by Jenika Snow
“So you found a way out and took it?”
She nodded after he spoke. “Yeah. There were other times I probably could have run, but a lot of things held me back.”
“Like what?” He almost sounded like he was challenging her.
“Like making sure I had money, could get away without them dragging me back.” She swallowed. “Fear held me back, not knowing what was ahead of me. A lot of things kept me there. But I finally realized I had to just do it or I’d die in that prison.” She held his stare, maybe challenging him herself. “The Cardonas don’t really take kindly to people bailing on them, blood or not.”
“If you wanted to disappear, you didn’t do a very good job. Like I said, I found you easy enough.”
Yeah, she knew that, but she thought she would have been safe, at least for longer than she had. It had been months since she ran, but only a couple of weeks since she’d felt like she was being watched. Had it been her father’s men, or Fury?
It seemed like changing her last name hadn’t been able to keep her hidden, but she knew that all along, even if it had been deep down. She’d just been a fool, but she’d been in denial, thinking she could find a semblance of independence.
“I’m an idiot for thinking I could escape who I am and where I come from. I was foolish to think my father wouldn’t find me.” She’d meant to say that in her head, but after the words came out she just couldn’t give a damn that Fury had heard.
Fury didn’t speak, and instead nodded his head toward the bed. “You should get some rest.”
She looked at the head of the bed, suddenly feeling so damn tired. Maybe she didn’t have freedom in her future? Maybe her life was meant to stay on the same fucked up track? Either way she could at least say she’d experienced a small taste of being away from it all, and she was thankful for that.
Chapter Seven
“She wasn’t there, boss.”
Sal stared out the window in the house he was currently laid up in. He had a cast on his leg, a stray bullet getting him pretty close to the femoral artery. These past weeks all Sal had been able to think about was what the Bleeding Mayhem MC had done, and who they’d taken.
He took a long inhale from his cigar, held the smoke in his mouth, and exhaled after a few seconds. The scene from the window was nothing but countryside. He was in a safe house he used on occasion when shit went down, and shit had definitely gone down.
Marco was dead by the hands of those worthless pieces of shit, and although he’d known where Angelina had been since she ran off, he’d had other things on his plate that took precedence over bringing back an ungrateful child that was causing him more grief. But he’d finally sent men out to bring her back, because even if he’d deal with her running out on her family during a time like this, he wouldn’t let the MC get her either. He’d be the one to show her what it meant firsthand to fuck with them.
She was a Cardona, and her running off, deserting her family, was a betrayal in the worst of ways. She might be blood, but she’d made the family look bad by leaving, and he couldn’t allow it to slide. She had to be made an example of.
“What do you mean she wasn’t there?” he said, keeping his focus on the scenery in front of him. He had his leg propped up, wanting the fucking cast off, wanting his son back, but knowing he had to focus on the revenge. He was a Cardona, and no one fucked with them, least of all a damn motorcycle club. He turned his head and stared at Luis. “How the fuck do you lose a woman you’ve been tailing?” His anger rose.
Luis started shifting on his feet. “Once she was in her place we parked out front, but she never came out the next morning. One of the guys went in and found she was gone.”
Sal stubbed his cigar out, braced his hands on the arms of the chair, and stood. Miguel was beside him to help, but he pushed the man away, grabbed a crutch to help steady himself, and moved to stand in front of Luis. The fear poured from Luis like a gas line breaking.
“You don’t know where my fucking daughter is?” She’d been living a few hours away, and in this situation he knew he should have just hauled her ass home. But at first he’d been busy with work and Marco, and her mother hadn’t given a shit about anything aside from the pills she’d been popping. As it was Rosa was in bed passed out from the booze and Valium, Marco’s death hitting her hard.
“She must have gone out the backdoor, boss.”
Sal clenched his jaw. “She went out the back door? You meant to tell me you didn’t have men stationed at every entrance and exit, like I fucking ordered?” He saw Luis swallow before shaking his head. “So the MC could get to her, probably had already. Do you realize if they take her out how badly that will reflect on us? Do you realize it’ll make us look weak?”
“It was a mistake, boss—”
Sal lifted one of the crutches and brought it along the upside of Luis’s head. The sound of his skull cracking rang through the room, and Luis fell to the ground. Blood started dripping down the side of his head, and the groans coming from Luis annoyed Sal.
“Miguel, get him the fuck out of my sight, and send out the boys to find Angelina.”
“Yes, boss.”
Miguel picked up Luis with the help of Carlos, and they hauled the motherfucker out of his sight.
Sal went back to his seat and sat down, stared out the window, and knew he had to find Angelina. If that fucking MC had anything to do with her disappearing, word would spread that the Cardonas couldn’t even handle their own, couldn’t even stop some MC from bringing down Sal Cardona’s offspring.
He grabbed his cell and dialed Nando’s number. If his fucking men couldn’t find his daughter, and let her disappear, he needed to go to the next level.
“Yeah?” Nando’s deeply Italian accented voice came through the receiver.
