by V. Theia
It felt like goodbye.
And that just killed her.
“You mean it?” He asked. He smiled as though they weren’t buried in risk, instead sitting on his couch at home. She stroked his blood-soaked face, using the hem of her shirt she tried to stem the harsh cut over his eyebrow that was causing the flow down his face.
Why had she waited? She should have told him weeks ago it was forgotten, that there was nothing to forgive, that she was so inherently grateful he’d done what he had, because it meant he was in her life.
And she hadn’t felt truly alive until that moment.
How he got there was just inconsequential details and now it appeared too late to tell him. She’d held out, every time he’d asked Do you forgive me yet, Luxe? She’d held him off with a teasing smile and a sassy tongue. Not yet, kidnapper.
Dios, why didn’t she tell him sooner?
“There’s nothing to forgive, Nathan, there never was. Por favor…” she didn’t know what she was pleading for, only she did it fervidly. Her man so bruised, his one good eye barely able to open.
“You just make sure you get to my club, okay? Don’t think about me.”
Aching, like he’d hit her, she pulled back. “How can you say that?”
“I mean it. The second you get outside you don’t look back. I need you to get to the compound, can you do that? The boys will make sure you’re safe. And I want you to tell Rider,” dropping his head, she met him halfway and listened to his whispered message. Then he asked. “Is your car here?” She shook her head. They’d piled her into a blacked-out vehicle almost before she’d even stepped out of hers at the liquor store.
“We’re not far from the main road, far as I could tell. They’re going to let you walk out of here, I’ll make sure of it.”
“But----”
“Just head south until you can find a cab, okay? You don’t turn back, Luxe. I mean it. I’m handling this.” A mixture of impatience and dread and indignation blazed from her eyes, oh she felt it in her belly, too. It went beyond her to ever let a man, let anyone, handle her trouble and she was about to tell him so, they were in this mess together, because of her, she wasn’t about to throw him to the wolves to be eaten while she happily flagged down a cab and went about her life. No way.
But then.
“Please, Luxe. I will go mad if you’re not safe.” His sigh gusted against her face and she wilted, shoulders dropping, anger fading. She’d do anything for him.
“Wrap it up, comrade. We have much to discuss.” Grigori called out.
“A fucking minute.” Hissed Nathan. She had to give him his due, he didn’t show fear at all to the intimidating man.
Underneath the metallic scent of blood was his lingering cologne and the smell she knew was uniquely Nathan, a smell she was addicted to. She had to tell him, before it was too late. Something to make him live, to come back to her. “Nathan … I lo-----”
His eye pinned her. And he spoke louder than they had been. “Not here, baby. Not here, you don’t give me them here. You save those for me when I see you again.”
“Nathan….” emotion so strong swelled until she couldn’t say another thing. Nuzzling any part of his face that wasn’t battered, she clutched his shirt front and tried hard not to bawl her fucking eyes out. What could she do? She was a thief, not a thug, and no match for a whole tribe of mafia.
But this was her man. Her man. She had to do something. She was sick at the thought of leaving him chained and abused. These men didn’t care a dot about Nathan, whether he lived or he died. They could snuff out his life and go about their daily business and not care. Whereas Luxe would cease living without him.
“I’m going to get your boys to kill these bastards.” She murmured to him in Spanish hoping he understood. “And I love you, fuck them, I’ll say it whenever I want because those words are ours, Nathan. You’ve been everything to me, you are what happiness was made for, so it’s going to work out, it has to, I can’t live in a world where you aren’t here. I gave you little pieces of me and now you have all of me, so you have to be okay, because without you I won’t be okay.”
“English!” Snarled a rough voice from behind her and she felt a kick contact to her back shoving her forward into Nathan who groaned in fresh pain. “Don’t fucking touch her!” he roared.
Her eyes were pure hatred pivoting on her knees to stare at the man. “Go suck a dick, you, crazy fucker. How’s that for English?”
Tears clouded her vision. Despair like Luxe had never felt before tagged her from all sides. “Oh, god. I can’t leave you.” She was ill over it.
“You can and you will,” he breathed out. “Once you’re outside you don’t look back.” He told her again.
“Why did you do this? They would have let you go had you let me take the blame.”
Nathan shook his head. “You’re my queen, remember that. A man protects what is his. Go now, baby. I’ll see you soon, I swear it. I love you, Luxe. I love you, remember I love you.”
She’d never thought it possible her heart could break and soar at the same exact time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“Sometimes the gavel in my hand weighs too heavy. Sometimes, I hate the decisions I have to make.” - Rider.
They did let her go as Nathan told her.
Soon as Grigori informed their conversation was over, the stockier of his men wrenched her up off her knees. They exchanged dialogue in Russian she didn’t understand then the one gripping her arm tight enough to break skin dragged her away, up the staircase, through more corridors than she could keep track off and he shoved her out of an emergency exit, smirking a slew of Russian at her that she surmised was nothing good from the lecherous way the pig looked her up and down before he slammed the door shut.
With Nathan, still inside.
Oh, god, her heart was smashed to pieces.
What could she do?
