Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3)

by Max Henry

  I reel back as the guy’s leg hits me in the shoulder and knocks me off-balance. On instinct, I shoot a hand out and try to grab his ankle, but his jeans slip from my grip.

  “Fucker,” Sawyer growls as he strides past me, taking two steps at a time to chase Cash down.

  There’s a scuffle at the top of the stairs as I find my feet, Cash swinging wildly to get Sawyer off him. He succeeds in glancing a left hook off Sawyer’s jaw, and slips from his grasp.

  I dash up the stairs and follow them out into the living area, making it through the door just in time to see Sawyer tackle Cash to the ground mere feet from the entrance. Cash cries out, a desperate, high-pitched wail that shows he knows this is it—no getting lucky a second time.

  I creep closer, using the sofa as a blockade between myself and the madness as Sawyer straddles him, sitting atop the guy with his thighs either side of Cash’s shoulders. Our host thrashes and bucks against the hardwood floor, trying in utter desperation to escape. He throws everything he has into it, probably well aware it’s his last shot at life.

  All he succeeds in doing is making Sawyer appear as though he’s riding one of those bucking bull machines. I can’t help it; I smirk at the sight.

  “Babe,” Sawyer calls out, turning his head to locate me. “Catch.”

  He reaches behind him and takes a gun I had no idea he carried from his waistband, tossing it my way. I fumble, wrapping my fingers around the thing as it strikes the floor.

  “Shit, sorry.”

  “Take the safety off.”

  I turn it side to side, find the switch, and slide it off.

  “Now point it at this asshole’s head and pull that trigger if he so much as fuckin’ sneezes.”

  Sawyer waits until I’ve got the handgun trained on Cash and backs off, wiping his nose on his arm as he steps toward the kitchen. I keep my gaze glued to our host as he pants, sweating profusely in tiny beads across his forehead. The clatter of drawers flying open in the kitchen echoes off the walls around us.

  “Let me go, honey,” Cash pleads on a whisper, “and I’ll get you away from him.”

  I shake my head, frowning.

  “Come on,” he tries. “Don’t you want to go home?”

  The guy still thinks I’m one of them, one of those girls he hacked to pieces out of guilt.

  My thumb strokes the butt of the gun as I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and study this guy. If I’d passed him on the street a week ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. He’s clean-cut, with a soft and friendly face. No visible scars, and no tattoos that I can see. He’s the epitome of the nice guy next door, albeit a little dirty, and yet he’s hacked three women apart in his basement and killed a fourth, because they tried to get away from him. And now he’s trying to paint himself as the knight in shining armor?

  Odd.

  “I can assure you, Cash, it’s not me you need to worry about.” I paint a pretty smile and roll my head to the other side.

  He frowns, his fingers twitching where they lie on his stomach. The seconds tick by, each as critical as the last. I catch his foot move in my peripheral vision.

  “Don’t.”

  “What?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

  “Try it. I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What’s that?” His eyes flick toward the kitchen door as a triumphant yell comes from Sawyer.

  “That you can catch me off guard.” I shake my head. “You can’t. I might be a terrible catcher, but I sure do know how to fire a gun.” I wink, just to round the speech out.

  He sighs, relaxing into the floorboards as Sawyer rejoins us.

  “I miss anythin’?” he asks.

  “Nope. Perfect hostage,” I reply.

  He holds out a roll of plastic wrap. “Got a job for you, baby.”

  I take it from him, passing the gun over, keeping my eye on Cash the whole time.

  “Wrap his head up for me, girl.”

  I glance between Sawyer and Cash, frowning. Why?

  “He won’t die from it yet,” Sawyer explains, as though understanding my confusion. “But I don’t need his DNA through the vehicle when Tuck’s boys move the body later. You know how it is,”—his eyes go almost entirely black—“hair, skin, spit, and all that.”

  “Yeah, I get you.”

  Cash has broken out in a fresh sweat. Can’t blame the guy. A wicked idea comes to mind.

