I let my pride hold me back before, my ignorance stopping me from telling Callie how much I love her. My reasoning, which seemed so sound at the time, now seems stupid and weak. I vow to myself here and now, when I finally get her back in my arms, I’m going to make her my wife and the mother of my children. I just pray to God I’m not too late.
Losing everyone I cared about left me a broken man, but losing Callie will destroy me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Callie
I smooth the front of the flimsy satin dress, wondering how pissed Christian will be if I puke all over it. Taking in the puffiness and the red discoloration across my cheekbone from the last time I made him mad, it's not something I want to test out.
A banging on the door makes me jump, and the nausea swells enough for me to have to take some deep breaths before I pass out again. Keep calm, Callie, you can make a run for it when you're somewhere more crowded.
“It's time,” a voice I don't recognize shouts through the door.
I don't want to push my luck, so I pull it open and stand meekly, waiting for my next set of instructions.
The guy collecting me looks every bit like the clichéd hired goon you’d see in a B-rated gangster movie. With his cheap ill-fitting black suit, crooked black tie, and greasy slicked-back dark hair, he looks like a discount store version of Christian.
He looks like every other one of Christian’s many minions I’ve seen over the years, nothing more than an expendable pawn. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t a threat to me.
“The boss wants you on the tarmac. He said if you weren't ready, I should help you. I gotta admit, I’m a little disappointed,” he drawls, dragging his eyes over my frame, the skintight dress leaving nothing to the imagination. “Not to worry, the boss will share you, eventually. He likes to watch.” He whispers the last part in my ear, leaning down over me and crowding me against the door.
My skin crawls, but I fight the urge to step back. “I’d rather kill myself than let you touch me,” I spit out even as I mentally kick myself for letting my mouth run away from me.
“Oh, I do like a challenge. You see, some men get off on breaking their women physically. But I like to break them up here.” He taps the side of his head before closing the last of the distance between us and pinning me against the wall.
“I like to work a woman over until she is writhing with pure unadulterated pleasure, until all she can do is beg for my cock. Beg me to touch her, beg me to fuck her, and they all do, sweetheart.”
He grips my chin hard like Christian did earlier, making me cry out. Is this the signature asshole hold or something?
“You’ll beg me, and when I make you come, you’ll hate yourself more than you could ever hate me.” He pulls away, gripping my wrist this time, yanking me hard enough for me to stumble, but thankfully I find my balance before I face plant.
He pulls me behind him out into the main part of the plane, which is surprisingly empty. I mean, I knew we had landed, obviously, but I didn't realize everyone had left. Fuck, I should have searched for a phone or something. So stupid, Callie.
“Come on, doll face, you have a wedding to get to. Who knows, maybe the boss will let us try you out as a honeymoon gift,” he tells me over his shoulder as we reach the exit of the plane.
We step into the dry heat, a gust of wind making my hair swirl around my face, blocking my vision of the tarmac below. When the asshole tugs me again I reach out blindly and grab the rail so I don't tumble down the steps he is so clearly happy to toss me down.
When we make it to the bottom, I look up and freeze, fear and panic clawing at my chest as I take in the group of men watching me with varying looks of lust and anger.
Getting away from Christian and one of his goons would have been hard enough, but how am I supposed to get away from five of them?
“Ah, here is my beautiful wife-to-be,” Christian greets me, his gaze moving over my face, frowning when he takes in the swollen purpling skin of my cheek. He might be frowning, but there isn't an inch of remorse or guilt in his gaze.
“Could you not have covered this up?” He waves at my face.
I only just manage to refrain from asking with what, a bag? But instead, I bite my lip before answering quietly. “I didn’t have anything to cover it up with.” And if you didn't put your freaking hands on me there would be nothing to cover up.
“Come,” he orders, like I’m a dog.
With no other options, I do as he asks.
I climb into the sleek black limo waiting for us, scooting over as far as I can go and pin myself against the door, careful not to flash anyone, which is tricky to do in the floor-length dress that's split right up the thigh.
Christian climbs in next, leaving space for two other goons to slide into the seats facing us. Thankfully, neither of them is the creepy asshat from the plane, but I still avoid making eye contact with them, not wanting to garner any more unwanted attention.
Christian sits beside me, not leaving an inch of space between us. He presses his thigh against mine and slides his hand onto my knee. When I try to move my leg away, he squeezes me hard, making tears fill my eyes from both the pain and the shock of it.
I turn to look out the window, adamant that I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I picture Blake’s handsome face, knowing he must be going out of his mind with worry right now, likely blaming himself when this is all on me.
I should have told him everything about my mom. Maybe he would have believed me, maybe he wouldn't have, but I should have given him the chance. Now I’m stuck here with a psycho, praying I get a chance to see him again before it's too late. I wasn’t kidding before when I said I would rather die than have to deal with being repeatedly raped and beaten by Christian and his men on a daily basis.
I fight back the wave of hopelessness that washes over me, focusing on the arid landscape blurring by outside my window. The garish neon lights I see in the distance give me a pretty good idea about where we are. Teamed with the dress, I know exactly what Christian has planned, but I’d rather be attending my own funeral than my wedding.