Luxe had been too stubborn and cemented in her convictions for far too long, torn between storming back inside and...what? Getting her man killed for it? And doing as he requested from her by taking the message to Rider. Almost doubled over with a silent scream Luxe rested her hands to her knees. Were they watching from inside? Was the place under surveillance? It looked like nothing, a building you wouldn’t even look twice at if you were to drive by. A perfect place to kill someone.
Bile poured up from her belly. Please be okay, Nathan. This was just fucking bullshit. She had no cell phone, no pocket change and the man she cared for was inside incapacitated and alone with madmen.
She kicked the concrete wall. Then did it again. Frustration in her every muscle. But she had to do this. Looking around, indexing other buildings to recognize, she set off running.
The chill of the night air bit at her bare legs, if any cab were to stop for her she’d probably frighten the man to death, what with the blood staining the front of her shirt and hands.
Hazarding a guess at the time, it was still midnight black, she just kept on running.
Until thank god, she recognized a gas station.
She ran.
She ran.
Her feet burned and she didn’t stop.
There was the seven-eleven store.
And the truck stop.
It was on the long patch of bare deserted road, pitch black, that she felt the clutch of fear.
Oh, not for herself, she’d become numb to everything but the fear of what was happening to Nathan.
Tired, she had to stop, her lungs were on fire, she hated exercise with a passion, her Mimi would say this was payback for all the times she refused to go dancing with her.
Even though she felt sick and dizzy with fatigue she continued and then she saw it, sometime later, god it felt like weeks, as though she was the only women left in the world, the high intimidating gates locking off the MC compound came in sight. It somehow gave her a surge of adrenalin, powering her weak legs.
Nathan. Please be alright.
Pressing fra
ntically at the call pad, someone better let her in or she was scaling the damn fence! Though, she had no fucking idea how she’d drag herself up there.
“Yo.” A voice crackled through the speaker. “You know what the fucking time is?”
“I don’t actually,” she yelled sarcastically. “Open these damn gates right now. They have Nathan! The Russian men have-----”
“What the fuck? Slow down. Who has who? Who is this?”
“The gates!” She was screaming at the speaker now. “Open the fucking gates, I need to see Rider right now.”
As though she’d spoken open sesame a whirring sound began and the gate started to slide open. About an inch and she pushed her way inside, did the same to the next two and was running towards the entrance door when a light popped on from inside and she was greeted by a wall of hard chests, some of the chests were naked, every face looking callous.
Exhaustion punched her in the face. She’d reached her destination and her body was about to die, she hadn’t realized her jelly legs had given out from under her until she felt the foyer carpet rise and meet her knees. Sweat pouring out of her, she dry heaved.
“Oh, shit.” Someone said around the ringing in her ears.
“She’s covered in blood.”
“It’s Grinder’s chick. Shit,” another announced. I’m Grinder’s chick. Yes, Grinder’s. And it was that voice who hunkered down next to her. “Babe. You hurt? Where’s the bleeding coming from?” Snake. She recognized him. Sweat in her eyes, though she was shaking from head to toe, she raised her head, panting. “Not--not mine. Nathan. They---They have him. They’ve beaten him so badly. They’re killing him.” Tears pooled into her eyes. Pain lancing her inside.
It was as though she’d set off an atom bomb. Everything became still. Silent.
And then a lot of things happened at a fast pace. People began to move and shout out orders to call Rider, to call Preacher, to call people she didn’t recognize names of.
Someone helped her up from the floor, her adrenalin had crashed, leaving her a shaking mess. “Are you sure you ain’t bleeding, babe?” blinking, she looked down at her stained hands and shook her head. “It’s not mine. It’s his.” Oh, god, it was his. So much blood.
Questions from a lot of voices came at her at once.
Where was Grinder?
Who had him?
Did she know where they had him?
How long had it been?
How did she get away?
That last one stung and brought fresh tears hastily to her eyes she blinked back. Wouldn’t show emotion or weakness. The accusing voice joined a wall of eyes.
“He said---he said to tell Rider Grigori wants to use him as a bargaining tool and not to accept.”
Her voice sounded different. Far away. Raising her hand, she brushed back her hair.
“Jesus Christ,” Snake again. He was sliding his leather cut on, his hair disarray like he’d been either sleeping or passing time with a woman right before she stepped into their clubhouse. “Goddamn cock-munching Russians.”
It might have only been minutes later that she heard the roar of bikes pulling up outside and the towering presence of the man in charge came through the door.
She’d seen Rider Marinos a bunch of times now, none of which she’d felt the punch of his aura before. But oh, she felt it now as blue eyes sought out every one of the men that were around as he strode in with powerful steps, before meeting her eyes. The tautness of his tanned skin across high, sharp cheekbones covered in a fine dusting of a beard, shoulder length brown hair that was usually tied back hung down and he strode like he knew how important he was to every man there.
“Who wants to tell me what’s goin’ on? Has someone checked you out?” he asked her gently. Much more softly than she’d expected. “Someone get the Butcher out of his pit, she’s covered in blood, for fucks sake and get her a drink, make it strong.”
Just like that, bodies scattered.
