Callous Criminal (Vicious Vipers MC Book 3)

by Lynn Burke

  “Dasia, please, don’t do this.”

  She didn’t reply, and I forced my eyelids open to glance at my cell.

  She’d hung up.

  My stomach heaved again, and I dropped my phone, sprinting toward the bathroom. The first spew from my lips splattered on the tile floor alongside the toilet. The rest of my stomach contents landed where I’d intended, and tears poured from my eyes.

  I dry heaved, sobbing, the sense of failure, of absolute powerlessness flooding through me.

  Warmth lay on my lower back—Ryker’s hand—but I found no joy in the fact he’d found the strength to comfort me.

  I sank to the clean side of the toilet and curled into a ball.

  “What happened?” Ryker asked with such tenderness, more tears poured down my face to drip to the floor.

  “He raped her,” I choked out, surprised he hadn’t heard her over the phone.

  Curses spewed from his lips, and in that moment of time, I didn’t care if he left me, sped to Boston and sliced the fucker’s throat. Ted Griffey deserved to die a horrible death—but he deserved to have his dick sliced off and shoved up his ass before breathing his last.

  ****

  We did speed southward in his truck that night, but a call through to Stacey let me know Dasia had gone—and she hadn’t told her friend where she was headed.

  “For my own sake,” Stacey said, her voice as forlorn as the heaviness in my chest.

  “Do your parents know?” I asked, staring unseeing at the dark landscape outside the passenger window.

  “No—they were out to dinner with friends when Dasia came over.”

  “What happened?” I forced myself to ask.

  “I-I didn’t ask. She just showed up with a bruised cheek, sneakers untied, in shorts and a tank top.”

  I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. “She didn’t give you any hint about where she was going to go?”

  “None.”

  A heavy sigh emptied my lungs, and sucking air back in hurt. “Did you give her other clothes to wear?”

  “A backpack full.”

  “Money?”

  “I stole a few hundred from my dad’s stash in his desk he doesn’t think I know about.”

  “And what will you tell him when he finds it missing?”

  “I’ll say I took it for myself.”

  “If you hear from her at all or remember anything she said that might give her plans away, please call me.”

  “I will, Miss Pia. Promise.”

  “You’re a good friend, Stacey.”

  “Not good enough to make her stay.” Her voice broke, and feeling the same, I couldn’t offer comfort.

  I hung up and pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes, fighting off more tears and nausea.

  “Nothing,” I muttered, and Ryker remained silent as he’d been almost since Dasia had called.

  “I failed her.” Tears choked off my voice—and two slid simultaneously down my cheeks as Ryker reached over to grasp my hand.

  “We’ll find her,” he rasped out, and I clung to the single bubble of hope his touch, his words, instilled inside me.

  We drove around downtown, scoping the streets while waiting for Devil, the sneaky man, to hack into all sorts of places he had no business going.

  She hadn’t hopped a bus heading out of town. No airplane ticket showed up under her name.

  While she did have her license, I doubted she would steal a car to make her escape.

  Or would she?

  We stopped by Dunks and I managed to talk the manager into giving me Jesse’s number. He hadn’t heard from her, but promised to make some calls and put the word out.

  Twice, Ryker stopped at bars and disappeared inside for a few minutes. I knew he had contacts from his younger days in Southie, and thankfulness for him almost overrode my sense of failure.

  At two in the morning, I told him to take me home. We fell asleep on either side of the bed, our hands clasped in between us.

  I woke from the same dream I’d had earlier that week, and my churning stomach had me on my knees in front of my own toilet. I managed to swallow down the rising nausea, but didn’t attempt to leave the bathroom for a full ten minutes.

  Ryker met me with a cup of coffee—and my alarm went off.

  Monday morning. Work at the stifling office.

  I wanted to sob, but stuck my shoulders back and forced myself to face the world—and the shit that would hit the fan if I decided to open the can of worms. Useless, really. With Dasia gone and Ted Griffey being who he was, what could I possibly hope to accomplish?