  “You’re going to take your time, right?” I ask Sawyer.

  He frowns, jerking his head back as though he’s surprised I asked. “Well, yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  The floor is strangely cold on my knees, in contrast to Cash’s hot skin as I lift his head and prop it on my knee.

  “Watchin’ you, fucker,” Sawyer warns. “Touch her, I’ll make it take twice as long.”

  I peel off a starter strip of film and wrap it under Cash’s head.

  “Why you doing this?” he begs Sawyer. “We were friends, man.”

  I wrap the first layer over Cash’s forehead.

  “Hey, I didn’t agree when you started this traffickin’,” Sawyer says. “But I respected your choices. Problem is, brother, you crossed the line for me when you killed them.”

  Cash snorts as I wrap the second layer around his neck and chin.

  “Fucking rich comin’ from you, man. How many people you killed now?”

  I pause, curious to hear the answer also.

  “Lost count when I hit double digits.”

  “Exactly,” Cash literally spits out. “And here you are doing it all over again, killin’ me because I’ve done the same as you.”

  “Nuh-uh,” Sawyer says with a laugh.

  I wrap Cash’s mouth, leaving his nose free . . . for now.

  “Everyone I’ve killed, they deserved that shit,” Sawyer explains. “Each one did something they knew was wrong: owed a debt they never intended to repay, killed somebody I loved, hurt a person who couldn’t defend themselves.”

  “Fucking noble,” Cash mumbles through the plastic.

  “Those girls, though.” Sawyer jabs his hand toward the basement. “The only thing they did wrong was have a pretty face. How’s that fuckin’ justified, huh? They didn’t ask to be stolen, taken from their homes, their family. They didn’t ask to be prepped for sale, and they sure as fuck didn’t ask to have some panicked coward butcher them in death to settle his guilty conscience.”

  Cash tries to protest, but in the time Sawyer’s taken to issue his side of things I’ve wrapped the guy’s head in three more layers, leaving only his eyes clear.

  My mind reels as I try to process what they’re talking about. I knew the Devil’s Breed were trafficking drugs to make ends meet, but shipping women around on the meat market? And Sawyer knew about this?

  I glance up at the pretty brute as he reaches down to his boot and pulls out a small hunting knife. He shakes his head, clearly disgusted with Cash as he steps toward the guy. I circle the wrap one more time around our host’s head so his eyes are sealed open, and then tear the wrap off, using my teeth to start the split. His hands clip me in the head as his natural panic sets in and he claws at the plastic.

  Sawyer rips Cash’s hands away, pinning each down in turn as he slices into the guy’s arms, severing tendons and literally rendering his mobility nonexistent. The flesh hangs open, showing the pale hint of bone. I turn my head to the side and lift the back of one hand to my mouth. Ugh. The guy screams, but with each lung-busting note he only succeeds in fogging up the plastic and causing it to cling to his face even tighter.

  I swallow away the nausea crawling up my throat, and look back in time to see Sawyer lean over and reach for me. He gently runs his fingers under my jaw in a soft and comforting way.

  “Good work, baby.”

  I rest back on my heels as Sawyer breaks into song, singing the tune he whistled earlier with pure manic gusto. It dawns on me that it’s “Custer” by Slipknot as he growls the chorus while he tidies up his handiwork. Fitting
.

  Remorse weighs heavy in my chest, but not for the carnage currently unfolding in front of me. For the fact five lives have come to this: four women dead because they were blessed with good genes, and one life wasted on a man who chose to check out on his morals.

  “You okay?” Sawyer shouts over the moans and groans still coming from Cash.

  I snap out of my semitrance and nod. “Yeah.”

  “You up to another task?”

  I shrug. Am I? Feels as though I’m handling this pretty well, taking my history into consideration. But maybe I’ve just blocked the shock until a more appropriate time to lose the plot?

  “It’s not a tough one,” Sawyer assures me. “Just need you to send a message to Tuck.”

  “Sure.”