When his hand drifts a little higher up my thigh, I flinch, which makes him squeeze harder. I know I’ll have a ring of bruises tomorrow, assuming I make it through the night.
I spend the rest of the journey both praying for it to be over and hoping the car will break down so I don't make it at all. Time seems to move differently when you find yourself in a volatile situation, moving directly opposite from how you want it to move.
Eventually, we turn into a parking lot that is ringed with chapels, each boasting the reasons someone should marry there. Come get married by Elvis no, come get married by Liberace. As the car comes to a halt, I ready myself, knowing I need to take advantage of any opportunity that arises for me.
“Oh, and Callie?” Christian grabs my attention, his hand sliding dangerously close to my crotch area. “Just in case you get any funny ideas, I have security measures in place. Ever heard of a little company called Price Security?”
My body freezes solid at his words. “What did you do?” I whisper, unable to keep the horror from my voice.
“I’ve just taken out a little insurance policy. If you’re a good girl, as a wedding present, I'll let you have the detonator. By then we will be halfway across the world. But if you try anything between now and saying I do, I’ll blow that shitty little building up and everyone inside working tirelessly to find you.”
This time I don't fight back the tears. I don't turn away and hide them. I let him see the stark devastation his words cause me. I cry for everything I’m about to lose, because in this deadly game, Christian will come out the victor and the sick son of a bitch knows it. I won't let the people I love die because of me.
“If you promise to stay the hell away from Blake and his men, I’ll marry you. I won't cause a scene or put up a fight, and I won’t try to run,” I sob, swiping at my tears. “But if anything happens to them in the next f
ive minutes, five months, or five years, I’ll kill you myself.”
And that I can promise.
All he has to do is keep his word, and I’ll be the good girl he wants me to be and make the ultimate sacrifice.
My life for theirs.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Blake
The choppers land in a field beside the airstrip just as the police arrive and swarm the black plane that is still sitting on the runway. Looks like they got Tate’s tipoff, just not in time to help Callie.
We make quick work of disembarking, but not wanting to get caught up in a bunch of red tape, we stay out of the way as we wait for our ride. Ten minutes later, a deep purple Pontiac GTO in mint condition with white racing stripes pulls up beside us.
When a woman steps out with honey-kissed skin and shoulder-length chocolate brown hair, Marcus groans beside me. In skintight ripped blue jeans and a tank top with the word Dope AF printed across the chest, I can easily see her starring in many a man's fantasies, but not mine. All I care about is a certain little blonde with copper-colored eyes.
“Hey, boys, need a ride?” Her voice comes out sounding like a promise of things to come, making Marcus perk up even more.
“Damn girl, you look like my future ex-wife,” he whistles, making me slap him in the chest, hard, but she just throws her head back and laughs.
“If you value your dick, you’ll keep your eyes off my sister, because if I don't kill you, Reign’s men will,” Tate tells Marcus seriously as he wraps his arms around her and gives her a hug.
“Men?” Marcus questions, never learning when to shut the fuck up.
“I’m a very hard woman to satisfy,” she tells him with a wink, making him whimper and me slap him again.
“Get out of the fucking way. While you're standing here thinking with your cock, my woman is out there with some fucking nut job,” I snap, climbing into the back seat.
“Sorry, boss,” he answers, looking remorseful. “I’ll stay back, see if the cops find anything interesting.”
I nod in agreement. “Arlo, stay with Marcus. Felix, you're with me.” Felix climbs in beside me as Reign gets back into the driver's seat.
Tate turns to face Gunner. “Make sure these two stay out of trouble,” he orders, pointing at Arlo and Marcus before climbing into the passenger seat beside his sister. They nod their assent and Reign pulls out with a squeal as soon as Tate’s door is shut.
“How did I not know you had a sister?” I ask, trying to keep my mind occupied.
“Guys have been chasing after my sister since she woke up one day when she was fourteen with boobs. I find if I don’t mention I have a sister, then I don't have to keep knocking my friends out,” he answers, making his sister snort.
“And how’d that work out for ya?” she asks, making him mutter something under his breath that I don't catch. My phone ringing draws my attention away from the bantering in the front seat.
“Kellen,” I greet.
“Got the mother,” he answers without making me wait for it, thank god.
“And?”
“She says she knows nothing about a car accident or anything that's happened since. Apparently, her bag with her ID and driver's license was stolen two days ago.”
“Fuck, did she report it? Where was she when she realized it was missing?” I pepper him with questions.
I hear a door open and close and then the distinct sound of traffic in the background.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to talk around her. O’Neil and Mathews are questioning her but I’ve gotta tell you, something doesn’t seem right here.”
“How so?” I sit up straighter, everyone in the car going silent around me.
“For a start, she backtracked about the stolen bag. At first, she said she reported it, but when pressed she admitted that she figured it was pointless as the perpetrator would be long gone.”
“She could have just felt embarrassed. She’s old enough to know she should have reported it.”
