A Step from the Edge (Tough, yet Tender Book 2)

by Loretta Palmer

  “Yeah, I’ve heard Lord Voldemort is terrible in bed,” I quipped. “Anyway, today isn’t great. By the time I get home, I don’t think I’ll have energy left for anything more taxing than a bath and a nice, long nap.”

  “Oh, OK…” she said. “Well, um, feel better! Let me know when you’re up to getting together.”

  “Will do,” I said, and turned the corner to my first-period class. The disappointment in Sophia’s voice kind of broke my heart. To tell the truth, I hadn’t been treating her like much of a best friend lately. If it wasn’t anxiety over graduation and my future eating at me, it was bloodthirsty bikers potentially gunning for my stepbrother. None of those were topics she could relate to. She was smart and intuitive, but lived primarily in the moment, rarely thinking about anything more distant than her next hot date.

  The rest of the school day was a blur. Teachers seemed to sense something was wrong, and didn’t call on me to speak in any of my classes, which was lucky because my mind was miles away.

  Mom and Clint were both working late, so I had to walk home after the last bell. As expected, I was totally beat, but I still managed to extract some enjoyment from the fresh air, sunshine, flowers and twittering birds.

  After the 25-minute walk, I was more than ready for my afternoon nap. Maybe it was my fatigue, born of the previous night’s insomnia, that made me miss the Lincoln Town Car idling across the street. Honestly, though, I don’t think I would have thought anything of it, even on a good day. Gangsters peering through tinted windows at vulnerable young women—it was the kind of shady stuff that only happened in TV shows. It certainly wasn’t the kind of thing I was used to watching out for in everyday life.

  Inside, my first order of business was fixing a snack. To make up for the previous evening’s pizza and ice cream binge, I selected a nice, healthy apple from the fridge. I sliced it up, put it on a plate and walked back to the living room, where I planned to watch a little Judge Judy before dozing off. Just as I was reaching for the remote, the doorbell rang. Ugh, must be a Jehovah’s Witness.

  I don’t know what I was thinking, answering the door without even bothering to look through the peephole. No, I know exactly what I was thinking: nothing. I realized just how big a mistake I’d made when I found myself looking into the eyes of one of the gangsters from Friday morning—not Clem, with the creepy eye and rotten teeth, but Lew, the darker-haired one.

  I tried to shut the door, but Lew’s arm shot out and the grizzled gangster easily forced his way in. Before I could even scream, a hand was over my mouth. It was holding a wet rag with a sickly-sweet smell. “Chloroform,” I thought, before collapsing into his arms.

  Chapter 12

  Asher

  When I finally awoke, my head throbbing, I instantly recognized where I was: upstairs at Haskell’s, in the same dingy room where I’d killed Taleb.

  The décor was the same, from the twin bed with musty mustard-yellow sheets, to the inexplicable nautical-themed prints on the walls, right down to the pack of Hoyle playing cards next to the lamp on the end table. But there’d been a few renovations. The lone window, which opened onto the back alley, was now boarded up and had bars across it, and the door was reinforced and locked from the outside. There was a little slot at the bottom, presumably for my meals. All my clothes except the black briefs I’d been wearing were gone, presumably so I wouldn’t get any ideas about hanging myself. Whatever those bastards had in store for me, they’d made damn sure I wasn’t going to escape—or even bite the dust—before they did it.

  I pounded on the door, screamed till I was hoarse, punched the walls and even tried to pry up the floorboards with my fingernails before finally flopping down on the bed and admitting defeat. Temporary defeat. Right now I needed to get the lay of the land, figure out why they kidnapped me and what, if anything, they wanted. Ultimately, though, I was going to get out—or die trying.

  It was one of the longest nights of my life. I spent it staring at the ceiling, wondering how I’d gotten here. I mean, I remembered all the steps that led up to this point, all the way back to the first time I hopped on a motorcycle at the age of 14. (It was my dad’s, if you can believe it.) But there was no particular decision, no Robert Johnson-at-the-crossroads moment when I sold my soul to the devil in full knowledge of what I was doing.

