Page 13

Chapter Thirteen

T he distant sound of voices is the first thing I hear when I begin to regain consciousness. Men. I hear men’s voices. I listen closely, trying to make out anything that they’re saying. Nothing. I can’t hear shit, but I know enough to know they’re out of earshot which means I’m alone. Slowly, I open my eyes. I’m handcuffed to a chair in the center of a small room. The only light comes from a tall lamp in the corner. There’s one small window to my right with curtains drawn over it, but there is no light peeking through, telling me it’s still dark out.

The room has plywood flooring and it appears there was once carpet here but not anymore. The smell of mold infiltrates my nostrils. It’s hot and damp, almost like rain had just free fallen into the room. I stare up at the ceiling, checking to see if I can see a leak. I can. The ceiling looks like it will cave in any minute. Great. If they don’t kill me, I’ll die from being crushed when the ceiling caves in.

I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious, but everything on my face hurts. What the fuck did they beat me with? Whatever it was, it fucking hurts. My cheek feels like it did that time I had my wisdom teeth removed in high school, and I was so swollen I looked like a chipmunk. I imagine I look similar to that now, except this hurts a lot worse. At least I had pain meds then.

What time is it anyway? I have no idea. My phone is nowhere to be seen, obviously, but I look anyway. From what I can see, it isn’t in my pocket or anywhere on the ground around me.

I don’t know who has me much less why they want me. I don’t understand. Maybe they made a mistake. I’m just the bartender. Whoever it is showed up on a motorcycle with someone in a truck. I realize now that the truck’s purpose was to haul me here after they beat the shit out of me.

I scan the room again, looking for anything that might giveaway where they’ve taken me. From the layout and the floor, I think they’re keeping me in a mobile home. A shitty, rundown one at that. The air vent I hadn’t noticed earlier on the floor has been used as a trash can of some sort filled with plastic water bottles among other trash. Slobs. Ugh.

My nose crinkles in disgust. The sound of footsteps approaching the closed door in front of me has me on alert. A man I don’t recognize swings it open and it crashes into the wall behind it with a thud. He’s short, probably my height, and scrawny. He looks like he hasn’t slept, or bathed, in days. I think his hair was once blonde, but with all the dirt and grime I’m not really sure.

He wears a solid grey shirt, now covered in whatever he has encountered in it over the last week. His jeans are tattered and stained, and he has jailhouse tattoos covering both arms and his neck.

He steps toward me, stopping a few feet back. “‘Bout fuckin’ time you woke up.”

His voice is raspy, but not that sexy type of raspy. More of a ‘I smoked five packs of cigarettes last night’ kind of raspy. He reeks of body odor and bad breath mixed with a very unpleasant chemical smell that I don’t recognize. Whatever it is, it is very unpleasant to the senses. More unpleasant than the body odor and bad breath combined.

“What the hell do you want with me?” I ask.

“With you? Not a fucking thing, princess.” He struggles to make eye contact with me. The whole time he’s been standing here, he hasn’t been able to stand still. His hands are constantly moving, picking at a scab on his arm or his face. He can’t be still.

“Great. So let me go,” I say, matter-of-factly. If I weren’t handcuffed, I’d have crossed my arms for good measure.

“Not gonna happen.”

I huff. “Yeah, I didn’t fuckin’ figure. Why am I here if you don’t want anything with me? And why is it ‘bout fuckin time I woke up’,” I ask, mocking what he said a moment ago.

His face reddens as anger consumes him. I haven’t even said anything yet. This is going to get interesting. He rushes toward me, stopping only inches from my face. The pungent odor coming from his mouth is ten times worse now that he’s so close. I fight the urge to gag, bile rising in the back of my throat.

“You don’t get to ask questions bitch!” he screams, spit flying from his mouth and onto my face. I flinch, and I hate that I did because now this useless fucker probably thinks I’m afraid of him. I’m not. I was flinching from the repulsive odor emanating from him.

“Hey, Boulder! Bitch is awake!” he hollers. He backs away and leans against the wall. He looks down at his shoes and starts whispering something to himself.

A tall, broad-shouldered man enters the room. He looks similar to the other man in the aspect that he’s scrawny for as wide as he is and it doesn’t look good on his figure. His hair is darker, but just as disgusting, and his eyes are sunken in. They definitely don’t get much sleep around here.

“Well, well. We’ve been waiting for you to wake up. We don’t like to wait,” Boulder says, his neck twitching with every word. What is up with these guys?

“If you wouldn’t have hit me so fucking hard, I wouldn’t have had to wake up,” I snap. When my jaw moves, a sharp pain shoots through my cheek making my eyes water and my face falter. Fucking shit.

