Raw: Street Demons MC

by Ada Stone

  “Evidence,” I replied simply. Sal frowned, but before he said anything more, I kept talking. My eyes flickered over to Zoe as I did so, evaluating her, wondering if she would have the sense right now after everything to run even if things went south for me. I wasn’t sure, but I hoped so. “The kind that might cause you a little bit of trouble if it got out.”

  The man pointing the gun at my head made a move, baring his teeth and stepping forward at the same time like maybe he was going to hit me with the gun instead of shoot me. Or maybe he was just going to try and bite me, I couldn’t tell.

  Before he got too close or had any funny ideas of his own that his boss hadn’t had the time to think through and consider yet, I stepped back just a little and waved the folder at him. “Easy, bullets for brains. This may seem like just a piece of paper, but it’s pretty important to your boss there.” I motioned towards Sal and it was enough to get the gunman to pause. He looked over at Sal, who gave a single, quick shake of his head, then didn’t move any further. He’d wait for Sal’s all clear before he took me out.

  “Alright, what is it, Nicky boy?” Sal finally asked, forcing himself to smile tightly, attempting to appear calm and collected and not at all like I was holding something that might forever fuck up his life.

  I offered him a smile, glancing at Zoe quickly—she was staring at me curiously, the terror only marginally softened—before focusing again on Sal. “It’s the information on the charity project. You know, the building that collapsed several months back?” I quipped, jogging his memory though based on the stricken look on his face he hardly needed it.

  Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, he made himself smile at me though it turned into more of a grimace or baring of teeth. It wasn’t pretty whatever it was. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Nicky. They already investigated that collapse and found that Vanguard wasn’t at fault. No harm, no foul.”

  My smile widened. “So you admit that you are a backing partner of VCI?”

  Sal cursed, then quickly dropped pretenses, growing tired of my game. “That’s public knowledge,” he spat at me, though I could tell by how angry he was that he didn’t like that I knew. It might have been public knowledge, but it wasn’t widely advertised. In case Vanguard went under, he wanted to make a clean break from them so that no one would end up pointing the finger in his direction.

  “Besides,” he added, his voice gruff with anger and irritation. “We did everything by the books. Nothing in there can hurt me.” He jerked his chin towards the file.

  “Is that so?” I asked mildly, unaffected. “So you know that this file contains receipts for purchases of subpar materials? That there are stress tests and weight calculations and transcripts of conversations between you and a Mr. Caraway regarding prices versus strength when choosing building materials?”

  Sal paled. “I don’t—”

  But this time I didn’t let him finish. “Let me just tell you what’s in here, since you clearly don’t know. Your manager of VCI got wise. He seemed to think that you might throw him and his people under the bus if things got too hot. So on the top portion of this file, I find the ‘official’ reports that he was expected to give to the authorities. Which, as far as I can tell, he did. And beneath those, lo and behold to my great surprise, there was a second set of documents. Documents that held very specific information that ties you not only to VCI, but to their decisions regarding materials, cost cutting measures, and the overall knowledge that that building wasn’t safe. You knew it was coming down and so did they. Your manager just wanted to make sure that if he went down, you went with him.”

  “What do I do, boss?” asked the gunman, glancing between me, the file in my hand, and Sal, who was red faced with anger.

  Sal opened his mouth to answer—likely to tell that asshole to shoot me and get ahold of the file—but before he got the chance, there were the sounds of shouting and things breaking coming from just outside in the hall. It was just enough of a distraction that no one shot me right then and there.

  A second later Wildcard burst through the door. Behind him, I saw Bones, who was cursing as he beat one of Sal’s men to a bloody pulp. I could only imagine that there was a trail of bodies behind the two of them, probably still alive but in pretty bad shape all things considered.

  Wildcard didn’t waste any time and used the distraction of his sudden appearance to his advantage. He barely wasted a second scanning the room and taking stock of what was going on. He saw the gun, Sal, Zoe, and me holding the file. That was enough for him. With a war cry that was piercing and a little nuts, Wildcard made a mad lunge for the gunman.

  Sal’s man widened his eyes and let a single cry escape his mouth before Wildcard landed on him. The gun was knocked from his grip instantly, sliding across the hard floor to bank off of a wall and skid under the bed somewhere.

  It was a shame, because I would have liked to have it—Sal had said no guns, and I’d obliged only for the sake of Zoe’s safety—but I was grateful nonetheless that it was at least no longer in the hands of one of Sal’s men.

  Thank god for small favors.

  The man reacted to Wildcard, pulling his fist back and then throwing it as hard as he could towards my guy. But Wildcard dodged easily and took the man down, landing on top of him and suddenly throwing him into a fury of flying fists that the man had no chance of blocking or retaliating against. He tried at first, but in a few moments he was unconscious. For a few moments longer, Wildcard continued to beat the crap out of him until the man’s face looked like hamburger meat.

