by Paula Cox
Rat put his hand inside of his boot. He brought it out holding a knife. He dropped into a fighting stance as simple as that, flashing the blade through the air. Gunner let his gaze flick quickly towards Horse and Marv. The two men sat on their stools, clearly not about to stop the fight. Horse looked tense enough to chew lead, but Marv had that same shit-eating grin on his face.
Gunner didn’t have a concealed weapon. He had no doubt that Rat was done, and was ready to gut him if it came to it. He didn’t know what he’d done to earn the man’s ire, but that wasn’t the point right now. He needed this fight to end before he was dead.
He waited until Rat came at him, and when he did, he let time slow down in his mind. He stepped to the side of the stab, catching Rat’s wrist as it went past, and taking just a moment to make sure his position was right before he brought his forearm down on Rat’s elbow. The snap was loud, gut-wrenching, and incredibly satisfying. The other man screamed, and the knife clattered down onto the wooden floorboards.
Things happened after that. Blurry things. There was a chair under his ass, and someone giving him some whiskey, and a cold compress that was pressed to his face. Rat was carted off, screaming about his fucking arm, that son of a bitch had fucked up his arm. Someone — maybe Marv, maybe not — pointed out that when one didn’t want a fight to escalate, one didn’t pull out a goddamn knife. Gunner couldn’t bring himself to track it all too clearly; his head was still spinning, and he worried that the smack to his head had concussed him. He had shit to do. He couldn’t be out of it now.
After a little while, the mental air seemed to clear. He found a bottle of water by his hand, and he drank a bunch of it, the cold refreshing him further. He rinsed his mouth out — his split lip was stinging madly, but he thought it was clotting, slowly — and looked to see Marv still watching him with a small smile.
“Not bad, kid,” he said. “You’ve got some guts. Thanks for taking care of that problem for me.”
“Guts, yes,” Gunner said, feeling around his teeth to make sure none of them felt loose. What the hell Marv meant about a problem, he’d figure out later. “Information, no. Gimme.” It wasn’t the most graceful demand he’d ever made, but what the hell. He’d had absolutely enough of the entire world.
“I want to be crystal clear,” Marv said. “We did not take the woman. We were contacted by a third party and told that she would give us the leverage we needed. We were offered something else in the trade, and we had it, so we gave it. The woman is being held at our temporary shelter in the warehouse district.” Marv rattled off an address, and Gunner committed it to memory. “I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”
“You said a woman,” Gunner said. “Who? There’s—it’s not just one—”
Marv laughed in a big, disconcerting way. “If you can’t manage to keep your eyes on all the different women in your life, that’s not my problem, kid. I’m doing you a favor here. We were going to give her away to the highest bidder to solve an entirely different problem. You’re fucking welcome.”
Gunner wanted nothing more in the world than to sock the big man in his smug face, but it wouldn’t do him any good. It would hurt him, and Laurel, and Lola, and Grace. He didn’t know what — or who — would be waiting for him in that warehouse, but he was committed to the path now, and there wasn’t anything to do but keep walking. He glanced at Horse, who nodded, then pointed at several of the Breed who were standing around, watching the show. Several of his siblings within the club, people he knew and trusted, peeled off and headed towards their bikes. That was good. He was going in force, ready to fight with his friends, his loved ones, at his back. That was the right way to move forward.
He just tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing and that he would find something good at the end of this tunnel.
Chapter Sixteen
The brute squad tossed her through the darkness. She had the sense that there was some light, but it was bright outside, and her head was still aching, so she couldn’t make out much until she was tossed into a dark room. She landed on something soft, with enough give to bounce a little. She pushed herself to her feet as fast as she could, but the door was already slamming shut before she got her feet under herself. She let out a little shriek and slammed her fists on the door anyway. She heard the slap-snick of a bolt pushing home, but she couldn’t stop herself from kicking the door and trying the handle anyway.
But her head was aching, and Jesus Christ she was painfully tired, and all she wanted was to get some damn sleep that wasn’t drugged. She let herself wilt, finding that the tears that had been threatening on and off for hours were no longer interested in waiting. They streamed down her face, but at least she kept herself from sobbing. Her throat ached and felt like it was tearing, but dammit, she didn’t sob. She wouldn’t give them that.
There was some light in the room; a narrow window had been painted over, but the black paint had been scratched here and there. As her eyes adjusted, she was able to get some idea of her surroundings. She’d been tossed on a bed; there was another one on the other side of the room. On the second bed, curled up in the smallest package a human being could make themselves, was another figure.
“Hey,” Lola said, lowering her voice and making her tone as quiet and soft as she could. “Hey. Are you okay?”
The person didn’t say anything, but there was a slow shifting as the figure lifted their head.
“Who are you?” the person—a woman— asked after a moment. Lola took one step in her direction, and when the woman didn’t cry out or flinch away, she took another.
“My name is Lola Sykes,” she said. “Do you know where we are?”
