by V. Theia
Preacher sucked air in through his teeth, aware he was taking out his temper----his fear, on the wrong person, but as she sat before him, her slim shoulders arched in, fingers shaking as she clutched them together he had nothing good to say to this woman who had brought trouble for not only his club, but his best friend who could be dead as he spoke.
“Don’t you worry, we’ll fix your fucking mess.” He turned on his heel and marched off sucking on his teeth and keeping his mouth shut before it got him in more trouble. Grinder heard about the way Preacher had spoken to his woman he’d probably take a punch for it, well, G could try anyway.
They just had to get his best friend back first.
Every pair of eyes turned towards Preacher’s loud entrance. Maybe it was the fury on his tight face that had every set of lips snapping shut not saying a word.
He prowled in, took his seat, his fingers rolling down his pointed beard.
“So. When the fuck do we roll out to get our boy?”
******
Blow after blow rained down on Grinder.
He had no clue if his body could take much more before he passed out or he went to the pearly gates. But the Russian’s knew what they were doing. Just enough to keep him awake and cooperating. Not enough to kill.
Oh, he didn’t long for death, not unless it was theirs. Those two special motherfuckers, tweedledee and dumbfuck would get it from him.
Just as soon as he stopped choking up blood.
Just as soon as his vision realigned.
Just a bit longer. Hold on longer. He let them beat him and kept his mouth shut a bit longer.
Bloodied knuckles rested on the concrete floor, they’d long since unhooked him from the chains, all the better to beat him, he snarled, blood matted his beard, dripped into his eyes.
Both men flagged either side, he was looking at their shoes, fighting for air, they were waiting for him to regain enough strength to give him a second and third go.
“Are you ready, my friend? This all can go away. You call your boss and we come to a deal that pleases all, da?” how fucking cheerful Grigori sounded standing away a little, surveying his men like a proud papa.
Oh, Grinder would kill them all.
He managed to lift his head and look through the haze of red at the man in charge. He was casually shelling peanuts, flicking the husks onto the floor as he chewed.
Those watchful evil eyes on Grinder, like he already knew Grinder was in a no-win situation here. What the dipshit didn’t realize is, he was prepared for them to kill him. No way would he involve the club because of him.
And if Rider got the message from Luxe, his prez would agree to leave him here.
Prepared to die for his woman and his club, he curled his busted lip.
“How about never? Never sounds a good time, you arrogant blowhard.”
And Grinder, despite the pain he was in, began to laugh as anger filled Grigori’s face.
A beaten man had to take his pleasures where he could.
He didn’t see the fist coming at him, but he sure as fuck felt it.
CHAPTER FORTY
“He signed the club over to the mob for me. There’s not enough beer in the world to wash that down with.” - Grinder.
Hours went by.
She hated every damn, long second.
Nothing stopped the feeling of dread she had in her belly.
Far as she could tell nothing was being done and she was raging about it inside.
The drink had gone untouched, so had the plate of crackers and cheese Jed had brought her an hour ago. And she'd waved off concern from a guy called The Butcher who wanted to check her out. He looked as far removed from a doctor as it could be.
Her only show of anything was when Jamie and his VP strode through the doors of Rider's MC. Both of her brows popped up into her hair and she had the inexplicable urge to run to him and bawl her eyes out. Finally, she saw someone who didn't hate her. Finally, someone who might help her.
His feet stopped tracking behind Preacher as he spotted her.
"Hold up while I check on my girl."
"Your girl?" warned Preacher and Jamie arched a brow at him. God, men. She belonged to no one, least of all an MC.
I belong to Nathan. Yeah, she did.
"She's more mine than she is yours," Jamie went down on his haunches by the sofa in front of Luxe, blue eyes so dark in color probed hers. "How you doing, pocket-rocket? You look like bloodied crap. You should have called me." His voice held reprimand.
"Thanks. And do you have to antagonize them like that? this isn't the time."
He smirked. "It's fun. You didn't answer, you okay, babe?"
"Gee, dad, I'm fine. I just watched my boyfriend chained and beaten unconscious, and I ran like 100 miles in crappy shoes, and every man here hates my guts, and no one will tell me anything, but apart from that I'm doing swell."
Rather than take offense at her sarcasm Jamie smiled and cupped her cheek before kissing her forehead. "Good. You want me to leave Amos here with you?" Luxe snorted at that, the other guy made a similar protesting noise as well. It was well known Jamie's best friend and second in command and she did not rub along together well. "No, I'm fine. Are you here to help?"
"Naturally. Kingsmen to the rescue. Keep that chin up. They smell fear in this place." He winked and got back to his feet.
she saw Preacher scowling watching their exchange.
Jamie noticed it as well and by the stiffening of his shoulders he didn't like it. "You want to rein in the animosity towards her, brother in law? I don't think Ruby would like us grappling on the floor. She," he pointed at Luxe. "is your boy's old lady. Give her the damn respect it deserves."
And with that he paced away. Preacher followed calling him a dumbshit. They were odd brother in laws. She wondered what Sunday dinners were like at his house. Pass the ketchup, fuck-face.
