by Kim Jones
In an effort to face my fears, I straighten my spine and lift my chin. My hands move slowly toward my face. When he doesn’t object, I reach behind my head and untie the knot that holds my gag in place. After a few seconds of struggling, I manage to free it from my face.
“Who are you?” I ask, the moment I can speak clearly. Without giving him time to answer, I fire off another question. “Where am I?” He doesn’t flinch. He’s so still it’s a little unnerving.
Hoping he doesn’t notice, I inch closer to the door. There’s a twitch above his eye. “It’s locked, isn’t it?” I deadpan, not needing an answer. Of course it’s locked. Who the hell kidnaps someone, doesn’t tie them up and keeps the door unlocked?
“Please,” I start, trying a different approach—even though I’m not one to beg. “Let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” Nothing.
I shift, trying to find a more comfortable position. But the rigid, metal floor lining is unforgiving. So I give up and slump back against the wall. When I do, something presses into my hip. My purse. And inside are two very important things. A cigarette and a gun.
“Mind if I smoke?” I ask, not surprised when he doesn’t answer.
Fumbling around, I open my purse and reach in for my cigarettes. My hand falls on the cool metal of the small .38 pistol inside. Without a second thought, I pull it out and point it at the man’s face.
“Let me out or I’ll kill you,” I demand shakily. He doesn’t seem the least bit threatened by me or my gun. “I swear I’ll pull the trigger.” His eyes narrow slightly in challenge. And even though I don’t want to kill him, I know I have to. If I don’t, I’ll end up in the hands of someone who won’t hesitate to kill me. Is his life worth more than mine? Probably. But I guess I’m just selfish that way.
“Last chance,” I warn. I count to three then without giving myself time to think it through, I do something I never thought I was capable of.
I pull the trigger.
And nothing fucking happens.
So I do it again.
The loud click of the trigger and my heavy breathing are the only sounds in the van. His lips twitch as I stare between the gun and him. Wondering how one person could have as much shitty luck as me.
For the first time, he moves. My eyes are drawn to the movement and I see him holding something small and black in his gloved hand. The clip to my gun.
I snap.
“You son of a bitch! Let me out of here!” I beat my fists on the walls. The floor. Knowing it’s pointless but not giving a damn, I scramble to the doors. He’s faster. His arm reaches out and blocks the path forcing me back down. A surge of adrenaline rushes through me at the possibility that the doors might actually be unlocked.
I fight him with everything I have. Kicking and screaming. My fists wind milling into thin air. He hasn’t even moved from his spot—using only his left arm to hold me back. Seeing an opening, I take it. Even if it is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
I slap him.
Hard.
The blow is powerful enough to jerk his head to the side. I’m so surprised that I not only had the balls to hit him, but that I actually did, that I’m frozen in shock.
Slowly, he turns his head back to look at me. I search his shadowed eyes for that heated anger I’m so used to. But there’s no anger. Only amusement. So I hit him again. This time he’s prepared and his face doesn’t move. Actually, I think it hurt my hand more than his face.
When I try for a third time, he catches my wrist in his hand. His hold is firm but gentle. His big fingers wrapping easily around my wrist. With his eyes on mine, he slowly leans forward while pulling my hand to him. I flinch in preparation of what’s to come. I know he’s probably going to break my fingers. My hand. Wrist. Or worse, my arm. Surprisingly, he does none of these things.
I can feel his warm breath over my hand moments before he places a gentle, lingering kiss on the center of my palm. I stare back in shock, horror and complete disbelief as he crouches in front of me. Tenderly, as if I’m some priceless porcelain doll, he places my hand back in my lap. Then, he moves toward the doors.
I’m so confused about what just happened, I don’t even attempt to escape when the door opens and he jumps out. A low voice speaks to him and he nods before turning back to me. One corner of his mouth turns up slightly and he shoots me a wink. I feel like it’s some kind of unspoken promise. But I don’t have time to dwell on it for too long. The moment he disappears from view, several more men take his place. One in particular has me seized with new panic.
