by Skyla Madi
I’d bet our entire club fund that her villain was a bad, bad man.
“I’ll come back again and again,” she promised, and I rolled my eyes and turned from her. Rocks crunched under my boots as I walked away. “You’re the only one who can help me. Please, as a parent, I’m begging you to help me save my boy—”
“My daughter wasn’t saved!” I boomed as something snapped inside me. I faced her and just looking at her scared expression made my chest grow hot. “What makes you think your son should be? What makes you think I give a shit what happens to your kid? It’s not mine.”
Even at a distance, I saw the tremble in her chin. “I’m sorry for what happened to your daughter, truly—”
Emotion broke her voice and she swallowed the rest of her sentence, then exhaled. Without thought, she dropped back to slump against a motorcycle and it toppled, knocking over the one beside it, which knocked over the next one.
And the next one.
Altogether, eight bikes toppled like dominos, filling the night air with sounds of scraping, scratching, and crunching.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered loud enough for me to hear.
I started toward her and she whipped her head in my direction, her perky ass still on the fallen first bike. Her mouth was the perfect ‘o’ shape and I smiled wickedly as she exposed her palms to me.
“On second thought,” I said, dark amusement lighting my tone. “You’re not going anywhere.”
THREE
Y A S M I N E
The music.
The moaning.
The banging.
It’s doing my head in. I lift my head from my knees and drop it against the wall, dinging the back of my skull. I’ve been in this small room for hours. It’s dark. The light above doesn’t work properly, casting an eerie, yellow glow around the room. It’s not a cell, more of a sparse guest room. It smells clean, like citrus air freshener and washed linen. The bed I’m cuffed to is queen sized and the pillows I perch on are surprisingly plump.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to me. When the bikes fell, Judge simply smiled a terrifying and calculating smile, then he dragged me back inside the clubhouse. He whistled, loudly, and all eyes fell on us. He told them what I did, and they descended on me like bloodthirsty psychopaths. I thought Judge was going to feed me to them and let them pull me apart. I didn’t cling to Judge’s massive body as he stood beside me, watching the side of my face as I refused to yield to the verbal onslaught of his men. I simply stood there and took it all. When, and only when, a single tear dripped over the rim of my eye and onto my cheek did he stop them from shouting, swearing, and spitting at me. Then he dragged me down a hall and tossed me in this room. In smug silence, he handcuffed me to the slim railing of this queen bed and left. I don’t know what his plans are. I have no money to pay for damages and every second wasted here is a second longer my son suffers at the hands of his nasty sperm donor.
A gentle knock patters on the door and I straighten as if a steel rod has been jammed in my spine. I purse my lips, not granting anyone access, but it doesn’t matter. The handle is tugged down and a high-pitched squeak rings around the room as the door opens. A low grumble, a male’s disapproving voice, vibrates into the room followed by a feminine whisper, and a thin layer of hair lifts on the back of my neck. My uneasiness doesn’t let up, even when a solo Isabelle Laurent enters the room with a red cup in her hand and closes the door behind her.
“Hello,” she greets me, smiling softly. She flexes her slender fingers at her side and lifts the cup. “Brought you some water. Are you thirsty?”
I flick my stare down the length of her slim body. I don’t think I’ve seen the mayor’s daughter dressed so casually…or have so much skin exposed. If I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes willingly kissing James Creed, I would’ve denied she’d ever be interested in a man like him. Sure, he’s hot as sin, but girls like her marry politicians and celebrities. They marry filthy rich men thirty years their senior, not bikers.
Isabelle clears her throat and slowly moves toward the bedside table closest to her. “I asked Judge to let you go, but he’s a hard man to negotiate with.”
I scoff as she sits the cup down. “He can’t keep me here forever.”
“He will if you give him reasons to,” she shoots back, planting her hands on her hips. “Don’t challenge him. It won’t end well for you.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”
“Take it however you want.”
I avert my gaze to the bed and watch my red painted toenails as I nervously wriggle them against the black comforter. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should play nice so I can get the hell out of here. It’s clear I’m not going to get any help from Judge and I’m burning too much daylight trying to get it.
