Tracking Luxe (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 3)

by V. Theia

  “But this is so much fun for me.”

  I miss her. I need her. I made her hurt.

  He was running the gauntlet of a maze he’d never been in before, one he felt unsteady with because as sweet as Luxe was, he knew she still didn’t forgive him fully. He’d been in relationships, of course, but nothing like this, nothing that felt so real, so good, so fucking big he was in danger of putting his foot in it hourly.

  One ex had called him evil right before smashing his condo up because he’d called it quits after a few months of boredom fucks. The bitch should have been thankful he let her walk away without retribution. He felt nothing then, not like he did now with his gut twisted in all directions.

  After twenty minutes he grabbed his keys, left the party behind and went to meet his girl.

  She was what mattered most.

  Whatever he had to do.

  Maybe if he didn’t inadvertently … almost … fall dick first into another woman that would be a good start.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “I changed his name in my phone to ‘my man’ I suppose it’s official now.” Luxe

  Luxe: Don’t get your biker britches in a twist, kidnapper. I’m going to your place. But first I’m buying a bottle of vodka so we can have sloppy drunk sex.

  Luxe: And I can wash the taste of any other woman out of your mouth.

  Luxe: C U soon. :-* << that’s a kiss, but no tongue. You have to earn it. ;-)

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  “Something lost is always in the last place you look for it. Some dipshit told me that once.” - Grinder

  She wasn’t at Steele’s apartment.

  Frowning, frustration landing heavily on his shoulders, Grinder took one last look at the darkened apartment before he climbed back onto his bike and rode home. Expecting to see her car parked outside, he knew right away she wasn’t there. Dammit. Where you at, thief?

  Where the fuck was she at two am? He had thoughts of tying his girl down again to keep her in one damn place where he knew she was safe.

  A slight niggle of irritation and worry merged together in his gut. He didn’t like not knowing whether she was truly pissed at him or just making him pay by hiding out. Maybe another man would go home and sack out in front of the box before bed, but not Grinder, not until he laid eyes on his girl. Best case scenario he brought her home with him and got her in his sheets. Worse case he got her in his sheets and she pouted for the rest of the night.

  The enveloping darkness swallowed up everything and he hated knowing she might be out there somewhere alone in the dark. She’s resourceful, quit your whining. But the worry continued.

  He was inside his condo all of five minutes before he popped up from the couch, unable to sit, his nerves were banging inside his body. He’d tried calling her before his cell phone died. Piece of shit was on charge in his bedroom. Grabbing his keys, he knew the only place she would be this time of the night was another MC and he really hated going cap in hand to Steele’s club, especially with the way things were left between him and Luxe, but he wouldn’t sleep a wink knowing she was out there somewhere. Call him a fucking soft soak, but that was the truth.

  With his jaw like granite, he slammed the door behind him and strode through the condo compound, intent on dragging his girl back if need------a black Lexus sat idle at the curb and two thick necked bruisers were standing next to it. He pegged them as lowlife right off the bat. His spine went on alert.

  They were waiting.

  Waiting for him.

  It had all the markings of a showdown and here Grinder was without his damn cell phone or his 9mm. Rounding his shoulders, he had a number of options still available to him.

  Fight.

  Fight.

  Flee.

  He eyed his bike, counting the number of steps to reach the Harley and then looked at the men. Wide and ugly like they chewed rocks for dinner and punched concrete for fun.

  “There a reason you’re loitering outside my place at the butt crack of dawn, fellas?”

  “Boss want see you.” One spoke in broken English. Grinder was right, the guy even sounded like he chewed rocks. His voice ugly as shit.

  “Tell your boss to go fuck himself. This isn’t the way to approach my club and Grigori knows that, so if he wants----”

  Big and wide growled baring three missing front teeth. “He say to tell you he has girl.”

