Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3)

by Max Henry

Fuck. I need you, don’t I?

  Sure do . . . .

  So, what do we do now?

  We test how suitable she really is . . . .

  By doing what?

  What did your message from Tuck say . . .?

  I glance over at Abbey as she sleeps from my position on the side of the bed. She’s all curled up on herself, knees tucked into her chest, and the sheet is mostly covering her face. She’s not ready for what the hidden side of my world has to offer, not yet.

  Are you sure? If you want to know if she’s the right girl for you, you need to try her . . . .

  My phone screen lights the room in a pale glow as I thumb through to the message Tuck sent. It’s an address, nothing more, nothing less. But it’s what it represents. It’s me at my worst. It’s who I really am. And it’s everything that could scare her away for good.

  I’m in two minds as to whether I do the job. King doesn’t seem to be in a major rush for us to get back to Lincoln, but at the same time I’m not sure he’d be down for me making a half day layover in the name of sorting out trouble for the Devil’s Breed.

  What to do . . . .

  Oh, I know what you’d do, asshole. The sing of metal gliding across metal fills my head as the devil sharpens his knives.

  If I’m going out, I need to do it soon. The target is supposed to be gone from the address by dawn, from what Tuck told me on the phone while Abbey showered.

  While Abbey played with herself . . . .

  Yeah, I’d kind of like to see that a few more times before I scare her away.

  What better time than now, though . . .?

  God, I hate the asshole. As much as I don’t want to admit it, he’s swaying me to his way of thinking. Why build on something here if she’s just going to bolt the first time she discovers what she’s really got herself in for? She wants inside my head, well then what better way to show her than in living Technicolor?

  I drop the phone, reach over, and tap her shoulder. She goes rigid, and then sits up in a frantic mess of dark hair and sheets.

  “Fuck! What is it? You startled the shit out of me.”

  “I touched your shoulder,” I deadpan. If that’s all it took, I’d hate to see her react when I do try to wake her in a hurry.

  “I’m a light sleeper.”

  I cock my eyebrow—an argument for another day. “We’re goin’ out.”

  She tips her head to one side, bunching the sheet in her fists over her chest. “Where?”

  “Got a job to do.”

  Her eyes go wide before she frowns. “And you want me to go too?”

  “Yeah.” I push off the bed and cross over to the rest of my clothes.

  She slips her feet off the side of the bed and sits watching me as I tug my T-shirt on, sliding my cut over top. The guy we’re paying a visit to is no stranger to me, so there’s no need to try and go incognito.

  “What are we doing?”

  “I’m settling an issue, and you’re watching.”

  Abbey stands, stretching her hands over her head. “I hope you don’t need me dressed like some cat burglar or anything; I haven’t got anything to wear but my tank and shorts.”

  Jesus. Talk about unneeded distractions. “I’ve got another T-shirt on my bike.”

  “Good.” She crosses the room and peers out the side of the curtain at the parking lot. “Because it looks cold out there.”

  “Keepin’ warm will be the least of your worries soon.” Not getting caught in the crossfire will be up there at the top of her priorities in approximately forty minutes from now.

  I leave her tugging her cut-offs on and head out to my ride to snag the spare shirt. She’s right; it is still and cool out here.

  Damn it all . . . .

  Exactly. Sound carries on a windless night. Going to have to be creative.

  “You got everything you need?” She stands at the door to our room with the key card in her hand.

  I nod. “Yeah. Lace your boots, though.”

  Her hair drops into her face as she glances down at the loose ends. “Right.”

  “And do you have an elastic or somethin’?”

  Abbey holds up a single finger and dashes back in the room. I mount up and turn the bike on, letting the engine warm up while she sorts herself out. She emerges a few minutes later, boots laced and her hair pulled into a high ponytail. Fuck, she’s a sight I could never tire of.

  “Let’s go.” Her hands clap down on my shoulders, and she mounts the bike behind me, thighs pressing in tight against mine.

  Jesus. I take a moment to simply breathe and level my shit.

  Hope you’re right about this, asshole.

