Ride Hard: Deadly Scorpions MC

by Snow, Jenika

  Just like me.

  Just like everyone in this fucking town.

  But like everyone else, we all keep surviving, keep moving forward. Then again, most people don’t have an MC member chained up in the basement of their house, his cold, hardened eyes tracing their every movement.

  They also don’t have to wonder if they’re terrified … or if arousal is at the forefront.

  But I know… and it scares the shit out of me.

  Chapter Eight

  Ride

  “He hit you.”

  I look at the girl and wait for her to respond, to react to what I said. I didn’t do anything more than state the obvious.

  “Wasn’t the first time, won’t be the last,” she says so matter-of-factly I have the strongest urge to shake her, to make her see reality. I don’t know her, but does she think this is a good life? Why in the fuck is she here if this is what she lives with day in and day out?

  “You have to help me get free.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t have to help you do a damn thing. In fact, I’d venture to say helping you get free will mean my death, mister.”

  “You help me get out of here and I can protect you,” I promise her.

  Her cool gaze moves over me, and I can see she’s sizing me up. I can also tell she doesn’t trust me for shit. She’s wise not to. Most of the time, I’ll blow up shit just to get something to stick and then get my revenge. This time, however, I am completely serious. I will protect her. The bastard who waylaid me and hit her needs to die. His death would protect her, so in that respect, I’m not lying.

  “I can’t take a chance. It’s not just me who would pay the price if things blew up. Besides, I don’t know you, and I can’t trust you. I’m not stupid. I know you’re one of the Scorpions. Why should I trust you? For all I know, you could be just like Einstein.”

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult the fuck out of me,” I growl, unable to keep the anger and frustration out of my voice.

  “Whatever. Here’s some food. I have to get Mama settled and get ready for work,” she mumbles, her gaze avoiding mine.

  I watch her walk away, but I do it knowing she let some very important information out this time.

  Einstein.

  I now know who’s behind this shit. Einstein is a small-time junkie who tried to pedal his meth in our territory. We should have killed him and instead opted to teach him a lesson so we wouldn’t draw the attention of the state police. I have a few guys on the inside, and the county pretty much turns a blind eye, but I don’t need shit breathing down my back right now, when we’re about to do some major expanding when it comes to club business.

  Now, I realize my mistake. I thought Einstein was smart enough to learn his lesson. I’m going to take great pleasure in killing the motherfucker. My only stumbling block is figuring out what I’m going to do with the girl and her mom. She’s a pretty young thing. How she could be related to Einstein is a mystery. That motherfucker is ugly all the way through.

  I grab a banana off the plate she left and start trying to form a plan. I’m going to have to convince the girl to help me and soon. I don’t need Einstein to go on a meth binge and decide he has the balls to try to kill me as well as his sister. Time is of the essence here.

  I just need to figure out how to reach the sweet little blonde.

  I don’t usually have a problem getting women to do what I want. Hell, when most of them find out I’m in charge of the Deadly Scorpions, they fall all over me like annoying flies. This girl is definitely different, probably because she’s so young, so inexperienced. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve needed to seduce a woman to get what I want, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it when I need to.

  I’ve seen the interest in her eyes, the curiosity. I can’t pretend I don’t have the same reaction to her, despite her age and the circumstances.

  Yeah, it’s definitely time to make my move. I can’t afford to wait on a tweaker like Einstein. Not at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Langley

  I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling that’s stained and old, discolored. I pull the blanket closer to my chin, hearing the machines Mama is hooked up to come through the walls. At this point, it’s almost comforting hearing them, because I know she’s still with us, with me.

  I close my eyes and try to relax, but all I can think about is the biker downstairs, the fact that he offered to help me, to get rid of Einstein. God, I want him to help me desperately, but at the same time, I know it’s too dangerous. I don’t care about me. I care about what will happen to Mama if I cross that line.

  I think about him touching me, looking at me. Something must be wrong with me to have any kind of desire for him, but I can’t help it. He’s masculine and dangerous, making me feel alive. For the first time in my life, I feel something more than hate and fear, more than pain and worry. I like what he brings out in me, despite the fact that he’s dangerous and violent and can kill me without a thought.

  He turns me on like nothing else in my life ever has.

  I could have let myself fall asleep if I had enough time, but the sound of Einstein coming home, of him slamming the front door shut, has me snapping my eyes open and staring at the nasty ceiling again. My heart jumps in my throat as I hear him move around the house, hoping he isn’t too drunk or so high he bothers me.

  That is a common occurrence with him. I tighten my hold on the blanket and stare at the bedroom door, my pulse starting to race ever-so-slightly. As far as I know, he hasn’t gone down to the basement. I don’t know what he’s waiting for. Maybe he wants to starve the man to death? Although he doesn’t know I’ve been sneaking food and water down to him. I don’t even want to think of what he will do to me if he finds out.

  There is a moment of silence, and I think maybe he passed out. But then I hear him coming down the hall, closer to my bedroom. I sit up slightly and rest my back against the wall, my bed made up of just a mattress. I don’t have the luxury of even a frame for it, much less a headboard. But I don’t need it. I don’t need much to survive, in fact.

