What I see on the screen makes my stomach lurch.
Hattie.
My Hattie.
She’s sitting on her bed in nothing but a sexy, little, black lace bra and black lace panties. I would think it’s hot as fuck, but the look of pure fear and panic on her face says that she did not set this up.
Then I watch as two men appear with black masks covering their faces. One grabs at Hattie’s tit and laughs when she tries to scoot away from him. He doesn’t let her. He wraps his hand in her hair and pulls her closer to him.
“See this bitch, Dirty Johnny? She’s going to be a whore for us if you don’t get your club to back the fuck off. We want the Russian contract; we want it all. Don’t think that this skinny cunt is where we’ll stop either, because it isn’t. First it’s her, then it’s Rosie, then it’s Brentlee, and we’ll save the best for last. Kentlee.
“One by one, your women will be our whores. Maybe we’ll even breed them, but most likely, we’ll sell them off to The Cartel. Do you know how much money they’ll give us for American white women? You have one day to get your club to back out of your contract with the Russians,” he grunts. Then I see Hattie being yanked off of the bed by her hair and her scream fills my quiet room before the screen goes black.
I sit. Unbelieving. Completely shocked by what I’ve just seen. Then I send out a text for emergency church in ten minutes. I hurry, running to the shower. I quickly change once I’ve rinsed off the smell of the two women who have just vacated my room. Before I can run down to the bar, my stomach lurches and I vomit in the nearest trashcan. I was fucking two whores as Hattie was going through God knows what.
I’m a fucking piece of shit.
When I finally make it down to the bar, it’s swimming with brothers. Fury looks confused as fuck, and I’d laugh at him if I wasn’t so goddamn scared. I don’t say a word or answer their questioning looks. Instead, I walk straight into the room where we hold church. I stand in the corner, near Fury’s chair, and I wait.
“What’s this all about?” Fury asks once everybody is settled in their seats.
“The Bastards have Hattie. They sent me a video last night. They want us to sever our contract with the Russian’s or they’ll be taking our women one-by-one and either using them as their whores or selling them to The Cartel,” I say with a shaky voice.
“Fucking hell, how did they even know who she was?” Sniper asks.
“MadDog said they’d been watching,” I grumble.
“Do they show their faces in the video?” Fury asks.
“No. They’re wearing masks, and I can’t tell by the voices. As far as I knew, all the Bastards were pretty much dead. I couldn’t even guess at where these guys even came from,” I murmur, pulling up my phone and starting the video before handing it to Fury.
I stand behind him, unable to watch the video in its entirety again. I know when his woman’s name is mentioned because his body goes rigid and he lets out a low, deep growl. Then he hands my phone back to me and takes a deep breath.
“They didn’t tell us how to get her back, except to sever the contract with the Ruskies. How would they know if we succeeded unless they have a mole planted?” Fury says, as if he’s thinking aloud.
“What if we just pretended and had Kirill tell his men that the contract has been severed?” Drifter suggests.
“The mole could be fucking anywhere. Could be here, Canadian club, the original charter, or in with the Russians. Fuck, I don’t know what to do, and we only have hours left. This was sent last night and we’re already getting into late evening,” Fury mutters
“They’ll call back, then you find out where your girl is and how exactly they want proof of the canceled contracts,” Vault suggests.
“I don’t want anything to happen to her. She’s—she ain’t a whore. She’s Hattie, and she’s only nineteen,” I ramble.
I’m unable to think of anything but Hattie, finding her and getting her back. I’m never leaving her side again. This aching in my chest can’t be ignored. I don’t care what I have to give up or change about myself, I’ll do whatever she wants. I just want her back and safe.
“We’ll get her back,” Fury mutters. I look up to see that everybody has left. It’s only the two of us in the room.
“I spent the night fucking Harmony and Tasha and this was sitting on my phone the entire time. What was happening to her while I was getting my dick wet, Fury?” I ask looking at him, pleading with him to assure me that nothing was happening to her, that she’s fucking perfectly fine.
