by C. L. Riley
“Oh, God. I’m not even going to ask.” She opens her cabinet drawer and grabs her key chain, removing one. We make a quick trade.
“My Mercedes is in the alley behind the shop. Please, don’t wreck it. My husband will kill me. One word of advice...sometimes not knowing is better.”
“Promise I won’t hurt your car. Thank you. I’ll call you later so we can trade.”
I don’t wait for any additional questions or words of caution, making a rapid exit through the staff door.
I’m in her immaculate Meredes and on my way home without my protectors. They won’t be expecting me for at least another hour.
Fighting to stay at the speed limit, I let Twila’s words roll around in my mind. I have no clue what’s going on, but I have a bad feeling. Jayde’s final warning isn’t helping either.
My phone buzzes...my old phone.
Over the past week, I started leaving it on. With Demon in Seattle and no one telling me what’s happening, I figure Dr. Martin might reach out if he feels threatened. I have no intention of answering him, but I will listen to messages. Maybe I can help the guys find him, anything to combat the useless feeling undermining my every decision.
Pulling the phone from my purse, I give it a quick glance. It’s a number I recognize immediately.
Cheryl.
I’ve been dying to talk with her. Surely, it’s okay now?
I’m almost home, though, so I wait, resisting the overwhelming urge to take the call. Seconds later, a vibration alerts me to a message left in the voicemail queue.
Once I handle the Rowdy situation, whatever it might be, I’m calling my friend. I need her now more than ever.
Dr. Martin
“I did it.” Cheryl hands over her cell phone, clearly unhappy with my request.
“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
“You don’t really want an answer do you?” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Besides, you sound like a cliché.”
She’s right. I don’t want her answer, and I don’t want her mouthy retorts either. Her attitude is beginning to wear on me.
At first I’d found her bravado, spunk, sass, whatever the hell she has, endearing and unique. Now I find it annoying. And because of my irritation, I’ve not only decided to put my plan into action sooner, I also invited a couple of friends to stop by.
I want my captive to understand she isn’t an esteemed guest but an enslaved whore, nothing more.
She is expendable, and though I may have kept my hands to myself so far doesn’t mean her reprieve will last. In fact, I expect my guests will make quite the impression and provide a much-needed fear-factor, something that has been lacking since our initial confrontation.
Dex’s increasing disapproval prompted me to act.
Losing his respect would force me to eliminate him sooner than intended. Cheryl Cunningham is not worth more than my valued helper. She’s never disposed of a body, disinfected a bloodstained floor, or cooked me a mouth-watering meal. She’s just another pretty face, yet she’s the face that will lure number 23 home.
But I must not forget; fear equals respect. And I require respect. That much I can admit.
I’ve gone longer than ever before without indulging my inner hunger, now gnawing at me like a ravenous vampire desperate for blood. Abstaining for Trina is becoming more than I can manage, but I refuse to give in to my desires.
I’m in charge. I say when, where, and who dies.
After today, I will no doubt earn Cheryl’s fear and respect, wetting my appetite just enough to sate my vampire. My restored confidence is not misplaced, because once she meets our visitors, the begging will begin.
No more snooty backtalk or better than attitude. Like Dex, she’ll understand, staying alive is dependent on her usefulness.
Useless people serve no purpose. They’re worthless, just like a lame horse that needs to be put down, regardless of flawless beauty, breeding, or even brilliance.
A distant chiming interrupts my silent sermon.
Cheryl stiffens and grabs the arms of her chair. An expression of uncertainty shadows her natural beauty, making my dick hard.
At last my self-assured captive is once again shaken. After several weeks, she’s had contact with no one but Dex and me. She is no doubt remembering my threats, the ones including various men using her body for their pleasure.
Dex taps on the door to dining room. “Your guests have arrived.”
After another glance at Cheryl, I wave Dex in. “Please, don’t keep them waiting.”
