Indulge

by C. D. Breadner

  Bark turned back to her, approaching with his head down, studying what he had in his hands. It was a pill bottle. He shook something into his hand, and when he looked up at her she saw something in his expression that made the lead in her chest turn ice-cold. He looked worried.

  “Take this,” he instructed gruffly, holding his closed fist up.

  Because she was terrified she held a hand up, letting him drop a pill into it. It was round and white. “What is it?” she asked, voice small like she was trying not to be a nuisance.

  “Rufilin,” he replied shortly, turning away and heading back to the closet.

  She stared at it, her heart actually stopping. “Why?”

  He shut the bi-fold doors and turned back to her, hands going to hip hips. “I know you’re a civilian, and I don’t want to scare you, but … things are about to happen here. And you’re not going to like them.”

  Gertie swallowed, the coldness that washed over her decidedly colder now. “What things?”

  He approached then, his expression softening somewhat. “G-Town doesn’t want you. You know why?”

  She just shook her head.

  “Black doesn’t like biker leftovers.”

  Her mouth dropped open, her indignation completely irrational. “I’m not biker anything.”

  He was nodding, dragging his hand down over his mouth and chin. “I know. But they don’t want you in their club for that reason. And we got bad blood with the Rebels, we got a good relationship with G-Town, and …” he shrugged. “You’re here for a bit of fun, babe.”

  She backed up one step. “What are you talking about?”

  He grabbed her with both hands, fingers biting into her upper arms again. But his voice was soft, his eyes almost giving her a sympathetic vibe. “Gertie,” he said softly, using her name for the first time. “You can either be lucid for this, or not. It’s going to happen, but at least with the Rufilin you might not care.”

  Shit. Oh shit, ohmyGod. Gertie’s eyes welled up. “No,” she whispered, voice breaking as tear slipped loose.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered back, and she actually believed it. “That’s the best I can do.”

  She dropped her eyes to the palm of her right hand. The fucking date-rape drug. Shit.

  “Truth is, women are club property. Any chance a guy gets to put a little damage down on another club’s property …” he let that trail off.

  Damage. That was what was about to happen to her. A little revenge damage.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered, hand closing around the pill.

  “I know,” he replied calmly, stepping back. “That’s why I gave you the roofie.”

  Gertie kept her eyes down as he strode away. She had no idea where he went; there were no other rooms attached to this dingy hole. He was just suddenly out of her circle of worry at the moment.

  This was a plan. This had been discussed somehow, that’s how Bark knew it. Maybe even instructed or requested by the G-Town asshole that handed her over.

  The worry about her betrayal was over. Her concern for Buck hating her took a backseat. She was about to suffer horrible indignity, pain and torment. Humiliation. The kind of thing people didn’t come back from.

  With a shuddering breath she popped the white circle in her mouth and swallowed, eyes shut. And then she just had to wait for them to come for her.

  -oOo-

  The Rufilin made her dizzy first. That only took about fifteen minutes, not quite long enough for the main effects to kick in.

  It was the one they called Thor who knocked on the door. She was starting to feel disoriented as Bark answered, stepping out of the way. Thor pushed his way in, and without a word he grabbed her arm and was pulling her down the hall before she could register with how she managed to be standing in the clubhouse.

  There was some nausea, but her fear kept that from going to the point of throwing up. One man in a Gypsy kutte took her from Thor’s grasp and led her to the pool table. Gertie nearly fell but caught herself on the bumper, not making a sound. Her vision started getting blurry as someone was suddenly pulling her arms forward. She was bent over the edge of the table, and as she looked up, groggy, a man was smiling down at her, kneeling on the table itself and firmly pressing her hands out flat as far as her arms could reach.

  Her brain was moving slower than real-time. It seemed like nothing was happening, and suddenly she was aware that her pants were gone. Torn down to her ankles.

  There were voices floating around too, and laughing, but she couldn’t concentrate on that. They’d taken off her pants, and unless a hero was about to emerge she was about to be raped.

