by Amity Cross
“You want to work in here, you start at the bottom like everyone else,” Gasket said like he was delivering a philosophical lesson. Like wax on, wax off from that movie The Karate Kid. Striding over to the shelf, he took down a black plastic bottle, a pair of rubber gloves, and a scrubbing brush. Pushing the load against my chest, he smirked.
“What’s this?” I scowled at Spike, who was stifling a laugh.
“Stuff in here goes on there.” Gasket tapped the black bottle, then pointed to an oil stain on the concrete.
The men, who’d multiplied to six by then, laughed as I let out a wail. Knowing this was a test—like when poor kids got sent to the hardware store for left-handed hammers and spotted paint—I got to work, dumping some of the solution from the black bottle onto a nasty grease stain. When scrubbing actually worked, I knew there was no such thing as a fake scrubbing brush trick. Not in this garage, anyway.
Losing myself in the task, I thought about Chaser. Where had he gone? What was he doing for Marini? He hadn’t actually talked about what he did around here, not any specifics, anyway. I’d assumed he roughed people up who owed Fortitude money, but the further we’d gone on our road trip, the more I suspected it was something more sinister. The scars on his body had told a different story to the one that had passed his lips.
Chaser was a mystery I wasn’t sure I would ever completely unravel, but at least I knew where his loyalties laid.
Knowing he was out potentially murdering someone for my father didn’t sit well. It made me positively sick, and it had nothing to do with the chemical fumes, either.
I made it halfway across the garage floor before Gasket relieved me of my duties.
“Go and have some lunch with the boys,” he said, laughing. Pointing to the sparkling concrete, he added, “You’ve done a good job.”
I sighed and pulled off the gloves. “This apprentice thing is hard work. I can’t feel my knees.”
“Welcome to Fortitude, woman.”
“Sierra is going to kill me,” I muttered, inspecting my nails. “Beauty and I weren’t meant to mix.”
“You’re beautiful, Sloane,” Gasket said. “I know all the men chase you. You went and grew all the way up.”
“Gross. You’re old enough to be my dad.” I frowned, the emphasis he placed on the word chase not going unnoticed.
“Outside,” he said, pointing to the roller door. “Don’t try anything, either.”
I smiled sweetly and fluttered my eyelashes. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you.”
Wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans, I wished I had some shorts. The weather seemed to have worsened since yesterday, and the compound was one big sweltering cesspool of eternal stench. Picking myself up from the ground, I screwed up my face as my joints ached…and I’d just gotten over the beating on the train.
Glancing at Gasket in the office, I turned toward the outside world where I could hear the men talking and laughing among themselves. Were these guys any different from Pube Face Bailey, Blue Eyes, or any of the men that had hunted Chaser and I on the road? What was I doing?
I closed my eyes and said a prayer, but I couldn’t help the image of blood and broken skulls that invaded my mind’s eye. It would catch up with me eventually, all the horror, but not today. Not yet. Chaser…
Outside, a slight breeze had picked up.
“Hey, Sloane,” Spike called out. “Wanna beer?”
“Fuck, yeah.” I walked over to the group of bikers and took the bottle Rhodes offered me.
Rhodes, Watts, and Raw were three guys I’d seen around but hadn’t had the chance to get to know. Not like the others who worked in the garage. Though they’d gotten to see a great deal of my ass today, so there was that. If Chaser had walked in and seen me like that, he would’ve blown up and gone on a rampage. The thought made my heart swell. His alpha-asshole jealousy was sweet considering the kind of affection he liked to show. Which was none.
I sat on a free patio chair and put on my aviator sunglasses. The ones with the blue lenses I made Chaser buy me way back when all this first began. How long was it now? A month? Time flew and all that.
Watts raised his eyebrows, his gaze going to my thumb. He was a quiet kind of guy, thoughtful and sharp by the look in his eyes.
Grabbing the bottle opener off Spike, I popped the lid off my beer and took a mouthful. It wasn’t that cold, but several degrees south of boiling was better than nothing in this heat.
