The Rush: The Hell's Disciples MC (The Hell's Disciples MC Series)

by Jaci J

  “What?” he barks into it, watching me the entire time.

  I can feel my eye swelling, my vision becoming blurry and painful. My face is bruised, I’m sure, and my skin is on fire and aching. There’s blood dripping from my mouth and nose, bones broken and skin split open.

  His phone to his ear, a smile pulls at his lips, his face curling into an ugly sneer. “Two hundred thousand, nothing less, Disciple.”

  T.

  My heart swells, banging against my chest.

  Victor’s face falls as he listens to T while watching me.

  “I want my money if you want her alive,” he growls.

  I watch him shake his head, his sneer growing the longer he listens.

  “No money, no girl.”

  “T!” I shout, trying to sit up.

  Every inch of me hurts, the pain excruciating.

  I fight the blackness pulling me under.

  “Tyler!”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the man next to Victor snaps, kicking me again.

  I cry out in pain, retching.

  My body can’t take much more, but it does. It takes another fist to the face when Victor’s conversation with T doesn’t go as he wants.

  Floating in and out of consciousness, the last thing I hear is, “The bitch isn’t worth the money. Get rid of her,” and all I can think in that moment is that I’ll never see T again.

  36

  T

  THERE ISN’T A goddamn thing I wouldn’t do for Bailey, I realize that now. Now that I’m staring at stacks of thousands, seventy thousand shy of the two hundred thousand Victor demanded.

  I wasn’t above taking that money Bailey had saved all that year she was dancing for me. I wasn’t above taking money that belonged to my club, and I’m not above selling my bike to some rich motherfucker who’s a desperate wannabe badass.

  I remembered I had his card in my wallet after he approached me about my bike a few months ago on a run. I filed that shit away, not interested, and now here the fuck I am, desperate to sell.

  “You sure, man?” the asshole asks, running his hand down the seat, admiring my bike.

  I’m sure of two of things. One, if this motherfucker asks me one more time if I’m sure, I’m bashing his head in. And two, I’ll do anything, even selling my bike, to get Bailey back, safe and sound.

  “Yeah. You want it? Hand me the cash and sign the bill of sale,” I growl.

  The douchebag smiles, nodding eagerly.

  I pace as he signs the title and bill of sale, taking his sweet ass time doing it, and it doesn’t help.

  I want to feel sad and torn about selling my bike, but I don’t feel a goddamn thing.

  Twelve hours is creeping closer.

  Hours blurring by.

  Seconds crawling past.

  I’m fucking running out of time.

  “Hurry the fuck up,” I explode, jerking the paper from his hand.

  “Whoa, man. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, here,” I growl, shoving the keys at him while ripping the stack of cash from his hand—the twenty thousand I need.

  I leave, walking past my bike, a bike I’ve had for years. A bike that’s been good to me. A bike that’s custom, worth more than twenty thousand.

  I don’t give that shit a second glance.

  I don’t need it, because the only goddamn thing I need is Bailey back.

  _______________

  I called Victor. He didn’t answer.

  It’s been eleven fucking hours.

  Longest goddamn hours of my life.

  Sitting at my house, in the dark, I stare at my phone. I don’t bother turning the lights on because I can’t. I can’t fucking bring myself to do it. I can’t stand to look around this empty box with a roof on it, full of Bailey’s shit, and not see her in here with me.

  I watch the time on the screen blink by instead, that shit on fucking overdrive, passing quickly and crawling by all at the same time.

  Muscles tight. Stomach in knots. Body antsy.

  I feel sick to my stomach, nervous and restless.

  In these situations, these fucked-up messes, I usually have my club, my brothers to rely on. They’ve got my back. They’ve got advice. They’ve got help.

  I don’t have shit right now, and the only person I have to blame is myself.

  I could call up my old man, Rocky, maybe Buck, but they’d drag the whole club into this and slow me down. My old man would want a plan. Rock would want to go in blind and bash skulls. Buck would want to sit back, watch and wait, and pick them off one by one.

