by Vivian Gray
His motorcycle rumbled as he downshifted, pulling into the clubhouse parking lot. The sky was extra blue, the air extra crisp. Late summer in Northern Californian was practically a delicacy. It was the type of day that made him want to say fuck it to the errands he had to run and just ride straight home to Jessa. Then they could sit on the back patio together under the sun while he brought her whatever she needed, even if she said she didn’t want it. He sensed that she’d want to not rely on him too much. And maybe that just made him want to be even more reliable than ever.
His phone buzzed with a call in his pocket as he turned the bike off. He pushed his sunglasses up on his head to look at the screen. Unknown number.
He pocketed it again, but as it continued to ring, he fished it out. Something told him to answer it. He swiped it on.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, is this the lowlife President of the Death Knells?”
Silas’ blood went icy. He pressed the phone harder to his ear. “Who is this?”
“You’ll be very interested to know.” The voice was raspy and dark, one that sent chills down his spine. “I am someone who has something very important to you.”
Silas pinched his eyes shut, immediately knowing what it was. They had Jessa. Somehow, they’d fucking gotten her. “And what’s that?”
The phone rustled for a moment, and then he heard sobbing. Choked, desperate sobs. His heart wrenched in two, and he shouted into the receiver, “All right! What the fuck do you want from me? You leave her alone.”
“We won’t be leaving her alone,” promised the caller. “In fact, we intend to use and abuse her every way we can.” There was a sickly chuckle. “You know, she’d be a pretty addition to a sex ring somewhere. We know enough contacts. We can get her in short notice.”
Silas’ throat tightened. “You sick fucks. Stop it. Tell me what you want.”
“It only seems fair – payback for all the brothers you’ve taken out.”
“Listen, I’ll get you guns. Is that what you want? Rifles? You name it. I’ll get it.” Desperation made long strides across Silas’ chest.
The caller tutted. “No, that won’t do at all. Why would I trust you to bring me weapons? Like I’d ever ask a Deaf Null to handle such a delicate task.”
Silas gritted his teeth against the rib. “Fine. Then name your price.”
Another sick chuckle. “No, it won’t be that easy. You aren’t getting her back. It’s as simple as that. This is just payback. There is no ransom. Goodbye.”
The line went dead, and Silas stared at it for a moment before scrambling off his bike so fast it almost knocked over. He ran up to the clubhouse, banging his way in loudly.
“Guys!” His voice came out raw, broken. “Emergency meeting. Now.”
The brothers inside the clubhouse came wandering out from their respective places. Silas stormed through the clubhouse, heading for the meeting room. The brothers followed in a tense wake. Silas went to the long meeting table, pressing his palms to the surface as his mind swam with ideas. Options. Rebuttals. Fantasies of murder. He barely noticed the brothers had gathered when Tiny cleared his throat.
“Pres,” he began.
“Wicked Spawn kidnapped Jessa,” Silas spat out. He drew labored breaths, ideas clanking together as he fought to find the best path forward. “They must have taken her from the house. I had the recruit on guard but…” He shook his head. “We need to head for Spawn headquarters, immediately.”
Once the words started rolling, they tumbled out of him. A precise plan burst forth: the majority of the brothers heading for headquarters, other key members staying back to guard the clubhouse and keep a watch on their territory.
There was no ruling out the fact that this kidnapping could be more than simple payback. Spawn might use the opportunity to take over the weaker areas of Knells’ territory. Jessa would be the perfect distraction to do so.
Once Silas dismissed the brothers, everyone leaped into action. The brothers streamed out of the clubhouse like water breaking through a dam. When over twenty bikes roared to life at the same time, it sounded more like a jet engine taking off. Anxiety tightened Silas’ throat as he led the pack out of the clubhouse parking lot. They couldn’t get to the Wicked Spawn quick enough. And what would they find when they arrived?
Dark possibilities clouded his mind as their parade of motorcycles crossed town, often running red lights and cutting off drivers. Silas didn’t give a fuck. This was the other end of the spectrum from a funeral line, except the emergency was only known to the Knells and they didn’t have the orange flags on every bike.
Silas kept a close watch on his phone, in case any more calls or messages came through about Jessa. The only thing that placated him was imagining what it would feel like to strangle the son of a bitch who’d kidnapped her.
Taking the life of the disgusting Spawn that had dared cross this line would be the only way to make things right.
***
Jessa shivered in the damp closet. Her wrists ached from the rough twine they’d used to tie her up, and it felt like hours since she’d heard a peep from outside.
Spawn Headquarters. That’s all she knew about where she was, but even then, she couldn’t say what city she was in, much less what street. What would she tell someone if she escaped somehow and managed to find her phone? Any phone? Excuse me, I’ve been kidnapped, but I’m… somewhere. She swallowed hard. If she actually managed to breathe outside this rank closet.
The Spawn had knocked her out good. Too good. Her head still throbbed from where he’d hit her. She hadn’t seen it coming either – couldn’t even say if they’d used the back of their hand or a two by four. Based on the way it felt, she guessed a two by four. A few of them, even.