  Nothing.

  Ryker told me he would do all he could, and that he would call me later.

  I needed a kiss goodbye, a quick hug and assurance everything would be okay. I got neither, and I left for work. Alone in my old Chevy. Heartbroken and defeated.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ryker

  Holding onto my rage for twelve hours was a record for me. I’d cursed when Pia had told me what happened, but I didn’t punch a wall. Didn’t make a single call to Vigil when I so badly wanted to.

  The second she drove off for work, though, I hit speed dial, watching through her living room window as she turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

  I’d made myself a plan while Pia had slept through the night, but with the severity of my plan, I knew I needed to talk to Vigil first.

  Once I filled him in on the phone call from Dasia, I didn’t hold back telling him I planned on ripping Griffey’s ball sack from his body with my bare hands. She wasn’t my kid, and I didn’t know Dasia personally, but that fucker had hurt Pia by his actions. I wouldn’t stand for it. Sure as fuck wouldn’t sit for it either.

  “Bring him here.” Vigil’s cold tone brooked no argument.

  Cold, completely cut off from all emotion, I agreed—and rang Devil to cover my ass.

  I glanced at the time on my cell once I hung up, and high tailed it back to Pia’s bedroom to grab the rest of my clothes.

  Ted Griffey always headed into work at nine, sharp—and I knew his assigned parking spot and the fucking genius computer whiz to shut every goddamn security down with the press of a key.

  Snagging him in broad daylight would be easy as fuck.

  His end? Definitely wouldn’t be easy.

  ****

  I ripped off the hood I’d tied over his head and slapped his face, ready for him to wake from the bash against the head that still tingled my hand.

  “Let me.” Vigil stepped past me and dumped ice water over the fucker’s head, soaking his blond locks.

  He twitched. Groaned.

  “Wake the fuck up,” I barked, kicking his shin as hard as I could.

  Griffey jerked upward in the chair, his eyes blinking open. “Ung…” he groaned around the gag stuffed in his mouth and held in place by duct tape.

  I kicked him again, and he cursed, his wince only the first taste of satisfaction I planned on bleeding from his body. I scowled as his head drooped once more.

  Vigil rounded the chair we’d tied him to, arms crossed, his focus on my face. He nodded, giving me the green light.

  I’d brought Griffey back to the Viper’s compound, bound and gagged, passed the fuck out, in the second seat of my extended cab where I usually kept tools and shit. I was lucky he’d stayed out so long even though I’d had every intention of pulling over to bash his head again if he woke.

  I’d hit him hard enough the second he climbed from his car in the parking garage, that I likely jostled his brain. Too hard, really, but my rage had gotten in the way. I was lucky he lived.

  He wouldn’t much longer, though.

  The low building at the back of the compound housed the cleaners things along with an incinerator for the stuff that couldn’t be wiped from existence when shit went down and we had stuff that needed to disappear. There were even a few freezers in the back room where we’d had to stuff a body or three for a time before getting rid of evidence of our criminal way
s.

  The Vipers weren’t named Vicious for shits and giggles. If a fucker messed with what belonged to us, or inadvertently hurt one of our own, they paid.

  Period.

  Vigilante justice, the doling out of punishment I fucking lived for. Outlaw bikers at their fucking best.

  “Wakey wakey, cocksucker,” I stabbed my knife through his hand tied to the wooden chair.

  Griffey screamed, blinking the haze from his eyes quick as fuck.

  “There.” I grinned although the joy in me banked on psychotic as I yanked my blade from between bones. “Now we can chat.”

  He blinked up at me with a deep groan, and I ripped the duct tape from off his head with one jerk, taking along some hair and a sweet as fuck scream.

  “How ya like them apples?” I asked, holding up the gag with his pretty locks plastered to it. “Bet those goddamn demons inside you aren’t too helpful right now are they?”

  Recognition lit in his gaze seconds before the stench of piss reached my nose. He fucking whimpered. “Please … I didn’t mean to hurt her. You have to believe me!”