  I don’t have that kind of time.

  I’ve got one fucking hour.

  I don’t have time to play with now.

  Pacing through the house, I hear someone at my front door.

  My heart fucking plummets.

  Pulling the door open, damn near pulling it off its hinges, I find Rock standing there.

  “You fucking idiot!” he snarls, shoving past me and into the house.

  “What?”

  “Did you think I wasn’t going to check the security camera after you left the club?”

  Dragging my hand through my hair, I shake my head, not a goddamn thing to say.

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred thousand.”

  “Fuck! What are we gonna do?”

  “We’re not gonna do shit. You need to go home, forget this shit.”

  “Forget this shit? You’re my fucking brother, man, nothing to forget. Tell me everything.”

  _______________

  The call comes fifteen minutes before the twelve hour mark, and the only thing said through the line is, “The Pink Cat.”

  I pull an old bike out of my garage, Rock at my back, and head for the place I first laid eyes on Bailey.

  The Pink Cat comes into view.

  Flying into the empty parking lot, I dump my bike as soon as I get close enough, desperate to get to Bailey.

  Before I have the chance to get to the door, a door I’ve walked through a million fucking times, Rock grabs me.

  “Brother, think before you go in there.”

  “I’m out of fucking time. I can’t wait.”

  “Ty, man, seriously. Think about it. What are you walkin’ into?”

  “I’ve gotta get to her, man. I have to.”

  BAILEY

  My head is swimming. Consciousness and thought float in and out like waves. Voices and noises swirl, buzzing in and out of my ears, not making much sense as I come to.

  Grasping for something solid to hang onto, I listen, trying desperately to seize something to anchor me to the spot.

  Words.

  Voices.

  Sounds.

  None of it clicks, all of it just noise, background to the ringing in my ears and mind.

  I can’t move. Everything hurts. My muscles ache. My skin burns.

  Rolling my head to the side, I crack open an eye and see nothing but the empty stage around me.

  I’m on stage.

  Forcing my muscles, I will my arms to move. They’re bound, tied behind my back and to the cold metal chair I’m sitting in.

  I try to move again, but get nothing.

  I’m stuck.

  I do something I’ve never done, not while in that trailer, not while fighting off my mom’s boyfriend as a child, and not while begging for food.

  I start to cry.

  Unable to stop the tears, I let them fall freely.

  The sadness, the terror, the worry, all of it overwhelming.

  Closing my eyes, I let my head sag. I feel defeated until I feel a hand on my cheek, soft and caring, the touch almost reverent.

  T?

  My eyes snap open, and instantly, my bloodied lip curls.

  Victor.

  “Crying?” he asks, a smile in his eyes. When I don’t answer him, the hand on my cheek grabs for my jaw, his fingers sinking into my skin, holding tight. “Do not ignore me, sooka,” he growls, jerking my head back so hard my neck cracks.

/>   I stare up into his eyes. Through the blurriness, I see the enjoyment on his face as he looks back at me. He loves seeing me cry.

  “Fuck you,” I spit, my voice hoarse, my throat burning.

  Victor tsks. “Such a foul mouth. Did the Disciple like your filthy mouth?”

  “The Disciple loves my mouth any way he gets it,” I hiss, refusing to give up and let him win.

  Victor might kill me, but he won’t do it without a fucking fight.

  “Your Disciple must not love it that much,” he tells me, checking the gold watch on his wrist, “because he’s late, beautiful girl.”

  T’s not coming?

  “He’s coming.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Rearing back, Victor hits me, his fist closed and solid.

  My head snaps back, blood pooling in my mouth, the tangy metallic taste sitting on my tongue. “That Disciple doesn’t want you. No one does!”

  Tears start to well up, stinging at the corners of my eyes as they start to fall. I fight them, wishing them away, but that shit does nothing. They start fall, thick and fast.