Brandon enters first, looking as seedy and sullen as always. Towering behind him is the big Russian I’ve heard so much about but have never met. His reputation precedes him.
“Brandon, Demon, welcome to my estate. I’d like you to meet Cheryl Cunningham.”
Rowdy
“Fuck!” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop? We can wait for Doc. He’s not far.” Olympia doesn’t stop, despite her suggestion. Her touch is gentle yet firm, but it doesn’t ease the blistering pain that runs from my shoulder to my elbow.
I might have saved Fur Face, but I sure as hell am paying for my heroics now.
The gash is deep and will need stitches. The other cut, lining my jaw, stings, but I have no doubt it looks worse than it feels.
The Soul Scorchers are currently escorting my former brothers out of town, ensuring they don’t make any stops along the way. I wanted to tag along, but I was bleeding heavily. Boone was right to leave me behind. Had roles been reversed, I would have done the same.
“I talked to Wolf, Trina’s fine. She’s still at the salon, in case you’re wondering.”
Nodding, I close my eyes as she adds more antiseptic to my arm wound. I can feel my heartbeat all the way to my fingertips. It pulses in time with the throbbing pain.
“She’s gonna be pissed and scared.”
Olympia’s right. She will be. How has everything gone to shit so fast?
“You going to tell me what happened? Boone will, but maybe it will help take your mind off what I’m doing.”
This time I sigh. I know Olympia. She’s not going to leave me to suffer in silence.
“They ambushed me. Threatened my cat. Confronted me about my relationship with Boone and Bones, you know the basics, insults and accusations before starting the beat down. Six on one. They’d already determined I was a traitor and were eager as fuck to burn off my Guardian tattoo. About the time they got me face down, pinned to my dining room table, your ol’ man rode in like the Lone Ranger, only he wasn’t alone. He had backup, and they had bigger guns.”
“I’m surprised no one got shot.”
I nod again, letting my mind visit the moment when my former enemies saved my ass.
“You got quite the party goin’ here. And seeing how we weren’t on the guest list, I thought we’d crash it instead of waiting around for an invite.”
Face down with a hot torch inches from my shoulder, I recognize my half-brother’s smug tone. I’ve never been so glad to hear the cocky SOB.
My so-called men spin away from the table to deal with the threat. The problem for them, they are outnumbered and outgunned, and the Soul Scorchers have already surrounded them.
I can’t figure out why the Guardians didn’t have a lookout, unless they’d tasked Twila with that job too. Whatever the deal, they’re going to be facing some pretty unhappy brothers in Eugene. Because after I’d lunged for Hippy, spearing him to the floor and earning my latest war wounds, I secured the information I needed.
Snoop didn’t have club approval. He’d acted without a vote, without Demon’s knowledge, his decision based on Crusher’s manipulative tactics and quest for power.
“What else?” Olympia prompts, handing me a bottle of water.
After a long drink, I finish my summary. “Considering I was bleeding all over the place, Eggs worked on slowing the blood flow while Boone explained how and why the Hells Guardians
would approve my release while maintaining the truce I’d negotiated previously with Bones.
“Spyder just happened to have updated financial statements on hand. Once they understood all cash flow was connected to me and is legally under my control, everyone was real open to granting my request, without further bloodshed, of course.
“I’ll update Demon, and we’ll go down and make my exit official. But they understand, should anything happen to me, money with my name attached dries up, leaving them bankrupt. If that’s not enough encouragement, Boone promised immediate retribution. They’ll be broke and at war.
“As a gesture of my higher moral code, I offered to get new ink over my tattoo and turn in my cut. I also let them know Demon would be the uncontested president.”
“You gave a speech while bleeding to death.” She stops dabbing, and I open my eyes.
“Eggs had it under control. I was in shock. You know, the whole adrenaline thing. There’s more stipulations coming, they just don’t know it yet. Those fuckers today won’t be part of the Guardians for much longer. Once the other members realize what’s been going on, they’ll be voted out if they’re lucky, put in the ground if not. Option two will happen eventually no matter what the vote is.” I don’t mention how bad I want to pull the trigger, especially on Snoop and Hippy.
