Smiling.
Dancing.
Happy.
Deuce squeezed my hand. “Babe, go get busy with woman shit, I gotta talk to Ripper.”
Before I called him any one of the assortment of names I had stashed away for all of his chauvinistic bullshit I hurried off to a long table housing several different varieties of macaroni salad, chips and dips, pretzels and assorted veggies. Dorothy stood behind the table wearing a black apron over her cute pink sundress dishing out food.
I kicked off my sandals and went to help her.
“Hey,” I whispered, nudging her with my hip. “You okay?”
Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head. “I’m never okay when I have to watch him with her.”
I followed her line of sight to Jase, his wife Chrissy, and their three kids. Thirteen years he had been messing with Dorothy, she was thirty three now and he still hadn't made good on any of the promises he'd made her. She had left her husband for him; her daughter was sixteen, headed for college next fall and she was going to be all alone. It was none of my business but that didn't mean I had to like it.
“Take a break,” I suggested. “I got this covered.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re Deuce’s old lady.”
I shrugged. “So? I pretty sure that doesn’t mean I can’t serve noodles.”
Shaking her head, but smiling, she untied her apron and handed it to me. “Thanks,” She whispered and ran off. Jase turned away from Chrissy and watched her flee the barbeque and disappear inside the clubhouse. Frowning, he whispered something in Chrissy’s ear – who nodded and smiled - and took off after Dorothy.
“Eva?”
I turned back to the table and found Cox's ex-wife Anna standing in front of me. She’d cut her long black hair short; it looked good.
“Hey,” I said, “Dropping Mary Catherine off?”
She nodded and pointed to her preteen daughter who was laughing, chasing after Devin.
“Food?” I lifted up a plate in offering.
She wrinkled up her nose. “No thanks, I’m trying to lose weight.”
I looked her over wondering where she needed to lose weight.
“Hi Eva! Anna!” Chrissy was sauntering over. She was gorgeous. Tall, lithe, big perky breasts, long auburn hair. With her perfect tan and perfectly shaped and symmetrical features, she was an all American wet dream. She was everything Dorothy wasn’t. Hell, she was everything I wasn’t. Good thing I didn’t give a crap.
“Chrissy,” Anna said, greeting her.
“Are you two coming to Yoga tomorrow?” Chrissy asked, bouncing up and down in her cutoff jean shorts and tight white tank top, drawing the attention of every biker within thirty feet. Even Deuce.
I glared at him. He flashed me a mouth watering grin before turning around and resuming his conversation.
"Yep," I said. Chrissy and her yoga classes had been my saving grace. I had lost all my pregnancy weight and then some.
“Yep,” Anna said. “God knows I need it.”
I shook my head. Anna had gone a little nuts after Cox left her.
"Awesome!" Chrissy cried and started bouncing again.
“Where’s Dorothy?” ZZ bellowed from across the lawn, trying to be heard over the music.
I raised my palms in an “I don’t know gesture” and yelled back, “What do you need?”
“Lighter fluid!”
I gave him the thumbs up and headed inside.
I was halfway down the hall of bedrooms when I heard loud moaning coming from Jase’s room. I headed that way knowing exactly what I was going to find.
Sure enough, with his pants around his ankles, Jase had Dorothy pinned up against the wall, her dress pushed up to her waist.
“I fuckin’ love you,” He rasped. “You don’t even know D. You don’t even fuckin’ know.”
Dorothy, whose face was buried in Jase’s neck, whimpered.
Quietly, I reached around the door to press the lock button then silently pulled it closed; testing it to make sure it was indeed locked. Chrissy did not need to walk in on that.
Dorothy didn’t deserve to be led on either.
But it was typical. And there was nothing I could do.
A short time later Dorothy returned to the barbeque looking flushed. Together we watched Jase leave the clubhouse and head back to Chrissy. Chrissy curled herself around him while he stared at Dorothy, promising her with his eyes all sorts of things I knew he would never make good on.
“He's finally going to leave her,” She whispered, her eyes on Jase.
I pressed my lips together and looked down at the serving spoon in my hands. He was never going to leave Chrissy; he loved her in his own fucked up way. He loved Dorothy, too. He had whittled his female admirers down to just the two of them and had no plans on leaving either.