“I don’t know, Johnny. But whatever it is, when we get her back, you need to help her with it. You want her, then you need to step the fuck up. It ain’t a game anymore. We don’t know what these guys are capable of, because we don’t know who they are,” he says.
“If they did something to her, if they hurt her, I won’t be able to help her, Fury. I don’t know how to feel sympathetic or sad. I only know anger,” I explain.
“You think I feel sympathy for anybody but Kentlee and my babies? You think I feel anything for anybody other than them? You’re my brothers and I love you, but if it comes down to it, my wife and my children will always come first. If Hattie is yours, if she’s the one you’re meant to have, you’ll be able to be what she needs you to be when she needs it.”
I watch as he stands, then his eyes cut back to me and he speaks once more.
“I’ll be in my office making plans for lockdown, come and get me when you get a new message from those fuckheads,” he grunts right before he walks away.
I sit down and stare at my phone, feeling fucking helpless and worthless. I try to keep from imagining the horrors that Hattie must be facing at this exact moment. I’ll kill them all, slowly. I’ll make every man who even thought about touching my princess suffer with excruciating pain. There is no other woman for me. Had I manned up and not let her leave, she wouldn’t be hurt.
It’s all my fault.
Everything is all my fault.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I look down, hoping to have answers about Hattie, but it’s my mother. If I ignore her, she won’t stop. Against my better judgment, I answer the call.
“Johnny, I need money,” she says shakily. She sounds like she’s coming down, hard, from a high.
“I just gave you a grand last week,” I balk.
“Your father took it all, baby. I’m in so much pain,” she cries out.
I don’t doubt that she is indeed in pain, and I don’t doubt that my father took the money I gave her. He probably spent it on other bitches, or maybe he gave her some drugs and is now making her pay for something she said or did. Fuck if I know. They’re so fucking screwed up, it’s ridiculous. Unfortunately for my mother, her drug addiction is the least of my worries. Today, I give not one fuck about her problems.
“I’ve given you enough money over the years to buy a house with cash, mom. I’m done,” I say nonchalantly.
“Johnny, I gave you life. I took care of you. I’ve suffered for you. Please, baby, please,” she begs.
She’s correct in only one thing. She gave me life. She didn’t take care of me and she’s never suffered for me. She’s suffered, but not for me. Not to give me a better life as a child; not to make sure that I didn’t go without.
No, she’s an addict, solely focused on herself and her next fix. I’ve given in time after time, because when she would try to clean herself up, she wasn’t all bad. But those moments were always few and far between, and the past decade they’ve been nonexistent.
“You’ve done nothing but bully, moan, bitch and whine money out of me for years. I’m done. I have more important shit on my plate right now. I don’t have time to hear you complain about not having any poison to inject in your veins,” I announce before I hang up the phone. Then I do something that I should have done a long fucking time ago. I block her number.
My focus is on Hattie, who can’t help herself. She is in a situation because of me, not because she’s put
herself there. She’s completely, one hundred percent innocent, and she’s most likely suffering unimaginable things because of her affiliation with me.
Fuck.
The only positive thing about my situation is the fact that I’m still in my own apartment. The bad news is that there are four big ass, creepy bikers in here with me. Currently, they’re eating my food and watching my television while they smoke and drink beer. I’m chained to my headboard in my bra and panties.
I thought they were going to rape me; and when they made that video for Johnny and dragged me off of the bed by my hair, I knew it was going to happen. But then the head honcho just tied me up and has pretty much left me alone. I’m not going to complain one tiny bit about that.
I don’t know who they are or why they’re here, but it has something to do with Johnny. I know that much. I heard what they said when they were recording a message to him. They’re going to whore me out and sell me if Johnny doesn’t break some kind of contract with some Russians.
I don’t know what any of it means. I want to believe that Johnny is going to burst through my front door at any given second and save me, but as the hours tick by, it looks less and less likely that that will happen.
“Your man don’t really give much of a shit about you, does he?” one of the men asks as he takes a bite of a sandwich. He looks dirty, scummy, overly thin with pockmarks on his face. I’m actually surprised he’s eating and not sticking a needle in his arm.