“I still don’t get how Crusher knew you were in Vegas.”
“One of Boone’s newer prospects did time with Crusher when they were kids. Juvie cellmates. Crusher was leveraging for a way back into good standing with the Guardians. He knew he was blacklisted from the Soul Scorchers. He escaped last time before they had a chance to finish with him, but you know that part of the story.”
“And Boone let him go free today?” Her voice waivers.
“Crusher isn’t going anywhere. Everything is under control. No more questions.” I start to reach for my face.
“Don’t touch! Doc should be here any second. Let me at least sanitize it. I’ve done all I can with your arm.”
Besides digging for details, Olympia’s doing a great job cleaning me up, but the only woman I want touching me or my injuries is my wife. As soon as Doc gets here, I’ll call and have Boone check on Trina personally. They should be almost done with their run through town.
I need to know she’s okay. I want her with me, where she belongs.
Trina
In Jayde’s Mercedes I feel anonymous. The fact her hair color is similar to mine helps. No one will recognize me, not without a lengthy appraisal.
Traffic is minimal, but I hear the distinct rumble of multiple Harley’s, at least ten or twenty. Unless I’m mistaken, they’re headed north, probably up 101. Maybe the Soul Scorchers are on a run. I’ve heard Rowdy and Boone mention making runs a number of times.
My head is starting to pound and my mouth is dry, sure signs my anxiety is on the rise.
The last time I played spy was in Seattle, searching for Dr. Martin’s stash of playtime pictures. I cringe at the memory. It’s been a prolonged process, stuffing those images into the deepest vault in my mind, where they’ve remained forgotten for weeks.
I’ve been so occupied with Rowdy. I’m ashamed to admit my concern for potential victims all but vanished.
Swallowing hard, I try unsuccessfully to ignore the guilt and combat the cottonmouth that has nothing to do with enjoying Oregon’s legal green. It occurs to me, I haven’t thought about smoking since coming to Seal’s Cove. One vice left behind.
My thoughts continue to skip from subject to subject, until I turn onto our street. The back of the beach house faces the ocean. I’m in front.
There’s scattered houses throughout our area, but our property is a good distance from the others. To the left, a plot of trees and tall grass fill an empty lot. I pull into the grassy area, hoping to hide my arrival and camouflage the car. The drive is too loud anyway; tires crunching across gravel would be like announcing myself with a trumpet.
My efforts don’t stop the prospect stationed out front from noticing me right away.
He gives me a chin lift when he recognizes who I am. He appears extra alert, no trace of the smile I’ve come to expect. His gaze sweeps the area, searching.
Something is wrong. Twila was right.
I let myself in the front door, making sure to shut it silently. Creeping through my own home, trying to catch my husband, doing God knows what, feels wrong on so many levels.
I don’t get far before I’m face-to-face with one of my worst nightmares, and it’s taking place in broad daylight while I’m wide awake...if only I was dreaming.
Rowdy is standing, his back to me. His hands are resting on a woman’s shoulders. From their position, I can’t see everything, but I know she is leaning into his face, her hand resting on his cheek.
“She’s going to be upset,” the woman says, a woman I know well. A woman I call friend, best friend even.
“I’m going to explain how it happened. There’s no hiding this.” Rowdy’s reply slices through my heart like a jagged blade.
I take a step back, and another. It’s obvious they’ve rediscovered the lust, love, whatever it was they shared. If I don’t kill my husband, Boone surely will.
I’m thirsty and I want my kitty, but I can’t let them know I’m here.
Rowdy will care for the cats. He owes me that much. Once I’m settled, I’ll retrieve Scrooge, Fur Face too, if he doesn’t want her.
The first thing I need to do is hit the bank. I’m drawing out as much money as I can. Rowdy paid me the million as promised, despite my arguing against it and citing the whole, we’re in love marriage-thing as reason not to.