“Aww. Is the poor little bitch in pain?” Boulder asks, amused.

I ignore his question. It’s rhetorical anyway.

“Why am I here?”

“Leverage.” That statement makes him smile like he’s a child that has just found the golden egg in the yearly Easter Egg Hunt.

“Leverage for what ?” I yell, my temper getting the best of me. I double over from the pain that scorches my face. Screaming probably wasn’t the smartest decision I could have made.

But these assholes are pissing me off. I should be scared. After all, they did kidnap me and now they’re holding me hostage as some kind of leverage, but I’m more pissed off than scared.

Boulder’s ugly laugh echoes in my ears, one of the most hostile sounds I have ever heard. When I lift my head, he’s standing there looking at me. A sinister grin on his ugly face.

“Leverage for your little lover boy.” Boulder’s eyes look like they struggle to remain focused, and he paces back and forth in front of me. His movements are erratic, quickly scratching his ear, or his face, then looking around the room as if he’s looking for something, or someone.

“I don’t have a lover boy. Try again,” I spat.

“Is that so? Because from the looks of the messages in your phone, you sure as hell do. Cass? Ring a bell?” Boulder asks facetiously, waving my phone around in front of my face.

I remain silent as his words register in my brain. Of course, I’m here because of Cass. Who the fuck else would be the cause of some shit like this. There are so many emotions coursing through my veins, but hurt and anger are the most prevalent.

When I don’t say anything after a few minutes, Boulder grins.

“Cat got your tongue, bitch?”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. From the looks of it, if I don’t say anything he will keep talking. Who are these people? I’ve never seen them before, and I’ve never heard Cass mention any of their names. I still don’t know why the fuck I’m here and that’s starting to irritate me. They aren’t going to tell me, either.

Boulder flips through my phone and I instantly regret not keeping a passcode on it. I never had a reason to before now. I hadn’t exactly foreseen getting kidnapped and someone going through the damn thing.

“I can’t wait to see the look on Cass’s face when he sees that we have his little bitch,” Boulder beams at the other man who is standing in a corner twitching. I roll my eyes, an involuntary action to the two idiots in the room.

“Smile pretty, bitch,” Boulder demands, holding my phone up to take a picture. I don’t dare move or make a face. I just sit here, the way I have been the whole time. If my face looks half as bad as it feels, Cass is going to be pissed.

“Asher should be here any minute now. He’s gonna be proud,” the other guy says in between picking at his hands. I look closer, really paying attention to the guy. His arms have the same track marks that Keith’s had. They’re on fucking drugs.

I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. They’re tweaked out of their fucking minds and they’re using me as a pawn in some sick, drug game. I hear a door shut down the hall followed by footsteps growing louder. The man that enters the room looks nothing like these two tweakers. He’s clean cut, his shoulder length black hair is slicked back, and he wears a cut that labels him the President with a nametag reading Asher.

“What the fuck?” he asks, shock evident in his voice when he sees me tied up and beaten. He looks at Boulder.

“I told you to trash the bar , not kidnap a fucking girl!” he shouts angrily.

“Yeah, but Prez, she isn’t just a girl. She’s Cass’s girl,” Boulder emphasizes, his voice full of pride like he had done something amazing.

“She’s what? Are you fucking stupid? I told you to go to the fucking bar after hours and trash the place! We don’t fucking kidnap another club’s ol’ lady!” He’s so upset that his whole body is shaking. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“But we can use her as a bargaining chip for him to give us the contacts. Boss, we’re having withdrawals. Look at Jordan. He can hardly function. We need those contacts because we need the meth. Besides, the money we’ll get from the heroin will do the whole club some good. That’s what you said, right?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said, but I didn’t fucking say to do it this way! Look at her! What the fuck were you thinking to beat the hell out of her like that? Do you two have any fucking idea what you’ve just caused?” Asher asks, pacing the room. His fingers grip into his hair and he growls in frustration. He’s on edge, worried even.

I ponder their conversation. Meth. Heroin. Contacts. This is what Scott was talking about when he said they got out of the business. This is why they didn’t like the Hounds because Cass wouldn’t turn over the names of the contacts he used to work with. Everything makes so much sense now.

At least Asher isn’t going to beat me. He sounds appalled at the fact that someone had in the first place.

“Keith said we should take the bartender hostage and go through her phone. He set us up, Asher, I’m telling you!” Jordan hollers.

“You weren’t supposed to say anything about that!” Boulder shoots Jordan a warning glare.

Asher calmly watches the exchange between the two men, his face void of emotion. When Asher doesn’t say anything, Boulder sighs.

“What do we do now?” he asks.

Suddenly, I remember I have a voice. “You could start by, oh, I don’t know, letting me fucking go.” I keep my composure this time, avoiding that shooting pain in my cheek and jaw.