Thankfully, Deuce appeared beside me saving me from having to respond to her.
He looked quizzically between us then followed Dorothy’s gaze to Jase and frowned.
“D,” He said in a low voice. She glanced over and blushed.
“Sorry,” She whispered.
“Can’t have you pissin’ off my old ladies and makin’ shit hard for my boys, D.”
“I know,” She whispered. “I’ll go if you want.”
I dragged him a good distance away. “It’s his fault,” I hissed. “He followed her inside and did you know what!”
Deuce raised an eyebrow. “You know what?” He repeated, smirking.
I folded my arms across my chest and his gaze zeroed in on the cleavage that had just popped out of my deep purple sundress.
“Can we go do “you know what”?” He asked, grinning.
I rolled my eyes. “No.”
“Please?”
I fought my smile and lost. He ran his knuckles down my cheek.
"Got you a present," He said softly.
"A big sweaty man present?" I asked.
Deuce grinned. "That too. Come on."
He grabbed my hand, led me inside the club, past the bedrooms, through the living area, and pushed open the front doors.
"All yours babe."
I blinked rapidly. Then I forgot how to blink and just gaped at the priceless beauty in front of me.
"No," I whispered.
"Babe. Yeah."
Solid cast aluminum wheels, a beefy front fork and a wide-bodied fuel tank. Twin shocks tucked neatly out of sight, the rigid-mounted Twin Cam 96B engine, the chrome over/under dual exhaust, and the five-gallon fuel tank.
I was in shock.
"Boys who did the custom work gave me a whole lotta shit 'bout those sparkles darlin'. You fuckin' owe me."
It wasn't as if he'd had the entire bike custom sparkled. Just the seat and I absolutely loved it.
"I can't believe you remembered," I breathed, running my hand over my bike. My perfect, perfect bike.
"Cutest kid I ever met. And at Riker's no less. Talkin' 'bout sparkly Fatboys and pink fuckin' helmets with skulls on them and tellin' me straight up you were gonna be Queen of an MC. That was your dream babe. I'm your man. You feelin' me?"
Oh my god. He'd made me queen. Because he was my man and that was my dream. My man made my dream come true.
He got me my sparkly Fatboy.
And my pink helmet with skulls on it.
I turned, grinning so wide it hurt, and poked him in the chest. "You love me."
He snorted.
"Babe. Yeah."
I launched myself at him. Gripping my waist, he swung me up and into his arms. Our mouths crashed together and we kissed the way we always kissed, desperate, hungry, full of such crazed intensity, that if bottled could power an entire city.
Sheesh. He so loved me. Just…sheesh.
"Hey," I said softly and cupped his cheek.
"Yeah?"
“What about your dream?”
His face went dimples. “I’m lookin’ at it, darlin’.”
Oh. Crap. My heart felt near bursting. I was absolute
ly done for. This man owned me, body and soul, and everything in between.
“I wanna go do you know what now,” I whispered.
“That’s good babe,” He whispered back, “Real fuckin’ good.”
We fell onto our bed in a tangle, kissing feverishly, tearing at each other’s clothing. “Love you,” I breathed, “So, so much.”
He pushed the straps of my dress down my shoulders and spread kisses along my collarbone. His mouth traveled lower, his hands pulling my dress down as he went. I threaded my fingers through his hair, moaning, begging him for more.
Using the tip of his tongue he traced the scar from my c-section.
“Fuckin’ love you, baby,” He rasped.
Then he got to his feet and tugged my underwear off. Lifting my legs, I rubbed my grass stained feet over his bare torso and giggled.
Grinning, he unzipped his jeans. “You want it hard?” He asked gruffly.
I bit my lip and shook my head. “I want it slow, baby.”
His eyes went soft. “Fuck,” He murmured. “I just wanna look at you babe. I just wanna stand here and look at you until I can convince myself you’re really fuckin’ here and you’re not goin’ nowhere and you really want me.”
I closed my eyes letting his words sink inside of me.
"Get the fuck off her, mother fucker, before I blow a hole through your fuckin' skull."