“Your son…” Isabelle says, shifting her weight. “Judge said something happened to him?”
I tighten my jaw and swallow hard. “He was taken.”
“By who?”
“His father.” I peer at her and she pinches her pretty face in confusion, the way everyone’s does when I tell them Nicolás is with his father, but Elias has hated our son from the moment he was born. “He’s a bad man.”
“He’d hurt him?”
Pressure fills my chest and builds behind my eyes. I nod as tears well. No child should ever have to worry about their dad hurting them, but Nicolás has lived with that fear every day of his life. Why? Because he’s different. Because he needs extra love, attention, and support, and that makes him weak. The one thing my ex-husband hates more than the law is weakness.
Isabelle shuffles toward the bed. Her brow is furrowed with concern, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Why Judge? Can’t you go to the police?”
I snort, then swipe the back of my free hand across my nose. “The police won’t help me.”
“Why?”
“They’re in my ex-husband’s pocket, just like they were in your father’s.” I drop my head back in exasperation and glance at the ceiling. There’s too much to explain and I’m tired of reiterating it. “I’m on my own…and I need help.”
The bedroom door is thrown open as the last word leaves me my mouth and I jump, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. In strolls a young man, no older than nineteen, donning a brown leather cut. His head is shaved, a buzzcut close enough to his scalp to show the scary swirls of ink that paint his skin. He finds Isabelle with his bright irises and offers her a small shrug.
“Sorry, Iz.” He looks to me and flicks his long fingered, tattooed hand in my direction. “Judge wants to see her.”
“I don’t want to see him.” The words shoot from my mouth with a clench of my stomach.
“It don’t matter what you want.” He crosses the room and rounds the foot of the bed, spinning keys on a ring around his long index finger. “You’ll do as you’re told.”
I remain still as the young guy releases my wrist from the tight metal handcuff and requests I get off the bed. He demands I listen to him over and over, threatening to drag me out by my hair if I ignore him one more time. Reluctantly, I follow his orders, letting him escort me out of the room, barefoot, and right past James Creed, who leans against the hall wall, his knee bent, his giant boot planted on the wall’s surface. I lift my eyebrows at the sight of him. He’s tall and broad, like Judge, and just as intimidating. I swallow. I’ve heard my fair share of violent stories about Creed, Judge’s VP, too. Maybe he’ll help me if I ask? If I convince Isabelle to ask? James flicks his attention down the length of my body, then back up to meet my stare.
“Where’re you taking this one, Kace?” he asks the man behind me.
“Judge. He wants to see her.”
“She’s his type, all right.” A wicked smile pulls at Creed’s lips as Kace ushers me past. “Good luck, Minnie.”
Minnie? I balk, digging my heels in. “My name is Yasm—”
I try to turn around and face Creed, but Kace shoves me forward. A strange squeak leaves m
y lips as I stumble into the main room. It’s busier than before—louder. Heavy metal music batters the walls and vibrates the floor. Its rough, messy, and consuming beat devours the voices of the wild and wayward men in front of me.
“Other side of the room,” Kace shouts in my ear, poking me in the back. “Move it.”
I shuffle forward and enter the throng of sweaty men and women. I wrinkle my nose. It smells of beer, sweat, and sex in here. How can they stand it? As I walk, I’m purposely shoved and tripped, but I keep my head high. This isn’t about them. I’m not here to make friends.