  Grinder was fortunate that his knees locked the fuck in place because his whole body shut down for a second. Cold seeping into his brain. “The fuck did you say?” He has the girl? It’s not. It can’t be. She’s at Steele’s club. No need to panic, dickhead. It was the Russian’s trying to play mind games. Whose girl? Not Zara. After what once happened to the club queen Rider was a wall of neurotic protection around her, especially now she was ready to push out a kid in a few months’ time.

  “What the fuck you talking about?” dread oozed into Grinder’s extremities, almost like he knew the answer before the guy answered in a smug tone, eyeballing Grinder for a reaction. “Thief. Stole from us. Black hair. Smart mouth. Nice titties.” His staggered English gave Grinder just enough to snarl and advance forward ready to grab this motherfucker in a choke hold and----

  “Careful, comrade,” the other guy finally spoke, clicking his tongue like he was chastising a child. “You do not wish to do that, da? Not if you want no harm to come to girl. Boss is waiting.” Then he moved aside and swept the blacked-out car’s back door open and ushered Grinder in.

  What choice did he have?

  They could be bluffing. It was more than likely they were telling big fat lies. But it was his heart that moved his feet and strode forward. “You better pray to your Russian fucking maker that if you’re telling me the truth she’s unharmed, fucker.” He snarled in the mobster’s face. Whatever control Grinder once had for not poking the mafia had gone.

  He climbed into the back of the car, casting a discriminating eye on the driver who started up the Lexus as both his teammates pushed their way in on either side of Grinder making him the meat in that fucking Russian sandwich.

  He saved his words for the man in charge, these thugs were just that. Paid muscle to make sure they got Grinder where they were told to bring him.

  He watched the road, had an idea where they were taking him. As well as the apartment block Grigori had rented, he’d also rented an abandoned youth center a mile from main street. Not so secluded that he could use it for a slaughter house, if that’s what tickled a mobster in his spare time, but it was large enough to store any number of illegal things.

  And right on Renegade Souls lawn.

  Nothing happened in this town without Rider knowing about it and the flagrant way Grigori was thumbing his nose at Rider’s rules for passing shit through Armado had run on everyone’s last nerve.

  Just at the last meeting it was voted that they do something about it.

  Seemed like the vote came too late and Grinder was about to see inside the lion’s den sooner than anticipated.

  “The girl, she hot, da?” the guy on his left spoke.

  Grinder’s fist clenched, otherwise he stayed still and quiet. His eyes looking forward. The one on the right chimed in chuckling. “She has fight in her.”

  Grinder snarled low in his throat. The warning was the only one he’d give.

  They were goading him into a reaction and the fuckers were about to be granted their wish. He was practically vibrating on the inside with anger.

  As that the car pulled to a stopped, the driver immediately jumped out and opened the back door.

  “Do yourself a favor and keep your fucking mouth shut.” Grinder warned the loud mouth between clenched teeth, his temper wafer thin, and climbed out when they got out ahead of him. “Point me where the fuck to go.” Tense under his skin, his jaw tightened almost grinding his teeth to dust, his eyes tracked around what was essentially the empty basement. Lots of space, plenty of closed off rooms.

  Lots of hiding space for mobst
ers and their guns.

  All that he could give ten fucks about.

  His mind was racing.

  Was she here?

  God. Don’t be here. The chant bounced in his head. Grinder could deal with anything but that.

  He trusted this was a colossal fucking hoax. It didn’t matter what happened to him, he had no care about that, but if Luxe was somehow here, he’d lose his fucking mind.

  In his thirty-four years of life he’d never felt possessive of another person; Until Luxe. So, he sure has hell would walk himself into obvious danger if it meant his girl would be okay.

  Anxious.

  Spine rigid, he eyeballed dickhead one and waited for an answer.

  A gut feeling told Grinder he was walking into a trap.

  That unease increased when dickhead two shoved the palm of his hand into his shoulder and told Grinder to get moving. Sick of their shit, he rounded to tell the moron to keep his hands to himself and or headbutt the fucker, Grinder wasn’t feeling patient at all to deal with the likes of him.