  He gestures to his chest, holding his bloody hands out in front of him the same as I remember Mom doing when she would get dough all over her hands, baking.

  “Abbey, honey, can you sprinkle some more flour here?”

  Momma’s eyes are always so bright. I think she catches rays of sunshine and hides them in there.

  “Sure, Momma.”

  “Got to get this just right so we can use the cutter, eh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s enough.” Her hands roll and knead the creamy dough, a smile on her face when she catches me watching, chin rested in my hands. “You think he’ll like them?”

  “Sure. Everyone loves cookies, Momma.”

  He didn’t like them. Evan didn’t like much, as it turned out. Discovered that the long, slow, painful way over the years.

  “Abbey.”

  I snap back to the writhing victim on the floor, and the man I’m confused over my feelings for standing above said victim with his hands coated in red.

  “Sorry. On to it.”

  He leans his right shoulder back to give me easier access to the pocket inside his cut that houses his phone. My fingers brush against his chest, and I hesitate, feeling the incessant beat of his heart.

  “What can I say?” He smirks. “Two of my favorite things in the same room. A guy could get a little excited by it all.”

  I hold his gaze, captivated by the way his eyes can be as black as the pits of hell, yet his words are so softly spoken that I’d trust anything he said in this moment. “Got it.” I pull the phone out and back away, glancing down at the floor when I realize Cash has gone quiet.

  “Shit.” Sawyer toes his leg. “Better wake him up; I’m not done yet.”

  Settling on the arm of a sofa, I thumb through the phone until I come across the message thread with Tuck. “What do you want me to say?”

  Sawyer frowns at Cash, bent double over the guy so his nose is mere inches from the plastic. “He’s still breathin’.” He steps back and taps the dirty blade on his chin in thought. “Send him a message that says ‘Field needs tilling.’”

  Mm-kay. “That all?”

  The knife makes a squelchy sound as it dives into the meaty part of Cash’s leg.

  Our victim jackknifes back to consciousness with a garbled yelp.

  “Yeah. He knows what it means.”

  I fire off the message and set the phone down in my lap while Sawyer gets to work replicating what Cash did to the girls, to him.

  As it turns out, severing limbs takes a while without the right tools.

  Guess it’ll be a long night then.

  THIRTY

  Sawyer

  By the time I’ve finished turning my former acquaintance into ten smaller versions of himself, the first hues of dawn touch the horizon. Abbey sits curled into the stained easy chair, asleep with her head resting on the only clean towel she could find in this godforsaken place.

  All throughout Cash’s penance she stayed eerily quiet. I’m not really sure what I expected out of her. I mean, the girl’s not the same as the other club women, which I know. But fuck, not even a whimper as I slashed and hacked my way through Cash’s joints.

  A quick survey of the washhouse turns up exactly what I’d hoped to find: a bottle of grease-removing soap. Using the faucet in the kitchen since the laundry tub is jammed with maggot-infested rags that had to have come from the girls, I clean the blood and gore off my hands as best I can.

  How did that feel . . .?

  What do you think?

  Pretty darn good, I bet . . . .

  You’d be thinking right then.

  I give my head a little shake. The devil’s done his job; fucker can go back to sleep now.

  Well aren’t you—

  Two quick thumps to the temple silences the asshole. I cast my eye over the mess on the floor, drifting past the blood that runs in a wide pool under the sofa and to Abbey. She looks so fucking peaceful; it’s almost a shame to have to wake her up. But if we’re going to get our asses on the road again by this afternoon, she’s going to need to help.

  I cross over to where she’s nestled and use the free part of the towel to dry my hands off.

  “Babe.”

  She wriggles her face into the chair further.

  “Abbey-girl.”

  Nothing. I squat down beside her and watch her for a while, noting the slight flutter to her lashes, the way her lips are parted, and the protective arch of her shoulders. Her hands are clasped against her chest as though she’s holding on to something precious, yet her grasp is empty.

  I reach out and set my hand on her arm. “Babe.”