When the thicket of leather and denim becomes too strong for me to push through, Kace takes the lead and I hold onto his brown cut. They don’t move out of the way for him either and they shove and trip him as much as they did me. Every inch he moves, they make him work for it, until he’s irritated and dripping with sweat of his own. When we break through to the other side, Kace snatches my bicep in his big hand and yanks me through a sheer set of black curtains and into a dark, moody room. Strange hints of grapefruit linger in the air. I straighten my spine in the darkness and open my eyes wider, desperate for them to adjust. All of three seconds pass before Kace releases my arm and the blaring music behind me dissolves into a low hum as it’s closed behind heavy doors. When the lights kick in, I hold my breath. Faint, thin LED strips around the edge of the room glow and the space begins to take shape. Armchairs. Loveseats. Stages. A long bar in the corner of the room. The LEDs grow brighter, morphing from red to purple and I spot him, Damon Judge, sitting in a large, dark armchair directly in front of me. A woman perches on his lap, topless, her breasts in his face. She moves seductively, her hips rolling at a gentle pace, and she touches his chest, her hands bunching the black fabric of his t-shirt. The lights change from purple to white, lighting the room further, and his dark blue eyes find me. I exhale. When he looks at me, mischievous fire ignites in his expression, and it turns my stomach. He thinks I’m a shiny new toy. He’s going to drag this out and waste more of my goddamn time.
I keep my stare on him as he eases forward and speaks in the woman’s ear. Without hesitating, she slides off his lap and walks away, her firm breasts swaying as she fades into a dark corner by the long, skinny bar. He flicks his chin at me, summoning me closer. I clench my teeth and saunter forward, stopping a foot away from him. Tilting his head, Damon stares up at me.
“Sit.”
Heat flares in my cheeks. I haven’t sat on a man’s lap in five years, I haven’t let a man touch me in five years, and the thought sends unease hurtling through my veins.
“On you?”
He doesn’t answer, only watches, his eyes sharp with impatience. I let out a slow exhale and move forward. I grip the armrests of his chair and lift myself onto his lap, placing my thighs either side of his. Behind me, whispers swirl, and it’s unsettling. Our pelvises touch and our torsos are close—too close for comfort. To avoid touching him with my hands, I place them against my stomach. Scents of whiskey, cologne, and feminine perfumes tickle my nose, and the warmth emanating from his large body kisses my skin, making me hot around the collar. I guess I forgot how nice men feel…
I glance over my shoulder as the lights fade to red, darkening the edges of the room.
“This is humiliating,” I murmur, licking my dry lower lip.
Judge scoffs and I look at him. “Humiliating? You got the best seat in the house.” He flicks his chin in the direction of the other side of the room. “Some would kill to sit where you’re sitting.”
I peer over my shoulder again and wait for the room’s LEDs to change to a brighter color. When the blue comes, it allows me to see just how many people are in the room. There’s more than I can count. A handful of men. But mostly women—young women, older women—and the way they glower at me…I believe him.
Some women are dressed, most are naked. As the blue hue reaches its peak, I’m sure I spot three people having sex on a love seat on the far side, but the color changes to a dark purple before I can register what I’m looking at.
“I spoke with my men and we came to an agreement,” Judge says, pulling my attention back to him. I hold my breath. “You’re free to go…once you’ve helped Wrench repair the bikes.”
I lift my eyebrows. Is he serious? “I don’t know the first thing about—”
“Alternatively.” He pinches my tank top between his thick fingers and lifts the fabric, exposing my stomach. Self-deprecating thoughts about extra skin and pregnancy stretchmarks snake their way to the forefront of my mind, but Judge doesn’t take his eyes from mine as he hangs the fabric over my breasts, exposing my white bra. “You can work off your debt another way.”
I scowl. “A clubwhore?”
He rakes his stare down my chest to my stomach, then back up. “Your choice.”
“I’d rather die than let any of you touch me.” I say it with venom, with as much malice as I can muster, but it dies quick when Judge grabs my biceps and yanks me forward, my body slamming against his. My fast, shallow breath dances over his face and the corner of his lips twitch as if he’s fighting the beginnings of a smirk.
“Afraid you might enjoy it?”
“I’m afraid I…” I swallow as tears sting my eyes. Shit. Crying at the drop of a hat is a new superpower of mine, thanks to my ex-husband. I’ve spent so long bottling my emotions up they now seep from the cracks.
And being here isn’t helping my anxiety. I inhale slowly through my nose as my chest tightens and my gut churns painfully. Get through it, I tell myself. You need to get through this. I clear my throat and sit back, lifting my chest off Judge’s.
To answer his smug comment, the men here scare me. They all scare me.
“I’m just afraid.”