Sighing. All she could do was wait. The fractures in her veneer were slight, if anyone took the time to notice. But she was holding on. Remembering what Nathan had told her, he'd swore she'd see him again.
Luxe had never felt more alone, more useless before.
But she still held herself together, tied delicately with hope.
******
Around the six hours mark the men caught a break. At fucking last, Rider heaved a breath. He'd just got done checking on his Zara, shoving his phone away when Lawless gave him the good news, there was someone in the shed out back. The deluxe sheet iron slaughter house the club used for special occasions such as torturing, maiming and murder. It was Hawk's favorite place.
Without their skilled tracker, it had taken longer than usual to find a stray Russian member of the organized crime family. Lawless hacked into their phone's GPS signals and followed one to a coffee shop.
Caffeine was that man's downfall. What a joke.
Rider let himself into the shed. An innocuous building, big enough for a car, but nondescript in design. Its purpose was pain. And he found his boys had started without him.
“For someone who thinks he’s a man, you sure know how to beg like a little bitch.” cackled Snake humorlessly with the Russian’s blood coating his knuckles. With those same knuckles, he fist-bumped Lawless. A seamless tag in from brother to brother and then the real action began. No one took it lightly when Lawless opened his black bag sitting at his feet, down on his haunches he knew exactly what he was looking for. Rider wanted to warn him to take it easy, there was no point in sending the guy back dead, not if they wanted a smooth exchange, but for all intent and purposes Lawless was madness personified looking up through a hazy carousel of anger. They were all mad for what Grigori had pulled right under their noses, but Law was unbalanced more than usual. Rider could see it in the twitch of his neck from side to side, the way his fingers moved as if playing a goddamn piano. His enforcer was itching to put the hurt on this strung up guy and to do it in the slowest, harshest possible way.
Moving through the wall of members, he waited un
til Lawless rose, holding a hammer. Oh boy. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he leaned in, two heads together and lowered his voice for Law’s ears only. “Calm it, my brother, we don’t raise the body count tonight, you understand? But you can hurt him how you need to. For Grinder.” His reply was a sharp blue-eyed gaze and a grunt. Yeah, Lawless was mad this had been done to their club. Soul-sucking, mind-altering, life changing mad. Rider, with his mind going up in flames, took a step back and let the enforcer get to painful work.
In a while, he'd make the call to Grigori, who had already tried four times and Rider ignored, for a reason. The Russian would only talk to Rider when Rider himself was ready. And with the Apollo Kingsmen's help they should have their boy back within the hour.
As screams bounced off the iron walls, his eyes tracked Lawless as he played with giving pain.
Within the hour ... that was the hope.
At the end of the day, an MC or even a branch of the mafia are all just men of criminally charged business. It's knowing what to offer and when, that's the key to have the upper hand. Grigori held one of Rider's men and in turn Rider had one of his.
The exchange was to take place and everyone would go about their own fucking lives.
Wrong.
Rider felt it in his gut. It was too easy. Far too easy for Grigori to give in like this. His boys agreed with grumbled murmurs as they stepped down off the row of Harley's. Down the far end was Jamie and ten of his crew he'd brought along.
"Let's get this shit over with." Growled Preacher, jittery.
Rider wondered whether he should have left his road captain back at the club, he was in no frame of mind to do what was necessary, but he could see Preacher was determined. "You good to do this?" he asked quietly and Preacher nodded, the leather case over his shoulder a reminder of what the man was going to do and swore he never would again.
The sharp shooter was coming out of retirement.
"If you need to throw up do it afterward." Rider was all heart.
Or so his old lady would say.
It was Zara's influence that had gotten him through the last hours. Going back and forth on what he wanted to do weighed down by what he should. Any other MC president would, by rights, so as not to make greater waves for the club that relied on him, sacrifice one to save the many. That was what he should do, what his father and uncle would undoubtedly do.
But as Zara had pointed out to him; he was not Rex. And he was not his fucking father.
He was the Renegade Souls MC president and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to do.
He'd no more leave Grinder in the Russian's hands than he would his girl.
The ramifications of his decision would come later.
For now, he had a job to do and he did it by leading.
The entered the building twenty-strong. Rider in front with his two meanest assholes flanking him. No one would mistake the men had come for anything but a brawl. Their promised retribution so powerful it swiped the oxygen out of the room.
Grigori and a wall of his men met them inside.
They shook hands. Keeping it real.
"Shall we?" he spoke first. And with a nod, Capone dragged their man, bloodied and broken, from the back and stood at Rider's left side, keeping his gun hand free. He didn't trust any of the men in front of him. "My boy for yours."
"Ah, you have made a mess of Yegor. Impressive. I think I can raise you, however."
As that, from a back room two made men held Grinder under each armpit.
Fucks sake. He looked dead and everything in Rider turned cold.
Remembering Tiny's lifeless body.
Only the gurgle of Grinder's breathing alerting to signs of life.
Rider's men spread out as per his orders beforehand. No one made a move, though it was more than evident from the growls and curses that each of his boys wanted to rush forward, to kill every Russian for what they were seeing.
Grinder no longer looked flesh and bone.