My eyes flew open. I knew that voice.
Frankie appeared from behind Deuce and moved to his side, pressing the barrel of a gun into Deuce's temple. He was a mess. Filthy. His hair was greasy, his beard was long and unkempt, and his clothing was full of holes and covered in stains.
"Horseman!” Frankie bellowed. “I said back the fuck up!"
Nostrils flaring, his expression murderous, Deuce zipped up his jeans and backed slowly away. I hurriedly pushed myself into a sitting position and pulled my dress up.
"Don't fuckin' move cunt," Frankie hissed at me. Turning, he tossed a pair of handcuffs at Deuce who caught them one handed.
"Cuff yourself to the radiator," He demanded.
Deuce stared at him. "No fuckin’ way," He growled.
“No?” Frankie grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me across the bed. The barrel of his gun felt cool against my neck. “You want her to die?”
Shaking with fury, Deuce bent down beside the radiator under our bedroom window, clasped a cuff around one of the steel bars and the other around his right wrist.
Frankie turned back to me, grinning.
"Been watchin' you baby," He said. "Been watchin' you a long fuckin' time now." He leaned over the bed and got up in my face.
"BEEN WATCHIN' YOU FUCK THIS ASSHOLE!"
Trembling, I stared into Frankie's dark eyes. "You killed Chase. You butchered him."
"Yeah," He sneered, standing up straight. He shook his head and laughed. "Fucker screamed like a girl, too."
I felt the acidic burn of bile rise in the back of my throat.
"You didn't think I knew, did ya? But I did. Every time he'd come to fuckin' talk to me I saw it in his eyes. Him thinkin' he was pullin' one over on me. Thinkin' he could get away with fuckin' my wife."
"I did it for you," I whispered.
Still gripping my hair, Frankie yanked me to my knees and slapped me across the face. “You fuckin’ the Horseman for me, too?”
Holding my cheek, I stared up at him.
“Frankie,” I whispered. “Please don’t do this.”
"Get on your fuckin' stomach bitch," Frankie snarled, releasing my hair and shoving me down. "Gonna show you and this fuckin' asshole who really fuckin' owns ya."
Deuce made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and my eyes shot to him. He was six foot four inches and two hundred and fifty pounds of murderous rage. He was pulling on the handcuffs so hard his hand was bleeding. His body was strung bowstring tight, his veins were bulging out of his arms and neck, his eyes bugging out of skull. He was vibrating, literally vibrating, with hate.
Trembling, trying to blink back the tears burning in my eyes for Deuce’s sake, I shifted onto my stomach and turned my head to the side, keeping my gaze on Deuce.
"Been gettin' sloppy fuckin' seconds from this fuckin' asshole for too fuckin' long," Frankie muttered as he shoved my dress up and spread my legs apart. "That's gonna fuckin' stop today."
I heard his belt buckle open, the slide of his zipper, then I felt his weight and he began pushing inside of me. I bit my lip to keep from crying and kept my eyes on Deuce.
His eyes never once left mine, he kept me with him, held me tight inside his eyes, where it was safe and warm and no one could hurt me.
☼☼☼
He had been beaten within an inch of his life.
He had been strangled, stabbed and shot.
He had shot, stabbed, strangled, beaten and killed.
He'd been hurt, scared, mad, angry as fuck and homicidally inclined.
Fuck, he had been so fucking pissed off he'd had his old man killed. His own flesh and blood.
But never, NEVER, had he felt like this.
There wasn’t a name powerful enough to describe what he was feeling, to convey what was happening inside of him. It was beyond words, surpassed all emotions.
It was living death.
He was living through mother fucking death.
His eyes never left Eva's. As long as he held her gaze she remained impassive, a little lost even as if she had detached from her body and was taking shelter inside his. It was all he could fucking give her and it wasn't even close to enough. This should have never happened. He'd gotten lax thinking Frankie wasn't a threat anymore. This was his fault and Eva was paying for it. He was paying for it.