Judge flexes his fingers against the armrests and turns his head to peer across the room. In the dim green lighting, shadows flicker on his jaw as he clenches and unclenches it.
“Your son is with his father,” he says eventually, still avoiding eye contact. “There are worse places he could be.”
“His father is a bad man.”
Judge whips his head in my direction and his dark, aggressive gaze kicks my heart rate up. “I’m a bad man.”
“But you’re not evil.”
“Is there a difference?”
“There’s a world of difference.” I inch closer, feeling as though I’ve got him on my hook. I just need to reel him in. He turns his head and I lean close to his ear. “I need you, Damon. Help me and I’ll be forever in your debt. I’ll do anything, be anything.”
It’s not a lie. I’ll happily suffer the rest of my life as a piece of meat for the Devil’s Cartel if it means Nicolás is safe, healthy, and happy.
“I don’t believe you.”
I cup Judge’s face in my hands and guide his head back to mine, until our noses graze. Nervousness and excitement twirl recklessly in the pit of my stomach. The desire to kiss the most powerful man in the building has no business creeping through my veins, but I can’t stop it. The need spreads like wildfire and he does nothing to discourage it. Judge moistens his full lower lip and tilts his chin, encouraging me to close the distance.
“Go on,” he demands. “Fucking kiss me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Liar.” He snatches my hair in his hand and yanks my head back, exposing my throat. “I’ll give you what you want, and you can say I took it if it’ll ease your guilt.”
He presses his nose to my collar bone and my breath hitches as he touches his tongue to my throat and licks me all the way up to plant a kiss on my jaw. Electricity dances across my flesh and the skin behind my ears pulls tight. Judge eases my head forward until our eyes lock. The shade of the room changes from green to red and his eyes darken like the sky before a deadly storm. My heart beats fast—at a speed I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
I tighten my grip on his face and crush my mouth to his. His lips twitch smugly against mine before he opens his mouth. When I open mine, h
e takes control of the kiss, shoving his tongue inside my mouth and squeezing me to him, forcing my hips to move against him. Judge moves his large, strong hands all over me, pinching and squeezing, appraising every inch of me. I’ve never felt so thoroughly appreciated as a woman and it leaves a thick swirl of confusion deep in my soul.
Judge breaks the kiss with an abrupt, disapproving growl. I pull back, blinking, letting my equilibrium sort itself out. When it does, I focus on the little baggie he holds in front of my face and the white, powdery substance nestled in its clear depths. My heart sinks.
“Cocaine.” He cuts his eyes at me. “You’re a druggie, bitch?”
The audacity of him to judge me given his line of work. It’s public knowledge, the amount of drugs distributed by the hands of the Devil’s Cartel, so he can shove his righteousness where it hurts. I shrug. “Sue me.”
He swears and stands up. I fall to the ground with a thud, only to be picked right back up and lifted onto his shoulder. I grip the edge of his leather cut and lift my torso. “Put me down!”
Judge ignores me as he storms from the dark room. I wince at the harsh light and pounding music—Slipknot—as he carries me into the main room again.
“Again, Judge?” someone shouts, and Judge tightens his grip on me.
“Shut up.”
“There she is.” A sharp slap on my ass sends pain searing over my left cheek and I yelp, gritting my teeth. “Bit off more than you can chew, Prez?”
“Fuck off, Modo.”
I spot Modo as we pass him. He grins at me, his blue eyes dancing mischievously. Lifting his large hand beside his face, he wiggles his fingers at me, a childish wave. I glare and flip him the bird, making him toss his head back and howl with laughter.
Judge marches down the hall to the very end and throws a door open. I gulp and hold on for dear life until I’m dropped from his shoulder and tossed away. My heart shoots up my throat as I freefall, and I bite my lower lip when I’m caught by a soft mattress. I hiss and lick my lip, lifting myself on my elbows. I scowl as Judge surges through the room toward an open far door. He flicks on the light and opens the lid to a toilet. I watch, silently, as he drops the bag of cocaine in and flushes it. He pins me with his glare, daring me to do something.