  ***

  “If he knows we’re coming, then why are we sneaking up?” Abbey runs her hands over her bare arms as we walk up a wooded driveway toward a lit house earmarked by the Devil’s Breed.

  “We ain’t sneakin’ up,” I explain. “We’re just muddying the timeline when the cops come askin’ the neighbors questions.”

  “How do you mean?”

  I run a hand over my head, feeling strangely awkward about discussing my methods as though it’s some Christmas recipe to be passed down through the generations. “My bike’s loud, yeah?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She nods.

  “If you lived next door, and the police turned up askin’ you questions about timelines, then you’d probably remember a fuckin’ great Harley screamin’ up the neighbors’ drive at three in the mornin’, right?”

  “I get it now.” She jams her hands in the pockets of her shorts and stares ahead at the house; we’re less than twenty yards away. “What’s the plan?”

  “Play it by ear.” I case the place as we approach: animals, obstacles, the number of vehicles out front, and possible exits. “Just stick close enough that I know where you are, but try not to get in the way.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  We get as far as the dented truck parked next to the porch steps before the front door bursts open and my mark greets us with a huge grin.

  “He looks happy about this,” Abbey whispers out the side of her mouth.

  “He doesn’t know,” I explain simply before taking three long strides to accept the guy’s outstretched hand.

  “Sawyer,” he exclaims, clinching me with a pat to the back. “Fuckin’ long time, man.”

  “Sure has been.”

  “What brings you over our neck of the woods?”

  “Business.” I analyze his body language as the implications register.

  His eyes shift down, his hands tracking over the legs of his dirty jeans. “Yeah?”

  “Been talkin’ with Tuck.”

  His gaze shifts to Abbey. “What’s she here for?”

  “Insurance.”

  “What do you want, man?” He shifts so the column of the porch is between his left shoulder and me. “Why did he send you over to see me?”

  Cash Warren and I go back a long way. He’s been knocking around serving the clubs since before I even considered patching in to one. We met as two teen boys, jilted by our asshole fathers. Mine: the drug lord, his: the crooked cop who used to work with my father.

  “You were supposed to deliver four units last week. Tuck said it was your third delivery date . . . and you missed it.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Days kind of get away on me.”

  “Pretty important date to forget,” I say. “Three times.”

  Abbey shifts, taking a couple of steps back to lean her hip against the back of the truck. She’s intrigued, ankles and arms crossed as she studies Cash with a frown.

  “Come on in, man,” Cash says, voice wavering. “Have a cold one. We’ll talk this through.”

  “Hey.” I raise both hands, palms out. “I’m not here to negotiate. Just check in on business.”

  I’m lying. Tuck knows the merchandise has expired. He’s been in the business of buying secondhand and refurbishing long enough to know whe
n a dealer is playing him for a fool.

  “What next then?” Cash’s right hand tracks a nervous path over his chest and stomach.

  “Show me everything’s in order, brother, and I’m gone.”

  Another lie.

  You’re so good at this . . . .

  Wondering when you’d turn up.

  Cash’s eyes flick over to Abbey again. “Just you, Sawyer, yeah?”

  “Both of us.” I point toward my girl. “She’s under watch.”

  Abbey snorts. Damn it. I march over and wrap a hand around her throat, leaning in close for show.

  “Fuckin’ shut your mouth, whore,” I grind out through gritted teeth, adding quiet enough that only she can hear, “He thinks you’re merch, too.”

  She nods in my hold, coughing when I let go. I’d feel bad about it, but I reckon her panties are good and wet now.

  “Come in, then,” Cash instructs. “I’ll take you to the storeroom.”

  His movements get jerkier the deeper we go into the house. Filthy would be a light way of describing how he’s kept the place. There’s rotten food in the kitchen, what smells like stale piss in the living room, and a fucking rat hauling ass with a half-wrapped burrito in the hall.

  Ignoring the stench, and the train wreck that is the house, I keep watch on the mark as we head toward the linen cupboard. Strange? Yeah. But I’ve been told what’s behind that door.

