Fallen Rider (A Lost Saxons Novel Book 7)

by Jessica Ames

  She shot him…

  Holy shit, she shot him.

  The gun swings in our direction as Lola pushes her hair from her face, breathing a little heavily.

  All hands go up, apart from Liv, who turns to shield the baby. Chloe tugs Jesse behind her, even though he makes a noise of protest.

  My heart gallops in my chest. What is she doing? And more importantly why?

  Her eyes slide towards me and a small grin graces her mouth as the gun follows her line of sight to point at me.

  I hear a sharp intake of breath from my side and I’m not sure if it’s Mum or Sofia. I don’t take my eyes off the barrel I’m staring down.

  “You, follow me,” Lola demands.

  “No!” Mum says.

  She’s standing in front of me before I can stop her, shielding me with her body. My stomach clenches in fear. Will Lola shoot her?

  “Move, or I’ll kill everyone in this room, starting with the baby.”

  I don’t take my eyes off Lola, but I hear the gasp at that statement.

  “You can’t take her,” Sofia snaps, and I inwardly curse my mouthy little sister. “Why do you even want her?”

  “That’s not for you to worry about.” She points the gun between me and the door. “Move now, or I’ll start shooting.”

  Fear she might be deranged enough to try, considering she already shot Lucas, has me moving, my hands still raised at my sides. I give my friends, my family a look I hope is reassuring, trying to ignore the concern reflected back at me. I’m not stupid. I know this is not going to end well—not for me at any rate. I peek at Lucas, and all I can see is red staining his front. Bile fills my stomach.

  “Move, bitch,” Lola mutters, poking the gun into my spine and I step forward.

  I’ll do what I have to in order to keep everyone else safe, to protect my mum and my sister, to protect my sisters-in-law and women I value as sisters. I’ll sacrifice whatever to keep them breathing.

  Although, I’m not going down without a fight either.

  She shoves me out of the room and I stumble, nearly losing my footing. Then she gives me a push to get moving. We head down the corridor to a part of the clubhouse I don’t recognise. I’ve not been down here before.

  Lola doesn’t speak the whole time which only serves to heighten my anxiety. Usually, in the movies, this is the part where they spill their whole sordid plan. Lola looks like she’s going to break that mould and keep silent, which only adds to my fear. Why’d she pick me?

  We come to a metal door and she gestures at it with the gun. “Open it.”

  I do, and we step out into a small gated area that abuts the street. I can’t see any sign of Reapers or the Devils, but I can hear the gunfight taking place in another part of the clubhouse, and that scares me.

  There’s a van parked across the street that looks suspicious, and I’m proved right when the side sliding door opens and I see a masked person step out.

  My fear shoots through the roof as I back up, but the door behind me has no handle on the outside, meaning it can only be opened from the inside. It’s probably a security feature for the clubhouse, but right now, it’s my downfall. I have nowhere to go.

  My heart rate shifts from a canter to a gallop and I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs. I’m so screwed, and I can’t even scream for help. There’s nothing around that I can use to make noise either.

  Shit.

  The masked man comes towards us and hisses at Lola, “The deal was you bring them all. Where’s the rest?”

  “Trust me, sugar,” she practically purrs, “you won’t need the rest. This bitch is Dane’s old lady. She’s also the Harlows’ sister. You’ve got someone important to both clubs and that’s the best prize. Now, where’s my money?”

  My heart sinks. She sold out her club, those brothers in there for money? My disgust must show on my face because she scoffs at me. “Don’t judge me, you haughty bitch. I’ve got a kid to feed and my meal ticket was Dane. I’d been playing him, getting close for years. Then you showed up and he’s ready to set up house. You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you.”

  Jealousy isn’t a good look, and I wish I had the voice to tell her, but I can’t, so I fix her with my best glare instead.

  It rolls off her. “The money, Racket.”

  The guy, Racket, pulls an envelope from inside his leather jacket and takes out a bundle of bills, repocketing those. He offers the rest to her.