“I need Angelina found, and want to bring down some motherfuckers. You up to getting your hands dirty?”
“Always. And when I find your daughter what do you want me to do with the fuckers that took her?”
Sal didn’t need to think about it. “Take them out and make it slow and painful.” He had never been close with Angelina, and to be honest she’d been more of a liability for his enemies to get at him. He would have protected her if she hadn’t betrayed them by leaving, but now that she was gone, and if she was with the MC, getting her back was more about teaching her a lesson, and letting word get out that even blood got what was coming to them.
This was also about the Bleeding Mayhem MC, and he’s go to any lengths to bring down that fucking club. They came after the Cardonas, and took out his son. That meant this was fucking war.
****
Fury had left Angelina in the room hours ago, and all he’d done since then was slowly finish off a bottle of scotch. The TV was on but muted, and some old school horror movie played on the screen. He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do, if he were being honest. He had initially planned on taking Sal’s daughter, and doing all kinds of fucked up shit to her to get some revenge toward the Cardonas. All he’d been able to see after Birdie was shot and the club was put in jeopardy was getting even with fucking Sal. Sure it had also been about getting information out of Angelina that could help Fury get her father, find out where the prick was hiding, and taking out the old bastard. But here he was, not even two days after taking her, and he was thinking of letting her go.
She didn’t know anything. He could see that in her face, in the way she spoke. He went with his gut, and his instincts were telling him she was innocent in all of this. Doing anything to her but letting her go seemed so fucking wrong, and unlike him. But despite knowing that, wanting to be able to let her go and find Sal on his own, he also knew he could use her as leverage. It was fucked up, but his club and family came first, even if that meant being a lowdown dirty bastard and using an innocent woman.
He stood, but the room started to spin because of how drunk he was already, and he braced his hand on the arm of the couch.
“Fuck,” he said and
ran a hand over his face, feeling his days’ worth of stubble cover his cheeks and jaw. He turned and stared down the hallway, looked at the closed door of the bedroom where Angelina was currently chained up, and felt his cock harden and his heart start to race. He was a sick motherfucker for his body’s reaction to her, given the situation they were in. But all he could picture was her sitting on the bed, the oversized t-shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, her olive skin tone and the sight of her delicate collarbones, making the male part of him rise up like a violent fucking beast. It also didn’t help the sight of the chain around her ankle, of her submission—involuntary or not—made him fucking harder than rock.
He adjusted his cock behind the fly of his jeans and cleared his throat. He needed to go sleep this drunkenness off, and tomorrow he’d decide the next move on how to find out where Sal was. Despite the fact Marco was dead and Sal had ducked out after all that shit had gone down, Fury wasn’t going to stop until he had confirmation that motherfucker was either dead, or find out where he was hiding. Fury wasn’t going to let this go until he had Cardona blood on his hands.
****
She was exhausted, but Angelina couldn’t sleep. She’d been lying in the bed, staring at the ceiling, for the last several hours. The sound of a clock in the hallway ticking was the only thing that broke up the silence, and the light coming through the crack at the bottom of the door the only illumination in the windowless room.
Pushing the blanket off she sat up, the chain a heavy reminder of where she was and why she was here. But the strange part, the really, truly fucked up part, was the fact that chain held this comfort for her. It was like a hand holding her, keeping her grounded. Her entire life she’d been locked away, in a sense, and although she’d had her space, her “Cardona style freedom”, she’d always felt like she was alone. But right here, right now, trapped in this room, her kidnapper just beyond the door, she felt like she was free in a sense she could never truly comprehend. It was strange, warped and twisted, but it also felt like she wasn’t out of control and unable to see the ground.
She stood and walked over to the door, staring at the handle in the darkened, muted room. She’d already walked the entire perimeter of her “prison” and although there was a lamp she could have used as a weapon, there was another part of her that had forced her to walk away from it. Even if she wanted to beat Fury over the head with it, the truth was it wouldn’t have done anything more than piss him off. But Angelina hadn’t even really thought of hitting him with it, because after she’d spilled her past, some of it, at least, she’d felt this weight being lifted from her. She wanted to leave, sure, but she also knew being tucked away in the middle of nowhere would also ensure her father wouldn’t find her.
Am I so screwed up I’d rather stay chained to a wall in the home of a man that kidnapped me than face the world where my father could find me?
She gripped the handle, the brass cold in her grasp, but warming the longer she held it. She turned it and pulled open the door, the light from the living room hurting her eyes for a second before her vision adjusted.
She bent down and picked up the extra length of the chain so it didn’t drag on the ground as badly, and slowly made her way down the hall. The slack went taut when she reached the end, the living room, kitchen, and front door in sight. Looking around, she didn’t see Fury, but as she leaned forward as far as she could she made out a closed door off to the right. Was that his room, where he was right now? Looking at the front door again, Angelina honestly didn’t know if she would have run for it if she hadn’t been chained up.
“You really are more screwed up than you thought,” she whispered to herself. Before turning she spied an empty scotch bottle sitting on the coffee table, and thought a stiff drink would have done her some good right about now.