  Suddenly it hurt, and her heart started hammering like mad. In retrospect, that was likely what finally made her pass out.

  Out of the black she came awake to an unknown room with a dirty-gold lamp throwing its best efforts up at the ceiling. Her head was throbbing, and when she sat up the room swam, her equilibrium running right out one ear. She collapsed back onto what had to be a bed. She just tried to breathe, remember what happened, but it was all a hazy montage of pain. Anguish. And as she came alert her body confirmed it hadn’t been a nightmare, it had all been very real.

  The ache between her legs was agonizing. Her wrists, when she brought her arms up with a great effort, were bruising. They hurt, too. And when she tried to roll to her side it felt like her asshole was trying to tear her in half.

  She closed her eyes and cried out, trying to muffle it in the blankets that were undoubtedly filthy. Jesus, she was more broken than she thought. Thank Christ she didn’t remember everything.

  Gertie swallowed painfully, her throat giving her some indication that she’d been in control for enough of the attack to be screaming. She tried to take stock of where she was, what she had on, but her spinning head and rising panic was stealing the amount of focus she had.

  Calm down, something was saying in her head. You’re fine right now, just calm down and look around.

  She cracked one eye open. She was staring at a closet door, and she knew she was in Bark’s room. The light suddenly seemed familiar, as did that ugly, fake-oak varnished closet door. She rolled to her back again, eyes darting around, and realized she was alone in the room. She was wearing a shirt, but one look confirmed it wasn’t what she came in wearing. It was just a big, light gray men’s cotton T-shirt. She reached a hand under the covers. It was all she had on. There was wetness between her legs, and when she pulled her hand away she half expected to see blood, but there wasn’t any. It was cum.

  She gagged and wiped her hand on the sheets, a fresh round of tears starting. Panic bubbling up again, her breath coming in heaving gulps. When the doorknob rattled her pain was forgotten and she scurried to lean against the wall, legs pulled up to her chest, curled into a ball.

  Bark’s head peered around the door. His face was hard to read; he seemed uninterested and relieved at the same time. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room and shutting the door. He stepped closer and she whimpered, not even knowing what to say to keep him the fuck away from her. Like saying anything was going to do anything.

  He stopped, now looking apologetic. “Everyone’s passed out,” he said, keeping that soft and calm tone. “You want to take a shower?”

  Gertie stared at him, wondering how the hell he could stand there and ask something so fucking normal, when suddenly she realized she’d never wanted a shower more in her entire life. So she just nodded.

  He nodded back, heading for the five-drawer tallboy dresser across from the bed and yanking open the bottom drawer. He pulled out a cream-colored towel and turned back to her, holding it out. When she didn’t move, he spoke again. “We don’t have a lot of time, Gertie. If you want that shower we need to get you to the bathroom right away.”

  That decided it. She crawled to the edge of the bed and stood stiffly, unfolding slowly. She whimpered again, hand going to her lower belly. Everything hurt so fucking much –

  “Can I to
uch you?” Bark was suddenly close and she jumped back, even thought that hurt, too. “Sorry, Gertie. I won’t hurt you. But I can carry you.”

  Her brain was still fuzzy, and his behavior made no sense to her, but for whatever reason she nodded and held her arms up while he ducked low tucked one arm behind her knees and grasped her around the back with the other, towel still in that hand. By reflex she put her arms around his neck, wincing. Her ribs hurt, too. Maybe they were bruised.

  He stopped so she could pull the door open, then carried her down the dim hallway to a door at the very end. It stood open and he passed through, again kicking the door shut before setting her on her feet. He turned to the light switch, handed her the towel and nodded to the shower. “I’m coming back in twenty minutes from now,” he informed her not cruelly. “Make the most of it, okay?”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  -NOW-

  Buck was sitting in his dorm room, watching Gertie sleep. The bruises were at the ugly deep-purple stage, which looked so painful he wondered how the hell she slept at all. Especially after turning down any painkillers other than Aspirin.