  “What the fuck?”

  “You did half a job, so you get half the pay.”

  She looks like she’s considering arguing, then snags the envelope.

  He shakes his head. “No fucking honour amongst whores.”

  She rolls her eyes. “They’re good enough for you to be cock deep in them.”

  I ignore their conversation, because my blood is pumping so hard I feel light headed. I’m going to die. This is the end of the road for me. I just found Dane, the love of my life and it’s about to be over before it really began.

  Racket grabs my arm in a bruising grip and drags me across the road. When I start to fight, he pulls his own firearm and shoves it into my side. Fear makes me pliant.

  I’ve never faced danger in my life, not without my brothers or the Club to wade in and save me.

  This time there’s no one. I’m on my own.

  I’m shoved roughly into the back of the van and my knees catch the sill, sending a burning pain through me. I don’t have time to think about it because a bag is pulled over my head and my hands are roughly pulled behind my back. Then I’m forced face down on the floor of the van.

  The smell that infuses my nose is not pleasant, and not one I can distinguish. I don’t give it much consideration, considering I could be about to die at any moment.

  “Where’s the rest?” another voice demands.

  “Never trust a whore to do anything,” Racket mutters. “At least we got one.”

  “Yeah,” a familiar voice says, “we got the one who can’t scream. Goodie.”

  Dylan.

  That’s Dylan.

  My heart stops.

  Chapter Twenty

  The van bumps down the road, shunting me from side to side. I try to keep from rolling around, but it’s hard with my hands bound behind my back. My bruises are going to have bruises at this rate. The hood pulled over my head keeps me unaware of my surroundings, and it also induces terror. With each passing mile we move further from the safety of Manchester and towards the unknown.

  My breath rasps out of me, making it hot inside the hood they pulled over my head. I’m starting to feel light-headed, and I’m not sure if that’s the heat or fear. Probably a little of both.

  No one has spoken since I was shoved in the back, not even small talk. That’s making things worse. The silence is haunting, especially when I know Dylan, the man who has been behind all the attacks on the Club over the past year nearly, is here. Hearing his voice sent a shock wave of terror through me. I have no idea what he’s capable of, but he’s the kind of man who swears allegiance to a Club and then stabs his brothers in the back when they least expect it. He’s not a good person. He’s also not a man who deems violence against women as taboo—a mantra both the Devils and Saxons follow. He hurt Paige when he and Tap attacked Wade, so I doubt my status as unharmed will continue.

  I try to strengthen myself, remembering that I’m a Harlow and that I have the resolve to come through this, remembering that I have three brothers and an old man who will move heaven and earth to get me back.

  I hope they manage in time.

  I just found Dane. I’m not ready to give him up.

  I’m not ready to give up any of my life, as complicated and irritating as it might be. I want to meet my niece or nephew in a few months’ time. I want to see Danny grow up and drive Liv and Dean crazy. I want to see my sister settle down, and Adam get his girl too. I want to hug my mum one last time.

  I want to live.

  It’s a desire that burns so strongl
y through me, I can taste it like ash on my tongue.

  My life might be an insipid, boring drudge, but it’s mine. And it’s just started to get interesting.

  The van suddenly jolts, and I’m slammed against something hard—maybe the back of the seats.

  Ow.

  Then the engine cuts. My heart starts to race beneath my sternum as I hear the sound of the doors opening and then closing before the screech of metal as the side door is dragged open.

  My gut churns and I fist my hands tightly, making the ropes dig into my wrists. The pain reminds me I’m still breathing, that I still have a horse in this race and that I’m not willing to lie down and die.

  A hand wraps around my left bicep and I’m dragged up. The movement, coupled with the fact I can’t see, is disorientating and it has my head rolling.

  My breath is ripping out of me as I’m tugged to what I assume is the edge of the van. My legs scrape along the floor, and I’m grateful I’m wearing jeans that protect my skin. These men are not careful, nor do they seem to care about hurting me.