Frankie wasn't hurting her, not physically. Emotionally, mentally, yeah, but physically he was being gentle, touching her with the sure knowledge of a man who knew how to pleasure this woman, knew what she liked, what would make her come, kissing her bared skin, stroking her relentlessly, making it nearly impossible for her to control her body's reaction to what he was doing.
Worse, this wasn’t new to her. Frankie had raped her before, he was sure of it. His Eva had become accustomed to forced sex, had taught herself to make the best of it, to fucking enjoy it even because she’d known Frankie wasn’t ever going to let her go.
It was killing him. Every dip of his mattress, every one of Frankie’s grunts, every harsh intake of breath and whimper from Eva…was killing him.
Frankie had said he’d been watching them. He’d known just how much he loved Eva. And he’d known that this would kill him. Slowly, day after day, week after week, year after fucking year.
Chase had gotten off easy.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Frankie get up on his knees and lift Eva’s hips. His hand snaked around her waist and dipped between her thighs. Eva lost her battle. Her breath caught, her eyes rolled back, even as tears streamed down her face. Her legs quaking, she went face first into the pillow, crying out softly through her orgasm. Frankie followed her down, groaning loudly, his body jerking.
Then Frankie turned to him. And grinned.
Living death.
He cried for the first time in forty four years. He cried exactly three silent tears. But for him it was a fucking waterfall.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE:
Six thirty eight P.M.
Deuce blinked up at Cox.
"Prez?" Cox whispered hoarsely staring at his cuffed hand.
"My girls?" He asked numbly. "Ivy, Danny?"
"With Kami," Cox whispered. "Where's Foxy?"
"Gone," He said brokenly. "Frankie."
Cox dropped to his knees and tested the cuffs. As if he hadn't already. As if he wasn't missing most of the skin on his hand and hadn't broken all his fingers trying to get out of it. But his hands were too fucking big. So now, he was cuffed to a radiator with a skinless broken hand.
"Gotta get Freebird," He said. "He's the only one who can pick cuffs quickly."
He nodded
.
Cox paused at the door. "Deuce," He said quietly. "We're gonna get her back."
He didn't look at him.
"He's a dead man, Prez."
No. Frankie wasn't a dead man. Frankie was a dead man.
☼☼☼
Eleven eleven P.M
Frankie's entire body twitched violently, something that always happened before he went into a violent rage. I stayed where I was, sitting on the motel bed, watching him closely.
"Can't take much more, Eva. You fuckin' Chase broke me and then you start fuckin' the horsemen bastard AGAIN, you have his fuckin' baby and I swear to you I almost killed you a million times. Comin' out of his fuckin' club, playin' with his fuckin' kids in the yard, ridin' on the back of his fuckin' bike. I stood in a line behind you at the bank holding a knife to the base of your fuckin' spine ready to kill you and your bastard baby. But I couldn't fuckin' do it! I couldn’t hurt you! AND IT FUCKIN' BROKE ME EVA!"
"Baby," I whispered, trying hard not to think about Frankie killing my daughter. "The cops know you killed Chase. They're looking for you."
He gave me a look that suggested I was the crazy one in the room. "Babe. Who the fuck cares 'bout the cops?"
Suddenly his eyes bugged out. "You liked fuckin' him, didn't you bitch? You liked rich boy cock!"
"No," I whispered, swallowing hard. "It's what he wanted in return for getting you out."
Frankie laughed. "Glad I made him eat his own cock. Fuckin' deserved it."
Unable to get the imagery of what he had done to Chase out of my head my stomach lurched and I began to gag. Frankie sat down beside me and rubbed circles on my back.
"That's what he did baby," Frankie whispered and I could hear the smile on his face. "Gagged and screamed."
My stomach emptied.
☼☼☼
Nine oh three A.M.
Deuce stared at his fucked up hand. The doctor's at the ER couldn’t give him a cast because of the lack of skin. They’d had to set each bone and individually splint his fingers, then they treated and wrapped his skinless hand and put the whole fucking mess in a sling.
Now he was back at the club, drinking a bottle of scotch, watching Danny play peek-a-boo with Ivy. He and his boys had searched for hours for any sign of Frankie or Eva and had come up empty. They'd had no choice but to involve the cops. Who hadn't turned up jack shit.
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