  I drifted into the MC life because it seemed fun and exciting. And it was, for a while. Then, I stuck around because it seemed like I could make a living in the club—maybe work my way up to become President, if I played my cards right. Then, in a single night, my whole world came crashing down around me—and all because I’d put my neck on the line to protect my brother’s old lady.

  And speaking of my brother, what had they done to Adam, or told him, that convinced him to sell me out? I didn’t want to believe that he’d turned snake, but what happened to my bike wasn’t a fluke malfunction, it was sabotage, and he was the only person who would’ve been close enough to do it. And the cryptic warnings he was laying on me right before I got kidnapped… Clearly, he knew what was afoot and was deciding whether he could bear to go through with it. Maybe if I’d been less of a prick to him, I could have persuaded him to reconsider. But I knew there was no sense in dwelling on what might have been.

  They’d taken my phone before dumping me in here, of course, so I had nothing to mark time with except my internal clock, which had been driven haywire by that nasty blow to my head, and my stomach, which was already growling when I got there, since I’d foolishly skipped dinner Sunday. So I was left to pace the room in utter ignorance for… well, I can’t say for sure how long. When the aforementioned slot on the door slid open and a beefy hand shoved a plate with two foil-wrapped Pop-Tarts into the room, followed by a glass of water, I took it to mean morning had come.

  “Some breakfast! Would a cup of coffee be too much to ask?”

  Clem Hoffman’s ugly mug appeared, framed horizontally in the door slot. “Yeah,” he rasped, “it would. This ain’t the fuckin’ Ritz Carlton.”

  I recognized an opportunity when I saw one. I leapt off the bed, wound up and attempted to kick him in the nose. But he saw me coming and clamped his teeth down on my big toe.

  “Ow! God damn it, you motherfucker, I think you broke the skin.”

  “I suggest you don’t try that again, Ash.”

  “We’ll see, you piece of shit.” I changed the subject. “Tell me, Clem, does Cal know what you’re doing here? Because I talked to him just days ago and he told me that as long as I stayed out of MC business, I wasn’t going to be a target.”

  “Heh! Heh! Heh!” Clem produced a sound that, based on the brown-toothed smile that accompanied it, I guessed was his version of a laugh. If I couldn’t see his face, I’d have figured he had a popcorn kernel stuck way in the back of his throat. Looking mighty pleased with himself, he continued, “Cal is singing ‘Just Like Heaven’ in heaven now.”

  “You killed him?” I knew Clem was a nasty piece of work, but I hadn’t expected that.

  “Well, you know how it is. When you and your best buddy are havin’ fun flayin’ the skin from someone’s bones, things get a little hazy. After you’re finished, it’s hard to say whose knife was where when the poor sucker’s heart stopped. But yeah, he’s dead. And guess who’s the new President of the Seraphim.”

  “Some sadistic piece of shit, I’m guessing.”

  His lips curled up and back in a feral facsimile of a grin. “You guessed right. More specifically, this sadistic piece of shit.”

  “Well, ain’t that something. Forgive me if I don’t order you the customary ‘Congrats on murdering your way to the top’ gift basket, but I seem to have misplaced my phone.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry, I‘ve got it tucked away safe and sound. ‘Course, Lew and I took a sledgehammer to it, so you might have some difficulty getting through to Edible Arrangements. And if you’re looking for your clothes, they’re at the bottom of the fireplace downstairs.”

  “Glad to hear y
ou’ve got everything so well organized. Now, how about telling me what you’re planning on doing with me? And then maybe refresh my memory on what I did to deserve being locked up in here.”

  “Why don’t you mull those questions over for yourself awhile? I’ve got things to do, and lying here’s put a nasty crick in my neck. Maybe I’ll feel more talkative next time I get around to feeding you.” The slot slid shut. Clem’s heavy footfalls grew more distant, then got drowned out by creaks as he descended the rickety staircase to the barroom.

