Wrench (The Club Girl Diaries Book 6)

by Addison Jane

  Chapman opened his mouth to defend himself as Matthew, the club lawyer, appeared, walking down the police steps.

  “I second that,” he said sternly, looking at me for an answer.

  I grinned. “I just asked him a question.”

  Matthew rolled his eyes as Morris shoved me toward the station.

  “Get this shit sorted,” I heard Optimus say from behind me.

  “I’ll figure out what’s going on and let you know,” Matthew assured him.

  The police station was reasonably empty as they booked me in at the front desk and then led me through to one of the interview rooms that I knew so well. They un-cuffed me before pressing on my shoulders and forcing me into a rickety old chair. I huffed in annoyance and rubbed at the red marks around my wrists.

  Matthew took a seat beside me, his briefcase landing on the table with a loud thump. “I’d like to see the warrant.”

  The officer standing by the door placed some papers on the table and Matthew grabbed hold of the papers, dragging them over to his side of the desk. Both Morris and Chapman took seats at the table, lounging casually as Matthew scanned the papers.

  After a few minutes, he finally spoke, placing the papers down on the table. “Okay, so you say there was reasonable evidence? What is it?”

  Morris turned his gaze to mine. “You ever been to Peter Davenport’s house, Mr. Taylor?”

  I clenched my jaw and pursed my lips. “Yeah, once.”

  “When was this?” he asked, picking up a pen and scribbling on the notepad in front of him.

  “Last week,” I answered honestly. “He was harassing my woman. I went around with my president and VP to tell him to back off.”

  More scribbling.

  “Did you just barge right on in?” Chapman jumped in, drawing my eyes to him.

  “No. I was polite as fuck and knocked,” I told him seriously.

  “And what did you say to him after he presumably opened the door?”

  I rolled my eyes. “What I just fucking told you… to back the fuck off my girl and leave her alone.”

  Chapman smirked. “You mean his wife, right? Annabelle Sullivan?”

  “I think we all know exactly who’s being discuss here,” Matthew interjected impatiently. “Make your damn point.”

  Morris looked over at the officer standing by the door and gave him a nod. The officer ducked out of the room. “So you didn’t touch the door at all, other than to knock,” Morris stated, turning his stupid smug face back to us.

  “No. I knocked, he opened it, we had our say then he slammed the door in my face. Happy?”

  The door opened again, and a large evidence bag was placed on the table in front of us. I leaned forward, trying to figure out what the hell was inside.

  “If that’s true, then why are your fingerprints on Peter Davenport’s door handle?” Chapman asked, leaning back and linking his fingers together behind his head. “You just admitted that you’d only been there one time, and during that time you didn’t open the door, you only knocked.”

  I studied the object. For a moment I was confused. I hadn’t touched fucking Davenport’s door handle, hadn’t tried to open it or fucking anything.

  But then I remembered…

  Morris nodded. “Which means you must have been there another day… or night.”

  “There’s one thing wrong with your theory, boys,” I stated with a laugh.

  Chapman’s face dropped quickly, and he leaned forward like he was ready to bite my fucking head off. “And what might that be?”

  “That ain’t Peter Davenport’s door handle.” Even as I said the words, the reality of what was really going on kicked in and my gut leaped up into my throat. “It’s Eric Deanwell’s.”

  I couldn’t do anything as he rushed to load me in the back seat of his car, my hands and feet both cable tied. Eric jumped into the driver’s seat and reversed so quickly down the driveway and out onto the road, that my body was flung about like a rag doll. I was numb, I didn’t even feel anything as my head was smashed against the door and my neck bent unnaturally. My breathing was shallow and my vision a little hazy, my brain working overtime to figure out what the hell was going on.

  I licked my lips, they were dry and cracked. “Wh… y?” I managed to ask even as the air around me seemed to settle and all the noises became dull.