I don’t say a word, refusing to speak to these monsters—these men that have groped and threatened me. I’m thankful that, at this point, they haven’t done more to me, but I’m under no illusion that they won’t. If Johnny doesn’t meet their demands, I have a feeling that what’s left of my life is going to be extremely cruel.
“It’s time. Call him,” one man yells out. The man standing in the doorway grins.
“Get ready, baby, this call determines your fate,” he chuckles.
I watch as he picks up his phone and hits a couple of buttons. Then his eyes fly to me and he smiles widely as it rings. It’s on speakerphone, and the other men gather around him, their gazes focused on me, as if they are animals waiting to pounce on their prey.
“Dirty,” I hear Johnny bark into the phone. My whole body starts to tremble.
I’ve remained calm during most of this whole thing, praying and trying not to react to these monsters. But hearing Johnny’s voice, hearing how tired and defeated he sounds—it hurts.
“Now we haven’t received word that you’ve gotten the Devils to cancel that contract with the Russians,” the man who called says into the phone.
“Where’s my woman?” he grinds out.
“She’s safe for now. Unfortunately, for you and her, that won’t be for long. You have one hour to do as I’ve requested, or we fuck her for as long as we want her, then we sell her,” he says nonchalantly.
“You touch one hair on her head and I’ll fuckin’ torture you,” he screams into the phone.
“Dirty, you’re showing how much you care about some little whore. Tsk tsk,” he guffaws. “One hour.”
I watch as he pushes a button, ending the call.
The four men are all staring at me hungrily. They look as though they’re ready to pounce on me. Then, to my surprise, they all leave the room.
I breathe a sigh of relief and pray that Johnny finds me, or that Andy comes over, for whatever reason, and saves me. It feels hopeless to pray, but I do it anyway. I’ll do whatever I can at this point. I do not want them to get a hold of me. I won’t survive it if they do.
One hour.
It isn’t long enough.
Once the women and children were secured at the clubhouse, a group of us loaded onto our bikes and rode to Sagle. The video they sent me was in her bedroom. Odds are, she’s still there. It would be a risk to try and move her from her building, but these fuckers aren’t very smart, so it’s a fuckin’ toss up if she’s still there.
I listened to that fucking video on a loop for about an hour, unable to actually watch it. I know who it is. Blow. Fucking Blow, the ex-president of the Canadian chapter of the Notorious Devils. He’s a dumb motherfucker, too. A piece of shit that used to be my brother but couldn’t stay away from the hard shit. Turned into a fuckin’ crackhead and ran his club into the damn ground. It took four charters full of men and his own crew turning against him to get him out of power. We should have killed him on the fucking spot.
Fury, Drifter, Sniper, Vault, Grizz, Torch and I kill our engines about four blocks from Hattie’s apartment complex. We fuckin’ hauled ass to get here, breaking every speed limit between Bonners Ferry and Sagle, shaving fifteen minutes off of the drive too. We dismount and walk the rest of the way in silence. We’re loaded with guns and knives, ready to take on these motherfuckers. I’m not letting them touch Hattie. No way in fuck.
I was serious when I said I was going to torture Blow.
I will, with no hesitation.
Though I said I would do it only if he touched a hair on her head—I lied. I’m doing it anyway. That piece of scum is going to die, slowly. He’s a traitor and a liability. He must be put to ground. I grin as I climb the stairs up to Hattie’s apartment as quietly as I can. I look over to Fury as I put my ear to the door and my grin turns into a fucking giant as shit smile.
I can hear the television and men’s voices through the door. They’re here, which means Hattie is here, which means it’s time for them to pay and die. How fucking stupid can they be?
I lift my foot to kick the door down, but pause. They’re stupid as fuck, yeah, but I don’t think they’re this stupid. I put my foot down and back away, signaling for the men to follow me. We hurry out of sight and around the corner of the building.
“They’re in there, but no way could it be this easy,” I murmur.