This is my captor.
It might’ve been the man in the scary mask with the super soft lips that took me, but it was at this man’s demand. He’s not a bookie. He’s not one of Jimmy’s guys. He doesn’t wear the colors of Madness, either. His stare might be cold and hard, but it’s not sinister and evil. Yet he scares me more than the monsters I’ve spent the last six years of my life hating. More than the man in the mask.
When he addresses me, it’s the hate in his voice, disgust in his tone and the malevolent nature of his shame-laced words that remind me of why I’m so threatened by him.
“Hello, little sister.”
5
WINTER
“Pierce,” I whisper in disbelief. His eyes seem to soften a little at hearing me speak his name.
He stands tall and strong. Confident and powerful. Handsome like my father. Humble like my mother, despite all his accomplishments—the business he built. The army of loyal men who surround him. The respect he’s worked so hard to earn.
For a moment, he’s the big brother I remember from when I was a child. The one who took care of me after my parents passed. Who missed out on his young adult life so that I may have one.
He held me when I cried. Grounded me when I broke curfew. He was involved in every aspect of my life. Too involved. Which is why I left. Why I betrayed him. Why I turned my back on the only family I had left in this world. And in the end, I became the enemy. The cutslut. Property of Madness President, Cain.
As if he’s remembering too, his eyes grow cold again. Face hard, lip curled, he growls, “Get her out.”
At Pierce’s demand, two sets of arms reach for me. I slap them away—successfully using my foot to shove one of the men off balance. He stumbles but quickly gains his feet. With a harsh glare, he grabs my calf and jerks me roughly toward him. My back hits the floor of the cab with a loud thump nearly knocking the wind out of me.
By the time I’m standing on my feet outside the van, my robe is over my hips—exposing more than I’m comfortable with. A rage I haven’t felt in a long time bubbles inside me. Who the hell do they think they’re messing with? Cain may be an asshole. The Devil himself. But one thing’s for certain, in the six years we’ve been together, nobody has ever laid a hand on me without his say so.
I jerk free of the man’s hold and quickly straighten my clothes—cinching the belt of my robe tighter as I shoot Pierce a nasty look. He only smirks. “Don’t be modest, Winter. It’s not like everyone in Clark County hasn’t already seen your ass.”
“Fuck you,” I snap, brushing the grit from my knees. “You into kidnapping now? Thought you were above that.”
“I’m above kidnapping innocent people. People who actually matter. You’re neither.” If I wasn’t so pissed, his words might actually hurt me—even though they are well deserved.
“What are you doing here?” With a raise of my chin I add, “This is Madness territory.”
His brow rises in amusement. “Is that so?” Looking around at his brothers he asks, “Did any of you get that memo?” A low mumble of “no” echoes throughout the space. I look around and notice my masked captor isn’t here. Then I realize we’re in some sort of mechanic shop. Not the parking garage. How long was I out? Minutes? Hours? Hell, maybe we aren’t in Madness territory.
Pierce glares at me with an icy smile. “That motherfucker may control you, but he knows better than to fuck with me.”
; “He doesn’t control me,” I lie, too ashamed to admit the truth.
“Not anymore, you mean.” My brow wrinkles in confusion. “He did control you, but you ran from him.”
“I didn’t run from him.” In the off chance this is some kind of rescue mission, I need to stop it before it ever gets started. I can live with Pierce hating me. But I can’t bear the thought of him getting hurt because of me.
Entertained by my answer, he crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side. His tone dripping with mockery, he asks, “Well who were you running from, sweet pea?”
“The police,” I grit, barely able to keep my tone even. “The plan has always been if one of us got pinched, the other fled.” In an effort to act like he’s not getting under my skin, I mirror his position and shoot him a smile. “Only because they don’t have co-ed showers in county. Otherwise I’d be with him now.”
He’s unaffected. Possibly even more amused at my attempt to piss him off. I guess when you have a sister with a reputation like mine, you’re not easily offended at the mention of her showering with another man.