  It wasn’t pretty, but I was grateful just the same. It was good to have Wildcard on my side. The man was an animal.

  When he looked up at me, I said, “What the fuck, man?”

  “Sorry, boss,” Wildcard apologized, breathing heavily. He had a cut across his forehead that was bleeding profusely—he swiped at it repeatedly, only for it to drip right back into his eyes—and what looked like a healthy bruise forming on his jaw. “We got held up in the kitchen.”

  “What, were you sitting down for fucking dinner?” I asked incredulously, but there was no bite in my words and my expression must have been one of pure relief, because Wildcard only shrugged at me and grinned.

  A grin that dropped instantly as we both saw Sal, as though moving in slow motion. He darted away from me and I turned just in time to see him grab a strong, painful grip on Zoe’s upper arm. She cried out, yelling at him to let her go, and tried to jerk away from him. She struggled and I surged towards her, about to kick Sal’s ass for what he was doing, but instantly we both paused.

  Sal had produced a gun from somewhere—probably the top drawer from the chest of drawers behind him—and now had it pressed against the side of Zoe’s head. She couldn’t necessarily see it, I didn’t think, but she could definitely feel it and there was no question in her mind what it was.

  Fear masked her features for not the first time tonight and it pained me to know that she was once again in trouble.

  How had I let this happen?

  “Give me the file!” Sal roared at me, jerking Zoe by the arm to emphasize his words.

  “Don’t hurt her,” I told Sal, keeping my voice calm, though even I could hear the tremble in it. Wildcard made a move as though to rush Sal, but I held out an arm like a bar to stop him. I shook my head just once and Wildcard backed off.

  I couldn’t risk Sal losing it and shooting Zoe.

  “Give me the fucking file!” he yelled at me again, furious and panicked, a dangerous combination for anyone, but especially a snake like Sal Davis. “Give it to me or I’ll fucking kill her!”

  I had no doubt that he would do it, too.

  I thought of the folder in my hand, how it was growing damp from my sweaty palms. I thought of what it contained, of all the people Sal had hurt and would continue to hurt. I thought of how this file was the only thing I had left to use against Sal. After this, it wouldn’t matter about Calvin or those injured or who else migh
t think Sal was guilty. He would throw his manager under the bus, VCI would go down, and that would be it.

  Then I thought of Zoe and realized that there was just no choice. I had to save her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zoe

  I was trembling, I couldn’t help it. For the last few minutes it seemed like everything was suddenly moving at light speed, going so fast that an unbelievable amount of things had happened in only the blink of an eye. I watched as Nick came bursting into the room, my unexpected knight in shining armor.

  I had resigned myself to my fate. Sal was going to have his terrible, wicked way with me and then he was going to give me to his men. He was going to pass me around like some sort of sick toy until everyone had gotten a piece of me. And then, maybe, I would have been lucky enough to die. It was terrible on levels that I didn’t think I could live through—who could?—but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

  When Sal had undone his pants and begun to stroke himself, growing hard at the thought of raping me of all the horrid things out there, I had felt a sickness overtake me. I was going to lose my mind, my sanity, my self-worth. Everything that I valued.

  And then I would never have even the smallest chance of getting Nick back.

  It seemed like a stupid, trivial thing to think about in that moment. Sal was on top of me, pinning me down, and his men were everywhere, inside and outside of the house, and he was about to do terrible things to me against my will—and Nick was what I thought of. I thought of how angry he’d been, and how terribly hurt he was, too. I thought of how we had loved each other for so long, cared for one another, promised to always be there for each other. And then I thought of how I had fucked that all up.

  I’d abandoned Nick for all the right reasons. Sal had propositioned me and I accepted only as a means of protecting Nick from a worse fate. There was, realistically, no chance of me and him getting back together and I had known that at the time. When Sal told me to dump Nick and be his girl instead, I had known that he would never let me go afterwards. Sure, Nick was in prison for only five years, but my fate with Sal was a lifetime. But I told myself that once Nick was out, we could work that all out. We could find a way to get away from Sal, to run and never look back. I could save up money in an account that Sal didn’t know about. I could purchase a car that he didn’t recognize.

  And I had done many of those things. I hadn’t been able to get a car, because I had to make a choice between buying a new car and saving up enough money to live decently, if modestly, for several months before I could get a job. But I figured that I could use my car to at least get out of town and then I could sell it and use the money to get a new car. The important part was getting away.

  It was the reason that, when Sal told me to drop out of school because it was “unbecoming” of a woman, I didn’t resist as strongly as maybe I would have under normal circumstances. School was expensive and if I was just going to run anyway, then there wouldn’t be money and time enough to do both. So I sacrificed my schooling—a lifelong dream, though I tried not to dwell on it—and put that money towards a secret savings account instead. It had the added benefit of making Sal happy, making him feel as though he had won something. That he was in control of me.

  But he wasn’t. He had never been.