  I hated Clem more than any other man walking God’s green earth, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t start missing him as the hours wore on. Verbally sparring with him was at least something to do. Alone, I had to settle for playing endless games of solitaire on the bedspread. It’d been so long since I played that I barely remembered the rules. No matter how many games I played, I always ran out of cards before the end.

  I spent a little time, as Clem had suggested, contemplating the supposed “sins” that had landed me in this dusty little room. If there was a strategic purpose to my kidnapping, I couldn’t fathom it. After all, I wasn’t part of Lucifer’s Claque anymore, nor did I have any inside knowledge of their plans or activities. When the club had cut me out, they’d cut me out completely.

  More likely, it was personal. Clem was just tripping on his newfound power, and wanted nothing more complicated than vengeance for what I’d done to Taleb and Lew and him three years back. I’d taken his eye; that was enough to fuel a grudge all by itself. The revenge theory didn’t augur too well for my survival, obviously. I went back to solitaire and tried not to think about it.

  Lunch—I assumed it was lunch, because it came after breakfast—was a cheese sandwich. Two plasticky squares of American between two slices of white bread, just like they used to give you when you came to school with no lunch money. And another pint glass of water.

  “Hey! Hey, motherfucker!” I shouted when the slot opened, hoping to engage Clem (or whoever else was feeding me) in conversation, but it slid shut with a loud clack. Again, those heavy footfalls disappeared down the hall and the stairs. I sighed.

  I played about seven dozen more rounds of solitaire, throwing myself into the game like only a man trying to keep his mind off his impending torture and death can. Finally, when I’d been at it so long I was running on mental autopilot, I laid down the king of hearts and won.

  “Fuck yeah!” I crowed, for the moment too caught up in my victory to notice Clem’s approaching footfalls.

  “Only a day, and you’re already talking to yourself?” he rasped through the slot. Another cheese sandwich and glass of water stood a foot or so from his face. “I have to say I’m a mite disappointed. I was hoping you’d wait till Lew and I started torturing you to crack up.”

  “I was hoping I wouldn’t get kidnapped and locked up my third day out of prison. Life’s just a bitch sometimes.”

  “We can agree on that, brother.”

  “I ain’t your brother. I ain’t nobody’s brother anymore. Now, I was hoping we could have that conversation about what I’m doing here, and when I’m going to get out.”

  Clem rubbed his chin. “Hm… all right. But I don’t think you’re gonna like what you hear.”

  “Hit me.”

  “Oh, there’ll be plenty of time for that later. Heh! Heh!” The hoarse laugh transformed into a coughing fit, which went on 10 seconds or so before he was able to continue. “Opportunities to chat, on the other hand, are gonna be mighty scarce. So let’s palaver. Where to begin?” He snapped his fingers. “Ah, how about what you did to deserve this.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any big, exciting secrets to reveal on that front. I’m getting you back for what you did a little over three years ago, in this very room.”

  “I did my time, Clem. And helped you get out of doing yours.”

  “Three years?” He hawked and spit. The loogie flew through the slot and landed on the sandwich’s crust. Guess I was having water for dinner tonight. “That doesn’t even begin to make up for what you took from me.”

  “And what was that?”

  “An eye, for starters. If it were just that, maybe I would’ve settled for Old Testament justice, took one of your eyes and sent you on your merry way. But that incident wrecked more than my pretty face.”

  “Pretty? Let’s not get carried away.”

  He ignored me and continued his monologue: “It also destroyed my status in the club. Taleb was second in command of the Seraphim, and he was on track to become President. Cal didn’t like him much, thought he was something of a loose cannon, but the karaoke-singing freak wasn’t about to make any waves by challenging the succession. Anyway, Cal didn’t like me much either—but Taleb did. Him becoming President would’ve put me at his right hand and Lew Tallyweight at his left.”

  “I see. So, after I killed him—“

  “I was in the shitter. Because of my involvement in that… unchivalrous incident with your friend Carly, Cal hated me even more than before. He was loyal enough to strike a deal that’d keep me out of prison, but thenceforward Lew and I were the lowest of the low. We took a pay cut and had to do shit jobs barely worthy of the greenest prospects.”

