BEASTLords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  “You knew!” he’s roaring. “I don’t fuckin’ care! You knew they were gunning for the Lords! You got me into this, you fuckin’ piece of shit! You set me up! You set my fuckin’ club up!”

  Angel frowns at me. Inside, no voice answers Rock, so he must be on the phone.

  “You listen to me, you asshole,” Rock continues. “You think you got the upper hand now, but I will fuckin’ end you, you hear me? I will end you!”

  There’s a loud crash, followed by a string of obscenities. Angel waits a couple seconds, then pounds on the door.

  “Rock! You in there? I need to talk to you.”

  Rock comes to the door. “Yeah?” he growls. He’s face is red, and contorted into a scowl. He’s wearing a black Harley T-shirt and faded jeans. Just below the left sleeve, the bottom half of the tattoo Natalia saw is visible. My stomach wrenches in disgust.

  “Can we come in?”

  Rock glances from Angel to me. “Sure,” he says, stepping back so we can enter. “What’s up?”

  Angel pauses. “You sounded pretty mad just now. Something wrong?”

  “Nah, nah. Everything’s good.”

  “Yeah? Who were you talking to?”

  Rock bristles. “Ain’t none of your business.”

  “No?” Angel challenges. I can see him starting to get angry. “You were talkin’ about the club, brother. About us bein’ set up. I think that means it is our business.”

  “Listen, you asshole, I’m the president of this club,” Rock spits out, jabbing his own chest with his thumb. “You fuckin’ answer to me, you got that? Not the other way around.”

  “Yeah,” Angel nods, with a slight sneer. “I got that.” He takes a step forward. “Okay, Rock. Let’s change the subject. Talk about what we came to talk to you about.”

  Rock relaxes a little. “Okay. What do you need?”

  Angel walks over to the small living room and takes a seat in one of the chairs. He motions for us to follow. I take the other chair, and Rock settles down on the couch.

  “So, we got a little problem. The club does.” Angel leans forward, elbows on knees, steepling his fingers. “I don’t know if you heard about this when you were in the hospital, but there’s an FBI agent in town. She’s been investigating a trafficking ring.” He pauses. “A sex trafficking ring.”

  Rock’s face goes stony. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Angel looks at Rock for a long moment. “See, the thing is, one of the girls who was being kept in this ring, she escaped. And she’s been talking to this fed chick. Apparently, she was able to describe one of the men who was fuckin’ her in this ring.” He leans back in his seat, and fists one hand in the other, cracking his knuckles. “Lords of Carnage cut. Gray hair. White beard. Tattoo of a skull pointin’ a gun on his left arm.” He pauses. “Kind of specific, don’t you think?”

  Rock snorts. “Yeah. That’s pretty specific. So?”

  I cock my head, barely believing what I just heard. “So? You don’t think this is a problem?”

  He shrugs. “Lots of guys in MCs around here. Lots of guys with tats.” He smirks. “And ink can be changed.”

  “Jesus fuck, Rock,” Angel mutters in disgust. “These chicks are just kids, most of them. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “They were old enough!” Rock shoots back. “And since when did you turn into the goddamn Virgin Mary?”

  “I ain’t no Virgin Mary, Rock, but at least I’ve got some goddamn limits! You know how old this kid was? Sixteen!” He’s out of his seat now, shouting. “Fuckin’ sixteen! You piece of shit!”

  I stand up and put a hand on Angel’s shoulder. I’m practically shaking with anger, but I know we have to find out what Rock knows about this trafficking ring. We need to find out who else is involved.

  “Angel, brother.” He shoots me a look of barely concealed rage, but stops shouting. I sit back down as he starts pacing the room. “Rock,” I say, working to control myself. “Who the fuck are these guys? Who’s trafficking these girls?”

  “That ain’t important,” Rock shrugs. “The club ain’t involved, right? This is my business.”

  “NO.”

  Rock and I turn to Angel. His face is furious.

  And he’s got Rock’s cell phone in his hand.

  “The club’s involved, Rock. And you’re gonna tell us what’s going on.”