  Her eyes fly open and while her left hand tightens on her imaginary treasure, her right strikes out, collecting me square in the cheekbone.

  “Shit. Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She reaches out as she straightens in the seat, her hand coming short of touching me before she pulls it back.

  The look on your face might have something to do with that . . . .

  Right.

  I soften the scowl and run a palm over my cheek. “Guess I should wake you from a distance in the future, huh?”

  “It was a bad dream, is all.” She drops her legs over the side of the seat. “Is it time to go?”

  “Not yet.” I glance over at the mess in the entranceway. “We’ve got some work to do.”

  “I thought that’s what the message to Tuck was about.”

  I shake my head as she stretches, my T-shirt baggy over her frame. What I’d do to rip that off and see her lithe body all stretched out before me. But . . . work first.

  “Tuck’s guys will clean up the bodies, sure. But I want to get the names of those girls so it can be passed on to the authorities anonymously.”

  “Why?” She frowns, swiveling to face me properly.

  “Don’t you think their families deserve closure?”

  “Of course,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “Here.” I stand, offering her a hand up.

  She accepts and takes my hand in hers. Part of me doesn’t want to let go. The other part says I should, given the uneasy look on her face.

  “How are we going to do this, then?” Abbey wipes her hands on the ass of her shorts and steps over Cash’s legs to look around the room. “Are we searching the place for anything in particular?”

  I nod. “Knowin’ how his mind worked, he probably has a fuckin’ treasure box full of his conquests’ purses somewhere, or some shit.”

  “Creepy.”

  I shrug. What can I say? Criticizing Cash’s methods would be pretty two-faced of me. “I’ll start in the bedroom.” No need for Abbey to find anything fucking perverted in there.

  She stands, staring at me with the smallest frown pinching her brow.

  “What?”

  “Can I stick with you?”

  Only now do I realize she trembles. “You all right, girl?”

  “Not really.” She smiles, but that shit is as forced as most of my day-to-day interactions.

  “Talk to me.” I jerk my head toward the bedroom and start walking. Tuck’s guys should be here soon to raze the place to the ground. Best we get this fuckin’ show on the road.

  “Watching you, seeing what
he did to those girls . . . .” She shrugs, stepping aside to let me in the bedroom first. “It reminded me of things.”

  “Like what?” I look around the room that houses a bed with sheets so dirty I can’t pick what color they were originally. Food containers are scattered around the place, a cockroach making a fine house in a noodle box that’s tipped on its side.

  “I don’t remember a lot from when I was little.” She stares at a pile of dirty washing, but her focus is elsewhere. “I think I blocked half of it out, you know?”

  Not really. Wish I knew how to do that.

  As if I’d let you forget. The devil in my mind reaches across and slips in an old home movie, staring wistfully at the grainy images playing out before him.

  I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to make his fucking reel skip.

  “What happened before Apex found you, girl? I know you don’t want to say, but the more time I spend with you, the more unavoidable it is.”

  She pushes a porn magazine aside and sits on the only semiclean section of the bed. “Nothing great. Not for the most part anyway.”

  “Your parents,” I ask, settling a shoulder against the wall as I cross my legs at the ankles, thumbs hooked in my jean pockets. “They alive?”

  She shrugs. “Dad isn’t. But Mom . . . .”

  “She left you?”

  “I left her.”

  The silence that shrouds the room is fucking poignant. What the hell can you say to that? From what I know about Abbey, Apex picked her up when she was around six or seven years old. She grew up in the club, a part of the place since well before I decided to join simply to fuck off the old man.

  “I didn’t have much choice,” she states with a resigned sigh. “Nothing could have kept me in that hellhole a day longer.” She rises from the bed, absently pushing things on the bureau aside. “Not even Momma.”

  I could push for more; the glimpse she’s given me has me intrigued.

  Me also . . . .

  But I also know that look in her eye. I can respect it for what it is: her need to shut things down before her bullshit memories get too real. Self-preservation. Fight or flight instinct. It’s her mind pushing back and forcing her to blank out the pain.