Fuck.
There went my advantage.
I was thrown off of him, pinned under his weight. There was a split second before I felt his fist in my face. Familiar, god the sensation was so fucking familiar it made me sick. I tasted blood in my mouth and, with what was probably not a smart amount of anger, spat it in his face.
His hands went up to wipe his face, giving me the chance to drag my legs up from behind him, cursing at the weight of the chain, and cross them over his throat, pushing him backward with the strength in my thighs. The chain pushed into his throat as he twisted to the side, wrangling away. He hit the floor and my leg kicked out, my foot colliding with the side of his face. His grunt of pain was like the voice of God to my ears. Especially because I knew I had gotten a few good shots in, but that he was going to overpower me. I was going to get my ass kicked again.
“Stupid bitch,” he said, sitting back on his heels and wiping the blood off his lip. “I know what kind of lesson I need to teach you,” he said and his hands moved downward.
When I saw what they were seeking, I felt a sweat break out over my whole body. His belt. He was going for his fucking belt. I had taken a lot of beatings during my time with him. I'd felt his bare hand on my ass. I'd felt his fist in every soft place in my body. I'd felt his feet stabbing into my stomach and ribs. But nothing, literally nothing ever hurt as bad as that belt on my skin.
“Just like that first time,” he smirked, pushing the hook free from the hole and slowly pulling the leather from the loops. It was then that I noticed it was going to be just like that first time... because it was the same fucking belt.
For the first five strikes, I had the protection of my shirt. Damian, frustrated by the fact I wasn't shrieking in absolute agony, dropped the belt long enough to grab my shirt and tear it off, leaving the skin of my back bare save for the band of my bra.
Then, well, there was screaming.
I didn't want to. It hurt somewhere deep in my soul to do it, but the pain was unlike anything else life had to offer, somehow feeling both blunt and sharp and burning all at once. I fought, don't get me wrong. I twisted, turned, scrambled away. But I could only get so far so fast with the shackle at my ankle. And each time he caught up to me, the lashes got more vicious until the tears were streaming down my face as the skin at my back finally broke open and the lashes didn't stop.
My throat hurt, raw from crying out and I collapsed forward on the floor, unable to draw up any energy to fight anymore. I was done. Done done done. I just wanted it to end. I wanted to go back in time and drag that knife up my forearms. I wanted everything to...
My thoughts trailed off when I heard the belt drop down beside my body, followed by the sound of his fly being pulled down. Yep, just like the first time. The only difference being this time... I couldn't delude myself into thinking what was about to follow wasn't rape.
I closed my eyes tight against that idea, trying to will my arms to push me up, but they stayed limp at my sides as I saw the belt get picked up again a moment before it slipped around my neck as a noose and tightened. He held it one-handed, the other going to the back of my pants and slipping into the waistband, trying to drag them down.
I didn't hear the door slamming open.
I didn't even hear the boots on the steps.
But I did hear something.
I heard the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in my life. I heard Cash's voice.
It was then that I realized I had fallen asleep.
Because only in my dreams did Cash come rushing in to save me.
So I closed my eyes and smiled, sinking into the dream.
Twenty-two
Cash
There are moments in your life that, when they happen, you know they are going to be burned into your memory, that will always come back to you in bright, flawless, technicolor perfection.
Throwing the storage shelf out of the way and finding a door behind, having to wait for Malcolm to use some kind of device to break open the code thing, then charging down those steps and seeing what I saw... mother fucking burned into my mind.
Forget that the basement had been changed into some freaky apartment that I had a sneaking suspicion must have had some kind of significance to Lo's old life. I barely even fucking took that shit in. Because right there in the center of the floor with a god damn slave chain around her ankle, was a face-down Lo, her entire back torn open with gashes, her blood seeping down to her sides and puddling on the floor beside her. A belt was wrapped around her throat and was being pulled mercilessly as Damian fucking Crane, pants down and hard dick out, tried to pull down Lo's pants.
That was a sight I never wanted to fucking see.
And now I would never be free from it.
“Lo,” I heard myself call, but it was a strange, raw, crackling sound.
I didn't even think of the god damn gun nestled in the small of my back. I didn't take heed to the half dozen Hailstorm men and women coming down the stairs behind me. Because, quite fuckin' frankly, this fight was between me and the mother fucker who dared put his hands on what was mine.
“This is gonna' be fun,” I growled as Damian tried to wrestle his cock back into his pants and got to his feet.
I got one second to notice that Lo had closed her eyes with an odd, sweet smile on her face before I charged at Damian. Malcolm and the rest of them would get her up and out of there. They would start to do something about the wounds on her back. They would do a much better job at that than I could. And I, well, I was going to do the better job at making Damian Crane pay for ever even thinking about putting his hands on her.
I took him down with a running crouch to his center, his yell suggesting Lo had already gotten a good hit or kick to his ribs. I felt a swell of pride at that- my girl was a fighter, as I pounded my fist into the bastard's face, enjoying the spurt of blood out of his nose.
Behind me, I could hear Malcolm giving out orders and the hair-raising sound of Lo's shriek as they, presumably, moved her.
Damian bucked and I was flying to my side, landing with a grunt.
