Frankie wasn’t hurting her, not physically. Emotionally, mentally, yeah—but physically, he was being gentle, touching her with the sure knowledge of a man who knew how to pleasure his woman, knew what she liked, what would make her come, kissing her bared skin, stroking her relentlessly, and making it nearly impossible for her to control her body’s reaction to what he was doing.
Worse, this wasn’t new to her. Frankie had raped her before; he was sure of it. His Eva had become accustomed to forced sex, had taught herself to make the best of it, to fucking enjoy it because she’d known Frankie wasn’t ever going to let her go.
It was killing him. Every dip of his mattress, every one of Frankie’s grunts, and every harsh intake of breath and whimper from Eva…was killing him.
Frankie said he’d been watching them. He knew just how much he loved Eva. And he knew that this would kill him—slowly—day after day, week after week, year after fucking year.
Chase had gotten off easy.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Frankie get up on his knees and lift Eva’s hips. His hand snaked around her waist and dipped between her thighs. Eva lost her battle. Her breath caught and her eyes rolled back, even as tears streamed down her face. Her legs quaking, she went face first into the pillow, crying out softly through her orgasm. Frankie followed her down, groaning loudly, his body jerking.
Then Frankie turned to him. And grinned.
Living death.
He cried for the first time in forty-four years. He cried exactly three silent tears. But for him, it was a fucking waterfall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
6:38 p.m.
Deuce blinked up at Cox.
“Prez?” Cox whispered hoarsely, staring at his cuffed hand.
“My girls?” he asked numbly. “Ivy, Danny?”
“With Kami,” Cox whispered. “Where’s Foxy?”
“Gone,” he said brokenly. “Frankie.”
Cox dropped to his knees and tested the cuffs. As if he hadn’t already. As if he wasn’t missing most of the skin on his hand and hadn’t broken all his fingers trying to get out of it. But his hands were too fucking big. So now he was cuffed to a radiator with a skinless broken hand.
“Gotta get Freebird,” Cox said. “He’s the only one who can pick cuffs quickly.”
Deuce nodded.
Cox paused at the door. “Deuce,” he said quietly, “we’re gonna get her back.”
He didn’t look at him.
“He’s a dead man, Prez.”
No. Frankie wasn’t a dead man. Frankie was a dead man.
• • •
11:11 p.m.
Frankie’s entire body twitched violently, something that always happened before he went into a violent rage. I stayed where I was, sitting on the motel bed, watching him closely.
“Can’t take much more, Eva. You fuckin’ Chase broke me, and then you start fuckin’ the Horseman bastard AGAIN. You have his fuckin’ baby, and I swear to you I almost killed you a million times. Comin’ out of his fuckin’ club, playin’ with his fuckin’ kids in the yard, ridin’ on the back of his fuckin’ bike. I stood in a line behind you at the bank, holding a knife to the base of your fuckin’ spine, ready to kill you and your bastard baby. But I couldn’t fuckin’ do it! I couldn’t hurt you! AND IT FUCKIN’ BROKE ME, EVA!”
“Baby,” I whispered, trying hard not to think about Frankie killing my daughter. “The cops know you killed Chase. They’re looking for you.”
He gave me a look that suggested I was the crazy one in the room. “Babe. Who the fuck cares ’bout the cops?”
Suddenly, his eyes bugged out. “You liked fuckin’ him, didn’t you, bitch? You liked rich boy cock!”
“No,” I whispered, swallowing hard. “It’s what he wanted in return for getting you out.”
Frankie laughed. “Glad I made him eat his own cock. Fuckin’ deserved it.”
Unable to get the imagery of what he had done to Chase out of my head, my stomach lurched, and I began to gag. Frankie sat down beside me and rubbed circles on my back.
“That’s what he did, baby,” Frankie whispered, and I could hear the smile on his face. “Gagged and screamed.”
My stomach emptied.
• • •
9:03 a.m.