The woman cleared her throat. “Not really. I got grabbed—I don’t know, I think it was yesterday. I think it’s just been one night. One of them hit me, and things got blurry.” She shifted more, and as Lola’s eyes adjusted to the low light in the room, she could make out the woman’s features. She was dark-skinned, with a broad nose and tightly curled hair. She had a familiar look to her, and it took Lola a moment to make the connection.
“Oh, God,” Lola said. “You’re Laurel. Laurel Jenner. Are you okay? Did any of them hurt you? I mean—”
The woman shook her head. “No, not like you mean. Just the hit to the head, when I was fighting them. After that, they threw me in here, and I haven’t been let out except to pee. How do you know my name?”
“I’m with Gunner,” Lola said. She sat down on the end of Laurel’s narrow bed and put out her hands. After a moment’s hesitation, the other woman touched her fingertips to Laurel’s. “He’s been looking for you and Grace since yesterday, and all night. He’s going to find us. He’ll get us out of here.”
“What do you mean Grace? What happened to Grace?” The woman’s rising panic twisted Lola’s stomach, and she found the words rushing out, one after another.
“Someone grabbed her too. We’d thought you’d be together. You haven’t seen her? They didn’t say anything?”
Laurel shook her head. “No. No, I haven’t — oh God. Is she okay?”
“I think so. The man who grabbed her — he’s the one who brought me here, wherever here is — said that she was okay, but he made it sound like her breathing—” Lola forced herself to take a breath. Laurel’s grip on her fingers was painfully tight, and she wouldn’t help either one of them by sending them into a panic. She made herself remember Laurel’s medicine cabinet, and how similar it was to her own. Who knew how the woman was feeling right now, even if she had been in a calm and neutral situation. Some meds didn’t have to be taken far off schedule for the missing dose to start screwing with your head. “I told him what she needed. What inhaler she needed. He seemed to care. I think he’s going to help.”
“You’re from the school,” Laurel said. “I know you from there.”
“Yes.”
“How could you have let this happen?”
The words were like a slap, but Lola couldn’t pretend she
didn’t deserve them.
“I didn’t want to,” she said simply. “Gunner came to get her, saying you’d called him to, and someone snatched her out of the room while I was letting Gunner in. I still don’t have any idea how they got into the school. We’ve been running since then, using Gunner’s contacts to try and figure out where you two were. He thought the Red Vipers were behind it, and this was some kind of ploy or leverage against him.”
Laurel shook her head, but it didn’t seem like she was trying to negate what Lola was saying.
“If that’s the case, no one’s said anything,” she said. “But they’ve given me food, and taken me to the bathroom when I’ve said I needed to go. They’re not hurting me. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s like you said. They don’t want me dead. At least, not yet.”
“And you don’t have any idea where we are?”
“Not a clue. Someone hit my car yesterday when I was in traffic. I called Gunner to tell him to please get Grace because I was going to be late. Someone grabbed me out of my car, and when I tried to fight, I got hit in the head. I was in and out for a long time. I was in at least a couple of different places, I think. But beyond that? I have no idea.”
“Okay,” Lola said. “Gunner will come for us. We’ll get out of this.”
The other woman laughed, her voice cold. “Girl, it’s a good thought, but let’s figure out our own deliverance, okay? Just in case that boy is running late like usual.”
Lola couldn’t put her finger on why exactly, but it was one of the more comforting things she’d heard in the past twenty-four hours.
***
For a few minutes, Lola listened to Laurel’s slow breathing, but there didn’t seem to be any more conversation to be had at the moment. Lola couldn’t think of anything in particular to say, and just chattering to fill the air sounded annoying even to her. The best thing to do, she decided, was to get some rest. She was painfully tired. Being unconscious in a car was not the same as sleeping, and her entire body ached for a little bit of sleep. She laid down on the narrow pallet, and closed her eyes, letting herself drift. She didn’t feel safe enough to sleep, but she let her brain power down for a little bit, hoping to feel more alive in a few hours. More resolve to fight would also be nice.
So, when the door all but burst open, she was startled, her heart leaping up into her throat and making her stomach clench. The heavy door slammed against the wall, bouncing back, and before she was even upright, she braced herself for a blow to the head or the body.
It didn’t come, though. There was light pouring into the room, and she found herself flinching away from it, but no one tried to hit her. She saw a big, bulky man filling the door frame, skin a medium brown, his head covered in small, narrow braids.
“The girlfriend and the sister,” the man said, looking back and forth between the two women. Lola glanced over at Laurel; she was quietly pleased to see Laurel watching the big man with a steely look.
“Chains,” Laurel said. “Should’ve known. Lola,” she said, glancing across the room, “Gunner’s guess at the Red Vipers was right. This piece of walking shit is their second-in-command.”
The man—Chains—spat on the floor. “Don’t say that shithead’s name here,” he snarled. “Gunner Grisham is responsible for the death of one of our brothers, and he’s going to pay for it.”
