I pace up and down the cell, truly feeling how small it is for the first time. The police have it wrong. They think Cassandra and Mason are lovers-in-arms, lovers who’ve fled together. They probably think that the two of them are planning to go abroad with their money, are trying to flee justice. They wouldn’t guess that Cassandra has most likely stuffed Mason in the trunk of a car somewhere and is out there hunting.
Hunting Eden, I think, and my pacing gets quicker, more frantic. Hunting Eden, hunting my Eden!
I think of Cassandra standing over Eden, a bloody knife in her hand, and Eden falling back clutching a gash in her neck. I think of her sputtering her last words, “Why didn’t you save me?” And I think of Cassandra laughing her psychopath’s laugh as Eden, my goddamn woman, dies in front of her. She’d do it, too. I know she would. I lead men who are capable of grim, dark acts, and Cassandra has the same glint in her eyes I often see in Knives’. The same murderous glint.
I grab the bars again. “Richards! I need to fucking speak to you!”
Richards shakes his head and turns back to the TV.
Goddamn cops, I think, pacing, pacing.
But she’ll be okay wherever she is, won’t she? Nobody knows where that is, not even me. Cassandra will check out Eden’s apartment, the club, my apartment, maybe even this police station. I think of Mason, the stupid old fool, who thought that Cassandra wanted him, who thought that she loved him. Cassandra played her part well, played it perfectly. The naïve young woman, desperate to get in with the billionaire, and Mason ate it right up because men like him are all too quick to believe that women really want them.
“Richards!” I bark, but the ginger fuck keeps ignoring me. “Richards! Richards! Richards!”
But he doesn’t look at me again, just focuses on the TV, pretending I’m not here.
Anger rises in me. It’s the anger I felt when I saw Dad threatened that woman, the anger of feeling completely powerless. Here I am, stuck in a cage, and Cassandra is out there somewhere, plotting something deadly. But she doesn’t know where Eden is! That’s something, isn’t it!
“Richards!”
Richards’ eyes stay firmly trained on the TV, like I’m not here, like I’m not shouting, like I’m a goddamn ghost.
I can’t risk it, I think. I just can’t. If there’s even a one percent chance Cassandra will find Eden, I have to take it as an absolute certainty. Because one percent is enough for a woman like Cassandra, a woman who would run naked into the winter air and steal my motorbike. One percent is too much for a woman like that.
I need to get out of here. It isn’t ideal. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The police were supposed to arrest Cassandra and Mason the day the evidence was released. That was my plan. But I should’ve accounted for the police not doing their job properly. After all, the police not doing their job properly is what allows The Miseryed to exist. I underestimated Cassandra.
I go to the bars again. My entire body is shaking, my clenched fists trembling, my chest thumping, my legs tingling. I feel like a lion must feel before fighting for a lioness, adrenalin coursing through me, gathering strength for a fight, gathering strength for a battle.
“Richards, I’m not fucking around!” I shout.
He shakes his head.
Fine, I think. Fucking fine.
I go to the drunk man, who’s on his side, arm propped under his head. He’s muscular and fat, that combination of fat-padded muscle that makes a person look massive, like Markus. His hair is brown and matted with sweat to his head. His face is like a bulldog’s, all squashed up. He wears a tank top and jeans; his arms are covered with tribal tattoos.
I reach down and shake him by the arm, hard, until he opens his eyes and stares up at me.
“What the fuck?” he growls. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Just thinking about the time I fucked your mom,” I grin. “She was damn bouncy for an older lady.”
“What the fuck?”
The man leaps to his feet and charges at me, ducking low like a football player. He wraps his arms around my waist and shoves me toward the bars. I let him push me until we’re almost at the bars, and then I swing with all my strength. The man yelps and spins around, and then his ass smacks into the metal. I elbow him in the back, and with a grunt he releases me. And then I step back, fists raised, watching as he sways to an upright position.
Then Officer Richards is between us. One moment the big man’s about to charge, the next Officer Richards has his gun trained on me, and then the big man. He waves it between us.
“What the hell are you doing?” Richards pants, squinting at me.
“I need to talk with you,” I say, holding my hands above my head. “Is that so much to ask?”
Chapter Fifty One
“Why did you do that?” Officer Richards sighs, looking across the office at me. His babyish face screws up, his upper lip shaking, and his face bright red. “I should write this up, you know.”
“Maybe you should, but you won’t,” I say. “We have you, remember. We have you asking a criminal gang for help. That’s not very good, is it?” I’m cuffed to the chair, my hands jarred behind my back. The office is small and overflowing with papers. Some of it is official, but most of it is magazines—cars, women, celebrities, the kind of magazines you find in waiting rooms the country over.
“You can’t hold that over me forever,” he sighs.
“I don’t want to hold it over you forever, Officer Richards,” I say. “But I need to get out of here.”