“Ugh, I forgot how hot it gets here,” I said, attempting to get the conversation going again.
“East coast soften you up?” Rhodes asked, looking me over.
“Who said I was out east?” I made a face and leaned back in the chair, the plastic creaking.
“It’s the furthest point away from here that’s not Canada or Mexico,” Ram shot at me.
“Whatever.” I kicked my feet up on the overturned crate they had set up as a coffee table. “I just scrubbed half the garage floor.”
“Want a medal?”
“Yeah. A real fucking big one.” I smirked and threw my head back with a laugh, causing the other guys to chuckle.
The air was clearer after that.
Ratchet and Butcher appeared, joining the little group, and for the first time, I didn’t feel like a prisoner locked away in a hornet’s nest. It was a moment of bliss that was short lived when Butcher leveled his gaze at me and asked about the one thing I didn’t want to talk about. Chaser.
“What happened out there?” the big, beefcake asked.
“Out where?” I tilted my head to the side.
“Chaser got knifed,” he said. “Lost a lot of blood. You knew what you were coming back to. Had a chance to ditch the guy. But you scraped his ass off the floor and brought him back here.”
“It’s like you said. He got knifed.” I stared right back at him, my hand tightening around my beer.
“So?” Ram asked, tossing in his own line of questioning. “Everyone knows you wanted out. That’s why you ran away.”
“Everyone knows shit,” I snapped. “You know a rumor, Ram.”
“Then explain it, Sloane.” Butcher.
“Leave it,” Ratchet said with a groan. “What’s it matter? She’s Marini’s kid. Orders are orders.”
“Says the asshole who tattooed her and got his face beat in,” Spike said with a snort.
“It’s no secret I ran away,” I said, picking at the label on the bottle in my hand. “But I am my father’s daughter. Your president’s flesh and blood. Instead of selling me off to the highest bidder as a hole to be raped and abused, you know what he should’ve done?”
Ratchet smirked and nodded his agreement. He got it. We’d already had our one-on-one time.
“You are your father’s daughter,” he said.
“I’m also my mother’s daughter.” I raised my bottle, held it high, and waited.
Ratchet nodded and bumped his battle against mine. His boldness gave the others courage, and one by one, every bottle clinked against my own. Butcher, Spike, Ram, Watts, and Rhodes.
“Sloane.”
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Gasket lingering at the garage door. He crooked his finger, calling me inside.
“Boss is callin’,” Rhodes drawled.
“I’ve got another fifty square feet of concrete to scrub,” I said with a groan. He was so not calling me inside for scrubber duty but best to play coy.
Leaving my empty beer bottle with the bikers, I went inside. The moment we were out of eyesight and earshot, Gasket grabbed my arm and shoved me against the wall.
“Hey!” I exclaimed.
“What are you playing at?” he asked, hissing at me.
“I’m playing at keeping myself alive,” I retorted. “I won’t let what happened last time happen again.”
“You’re fishing…”
I made a face. Is that what they called it around here? Fishing for allies in the sewerage pipe of life.
“I don’t know what Marini’s go go
ing on with the Hollow Men, not all of it, but Fortitude can’t help you,” he went on.
“That’s where you’re wrong, old man,” I said, anger rising. “Fortitude can help me by me helping Fortitude.”
“By taking it over, you mean.”
I stared blankly at him, but he was far too smart to be fooled by an emotionless stare. He’d been playing this game for his entire life. Playing people, exploiting their weaknesses, beating the shit out of them, killing when ‘reason’ didn’t get through. Gasket wasn’t innocent.
“He brought this on me,” I murmured, the chill in my voice alarming even me. “The Hollow Men, the abuse, the manipulation. My mother’s murder.”
“Sloane…”
“Don’t you Sloane me.”
Gasket let go of my arm and ran his hand over his face. Cursing under his breath, he turned away.
“What are you going to do?” I asked his back. “Tell on me?”
He cursed again and faced me, his eyes full of something as far from anger as he could get. Was it regret? Resignation? Who knew?