  His footsteps stop, and I look at the bottom of the door, that small space where the wood doesn’t meet the floor. I can see the shadow of his feet, twin darkness that has my heart stopping for a moment. My throat is dry, tight. I don’t know what he’ll do. If he’s in a foul mood, anything can set him off. Hell, even not having any food in the house is somehow my fault, so much so I get slapped around for it.

  But then I think about Mama, how I’d rather he put that aggression toward me, because I can’t stomach the very idea of him laying a hand on her. She’s vulnerable and helpless, and I’m the only one who can protect her.

  Please just go to bed. Please don’t start shit.

  And then I see the shadows of his feet move away, and I breathe out a sigh of relief, resting my head on the wall, closing my eyes for a second. But that relief is short-lived as my bedroom door swings open. I snap my eyes open and stare at him, his body blocking the exit, his form taking up the space between the doorframe. The light from the hallway illuminates him from behind, casting the front half of him in shadows.

  I can practically smell the weed and booze coming from him, and I have no doubt he’s high as a kite from crack or heroin, probably both.

  I say nothing, don’t even provoke or instigate him. Any little thing I say will be taken out of context.

  “You going to bed?” Einstein asks softly, his voice slurred.

  He stinks of body odor and cigarette smoke. He takes a step inside my room, and I press my back more firmly to the wall.

  “You’re high. You should go sleep it off.” My voice is soft. I don’t want him to know I’m scared of what he may do.

  But he says nothing, just comes into my room, shuts the door, plunging us in darkness. My heart is racing now, and I try to get off the bed, but before I know what’s going on, Einstein is on the mattress. He smells so bad, greas
y and sweaty, intoxicating like a brewery. I feel like I’m getting drunk from his breath alone.

  “Einstein, you need to go,” I say harder this time, knowing if I don’t stop this now it’ll only get worse until I have no power, no strength.

  “Shut up, bitch,” he says harshly and tries to grab my hands, tries to pin me to the bed. I bring my knee up and successfully nail him in the balls.

  He grunts, and I can see he’s about to hit me, but I roll off the bed, falling to the ground, my head smacking against the hardness. The pain is instant, but I don’t stop to take it in. I’m off the floor and sprinting toward the door, knowing I have to get out of here, let him sleep it off, let him forget about this.

  And he will.

  But before I can reach the door, Einstein grips a chunk of my hair, yanking my head back. My body is flung backward, my ass hitting the floor. He drags me over to the bed, lifts me off the ground with his hand tangled up in the strands, and tosses me on the mattress.

  I instantly start kicking out, connecting with his body before he grabs my feet and spreads my legs.

  No. No. No. This is not going to happen.

  I am not going to be his victim anymore. I’m not going to let him fuck me over.

  He starts mumbling incoherent things as he goes for the button of his dirty, torn jeans. I fling my arms back, reaching for anything I can use as a weapon. I don’t have end table or really anything as decor, but I do have a lamp, one that is on the floor, close enough to me that I can grab the shade and pull it toward me, the light tipping in my direction enough that I can bring it up.

  I yank it out of the wall, the cord slamming against the side of the mattress. And then I curl my hand around the base without thinking anymore, swing it, and hit it upside Einstein’s temple.

  He stills, stops his movement as he looks down at me, his eyes dazed. But I don’t know if it’s from the head injury or the fact that he’s high. I’m breathing hard, my heart racing. On instinct, I crack him on the side of the head again with the lamp.

  I’m about to kick him away from me, to hit him with it once more, when he falls backward, the sound of his skull hitting the floor echoing in the room.

  I’m frozen in place for long moments and then slowly sit up, the lamp still in my hand and ready to be used as a weapon again. The moonlight comes through the window, illuminating his body on the ground. He’s face-down, his head turned away from me, but the unmistakable sight of blood on the ground is visible. It looks dark, black, like ink has been spilled.

  I hold my breath and move to the edge of the mattress, my feet now touching the floor. I force myself to stand, still holding onto that lamp, expecting any moment that he’ll rise up and attack me like I’m in some bad horror movie. But he doesn’t move. He’s not even breathing. I’m tempted to see if he’s got a pulse, but the truth is I don’t give a shit. I hope he’s dead.

  I set the lamp on the mattress and inhale deeply, this weight lifted off me. I feel relief, pleasure even. But then reality slams back into me. If he’s dead, what am I to do with the body? The police will take me away, even if it was done in self-defense. And how can I prove it was? How can I prove anything?

  And as I stare down at his lifeless body, at the blood pooling around his head, all I can think about is one thing, one person.

  Him. A motorcycle club president. A prisoner.

  He can help me, can help me clean this up.

  I turn and look toward my bedroom door, hear Mama’s machines finally pierce through the haze that surrounds me.

  He can help me, and I just have to accept that at the end of it all, he may kill me.

  Chapter Ten

  Ride

  Sleep.