Turning, she headed back down the hallway but went into the bathroom instead. Turning on the light and looking at herself in the mirror, she hated herself for everything she’d put up with in her life. She’d never fought, and always settled, and look at where she was now. She shut the door, or as well as she could given the chain blocking it from shutting completely.
“I should have run farther, and not been so fucking naive and dumb,” she said to her reflection. Glancing at the bathtub, she contemplated for just a second about taking a bath, maybe hoping to ease her nerves and help her sleep, but she wasn’t at home, wasn’t in any sane and normal circumstance. “God.” She breathed out, braced her hands on the sink, and closed her eyes. If she’d had any information about her father she would have given it up gladly.
And then, like a flash of lighting going off inside of her, she remembered something. It might not be much, but it was better than nothing.
The cabin he always stayed at when things got too heavy.
She pulled the door open, and a startled cry left her when she saw Fury standing there in nothing but a pair of jeans that were unbuttoned. He had a hand braced on the doorframe, his muscles so pronounced she actually felt a tingle move up her spine. He had tattoos covering every inch of his chest and arms, and even though he was covered in ink she could see scars intermittently along his body.
Angelina took a step back, the chain dragging across the floor, and her side hitting the corner of the sink vanity. She winced as the pain lanced through her. The scent of alcohol came from him like a slap to the face, and she wondered if she could get intoxicated just from the smell alone. He was drunk, that was clear by his bloodshot eyes, the alcohol scent coming from him, and the fact he just looked good and wasted. She didn’t know why that turned her on the way it did, but she felt heat move through her.
Bracing her hand on the sink, she didn’t know what to say or do. He didn’t move, just stood there with his arm propped up on the doorframe, and his bicep flexed, showcasing his muscles. Maybe Angelina shouldn’t have been looking at him, but she couldn’t help letting her gaze travel down his abdomen, over his six-pack, and to the V of muscle that screamed he was all male. He also had a dark trail of hair that started below his navel and disappeared beneath his jeans … jeans that were unbuttoned.
God, how fucked up am I that I find him so arousing?
“I—” Yeah, she had no clue what to say, because as it was Fury just stood there staring at her with half lidded eyes.
“You what?” he asked, his voice scratchy, deep, and masculine.
My father might be at a house he owns outside of town.
She thought the words, but she couldn’t seem to form them, to say them aloud.
“I was just going to go back to bed.” Her throat felt so damn tight, and yet he still just stood there, blocking her exit.
“Your brother’s dead.”
She was frozen in place, his words surrounding her, making everything else fade away. Shaking her head, Angelina wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. He’d just blurted it out like he as telling her the weather.
“My brother’s dead?” She could hear the tightness in her voice, the shock.
“Yeah,” was all he said.
Looking down, Angelina didn’t know what to say to that. Marco was dead, and although she should have been sad, heartbroken even, because he was her brother, all she felt was this … relief.
“Did you do it?” she found herself asking, not sure why she wanted to know, but needing to hear him say it if he did. They held each other’s stares, and finally he pushed away from the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest, further making his muscles bulge.
“And if I did, would that make you hate me more?”
His dark hair was a wild mess of short strands around his head, as if he had been running his hands through it. He looked dark and sexy, like a demon, or maybe the devil standing before her. She found herself shaking her head.
“I don’t hate you as it is.” Whispering the words, she didn’t know if she should smack herself for saying them, or just embrace it. Angelina should hate him, despise him to her very soul. But she didn’t, and tha
t confused her, made her feel all kinds of fucked up.
He lifted a dark eyebrow and smirked, as if he found the whole thing funny. That had her heart dropping into her belly.
“You don’t hate the man that followed you for weeks, stalked you, found out every detail of your day, and then broke into your house?” She didn’t respond, and he continued. “You don’t hate the man that drugged you, held your naked body in his arms, looked his fill of you, and took you back to his place as his captive?”
Her throat was so dry, her tongue swollen.
He chuckled, but it was dark, haunting. “How can you not hate the man that has you chained up in a room, keeping you prisoner?” Fury stepped closer to her, but she was frozen in place, unable to retreat. “Maybe you’ll hate the man that could fuck you until you can’t walk straight, simply because he wants to get back at your father.”
Angelina did take a step back, because as much as she was afraid of Fury right now, at the challenge he presented, the danger and violence that poured from him, what she was most afraid of was herself and the arousal she felt.
She was wet, her nipples hard, and the heavy weight of the chain around her ankle made this situation hotter, made her realize this man could do whatever he wanted to her and she wouldn’t have a choice but to accept it all.
And you’d like that, crave it even. You really are one messed up woman.
Chapter Eight
Her arousal rose, and that made Angelina’s anger do the same. She hated herself, her body’s reaction to this man, to her situation. Had she been so sheltered, locked away that this imprisonment made her so hot she couldn’t even breathe? Or was it something about Fury that had all self-respect and common sense leave her?