“Even if your father is out of the picture, they’ll still come after you,” he said. “You know that. The deal he made with them won’t end with his death or dethroning. The deal was made with Marini, and Marini is Fortitude.”
“Believe me, I know how this works.” They all had to go, lest the one left alive out of mercy came back to avenge what they’d lost. I was going for complete and utter annihilation.
“Be careful, girl,” the big biker said. “Be very careful.”
I nodded, those three word echoing the same sentiments I’d been having since I arrived.
As Gasket walked away, and the garage fell into silence, I knew I could trust him with my life. Just like that night seven years ago when he’d helped me get out of the compound the night before I was going to be sold. Gasket’s loyalties would always be to Fortitude, but that didn’t mean they would always be with Marini.
Fortitude was more than one man.
It was time for a woman to remind them of that.
Chapter 12
Chaser
“It’s done.”
I slammed the revolver onto the table, spinning the butt toward Marini. The mother-of-pearl shone in the light, the beauty of the thing marred by all the lives it had taken. Instead of a headsman’s ax, Fortitude had a gun. The executioner.
It was late when I’d arrived back at the compound, past one a.m., but Marini wanted an immediate report the moment I got in. Whatever hour it was. Revenge, messages, shows of power. Blood never waited, and neither did he.
I’d soon learned how he wanted it and never made the mistake of waiting to inform him of anything ever again. That was how I got my first scar and how I first met Butcher. A pissed-off hulk of a man sewing me up at the ass crack of dawn was one of my first encounters with the bikers of Fortitude MC. When I didn’t flinch as the needle dragged through my skin was when I’d forged my reputation as a hard-ass. Marini never laid a hand on me after, but that didn’t mean I was untouchable. Not by a long shot.
The dining table in the president’s room was empty, save for the revolver. He sat at the head like he was the king of the world and regarded me smugly. Marini leaned forward, his fingers brushing the barrel like a father caressed his newborn child. Well, was supposed to anyway.
“You know, Betty eyed off that gun,” he said. “Maybe she has something in her, after all.”
I doubted she knew what her father used it for because if she did, I knew she would be disgusted. I hadn’t told her what I did, but she had a good idea. If I told her outright, would she be repulsed? Would she turn her back on me? I’d served seven years killing for the man she loathed.
I grunted and shifted my weight from my left leg to my right.
“Did you make him squeal?” the president asked.
I’d made it quick and painless, but he didn’t need to know that. My tastes had changed in light of certain…events. Yeah, events.
“Like a pig,” I replied. “Cried for his mommy.”
“Good. Took you long enough.”
“I had to make sure there was no heat on him,” I said, resting my hand on the back of a chair. “Last thing Fortitude needs right now is the Feds sniffing around. Especially after the…incident.” I grimaced.
“That fucking train,” Marini said, narrowing his eyes. “You were sloppy, Chaser.”
“It was unavoidable. They ambushed us. Forced me to improvise or lose the girl entirely. She’d be hanging in King’s house of horrors right now.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Marini said with a growl. “Don’t take me for an idiot, Chaser. I want clean.” His gaze dropped to my hand, then to my leg. “Is that still fucking bothering you?”
“Nothing I can’t handle. Butcher says it’ll take weeks before it’s fully healed. I don’t have weeks.”
“Like a good little soldier you are.” He smirked and picked up the gun. “What do you think of Betty?”
“I don’t think anything,” I replied, unsettled by his abrupt change of subject.
“Yeah, you do think something, Chaser. You think a great deal. It’s ingrained in that baby-faced head of yours. That’s what they train people like you to do in the FBI.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You ordered me to get her back here. I got her back here.”
“Took you long enough.”
“The—”
Marini slammed his fist down on the table, and I was suddenly grateful I’d left the revolver unloaded.
“You are a shit stain on Fortitude, Chaser,” he declared. “A putrid skid mark who never lived up to the deal he made. You’re lucky I didn’t kill you. You got it?”
I nodded. Oh, I got it all right.
