Ride Hard: Deadly Scorpions MC

by Snow, Jenika

  The girl who just came in though… I’m not sure at all about her. She’s pretty—at least, she has the ingredients to be pretty. She’s got soft blonde hair that appears to be long, but it’s hard to tell from the messy twist of it all on top of her head.

  She’s got light-blue eyes, but there are dark circles under them that take away from their beauty. And she’s skinny, too skinny really. She needs to put some meat on her bones and make those curves fill out, because you can tell they’re there, begging for attention. She’s not tall at all, tiny really. I’m betting I’ll tower over her. But hell, she’s got nice tits; there’s nothing tiny about them. They’re big enough to wrap around a man’s cock in welcome. Too bad she’s so young. She might be too young for the thoughts her body sparks inside my brain.

  I stare at the food she pushed in front of me, wondering if it’s laced with shit. She didn’t look like the kind to fuck with me, but then again, I don’t know her. I decide not to touch it. I’ll wait to find out more about the girl before I put any kind of trust in her. But I give her credit for coming down here and facing me. She looked terrified I’d bust through these bonds and come after her. And the truth is, I would have if I could.

  But I can wait—I can bide my time. Maybe she’ll let something slip about why in the fuck I’m here.

  In the meantime, I look around the room for a way to escape. With my hands free, that’s going to be a fuck of a lot easier, but I’m still chained to the damn wall. I’ve already tested it, and there’s no way to break them. I’m going to need to cut through them somehow; that or convince her to find the key to the fucking lock attached to the chain and free me.

  I spotted the rusty old hedge trimmers earlier. I couldn’t do anything with my wrists tied together then, but with some work, I might be able to get them now.

  I use my hands to push and slide my ass across the dirty concrete. This place smells like my fucking bloodhounds when they’ve been out all night and come back smelling like they rolled in something that died.

  My anger festers. I’ll find out who in the hell had the balls to take me, and once I do, I’m going to fucking kill them.

  It takes some work, because it’s mostly dark and my memory is cloudy at best on where the fuck those clippers were, but I manage to find them, after straining my guts out and feeling the chains bite into my flesh. I carefully inch back to where I was. I’m thankful the chain around me has enough of a lead, but it’s fucking tight as hell, and I think I cracked a fucking rib to get my hands on these clippers.

  It takes all the strength I have to get the damn blades to separate. They’re rusty and corroded as hell. I open and close them repeatedly, trying to loosen them up enough so they can actually do what they were made for… to cut through shit.

  I don’t know how long I work with it, but eventually I get tired and decide to see if it will even help. I put one of the blades against the chain, seeing if I can cut the rusted links. I frown when it makes zero headway. This isn’t going to work at all.

  Fuck.

  I want to throw the piece-of-shit cutters across the room, but I don’t. I keep them, sliding them behind me. They might not cut my chains, but they’ll sure as fuck cut through flesh. That I can make sure of.

  I lean against the wall and decide to try to sleep. There’s nothing more I can do and I need to keep my strength up. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll find out more on who the hell took me, what he wants, and then I can try to formulate a plan better.

  I don’t know who took me, but they must not know what the MC will do when they find him. But he’ll soon find out.

  I close my eyes, but instead of being smart and planning my revenge, I starting thinking about the little blonde who came in earlier and wonder just how she fits into this puzzle.

  Chapter Five

  Langley

  A day has passed since I’ve gone down into the basement where Einstein is keeping the biker. Last night, he’d been too messed up to even realize what I’d done, which is a plus for me, because I really don’t want to get into it with a meth-head. I’ve been watching, but I don’t think he’s has gone down there and checked on him at all.

  I can hear Einstein in the other room making a drug deal, and I hate that Mama and I are here having to live through it. I fucking hate him, not just for all the shit he’s put us through over the years, but for the fact that he now has gotten himself—and us by association—into deep shit with a motorcycle club.

  I still have no idea what he plans on doing with the guy, and I should’ve stayed out of it. I know that, because this is dangerous all the way around. But the humane part of me has to make sure he’s okay.

  I hear the front door open and close then turn my attention to Mama, seeing her soundly asleep, a peaceful expression on her face. Oh, she knows what her son is up to, and I know she hates it as much as I do. But at this point in her life, in her condition, there’s nothing she can do about it.

  And that’s where I come in.

  I tuck the blanket around her even more and stand, walking toward the bedroom door and quietly opening it. I don’t hear anything, and so I open it farther and step out, peeking my head around the corner, seeing the kitchen and living room are empty.

  With one more glance back at Mama, I shut the door as quietly as I opened it and make my way into the kitchen. Surely, the MC president has finished his food and can use more and some fresh water.

  After grabbing an apple and a bottle of water, as well as heating up one of those ham and cheese pocket things in the microwave, I open the basement door. Thankfully, I went grocery shopping this morning, of course having to use the money I earned, because Einstein only brought the prepackaged crap into the house.

  I stand at the top of the stairs for a second and look down. At first, I don’t hear anything, but then the sound of the chains rattling has my heart beating faster.