“The threat in his voice and the way he screamed your name…” He shakes his head then leans in and whispers, “Damn sure didn’t sound like a man encouraging you to do what you were told. Then again I’m not the kinda man who gets off on controlling women…so.” He shrugs, pulling a cigarette from his cut and placing it between his teeth. “What do I know?”
I don’t respond. I just stare back at him while he looks up at me from beneath his lashes and cups the flame to light his smoke. He doesn’t believe me. Not that I figured he would. It doesn’t matter if I’m telling the truth or not. Like Cain, Pierce believes what he wants.
“So you gonna tell me why you ran?” I don’t respond. We’re both silent a moment. Then a tiny crease forms between his eyes. “He hit you?”
“He doesn’t hit me.” My quick comeback is a stupid move on my part. Pierce smiles—almost as if he knew I’d take the bait.
“You don’t have to lie, sweet pea.”
This is the second time he’s used that endearment. It was what he called me when I was a little girl. A nostalgic feeling tries to make its way into my heart, but I force it away. After all, he’s only using it to try and break me down. I’m tempted to tell him to lay the fuck off. I’m already broken. No need to kick a dead horse.
“I bet the real truth’s under all that makeup,” he challenges. If I could prove him wrong, I would.
He pulls a bandana from his back pocket and grabs the bottle of water the man standing next to him is holding. His eyes never leave mine as he soaks the cloth, then passes it to me.
“What’s this for?” I ask, staring down at the bandana in disgust.
“Your makeup. Take it off.”
I huff out a laugh. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” Nope. He’s serious.
“Why? What the fuck does it matter?” The tremor in my voice is a mixture of shame and anger. “I already told you. He didn’t hit me. He’s not the monster you think he is.” He’s worse.
Pierce stiffens. His playful, cocky attitude disappears. His eyes become glaciers. There’s a chill in the air. The source? Cold fury. In one step, he’s towering over me.
“I know exactly who he is and what he’s capable of. I tried to save you from it. Went to fucking war for you, Winter. My club went to war for you. And in the end, you took that motherfucker’s side. But tonight you ran from him. I want to know why. So for the last time, take off…the fucking…makeup.”
With no other option, I bring the bandana to my face. Despair darkens Pierce’s eyes as the truth is revealed. I know what he’s thinking. He should have done more. Tried harder. Protected me. But none of this is his fault. I need him to believe that. Even if it means him hating me.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap, pushing him back a step. “I don’t need your pity or your fucking remorse.” His face gives nothing away, but I see his hands tighten into fists as he stares at the fading bruises around my eyes and cheek—the result of my latest beating from Cain because I “got an attitude” with him.
“I left San Diego because I wanted to. Not because he made me. Just like I ran today because it was the plan. Not because I wanted to get away from him. And if a few bruises are the only price I have to pay to stay away from the fucking cesspool I grew up in, then it’s more than worth it.” My chest tightens as I spit the hurtful words at him. I hate myself for being such a bitch, but it’s either this or me breaking down in front of him. I refuse to do the latter.
Any softness he might have had vanishes. In an instant, Pierce transforms from the easy going, compassionate brother I once knew to the hard, callous man I’ve made him. With an evil glint in his eye and conviction in his tone, he says something that both wounds and relieves me.
“If one thing’s for certain, little sister, it’s this…not one fucking part of me, feels sorry for you.” The harshness in his tone is like a punch to the gut, but it doesn’t show. The scowl on my face hides it all. “I’m not here to rescue you. I’m here because of what you did.”
My façade falters. I fidget nervously—feeling regretful. “Look,” I breathe, meeting his eyes. “I know I stole from you...”
He holds his hand up to cut me off and quirks a brow. “What makes you so sure it was my money you stole?”
For some reason, the man in the mask pops in my head. I scan the crowd again to see if he’s here, but none of them measure to his height or build. “Who?” I ask, the question coming out as a whisper.