When she’d finally come to, she was slung over the shoulder of one of the Spawn brothers. And then she’d started screaming. That earned her a warning smack on the ass. The guy in charge, whose name was Klay, had threatened to knock her out again – said he’d have more fun with her anyway if she were passed out. Then they’d called Silas.
They put the call on speaker phone, leering at her as they talked to him, making sure she could overhear every word. The whole thing felt surreal, like she was watching a tense scene in an action flick. But no. This was real life. This was her life.
But not just hers anymore. The thought returned to her again and again, sometimes as an afterthought. She’d only known she was pregnant for a few hours, and this was how she had to come to terms with the idea?
Jessa shifted on the damp cement. Life had gone to shit since her father died. And part of her still wanted to blame him. To send all of the Death Knells to hell. But in the darkness of that closet, a deeper part of her knew that wasn’t right.
There was a simple truth: the Wicked Spawn were bad people. Even though Death Knells was an MC, they’d never kidnap, torture, or rape a woman. Even if she was the Spawn president’s old lady. Especially if she was his old lady.
It was just a moral code – something she’d known to be true, even before she’d divorced herself from the MC life. Sure, her dad might have killed people, but there was always a reason behind it. It was always first and foremost to protect himself or his family, including his extended family of club brothers.
She knew Silas was the same. She felt his goodness all the way down to her bones. Even though he was rougher than the type of guy she’d ever imagined falling for, she also suspected it was that same roughness that drew her in.
Because who was she kidding? She was made from the MC. It was in her DNA. And now her baby’s.
Jessa hung her head, focusing inward for a moment. She wondered if that guy slinging her over his shoulder would have hurt the baby. She wondered if the fear alone of what she was living through would make her miscarry.
Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked until they spilled, leaving a hot trail down her cheek.
The doorknob turned, and a sliver of light fell onto the floor. She tensed
as heavy boots scuffed over the ground. A light snapped on, and Klay smirked down at her, his thumbs hooked onto his front pockets. He watched her for longer than necessary… until a chill moved down her spine.
“It’s time for you to talk, little lady.” He unfolded a chair and slammed it down next to her. She jumped, catching a sour whiff of his scent. Like stale beer and cigars. Another man filled the doorway, his arms crossed, staring down at her expressionless.
A moment of silence went by until Klay leaned forward on the chair, making it creak.
“Talk!” he barked out.
She drew a shaky breath. “About what?”
“About what those idiot Deaf Nulls are cooking up.”
“They’re Death Knells,” she began, but he slapped her across the face.
“I know what they’re called,” he hissed out. “Now tell me what they’re planning and maybe, maybe, I’ll consider letting you out of here alive.”
She blinked up at him, desperation pooling in her gut. She and Silas never spoke about club business, not even once. It was like he knew she didn’t want to hear it. Maybe that’s what had allowed them to get so close over the past few weeks. And everything she knew about Wicked Spawn came from the situation she was in: married to a biker for protection, attacked in her own home. A target simply because she was alive and related to Stone.
“I don’t know anything,” she said weakly.
Klay slapped her again. She whimpered. That one stung worse than the first one.
“Buncha bullshit,” he snarled out. “You’re married to the goddamn president, and you’re the daughter of the last one. Now tell me.”
Jessa drew a deep breath, tears leaking out of her eyes. The tang of iron reached her, the corner of her mouth dribbling blood. “I swear to God, we never talk about club business.”
But even she knew how unlikely that sounded – how that would be the first thing anyone in her position would claim.
A tight grin covered his face, and he leaned close to her, grabbing her by the hair. “You want to fuck around with me? How about we fuck around with you then?”
The acidity in his words, on his breath, pushed a sob out of her. She shook her head, thinking about her baby. She couldn’t tell them about it; that seemed unwise. If they knew, then maybe they’d make her baby a target. The helpless, half-formed life inside her. But every move they made against her threatened the life of it. Of her and Silas’ child.
“I’m not fucking around,” she gasped out, but he shoved her, and she fell onto her side. The metal clang of a belt buckle filled the room. She curled into a ball, watching as Klay loomed over her.
“Those assholes are after me,” he said, his voice like sandpaper across her skin. He slowly unsheathed his belt, folding it lengthwise into one hand. “But if I have you here, they won’t do anything stupid.” He paused, licking his lips. “But me on the other hand, I like to do stupid things. And I think one of the first stupid things I’ll do is put a baby in you.”
Her eyes widened, and she struggled to scoot away from him. He approached slowly, his footsteps falling like hammers. “Doesn’t that sound like a good idea to you? Wouldn’t the Pres of Deaf Nulls just loooove it if I knocked up his wife?”
She couldn’t even find words strong enough to protest. All she could do was sputter.
“Yeah.” He hooked his thumb through a belt loop, rubbing his other palm over the crotch of his pants. Fear slithered through her, rooting her to the spot. “I think he’d like that a lot.”