Deuce stared at his fucked-up hand. The doctors at the ER couldn’t give him a cast because of the lack of skin. They had to set each bone and individually splint his fingers, then they treated and wrapped his skinless hand, and put the whole fucking mess in a sling.
Now he was back at the club, drinking a bottle of scotch, watching Danny play peekaboo with Ivy. He and his boys had searched for hours for any sign of Frankie or Eva and had come up empty. They had no choice but to involve the cops, who hadn’t turned up jack shit.
The FBI was going to show up any minute now.
Deuce knew Frankie wasn’t going to go back to prison. Men like him would rather die than be behind bars. And this particular man was so fucked in the head, he was going to take Eva down with him. So she could be with him forever.
Fucking hell.
He was going to lose her to Frankie. Again. This time for good.
“Deuce,” Kami said, sitting down beside him. “You need anything for the pain?”
He needed Eva. She was all he fucking needed. She was all he had ever needed.
“No,” he croaked.
She wrapped her skinny arms around him, and he let her hold him because he knew she was hurting just as bad as he was. And truthfully, he needed the fucking comfort.
ZZ looked over from behind the bar and the stacked security monitors there. “Prez. Feds are here.”
Ripper stepped out of the hallway. “Prez, go ahead and let ’em in. Boys got shit locked up tight.”
He lifted his chin in ZZ’s direction. “Get the kids outta here and let the assholes in.”
• • •
9:07 a.m.
I pulled on my restraints, wincing as the rope chafed painfully against my skin. I was on my stomach, all four of my limbs were tied together behind my back. Frankie had even gone so far as to connect my wrists to my ankles and stuff a pillowcase in my mouth.
All of this just so he could feel safe leaving me here while he went for food.
He didn’t trust me, and when Frankie didn’t trust someone, it never ended well.
With a lot of maneuvering and an incredible amount of pain, I was able to roll onto my side to relieve the pressure on my lungs and stomach.
I should have listened to Deuce a long time ago. Frankie was beyond saving. This was who he was—who he had always been. Who he would always be.
I had to end this once and for all.
• • •
9:14 a.m.
“So what you’re trying to tell us, Mr. West, is that despite your state-of-the-art security system, Franklin Deluva was still able to enter your club entirely unnoticed?”
Deuce scowled at Agent Ricardo Quintanilla. He was a short, fat, and bald Mexican who wore clothing a size too small for him. He’d had to deal with him before—many, many times—serving warrants and doing impromptu searches at the club. He had a new partner—a sexy little blonde bitch with a tight ass, big perky tits, and bad attitude. Half his boys were eyeing her like she was a piece of fucking cake. He wanted to stab her in the eye with a screwdriver.
“He musta cased the place for a while,” Ripper said, glaring down at Quintanilla. “Knew what cameras to avoid.”
Quintanilla surveyed Ripper’s face and grimaced. “Deluva’s handiwork, I assume,” he said, gesturing his cell phone toward Ripper’s face. “Seen it before. Only those unlucky bastards were all dead.”
“Fuckin’ great,” Deuce growled. “Let’s just keep sittin’ ’round here chattin’ about the fucks Frankie buried while he starts choppin’ up my fuckin’ woman.”
“Mmmmmmmm,” the blonde bitch hummed, tapping her pen against her lips. “Don’t you mean Franklin Deluva’s woman or maybe Chase Henderson’s woman
?”
She turned in a circle, doing a survey of the room and all the people in it. “Have you all had Mrs. Fox-Deluva? Is she everyone’s woman?”
He shot up off the couch and then Ripper and Jase were on him, pushing him back down.
“Say something else, bitch!” he roared, struggling against his boys. “And you won’t live to see another day!”
“Are you threatening a federal agent, Mr. West?” she said. “I’m simply suggesting your woman may have gone willingly with her husband.”
“Marie!” Quintanilla bellowed.
“Willingly?” he roared. “He made me watch him rape her! Do you fuckin’ get that? I was chained to a fuckin’ radiator watchin’ my woman gettin’ slammed by a fuckin’ psychopath, and I couldn’t do shit about it!”
