FORSAKEN: The Punishers MC

by April Lust

  “Hey, boss,” Ram greeted me. He clapped me on the back, no doubt trying to make up for me passing over him in favor of Eric.

  “Sucking up ain’t gonna do you any good,” I told him. “Where’s Eric? Where’s the guy?”

  “Back here!” I heard Eric calling. “We fuckin’ got him, man.”

  I followed the sound of Eric’s voice to a dingy room in the back that we sometimes used for bike repairs. The concrete floor was covered in grease and sweat and it smelled like man, the kind of man who rode in an MC. I shuddered, thinking maybe this would be my last time in the clubhouse. I was going to miss it. The Skullbreakers had been a part of my life for so long I couldn’t even think about how empty it was going to feel when I was just another average Joe.

  There was a bulky man, bound to a chair, placed in the center of the room. His bald head was beading with sweat and when he saw me, the terror reflected on his face was as plain as day. Someone had gagged him and he began trying to talk frantically, resulting in garbled sound. Ram smacked him on the back and he winced.

  “This one’s a chatty motherfucker,” Eric said with a smirk. “We caught him behind the trees. Luckily, he didn’t get too far away before we dragged him back.”

  I stared at the man, taking in his swarthy appearance. He had to be at least three hundred pounds, with as much fat as he had muscle. There were tattoos covering his arms, including the Steel Demons insignia — a set of shark’s jaws in steel gray. I pulled my knife out of my pocket and jabbed at his arm, just hard enough to make a speck of blood appear.

  “Take the gag out,” I ordered.

  Eric stepped forward and ripped a dirty rag from the man’s mouth. He started yammering away and I swung back and clocked him hard in the face. My hand connected with muscle, bone, and I felt blood dripping from my fingers as I lowered my fist.

  “I’ll hit you every time you start talking,” I growled. “Right now, you’re going to fucking listen to me. Then we can talk. Don’t say anything. Just nod if you understand.”

  The man nodded. Sweat dripped off his fatty upper lip and chin. I could tell he was scared. And he had every right to be; the next few hours weren’t going to be very fun for him.

  “I had a friend,” I said lazily, walking around in a circle and beating at my left palm with my right fist. “This guy named Wolf. He was in the Skullbreakers with me for years, and I always thought he was a loyal companion.”

  If our hostage recognized Wolf’s name, he didn’t show it. The whites of his eyes showed in fear, and I could guess he had at least some idea of what was coming.

  “Well, Wolf and I were such good friends that I really felt like I could trust him,” I continued. “In fact, I told Wolf just about everything that went on in the world. He was one of my best friends. I would have trusted him with my life.”

  From the other side of the room, I saw Ram and Eric focus their eyes on me. They didn’t know what was coming, but I guessed it was going to be an unpleasant shock. Finding out a member squealed, no matter if he was anything to you personally, was always a hard thing to take.

  “Wolf and I were so close,” I said, leaning down in the hostage’s face, crossing my two fingers and shook them close to his eyes, “we were like this, man. So, naturally, when a certain lady from my past and her son waltzed back into my life, I told Wolf. You see, since Wolf was on my side, I thought he would help me protect them both. And they did need protecting; she’d been attacked twice in the span of a week, and her kid was pretty helpless.”

  The hostage had begun to moan, a low, liquid sound.

  “Hey, Ram,” I called. “Bring me those gardening shears we have over there.”

  The hostage’s eyes opened. When he parted his lips, I swung my fist back.

  “Remember, no talky for now,” I told him. “I’m not finished telling you the rest of the story.”

  Ram crossed the room and placed a gigantic pair of gardening shears in my waiting hand. The blades were bigger than my thumbs, and I knew from past experience they could really do some damage. I strode behind the hostage and grabbed one of his bound hands, placing his thumb in between the blades of the shears.

  “Well, you might guess what happened next. Some of your guys, the Steel Demons, if I’m not mistaken, grabbed Wolf and beat him to a bloody pulp.”

  The hostage started shrieking and squealing when he felt the cold blades of metal pressing against his finger. I wasn’t applying enough pressure to cut the skin, but one jerk of my fingers and this guy wouldn’t have his thumb anymore.

  “What did I say about talking?” Angrily I stepped in front of him again and glared. Tears were running down the man’s face and he was red with sweat and anxiety. He opened his mouth and I swung my fist back and punched him harder than before. When he spat at the ground, two teeth fell out of his lips.

  “I’m done waiting,” I announced, stepping behind the man and grabbing his thumb with my fingers. Before he could say anything, I snapped his thumb in my hand. It was like breaking a thick, fatty twig. The hostage screamed in agony and I grabbed his pointer finger.

  “This is what you guys did to Wolf,” I said softly. “You broke all of his fingers until he agreed to tell you what you wanted to know. And I hope you know, the Skullbreakers have much, much more devious methods of hurting you than breaking your fingers.” I sliced the shears together in front of the hostage’s face. “I think these would do a great job cutting off your nuts, just in case we run out of fingers before you start to talk.”

