Page 33

Heather

I got my fill of chocolate-covered peanuts a while ago and am sipping on my second water bottle, thanks to Grime. If it was up to Carnage, I’d still be wearing the gag, dying of thirst with an empty stomach.

As I watch him pace, mumbling under his breath and lost in his own thoughts, I realize something. I’ve never truly hated anyone before—not until I watched him casually slam Brittany into the glass case. He treated her like an object, a thing that didn’t matter.

Brittany has been an excellent friend. She helped me acclimate to club life, sat with me when Ghost had to leave, and she fought for me when Carnage attacked.

She has a husband who loves her, a baby who needs her, four step-kids counting on her, and a family of vengeful bikers who will be pissed that she’s been injured.

“They should’ve come by now,” he mutters as he continues his pacing. “Knew I should’ve met with them in fuckin’ person. The Grave Diggers MC has always been unpredictable.”

Grave Diggers? So that’s his plan. He’s obviously teamed up with a rival club and plans to lure the Legion into his trap.

I just wish there was a way I could let Ghost know.

The only consolation I have is that the Savage Legion are smart and resourceful.

If they know Carnage, then they know he’s a sneaky fucker.

He stops pacing long enough to punch the concrete wall. I don’t know exactly what he was aiming for, but he doesn’t achieve anything except sore knuckles.

Suddenly, he spins around and glares at me. His eyes are wild, and as crazy as it sounds, it seems like one is bigger than the other. The scar under his chin gives him a dark, brooding edge.

“You think I don’t see what he’s doing?” he asks. “The Legion is trying to bait me. They want me to make the first move, hoping I’ll make a mistake. But it won’t work. You hear me?”

I nod because I don’t trust what will come out of my mouth if I speak.

He storms out, cursing. I can hear his boots echoing down the hallway.

And then I’m alone—but not really alone.

Grime sits in the corner like a broken statue, whittling away at his cracked, dirty fingernails with a large hunting knife that he usually wears in a sheath on his hip. He hasn’t approached me again or said a word since he gave me food and water.

The moment Carnage storms out of the room in a rage, Grime sees his opportunity. When the door closes behind him, Grime slides off the table he’s sitting on and walks slowly towards me.

My stomach is in knots as I watch him approach. There is something about the way he walks—cocky and sure of himself—that makes me more wary of him than the others.

He crouches in front of me, looking me over.

For a second I think he might speak, but he doesn’t.

He just reaches out, gently pushes a strand of hair from my face, and lets the flat edge of his knife follow the curve of my cheek.

I freeze in place, unable to move even if I wanted to.

Deep down inside, I’m afraid that if I move, his knife will accidentally slice my face open.

The feel of the cold metal against my skin sends panic up my spine.

I recognize this for the silent threat it is.

Finally, he speaks. “You think Carnage is dangerous,” he says, voice low, with a strange, thoughtful quality to it. After a slight pause, he adds, “But his temper burns too hot. He’s going to implode one day.”

His eyes don’t blink. “Me? I’m a different kind of bad. I’m the quiet, patient kind of man. You should know that when Carnage finally implodes, you’ll finally be mine.”

I force myself not to recoil. Not to show the fear threatening to smother me.

He leans closer. I can smell the rot on his breath, like some form of tooth decay. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever smelled.

“I’m hard on my toys,” he whispers. “Be nice and I’ll treat you better when it’s my turn.”

Then he stands, turns, and goes right back to his corner like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just tell me some sick story he’s writing about us in his head.

Ignoring him, I keep my eyes on the door. Ghost is coming. I just know it. I just have to hold on a little longer. My mind refuses to believe that the man I love isn’t coming for me. Minutes seem like hours as I wait to escape whatever nightmare these men have planned for me.

Carnage returns from whatever he was doing and starts scrolling through his phone. In the dimly lit room, his face is lit up eerily by the phone screen. His expression brightens, and he announces happily, “They’re coming and will be here any minute.”

I guess it’s just a matter of who gets here first. The Grave Diggers or Savage Legion. If the Legion arrives first, then they will make short work of my three abductors and be long gone before Carnage’s associates arrive.

Carnage puts his phone away and takes back up with his pacing. Only instead of angry, he is thoughtful and pensive.

Slaughter, who is usually patrolling outside, walks in with his rifle slung across his back.

He sits down, takes it off his back, and starts cleaning it.