  Abbey hasn’t.

  Cash’s head swivels from side to side as we near the slatted timber doors, as though he’s looking for makeshift weapons. I glance at Abbey, noting the furrow to her brow as she follows, arms folded as though trying to keep from touching anything by accident.

  “Look,” Cash blurts, body-blocking the doors. “I can do a two for one. I can replace and upgrade.”

  “I’m not the one you should have talked to, Cash.”

  “Let me call him.”

  “You’ve had three missed drops, and eight weeks to make that call.”

  His gaze hasn’t shifted from mine; the man’s desperate. “Please.”

  “Tick, tock.” I smile. “Time’s up.”

  Game on, motherfucker . . . .

  TWENTY-NINE

  Abbey

  Goddamn—the smell. This place is insane. I’m pretty sure those reality TV cleaning crews would turn this place down for a feature. And this guy lives here?

  Cash, as Sawyer called him, breaks out in a sweat, staring down Sawyer like he can find some sort of soft spot in the guy to appeal to.

  The moron’s dreaming.

  “Tick, tock. Time’s up.” Sawyer’s head tips to the side, his brow firm and his shoulders rigid as he assesses Cash before him.

  I take a step back, the change in the air around us almost palpable as something snaps in that pretty boy’s head.

  Cash backs up also, hands raised, and reaches for the handles of the linen cupboard. Fuck knows what the stuff they’ve been talking about is. I’m guessing drugs? Cash pulls the first of the two doors open, and I expect to see bags of white powder stacked up on the shelves.

  Not fucking stairs heading below ground.

  What the hell?

  Sawyer gestures for Cash to go first, a sadistic smile painted on those full lips of his. Whatever’s down there, he knows what it is, and I get the feeling he’s looking forward to how this is about to unfold. I leave a good three risers between him and me as I trail behind. I don’t know what tripped in Sawyer’s mind when Cash started pleading for a second chance, but the mood feels as though we’re in a car with no brakes, teetering on the precipice of a cliff, waiting to see if we’ll go over or balance out.

  The basement smells dank, the unmistakable stench of stagnant water strong. Something else grows thicker the further we descend, something akin to death. Rodents perhaps? After seeing that rat the size of a small dog in the corridor, I wouldn’t be surprised if there are a few decaying ones down here.

  Cash flicks a switch at the base of the stairs and the ping of old light bulbs fill the air the second we’re bathed in muted white light. Our host collapses his shoulder into the wall opposite the base of the stairs and starts to sob.

  I duck down, given I’m still standing at least six steps up from the bottom, and look under the ceiling at the room below.

  Holy.

  Shit.

  My entire body trembles, goose bumps born out of pure horror rippling over my flesh. Guess I know what the smell is now.

  “I couldn’t help it. The first one, she tried to get upstairs, and then the second wouldn’t shut up when I tried to stop her, so I hit them, and then—”

  “You thought you’d practice your butchery skills?” Sawyer asks, moving past Cash to walk into the thick of the horror.

  He points to the dismembered parts of women’s bodies, his lips silently moving as though he’s counting. “I’ve only got six legs, Cash. There should be eight.”

  The guy looks to the floor, hands running over his face.

  So much blood. That wasn’t stagnant water I could smell.

  “Where’s the other one?” Sawyer whips across the room in three large strides, crowding our trembling host into the corner.

  I allow my legs to give out and I sit on the stairs, eyes glued to the macabre scene spread across the dirt floor. I’ve seen people die before, seen them bleed out from both gunshot wounds and stabbings. Seen more than I can count. But this is new. Can’t say I’ve ever seen three women—at least I assume they were all women—hacked to pieces and organized into piles by body part, organs neatly stacked to the side in plastic food containers.

  “Where’s the fourth?” Sawyer hollers again.

  “She got away, okay?” Cash shrinks down the wall, his shoulders hunching over as though they’ll protect him from Sawyer’s anger. “She ran, and I chased her down. Hit her with the truck. Her body’s wrapped up in the back.”