  “You sick fuck.” I spit at his face, and he closed his eyes, crying like a pussy. “I told you not to touch her, but your weak-assed pussy self couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

  “Please.”

  I’d heard countless similar pleadings, and not a one had ever cracked through the thick callouses lining my soul. “Please?” I snorted a laugh and twirled my knife in my hand. “You really think I’m going to take it easy on you, you sick fuck?”

  “I’ll give you money—whatever you want!”

  I nodded at Vigil and leaned in close once he’d yanked the fucker’s head back by the hair. The stench of Griffey’s fear fed the animal inside me. “What I want,” I whispered while digging the tip of my blade into his cheek and he shrieked, “is to bleed you little by little.”

  I dug into his other cheek. “Crush one bone at a time. Peel the fucking skin off your body until the pain is what takes you to the depths of hell where you soul belongs.”

  His screams erupted louder—and didn’t stop until three hours later.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Pia

  Dasia had disappeared once more without a trace, and my hands were tied. She’d become nothing but another number, a statistic in a system that failed time and again.

  I told myself it wasn’t my fault—but I also cursed myself for not taking her in without the state’s knowledge. I should have hid her in my own home, consequences be damned. She’d ended up paying the price for my mistake, and I couldn’t forgive myself.

  I didn’t hear from Ryker all that day, and he wasn’t at my apartment when I got home, exhausted and still half-sick. He didn’t answer his cell, so I left a message asking him to please call me, before passing out in my bed.

  The next morning, disappointed to be waking alone, I turned on the TV while making my coffee, dreading hearing about a young woman’s body being found in some alleyway—same as I’d done for months after Sophia’s disappearance and those weeks Dasia had taken off the first time.

  An hour later, I sat, hands clasped in my lap to keep them from shaking, my coffee churning in my stomach.

  Ted Griffey had gone missing, and his tearful wife didn’t say a damn word about the foster girl who had left them the day before.

  I swallowed—and lost the fight with my nausea, sprinting to the bathroom.

  Did Mrs. Griffey know what he’d done to Dasia? Did she think the two had fallen in love and run off together?

  I knew what he’d done—but so did a self-proclaimed cold hearted criminal I knew all-too well.

  After cleaning up, I tried his cell, my hands shaking.

  He didn’t answer.

  Tuesday, Mr. Griffey’s disappearance remained in the news, and Ryker still hadn’t returned my call.

  Rumors abounded about his having countless affairs—two women came forward to tell their story. Even more rumors rose about his taking off for Europe with his latest lover.

  Wednesday came, and I found myself hugging my toilet once more.

  Thursday, the same.

  Friday, I sat back on my heels after vomiting, swiping the back of my hand over my mouth, eyes clenched shut, silently cursing myself.

  Stress had often got the best of me and roused nausea, but never so many days in a row.

  I placed my hand on my belly and knew what caused my sickness even though it hadn’t been nearly long enough for me to be sick already. The condom he’d used the first time we’d had sex must have had a hole, and my birth control must have failed.

  An hour later, two little lines appeared on the stick that cost me too damn much, telling me what I didn’t really need confirmed.

  I carried Ryker’s baby.

  ****

  That night, I sat on my couch, hugging my pillow against my belly, staring out into the darkness, complete silence reigning over my apartment. I wanted to tell Ryker—needed to, but I couldn’t. I hadn’t tried him all day, but he hadn’t called, either.

  Was he done with me?

  Had that bit of comfort he’d offered me on Sunday night been too much for him to handle?

  He hadn’t touched me at all Monday morning, even avoiding my fingers when I took the coffee cup he’d held out to me. He’d been closed off, but so had I, too overcome with anxiety over Dasia to consider what he might be feeling.

  Jenny had been raped.

  Surely Dasia’s had hit him as would news of any other young woman’s abuse would have.

  I’d failed him, too. Failed to note his emotional reaction. Failed to make sure he was okay in the mess I found myself in.