  When my feet touch the floor, they wobble beneath me and it’s only the grip on my arm that stops them from folding completely. Even though I’m trying to be brave, I’m trembling, and whoever has hold of me must be able to feel that I am. I hate that. I hate these bastards knowing I’m scared.

  My feet stumble as I’m pulled forwards. Without any vision, I’m reliant on whoever has hold of me and I fall into him more than once.

  The chill in the air becomes less pronounced and even through the hood I can see my surroundings darken.

  Am I inside now?

  He gives me a shove and I stumble, only to be kept upright by his bruising hold on my bicep.

  Then I’m pushed down into what I think is a chair. I feel my hands tugged roughly again and then the bite of wood against my back.

  The hood is tugged off and I’m greeted with brightness that has me squinting. I blink rapidly to quickly clear my vision and when I do, I see two men standing in front of me, no longer masked. One is Dylan. The other, I assume, is the man who took me from Lola—Racket.

  Racket would be attractive, if he wasn’t a kidnapping psycho. He has a thatch of messy dark hair and a jawline that most men would give their right arm for, but the malice on his face makes him uglier than anything else. He’s looking at me like I’m a game he intends to play.

  The room I’m in is large, with a pool table and bar and a Reapers’ banner hanging over the back of it. It takes me a second to work out where I am—the Reapers’ common room.

  They brought me to their clubhouse?

  Internally, I snort at the stupidity of their actions. Where do they think my brothers and Dane will look first?

  Then my stomach fills with ice.

  Of course Dylan knows that.

  Which makes this a trap.

  “At least that stupid bitch snatched the one who can’t speak,” Dylan mutters. “We don’t have to worry about her screaming the fucking place down.”

  My gut roils at his words.

  What the hell are they planning on doing to me that will have me screaming?

  “Can we still pull this off with one? I didn’t want to hang around too long. The boys were taking a hammering from those Devil bastards.”

  “She’ll do.”

  “Lola said she’s Dane’s old lady. He’s the VP, right?”

  Dylan nods. “And she’s the Harlow wonder triplets’ sister. That bitch actually did well. She snagged someone with links to both clubs.”

  I’m only here because of Lola’s jealousy, but truthfully, I’d rather I was here than Sofia or Beth—than any of the women really. Even if I’m scared, at least I can protect my family.

  “Isn’t this going to bring the full force of the Devils down on us?”

  “You’re not scared of them, are you?”

  “They’re a bigger club.”

  They are. They have nine chapters in the UK alone. Manchester and London are just a small part of their wider family, but London are not on-board with helping, so I doubt they have much to fear. Then again, the Reapers just mounted a full-frontal assault on Manchester. It might change things.

  Dylan moves in front of the chair I’m tied to and crouches down on his haunches. His sly face irritates me.

  “I’m sorry it had to be you, Mackenzie, but your brothers and their stupid club aren’t listening. I sent one message to them already.”

  I assume he’s talking about Weed, who he beat and dumped out the back gates of the clubhouse just a few months back.

  “They didn’t take that lesson seriously. Now, you’re going to pay the price for that.”

  He rubs his thumb over his bottom lip as he stares at me with cold eyes.

  “I’d say I’m sorry I have to do this, but I’m really not.”

  He stands and my heart flutters. Then his fist lashes out and catches my jaw.

  Pain explodes right through the area, heat infusing the skin. I’ve never been hit by a man before in my life. I’ve been largely protected by my brothers, by my family. Now, I’m learning how bad the real world can be, how there is evil out there, and Dylan certainly is evil, because he grins as he licks along his bottom lip.

  Then, he slams his fist into my face again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I hurt everywhere. My face feels like a solid ball of pain that throbs in time with my racing heartbeat. I can hardly open my eyes and my nose, I’m sure, is broken—judging from the amount of blood that I’m wearing down my front. My dizzy vision and swollen eyes stop me from seeing too much, but I know they’ve been taking photos of my pathetic self and sending them onto I can only assume my brothers and Dane.

