THE DEVIL’S BRIDE

by April Lust

  Branden wraps his porky fingers around my wrist and drags me across the driveway. There’s an ugly house with wooden shingles a few yards away. Bright floodlights are attached to the beams of the roof, and they cast glaring, yellow light over the driveway. I try glancing around but Branden smacks me in the face, making my cheek sting in pain.

  “Don’t look, bitch,” Branden grunts. To Alan, he calls: “Why the hell didn’t we make sure she had a blindfold?”

  Alan chuckles. “Dunno, boss,” he replies. “Ain’t like she’s gonna be making it out of this house, anyway.”

  A cold lump of fear swells in my throat and my mouth is suddenly filled with the taste of iron. I wish that I were stronger, that I’d had some kind of martial arts training.

  I think back to the days when I was a little girl. My dad always told me that I was too soft, but that it was okay because I’d always be protected. Now I wish I’d actually done something about my own lack of physical strength. When I was growing up, it wasn’t really fashionable for girls to be strong. After all, I was Texas born and bred. Only the girls we suspected were lesbians could climb the rope in gym class, and cheerleading was about the only exercise that a girl could do and still remain “ladylike.” Even my dad, leader of Blacktop Chaos, had made sure that I never so much as strained myself.

  “Yeah,” Branden grunts. He snickers, staring into my face. The red birthmark splashed across his cheek is glaring in the harsh yellow light. I stare defiantly into his eyes for a second, trying to appear tough and strong.

  “Come on,” Alan says, jerking his head towards the ugly little house. “It’s fuckin’ cold outside.” He shivers. “What a fuckin’ winter!”

  “You’re such a pussy,” Branden says, almost affectionately. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. The way these men are talking is like I’m not even here. It’s a fact that makes me both angry and relieved. Maybe they’re not planning to do anything that harsh. Maybe they’re just planning to keep me as a hostage until my dad can pay up.

  Alan leads the way across the gravel driveway and into the wooden-shingled house. Branden drags me like someone would drag a sack of cat litter or potatoes. At first, I try resisting–I kick and struggle against the ropes. But Branden turns his head to me, glaring with such intensity that I stop moving almost immediately. My cheek is still stinging from his last slap, and I know there are much worse things he could do.

  I don’t want to be a coward. I try to think like my father or like Landon—what would they do if they were in a situation like this? Never mind the fact that I’m sure Landon would never be stupid enough to get caught, bound, and held hostage.

  Think, think! I order myself, closing my eyes and racking my brain. I know that I need to save my strength, but I can’t keep from panicking.

  Branden hauls me up the stairs and into the dark foyer of the house. Instantly, my senses are assaulted with a foul, musty smell that creeps into my nostrils like the stench of death.

  As if reading my mind, Branden calls out, “It smells like somebody fuckin’ died in here!”

  Alan’s eerie laughter is behind us. The sounds lick up the walls and echo over my ears, making me shudder.

  “Boss, we haven’t been here in ages,” Alan says quietly, as if he’s realized I’m listening to their every word. “You know this place is off limits.”

  I frown. What the hell does he mean, off limits? Does that mean they’ve kidnapped me against the wishes of whomever they’re working for? The thought makes me shiver. If this wasn’t an organized kidnapping, what the hell are they doing with me?

  I remember a story I overheard from Dad once. He never talked about club business, but once, when I was in middle school, he had to have an emergency meeting with some of the guys while I was doing homework in the living room. As soon as Dad had left the room, I’d snuck across the floor and listened to the grisly tale of a rival MC. The rival MC had attacked Blacktop Chaos, and Dad had ordered a retaliation. But something had gone wrong, and now the wife of the rival MC’s president was dead. She’d been strangled and strung up on a tree, left as a message for the president.

  Please, God, please don’t let them think of doing something like that to me, I think as Branden drags me through the foyer and into a large unfurnished room.

  There’s a curse and a hiss and a clatter as Alan drops a box of matches on the ground. He swears again, loudly this time.

  “Hurry the fuck up,” Branden hisses. “Get a fucking light on!”

  “Boss, that ain’t a good idea,” Alan says. “What about the neighbors?”

  For a moment, my heart leaps. There are neighbors! I think, my brain spinning wildly as I try to formulate the best way I can be heard. But then I hear Branden and Alan’s raucous laughter, and realize they were just kidding.

  “Fuck,” Branden says. He drops me on the floor and I collapse like a sack of potatoes. The ropes binding my wrists feel tighter than ever, and I can’t even remember what it’s like to have feeling in my hands.

  “There ain’t no electricity,” Alan drawls. “It’s been years since anyone was here.”

  “Find some fuckin’ candles,” Branden snaps. “It’s fuckin’ freezing in here.”

