by Penny Dee
“I-I don’t—”
My knee collected with his now flaccid cock, and he doubled over with a cry.
“Let’s try that again. Where the fuck is Martel hiding?”
“I don’t know, man…all I know is he’s coming to town because he has a shipment arriving.”
I looked at Cade and Ruger.
The motherfucker was still trying to use our untapped interstates for his drug haul. We always knew he would try again. But so far, our intel hadn’t found anything to suggest he had managed to set up his distribution arm again.
Until now.
“What kind of shipment?” Ruger asked.
“I-I don’t know. Coke, maybe? Please, don’t hurt me.”
“When is the shipment due?” I asked.
“I-I don’t know…” Scud was shaking and wouldn’t look me in the eye.
I glanced to the camera on the tripod. Above the pillows, two metal shackles hung from chains nailed into the filthy wall.
“You making him another movie, Scud?”
He finally looked at me, surprised that I knew about his gruesome pastime. “What?”
“I’ve seen your handiwork, Scud. I’ve seen the sick shit you do. Did Martel order another one? Is that what you had planned for Heroin Harriet, that poor girl you were just balls deep in? You going to do psycho shit to her and then snuff her like you snuffed out Annie Stonebrook?”
“I don’t know what y-you’re talkin’ about—”
I put my gun against his temple. “Lie to me again. I dare you.”
“Okay, okay!” He put his hands up in surrender and squeezed his eyes shut. “He ordered one…”
His confirmation was like a nail being dragged down my spine, and I had to bite back my disgust. Every nerve in my body fizzled with anger and repulsion.
“Where were you supposed to deliver it to him?” I turned his chin with the barrel of my gun to make him look at me. “You don’t send something like that to a post office box. Where is the drop-off point?”
“He didn’t tell me!” His eyes slid away from me again, and I pressed my gun deeper into his jaw so he would look at me. “I-I swear…he said to have it ready by the fourteenth, and he would contact me.”
“How?”
“By p-phone!”
Ruger stepped behind him, careful to avoid touching anything, and picked up Scud’s phone from the nightstand. He took a quick look through it.
“There’s no number for Gimmel Martel,” he said.
Scud winced when I pressed my gun deeper into his skin. “He told me to store any contact with him under the n-name Caligula.”
I gave him a pointed look. “Seriously?”
Caligula was a Roman Emperor known for his cruelty and sexual perversion.
Ruger scrolled through the contacts and then nodded at me. “There’s a Caligula in his contacts.” He started looking through the conversation and his face screwed up. “Oh, you sick fuck. You really going to do this to someone?”
“What does it say?” I asked.
“I ain’t repeating this shit. Finish up here and you can read it yourself.” Ruger said as he closed the phone and tucked it into his cut. “I’m gonna need to wash my own mouth out with soap if I read that shit out loud.”
“Hell, I think I might just do that anyway after standing in this shithole,” Cade said.
I turned my attention back to Scud. “Are there more?”
“More?”
“Videos.” He shook his head but winced again when my gun burrowed into his jawbone this time. “Come on, Scud, a talented guy like you? I can’t imagine you went all this time without making more of your filthy shows.”
“No, I-I didn’t.”
He was lying. I gestured for Cade to look through the closet, and I could tell by the fear on Scud’s face that we were going to find something he didn’t want us to find. Within seconds, I heard Cade groan.
“Oh, hell no,” he said, stepping back, his gloved hands clasped around a stack of Polaroids. He handed them to Ruger. “You are not going to believe this shit.”
Scud’s eyes closed. He knew this wasn’t going to end well for him. Whatever was on those Polaroids was going to seal his fate.
“This just ain’t right,” Ruger said, showing me two of the photographs.
My stomach tightened with disgust. Scud was a sick fuck, and I would never unsee what was in those pictures.
“You s-said you w-weren’t going to k-kill me!” he stammered.
I looked him in the eye and thought of Annie Stonebrook dying of an overdose. Her last moments painful, undignified, and all caught on camera and broadcast for the perverts of the world to see, because men like Martel got off on watching it.
I thought of the images on the Polaroids. Of the other girls in the videos, the ones who survived but who would have to live with what he’d done to them for the rest of their lives.
And then I thought of the ones he had yet to meet and break.
“Oh, I’m not killing you.” I leaned in. “Not here, anyway.”
Ruger shoved his gun into his spine. “We’re going for a little drive.”
Leaving the cesspit that was his obvious home, we slipped into the dawn light and took him to the abandoned drive-in theater a few miles out of town. On the empty lot, there was an old building we liked to use for club business. It was a good location. No one could hear the screams out there.
Waiting for us was a scary motherfucker we only knew as Blowtorch. He liked to inflict pain, and we always got our money’s worth whenever we used him. He was capable of things not many human beings could stomach, and it was exactly what Scud deserved.
Because he was about to dish up a hot serving of karma to Scud with his blowtorch.
Ruger, Cade, and I stood on and watched, disconnected from the pain and suffering we were witnessing because we had seen what Scud had done to those innocent women on those videos. We’d seen how he’d ignored his victims’ cries for mercy as he’d brutally raped them. We’d heard them begging him to stop as he tortured them.