  I could hear him chuckle. “We’ll talk soon, Annabelle, you should be feeling pretty sleepy in a minute. I put enough ‘Manic’ in there just to make you feel good, but I also added a sedative.” It was like he was far away, or talking to me through a tunnel. I was feeling sleepy and drained, but I could also feel the ‘Manic’ setting in, and strangely, I felt kind of good. It was like I was dozing on the most comfortable bed, the noise of the world blocked out.

  Just peace in my mind.

  “I’m not really good with this type of thing… dosages and stuff. That was always Peter’s forte. So you better hope that if you fall asleep…” he laughed, “… that you wake up again.”

  I heard his words as the darkness began to consume me, my eyelids falling closed.

  What I couldn’t figure out, was why.

  I was just too numb to care.

  I groaned as I rolled over, my head still feeling like it was in the clouds but my body working a little better. My eyes sprung open when I heard Eric’s voice.

  “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” he said. He sounded much clearer now, much more in focus.

  I twisted my body around, realizing the restraints were gone from my body and tried to push myself up on the bed. My arms and legs were shaky, and the second I was vertical, I had to squeeze my lips together and cover my mouth to stop myself from vomiting.

  “Here.” A trash can was shoved in front of my face just in time, the contents of my stomach expelling out and sloshing against the sides.

  There was sweat on my brow, and I felt cold like I’d been placed in a freezer. I started to shiver uncontrollably, and while my body was freaking out, my brain was beginning to slowly but surely piece things together.

  “H... how long h… have I been o… out?” I asked, hugging the smelly can close to my body, knowing now that I was probably nowhere near done.

  Eric smiled at me from his seat across the room on a large cream three piece sofa, drink in hand. It seemed like we were in some kind of hotel room. And not just your typical ‘criminal kidnaps girl and stays in some rundown motel’ type of room. Nope, not Eric. This room was beautiful.

  I was sitting in the center of what had to be a California king bed, with extravagant floral lamps strategically placed on both of the night stands. The bed looked straight out to a floor to ceiling window, with a view of the city.

  What city?

  I wasn’t sure, my brain still unable to compute information like it should have.

  “About four hours, give or take,” he finally answered, drawing my eyes back to him.

  Four hours?

  I could be anywhere.

  That, and I was sure now what was happening. I was coming down, having withdrawals.

  The dosage of ‘Manic’ that he gave me wasn’t a strong one. Peter often toyed with higher and lower milligrams in order to see how long the effects would last before I was craving more.

  I could already feel it happening, my body wanted more. The noise was back, a low hum in my ears, one that I’d managed to escape for so many years. My stomach lurched, and I shoved my face back in the tin can, cringing at the sound of more vomiting splashing inside.

  “I don’t understand,” I said calmly as I wiped the back of my mouth with my arm.

  I forced in deep breaths through my nose, and out through my mouth, trying to calm my body and my mind as it screamed out for something to kill the pain.

  “You’re not as smart as I gave you credit for, Annabelle,” Eric taunted, standing up and walking toward the large windows. He looked out over the city, pressing his hand to the glass. “Peter really did love you, you know.”<
br />
  My instant reaction was to scoff. “Hard to believe.”

  My body shuddered. I wanted to move and get under the blankets of the bed, the chill in my skin almost too much to bear. He turned to face me. Gone was the look of understanding and empathy that I felt like I’d always received from him. His face now twisted into this man I didn’t recognize, his features cold and uncaring.

  “Did you know Peter had a psychiatric disorder?” he asked casually.

  I swallowed. “Not until r… recently.”

  Wrench had found it in his search, but my brain just couldn’t remember, the haze still too thick.

  Wrench.

  Jesus, where was Wrench?

  He’d be out looking for me, the club would be.

  And Eric, they knew I was with him. They’d know.

  Please let them know, let them find me.

  “Narcissistic Personality Disorder,” he said slowly. The words rang a bell in my head. “Basically, he thought he was the best, the smartest, the richest. He thought that no one would compare to how amazing he was.” His words were harsh, his sarcastic tone much like he was talking about a child who had told the whole classroom with full confidence that they were Superman.