She hadn’t considered this – the fact that now her body was in the crosshairs as well. She wasn’t just collateral damage; she was something to be used to hurt the Death Knells. She was a playing card, a fucking pawn, and she had no doubt Klay would use her any way he pleased. It didn’t matter that she was already pregnant. The mere fact that he wanted to wield her body, her womb, like a weapon, was enough to make her want to puke.
A sob escaped her. She pressed her forehead to the ground, the word no running through her head.
“We’ve got plenty of time to get it right, too.” Klay fell to his knees, crawling toward her. She scooted up so far that she hit the wall. Her stomach pitched downward. “Unless you’re barren. You’re not a barren bitch, right?”
Klay let a vicious cackle, something that sounded more like it came from an animal than a man. He looked back at the door, but his wingman had disappeared.
“Cam?” Klay hopped to his feet, poking his head out of the closet. Whoever was out there spoke in low tones. The more they spoke, the more Klay’s face fell.
Klay turned to her in the closet, a scowl on his face. “Fuck.”
Whatever his bad news was, she hoped it meant good news for her.
Chapter Sixteen
It took an hour to get to Spawn headquarters, but to Silas, it felt like a year. By the time they roared into their seedy neighborhood in the neighboring country, he was ready to drive his bike headfirst into their clubhouse. Guns out. No survivors.
Fuck negotiations, fuck civility. The Wicked Spawn had breached every code that ever existed in the history of MCs. This was their last fuckup. The Death Knells would take them down.
Silas slowed on the bike, bouncing slightly as he went over jagged potholes and inexplicable missing pieces of road. The whole neighborhood reeked of shadiness. No wonder these creeps had picked this street as their headquarters. The perfect place to head the cesspool that was Wicked Spawn.
When the entrance to the clubhouse parking lot came into view, he slowed. Chain-link fencing bordered the small property, weeds growing unchecked from inside cracks in the cement. The trail of club brothers behind him slowed as well.
“Let’s block the driveway,” Silas said, jerking his chin toward the entry. “We don’t want these guys getting out.” He parked his bike at the far end of the entrance, his front tire jutting up onto the sidewalk, and the rest of the brothers filed in beside him. They formed a human and metal chain. Silas nodded, swinging his leg over the bike.
The clubhouse sat in front of them, the crumbling, white brick and clapboard embarrassment just a hundred feet back from the street. Silas tugged up his jeans, walking toward the front door before he could even make the decision to move. Jessa was in here somewhere. That was all he needed to know.
His brothers fanned out behind him, taking up various posts between Silas and their bikes. The property seemed quiet, almost abandoned, like every Spawn in existence was out running an errand. Silas pounded as hard as he could on the front door. Showing up like this, unannounced to a rival’s clubhouse, was one of the biggest no-no’s in club life. You needed either an invitation or urgent bad news. But Wicked Spawn threw out the rulebook when they kidnapped Jessa.
The door creaked open a moment later, and Silas grabbed the collar of the guy who appeared. A surprised looking Spawn stared up at him. A young guy, probably a prospect. Of course the cowardly Spawn would send this person to answer their door the day they kidnap the Death Knells’ president’s old lady.
“Where is she?” Silas snarled out.
The kid looked confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He had a kutte on, but without turning him around, Silas couldn’t tell if this was a prospect or not.
“Your fucking brothers kidnapped my old lady. Where the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know, I swear—”
Silas whipped out his gun, held it up the guy’s temple. “Bring her to me, or I will shoot you.”
“Silas,” Tiny said from behind, caution in his voice. “Cool it, brother. We’re on their territory.” In a lower voice, he said, “This could be a trap.”
Silas’ hand shook with the effort of not pulling the trigger. And then he did anyway, aimed at the prospect’s foot. The blast echoed through the room and Silas watched the back doors carefully for any reaction, any movement. Maybe Tiny was right. Maybe those assholes were drawing him in, provoking him further, waiting for a chance to ambush.
The p
rospect howled in pain, stumbling away, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Silas burst into the front room. “Jessa? Jessa, can you hear me?”
The clubhouse was eerily quiet. As he waited for any sort of reaction, minus the continued wails of the prospect, he stepped forward carefully. Tiny and a couple brothers trailed him, the four of them scanning all the doors for movement. The inside of the clubhouse smelled like sweat and hangovers. Empty bottles littered the floor, and one of the doors leading deeper into the clubhouse hung crooked. Dull green shag carpet stared up at them. This clubhouse was a joke. Just like its owners.
“Silas!” Butch from outside beckoned him, and Silas headed for the door. Just as he stepped onto the creaking front porch of the clubhouse, the roar of motorcycle engines told him what he needed to know.
The scene outside was chaos. Spawn flooded past on their bikes, which explained the empty clubhouse, and leaving the dumb prospect to open the door to a house that was being evacuated. Silas scanned the bikes for any trace of Jessa. The Knells’ brothers watched as the Spawn drove past. Silas held his breath as a bike approached the wall the Knells’ built with their motorcycles.