  Fuck me. No wonder he was keen to get us inside. I was leaning on that truck. My stomach burns, turning incessantly. I swear the smell has doubled since we’ve been down here. Wonder if I’ll ever get it out of my nose?

  Sawyer takes two steps back from Cash and looks up at where I sit on the stairs. His gaze is vacant as it slides back to our host, with none of the curiosity or concern I’ve become acquainted with. I draw my knees up and hug them to my chest as Sawyer tips his head back, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. The room’s fallen eerily quiet, save for the beating of my heart echoing in my ears. Tension builds thick, Sawyer’s arms going rigid at his sides as he visibly winds up. His body vibrates with pent-up energy, his head tipping side to side as though he’s stretching out his neck. But nothing tells me that the shit is about to hit the fan like what he does next. Normally, Sawyer would be slamming the heel of his hand into his head, trying to silence the voice inside. But not now. Tonight he lifts both meaty paws and places them over his ears instead, as though he’s trying to amplify the voice.

  Cash whimpers as Sawyer’s mouth twitches in and out of what can only be described as a grimace masquerading as a smile. It’s cold, promising only pain and no trace of mercy.

  I’m entranced.

  “Give me a break,” Cash whines. “Not as though you never fucked up, buddy. Remember that time in Chicago?”

  Sawyer ignores him, turning back toward the bodies and starting to whistle.

  I tune in to the slow notes, ignoring Cash’s pathetic pleas, as Sawyer wanders the room checking out the carnage. I know the song, it irks at the back of my mind. What the hell is it?

  He picks up one of the arms, pale and adorned with a small butterfly tattoo at the wrist. The thing’s rigid as a baseball bat, which is exactly how Sawyer holds it as he turns back to Cash.

  “How old were these ones?”

  “I . . . I don’t know for sure.”

  Sawyer chuckles. “Course you don’t. Bet you didn’t know their names, either.”

  “They’re merch, man.” Cash’s bloodshot eyes flick my way. “You know her name?�
�

  Sawyer blinks slowly, lifting the arm over his shoulder with both hands on the wrist as though he’s preparing to hit a home run. “You don’t get to hear her name,” he growls, low and resonant. “It doesn’t belong in here with this hell.” He arcs the arm back and swings it at Cash, hitting him in the side of the head and across the hands as the fool tries to defend himself. “Why did you cut them up?”

  Cash takes a moment to retch, hands to his knees as he doubles over and heaves his stomach in and out. There’s gore on his cheek, in his hair, and worst of all, covering the stair close to my feet.

  I should be doing the same thing, throwing up or passing out in shock, but I’m not. Instead, I can’t take my eyes off Sawyer as I wait to see what he does next. He’s circling his neck again, eyes closed, lips moving every so often.

  He’s in conversation with his dark side.

  It’s sexy as hell.

  And I’m fucking certifiable for thinking so.

  “I haven’t got all night to wait around, Cash,” Sawyer warns.

  The guy straightens up, pale and lucid. “I looked up different ways to get rid of the bodies without burying them. I didn’t want any trace.” He sucks in a deep breath. “The sites said the acid worked faster with more surfaces to eat at. It suggested chopping the bodies up.” He makes a god-awful gagging noise and averts his gaze from his handiwork.

  “Logical,” Sawyer muses. “Why did you stop?” He drops the arm in his grasp and picks up a leg instead.

  “I can’t do it. Every time I’m down here I can hear their crying, them pleading. I can’t take it, man.”

  Sawyer snorts a bitter laugh, and then spins at the same time as raising the leg over his head. He rains what remains of the knee down on Cash’s shoulders as the guy hunches into a ball in the corner.

  “Stop it, man! Cut it out!”

  Sawyer backs up, tossing the leg in his grasp so it now hangs like it would have on the woman’s body. “Did she kick you like this?” He flicks the foot into Cash’s knee. “Or did she plead and try to push you away like this?” He positions the foot against Cash’s shin and presses.

  Our host cries out and tries to back away. But he can’t; he’s penned in. So he does the only thing a desperate fool would—he tries to run for the door.