He heard a shriek that could have been either Danny or Kami or both. The rest of the club went silent.
Cox sucked in a breath. “Prez,” he whispered.
He ignored him. “Listen to me, Agent Cunt,” he hissed. “I’m way past threatenin’ you. I’m straight ready to fuckin’ bury you, so you best hope my boys don’t let me go.”
“Don’t let him go,” Quintanilla said dryly. He turned to his partner. “Get the fuck outside.”
• • •
11:55 a.m.
I wolfed down my cheeseburger and fries. It had been forever since I’d last eaten, and I was starving. Frankie was watching me from the corner of the room near the door, a bottle of vodka between his legs and a blank stare on his face.
“Can I have some?” I whispered, pointing at the half-empty bottle.
He glanced down at the bottle and then back to me, nodding.
I slid off the bed and slowly walked toward him. Stopping a few inches from his feet, I sat down and reached for the bottle. I had just wrapped my fingers around the neck when Frankie’s hand clamped down over mine.
I looked up.
A tear slid down Frankie’s cheek. “Eva,” he whispered, “can’t sleep, baby, can’t fuckin’ sleep. It’s been weeks and weeks and weeks…”
My heart skipped.
“Baby,” I said, reaching for him. “Come here.”
Scrambling to his knees, he engulfed me in his arms and buried his face in my neck. Trembling, my heart breaking, I stroked his hair and his back.
“Remember my prom?” I whispered. “Remember dancing on the roof afterward? We danced and laughed until the sun came up. It was one of the best nights of my life, baby.”
His large body sagged against mine, and he started sobbing.
“Oh God, baby, no.” I pulled his head up, so I could see his face. “Frankie,” I breathed, wiping his tears off his cheeks. “You don’t have to cry anymore. I’m here now. I’m never leaving you, never again, baby.”
“You can’t,” he rasped. “I can’t sleep without you, and I can’t breathe, baby. I can’t fuckin’ breathe. I feel sick to my stomach all the time.”
“Shh,” I soothed, stroking his cheeks while battling my own tears. “Make love to me, baby. Let me show you how much I love you.”
The familiar taste of his tears mixed with vodka flooded my mouth, and I let myself go for a little while, tasting Frankie for the very last time. His hands traveled my body, pushing my dress straps off my shoulders and my dress down to my waist.
“Eva,” he breathed, cupping my breasts. “My Eva.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m yours. Forever.”
I pushed his back up against the wall and went for his belt buckle. He sat down and lifted his hips so I could slide his jeans down his legs. Holding me close, he rocked me backward and covered me with his body.
“I love you,” I cried softly, grabbing his backside and taking him inside of me. “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “I love you, I fuckin’ love you, I love you so fuckin’ much.”
With every thrust, he proclaimed his love for me, moving faster and harder each time.
I reached beside me for Frankie’s jeans and the serrated blade he kept sheathed on his belt.
“Harder, baby,” I whispered, needing him distracted. “Give me all that love.”
Frankie buried his face in my neck, his tears drenching my hair as his body began slamming into mine.
Gripping the handle of the dagger, I slid it out of its covering.
When I felt him stiffen, felt his orgasm, I ran my hand through his hair and gently tugged. “Look at me, baby.”
He blinked up at me.
“I’m never going to leave you again, baby. You’re with me always now,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “No more nightmares.”
He smiled at me, his lost-little-boy smile. “You’ve always made them go away.”
I brushed my lips across his.
Then I sank the blade into the side of his neck, and with all my strength I wrenched it sideways and twisted.
• • •
1:32 p.m.
“We’ve got a hit,” Quintanilla said, holding his cell phone to his ear. “Local uniforms spotted Deluva outside a motel a few towns over.”
Deuce didn’t ask any questions. He just kept praying.
“Tell them to hold off,” Quintanilla said. “Deluva is undoubtedly armed, extremely dangerous, unstable as all hell, and he’s got a hostage. I’m going to call a team in right now.”
Quintanilla’s eyes went wide and locked on him. He felt his stomach lurch.