  “Awe,” he chuckles, sucking his teeth as looks down at his nails. “You honestly thought he’d come for you, didn’t you? Such a stupid girl. Just like your mother.”

  “How late?” I growl through the tears, desperate to know.

  “Does it really matter?”

  “How late?”

  Victor rolls his eyes before looking down at his wrist again. “Ten minutes,” he answers, his Russian accent getting thick.

  Ten minutes.

  There’s still time.

  “Why?” I ask, pulling on my wrists.

  I fight through the pain and the ache in my chest, because through all of this, all this shit, I deserve, at the very least, an answer.

  “Why? Why what, Coco? Why are you here, tied to a chair?”

  I nod, swallowing down the tears still falling.

  “Wrong place at the right time, yes? You made me a lot of money, Coco. I would have died a happy man having you on my payroll, but you drew that Disciple in. I had too, yes?”

  I watch as he paces in front of me, wearing a nice suit, his dark hair slicked back and gold rings on every finger. I met him when I was in high school, so young and dumb. I remember smiling when he complimented me as he stood next to my mom. Victor told me I was beautiful, and that when I was ready, he’d make me rich. He told me he could help get me out of that trailer park, and I remember, in that moment, promising myself I’d let him.

  My fucking mistake.

  I trusted someone I knew better than to trust.

  Stupid girl.

  Stupid fucking girl.

  I’m not too stupid to know that this is my fault.

  I was the weak link.

  I was the chink in the armor.

  I could have stayed away from T, but I fell in love and I fell hard.

  And what’s that saying? Love is blind? I loved T so damn much, I blindly followed him to this moment, happily and willingly.

  I’d take none of it back.

  Not a single second.

  If this is how I die, then at least I die finally knowing what real love is.

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” I ask, watching through blackened eyes as Victor grows more agitated and angrier as the time ticks by. He’s not going to get his money and he knows it.

  Good, I think.

  Fuck him.

  “You’re not scared?” he questions, stopping his pacing to look at me.

  I shake my head no.

  I was scared to die without ever feeling that rush.

  I’ve felt it.

  T gave it to me.

  It’s all I ever really wanted. Above the money, the independence, the need, I just wanted love, real love, and I got it.

  Staring at Victor, the tears now dry, I hear it—gunshots.

  Hope blooms in my chest, only to die when Victor grins, his smile ugly and satisfied.

  Walking across the room, he grabs a gas can from a table and starts to dump the liquid from inside all over the floor.

  “What are you doing?” I cry, panic ripping at my chest.

  He walks toward me, a sad smile on his lips as he keeps pouring. “What has to be done.”

  “Please!” I start to beg, scared out of my mind.

  In complete and utter horror, I watch as he strikes a match and chucks it onto the floor, flames immediately lighting up the carpet and drapes around us.

  “Please, Victor! Untie me!”

  “Sorry,” he coos, no remorse in his words as he picks up a shotgun and walks toward me, the black metal raised. “Time’s up, pretty girl.”

  37

  T

  RUNNING TOWARD THE front door of The Pink Cat, I’m hit with the overwhelming smell of gasoline and smoke, the stench pouring from inside, assaulting my fucking senses.

  “Fuck!” Rock roars, stopping next to me. “Flames.”

  “Goddamn it.”

  I pause for just a moment, my mind trying to catch up with my actions, because I’m reaching for the door, going in blind, without a second fucking thought of what I might find.

  The only thing I can think about is getting to Bailey.

  Fuck anything else.

  “The building is on fire,” he yells at me, his voice rushed and worried.

  “Bailey is inside!” I counter, my voice louder.

  “Go around the back.” Rock shoves me away from the door. “I’m going to open the door. Make sure no one comes out of it alive other than your girl, yeah?”

  I nod once before running for the back of the building.

  I can’t see flames, but I can smell them.

  Inside, thick smoke hangs in the air, making it hard to see.