Asher approaches me and stops directly in front of me. He looks at my face and when he lifts his hand I flinch instinctively.

“Stop. I’m not gonna hit you. Let me look at it,” he says softly.

His hand grazes my right temple and I cry out in agony. He jerks his hand back quickly. My face throbs where he touched it. It feels like he punched me, but I know better. I was watching him the whole time. Something crosses his face. Pity, maybe? I’m not sure.

He turns to face Boulder and Jordan. “Go outside and get Keith.”

Asher’s demand is met with obedience as both men exit the room. I hear a door shut down the hall and Asher closes the door behind him. Had he just sent them away to be alone with me? My heart hammers against my chest so hard I can hear it in my ears. Fear begins creeping in.

Adrenaline courses through my veins as Asher walks behind me and grabs the handcuffs. He unclasps one side, then the other. I sigh in relief at being free from my restraints. I instantly pull my hands to my chest and rub my wrists where bruises have already begun to form.

“My apologies for the actions of my men. This was not the plan. I do not condone fucking with someone’s ol’ lady intentionally, certainly not a Hound ol’ lady,” he says, walking back around me.

“I will see to it that they pay for their fuck up.” Asher’s words are sincere, he means what he’s saying. That gives me a sliver of peace, though it’s hard to be at ease still in captivity. Maybe he only shut the door to talk to me.

“Thanks.”

The door opens behind him. Boulder and Jordan emerge with Keith in tow. Keith gives me a sadistic smile that makes me cringe. Asher glowers at the three of them.

“This is what you’re going to do. You’re going to take her to Cass. All three of you, since it was under your instruction that they take her to begin with,” Asher says, glaring at Keith.

“I didn’t instruct them to do shit,” Keith retorts.

“I don’t care if you did or not. I’m just letting you know that the three of you will deliver her to Cass. And you’re going to deliver a message to him when you get there.” Asher’s demand is non-negotiable.

“What message?” Boulder asks.

“Take the girl to the truck, then I’ll tell you. We’ve said enough in front of her,” Asher commands. Jordan snatches me out of the chair by my arm.

“ Hey!” Asher’s loud voice echoes through the room, making me jump.

Jordan stops and looks at Asher. “What?”

“For fuck’s sake try not to fucking hurt her anymore before you return her,” he sighs, pressing his thumb and finger to the bridge of his nose in exasperation. It must be hard to deal with this bunch of idiots all day.

Jordan snarls at Asher and continues to grab my arm and lead me out of the trailer. I don’t ask questions. I don’t like the fact that I have to ride with these guys, the imbeciles that have no fucking sense, but hopefully it’ll be a short ride and I’ll be back home soon enough.

I’ve already decided that once I get back, I will continue on with my life as normal. Work the bar, date Cass, and try to forget this shit ever happened. Or, maybe that isn’t the best idea. What if they come back for me? Would these assholes be the ones to misunderstand directions or go rogue again and kill me next time?

Jordan opens the door of the trailer and walks down the three stairs that are falling apart without offering me a hand. These men have no fucking manners. I walk down the stairs without falling through them, somehow, and follow Jordan to the truck parked in the dimly lit driveway. He opens the back-passenger door and shoves me in. I grunt as my legs hit the running board before I have the time to lift my foot to climb in. Jordan shuts the door once I’m inside and disappears back into the house.

I scan my surroundings, looking to see if I recognize anything but nothing looks familiar. The sky is starting to lighten, and the sun will be coming up shortly. I look at the ignition of the truck, but the keys aren’t in it. Not that it matters. They’re taking me back. I debate making a run for it, but I don’t have the first clue where the hell I’m at.

I sit in the truck for a while before the guys come out of the trailer. They don’t look pleased that they have to return me, Keith included, and I wonder if they actually will.

Keith climbs into the driver’s seat and Jordan gets in the passenger seat while Boulder hops in the back with me. I swear I’m going to die of suffocation from the odor coming off of them before we ever make it out the driveway. The vibe in the truck is weird. The tension in here is thick.

Jordan reaches for the volume knob of the radio and turns it up. Some new rap song plays for a moment before Keith changes the station.

“I ain’t listening to that shit,” he says.

An old country song plays through the speakers as we turn out of the driveway on a back road that doesn’t even have any lines on it. When we turn onto the main highway, I still don’t know where we are. Nothing here looks familiar. We drive for a few minutes before turning into a gas station.

Keith kills the truck and looks at Jordan. “You and Boulder go inside and grab drinks. This is as far as I go.”

Jordan exits the truck and goes into the store with Boulder. Once they’re out of sight, Keith turns around to face me.