  The hostage started shaking so hard I had to tighten my grip on his pointer finger. Before he could move again, I snapped the finger in my hand. The hostage screamed and tensed, his body jerking against the chair. For good measure, I grabbed one of his middle fingers and pulled it hard until it sprang from the joint with a soft pop sound.

  The hostage screamed in agony. Chuckling, I walked around and faced him.

  “So, are you ready to tell me where Damien took my girlfriend and my son? Or would you like me to break more fingers first? Or slice them off.” I held up the shears and waved them in front of the hostage’s face. “I could do that, too,” I said with a wicked grin.

  “I can talk!” the hostage screamed. He looked at me with big, scared eyes that were bloodshot. “I can talk,” he repeated numbly. He spat out another mouthful of blood and locked eyes with me. “Damien took them to the old Wilson farm, outside of town.”

  “Good,” I said, stepping behind him. The man tensed as I grabbed one of his ring fingers and snapped it with ease between my own hands. His swollen, broken fingers looked like red pork sausages jutting out from his meaty hand.

  “I had to get that one in for good measure,” I said casually as I stepped back around. “Don’t worry, you only have a few left. Then we can start on the shears.”

  The hostage trembled and shook. I rolled my eyes. He was a pussy, just like Wolf had been. My guys had been through a lot worse than broken fingers in their days. I cracked a grin. Hell, I should be feeling lucky. After all, the man who stayed was a man who would talk. And that was a good thing.

  “And just what was Damien planning to do with them?” I pressed the shears against the man’s unbroken thumb. “Tell me or I cut this off.”

  “He was going to kill them!” The hostage gasped before I could bear down on the shears. “He’s going to kill them in the morning even though you stepped down!”

  Anger flooded my body and I was more than halfway tempted to just cut his thumb off right then and there.

  “You fucking ingrate,” I snapped under my breath. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me that before?” Stalking around and facing the crying, red-faced hostage, I glared at him with all of the strength and anger in my body. “Then what?”

  The hostage shook his head. He suddenly looked nervous. “I don’t know,” he stammered. “I don’t know! Damien didn’t say anything else!” His voice grew to a boyish, high-pitched wail.

  “Come on,” I said in a deadpan v
oice. “Tell me who’s guarding them.”

  “Damien is!” the hostage yelped quickly. “But he only took a couple of men with him! I think three. You could easily take them,” he added in a shaky voice, glancing around the garage. “You could easily overpower him! You’re stronger!” He was shaking and quivering and I could tell he thought we were going to kill him.

  “Relax,” I said. “We’re not going to kill you.”

  “You’re not?” The hostage looked up at me in disbelief.

  “No,” I said shortly. “We’re just going to leave you here while we go storm the farm. Come on, guys.”

  Ram and Eric followed me out to the bikes. The old farm the hostage had mentioned was about twenty miles outside of Centerville and surrounded by a forest on all sides. It would be tricky, and I wasn’t sure if we had enough time to get there.

  “We have to get there by morning,” I told the guys. “You get that?”

  Eric nodded. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “We’re with you, brother,” he said gruffly. “Prez or no prez, we’re behind you all the way.”

  Ram gave me a reassuring glance. “Eric’s right,” he said solemnly. “Come on. Let’s go get your family.”

  As we mounted our bikes and rode out towards the Wilson farm, I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if it was too late? What if Angel and Chuckie were already dead? Nausea overtook me but I couldn’t stop to hurl on the side of the road. I had to get to them, and I had to get there as soon as possible. If anything happened to Angel, it would be my fault. And this time I knew I’d never be able to forgive myself.

  Chapter 26

  Angel

  When Damien left, a wave of panic hit me like a tsunami. I was so scared I couldn’t even cry. My heart was pounding and convulsing in my chest and I didn’t think any amount of deep breathing would be able to calm me down. Chuckie was twisting and turning against his bonds. Every few seconds he’d let out a little whimper. The sounds had scared me at first but now they were almost reassuring because they let me know that he was still alive. I’d never been so afraid for me or my son.

  Trey can’t be dead! I wanted to think, but I knew in this situation I was going to have to be a lot more pragmatic than that. What if Damien had been telling the truth? After he’d left, I’d mulled over the scenario in my head. I didn’t think it was likely, but I knew he’d probably gone out looking for me after I’d left. That would have put him alone, and easy bait for Damien’s men to catch.

  I shuddered, thinking of what Damien had promised. I had no idea if he was actually going to kill me, but I knew I couldn’t take any chances. Without trying to attract any of Chuckie’s attention, I began clenching my hands into fists. After Damien had bound me, I hadn’t been able to move but I’d slowly been wiggling around until the bonds were looser. My hands hurt like hell and I could tell they were swollen, but after a few seconds of closing my eyes and straining as hard as I could, some of the life started to come back. I felt the blood flowing into my hands and I stretched and arched my back, desperately trying to loosen the ropes. Damien had bound us with a soft-corded rope, and it was almost slippery against my sweaty skin. I realized if I could just calm down, take deep breaths, and try to relax, I might stop sweating long enough for the rope to be untangled.