  I can’t hear anything over the sound of wood burning and plastic popping and melting. “Bailey!” I shout, walking farther into the building.

  Shit! I can’t see a foot in front of me.

  I’m fucking struggling to keep it together.

  I let Bailey down.

  Fuck.

  Fuck!

  I round the corner and come face-to-face with Victor.

  The asshole fucking smiles, soot and dirt on his ugly fucking mug.

  “Where is she?”

  He shrugs, turning to look at me head-on. “She was late,” is all he says. In his hand is a gun, and the motherfucker is aimed right at me.

  I don’t have time or the chance to react.

  Victor blows a hole through me.

  The bullet rips through my side, hot metal tearing through flesh, muscle, and tendon.

  Fire instantly consumes me.

  Stumbling back, I reach for my gun, and as I do, he gets me again.

  My shoulder tears open. I can feel the meat and muscle being ripped away from bone.

  Through the searing pain, I struggle with my gun, getting it free in time to get a shot off, hitting Victor once in the head. The motherfucker explodes, my .45 tearing a hole through his fucking brain.

  He drops to the floor.

  I don’t have time to process.

  Making my way into the building, I find a man, his back to me, and I waste no time in putting a fucking bullet through his head.

  I make it inside, into the belly of the building, and find something that nearly puts me on my ass.

  Bailey.

  Through the flames and smoke, slumped in a chair, lifeless, Bailey looks like a fucking ragdoll.

  She’s in the middle of the room, in the middle of the fucking stage.

  I hesitate just a moment, shit just not right. Bailey’s not moving, not making any noise. Her eyes are closed and her body is limp. She’s not fighting. She’s not screaming.

  Make a noise, Doll. Say something, do anything!

  Fuck. Please.

  I get nothing.

  She doesn’t move.

  The room is filling with thick clouds of black, angry smoke. Flames are e
verywhere, growing quickly and destroying everything in their path.

  I get to Bailey in a few seconds, dodging flames and shit falling from the ceiling. I instantly fall to my knees next to her. Her hands and legs are bound up tight, tied around the fucking chair she’s in, holding her hostage.

  “Bailey?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Baby, look at me.”

  She doesn’t.

  Her head is lulled to the side, her face bloody and bruised.

  My heart fucking tears open seeing her like this.

  “Bailey!”

  I get nothing.

  At my back, I feel the flames getting closer, sucking all the air out of the room and turning the old structure into a fucking inferno.

  Panic consumes me.

  I’ve gotta get her the fuck out of here.

  I reach for her and my stomach cramps, a shot of pain radiating through me.

  I look down at myself, blood soaking through my shirt. Rivers of it roll down my arms, dripping from my fingers onto the floor.

  In the moment, I forgot I took two bullets. It doesn’t fucking matter. The only thing that does it getting her out of here.

  I sway, close to hitting the ground. I’m losing blood, a lot of it, but I hold it together and push through the pain.

  If I die, she dies, and she has to live. She fucking has to.

  Getting up takes strength I didn’t know I had, but picking her up, even though she weighs nothing, is a whole other fucking feat. I’m weak, losing steam, but I have no choice, doing the only thing I can. I pick her up, chair and all, carrying her through the flames toward the front door, but stop when shit falls from the ceiling, blocking my path.

  I look around, trying to come up with something else.

  “Fuck!”

  I turn around, Bailey still in my arms, and head for the back door, through the thick smoke and the flames that are closing in.

  Single-minded determination, brute force, and the unwillingness to let her go gets us out of that building and into the cold night air.

  My lungs scream. My muscles scream louder.

  I’m fucking dying.

  Putting Bailey and the chair down, I get to my knees again and dig for the knife in the waist of my jeans. Pulling it out, I cut her free and pull her lifeless body from the chair and into my chest, my fingers finding for her pulse. I fall to my ass, leaning back against the back of the building, taking her with me and holding her close as I do.