  The men begin sniffing around the empty room, talking, ignoring me. Alan finds a cord of wood on the ground and Branden drags it over to the fireplace, lighting a roaring blaze with some of the matches. Soon, the room is warm and almost cozy as a fire dances and twirls in the grate. The light flickers over the hollows and crevices of the room, and I see that the floor is covered with a thick layer of dust. The walls are paneled wood, but they’re damaged by years of smoke and lack of cleaning. The ceiling is a grubby plaster. It looks like it was once white, but now it’s almost as yellow as Branden’s teeth.

  My stomach flips and goes cold when Branden turns and smiles at me. It really is like he’s forgotten I’m here.

  “Vivian,” Branden says, grinning in a way that makes me uneasy. “Do you know why you’re here, sweetie?”

  The endearment makes me cringe. I want to spit in his face, I want to slap him, I want to tell him that he has no right to speak to me like that. It makes every nice thing Landon ever said to me turn to ash in my memory.

  “No,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “But I’m sure my father will pay you.”

  Branden shakes his head. He snickers, narrowing his eyes as he steps closer. “Oh, honey, that’s not why you’re here,” he says. His eyes and voice flirt with me and I shudder. “You should be a little smarter than that. You’re a big college girl, aren’t you?”

  I glare at him. “You’re an inept criminal who could only grab me on the third try,” I say, jutting my lip out in defiance. “You couldn’t even nab me in an abandoned parking lot.”

  This time, I’m expecting the slap and it doesn’t seem to hurt nearly as much.

  Alan comes closer, making little clouds of dust rise off the dirty floor. My nose tingles and my eyes water. I sneeze uncontrollably—so hard that for a moment I’m worried that I’ll pee myself.

  “Allergies?” Alan’s voice is almost sympathetic. “I know, I get that shit too.”

  “Shut up,” Branden hisses, whipping his head around and glaring at Alan. “I’m working here!”

  That’s when I see the insignia on his black jacket–Helldogs. There’s a large black-and-white patch, with a picture of a hound throwing its head back and howling. Cartoon saliva drips off large fangs that look almost real. The imagery is scary. It makes me tremble when I contemplate what it’s going to mean for me, being kidnapped by a rival MC.

  “Why am I here?” I ask unsteadily. “You don’t want money from my father? What do you want?”

  “You’re a nosy little bitch,” Branden says accusingly. He jabs his finger into my throat and I choke, coughing and spewing saliva all over my chin.

  “We just wanna ask you some questions,” Alan says, stepping closer and squatting down on the floor. “We can do that, can’t w
e?”

  I glare at him. Even though Alan seems to be the more sympathetic of the duo, I can’t help hating him, too. After all, if it wasn’t for him, I probably could have escaped Branden on my own.

  That’s when I remember my injured ankle. It’s throbbing and so swollen that I can’t even move my foot. My shoe is so tight that it feels like it’s been painted on my foot.

  “What do you want to know?” My voice is shaky but I force myself to stare Branden in the eye, pretending that I’m on equal footing.

  “Well, for starters, honey, you gotta tell us a little about your old man,” Branden says.

  I blink. I’m confused. I don’t know if he means my dad or Landon.

  “What?”

  “Are you fuckin’ deaf?” Branden leans in my face as close as he can. “Tell me about your fuckin’ father!”

  I narrow my eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  Branden sighs. “This bitch is useless,” he says. “We might as well kill her.”

  A ripple of panic runs through my body and I cry out, twisting furiously at my ropes. I turn so violently that my ankle rolls under my body and it makes me scream in pain. Tendrils of agony thread their way up my leg and tears stream down my face as the pain throbs and throbs.

  “Please!” I gasp. “Please, please don’t hurt me! I’ll tell you what you want to know!”

  “You have to help us,” Branden says. His breath spews foul and rotting from his mouth and into my face, making me gag.

  “Tell us about Laura,” Alan says helpfully. “Can you tell us what happened to her?”

  “Laura?” Repeating the name makes it feel no more familiar to me. “What? Who is that?”

  Branden rolls his eyes. “She’s fuckin’ useless,” he says again. “We kidnapped the wrong bitch.”

  “I’m sure she knows somethin’,” Alan counters. “Just tell us what you know about Laura and then maybe, just maybe, we’ll let you go.”

  I shake my head, feeling helpless.

  “I don’t know Laura is,” I whimper. “I’m sorry. Can you give me more information?”

  Branden and Alan exchange a black look. Branden pulls a knife out of his back pocket and shakes it in my face.

  “You better start talking, girlie,” Branden grunts in my face. “Or else we’re gonna have to play a little game.”

  This time, I’m positive that no one can hear me scream.

  Chapter 23

  Landon

  By the time I’ve finished making rudimentary stitches in Steel’s chest, he’s passed out for good. My hands are shaking and covered in blood, but I think I’ve done an okay job for the time being. After all, I was never much good when it came to medic work after an incident.

  “Steel,” I say urgently, shaking the old man’s shoulders. “Steel, wake up! You gotta help me out, man.”

  Steel’s eyelids flutter open and his lips form silent words, mouthing to the ceiling.

  “Steel,” I grunt. “Come on, man. Come on, you gotta help me. I don’t know where to look for Vivian.”