Something clattered to the ground next to me and Malcolm's voice called. “We need to get her back to Hailstorm. She's losing a lot of blood.”
But I wasn't paying much attention because I finally realized what had flown down next to be: the asshole's belt. I felt a sick smile pull at my lips as I grabbed for it and got my feet, turning back to see Damian closing in on me.
Oh, yeah. Talk about justice.
I was gonna see how much he liked getting a strap taken to him.
“Shoulda' kept your hands off what belongs to me,” I said, swinging back, then snapping the belt forward, the blow landing in the center of his chest, giving me a grunt.
“She's mine.” And, well, that was just the wrong damn thing to say.
I cocked my arm back again, then swung forward, this time aiming a helluva lot higher. His whole body jerked back as the belt smacked across the side of his face. His hand went instinctively up to cover the raising welt and I took that opportunity to nail the back of his hand too- his guttural howl sending off a shock of pleasure through my system.
I wasn't that guy. I didn't have that dark of a soul. I didn't get off on pain. But, hell, I was half hard listening to this fuck getting what was coming to him. For Lo. For the years of damage he had caused her. For the shields she felt she had to wear around herself because of him. For the fear such a strong, formidable woman like Lo was forced to live through every day of her life.
His face half swollen, Damian lunged, taking us both down, making me land beneath his weight with a hiss on the hard floor. Right hand lamed by the belt strike, he raised his left and got a half-force punch to the side of my face before I knifed up, throwing him down and taking my feet.
I cocked back the belt and swung one last time. My aim was off by the barest of inches and the lash took him across the eye, making a cry that was only half-human escape him
as a swirling feeling started in my stomach.
Enough. That was fucking enough.
I flew across the floor as he cradled his face and grabbed the chain that had been around Lo's ankle and dragging the heavy as all fuck thing across the floor, clamping it around Damian's ankle before he could even stop howling enough to try to stop me.
“Let's see how much you like being held against your will, you sick fuck,” I said, taking off toward the stairs, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Anger drained, all I felt was the kind of worry that settled in your belly and felt like it hollowed you out inside.
“He dead?” the only leftover Hailstorm guy asked as I got to the top landing, left there, I imagined, in case Damian got away from me because this guy was a mammoth of a man... he looked like he'd give Wolf a run for his money.
“No. But I bet he wishes he was. Can you lock this thing back up?” I asked, gesturing toward the door as Damian's swears of vengeance drifted up the stairs.
“Yeah,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket. “Changing the code though,” he said, pressing away as he kicked the door closed. “So you're keeping him down there?” he asked, turning back to me, pinning me with his freakishly blue eyes.
“Figured Lo might want a shot at him once she's up and moving again,” I shrugged, knowing she would. Once the pain and embarrassment faded, she would be spittin' mad. And she would want him to pay for ever making her feel weak again. There was no way I was going to deny her that. “She okay?” I asked, not bothering to hide the rawness in my voice.
“She's gonna be hurting for a while. Her back was completely cut open. Has some marks on her face and her ribs looked like they got worked over again. But she'll be alright. They know what they're doing.”
With all the shit they got themselves into, all the damage that must have been done to their crew, I imagined that was true.
“I need to see her.”
The guy nodded, jerking his head toward the front of the store. “Let's go.”
With that, he took off in his Jeep and I took off on my bike, both of us pushing twenty over the speed limit until we finally pulled up to the gates which swung open.
“Where is she?” I demanded from the first person I saw, grabbing the front of his shirt when all he did was raise a brow at me and look over my shoulder at the guy I pulled in with. “Listen, mother fucker... I'm not in the mood for your gam...”
“Yo,” the guy behind me said, clamping a hand on my shoulder. “I'll take you. Relax.”
“Maybe you should get him calmed down first, Leo. He can't be charging into the sick room balls out mad...”
“Try to stop me, I dare you. I just fucking blinded the last man who stood between me and Lo. You really want to do this?” I asked, shoving his chest, stepping back with drawn-in brows when all he did was laugh.
“Malc was right,” he said, nodding over my shoulder at Leo.
“Yep,” Leo agreed then moved to look at me. “Come on, let's go.”
With that, I followed him into the storage container maze that was the innards of Hailstorm. By the fourth container, I was certain that if you didn't know the layout, you genuinely could get completely lost. Half of the rooms were all but empty, jutting off into what looked like deadends. Past the barracks-style bedroom, we finally arrived at a door with a small glass window through which I could see a naked to the waist Lo lying on her stomach on a hospital bed while one of her men, dark-skinned, shaved head, wearing a white tee and jeans, sat over her with white gloves on his hands, pressing something into the broken-open welts on her back.
Leo pushed open the door and led me inside. Beside the man bent over Lo, the only person left in the room was Malcolm whose face was in severe lines. The air around him seemed to be buzzing with a mix of rage and concern. It was a feeling I knew well.
“She's not moving,” I said, getting close to the side of the bed.
“Knocked her out,” the guy pressing compresses to her wounds said, not looking up. “She'd skin me if I let us all hear her cry through this,” he added, gesturing toward the suture kit he had laid up beside him.