  I closed my eyes, my throat tight, wishing hope bubbles that I guessed wrong about Mr. Griffey’s disappearance would spring to life.

  A knock sounded, and I heaved a sigh, expecting my elderly neighbor needed a cup of sugar—something she inquired over at least one a month. I peered out the peep hole, and my breath stalled out.

  Ryker.

  He hunched in a bulky gray sweatshirt, his gaze lowered, his head covered by a few days’ worth of scruff.

  I wanted to talk to him, yet I didn’t…

  I unlocked and pulled open the door.

  He let out a heavy breath as he lifted his head and focused on my lips. “Pia.”

  Unsmiling, I stepped back and motioned him in.

  “How are you?” he asked as I shut the door behind him.

  “We need to talk.” I moved around him to the living room and curled back up in my corner, pillow against my belly.

  He sat slowly—warily, almost, without meeting my gaze.

  “Ryker. Look at me.”

  He lifted his head, and I knew.

  So much for those hope bubbles. My heart sank, but I still needed his words of confirmation. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  My throat swelled quick as lightning, and I clasped a hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing with disappointment, with pissiness, with bitterness, and every other imaginable emotion a pregnant woman does.

  “I never lied about what I was, Pia.”

  “You’re a murderer!” I half-shrieked, beyond rational, regular hormonal thinking.

  “The fucker deserved it,” he bit out, his eyes hardening to steel. “Just like the man who stole my sister’s innocence!”

  Confession from his lips.

  I stared, tears rolling down my face, every feeling I’d had for him, every emotional connection, straining tight against the reality I carried a killer’s baby. My stomach didn’t care for the truth, and I hopped up, hurrying for the bathroom, tears rolling once more.

  “Pia!”

  “Just leave!” I hollered, slamming the bathroom door and dropping to my knees as vomit spewed from my between my lips.

  I gagged. Heaved. Whimpered and bit back sobs.

  “Pia?” Ryker said through the door, but I clenched my eyes shut against the fear, the hurt inflected in
his voice.

  “Go,” I whisper-groaned loud enough he would hear.

  Minutes later, my straining ears made out the front door clicking shut, and I broke down once more in a hormonal pity-party I felt I deserved.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ryker

  I stayed away out of uneasiness that crept over me for hours after finally slitting Griffey’s throat. No guilt over ending the fucker’s life, but fear over the fact I knew Pia wouldn’t approve, wouldn’t understand my need to end him. I didn’t doubt she would figure it out.

  From the first news alert of his disappearance, I worried. Acid ate at my stomach, and I didn’t have the balls to return Pia’s calls. For almost the entire week, I’d been tempted to drink whiskey like water, but thoughts of how my father’s downward spiral started kept me from even starting.

  I might be a murderer, but I refused to be a man without control.

  By Friday night, I couldn’t fucking deal any more. I needed to hear her voice, needed to talk to her, see her, hell, I even felt the need to touch her—beyond with my dick.

  So much for that goddamn control, but at least it had been for a woman rather than oblivion.

  I’d shown up at her apartment looking for comfort. Needing the calm she brought—and she set me aside.

  Didn’t want me.

  Fucking broke the heart I thought I’d kept locked up.

  I made some calls before leaving Southie, though, hitting up a few of my old crew guys, hiring them to keep an eye on her, her goings, her doings. I also returned two days later during the night to put a tracker on her car so Devil could keep watch, too, if needed.

  Through it all, I remained sober as fuck, coffee my best friend, my only companion while at home.

  Two weeks. Two fucking long as fuck weeks, I stayed away like she’d told me to do, and my insides withered up to a husk, empty and dead.

  She never went to the police, and no badged assholes showed up looking for the remains of Ted Griffey, which they wouldn’t have found anyway. We’d incinerated the shit out of him, the clothes and boots both Vigil and I had worn along with the cleaners’ clothes after chemical-spraying down the entire interrogation room tossed in after he’d burned to nothing but unrecognizable bits. The ashes, we had a brother take out in the ocean and sprinkle into the wind while racing down the coastline.