I watch the way he handles his firearm, like he’s caressing it.

They all take out their cell phones from time to time, presumably reading text messages as they wait patiently.

***

I hear them before I see them. The sound of motorcycles in the distance. The sound is faint at first, but it builds as they get closer. Suddenly, they sound like they’re right on top of us.

Carnage goes still. His eyes are sharp as he glances towards the door leading to the front of the building. “They’re here,” he whispers, throwing Grime a knowing look.

He doesn’t say who’s here. And that just makes my anxiety spiral, because I don’t know either. Across the room, Grime tilts his head towards the sound, then smiles like he already knows something I don’t.

A slow, crooked smile creeps across Carnage’s face. “Finally,” he mutters.

My blood runs cold. No. My chances of being freed fall dramatically.

Carnage crosses the factory floor like he owns it. “Slaughter, unlock the side door.”

Grime shifts beside me, mouth twitching like he already knows I’ve figured it out.

“Guess your white knight’s running late,” he says, almost kindly. Waiting a second, he adds, “Or maybe he’s already dead in a ditch somewhere.”

This man knows exactly what he’s doing. He has a cruel heart, like Carnage. I can tell by the look on his face that he enjoys tormenting me.

When Slaughter pulls the door open, fifteen men spill onto the factory floor. They are a throng of bikers in black denim with grimy patches. They’re all armed with shotguns, rifles, and handguns. When I squint my eyes, I see their patches all say Grave Diggers MC.

A man steps forward from the pack. He’s older, wearing a thick beard, and there’s a deep scar running across his throat.

Carnage greets him with the open-armed swagger of someone who thinks he’s back on top.

“About time, Marauder,” he says. “Good to see a friendly face.”

Marauder doesn’t give as warm a reception as he receives. Instead, he says, “The Legion is coming in heavy. I told my men to wait until they see the whites of their eyes before opening fire.”

Another man runs up, just as we begin hearing gunfire outside. He quickly tells Marauder, “The back loading dock is being breached.”

Carnage says, “We hold this floor, let them push in, then box them like rats.”

Marauder says nothing. Just nods once. His eyes flick to me. “Put the woman in the center,” he says in a deep, flat monotone. “Use her as a human shield.”

Carnage laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “No can do, my friend. That pretty little bitch is carrying my kid. I’d normally be up for risking her, but not my kid.”

Six of the Grave Diggers split off, taking positions behind broken bottling lines and sugar silos. The rest start climbing up to the catwalk.

Grime says nothing. He just moves to stand beside me, watching the pieces lock into place, just like he planned. This isn’t a standoff anymore. It’s a slaughter waiting to start.

It isn’t long before the gunfire outside goes quiet. Worry twists in my gut because that either means the Legion has subdued the Grave Diggers or vice versa. If it’s the former, my fate is sealed.

Then dozens of heavy boots on the pavement outside sound strong, making me hope with every ounce of my soul that it’s the Savage Legion, rather than the reinforcements that survived the first battle.

The first sign something’s wrong comes in the form of silence.

Carnage had been pacing, muttering, yelling at shadows. Then suddenly—quiet.

Not the good kind. Not relief.

The younger biker that came in earlier to announce the Legion was here comes running in again. “The Legion dropped our guys, all of them. They’re prying open the loading bay.”

Grime doesn’t look surprised. He’s watching Carnage with a sort of detached interest, like a scientist waiting for the rat in the maze to chew its own foot off.

Carnage spins towards him, stating gleefully, “Let them come. We’ve created the perfect slaughtering floor just for them.”

Marauder barks, “Everyone take their places!”

When Carnage comes near enough to talk to, he tells Grime, “How in the hell did they even find us? I thought it would take them weeks at least.”

Grime just shrugs carelessly with one shoulder. “Someone talked.”

“Who?” Carnage shoots back.

“Take your pick. Joker? Merc?” He flicks the knife lazily in one hand and goes back to scraping at his nails. “Only takes one coward to turn on us.”

Carnage grabs a chair and hurls it across the room, slamming it into one of the machines. “You always said they were loyal!”

Grime smiles, that horrible, crooked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You said you were a king. We say a fuckin’ lot of things, right?”

“The fuckin’ Legion is not getting her back,” he growls, his voice vibrating with anger. “I’m tired of them taking every fuckin’ thing I value.”