  Not until tonight. Sal wasn’t the kind of man who just hit a woman for no reason. But he wasn’t the kind of man who never hit a woman either. He was all about control, about making sure his women were listening, were obeying like good little housewives. And I hadn’t given him any reason to doubt that I was just that. It was self-preservation to some extent, but it was more, too. It was also about how I knew he had an unnatural amount of control over what happened to Nick in prison and until Nick was out, I couldn’t risk that he would do something terrible to him.

  So I obeyed. I was dutiful. I dressed and talked and ate what Sal liked. I was the kind of woman he wanted and that kept me safe, or at least unharmed.

  But then Nick got released from prison, time served. And everything changed. I hadn’t wanted to think about how hurt and angry Nick would be after what I’d done, but of course he was. As soon as I saw him on my doorstep that day, I knew he was. And I knew that he had every right to be. He didn’t know what I’d done—not the full extent of it anyway—or more importantly why I’d done it. How would I have felt if he’d broken up with me and suddenly began dating some other woman? Worse still, what if I’d known that woman my whole life and she’d spent most of it trying to make me miserable?

  I would have been furious, of course. That’s the only reaction to have. A very normal, human reaction.

  But some part of me had convinced myself that I could explain it all away and we could go back to being normal. We could live happily ever after and not worry about Sal or anyone else ever again. But of course things weren’t that simple and I was naïve to think they could have been. A week before Nick was released, Sal came to me. It was just like any other time over the course of the past five years. Sal would come to my house and we’d sit and talk. Or rather he’d talk and I’d try my hardest to listen dutifully, because that was what he wanted from me. It suited me, too, in all fairness. I would rather sit there and listen to him drone on and on about things I couldn’t care less about than have to try to converse with him about things I really cared about. I didn’t want to get to know Sal or for him to know me. In my mind, I had relegated this to a business arrangement, period. If he wanted more from me, well, we were going to have issues.

  But he never did. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Of course he did want more from me. He wanted me sexually, of course, but I was able to put off his advances with “I’m not ready” and “we’re moving too fast” and “I want us to do this right and be married first.” All of these had infuriated him, but he’d obliged.

  Then that night a week before Nick’s release came.

  There was a knock at the door and I went to it quickly, knowing already that it would be Sal. He’d been coming over almost every night for the last two weeks and though I was tired of him, I knew there was no way to get around it. This was part of our deal, part of my agreement to be his girl, even if it would never be anything short of a lie.

  I pulled open the door to find that Sal was dressed in a suit tonight. It wasn’t wholly unusual, though he wasn’t above jeans and t-shirts, too. It just depended on what kind of a mood he was in—and what his purposes were. If he was riding with his gang, he preferred to look the part. Whether that be jeans or leathers, either way, he looked like a rough and tumble terror on two wheels. Which was of course the point.

  But tonight he clearly had other things in mind. I wasn’t sure if he’d changed into the suit before heading this way—not wholly unlikely, though I could see it either way—or if he’d had some sort of meeting beforehand.

  Sal had recently gotten into real estate and construction. As a result, he wore suits more and more often these days, saying it was important to show them that he wasn’t just some dumb slob. That he was a businessman and one with some real backing and power. I figured that a suit wouldn’t really do all of that for him, so he might as well just wear what he liked, but Sal wouldn’t have listened and I didn’t bother wasting my breath on telling him.

  “Hi,” I greeted him, leaning forward to kiss him. I did my best to keep the kisses chaste but affectionate, though it was difficult. It was important, though, that Sal feel like I was making an effort, no matter what I was actually feeling for him. “Are you hungry?”

  I figured he wouldn’t be, but I wanted to make sure that I asked so that he wouldn’t get annoyed and say I was being a poor hostess or something along those lines. I also had something ready to be thrown in the oven on the off chance that he said yes. Another one of those precautions that ensured everything would run smoothly, though it was little more than act and show.

  “Not tonight, honey,” he said, tapping my chin with his forefinger in a sign that was probably either a
ffectionate or possessive. Or both. “I thought we could just chat instead.”

  I nodded my agreement. “Of course.” He stepped into the room and I closed the door behind him, taking just a moment longer than necessary so that I could settle myself and prepare for the long night ahead. I would have to be attentive, but not smart. He didn’t care much for smart women in the end. After a pause, I turned and followed Sal into the living room. He’d taken a seat on the couch, which was unfortunate, because it meant I would have to sit right next to him. If he’d gone to a chair, then I could sit in another chair or the couch and he wouldn’t think anything of it, but the couch meant I had to sit right beside him. I had to let his arm drape across my shoulders. I had to cuddle up to him.

  It sent a shudder of disgust through me, but I was mostly used to it. I told myself Sal was a decent guy. I told myself that he took care of me. I told myself that maybe he even actually cared about me, because those were the things I had to tell myself otherwise I would never have been able to last this long.