  I never get much of it. Too much shit moves through my mind at night. And being a prisoner in this damn house makes sleep impossible. I’m not closing my eyes in this shit hole. I’m worn out; that’s for damn sure. But planning Einstein’s death keeps me focused.

  That’s the main reason I’m wide awake when the girl comes back in. Her face is pale as a ghost, she’s trembling, and it looks like her lip has been cut, like someone hit her. That infuriates me, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why I give a shit about her.

  Her hair is mussed, and not in the sexy way that suggests a woman has been sleeping with her man. She looks terrified. If that isn’t enough to set off warning bells, the way her nightgown is torn and hanging off her arm, exposing the swell of her breasts, has red flags coming to attention inside me. My entire body tightens as I sit up straighter.

  “What’s wrong?” I growl, rage pushing through me, because I’m pretty sure I know what’s happened before she even opens her mouth.

  “I need your help,” she says so quietly I almost don’t hear her. I doubt she realizes her voice is trembling, but it is.

  I shouldn’t be worried about the girl, but I am. Still, there’s not much I can fucking do unless she lets me go. I rattle my chain to emphasize the point I’m kind of stuck as I look at her.

  “Not much I can do, darlin’, unless you’re going to set me free.” I lift a brow in challenge.

  She looks at me with her wide eyes, terror still in them, and it’s so stark on her face that it makes me sick. And then I see a single tear slide down her cheek. Although she isn’t bawling, I know her tears are from fear and not because she’s sad.

  She’s petrified, and I know it’s because of that junkie bastard.

  I’m so going to enjoy killing this motherfucker, Einstein. He’s always been a waste of air.

  “You have to help me,” she says again, panic making her voice crack.

  “Maybe.” I shrug, lying through my fucking teeth. I’ll help her, but first she’s got to set me free. I can respect she doesn’t trust anyone, especially me. That pays in life, but I’m going to teach her to rely on me. I don’t stop to think about my plan—maybe because I don’t want to figure out what’s going on with me. There’s something about this girl that makes me care. That’s a weakness, and those have no place in my world, but I’ll deal with it later. “First, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

  “I killed him,” she whispers, her eyes so wide they look like saucers. Her body begins to tremble as if she just realizes the weight of what she asked.

  “You killed him?” I ask but keep my voice calm and clear, even though I’m surprised as hell. I can tell she’s gone a few rounds with that fucker. Fuck, did he rape her? Is that why her hair and clothes are like that?

  “I didn’t mean to.” She shakes her head back and forth furiously, as if she’s trying to convince herself it’s not real. “It was an accident. He was… he was trying to….”

  “Did he rape you?” Fuck, my voice is a rough growl of danger as I utter those words.

  “No,” she says quickly, more tears tracking down her cheeks. She reaches out and grips the support beam beside her, as if her knees are threatening to buckle. “He didn’t rape me,” she denies, her voice dropping low. But it’s still high pitched, her fear taking root inside her and refusing to let go. “He tried. I fought him and….”

  “You killed him,” I say matter-of-factly. Good. Let that fucker rot in the ground.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask, thinking it sounds like she’s already solved her own problem.

  “You have to help me hide the body,” she announces and takes a step closer to me, her expression and voice so clear, so resolved, that I’m almost afraid I don’t understand her. She stares at me expectantly.

  “Come again?” I ask, although I know exactly what she wants. But does she?

  “You have to help me hide the body. Mama depends on me. I can’t go to jail. I need your help. I don’t know what to do.”

  She’s running on fumes right now, adrenaline making her think erratically, frantically.

  “So, I help you and you let me free. Is that the deal?”

  “Yes. If you help me hide the body, you and I can part ways.” She l
icks her lips. “I mean, once you’re free, it’s not like I can chain you back up.” She takes another step closer to me. “Please. I don’t know what else to do and have nowhere else to turn.” She’s got her hands clutched in front of her, and I have no doubt they’re shaking. “We never have to see each other again,” she says. “We’ll go our separate ways and you know I’ll never bother you again, because you will know what I’ve done. I just…. Please, help me.”

  I study her for a minute. I know it hurts her to say please to me, maybe to even ask anything of me. This girl is not a person used to asking anyone for help.

  Although I’m making her wait for my response, I already know I’m going to help her.

  “I’m going to need to be free first.”

  She nods, and I see this weight lift off her when it’s clear I’m going to help her.

  Her gaze is full of fear. She’s in shock. Fuck, why do I hate seeing her like this? Why do I feel this tightening in my belly?

  Why do I want to protect her above all costs?

  She’s down on her haunches in front of me, holding the lock that secures me, staring at it, her hand visibly shaking. Then she blinks rapidly and whispers, “The key.” She lifts her head and stares into my eyes. “Shit,” she whispers.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, unable to fully hide my annoyance.

  “Nothing. I just have to find the key.” She stands. “I will,” she mumbles, turning to go back up the stairs. “It’s probably in his pocket,” I hear her say, but I don’t think she’s talking to me. She’s terrified of going back up there. I want to tell her not to worry about it, but I need free. We need that fucking key. Hopefully, she’s not wrong and she really did kill that sack of shit.