  “Fuck you, Angel,” Rock says, rising. “You give me that goddamn…”

  But before he can finish his sentence, Rock freezes in his tracks.

  In Angel’s other hand is his piece. And he’s pointing it at our president.

  “Beast,” he says, holding Rock’s cell out to me. “Dial the last number Rock was talking to. Put it on speaker.”

  “NO!” Rock shouts, but Angel cocks the gun and holds it higher, aiming it at Rock’s head.

  “Do it, Beast,” he says.

  I look from one man to the other.

  One of these men is a traitor to the club. Whoever it is will be cast out in disgrace. Or worse.

  And depending on my choice, so will I.

  Reaching toward Angel, I take the phone from him.

  I hit the last number Rock called and put it on speaker. The phone rings once, then picks up. An angry voice answers.

  “What the fuck, Rock? We’re done here. I told you that.”

  Jesus Christ.

  I end the call and look at Angel. His lip curls as he stares at Rock.

  “Holloway,” he laughs coldly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jarred fuckin’ Holloway.”

  “I will kill you right fucking now, Rock.” Angel stands above him, like the avenging angel he’s named after. “Unless you talk. That’s your only chance of getting out of this room alive.”

  “This ain’t what you think!” Rock insists. “I’ll tell you everything, but this was all about keepin’ the club safe!”

  “Then you got nothing to worry about by telling us.” Angel leans against the wall. “Go. Before I get sick of holdin’ this gun and decide to do something about it.”

  “The ring is Dragon’s.”

  “The Outlaw Sons?”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “And Holloway’s involved, too.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Holloway gave them a place to operate out of in Tanner Springs.” Rock’s eyes move back and forth between us. “A laundromat that was a good front because no one ever went there. Holloway came to me and told me he wanted to broker a deal between our two clubs. Get us cooperatin’. The deal was, Holloway would stop ridin’ the Lords’ asses and look the other way, and in exchange he’d get a small cut of our profits. And, a larger percentage of the cut from the sex ring.”

  “Jesus Christ…” I breathe. “You fuckin’ cut a deal with the mayor, without tellin’ us.”

  “It was just an agreement! He looks the other way and we’re all good! But that fucker sold us out,” Rock seethes. “He was workin’ with the Outlaw Sons the whole time. To end the Lords, and let the Sons move into our territory once we’re wiped out.” His eyes are like dark stones. “I want that fucker destroyed. Holloway is a fuckin’ dead man.”

  “You fuckin’ cut a deal with the mayor. Without the club.” Angel is shaking his head. His tone is flat, emotionless. “Did you actually think you could get Holloway under your thumb, the way you had my dad when he was mayor?”

  “I thought I could strike a deal,” Rock retorts. “The club wasn’t too sure about your dad back in the day, either!”

  “But at least you fuckin’ told the club you were dealing with Abe!” Angel bites out. “You did all this behind the club’s back!”

  “I did it for the Lords…”

  “You betrayed the Lords!”

  The look of hatred on Angel’s face is so complete, for a second I think he’s gonna shoot Rock. His pistol is aimed directly at our president’s head. Rock freezes, staring down the barrel of the gun.

  “Holloway sold you down the river,” Angel rasps. “Sold us into a war.
And you walked us right into it.”

  In my pocket, my phone buzzes. I ignore it.

  “I should fuckin’ kill you right now,” Angel tells Rock. “But I’m not going to. The club will decide your fate.”

  Rock pales. “The Lords will know I did this for them,” he says, but his tone says he knows otherwise.

  “We’ll see.” Angel nods at me. “Beast. Go call up a couple of the men to stand guard outside Rock’s door until I can call church.”

  I walk out of Rock’s apartment, knowing that as soon as I do this, the Lords of Carnage will never be the same.

  Downstairs, I find Tank and Striker.

  “Brothers, something’s up,” I say. “Angel sent me down here to get two men to stand guard outside Rock’s door.” I pause. “Make sure he doesn’t try to leave.”

  The two men stare at me. “Are you fucking serious?” Tank murmurs.

  “Yeah.” I take a deep breath. “I know what I’m asking you. I know it ain’t an easy thing for you to say yes to. But some serious shit has gone down. We need to call church.”