Pierce shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone trusted me with their money. I put it in a safe only two people knew the combination to. Me and my little sister who I thought I told to stay the fuck away from me and what’s mine.”
“I told you I’d pay it back.”
He points at my face. “If that’s what he does to you on a normal day, I’m sure the punishment for betrayal will be much worse. I need you alive for the next sixty days. After that, you can go to hell for all I care. But first I’m getting that fucking money, Winter.”
Sixty days.
My twenty-fifth birthday.
Payday.
I was ten when my parents died in a tragic car accident. The vehicle at fault belonged to a shipping company who was more than willing to settle with us out of court. I still remember how angry Pierce was when the company sent a team of lawyers to our house the day of the funeral. At only eighteen he already had that lethal look about him. It didn’t take long for the lawyers to retreat, continuously apologizing until Pierce slammed the door in their faces.
I’d been crying at the bottom of the stairs—watching the entire scene unfold. When Pierce turned to me, his anger instantly faded. “What’s wrong?” he’d asked, pulling me to him. “Did those men scare you?” I’d nodded into his chest. “Don’t worry, sweet pea. I’ll make them pay for it.” And he did.
Pierce set it up so I’d get three lump sums. One at eighteen when I graduated high school. One at twenty-two when I graduated college. And the final one on my twenty-fifth birthday—a time Pierce thought I’d be settling down and starting a family.
Like a fool, I’d given all my money to Cain. The first time because I loved him. The second time because he forced me.
He took the money I stole from Pierce too. Inside the safe, I’d left a note promising to pay him back. I thought I’d be free of Cain when I received that last sum of money. Even if I wasn’t, I’d vowed to myself that no matter the consequences, I’d give Pierce back his money. I guess he didn’t trust me to follow through on my promise.
“Did you orchestrate all of this?” I ask, plucking the cigarette from his fingers. “The meeting with Jimmy…having his men show up…hoping to catch Cain distracted so you could send your big ape to man handle me into the back of a van?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes it matters!” I shriek. “He kil
led him. You know that, right?”
Pierce lifts a shoulder in an uncaring gesture. “Jimmy was a bad guy. The world is better without him.”
I take a drag and study him. There’s no way he knew it would work out like it did. But knowing Pierce, he’s been planning this for a long time. His greatest strength is his patience. He’s the kind of man who thinks everything through. Strategizes every move. Covers all bases. He is as skilled in life as he is at chess. And he uses the same tactics to play them both. But there’s a kink in his oh-so-well thought-out plan.
“He’ll come for me,” I say, trying like hell to keep the quiver out of my voice. “And the first person he’s going to go to is you.”
An easy smile covers his face. “Oh, I sure hope so, sweet pea.”
I don’t. A face to face between Pierce and Cain will no doubt end badly. So I push forward, hoping my threat will be enough to convince Pierce to just let me go.
“He’ll bring an army. He won’t stop until he searches every square inch of San Diego.”
“I don’t give a shit if he looks under every rock in California. He won’t find you.”
My brow creases in confusion. “What’s that mean?”
He smirks, his eyes dancing with laughter. His body language says he knows something I don’t. And it pleases the hell out of him to enlighten me. “Because you, my dear, sweet little sister, won’t fucking be there.”
6
WINTER
I hate country music.
I’m not talking about modern pop-country—where a guy in boots meets a girl in jeans and sings her a song on his tailgate. That shit is tolerable. I’m talking about real country—Merle, Waylon, Willie and George. The original men of country music who sing the most depressing fucking songs imaginable. I’ve never really thought about killing myself. But in this moment, I’m seriously considering it.
Seconds after Pierce told me I wouldn’t be going to San Diego with him, a black sedan rolled into the garage with two men who looked like cops inside. I was handcuffed, gagged and tossed in the back seat without any explanation as to where I was going or what the fuck was going on. Pierce just patted my head like a dog and said, “You’re welcome,” before sliding in next to me.