  “Peter helped to discover the drug ‘Manic,’ but it was me who came up with the idea of who to sell it to. What to use it for to really make money,” he explained as he paced across the room to where there was a small bottle of liquor. He filled up his glass and took another sip, licking his lips before he spoke again. “At first he wasn’t on board, he didn’t want to share you with anyone, but once he started to see just how much power it gave him… he was right there with me. We used you like a… demonstration, I guess. Bringing in these criminals, letting them see how the drug worked… how you reacted.”

  I cringed, squeezing my eyes shut as I tried to fight back the memories, knowing that if they came now that it would be hopeless. They would consume me. It was hard, the withdrawal making my emotions heightened, dragging me down that dreary path that I was so afraid of.

  “Unfortunately for him, he fell more in love with you, and soon he was fighting to protect you,” Eric scoffed as though the idea was pathetic. “It drew his focus away from the plan, and he started to realize that instead of helping you, it was actually hurting you. He left, thinking that he was doing what was right for you, and came to help me build our market in New York.”

  The puzzle pieces were fitting together, slipping into place.

  “But the moment he got back, and you freaked out, pleading for him to take the pain away…” he said it with laughter in his voice, he obviously found my struggle entertaining, hilarious almost, “… he did the only thing he knew would help. He gave you the drugs. But I knew, the minute you got back inside his head he would try to back out again.”

  “I got pregnant,” I whispered my thoughts out loud.

  Eric laughed loudly, the noise hurting my head, making the humming louder. “I couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried. I’d gone around there to be the good guy and tell you to run, but you were already out the damn door, I just had to give you a little push.”

  I heaved, dry retching into the can that was already beginning to make the room smell.

  Eric laughed again, obviously enjoying the pain I was in, knowing exactly how my body would be reacting. My muscles ached, and my head swam as I fought to right myself again. I’d been through this before, and I knew the next few hours weren’t going to be pretty.

  “Peter had been a helpful little monkey for the past six years, producing new drugs, helping me test them, but I knew the moment you got back in town that he would fight back. He’d see you again and that would be it,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That’s exactly what happened. So I solved the problem before he could grow a conscience and fill you in.”

  I heard the crinkle of a plastic bag, and my spine went dead straight. I forced myself not to look at him. I was strong, I wouldn’t do what he wanted me to do. He wanted me to fucking beg for more, to get on my knees so he could look down on me as I pleaded with him to make the pain go away. My eyes focused out the window and I refused to look at him while the sun was setting over the vast cityscape. One that I wished I could figure out the name of.

  Wrench would come for me.

  He would find me, I knew he would.

  A thought came to my head, so I voiced it. “The club. W… what do they have to do with this?”

  “Mmm,” he hummed in annoyance. “The club. We have buyers in Alabama… big ones… right here in the city.”

  That statement warmed me inside. We were still in Alabama, at least that was one thing.

  “The brothers have been a pain in my ass for years. First, I just enjoyed putting those smug bastards away. They think they’re kings in these parts. Then when I wanted to introduce ‘Manic,’ the buyers were hesitant, knowing that if the club got a whiff of what was going on, that there would be war. I needed the club gone.”

  I rocked my body back and forth, trying to ease some of the symptoms I was feeling. “S… sounds like they’re pussies.”

  Eric chuckled darkly. “Funny you say that. Pussy was just the word I was thinking of. Not with regards to them, though, but you.”

  The chill in my body climbed higher, sweat beaded at my hairline and dripped down my face. I heard what he was saying. I remembered exactly who he was selling these pills to.

  Traffickers.

  Human fucking traffickers.

  “H... how could you do this?” I stammered, clutching the trash can in my hands. The noise in my head was becoming louder, and I wanted to bang my head against a wall, to scream at it to stop. “What about L… Lisa? What would s… she say?”

  I tried desperately to play to what I thought was his human side. It turned out, he didn’t have one.