  “Fuck.” Striker reaches up and rubs his neck. “Fuck. Yeah. Okay.”

  I look at Tank.

  He pauses a beat, then nods, looking somber. “Yeah.”

  The three of us head upstairs. Tank and Striker stay outside, while I go in. Angel’s still got his gun trained on Rock. I frisk him, finding a knife in his boot, and grab the gun that’s sitting on the table in the kitchenette.

  “You brought the FBI down on us, too, Rock,” Angel’s saying as we get up to leave. “You’re gonna have to answer for that in church, too.”

  I don’t know what I expect Rock’s reaction to be, but he actually laughs.

  “That’s the least of our problems,” he says. “If we go down, Holloway goes down, and he knows it. His men are takin’ care of the FBI gash.”

  I freeze. “What?” I snarl.

  “She ain’t gonna be able to tell anybody jack shit,” Rock continues with a shrug. “If she’s still alive, she ain’t gonna be for long.”

  “Motherfucker!” I shout. I take a step toward him. Suddenly, I don’t care about doing the right thing. I don’t care about club justice. I just want to wrap my hands around his throat and watch the life go out of his eyes.

  “Beast!”

  Someone is pounding at the door. Jewel’s muffled voice is calling my name. Giving Rock a murderous look, I turn and grab the knob, flinging it open.

  “They said you were up here! Oh, thank God!” Jewel’s eyes are wide, her face pale. “You have to go! It’s Brooke! Her car’s been run off the road!”

  27

  Brooke

  The pain in my chest is intense, almost blinding. The air bag that’s deployed from my steering wheel has knocked all the wind out of me. I can hardly breathe, and an acrid stench pollutes the small amount of air I can get into my lungs.

  I groan against the throb, forcing my eyes open. The car’s listing at an angle, my right side about forty-five degrees lower than my left. I’m in a deep ditch, next to what I think is a field, though all I can see through the passenger window is dirt and grass.

  I turn my head to look around. A slice of pain lances through my ribs, making me gasp. I can’t tell much about my lower body, trapped as it is by the car. I force myself not to let my mind go down that path.

  Through the fog of my agony, it’s an effort to think clearly, but a spike of fear reaches my brain as I remember the car that ran me off the road and realize what’s coming for me.

  Wincing but determined, I contort my body enough to lift my right arm up toward my waist. I peer through the windows of the driver’s side, just in time to see the figure come over the ridge of earth at the top of the ditch. His face is twisted into a determined mask of anger. I know he’s come to kill me. I know I won’t make it out of here alive.

  A strangled scream forces itself through my lips as I struggle against the air bag and belt. Desperately, I claw against the fabric of the bag, pushing my hand between it and my stomach. He comes closer, sidestepping his way down the embankment toward the car. He’s large, and strong-looking, and I know in my injured state I won’t stand a chance fighting him if it comes to that.

  He reaches the bottom. When he peers through the windshield, his eyes lock on mine. The terror on my face must show, because he grins — a leer of triumph. Of pleasure — in anticipation of the pain he’s about to inflict.

  My stomach roils. I inch my hand forward, my eyes not leaving his face.

  Just as he reaches for the handle of my door, my gaze slips downward, just a couple of inches. What I see makes an electric jolt run through me.

  Scratch marks, on his cheek.

  This isn’t the first time we’ve met, he and I.

  But it will be the last.

  The handle of the door clicks, just as my fingers close around their target. The man’s eyes drop for a second as he realizes the door is locked, but then he looks at me again, grinning monstrously. The lock can’t protect you. He reaches behind himself, toward his back waistband, and as he does I drag my hand upward, say a prayer, and fire.

  A deafening roar blocks out everything for a few seconds. Glass shatters all around me. I scream, but it makes no sound.

  Then the glass stops falling. I realize my eyes are squeezed shut. I take a juddering breath and open them.

  The airbag has deflated, and drapes limply over me like a thin blanket. The driver’s side window is completely shot out.