  Gee, Clem. You might have gone down in the President’s books, but I lost my patch. So forgive me if I don’t exactly feel for you on this one.”

  “Did I ask for your sob story?” he snarled. He continued in his usual eerily calm rasp: “Your feelings don’t enter into this. Nor do I need your pity. My fall from grace just meant I’d have to take by might—and guile—what was mine by right. Lew and I started planning how we’d seize power, and slowly strengthening our alliances with others unhappy under Cal’s rule. But we didn’t move right away. And do you know why?”

  “I could hazard a guess, but why don’t you just tell me?”

  “Because of you. If you caught wind of our coup before you got out, you wouldn’t be dumb enough to show your face in this town. We wouldn’t have the pleasure of making you suffer for what you did to us. Sure, we could have called in an Aryan Brotherhood hit, but Lew and I, we prefer to do our dirty work ourselves. It’s more honorable—and a hell of a lot more fun.”

  “So, the plan is to kill me?”

  “Yeahp—well, after we break every bone in your body.”

  “And there’s nothing I can do to talk you out of this?”

  “’Fraid not, compadre.”

  “Damn.” I’d known my slow and painful death was a likely, if not the most likely outcome of this kidnapping, but hearing Clem say that out loud still gave me that same sinking feeling I got when the judge banged his gavel and sent me off to the pen. Only worse, of course, because there was no coming back from the other side.

  “It’s a drag, aint it?” Clem wheedled. “But buck up, Ash, because you won’t be spending your final hours alone. Your little girlfriend will be right there with you. Matterfact, Lew’s out looking for her as we speak.”

  “My… girlfriend? The fuck are you talking about? You don’t mean Carly, do you?” I leapt from the bed and started toward the door.

  “Heh! Heh! Lew’s still working on it, but he works fast. I’d say you can expect her tomorrow.” And the slot slammed shut.

  “You keep your hands off her, you piece of shit! Motherfucker!” I pounded on the door and screamed, making as much noise a possible, until my hands were bruised and my voice was hoarse. Then I collapsed, panting onto the bed.

  Your little girlfriend, your little girlfriend… The phrase ran through my head on repeat, taunting me. It made sense motivation-wise that Clem would try to kidnap Carly—perhaps he thought she, too, was to blame for his fall from grace—but the pieces didn’t quite fit. For one thing, he knew perfectly well that she was Adam’s old lady, and had been for the last five years. They were practically married.

  On the other hand, there weren’t that many other women in my life at the moment. Since getting out I hadn’t
even interacted with anyone except my dad, my new stepmom, and… no.

  I flashed back to Friday morning, when I was driving Leah to work in my dad’s car on Friday morning. Clem and Lew had pulled up on me, as if to emphasize just how little the MC peace treaty meant to them. It was me they were there to intimidate, but in the process they got a good, long look at my stepsister.

  I didn’t know what conclusions they’d drawn about our relationship. Were they just needling me with the “girlfriend” remark, or had they made an honest mistake? At the end of the day, though, it didn’t matter. They’d found something they could use to hurt me, and it would be unlike them not to use it.

  Even as one part of me insisted it couldn’t be true, a deeper, smarter part knew it was: Leah was in trouble, and I’d put her there. Fuck! How could I have been so careless?

  I buried my head in my hands, shaking with rage, then let out a howl of despair that, despite the tattered state of my vocal cords, rang out long and loud enough to make the whole building shake.

  Chapter 13

  Leah

  I emerged from the void into a world of darkness and dull, aching pain. At first, I wasn’t sure whether my eyes were even open. Slowly, I soaked in the details of my surroundings.

  I was lying down, staring into the leather upholstery of a moving car’s backseat. There was duct tape over my mouth, so I could only breathe through my nose. My first instinct was to rip it off, but my wrists were tied behind my back. My ankles, too, were bound. I started to squirm in panic, and screamed as best I could through the tape.

  “Mmm! Mmmhmm! Gggghhh!”

  “Good morning, little girl,” said a sing-song voice from the front seat.