  “L... Lisa…” he mocked, “… is out there somewhere, doing the exact same thing that you will be. Begging for drugs, using your body to get them, being good little addicts. I wasn’t lying when I said she was too curious for her own good.”

  I gasped.

  He’d sold her.

  Got her fucking addicted, and sold her.

  Just like he was going to do to me.

  “Well…” he said happily, his tone changing dramatically, “… let’s get your photo shoot done shall we, and wait for the buyers to roll on in.”

  He reached out and grabbed hold of my ankle, I struggled, the trash can flying off the bed and onto the floor, spilling the contents everywhere. I kicked out at him, but my movements were slow and my body was weak. He climbed on top of me, his body pinning mine to the bed. Eric’s hand went to my throat, and he squeezed. I tore at his wrists with my fingernails as he held up one hand with a pill in between his fingers.

  No, not again. I couldn’t do this again.

  I locked my lips and his laughter boomed. “All right then, let’s play it your way. How long can you hold your breath, Annabelle?”

  He released my throat and used his fingers to pinch my nose. My body tossed and turned fighting to throw him off, but I was growing fatigued, my muscles already screaming out at me, the noise in my ears making it hard to focus.

  I needed to fight.

  I was growing lightheaded, my lungs screaming out for air as he laughed maniacally above me, like he knew I couldn’t win.

  I couldn’t.

  Finally, unable to last any longer, I gasped for air, and he dropped the pill in my mouth. Instantly, I tried to spit it out, but his hand clasped my jaw and he held it closed. I knew then there was no use fighting, the pill was fizzing on my tongue.

  “Swallow it,” he snapped, squeezing my nose shut again.

  I had no choice.

  It slipped down my throat with ease and Eric laughed like a damn psychopath as he climbed off my now limp body. Tears streamed down my face as I waited for the effects to take hold of me. And in the back of my brain the addict in me jumped with glee.

  The withdrawals would be
gone soon.

  And so would the noise, taking a piece of me with it.

  “Where is she, man?” I asked Optimus, my body and mind feeling absolutely defeated. She’d been gone longer than twenty-four hours and I was about to lose my shit.

  I hadn’t slept last night, I was currently running on fucking adrenaline, and I had my computer set up running facial recognition software that Judge had sent me late last night throughout the web.

  Morris and Chapman had tried to stall as long as possible, but as it turned out, Peter had been on their surveillance list for a couple of weeks now, with him being the creator of this so-called drug they were looking to eradicate.

  It hadn’t taken long for them to pull up the pictures of his house from the day before his murder and realize that I was, in fact, telling the truth, the doorknobs had been switched out.

  The rest of the evidence pointed toward Eric Deanwell, and with Sugar now missing, I could see just how stupid they felt, obviously having interviewed him already.

  Good, I hope they spent time chasing their tails or hiding their heads with embarrassment. Because if I got ahold of him first, I was gonna kill him.

  It was now just after midday, and I still had nothing. Sugar’s cell had been tossed just outside of Athens, and since then, we had no fucking idea where Eric had taken her. At this stage, she could be halfway around the fucking world, and we would have no goddamn clue.

  “Calm down,” Optimus said sternly. “We’ll fucking find her, I promise you. We’ve got brothers spread out across the state, Kit has done the same with his boys. If she’s close by, we’ll be able to get someone to her within half an hour.”

  I clenched my teeth.

  Both Op and Kit had stretched a handful of brothers out across the state and into any major cities or towns. It was a risk we had to take, my gut telling me that she was still close by, that he wouldn’t have tried to fly with her. That, and during church last night, we’d managed to put together some of the pieces of the puzzle. Eric has been on the club’s ass for too long, his vendetta against us becoming quite obvious. He wanted us destroyed and torn to shreds, but the more he came at us, the stronger we fucking got. He tried to take down the entire club, but we wouldn’t let him, each of our members was willing to step up every damn time and take one for the team just so the club would survive.