“I considered that but…”
“But what?”
“It's her reaction to everything. She just seems… off.” He sounds frustrated, like he can't quite put his finger on something but knows something is not right.
If I've learned anything working with these guys and the team of brothers I lost before them, it's to listen when people say their gut is telling them something.
“Tell me what you're thinking.”
“She shed a few tears, her voice is shaking as she talks to Mathews and she’s wringing her hands in her lap. All signs of worry or grief and, yet, all of it feels fake. Like someone hired a two-bit actress to play Callie’s mother.”
“Okay, push her, get her to crack. If she’s hiding something, I want to know what it is.”
“On it.” He hangs up.
“So, what's the deal here?” Reign asks from the front.
“Some asshole kidnapped my woman and is trying to force her to marry him,” I answer succinctly.
“Seriously? What a fucking dick! Who does that? How the fuc—” Her voice is cut off by the sound of a phone ringing.
The car must be fitted with a Bluetooth receiver because moments later a gruff voice fills the interior.
“Yo, you’re on speaker and my brother is in the car so please refrain from using the words murder, stabby, or alibi.”
“I don’t know how your men put up with you,” I hear muttered over the line.
“Oh, hush, we both know you harbor a secret, unrequited crush on me, Kermit, but alas, I have more penises than I know what to do with.”
I watch as Tate leans forward and bangs his head repeatedly on the dash.
“The crew is spread up and down the strip. Everyone is being sent to check out as many chapels as we can. Saint is calling the LA chapter to see if they know anything about this guy and Bates says to tell you he’ll text you when they find something.” Then the line goes dead.
“Well, goodbye to you too, Kermit,” Reign mutters.
“Kermit? As in Kermit the frog?” Felix questions.
“Bikers and their nicknames.” Tate shakes his head.
“It's not a nickname, dickface. Kermit is his road name,” Reign tells her brother, speeding us closer toward the famous Vegas strip.
“Do I even want to know why they gave him the name Kermit?” Tate questions warily.
“Oh, that’s because he has a thing for Muppet porn.”
Well, that was one way to get everyone’s attention.
“I’m sorry what?” Kellen splutters.
“You know, where Kermit likes to pork his piggy? No?” Reign says when we all just look at her like she’s crazy.
“I swear having a penis lowers your IQ in some way,” she mutters, making Tate glare at her. “His last name is Froggett. Jesus, tough crowd.”
Tate opens his mouth to speak when her phone chimes with a text.
“Check it for me, Tate, but don't scroll up. Priest and I were sexting earlier,” she orders, not slowing down at all as she takes the corner.
“Why couldn’t God have given me another brother?” he asks, pained, before reading out the address to a place called The Little Blue Chapel. I sit up straight, my heart racing at the prospect of finding Callie when my phone rings again. As do Felix’s and Tate’s.
A wave of sickness washes over me, a premonition telling me that this phone call will bring nothing but bad news.
“Hello?” I listen to the voice on the other end, the words they speak twisting my insides as I lift my head and watch Tate’s face fill with pain.
I hang up feeling numb.
“What? What is it?” Reign asks anxiously.
“Someone just blew up my office. I had a man and Callie’s mom inside. Tate has two of his men with them. The building is gone. No news yet on casualties,” I answer, feeling numb.
“Shit,” she whispers just as Tate hangs up his phone, his eyes on me.
“That was Mathews. Kellen and Callie’s mother are en
route to the hospital. I don’t know anything more than that.”
“O’Neil?” I ask, remembering the other man's name.
He shakes his head, his eyes turning haunted for a moment before he pulls it back.
“He didn’t make it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Callie
Christian holds my cold, clammy hand tightly in his as a reminder to behave, but he doesn’t need to remind me. I won’t jeopardize the guys’ safety. He chooses The Little Blue Chapel. I don’t know if it's random or pre-selected, but he seems to know where he’s going.
Tugging me through the main door, we move down a short corridor before I’m shoved through a nondescript door on the left. I stumble for a moment and right myself, finding my footing before I face plant on the floor. The room I’m in now looks like it hasn’t been decorated since the fifties. Peeling floral wallpaper lines each of the walls and the once white ceiling is yellowing from years of cigarette smoke. A thick, red velvet carpet runs the length of the room and row upon row of white wooden folding chairs sit in front of a makeshift altar.
Each chair is empty like the rest of the room but, if I try hard enough, I can almost picture drunken couples stumbling in here in the early hours of the morning declaring their love to each other before waking up the morning after in a state of abject horror.
No morning after, though, will compare to mine if I go through with this.
“Remember what I said,” he whispers to me, sensing my need to flee. A door opens at the opposite end of the room to reveal a man with a thinning gray comb-over and wearing a sky-blue polyester suit.
Beside him stands a tiny, thin, bird-like woman who must be in her late sixties, early seventies, dressed in a pink button-up dress that is the exact garish shade of pink as her lipstick. Her silver-gray hair is styled up into a beehive and standing next to each other, they look like they’ve stepped off the set of an old movie.
Cautious: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World) Page 14