  He didn’t have the chance to do anything. What with the butt of a gun hitting his temple and his knees collapsing out from under him. The crunch of bone connecting to concrete was deafening.

  Motherfucker! Lights popped behind his eyeballs like his brain was a second from checking out of consciousness.

  And then it got much worse.

  Grinder wasn’t given a chance to stagger back to his dizzy feet, his world tilting on its axis, bile instantly in his throat, he was hit again and again by two pairs of boots and thick fists.

  In the head.

  Body blows.

  In the kidneys.

  Hard-worn boots connecting to his chest and spine.

  Pain exploded in his head making the nausea rise like the fucking sea in his insides.

  Blood began to pour out of his face.

  “Stupid asshole.”

  “Not so smart now, biker. Da?”

  “What you think would happen, huh?” Another kick.

  Grinder got in a few licks of his own, noise roared in his ears. But one pinned him, the other wailed on his body.

  Blow after blow.

  “Stupid American.”

  Blow after blow. Pain exploded all over his body.

  “That is enough Anton.” A voice from the far corner called out. The noise echoed in the cavernous space. “Bring him here.”

  More than half dead, Grinder felt every jar of his bones when they each grabbed him under the armpit and bodily dragged him, his legs scraping the ground, he was unable to sustain his own weight, he just wanted to fucking vomit up a lung, breathing past the pain, he could tell already his ribs were either broken or fractured, fuck the pain was making his vision blank in and out, he blinked blood out of his eyes as he was dumped on the cold floor, he balled his knuckles, tried to push himself up.

  He’d fight these bastards on his own two feet if it killed him, he just needed a minute, needed a good lungful of air that didn’t taste like he was swallowing blood and for his vision to check back in line.

  Fucking Russian mobsters, all of them untrustworthy cunts. “I’m---- “ he spat out blood. “I’m guessing we ain’t here for a late night romantic supper.”

  Pristine leather shoes came into focus, slowly striding towards him, and Grinder had the out of place thought about how this fucker kept his shoes so clean. “Let us secure our guest so we can speak.” He commanded and despite trying to fight with his noodle arms he was grabbed once again, taking more blows to his already broken body and another to his temple, the pain had him seeing stars, thick chains roped around each wrist and he was hoisted up off the floor with just his boot tips barely scraping the ground before he was secured and allowed to fall onto his knees, arms spread and held aloft at both wrists. They’d fucking Jesus’ed him. “You motherfuckers don’t even know what you’ve done. Your death warrants have been signed.” He breathed in his own blood. It was wet in his throat. “Big fucking mistake, dickbrains.”

  “Still with big balls after my men made your face into meat.” cackled Grigori walking into the light he faced Grinder. “I admire a stupid man, da? A man who walks into my home and steals from under my nose. A stupid man who flaunts his crime and assumes I would not figure it out.”

  Grinder rolled his one good eye and regretted it when pain shot through his eye socket. “Congrats, man, you aren’t so dumb after all. I’d clap but…” he rattled the chains keeping him attacked from the ceiling. “You see my fucking predicament with that.”

  Nausea dogged Grinder’s every breath. He was seriously in danger of passing out.

  Grigori laughed without humor. His nasty face read anything but amused, he had eyes like the cold, calculating cunt the MC knew him to be. It might be the concussion talking but Grinder suspected he’d pissed these morons off.

  He wanted to ask about Luxe.

  Jesus. Please, God, don’t let her be here.

  “Why don’t you say what you got to say so I can get on with digging your graves.”

  All three men laughed.

  The MC had waited too long to plug up the Russian annoyance in their town. Maybe they’d taken their eye off the ball for a second, giving them a slither of light to slink their cold asses in. Now there was the added variable of Grigori having the advantage over him with possibly the biggest weakness of all to use against Grinder.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He’d literally walked himself to his own fucking death, and no one knew he was here.

  He needed to think of getting himself out of here somehow, but all that was filling his brain was thoughts of Luxe.