“Out of here?” he whispers. “What do you mean?”
“How much clearer can I be? I don’t want to be in this place anymore.”
“That’s too much,” Officer Richards says at once. “I don’t care what you have. I’m not helping you escape!”
When blackmail doesn’t work . . .
“Listen,” I say, leaning forward as far as the handcuffs will allow me. “I could spend time pressuring you, I really could. But I need to get out. Not forever, alright? Just for twenty-four hours. I need to check on somebody, make sure they’re okay, and I can’t have her coming here. Help me get out for twenty-four hours. You can take a double shift, sit in this office, and no one has to know. Just sit here and pretend that I’m right over there. Easy.”
“No,” Officer Richards sighs.
“Goddamn, fine,” I say. “Ten thousand.”
Suddenly his face perks up. His lips twitch, and his eyebrows shoot up into his forehead. “Ten thousand?” he says, his voice soft and curious. “Ten thousand what?”
“Cigarettes,” I grunt. “Dollars—you idiot. Ten thousand dollars to let me out for twenty-four hours.”
He begins to nod, but then he stops abruptly. “You don’t have that kind of money,” he says. “Where are you hiding ten thousand dollars? You’re not Houdini, are you?”
“Very funny,” I grunt. “I don’t have it on me. But when one of my lads comes to pick me up, I’ll tell them to bring the cash. Think about it, Richards. Twenty-four hours. An easy task. And you get half a year’s pay in five minutes. Anyway, you know I’m not guilty. The whole damn department knows it.”
He flinches, and I know I’m right. I see something else, too: resentment. Ah, I think. So that’s how it is.
“They greased your bosses’ palms, didn’t they? Your boss and his boss and his boss, but did you get anything?”
“No,” he mutters, grinding his teeth. “Not a thing.”
“Is that fair? You’re the one guarding me. You’re the one putting your neck on the line to split up fights, and they give all the money to your boss?”
“I have my eye on a new TV,” he says dreamily. “Seventy-inch. 4k resolution. Have you heard of 4k resolutions? It’s the sharpest image on the market right now. The TV is so big that it bends a little at the edges.”
“You deserve it,” I say. “You deserve it more than those rich assholes patting each other on the back.” This is easier because I b
elieve what I’m saying. If anyone should be paid, it’s these guys, not the higher-ups who do jack. “Twenty-four hours, Richards.”
“Ten thousand?” he asks, his cheeks turning redder, and I know I’ve got him. There’s hunger in his eyes, in his voice, in the way his hand fiddles with his badge, as though he’d like nothing better than to tear it off and toss it aside. “Really?”
“Really.” I nod. “I’ll come back in twenty-four hours. You only have to cover until then.”
Is that true? I’m not sure; I’m not thinking that far ahead. Right now, my only concern is making sure that Eden is safe. And you want to be with her, a voice whispers. A woman you flirted with at a coffee shop, and you’ll risk everything for her. You’ll abandon your plan just so that you can be with her, won’t you? Who are you, Maddox? Who has Eden turned you into?
I push the question aside. It doesn’t matter who Eden has turned me into. All that matters is I love her, I want to protect her, and that she’s mine. She’s mine, and nobody is going to hurt her.
“Twenty-four hours,” Richards says. “But you have to ring your guys now and tell them about the money.” He picks up the landline phone that sits on the desk and moves as though he’s going to hand it to me.
This stupid kid, I think. Do they let anyone in the police force?
“Not from here,” I say. “Not from that phone. My burner cell. It was in my stuff when I was taken. I’ll need my clothes, too. Walking around in this overall isn’t exactly going to keep me hidden.”
“Ten thousand,” Richards says, gazing into the distance, as though the money is stacked high. “Fine, fine, fine. Fuck it, fine.”
He stands up, walks to the door, and looks down at me. “Wait here,” he says.
I shift the cuffs against the chair. “Where else am I going to go?”
“Oh, yeah.” He grins sheepishly. “Alright, I won’t be long.”
Richards leaves the office, and I think: Please be safe, Eden. Please.
***
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Richards says as he unlocks my handcuffs. “The desk sergeant will here, and then we’re both screwed.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I grunt.
Richards takes the handcuffs away. I rub the ache in my wrists. I hate that ache, makes me feel like a caged animal. Then I hold my hand out, and Richards drops my cell into it. I turn it on and resist the urge to call Eden. I can’t call her now, not yet. I need to get out of here first. I call Markus instead. He answers after two rings.
“Boss?” he pants. “Is it really you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” Markus breathes. “Anything. What is it?”
“I need ten grand, and I need my bike. Bring both to the police station.”
“Half a mile down the road,” Richards mutters. “Otherwise . . .”
I nod. “Stop half a mile on the north side, actually,” I say. “Ten grand, and my bike. Okay?”
“Sure, Boss. I’ll be there in ten.”
“Good man,” I say.