“Wait, what?” Lola shook her head. “Gunner didn’t kill anyone. What are you talking about?”
The man eyed her, but he answered her. “Last night. One of our brothers was found dead. Fucking decapitated. Left in the gravel pit like common fucking trash. That’s not how our brothers deserve to be treated.”
“No, hold on,” she said. “I was with him when that boy — Billy, right? — was found. Gunner had nothing to do with it. I was with him all day yesterday, and Billy was dead when we got to the pit.” It was amazing that she could say her name without vomiting. She didn’t let herself think of him there, of what he had looked like, of that eerie space between his head and his body. That wasn’t going to do her any good at all.
“There’s something bigger going on here,” she said. “Someone grabbed Laurel and gave her to you, right? Same as they did me. And they’re sending you after the Satan’s Breed. Someone’s trying to start a war between your two clubs, and if you’re not smart, right now, it’s going to happen. And more of your brothers will die.”
It seemed like an incredibly cogent argument to her, but the big man was just shaking his head. “Piece of ass will say anything to protect herself and her man. Don’t bother. I know he’s on his way to us now, and don’t worry. We have ways of dealing with him, and we’ll make sure that you get all the pieces. What do you like best, little girl? His dick or his fingers? Maybe his tongue? Come on, what kind of souvenir do you want?”
There was an explosion of laughter behind Chains, and she realized that there were several men standing behind him. How many? Three, four? Could she run at him, get past him, and get out?
Even if she did, where would she go? She’d barely seen anything outside when she’d been dragged from the car, and the areas outside the city weren’t distinctive enough for her to really know where she was. She didn’t have her cell phone, so she couldn’t call for help or try the GPS. She had to play this out. She had to hope Gunner was really coming, and that he knew what he was heading into.
Chapter Seventeen
Gunner pulled up to the old warehouse with half a dozen of the Breed riding with him. He was starting to feel like he’d crossed this town a dozen times in just a few hours, even though it had been much less than that. Worry for Lola, worry for Laurel, and worry for Grace were all consuming a substantial portion of his mental abilities. Fighting with that rat back at the clubhouse had thrown him for a loop, and he didn’t like it at all. That was the second time in two days someone had pulled a potentially deadly weapon on him, and it didn’t feel even remotely okay. And the way Marv had been so damn coy about what was waiting for him here; what did that son of a bitch know? There had to be something, something that could explain all of this. But what it could be? Gunner didn’t have a damn clue.
The outside of the warehouse still looked deserted. This was an old factory from when this little New England town had been a manufacturing hub. It had gone out of business some thirty years ago, and many of the machines had been broken down for scrap, shredded, taken away whole cloth. Some were left, skeletons left out for the buzzards. Broken glass everywhere. Graffiti everywhere.
This was how he would have hidden the Breed, too, if it had come to that. Make them look like the spot was just as deserted as it had always been. Because he was looking, he could see signs. The tire tracks were too fresh, and there were too many of them for him to be looking at a bunch of tracks from random kids out here on bikes. He could see the flash of unbroken glass up on the second floor, where he would have set up some mirrors to help relay information down to where he could stay out of sight.
Marv hadn’t explained why he’d sent half the club off while he’d gone to confront Horse and the Breed, but then, it hardly mattered. Whatever rational the man wanted to offer, the point was that he had information about the women, and this was where he’d said Gunner had to go to get it. There wasn’t anything else to discuss. For better or worse.
The brothers who’d followed him formed up behind him without discussion. Gunner didn’t lay hands on his piece as he walked towards the warehouse, but his hand itched to wrap around the iron. It was nothing good, being out here without something to protect himself. It was dangerous in the worst possible way. But if he walked into that house looking like he’d arrived ready for war, he’d be dead before he spoke to anyone, and that wasn’t acceptable. No matter how angry he was, no matter how much he wanted to hurt someone to ease off his own guilt. It wasn’t okay. He couldn’t let it be okay.
About five feet from the door to the warehouse, which stood slightly open, Gunner planted his boots and waited.
; “Marv sent me,” he called, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans, and waiting for a response.
It took some time for one to come, and then a voice came out of the top floor window. Someone was leaning out, not far enough for anyone to have a clear shot at him unless they were some kind of sniper, but enough to make sure their voice was clearly heard. “Who are you?”
Well. That was an ego-blow. Gunner had to laugh; he’d gotten a little too used to people knowing exactly who he was the last few days anyway. “Gunner Grisham. I’m the VP of the Satan’s Breed. I was sent by Marv to take possession of a woman you have here.” Lola or Laurel, he wondered. Who would be brought out to meet him? Who, if anyone, was going to be here?
There was a long moment, and then Gunner saw movement on the ground floor, across from where he was standing. A figure, tall and broad, stood back in the shadows.
“I haven’t heard from Marv,” rumbled a basso voice. “Who the fuck are you again?”