  Taking the basement steps slowly, I make my way down them one at a time, and when I’m at the landing, I look over to where I know he’s sitting. He already has his focus trained right on me, his back against the wall, his legs outstretched. His hands are in his lap, and I swear the power that comes from him is so evident I can feel it taking over my body.

  Even in this situation, he is calm and collected, reminding me of a lion about to attack.

  I swallow in fear and hesitation.

  This man can crush me as if I’m nothing more than an annoying bug.

  “Hi again,” I say and feel like a fool for saying anything at all, as if we’re friends and I’m greeting him for lunch. He doesn’t respond, but then I don’t expect him to.

  I walk over toward him and hold up the food and water bottle then glance down at the uneaten pizza and untouched glass of water. I feel my brows furrow in confusion but don’t bother asking why he didn’t eat or drink. He’s smart, and I realize maybe he thought I tampered with it. And I know no amount of me trying to convince him otherwise will change that.

  I keep my gaze on him as I walk a few steps closer then crouch and reach out for the plate and glass of water. I set the new food down within his reach and quickly stand, taking several steps back to keep my distance. But still, he doesn’t move, just watches me as if he’s trying to read me, as if he’s formulating his plan. I don’t blame him. If I were in his situation, I would too.

  I stand there for another few seconds before finally turning and making my way toward the stairs. I’m about to take the first step when I hear the chains rattling.

  “Why am I here?” His voice is deep and harsh, very masculine.

  I look over my shoulder at him, swallowing roughly, curling my hand around the wooden banister of the stairs.

  “Who the fuck are you people and why did you bring me here?” he asks again and sits up straighter, his voice harsher, more aggressive. But it’s as if he catches himself, and his expression softens ever-so-slightly, although I don’t think this man could ever really look soft.

  I face him once more and take a cou
ple steps toward him, knowing better than to get too close. “I haven’t tampered with the food, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I look down at where I set the water and food. “If you don’t trust me, you can see the water is still sealed, and the apple… well, it’s an apple.” I shrug. “The sandwich pocket, I just heated up.”

  Still, he says nothing, and a part of me knows he doesn’t care about any of this. He wants to know why he’s here, because then he can decide what to do, which will probably kill us all.

  I smooth my hands up and down my jeans. “I’m nobody,” I say honestly. Still, he doesn’t move, doesn’t respond.

  After a moment, he glances over at the water and food and shifts slightly, which makes me take a step back. He stops moving and glances at me, the corner of his mouth rising slowly, as if he’s amused I’m terrified. While holding my gaze with his, he reaches out, grabs the water, and pops the cap so you hear the snap of the seal being broken.

  He never once takes his focus off me as he chugs the water, finishing the whole thing in one go. Then he goes for the apple. When it’s in his hand, he rests back against the wall, biting into the flesh, the crack of his teeth breaking the skin seeming to echo throughout the basement.

  “I’m sure you’re someone,” he finally replies in between eating the apple.

  I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know why he took you.” I hear the sound of a door opening and slamming closed and glance at the ceiling, my heart racing, fear closing in. The heavy fall of footsteps pounds right above me.

  Einstein is home.

  If he catches me down here, it won’t be good. It’ll be even worse if he’s high, which he most likely is. Einstein isn’t shy about slapping me around when he’s strung-out on crystal, and this will set him over the edge. He may be a nasty junkie, but he’s stronger than I am.

  I can feel the fear pouring out of me as I listen to those footsteps move from one room to another. And then I hear the front door open and close once more. I exhale slowly and look back at the man. He’s watching me with this strange expression on his face.

  “If he catches me down here....” I shake my head, a cold, clammy sweat breaking over my body.

  “Get the key and let me go, and I can protect you from him.” His voice is smooth and calm.

  But I know he can’t protect me. As soon as he’s free, he’ll come after me. His MC will destroy us, because we are connected to Einstein.

  “I don’t know where the key is,” I say honestly, although I assume Einstein has it on him at all times. “I’m sorry,” I whisper and turn to leave, not looking back even though I can feel his stare on me the entire time.

  Chapter Six

  Ride

  I watch the girl disappear, and long after she’s gone, my gaze is still glued to the door. I learned quite a bit just now, but not enough. Whoever it is who took me, she’s afraid of him. I’ve stayed alive by reading people, and the fear I saw on her face went bone-deep.

  She’s terrified, and yet she’s risking everything to bring me food and water—hell, to just be down here. That seems strange to me. Usually, in my dealings with people, they think of themselves first. It’s that instinct to survive that drives them. This girl is risking everything by bringing me food. I’m still not sure what her angle is, but I figure she has one. Still, she’s got compassion in her, and I can use that to my advantage.

  I finish my apple and toss the core against the wall opposite me. It bounces off the cinder block and rolls an inch away. I stare at it for a second, thinking of what I’m going to do. This place is even worse with light filtering through the small rectangular windows at the top of the cinder-blocked walls. The glass is dirty as fuck, but dingy light still filters down. This place is even more of a shitshow than I initially thought. At least it’s big. I fucking hate small, tight spaces.

  Well, unless it’s a woman’s pussy.