  Grigori nodded to both men who slunk off. Oh, Grinder would remember those two bastards, if it took a life time he’d be the one to dig their shallow graves.

  Wearing a long brown overcoat, Grigori circled around Grinder. “I find, and correct me if I am wrong, but when conducting business, it is of best interest to present something in which the other party cannot refuse, da? That is how you Americans like it to be,” around and around he went. “I dislike this discord we have with Marino’s organization. How you treat me with, how you say, the cold shoulder. Plenty would gladly take my business.”

  “Then go fucking do your shady deals with someone else.” Grinder spat a mouthful of his own blood onto the floor, his tongue worked around his teeth and miracle of miracles none of them were loose. “You think my club will have anything to do with you now?”

  “Ah, but I do.” The mobster, with all his pomp and threatening glare carried awareness with him, foisting it on everyone in his surroundings, daring them to bow down and worship his narcissistic importance. Grinder and the rest of his boys had seen it for months, years, when the Russian’s had first arrived in Colorado, that vanity of his as he’d strode in to introduce himself as though every man should be grateful to accept his authority over them.

  Fuck that.

  They could beat him to death and he’d still tell them to go fuck themselves with his last breath. He bought no stock in their egos.

  Insufferable dickheads.

  “Shall I tell you why, comrade?”

  A door opened.

  Grinder heard feet behind him.

  “Do whatever the hell you want. What am I gonna do, refuse to listen to your blustered bullshit? ” He tilted his head, tried to see behind at who had entered the basement.

  “How I am going to break you. They all break in the end.” The elder man laughed sinisterly, glancing only once behind Grinder but it was in that one second that Grinder’s belly sunk in and went hollow because fuck him, he knew, he knew just how Grigori was going to break him. It would be easy, he knew it, there was zero denying that if he did have the right blackmail, Grinder would allow himself to be broken into a million pieces.

  Tethered like meat, he met the mafia underbosses dark eyes. “Call this my pre-emptive fuck you.”

  And then he saw her.

  Oh fuck. Sandwiched between the two meatheads and Grinder wanted to
throw up and kill three motherfuckers.

  “Hands off.” Luxe issued with a snarl.

  Everything died inside.

  Making his throat work, he swallowed hard. “The fuck is this?” he forced himself to say, keeping his eyes on Grigori only or feared his gaze would give himself away. “You brought in entertainment for me? How nice. But I gotta decline, I’m busy right now.”

  Don’t react, love. Please. His eyes penetrating his anger. If he could disassociate Luxe to him then he had a slim chance of getting her out of here unscathed. The Russian’s wouldn’t use something against him if they thought she meant nothing.

  Or that was his last fucking hope.

  Sweat broke out on his back, Grinder forgot every one of his injuries, this was so much bigger than the hurt he was feeling. Standing between them she looked so goddamn small, even with her beautiful scowl.

  So tiny.

  His brain was screaming to get his girl safe.

  Lacking on many details, and what he had gleaned in the last however long was Grigori wanted his pound of flesh. Grinder preferred it to be his at all costs.

  “Why don’t you just spit it out what you want. ‘Cause I hate to break it to you, fellas, but you’re all boring the shit out of me.” He goaded and earned a punch in his already sore kidneys. He coughed and spat out blood.

  That one would die twice, he decided. Real slow. He’d call and ask Hawk for tips.

  Baring his teeth, he saw the wince on Luxe’s face. “Stop okay!” she screamed. “Just stop. It was m----”

  “Grigori!” he cut her off. Steel gray eyes cut a vicious slash towards the man in charge. “You can stop playing your games now. You got my attention. Here I am, trussed like a thanksgiving turkey, fucker,” he needed the elder man angry and paying attention to only him. “How about you say what you have to say, huh?”

  If the man was pissed he didn’t show it when he laughed. The noise was eerie. Grinder supposed it made other grown men piss themselves with fear when they heard it.