Right now, I’m relieved he insisted we keep our original agreement. There’s an issue, though. Most of the money is in investments I can’t withdraw from immediately, and not without massive penalties. But I have over a hundred grand available.
My mouth might be parched but my eyes are welling up. I’m seconds from a breakdown.
Facts not feelings. Facts not feelings. My old mantra is back, playing through my mind like a theme song on repeat.
Okay, where was I? The bank...money. I will borrow Jayde’s car for now. Once I can rent another, I’ll find a way to return hers. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to leave.
Now.
Turning my brain on autopilot, I do what I have to in order to escape unnoticed.
Thirty minutes later, I have my money. I drive out of town, eager to put some miles between me and Seal’s Cove. It wasn’t so long ago I was putting miles between me and Seattle.
Cheryl. I can stay with Cheryl, at her place in Gig Harbor. A light bulb moment, yay! It appears all is not lost, after all. Just my marriage to a man I loved, still love.
Just peachy, my inner-sarcasm is alive and well.
I take a right into a crowded drive-through and order a jumbo ice water and large coffee. With my stomach churning, food is out of the question. Pulling into the nearest space, I find my old cell and hit the code for voicemails.
When she says my name, the tears I locked away escape, vanquishing my cynicism. I knew I missed Cheryl but didn’t realize how much. There’s a long pause before she explains the reason for her call. The longer she talks, the more tears fall.
When he yells my name in the background, I break into sobs.
Right in the midst of my present crisis and a fear-riddled future, my past has decided to ambush me. I wanted to slay the monster with Rowdy by my side, but that’s not going to happen.
Wait! Demon is in Seattle. He can help.
The flicker of hope my realization brings is instantly snuffed out. If I reach out to Demon, he’ll contact Rowdy. They’ll find a way to stop me, somehow triggering Cheryl’s execution. I won’t risk their interference, which means I’m on my own again, something I better get used to.
Leaving the restaurant in the review mirror, I wipe my eyes with one hand, and steer with the other; I have until midnight to call the number Cheryl left.
I�
��ll drive and think, and pray. I’m not sure what else to do.
There’s a good chance I’m going to die, but I swear I’ll take the doctor with me.
Cheryl Cunningham
The phony fearlessness I’ve tried to project is failing fast. I pushed too hard and taunted my captor beyond what he could tolerate. The two men, staring at me from across the room, are evidence of my failure and a demonstration of the power Dr. Martin has over me.
At first, Trina’s insane, former boyfriend seemed intrigued by my lacking fear. Considering the freak lied to me, drugged me, and knocked me unconscious within the first few hours of us meeting, terror would have been an appropriate emotion.
And don’t get me wrong; when I regained consciousness in the middle of the night, cuffed in bed with a madman, I was scared to breathe. But I soon discovered the doctor’s insanity presents in unusual ways.
It’s like he’s some wealthy, well-educated, instructor of evil...personal butler/sidekick and all. Like Jekyl and Hyde, he has two conflicted and contrasting sides. And his good looks and otherwise normal appearance make his brand of crazy seem less threatening. He reminds me of an evil comic book villain, creepy laugh included.
I realize terror is the correct emotion for victims waiting to die. Yet, until this moment, I’d somehow managed to hold on to hope. That miniscule mustard seed of faith, gave me just enough courage to be a bitch. Something I excel at under normal circumstances, hence the reason I have only one true female friend.
That friend is about to walk into a trap because of me.
I know she’ll understand why I didn’t resist calling her. I don’t want to die. And I have to believe, between the two of us, we’ll find a way to overcome her crazy ex and escape. If not, we’re both going to die, and our deaths won’t be painless or quick.
Not if the visitors are involved.
Days earlier, I was forced to view Dr. Martin’s prized portfolio. I completely disconnected from the graphic and gruesome pictures, my mind telling me they weren’t real. When I didn’t react, he shoved Trina’s collection in front of me.