“Fuck,” I said, looking down at her perfect back ripped to shreds. “I was there,” I said, shaking my head, feeling the realization settle heavy inside. “I had been there and she was one fucking floor beneath me. I could have saved her from this!” I yelled, grabbing the metal stool beside me and hauling it across the room.
“Don't go there,” Malcolm said, shaking his head as he watched me.
“How the fuck can I not go there? I was there. I should have looked harder for a door. I should have noticed the fucking basement windows from outside...”
“It's not your fault some sick bastard tortured her. That's not on you. That's on him. She doesn't need your anger. She needs you to be here for her. She's not a victim. Don't treat her like one. At least... not if you want to be able to be in her life in the future, that is.”
“I'm gonna be there,” I said, a kind of certainty in my words I never usually felt, let alone expressed. I was going to be there, in her future, even if I had to claw my way into it.
It made no sense. True, I'd met her a year... closer to two years before. But I only got to really know her the past several days. But it didn't matter. I never claimed it was rational. All I knew was, she was mine. And she wasn't 'mine for the night' or 'mine for the time being' like women had been in the past... she was mine without an expiration date. Because I had never met a woman like her- a woman covered in steel but so soft inside. I'd never met a woman who liked to fight as much as she liked to fuck. And speaking of fucking... I needed more of that with her. Like... a lifetime of it.
So, yeah, it didn't make much sense. But what in my life did? I'd always made decisions flippantly, recklessly. I always threw myself into whatever felt right in the moment. That was how I lived. I wasn't someone to sit around and write fucking pro and con lists and hem and haw every situation, every choice to be made, every repercussion of each choice. I went with my gut.
And my gut was telling me that I was going to be in Lo's life.
So that was the way it was going to be.
I watched, hands curled into fists, as the guy with the gloves went about stitching Lo back together.
“Relax, Cash,” Malcolm's voice found me, though one look at him and he didn't look much less stressed than I did, “Mike here knows what he's doing. He was an EMT in his life before.”
Feeling marginally better, I sucked in a breath, slanting my head toward Malcolm with a wry smile. “For a bunch of survivalist nutjobs... you all have normal fucking names.”
Malcolm snorted, shaking his head, trying to fight the twitching of his lips. “Hey we can't all be Reign, Cash, Wolf, and... Repo now, can we?”
“Think you maybe want to get your face fixed up?” Mike asked, surprising me because I was pretty sure he hadn't looked up at me since I came in.
“I'm fine.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding. “No big deal. Just a bloody, open wound dripping down your face. No big deal. You probably won't get sepsis and die.”
At that, I felt an unexpected laugh rise up. “Fine, I'll clean up my face. Got any whiskey laying around?”
At that, his gaze finally came up. “Please don't tell me you pour booze on your cuts normally.”
“Okay... I won't tell you that,” I grinned.
“It's amazing you're not covered in nasty scars.”
“Hey... battlefield medicine, man.”
“In what military are the soldiers carrying around alcohol?”
“I dunno,” I smiled, rocking back on my heels. “The Russians. Can't imagine them going into battle without a shit ton of vodka in their bloodstream.”
Mike smiled, shook his head, and went back to working on the blissfully unconscious Lo while Malcolm waved a hand toward the bathroom at the far end of the room.
I went in, put some peroxide on the cuts, put on
a couple butterfly sutures, and swabbed on some antibiotic cream before washing the dirt and blood off my hands and looking up at my reflection in the mirror.
There was a tightness around my eyes that I made an effort to release before I made my way back out of the bathroom. Mike was standing, fiddling around with some kind of huge sheet of gauze, slathering something onto it, then taking the giant dressing and laying it across Lo's entire back.
“When she wakes up, we're going to need to get her up and wrap some gauze around her to keep this on,” he explained. “But there's no use trying to get her up when she's unconscious. She'll be out for hours.” With that, he snapped off his gloves and shrugged at us. “She'll be fine in a couple days. I'll take the stitches out in a week or two depending on how everything heals, but she will be up and moving in a day or two.”
We nodded and Malcolm thanked him and he walked out. Alone, Malcolm sighed loudly, looking down at Lo. “I hate to leave her, but I have some stuff I need to see to...” he paused, looking at me, “and you'll be here for her, right?”
“Of course,” I said, sitting down on the stool Mike had vacated and brushing my hand down the side of her bruised face. I couldn't wait until I could see it undamaged again, until I could touch her without having to worry about hurting her.
I heard Malcolm's feet retreat and the door open and close and we were alone. “Fucking sorry, baby,” I said quietly, my hand running down her arm.
I watched her slow, steady breathing for a long time, until my eyes got too heavy to stay open anymore and I dozed off, slumped over the side of her hospital bed.
I woke up to my hair being tousled sometime later. My eyes snapped open, immediately alert. And there was Lo, laying on her stomach, her face turned to me, her lips turned up in a small smile.
“I thought it was a dream,” she said in a groggy voice.
“You thought what was a dream, gorgeous?”
“You saving me. I had a dream that you saved me the night before and I thought... I thought I had passed out from the pain and was dreaming again.”
Cash (The Henchmen MC Book 2) Page 17