Now it was his turn to beg.
When he finally passed out from the pain, I nodded to Blowtorch, and he killed the flame. Walking over to the unconscious Scud, I slapped him awake until he finally looked up at me through glazed eyes and a sweaty brow, his slack mouth drooling blood, spit, and puke.
I pressed my gun to his chest. “This is for all the nasty shit you did to those women.”
And I shot him.
I shot him right through his miserable, black heart.
As I rose to my feet, I looked over at Cade and Ruger, who both remained expressionless.
The job was done.
Scud Boney was just one more thread in Gimmel Martel’s dark web of perversion that I had picked apart and destroyed.
No one would miss him, and the world would be better off without him.
TAYLOR
I was having one of those days. The type that starts with your alarm not going off because of a power outage overnight, and usually ends with you drowning your sorrows in a bottle of wine and a bag of Doritos as you contemplate life and where the fuck it all went wrong.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t at the wine and Doritos part yet.
It wasn’t even lunch time.
And who was I kidding, I couldn’t even afford a bag of Doritos.
I walked to my car feeling the hot sting of embarrassment on my cheeks. I’d just come from my first job interview since losing my job at Slingers. But it had been a nightmare, to say the least. I’d been completely unprepared. I thought it was a simple bar job, slinging beers in another dive bar. But when the guy who was interviewing me—an overweight guy in his fifties with a cigar propped between his yellow teeth and beer stains down the front of his white polo shirt—told me to take my top off, I was a little taken aback. When I refused, because hey, I didn’t realize I was applying for a topless waitress position, given they never mentioned it in the ad or the phone call inviting me in
for an interview, he started yelling at me to get out and to stop wasting his time.
He didn’t have to ask twice.
Now, I sat slumped in the driver’s seat of my car with my head against the headrest, contemplating my next move.
It wasn’t easy getting a job in this town, when the first question they asked was, “Why did you leave your last job?”
Because, I kneed my sleazy boss in the balls, didn’t make me an attractive candidate to any potential boss.
The only other option was a waitressing job at an upmarket bar over in Humphrey, the kind where you could purchase a little more than a drink from the waitress if you had the right amount of cash.
And I wasn’t willing to do that.
I groaned.
Now I was back to square one.
Stone-cold broke.
But we’re safe.
I thought about my brother and what he’d said to me in the car after our encounter with the biker. He was still angry at me. And clearly, he was struggling with it being just the two of us. The thought killed me. As a little boy, he’d never asked about our parents, or the man he’d known briefly as his godfather, but as he got older, he grew more insistent on knowing more. Wanting more.
And that terrified me.
As I pulled out of the parking lot, I blew out a puff of air and rolled down the window. It was a warm summer day, and the lack of air conditioning in my car had me hot and sticky. I wasn’t one to dwell on what I didn’t have, I always tried to make the best of things, but today was pushing every one of my damn buttons.
Although, no matter how bad my day could get, it was infinitely better than what we’d left behind.
We came to Destiny for a fresh start. It wasn’t a hard decision. Moving here put a bigger gap between us and our past, and promised us a chance for freedom.
When Credence Clearwater Revival’s, “Feeling Blue” came on the radio, I leaned forward to turn it up. I was distracted for a nanosecond. A blink of an eye. But it was enough for me not to see the van in front of me stop at the light, and for me to slam into the back of him.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck.
After the jolt of the impact rattled through me, I took a moment to press my forehead to the steering wheel because I wasn’t sure my day could get any worse.
I raised my head in time to see the driver of the van climb out. He was a knockout gorgeous biker in a Kings of Mayhem vest, with bright blue eyes and tattoos covering two very muscular arms. He took one look at my car that had rammed into the back of his van and his eyebrows rose.
“Damn,” he said, surveying the damage.
I climbed out, ready to grovel. I didn’t have the money for repairs. And insurance was for people who weren’t stone-cold broke.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. I looked away for a split second and—” I stopped when a second biker appeared from the passenger side. A biker with inky black hair and a voice I hadn’t been able to get out of my head for the last two days. My shoulders sagged. Day meet worse. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
A smile tugged at his lips.
“Of course, it has to be you,” I said, folding my arms across my chest as if I was protecting myself against some unknown force. Because apparently, fate was having a fun time fucking with me.
“You say that like I was the one who ran up your ass,” he said wryly, lifting up his sunglasses and squinting in the sunshine.
My cheeks grew hot. I was flustered. And it had nothing to do with the way he was looking at me.
Because today has been a really shitty day, that is all.
“Well, if I’d known it was you in the car, I’d probably have driven a little faster,” I mumbled.
I couldn’t help myself. Being caught between a rock and a hard place made me a smartass.
“And I’d expect nothing less, sweetheart.”
The other biker looked at me, then to his passenger, then back to me.
“Wait. You two know each other?” he asked.
We answered simultaneously. But with completely different answers.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
The biker who wasn’t the arrogant ass raised an eyebrow. “Right.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say we know each other,” I said.