She repeated. “It isn’t my blood.”
She then told him everything in a calm voice, where the place was, what had happened from the moment she’d left his club the first time, to being grabbed and then seeing what they’d done to Nathan, dragging the strength from somewhere, her voice didn’t shake and she didn’t leave out a detail, all too aware the time was going by and Nathan was with cruel men.
“Targeting our women now? Punk ass bitches.” Snarled a rough man.
Rider regarded her thoroughly. Was he blaming her, too? She kicked up her chin refusing to look away. “You have to go and get him. I know what he told you, but you didn’t see him. He’s in fucking chains, he was bleeding heavily from everywhere,” her voice broke and she took a millisecond to clear it. “Please. Time… it’s been so long already. He’s hurt, I don’t know what they’re doing to him now.”
Please be okay. Please. Please.
“Prez. Do we need lockdown?”
Pensive. Rider paced, hands on his slim hips, she could see the anger on his face, felt the snap of it though his voice never raised. “Not yet. I need to make some calls. Someone take care of G’s girl,” and then to her. “Try not to worry. Your man is tough as shit.” And then, without giving her a solid answer whether they were going in to get Nathan or not the man in charge walked off down through the corridor and disappeared through a doorway.
Luxe stood on wobbly legs, feeling lost.
They weren’t just going to leave him there, were they?
Nathan was their friend. Their club brother. Even though he’d been clear to her to tell Rider not to let Grigori use him in any way to blackmail the club, which could only translate as to leave him there to his fate, he was more than that, more than a bargaining chip.
“Someone has to go and get him.” She spoke to no one in particular.
More bikes arrived outside, hardly anyone gave her attention as burly men barreled in and followed the same path as Rider.
“Someone has to---”
“Hey, now, sweetheart. Look at you, you’re frozen through. Let’s get you something warm to drink, eh?” blinking, Luxe looked up to see a tall white-haired man had appeared from nowhere. He must have been one of the men just arriving. “You come with me,” she hesitated. Not because she was afraid, the old man didn’t look like he’d swat a fly, she was bone tired, sick with worry, her feet wouldn’t move. “It’s okay. No one is going to leave Grinder there, I promise.” Luxe deflated with relief. “Come on, the kitchen is this way, we’ll get you cleaned up. Do you need a doctor?”
“No. No, I’m fine. I’d like to clean up, if I can?”
“Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll show you the bathroom. That’s it, you lean into me if you want. And call me Uncle Jed, everyone does.”
“What’s going to happen now?”
“Club business.” Translation; mind your own. She scowled. Nathan was her business. “We’re not letting him rot there, he’s gonna be fine. But he’ll kick up a fucking stink if he sees we haven’t taken care of his girl.” He smiled, his craggy face transformed from stern to kindness and Luxe allowed him to lead her to clean up.
Time suspended itself. It was as though Luxe wasn’t even here, washing her hands in a porcelain sink with soap she didn’t like the smell of.
Or gulping a dark rich cup of coffee.
She was on autopilot.
Her heart was elsewhere.
In a basement.
******
The air was ten degrees colder from Rider’s expressionless stare. He sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming, as more of his men arrived, each of them angrier than the last.
The enemy had touched one of their own.
And make no mistake Grigori was an enemy now.
Shit wasn’t gonna wash.
They were still reeling from Tiny’s untimely death last year, so, keeping with the current situation Rider was about as pissed off as he’d been in a while.
It was down to him to make the tough decisions, the kind that no
one wanted, because at the end of the day his club thrived or died because of him.
To separate the big from the small.
And Rider, as hard faced as he’d always been, was facing the toughest decision yet.
To draw his club into what would be a hard turf war over organized crime, that could go for months, years, generations, that even his kids would be embroiled in, to upset all the work his club had done in the past ten years, to put them back at base camp of fighting for every goddamn scrap, again.
Or, the more difficult option, he left one of his best men in the hands of the mafia knowing fine well it would only result in Grinder’s death.
He turned his back on the room, his lungs burning, allowing his eyes to close for a second.
He hated this fucking job sometimes.
******
Stepping through the doors of the MC came Preacher after what felt like the longest fucking bike ride in history after receiving the call and the tall man was not happy. He’d been pulled out of bed with his old lady, one of the rare nights they both had off and they were catching the best sleep either of them had had this week.
Anger and worry warred for attention, making his tongue and mind more vicious than was natural to Preacher, but as a man who was used to keeping his emotions locked inside, because of Ruby and Seb, his box was now gaping open and all manner of expressive bullshit poured out of him. Better in than out his wife would say. But, Jesus, he felt like a loose cannon most days. Now this.
He guessed his brothers would be in the church already, his big body about to carry him there, it was a hunched figure on a sofa in the main room that caught his attention. Not that they were moving, it was the bent head and bandana holding the black hair back that alerted him to the woman. And his anger surged taking long strides over to her.
His voice carried. “I’m taking this is your doing? They have G because of you. Because you needed your sticky fucking fingers on something of theirs and you dragged my boy by the dick.”
He watched her visibly recoil. “I couldn’t--couldn’t do anything. He told me to leave. To come here.”