  The thought would make me smile if I weren’t in the damn mess I’m in. The girl’s face comes to mind, and not for the first time I have to wonder what it is about her that’s gotten my attention.

  I slowly scan the entire room, hoping to find something to cut this damn chain with. There’s nothing close that I can see. There’s a hacksaw across the room, and if I can somehow talk the girl into helping me, I just might be able to use that. I file that information away for future use.

  My head jerks up when I hear yelling. The sounds are faint and muffled, and as a result, what I hear comes out in broken words.

  “…told you… stupid bitch…”

  The voice is male, and he’s definitely angry. I hear some muffled movement and then a girl crying out. I instinctively know the female is the one who was here. Anger surges through my blood, because I know he’s hit her. There’s the sound of furniture scooting across the floor, as if she fell against something.

  “…your fucking nose… business…”

  I hear the sound of glass shattering and then the slamming of a door.

  I sit there a few more minutes, listening and waiting. It doesn’t take long before I hear the sound of the girl crying. It’s strange, and I don’t know how it’s possible, but the sound of her misery and knowing she’s crying, big tears probably slipping down her cheeks, is ten times louder than the screaming fight earlier.

  I don’t have a way to know how long it lasts, but I figure the girl cries for at least ten minutes, although about halfway through she was moving around, putting furniture back in place. She’s got spirit, I think, but she’s been beaten down so long it’s hard to tell for sure if it’s fire in her veins or just the will to survive.

  I can hear her muted mumblings coming as she moves around up there. Knowing she’s slipping me food and risking that asshole’s wrath shows me that she isn’t a piece of shit like the life surrounding her. The mystery with this girl just keeps getting more and more confusing.

  I lean back against the wall, wondering what the men of my club are doing. They’ve had to discover I’m gone by now. Did they see anything on the surveillance cameras? Will they know where to find me? The questions keep firing off in my head, and all I can do is get more frustrated, because I have no damn idea what is going on.

  I let my rage focus on one person—the man who took me. I figure the asshole will make his appearance down here soon enough, and I’m just waiting for it. I’ll be prepared for it. For him.

  I want to see the face of the person I’ll take great pleasure in killing.

  Chapter Seven

  Langley

  I can’t concentrate, not when all I can think of is the man down in the basement, not when I want to help him but also know he’ll kill me in the end. My life is a mess. A fucking mess.

  Pain throbs on the side of my face from when Einstein threw the plate at me yesterday. Asshole. I tried to cover the bruise with makeup before I went to work, and of course I failed miserably. I don’t even know how to put it on, but Mama had some old-as-hell makeup in her bathroom from before she got sick.

  I look at myself in the mirror, the bathroom dingy and dirty, the once white tiles having a dirty and yellow cast over them. The fluorescent lighting above me flickers as if it’s struggling to hold on to life.

  I tip my head back and look at it. “Same here,” I whisper.

  I look back at my reflection and sigh. The mirror has cracks in it, age showing through. And the girl who stares back at me looks run down, tired, and broken.

  I turn my head to the side and look at my cheek, the bruise starting at my temple and ending right by the corner of my mouth. Einstein had come home high and drunk, per usual, already pissed about something. He demanded I make him food and go check on Mama. I didn’t argue and just did what he wanted, because in the end it was easier than fighting.

  But because the food hadn’t been hot enough, he’d thrown the plate at me, the chipped ceramic hitting my face hard. The pain had been instant, a cry spilling from me. And he sat there and laughed, calling me a
slew of disgusting names. But I’m at the point in my life where his words mean nothing.

  I’m already this void, this darkness. He can’t say anything, do anything to me that hasn’t already been done.

  Then his temper tantrum started. More throwing shit, more yelling before he finally stormed out.

  Child. He’s a fucking child.

  But despite the foul words, the cruel life I lived, my survival, my self-preservation, has me holding on. It gives me hope, and is the reason I am still alive.

  Three loud raps land on the bathroom door, and I jump on instinct.

  “Get your ass out here. The bar’s getting packed and people need to eat.”

  I close my eyes and breathe out. Fucking Rick. The owner of this piece-of-shit dive bar is almost as big of an asshole as Einstein.

  I turn and open the door, the rock music no longer muffled from the closed door and slamming into me. Although smoking is no longer legal inside the bar, because of the years it had been, that stench is forever engrained in the stained walls.

  And as I walk out into the crowded bar filled with yet more drunken assholes, the only thing on my mind is the man waiting back at home with chains keeping him prisoner.

  My life is fucked.

  I make my way to the bar and grab a tray, setting the drinks on it and making my rounds throughout the room. I dodge several ass slaps, ignore the lewd comments, and then go back to the bar to do the same thing over and over again.

  I take a few food orders, give them to the kitchen, and then step back and take a breather. I stare at the patrons, at the grungy, disgusting men who are tossing back drinks, their greasy hair and faces matching their stained shirts and torn pants. Most of the men who come here work at the coal mine, coming here day in and day out after they clock out, getting drunk before they go back to their shitty little lives and their wives who know what pieces of shit men they are saddled with, but they had no other options.