“Tell me. What do you think of Betty?”
He was baiting me, which meant he suspected. Where had I slipped? Had Sloane… No, she wouldn’t. She was rock solid. Whatever I said next, I had to choose my words carefully.
“She broke Harley’s nose,” I said, my voice low. “She may be fighting the wrong battles, but she can fight.”
Marini snorted and leaned back in his chair. “She got my tattoo. Did you know? My tattoo. No one gave her permission to mark herself like she’s one of us. Who did she kill to earn her place?”
“Hollow Men,” I replied, deadpanning him.
“Hollow Men…” He scoffed and flipped open the barrel. Seeing the chambers were all empty, he scowled. “Get out.”
Turning, I gladly left, leaving Marini to sulk on his own.
Shit, he suspected. What, exactly, remained to be seen, but doubt was dangerous enough. Marini was trigger happy. Always looking for an excuse to use that gun of his. He would use it on his own daughter if he knew what we were up to.
I had to warn her to cool off for a while and lay low.
Stopping by the door to the roof, I sighed. The heat and the bloodshed were getting to me. Being apart from Sloane was messing with me more than I wanted to admit. This shouldn’t be hard. Subterfuge was second nature.
Wasn’t it?
Breaking point was never as close as it was right now.
Chapter 13
Sloane
A week after I’d finished degreasing the garage floor, I was promoted to repairing punctured tires. It was a step up, and my bruised knees thanked me for it.
Two things that hadn’t changed, though, was the weather and Chaser’s absence. He still wasn’t back from whatever awful job Marini had sent him on. I didn’t like it, and I’d been dwelling on all the worst outcomes because of it. What if his stab wound wasn’t healed enough? What if someone jumped him? What if the Hollow Men got him? With each passing day, I became increasingly irritated, and the heat didn’t help. The bikers in the garage had started calling me Sulky Sloane until I superglued Ram’s ass to a chair.
My fate was still up in the air, and I was still confined to the compound, so all I could do was keep on keeping on. Making friends, skirting arou
nd the edges of danger, and avoiding one of my many nemeses—Harley. Sam had started talking to me again, though it was only in one-syllable words, the fear in her voice unmistakable. In the beginning, she’d been ordered to shadow me to glean information, but when I’d taken matters into my own hands, that had all gone by the wayside. I was now too unpredictable to be around, especially when it came to threatening Harley’s domination of her.
Turning over in bed for the hundredth time, I was failing to find a comfortable position. The mattress was lumpy, the air was stifling, and my brain was working overtime.
It was so damn hot in here sleep was impossible. Sweat stuck to my body as I tossed and turned, the open window doing nothing to ease the heat in my tiny bedroom, not to mention between my legs. No Chaser meant no orgasm. Orgasms always put me to sleep. My hand didn’t seem to be able to match the prowess of pretty boy Chaser and that damned cock of his.
We could still run away, a little voice said in the back of my mind. It’s not too late. You did it once before. You could do it again.
No. Giving up when things got tough was a complete cop-out. Besides, I’d been in worse situations than I was right now. I’d been flung from a rolling car, crawled across a desert, and shot a man in the head to survive. That was infinitely crappier than being held hostage at Fortitude. Infinitely.
Sitting up, I groaned and rubbed my eyes. This was impossible.
Flinging my legs out for underneath the covers, I found my jeans and pulled them on, shoved my feet into my boots, and dragged on another T-shirt. Shuffling over to the door, I flipped the lock and peered out into the hallway. No one was standing guard, and they hadn’t since I’d arrived, but I wouldn’t put it past my enigmatic father to implement it without warning.
Sliding out into the hall, I walked toward the common room, tingling all over like I was doing something naughty. It wasn’t against the rules to explore the compound, though I don’t know why anyone in my position would want to. I could handle myself, and I’d made that clear when I’d broken Harley’s nose, so that kept unwanted bikers away. Now I had friends in the garage, distances were being kept more permanently. It was a good thing, though I wasn’t sure if any respect was being won because of it.