She was not dead. She could not be dead. No. God, please God, don’t let her be dead.
“When?” Quintanilla demanded.
Fuck. Fuck him. Fucking Christ. He couldn’t deal. He couldn’t. His kids couldn’t deal. Kami and Devin couldn’t deal. His boys couldn’t deal. This could not happen.
Quintanilla hung up. “Deluva’s dead.”
He shot to his feet. “Eva?”
“Hysterical, but unharmed.”
A violent shudder of relief tore through him.
“How’d they take him down?” Tap asked.
Quintanilla pressed his lips together and made a smacking sound. He looked around the club as if debating whether to share what he knew.
He sighed noisily. “They didn’t. The woman did. Nearly severed his head clean off with a dagger. She came walking out of the room holding it, half-naked and covered in blood.”
Kami fell to her knees screaming at the top of her lungs. Cox dropped down beside her and pulled her into his arms.
“Fuck…” Cox looked up at him, his boy’s horrified expression mirroring how he felt. “Prez,” he whispered. “Foxy…”
He sat back down and buried his face in his good hand. Mick’s arm came around his shoulders and squeezed. “She’s OK, Prez. She’s alive.”
“She’s alive,” he said hoarsely. “But I can tell you right fuckin’ now, she sure as shit ain’t OK.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Demons buried Frankie on a cloudy Tuesday, wearing his cut and my engagement ring and wedding ring on his pinkie finger. Deuce stayed by my side, holding me up when I would have collapsed. I was overwhelmed with grief and regret, swamped with guilt, and at the same time, relief so great I felt dizzy from it.
I hoped in death Frankie found the peace he never could find in life.
I stayed a long time after the service ended and the crowd disbanded. I talked to Frankie for a while and cried for a while.
Before I left, I traced his name on his tombstone. “Sweet dreams, baby,” I whispered. “Always.”
Before we headed home, Kami and I visited Chase’s grave. Hand in hand, we sat down in the grass and leaned back against his tombstone. Sharing a $75,000 bottle of whiskey, we held each other and cried. We cried for very different reasons, but for Chase all the same. As fucked-up as both our relationships with him were, he had been loved. He’d just been too fucked-up to realize it.
Then Kami, Cox, Deuce, and I went home to our kids and our club, and the healing began.
D
euce was in a bad way. Worse off than anyone else. For a long time, he wouldn’t touch me—couldn’t touch me. He blamed himself for everything. It was his fault Frankie hadn’t been found. It was his fault Frankie had been able to break inside the club, his fault that Frankie had forced himself on me, and his fault that I’d been the one to kill him.
But it wasn’t. None of it was. It was Frankie’s fault—all of it. This I had a hard time accepting as well. At first, I placed blame on myself, for letting my relationship with Frankie get to the point it had.
But I got there…alongside my family and my friends and my club…I got there.
Getting Deuce there was another matter altogether.
But we got through it. Together. It didn’t happen overnight, and it wasn’t easy.
Nothing worth doing ever is.
And love is worth everything.
EPILOGUE
Deuce scowled at his father-in-law. “You’re older than me,” he grumbled.
Preacher snorted. “Both in our fifties. Only difference is you got yourself a beautiful younger woman to keep you young, and all I got is a club full of stupid shitheads who think bathing is optional and farting is an art form.”
They both looked to where Eva was standing and talking with Kami, a very pregnant Dorothy, Mick and his wife Adriana, and Danny and…ZZ, whose fucking arm was slung over his daughter’s shoulders. His fists clenched, but he kept it reeled in. He promised Eva he wouldn’t kick the shit out of him again. Danny was twenty-one years old, and Eva had said ZZ was head over heels for her. She kept reminding him that ZZ had never fallen into the same patterns the rest of his boys had. He didn’t drink excessively, he didn’t have a quick temper, he never disrespected a woman, and he didn’t do whores.
Still…he really fucking hated it. Really. Fucking really.
He gritted his teeth and looked back at his wife.
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