I hang up and place the phone on the table, on top of a magazine with a photograph of a naked woman on the front.
“Okay,” I say, standing up. “I can have my clothes now, I presume.”
Richards waves a hand at the clear plastic bag, which sits on a chair. I pick it up and take my suit out of it. Richards turns around, and I get changed quickly, leaving my overalls in the plastic bag. It feels odd to be back in a tuxedo, but it’s far better than being in those damn overalls.
“Let’s get going,” I say.
“We’ll go out of the side entrance,” Richards says. “That’ll be best.”
I point to the door. “Lead the way.”
***
Twenty minutes later, Richards and I are standing next to a telephone box on the side of the road. It’s early evening, and the sky is orange-red; it shafts down and glints off the edge of the telephone box. Richards scratches at the edge of the box with his fingernails, clamping down his teeth. “Where is he?” he sighs.
“He’ll be here,” I say. “He has to get your money, remember.”
“4k,” Richards grins. “That’s the slickest resolution they have right now.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that.”
“Did I? Oh.”
“Here he is,” I say.
Markus drives down the street behind the wheel of one of our cars, an old Mustang, and behind him, Irish rides my Harley. They pull in at the side of the road and Markus steps from the car holding a suitcase. He shrugs it over his shoulder and paces toward us. Irish walks close at his heels, and when he sees Officer Richards, he grins.
“Hello, Officer!” he exclaims. “I remember you!”
Richards shifts from one foot to the other. “Just want to get this done,” he says.
I nod at Markus. “Give him the bag,” I say.
Markus hands it over wordlessly. Richards opens it, looks in, and then his mouth falls open. He closes it and hugs it to his chest. “Twenty-four hours,” he breathes, looking at me. “You hear me? Twenty-four!”
“Sure,” I grunt, and Officer Richards paces down the road, away from us.
“Irish,” I say, holding my hand up. Irish tosses me the keys to my bike.
“Is something wrong, Boss?”
“Have you seen the news?”
Irish and Markus shake their heads. “No,” Irish says. “I’m more of a pay-per-view man.”
“Cassandra and Mason are on the goddamn loose. I have to—”
“Get to Eden?” Markus asks.
“Exactly. You two go back to the club in the car. I can handle it from here.”
“Are you sure?” Markus wrings his hands. “We can come with you, if you like.”
“No,” I say. “The club has to operate. The men need to be paid. And if you suddenly disappear, the police might realize something’s wrong. Hell, they’ll realize anyway soon enough. Richards is goddamn useless. But let’s not give the game away before we have to, eh?”
I pat Markus on the shoulder and nod at Irish. “Get to it, lads,” I say.
They don’t look happy about it, but they won’t say no, either. They both climb into the car, reverse, and then drive in the opposite direction. I take my phone out and dial Eden.
After eleven rings, she picks up, her voice breathless. I was starting to get worried, I think.
“Maddox?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I say. “I need to know where you are.”
“I’m at my mom’s.”
“What’s the address?”
She gives it to me. There’s a pause, and then she says: “It’s so good to hear your voice. You’re on your cell. Are you out, then? Did they let you out when they saw that what Cassandra did?”
“Sort of,” I say. I laugh. “Not at all, Red. It was bribery and blackmail, I’m afraid.”
“That doesn’t sound like you,” Eden says. “That doesn’t sound like you at all. I thought you were an upstanding citizen.”
“Yeah right,” I say. “And you’re a virginal, pure woman. Is that how it is?”
“Come here, and I’ll show you just how pure I am.”
My cock gets hard at that, rock-hard, as I think about how wild she’ll be having gone weeks without it. And how wild I’ll be having gone weeks without touching her. I imagine her, naked, writhing. Fuck, I need that. But business before pleasure.
“I’m on my way,” I say, walking toward my bike. “I need to make sure you’re safe. You know how crazy Cassandra can be.”
“I might be asleep when you get here,” Eden says. “I was napping before you rang. All this worrying has tired me out, I think.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, climbing onto the bike. “You won’t have to worry soon. I’ll be there to protect you.”
“Prince Charming,” Eden says, and I can hear her dreamy smile down the phone. “Don’t be too long.”
“I won’t,” I say, an
d then hang up.
A minute later, I’m growling on my bike down the road toward Eden.
Chapter Fifty Two
Eden
1
I speak to Maddox in that half-awake state that comes when you’ve just woken up and want to go back to sleep. It’s late, the sun setting, and I curl up on the couch in front of the TV. Two days have passed since I first saw that Cassandra was missing on TV. At first, I panicked. I hardly slept at all. But when Cassandra didn’t come, I began to relax. And now, on the third day, I’ve accepted without truly realizing it that Cassandra isn’t going to come. She’s fled, just like the news said. She’s not coming back. She’d be a fool.
PREGNANT FOR A PRICE: Kings of Chaos MC Page 44