  “Mommy, what’s going to happen now?” Chuckie looked up at me.

  In the dim light of the basement, I could see tears reflected on his cheeks. With growing horror, I realized the sun would start to rise in a few hours. I realized if Damien meant what he’d said, I was really going to have to get away.

  “Mommy’s busy right now,” I snapped at Chuckie, turning around and twisting my hands over and over. Even though the rope was smooth, it was burning my wrists raw and my eyes flooded with tears as I strained against the bonds. My back was aching and sore and my shoulder blades screamed in pain every time I shifted my body.

  Chuckie looked up at me again. “Mommy, please,” Chuckie said softly. “Please, I’m scared.”

  “Chuckie, I know you’re scared,” I said, feeling irrationally exasperated with my small son. “But we’re in this together, and Mommy has to work hard on trying to get out. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Chuckie sniffled and nodded. “Is Daddy going to come save us?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart,” I told him honestly.

  Chuckie’s eyes grew wide and he gasped but he didn’t say anything else. Finally, as I shifted to the left, I felt the rope around one of my wrists give. Almost immediately, the struggle became easier. I groaned loudly and finally tugged one of my arms free. My shoulder popped audibly as I pulled my arms back around and started massaging some of the blood back into my mangled, swollen hands. Even in the dimness of the room, I could see the skin was a ghostly pale — both from the rope burn and lack of blood flowing. Damn Damien, I thought with sudden anger that I hadn’t felt before. Damn him for hurting us and for scaring my son. Poor Chuckie.

  I felt tremendously guilty for the way I’d snapped at him before.

  “Chuckie, I’m really sorry,” I said softly. “Come here.”

  He scooted closer to me on the floor and I picked him up with my aching arms and set him on my lap. His hands were bound behind his back and my fingers picked at the ropes. His bonds came free much more quickly than mine had, and in only a matter of minutes Chuckie was free.

  “Do you think you can work on your ankles?” I was keeping my voice as low as I could.

  “Yes, Mommy!” Chuckie cried loudly.

  I shot him a sharp look. “We have to be really quiet. We have to be super quiet because we’re going to run away, okay?”

  Chuckie nodded. I could sense again that he thought this was just a big adventure. I wasn’t even sure if he’d heard Damien when Damien had told us Trey was dead. Or maybe Chuckie just had more faith than I did. With a heart-stopping pause, I realized Chuckie hadn’t ever experienced death in his life before. Since we hadn’t grown up with the influence of my parents, he’d never experienced the typical “grandparent dying” that had been such a common experience during my elementary school years. By the time I’d been Chuckie’s age, I’d been to a handful of funerals. But Chuckie had no concept of death. We’d never even had a pet. He hadn’t even seen a goldfish die. I wondered if he knew death was permanent, something that couldn’t be changed.

  “Did you hear Damien?” I asked, closing my eyes tightly and hoping Chuckie would say no.

  “Yes, Mommy,” Chuckie said solemnly. “He said Daddy is dead.”

  “He lied,” I said firmly. “Daddy’s not dead, okay? So don’t even think about that right now.”

  Chuckie nodded. Some of his light brown hair was standing straight up in the air and I smoothed it down with one hand. He was so fragile, so vulnerable. I closed my eyes and thought about how we could escape.

  Maybe I could break the chair apart and storm the upstairs, threatening to hurt myself unless the men let us go. But that wouldn’t work. Chuckie was fast, but he was a little kid and I was sure the men would be able to catch up with him easily. No, we wouldn’t be able to escape together.

  Looking at the window, I squinted as hard as I could at the glass. It was grimy and smeared with dirt, but even from where I was sitting I could tell it was at least a few inches thick. There was no way I could break through glass that thick without something much sturdier than the leg of a chair.

  A plan was slowly forming in my mind. I didn’t like the idea of it, but I was starting to realize that it was probably our only way out. I remembered how easy it had been to manipulate that friend of Trey’s back when I was under “house arrest.” All I’d had to do was tell him I needed to use the bathroom. I had a feeling whoever Damien’s guys were, they’d easily fall for the same lie. After all, a pretty woman in distress who needs to use the bathroom…they wouldn’t want to humiliate me. Even if they were thugs, they wouldn’t want to clean up my piss from the basement floor.

  Chuckie look
ed at me, almost as if he could read my mind. “What are you thinking about, Mommy?”

  “I’m thinking of a plan to get us out of here,” I said softly. “But we can’t go together. You’re going to have to run when I tell you to run, okay?”

  Chuckie looked up at me with big eyes. “Mommy, I’m scared,” he said. He squeezed my fingers with his tiny hands and a bolt of pain shot through my arm.

  “Don’t be,” I said, gritting my teeth until the pain subsided. Having my hands bound for almost twelve hours had been incredibly painful, and I didn’t even want to know how swollen all of my fingers were by now. But the last thing I wanted to do was let Chuckie know how much pain I was feeling. I had a feeling he’d be even more terrified if he knew how badly I was hurting.