He was blood and agony. They'd truly done a number on him.
Turning hate filled eyes on Grigori, he was so ready for this motherfucker to be six feet under.
With any luck, Preacher was in place on the roof of the building across the street and was looking at Grigori through the viewfinder of his sniper rifle.
One pop and this whole shitstorm would be over with.
"I have great admiration for you, Rider. We will be wonderful partners, da? Make lots of money for all concerned, this is my wish." He spoke like they were best friends sharing steak and Sunday football.
The man had tried many avenues to attempt to force his club to get in line and all had failed.
Until now. He could hear his father's contempt ringing in his ears.
Most missions and runs the club went on were not pretty, if he wanted pretty he would have gotten a 9-5 job a long time ago. What Rider wanted was to succeed. Ridding his town of this new mobster injection was just the latest in a long line of nasty jobs he'd accomplished.
What Grigori didn't realize, Rider never backed down.
He didn't see the revolver until it was too late.
it was already in Grigori's palm.
Already pointing.
Every man reacted a second too late as a loud pop sounded and Grigori, that crazy motherfucker put a bullet in his own man's head.
Capone dropped the corpse.
Everyone had pulled weapons. Noise deafening.
"You, crazy fuck." He spat out.
"Da." the other man grinned and returned the gun to his pocket and dusted off his hands. "Now. As you have seen, no one is indispensable to me. I fear that is not the case for you." he looked pointedly at Grinder who was rousing his dark head, blood dripping into the floor.
"D--don't ... don't do i-ii-it, Prez. Fuck 'em all."
Rider swallowed the concrete in his throat. But before he could talk, a body pushed through the crowd behind him and came to stand at his shoulder.
"This is fun and all, but some of us have places to go and it doesn't include breathing in the toxic fumes of Russia. How about I take the almost corpse there, and you and Rider can have a chat." Offered Jamie.
It was long enough for Rider to move himself slightly, into the casting brightness of the sun throwing shadows all around the once youth center, he gave the impression he could give a fuck about being here as he strode to the window and back again, making sure to stay out of Grigori's eye line. Come on, Preach, take the fucking shot.
It took everything Rider had not to reach forward and strangle the cocky man with his bare hands.
Instead, he gave a nod of agreement. "Let my man here take G. I'll get rid of my boys, you do the same. We can talk."
Grigori flashed a sly, cunning smile, as if that's all he'd been waiting for.
Within moments Grinder was handed over, Jamie and one of his took him outside to the waiting SUV to transport him to the nearest emergency room before he bled out.
And then moments after that the room cleared.
There'd been no other choice, not really. It was all leading to this one day, he’d always had that gut feeling, he realized with a grim stare.
He was about to climb into bed and do a deal with the mafia.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“We take care of our own.” – Renegade Souls
To say the Renegade Souls MC filled the emergency room waiting area was an understatement. It was wall to wall bodies everywhere and she didn’t belong.
Luxe wasn’t feeling animosity, but these men, and some women, had long-seated ties together, and here she was, the lone sally-no-friends blowing in the wind.
Barely keeping it together, Luxe had rode silently with a prospect once they’d gotten word about Nathan. Thank god, she’d said to no one and everyone. She wasn’t a believer and here she was thanking Him. Every con artist was a bullshitter, even her. But she was more grateful than she’d ever been before.
Something sharp and unpleasant bloomed in her abdomen, the
worry persistently lodged in her throat like rocks, she couldn’t settle until they knew something and it had already been more than an hour. What was happening with him? It was bad news, it must be, or they’d heard already. Luxe wasn’t prepared----how could she be, for those words. Small words, crushing words that he was gone. No, she couldn’t---she had to leave, if she wasn’t here, maybe-----
A mammoth-sized shadow blocked out the view of her exit, blinking, she looked up at a glowering Preacher. Beefy tattooed arms crossed against his chest, his head canted down, she wasn’t afraid, but also not thrilled to have him in her space for round two of his verbal beat down. But he didn’t say a word, just sighed massively.
“Asher, that’s enough.” Ruby told him gently clutching his hand she drew him away and gave Luxe a sympathetic smile. “He’s upset, we are all, he didn’t mean it earlier.” She mouthed to Luxe.
It didn’t matter, she blamed herself, the truth tasted bitter on her tongue. If not for Luxe asking him to go to that party that night he wouldn’t be somewhere in this fucking hospital bleeding out.
Oh, god. Her belly rolled over in that slick way right before a good vomit.
Please be okay. I need you. I need you, Nathan.
She felt so very small and alone with the urge to call Mimi to make it all better again. Only the person who would make her feel halfway human away was probably dying. She refused to sit, how could she be comfortable when Nathan was hurt. Her fault. Her fault.
White noise filled her head. Time went by. It could have been a minute later or an hour when she heard.
The same massive shadow appeared in front of her once more. “Are you okay?”
She blinked and looked up into piercing green eyes. His voice wasn’t so hateful and held a tenor of concern as his gaze flicked down to the same blood covering her shirt. She hadn’t noticed it until now. “Babe, are you okay?”
She shook her head but said. ”I’m fine.”