“It was a brief but memorable encounter,” said the man who was torturing me with those broad shoulders and big biceps.
“For you, maybe.”
He grinned to reveal a mouth full of perfect, straight white teeth.
Of course.
The other biker watched on, intrigued. “I see. Well, as much as I’d love to stand here and watch whatever this is, we should get these off the road.” He pointed to the van and my now-damaged car. “The van looks okay, but we’ll have to get the prospects to tow the Honda back to the clubhouse.”
“You really don’t have to do that,” I said, trying desperately to ignore Mr. Arrogant Ass. I could feel the heat of his piercing gaze sliding over me like a warm caress.
“I think we kinda do,” said the man I was now calling Mr. AA. “Unless your plan was to cause traffic chaos this afternoon.”
I rolled my eyes at him, but he just gave me a ridiculously sexy grin.
Because he was an ass.
“Bull’s right. It’s almost rush hour,” the nice biker said. “We need to get the Honda back to the clubhouse.”
Bull.
Nope.
Mr. AA suited him better.
I turned to the nice one. “I appreciate your help. Thanks.”
He smiled and reached into his vest for his phone. When he stepped away to make a call, Mr. AA stepped forward.
“I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself the other day.” He offered me a hand. A big hand. “Name’s Michael, but people call me Bull.”
I shook it. “Taylor.”
Our handshake lingered, and a warm rush swept through me. “Nice to meet you, Taylor.”
The way he said my name sent a ripple through me. Our eyes locked onto one another in a tense standoff.
“The pleasure is all mine,” I said sarcastically.
His eyes gleamed. “Not yet. But I can guarantee you that it will be.”
Which earned him an eye roll.
The nice biker reappeared. “The prospects are on their way.” He looked at me. “Come on, you can ride up-front with us. It can get a bit rough in the back.”
But Bull didn’t let go of my hand or remove his eyes from mine. “Don’t worry, Caleb…I don’t think this one minds it rough.”
I flashed him a dark look, trying to ignore the warmth of his fingers still wrapped around mine.
Finally, I pulled my hand away and raised an eyebrow at him. “You have no idea.”
Bull and Caleb drove me to their clubhouse, while two bikers with the word Prospect written across their vests took care of my car and followed us. There was only minor damage, one of them assured me, and they could have it fixed in no time.
By the time I’d reached the hallowed halls of the Kings of Mayhem clubhouse, I’d managed to calm my nerves.
And somewhere during the five-minute drive, Mr. AA had managed to lose a little of his arrogance and assholery. We stood in his office, his massive timber desk between us.
“How’s the kid?” he asked.
His concern seemed genuine, and it was enough to lower my guard.
“Mad as hell at me for the other day.” I slid my hands into my back pockets. “I’m sorry about that. I’m just a bit protective of him. He’s had a rough time lately, but I really shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
Whether or not he accepted my apology, he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Has he had any more problems with the bullies?” he asked.
“Are you kidding me? Apparently, the encounter with you the other day lifted him to legendary status. It’s been all around the school that he’s friends with you.”
His beautiful lips pulled with a hint of a
smile.
“Thank you,” I added. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve done. It’s helped him with his confidence, and I can’t tell you what a relief that is. He’s been struggling for a while and needs someone besides his annoying older sister in his corner.”
He frowned but then his eyes found mine and his face smoothed. “Has he been deaf since birth?”
“No. It’s recent.”
“You mind me asking what happened?”
His courtesy was surprising, and caught me off guard. I exhaled deeply. When it came to my brother, I tended to be a bit of a mama bear, ready to sharpen my claws on anyone or anything who threatened his wellbeing.
“He had meningitis a couple of years ago and it left him with significant hearing loss.”
I watched as Bull absorbed the information. “Can the doctors do anything?”
“They did enough when they failed to diagnose him,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
The experience had been a traumatic one, and it was still raw, and even though I taught Noah to move on and focus on the future, sometimes it was a little hard to swallow my own advice. Especially when I thought about how close I’d come to losing him.
“Sorry. It’s been a rough journey.” I gave Bull a wry smile. “And I think we’ve already established that I can be a little overprotective.”
I continued and told him about Noah falling sick and how the overworked ER doctors had discharged him twice, one telling me that it was a virus, and the other suggesting he had behavioral issues and was struggling with the symptoms of a migraine. I also told him how I’d shown up a third time and almost gotten myself arrested because I wasn’t leaving until someone did something to help my brother.
“By then he was so sick he almost died.” I thought of Noah lying in that hospital bed, and my blood still chilled in my veins. “But he’s a tough kid.”
“And he lost his hearing because of the infection.”
“Not completely. He can hear better with his hearing aids, but he takes them off because the kids pick on him.” Kids could be assholes because they didn’t realize the impact their bullying could have on someone’s self-esteem. “He started to take them out when he went to school, but his schoolwork started to suffer, so the school contacted me. After we had a long talk, he promised he would keep them in. I didn’t realize he was still taking them out.”