  A soft knock sounded and he was up and to the door before anyone thought about knocking again and waking her. Fritter was waiting on the walkway for him, cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth. No greeting¸ no inquiry into how anyone was doing. All he said was “Good news.”

  Buck stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. “What?”

  Fritter smiled. “Found Louis Dénise,” he spelled it out.

  Buck’s blood went up three degrees. “Really?” Fritter just nodded, taking a deep drag. “Where?”

  “Got him in the warehouse.”

  Buck’s vision sharpened. The adrenalin spike was almost as good as sex.

  They got him. They got the fucking asshole.

  “I’ll be right down,” he said, heading back into his dorm to get his kutte. It was on the back of the dinette chair he’d been sitting in. Gertie hadn’t moved the whole time, and he made sure it stayed that way as he shut the door again behind him.

  Louis Dénise looked exactly how Buck expected him to. Well dressed and perfectly preserved. Deep tan, handsome in that fuddy-duddy way Gertie’s brothers were. Come to think of it, his sons looked a lot like him. Buck absently wondered if Gertie mostly looked like her mother.

  The asshole was in a silk shirt and dress trousers, unfortunately wrinkled and dirtied. Apparently he’d resisted the Rebels. Well that was stupid.

  They had him tied to a metal chair. The kind that didn’t fold. His eyes were wide, but he wasn’t gagged. He was too scared to shout, apparently.

  The fear could be explained by Knuckles, Tiny and Tank all standing around him, arms crossed and looking like an entire ton of ass-kicking waiting to be put to use. Buck and Fritter probably made it even worse.

  Good.

  The fucker’s eyes fell on Buck, and there was a flicker of recognition. Buck honestly didn’t know when this man would have seen him, but obviously something was triggered here.

  “You’re Gertie’s father,” Buck said, his tone indicating he didn’t need an answer.

  “Yes,” the man answered, trying to sound a bit braver than his wide, darting eyes suggested.

  “You stole money from the Sachetti family.” Again, confirmation didn’t make a bit of difference to anyone in the room.

  “No,” he disagreed, still polite, carrying a trace of an accent he likely held onto strictly for the purpose of getting laid. “The market crash had nothing to do with us.”

  “You explain it that way to Don Sachetti?” Buck wanted to know, shifting his weight to one side and crossing his arms, too. “You’re worth a million dollars dead or alive, you know that?”

  The man’s eyes got wider as he saw where this was going. “You can’t. They’ll kill me.”

  Buck carried on like he hadn’t heard, turning his head to Tank with feigned interest. “What would you do with your share of that cash?”

  Tank frowned. “New bike?”

  “Suffocate under a pile of pussy in Vegas,” came Knuckles’ chuckled answer.

  “Pay out the rest of Mom’s mortgage,” Fritter answered smoothly, squinting at the Frenchie while taking the last pull on his cigarette.

  “Most expensive whore I could find,” Tiny answered carefully. “Pay her for a whole week. Locked up in a penthouse somewhere.”

  Buck was nodding, turning his attention back to Frenchie. “I’d give it to Gertie, because she lost fucking everything.”

  Frenchie swallowed. “I love her. Please stay away from her.”

  Buck leaned over him, hands on his knees. There was a full two-foot gap between them but Frenchie leaned back like he expected to get bit. “That’s hilarious,” he replied, tone ice cold now. “You knew those fucking animals had her. All you had to do was come out of hiding and they’d let her go.”

  The man’s face collapsed then, his head falling forward as he broke down. Buck felt nothing for him because he was lower than fucking dog shit.

  “Did you see the video?” Buck snarled. “Did you watch the entire thing? Because I did.”

  The sobbing continued.

  “Your miserable life for your daughter’s safety. That should be a fucking no-brainer.”

  The man nodded, raising his tear-stained face. “I know. I know. I thought I could get us out of it.”

  “How? By flying to fucking Norway?” Buck’s voice went loud enough to echo off the walls, and Louis Dénise jumped from it. “You know what they did to her, you asshole. How the hell did you stay away?”

  He had no answer, Buck could tell by the misery on his face.

