking back and forth.
No, I’m not fucking done. Years of hurt, anger, and sadness surrounding this place, this life, have been festering inside me, waiting to be let out. And this bitch just happens to be the straw currently breaking the camel’s back.
Ignoring the dulled pinch in my side I climb on top of the bitch, pining her arms under my knees while she attempts to fight back. I see nothing, hear nothing while bringing my fist down, over and over again into her face. The blood spews, flowing freely from her nose, the thick warm substance coating my fist.
“Take. That. Nose. Job. Bitch!” The fragile bone crunches under the last fist to her face before big strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me off. She cries over and over blabbing about how expensive that was and how I’m an evil cunt… blah, blah, blah. “No! I’ll fucking kill her! Let me go!”
Dalton grunts when one of my legs catches him in his dick in my fit of anger, but he never lets me go, keeping me securely in place against his rock-hard body.
“Enough!” Clyde’s demanding bellow echoes through the hall.
“Fuck you, mother fucker! You’re a lying cheating bastard and that’s all you’ll ever be.” I relax into Dalton’s arms. The pain in my throat burns more intense. “I should have known better, it’s always the same with you. Fuck me, pull me back in and nothing about you changes. It’s a never-ending cycle sucking everyone and everything in, obliterating whatever’s left.”
Clyde stares at me, unmoving or even blinking. Meanwhile I’ve drawn a crowd of stone-faced bikers, annoyed at my disruption and cockblocking. His eyes flicker between me and the man holding me tight.
“What the hell is going on?” another familiar voice booms that has no business being here either.
What the hell? That’s Cass, why would he be here?
I turn around in Dalton’s arms, peering around his massive frame, only to see Cass strutting down the hallway, his long muscular legs gaining ground.
He’s wearing a cut. Why is he wearing a cut?
“Why are you wearing that?” The words came out more accusatory than they were supposed to. He looks remorseful when he stands next to his brother.
“We know who ordered the hit,” he says, like I’m supposed to already know. He reaches a gloved hand to my neck, his fingers grazing over the bruises, and then Clyde clears his throat. “Club called The Power. We don’t know why yet, but we’ll find out.”
He’s avoiding my question. I’m ecstatic that they know who did it, but that’s not what I asked.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Casey here got a sponsor. Sort of.” Clyde’s wicked grin stretches from ear to ear. “Me.”
No. Why? Clyde’s doing this shit on purpose. I’ll never escape him or his forever torture of manipulating anything that could possibly make me happy or that poses a threat to him and his hold on me.
Turning my attention back to Cass, I can tell he clearly sees I’m upset. It’s like he’s broken through my chest and grabbed hold of my heart, squeezing it, stopping just before it explodes. Tears flow down my face and the gang of ignorant assholes get a good laugh at my expense. Cass takes a step toward me, but I retreat.
“Kat…”
Shaking my head, I brush past Dalton and the others, attempting to limp my way to freedom. Cass’s hand grips my arm, not enough to hurt but enough that I have to jerk my arm out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me.” He holds his hands up in surrender with sadness and maybe… pain? etched across his face.
The sea of biker’s part like I’m Moses or something. As I make my way past the staring faces, one of the Prospects snorts. “I say we let them have her. What’s so special about her anyway?”
As soon as the words leave his lips the air cultivates a thick cloud of tension, mainly coming from the three brooding men behind me.
“Kat!” Clyde calls from behind me. I don’t stop, if anything it propels me faster toward the exit. “You can’t leave.”
The door’s right there, a few more steps and I’m free.
Freedom calls to me and I’m just that thirsty of a bitch to fall for it. Just when I thought I could make it out, a hand envelopes my waist, and the pressure against my ribs intensifies stopping me from going any further.
“It’s only a few days, love.” Nix’s accent rains thick in the air, his breath blowing against my hair.
I give up; I’ll do what they want but after that I’m done, with everyone.
Nix can feel my lack of balance and shaking hands, so him being him he guides me to a couch sitting in the corner of the rec area, gently lowering me to its cushions. Clyde, Dalton, and Cass appear moments later. Dalton plops down next to me, while Cass and Clyde stand in front of me, legs parted, and arms crossed. Their similar black shirts stretch taut against their chest, their cuts left opened.
“That wasn’t what you think, Kat,” Clyde says, breaking the silence.
It wasn’t what I think? He was buttoning his goddamn pants while she was licking her lips. What the hell am I supposed to think?
“Doesn’t matter.” I shrug looking away from the tatted, long-haired man. “Once whatever this is finishes, I’m done.”
“Done with what, Kat?” His face twists in annoyance.
“With this.” I hold out my hand, slicing it through the air as I refer to him and anything involving them. “What’s the deal anyway? Why am I even involved in this?”
Cass blows out a telling breath that I’m not going to be pleased. “Well, The Power is the one who called the hit.”
“Yeah, I got that.” I sigh rolling my eyes. I’m hurt not deaf.
“Before your dad was murdered, he did business with them. Got their Secretary killed.”
“Yeah, and whose call was it?” I look at Clyde accusingly.
He huffs and spins away from me. “Anyway, your dad hoarded secrets and evidence that should have never been brought to light.”
“Like what? And why does any of that matter now? He’s dead and has been dead for two years.”
Clyde steps back in. “Their President was arrested last year for those things your father found and blamed for their member’s murder. He was sentenced four days ago to three consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole.”
I’m trying to piece everything together, or what I’m really trying to avoid are the facts of what he’s telling me, but nothing else makes sense. I make eye contact with Clyde. “So, you’re saying my dad was a snitch?”
He tilts his head, his mouth falling to a frown. “No not a snitch, he was an under-cover agent, Kat.”
He’s shitting me, right? My dad was an FBI agent? That’s not right, he was a murdering criminal. Surely undercover agents aren’t that involved.
I begin laughing hysterically, holding my side for support. “That’s about the funniest fucking thing I think I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s true, Kat,” Cass says, confirming Clyde’s theory.
My gaze shoots to him. “Yeah? And how the fuck would you know?” Cass’s Adam’s apple bobs nervously under his tatted neck. “What is it, Cass? I’m tired of all the lies, I get it enough from this one,” I tell him pointing at Clyde who gives me a dramatic eyeroll.
He opens his mouth to speak, when the door flies open. “Hey, boss? It’s time.”
Clyde looks at Mouse, one of the members, and nods. Mouse glances at me nodding his head with a smile before closing the door again. He’s always been a nice guy. One of the only people ballsy enough to stand up to Clyde seeing as they’ve known each other since they were six-year-olds.
“We have to go; we’ll finish this later. Dalton, stay with her.” It wasn’t a question but an order. Dalton doesn’t say anything just nods like a good boy.
“Wait, where are you going?”
They are really going to leave me here? Who else knows about the alleged FBI shit? Clyde senses my panic, not only that but I’m sure my eyes bugging out of my head help with that.
“On a run. And no one knows, don’t worry,” he assures me, glancing to Cass for him to follow. I watch them leave and my head begins to throb with the beginnings of a killer migraine, as fear and anxiousness sets in.
“D, can you get my bag?” I ask him, his seriousness fleeing when his icy blue eyes land on me, brewing the need and desire ingrained to my core.