“Blow’s pretty fuckin’ dumb,” Fury laughs.
“He’s in talks with The Cartel; he’s dumb, but he’s working an angle. It can’t be this simple,” I murmur.
“I’ll go to the roof of the next building over and see if I can get a confirmation of Hattie,” Sniper suggests.
There’s only fifteen minutes left before time is up. I’m nervous, but I don’t want any more harm to come to Hattie than already has. I don’t want to storm through those doors until I know for sure she’s there and that I can get her out without her being in anymore danger.
I watch as Sniper jogs off with his bag full of sniper shit at his back. I wouldn’t have even thought to bring that shit, but I’m grateful as fuck that he did. About ten minutes later, my phone rings. I answer it as quickly as I can, putting it on speaker.
“Talk to me,” I grunt.
“She’s in there. Bra and panties, tied to the headboard. Blow’s just starin’ at her. You were right, it’s him. I can’t see into the other room, but I have a clear shot in her bedroom, and a fuckin’ perfect shot of Blow’s fuckin’ head.”
“We’re gonna go back upstairs and you take that shot when I text you. We’ll get to them all at once,” Fury barks.
“Fuckin’ right,” he mutters before he ends the call.
“You guys ready?” Drifter asks. Everybody grunts their answer, but Fury turns to me and claps me on the shoulder.
“We’ll get her back; but brother, you might have some serious work with her,” he murmurs.
He would know. Kentlee was kidnapped years ago, and though nothing happened to her, she had nightmares and trouble sleeping for several years afterward. Fury didn’t bitch and moan, though. He did what he could to help her. She saw a counselor and he fucked her to exhaustion as often as he could, something he not once complained about.
I give Fury the signal once we’re standing at the front door again, and I watch as he presses send, then I kick the door down while holding my gun straight out in front of me. Torch, Fury, Vault, Grizz, Drifter and I find three stupid fucks frozen in the living room, wide eyed and staring straight at us.
“On the mother
fucking ground, cocksuckers,” I grind out.
The three men drop to the ground, like the pussies they are, and I leave my brothers to deal with them while I make the short distance to the bedroom.
Hattie is sitting on the bed shaking, her eyes focused on the piece of shit lying on the floor. His eyes are open and there’s a pool of blood underneath his head. He’s dead. Totally and completely gone. I rummage through his pockets and grab his phone and the burner phone he’d been using to call me on. I slip them in my pocket, then I walk right over to my princess.
“Hattie,” I say. It sounds garbled and rough even to my own ears.
“Johnny,” she whispers as a tear runs down her cheek.
I quickly take my knife off of my belt and cut the zip ties that are keeping her fixed to her headboard. She shakes, and I know she’s on an adrenaline spike. She has fear running through her, and she’s probably going into some kind of shock.
Once the zip ties are cut off of her, I sit down on her bad and pull her into my arms, forcing her face in my neck to keep her eyes away from the dead body on her floor.
I stand with her in my arms and grab a dress from her closet. It’s one of those dresses that goes to the floor. While she won’t be able to ride comfortably on my bike in it, it’ll cover her up in front of my brothers while we decide what’s happening next.
I walk quickly to her bathroom and close the door behind me before I set her down. She clings to me, her fists wrapped up in my t-shirt and her face in my neck. She’s not letting go. With her feet on the ground I whisper as I hold her close.
“Princess, you have to let go so I can cover you up,” I murmur.
“Don’t leave me. Never leave me again,” she sobs.
I can feel the wetness from her tears soaking my skin, and I should be feeling sad that she’s crying. I should be feeling sympathetic for whatever she’s gone through, but I don’t. I feel angry. Angry at myself for leaving her, and angry at Blow for being a giant, fucking dick.
I eventually wrangle her long dress over her body before taking her hand. Walking her into the living room, I cringe when I see the three jackholes still face down on the floor. My guys look up and lift their chins in a greeting, waiting for further instruction.
Rough & Rugged (Notorious Devils Book 3) Page 14