  “And then you got her beat up again, and again you stayed away.” Buck shook his head and stood up. “You’re shit.”

  The door connecting to the clubhouse kitchen opened and Jayce strode into the warehouse, followed by the proverbial brick shithouse, wearing a fine-looking suit.

  Shit, Jayce really wasn’t fucking around.

  “Here’s how it goes,” Buck said amiably, volume still high. “We’re going to let the Sachettis have you.”

  Frenchie started sputtering, begging for his life and blah blah blah, all that shit. “We don’t even want the money,” Buck informed Gertie’s father. “We just want them to take you and kill you slow. They’re good at making it hurt a lot. Better than we are. For me, that’s better than cash.”

  Jayce came forward and cut the zip ties holding Louis Dénise’s hands to the chair behind his back. But Frenchie’s eyes were on Buck, open and shocked. “What?” he breathed, then started shaking. “No, no, please. I’ll pay you to let me go.”

  Buck snorted. “You have no money, Louis.” He made sure to pronounce it Lewis.

  “We can arrange something -”

  Buck was suddenly in his face again, fast enough to make the guy jerk away. “I would rather have those Gypsy bastards as my business associates over you.”

  Louis swallowed, eyes still terrified, but he was silent at least.

  Buck straightened and Jayce nodded to the beefcake in the monkey suit. The guy grabbed Louis Dénise by the scruff of his neck, and that’s when the man started babbling again, the frantic quality of his voice maybe enough to illicit sympathy from some people.

  But none of them were in that room.

  “Please, don’t do this. My daughter … I need to be here for her. If you care for her you’ll help me.”

  “Wait,” Buck spoke up before they were out the door. The beefcake stopped, tilting his head. Buck approached them, noticing the relief that almost made Frenchie melt in gratitude.

  Buck didn’t know what the guy was expecting, but it likely wasn’t a right jab in the nose. Blood gushed from his ruined septum and he bellowed in pain.

  Buck nodded to the goon. “He’s yours. And thanks.”

  The guy offered a toothy grin in return then spun his bounty back to the doorway leading out of the warehouse.

  Buck turned bac
k to the room, and Jayce was grinning, clapping him on the shoulder. “Nice shot, man.”

  “How’s the cash getting split up?” Knuckles asked the important question, hands rubbing together in anticipation.

  Jayce shook his head. “Told him we didn’t want it.”

  Now the room fell silent, and Buck stepped out from under the Prez’s hand. “What?”

  “What the fuck, man?” Tank was a bit more expressive.

  “I was kidding about that part,” Buck insisted.

  “You know how much Michael Sachetti spends on weapons transport?” Jayce asked, turning to face the rest of the crew. “We pair up with the Nomads and the Banshees and even if we cut him a deal compared to what he’s paying now, we’re still going to be raking it in hand over fist.”

  Buck leaned his back to the wall, trying to quiet the rush of triumph handing Gertie’s father over to the mob had initiated.

  “Mobsters, Jayce?” Tiny asked, raking a hand through his hair with a long exhale. “Fuck man, I don’t know.”

  “I’ll take Italian gangsters over Mexican cartel any day of the week,” was Jayce’s easy reply. “’Cause that’s the only business option we have to move us up. Weed really doesn’t bring in cash, especially with how much of the supply you guys smoke yourself.”

  There was a low chuckle there. It was true; other than booze they were mostly potheads as long as nothing important was going on that they had to stay straight for.

  “We take this on, we can forget the pot and the scraps that the Banshees throw us. We do this and they’re working for us, man.” Jayce turned back to Buck. “I’m just asking everyone to consider it. The bounty on Gertie’s dad is still good if we decide we want it, but taking on this business and leaving the cash is a big show of dedication. Not to mention the way it fucks over the Gypsys.”

  This was true. Presently those assholes were enjoying the lion’s share of the guinea payday in this part of the country. The thought was very tempting.

  “Just think on it. We can meet with the Don anytime and see what he has to say. Give him the chance to be impressed by our good manners, right?”