  Their plan is stupid really. They think hurting me will convince Derek to hand over all the Saxons’ businesses and territory to the Reapers. That will not happen. Derek cares about me, I’m sure. He probably on some level loves me, but he’ll never give up the Club for me, and I don’t think I would expect him to either. The Lost Saxons are his entire world and it’s more than a bike club—it’s family. How do you give up family?

  A part of me suspects Dylan doesn’t want them to step down. He just wants the satisfaction of destroying my family. Why? I don’t know. He sure as hell seems to have a vendetta against the Club, though, that goes beyond wanting the territory, wanting the drug-running lines. I know the Lost Saxons make a lot of money in selling and moving drugs through the country, acting as the middle point between the north and south of the UK, but his desire to own it is all consuming.

  I’m not supposed to know any of this, but all the girls know on some level what the guys are up to behind closed doors. We’re not idiots. We just choose to love the men underneath, in spite of their illegal dealings.

  I’m barely conscious, but I can hear the low mumblings of voices. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I know they’re there, just beyond the doors of the common room.

  I fall in and out of consciousness as I sit there, my head dipping dangerously far forward. If it wasn’t for the ropes, I’d be face first on the floor.

  My hair is roughly grabbed and my head is tugged back.

  “Wakey, wakey,” Dylan crows. The psycho is enjoying this more than he should be.

  I blink, trying to get my bearings, trying to work out how long I’ve been out of it, but it’s impossible to tell. The lights are on, which they weren’t last time I was aware… were they?

  “Fuck you,” I mouth at him, even though it costs me my last inch of energy to say it. I can feel the blood on my face, making the skin feel tight as it dries.

  I hate him.

  “I’m not well versed in lip reading, but I’m guessing that wasn’t anything nice you just spat at me.”

  I try to glare at him. Try and fail because I can hardly see a thing through my glued together lids. I want the pain to stop, I want it to end, but I don’t see that happening any time soon. He has complete control over this situation right now.


  “I haven’t had this much fun with a Saxons’ bitch since Paige.” His expression goes a little distant. “She was a good girl.”

  I clench my jaw. I don’t want to hear him talking about my friend this way. Paige was traumatised by whatever this bastard did to her when he had her. Weed rescued her, but saving her had let Dylan get away. Knowing Weed, he’ll be beating himself up for that now. He might seem like he never takes things seriously, but he takes more to heart than he lets on.

  “Maybe we can have a little fun before this is all over, just like I did with Paige.”

  My heart sinks for Paige. Oh my god, what did he do to her? What’s he about to do to me?

  My attention is diverted as Dylan cups one of my breasts and my skin crawls. I’m going to be sick. I don’t want his dirty hands on me.

  “Such pretty tits…” he murmurs, his thumb running over his bottom lip as he stares at it.

  I shake my head and mouth ‘no’, but with no words, I’m helpless. Not that I think this sick fuck would listen even if I could speak.

  Internally, I’m screaming.

  Externally, I can make no sound but the harsh pants of my breath that signify my fear.

  He whistles absently as he moves to the back of the chair and I feel the pressure on my wrists slacken. Is he untying me? I brace, ready to fight, ready to gain my freedom, even if I can hardly see straight. I won’t let this man touch me like that again, even if I have to die to stop him.

  Beneath all my panic, a noise catches my attention. I try to ignore it, but it’s like a buzzing in my ear. It takes my muddled brain a moment to realise what it is.

  Bikes.

  And from the sound of it, there’s a lot.

  I try to glance in the direction of the window, but it’s behind me and my neck twinges every time I try, so instead I tilt my head to listen.

  The door bursts open and Racket flies in through it. “Fuck, man, we’re fucked. How did I ever let you talk the Club into this crazy shit?” He practically wails the words. “It’s the Devils and the Saxons. Looks like there’s more than a few chapters of the Devils outside.”