  Through the angle of the opening, I can only see the top of the man’s head. He’s lying on the ground. He’s not moving. A few feet away, I see some red spatters of what must be blood.

  The only sound I can hear is a distant ringing. I try to take another breath, but even without the airbag trapping me, I still can’t get a full lungful of air without the pain slicing through me.

  I start to cry. The sound coming from inside me seems to be miles away. It scares me, so I make myself stop.

  I’m starting to get dizzy. I don’t know if it’s lack of air, or adrenaline, or something else I am too afraid to contemplate.

  Phone, I mouth.

  It takes me a couple of minutes to dig it out of my pocket. The whole time I’m getting dizzier, the pain so bad I’m afraid I’ll pass out. Finally I manage to pull it up to my face. I can barely think. I want Travis, but I don’t have his number. So I try the next best thing.

  Fumbling a bit, I push on her name on the screen. I still can’t hear, so I stare at the words until they say the call has started.

  “Jewel,” I croak into the speaker. “I need Travis. I’ve been in a car accident. I’m on old Highway Fourteen, about… three miles north of town, I think.” I start to cry again. “Please, please, send him. I need… help… I think…”

  Then suddenly it feels like I’m falling, and I drop the phone. Blackness overtakes me, and I drift into nothingness.

  I’m awakened by a searing pain, like I’m being stabbed. I cry out, and try to fight my assailant, but a deep familiar voice stops me.

  “Babe, stay with me,” he croons. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, B.”

  I realize I’m being carried. His warm, strong arms hold me against his chest.

  “Travis,” I gasp, tears pricking my eyes. “I…”

  “Sshhh,” he stops me, murmuring against my ear. “Save your strength. We’ll talk later. You’re safe. Just relax.”

  “It hurts so bad…”

  “I know. The pain will stop soon. I promise.”

  I sink against him, praying that he’s telling me the truth, and let the darkness take me again.

  When I wake up again, I feel like I’m sinking in dark water. Everything’s blurry. It’s impossible to move my limbs. The pain is still there, but it’s far away.

  “Is she coming around?” a female voice says.

  “Babe?”

  “Travis…” I whisper.

  “How you feelin’?”

  I swallow painfull
y. “Like death.”

  He chuckles. “You came pretty close back there. But you’ll live.”

  “Unfortunately,” I joke. With an effort, I open my eyes. He’s blurry, but it’s definitely him. There’s a figure next to him, too.

  “Jewel?” I ask, just to be sure.

  “Hey, there! You had us scared for a while.” She reaches down and squeezes my hand. “You’re a badass, you know that?”

  I try a laugh, but it hurts so bad I end up gasping. “I don’t feel very badass right now.”

  “Well, you are.” Jewel looks down at me and gives me a teary smile. “Natalia and Olga are going to be really relieved you’re okay.” She glances over at Travis. “I’m gonna leave you two alone, now that I’ve seen for myself that Brooke is awake.” She gives my hand one more squeeze and lets go. “You get some rest now, okay?”

  I nod. “Jewel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you,” I take a shallow breath. “I might not be here if you hadn’t answered your phone.”

  “Don’t say that, honey,” she whispered. “But I’m glad I did.”

  Jewel quietly slips out of the room, closing the door behind her. Beast and I watch her go, and then he turns to me.

  “Seems like we’ve been spending a hell of a lot of time in this hospital,” he remarks, one corner of his mouth turning up.

  “Yeah. I have to say, I’m not a fan.” I try to adjust myself in the bed, then grimace. “So, I’m guessing I broke a rib or two?”

  “Four,” he corrects. “And fractured your sternum.”

  “Shit,” I hiss. “No wonder it hurts so bad.”

  “Yeah. You’re on a lot of pain meds, though. So it should keep the worst of it away.”

  Now that we’re alone, my mind races back to the accident. “Travis,” I say suddenly, “what happened to the man who was after me?”

  “You got him.” His face clouds over. “That son of a bitch will never hurt anyone again.”

  “He had scratch marks on his cheek! He was the one who came after me in my hotel room.”

  Travis nods. “Not surprised. Though, what was a surprise was who he is. Was,” he corrects himself.