  “Leave,” Steel says in a voice barely above a whisper. “Vivian…” He trails off, his eyes closing once more.

  “I know,” I say quickly. “I gotta find her, man. But you have to help. Why were those thugs wanting to snatch her up in the first place?”

  Steel shudders. Looking at his chest fills me with panic–the blood is bubbling out of my makeshift stitches at an alarming rate. His skin is red and shiny and the air is filled with the scent of iron from all the blood pooling under Steel’s body. Worse, the skin around the wound is puckered and turning black.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. “We gotta get you to a hospital!”

  As gently as I can, I wrap an arm under Steel’s head and try to pull him across the kitchen floor. But Steel is muscular and heavy, and I can barely budge him without listening to him cry out in pain.

  “Go,” Steel grunts. “Go and find her.”

  “Man, I can’t leave you,” I say truthfully. I know I have to go find Vivian, but if I leave Steel here, he’ll surely die.

  “Go find her,” Steel whispers. “Go find my daughter, Landon.”

  Climbing to my feet, I rinse my hands with soap, washing Steel’s blood down the sink. There are still little dark crescent moons under my fingernails, but I don’t have time to do a more thorough washing.

  The kitchen looks like the set of a horror movie. There’s blood spattered everywhere–the floor, the walls, the ceiling. And Steel is the grisly centerpiece, spread out on the tiled floor like a dead man.

  “Steel, man,” I whisper, kneeling down. “I’m calling an ambulance for you.”

  The terse exchange with the 911 operator doesn’t do much to make me feel better. The woman sounds tired, almost bored, like she’s sick of having one of the world’s most tense jobs. But finally, she assures me that an ambulance is on the way.

  Precious time is slipping away, but I can’t leave my boss now that I think he’s dying. It goes against the code of Blacktop Chaos. Even though Steel kicked me out, I have a feeling that he’d want me to honor my vows until the end.

  When the sound of sirens is faint in the distance, I grab my jacket and suit up. I have two knives, a small gun, a couple of ammo clips, and a full tank of gas in my beloved bike. God, I hope that’s enough to find Vivian, I think.

  Steel’s eyes flutter open once more and instantly, I’m at his side, holding his hands. His skin is cooling and I can see that the pulse in his throat has slowed down. Even though I’ve been panicked about his condition the whole time, it’s starting to hit me that this might be the last time I ever see my president.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell Steel, staring deeply at his face. “I’m so sorry, man, this is all my fault.”

  Steel doesn’t reply. His lips are parted and cracked. Quickly, I grab a glass of water from the sink and gently tilt it into his mouth. Steel doesn’t say anything, but I can tell from the slow way that he moves his head that he’s grateful.

  “I’m gonna make this right, Steel,” I say, willing the ambulances to move faster. It’s killing me how I have to make a choice between my boss and the woman I love, but I know that time is money and I can’t stay here forever.

  “The train,” Steel grunts. “They were going…to the train station…” His voice trails off like he’s letting out a powerful breath and I lean closer, just in case he’s got more to say.

  “What else?” I demand loudly. “What else, Steel?”

  “You’ve got to find her, Landon,” Steel says with a sudden burst of energy. His eyelids fly open. “Vivian is the only thing that matters.”

  “I know,” I say, getting to my feet. The ambulances still sound frustratingly far away and I groan impatiently, willing them to move faster. “I know she is.”

  “Go,” Steel groans. “Go, Landon. Leave me here. You have to go save Vivian.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here—“

  “Go!” Steel yells, with surprising strength. He’s glaring at me and I can barely hold his gaze–the blood everywhere makes for a terrifying sight.

  “Okay,” I say quickly. “Steel, you’re gonna be fine. They’re coming to save you, buddy. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  As I grab my bag and run out the door, Steel calls something unintelligible after me. The air outside is chilly and makes me shiver. I can hear the whine of the siren coming closer. Hurry up, I think as I climb on my bike and point it in the direction of the train station. Please, God, hurry the fuck up.

  Chapter 24

  Vivian

  “I don’t know who she is,” I say helplessly, shaking my head. Branden and Alan have been interrogating me for what feels like hours. But every passing second leaves me feeling more confused than ever, and before I know it, I’m crying again. My panic and terror spill over in the form of hot salt water dripping down my cheeks, and I shake my head and cry out as Branden comes closer.

  Branden glares at me. “She’s fuckin’ bre
aking down,” he complains to Alan. “How the fuck are we supposed to deal with this?”

  Alan stares at me for so long that it makes me uncomfortable. Unlike Branden, Alan doesn’t seem like an evil guy. He just seems like an idiot stooge, someone that Branden keeps around for his muscle and brawn.

  “I don’t know who she is,” I say helplessly. “I’ve never heard that name before.” Licking my lips, I swallow nervously and force myself to stare Branden square in the eye. “I don’t know if you understand this, but it’s not like my dad has ever talked to me about club business.” I widen my eyes, trying to make my voice as honest and open as possible.