“Your time’s gonna come and you’re gonna pay for the shit you just caused. I’ll make damn sure of it.” His tone is harsh. I’m confused. What had I caused? The only thing I did was try to leave work.

I look at him, curious if he’s going to say anything else, but he doesn’t. He grabs the driver’s door and gets out. I watch him walk to one of two motorcycles across the parking lot. There’s a Moccasin on the other one, obviously waiting for Keith.

Boulder and Jordan return with three cokes and two bags of chips. I already know that one of them isn’t for me. Figures. The two motorcycles head in the direction we came from. Boulder turns the opposite direction, hopefully to bring me home.

I ride quietly in the backseat wondering what they did with my phone, if I’ll get it back or if they’re going to keep it. After an hour of driving, I begin to recognize my surroundings. We’re coming through the little town I grew up in, only fifteen minutes from Creek’s.

“Where’s my phone?” I ask, reluctantly.

“In my hand,” Jordan says, lifting it up for me to see.

“Can I have it?” I ask.

“Not ‘til we drop you off.”

I sigh. What difference does it make whether I get it back now or later? They pass up the entrance to Creek’s and my heart sinks in my chest. Why aren’t they taking me to my car? I can get in and drive myself anywhere from there. I try not to panic as so many thoughts flicker through my mind.

Boulder breaks the silence in the truck. “Where’s this place at?”

“Down the road a few more miles, then there’s an entrance on the left-hand side of the street.”

I hear the directions but this location doesn’t sound familiar. Maybe it’s one of the guys’ houses. When Boulder makes a left turn into a private drive, I see a line of motorcycles parked out front of a two-story house. It’s made of dark red brick and looks like it was built in the fifties.

Ten or fifteen Lucifer’s Hounds stand outside in a group, waiting. I can’t make out who all is standing there but I don’t care. These are the men that have my back, whether I know them or not, simply because Cass is their President and I’m his girl.

Boulder puts the truck in park, and we’re surrounded. Leo is on one side of the truck and Shorty is on the other, both with guns trained on the men in the front seats. The doors open and Boulder and Jordan are ripped from the truck.

I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to get out if they don’t know I’m in the truck. The last thing I need is to get shot because I step out unannounced.

Leo shoves Boulder forward and Shorty leads both guys toward the group of Hounds. Leo opens the back door of the truck, his gun aimed right at me.

“Whoa,” I say, putting my hands up.

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry, Lilly.” Leo lowers his gun and turns around to yell. “Hey! She’s in the truck!”

I can hear the guys hollering and my eyes scan through the windshield in search of Cass with no luck. I don’t see him anywhere. Leo offers me a hand and helps me out of the truck, but not before he stares at me wide-eyed, looking at my face.

“Damn, I look that bad?” I ask.

Leo’s face falls. “A little, yeah.”

I step out of the truck with Leo’s help and am surrounded by Lucifer’s Hounds. They walk me to the clubhouse, protected at the center from anything and anyone. I can’t see Boulder or Jordan, not that I care to. They are no longer a threat to me.

Inside the clubhouse is a long bar that takes up the back wall. Behind it is a guy I’ve never seen before and sitting at the bar are Lucifer’s Hounds ol’ ladies. Ryan, Carrie, and Lucy are chatting until I walk in. Their heads whip in my direction and Carrie rushes to my side.

“Oh my god. Lilly.”

Carrie’s face drops when she sees my face. I fight back the tears that threaten as Carrie pulls me into a hug. I can’t hold them back any longer and tears stream down my face as I sob into Carrie’s chest.

“W-where’s C-Cass?” I ask through the sobs that wreak through my chest.

“He’s out looking for you, sweetie,” Carrie whispers into my hair.

Carries guides me to the bar and we sit down. I’m not sure why I’m crying. Maybe it’s the whole being kidnapped and beaten thing. I take a few deep breaths trying to stop the flow of tears. Once I’m certain I can speak without my chest heaving continuously, I look at Carrie.

Carrie gives me a sympathetic smile and that alone almost breaks me again. I finally stop long enough to take in my surroundings. My eyes scan the clubhouse. Leo and Shorty stand outside of a door that, I assume, leads to other men. I don’t see my captors anywhere.

“Hey, Leo. Do you have my phone?” I ask.

“No. It may be in the truck, though. I’ll go look.”

“Thank you.”

I sit down at the bar again in an empty chair between Carrie and Ryan while I wait for Leo to return. My chest still feels like someone has a fist wrapped around my heart, but I have my sobbing under control at least.

“Has anyone called Cass?” I ask.

“I don’t know. The guys are in church right now, but I’m sure they have. If not, those two fuckers that brought you here won’t be the only ones taking an ass kickin’,” Carrie says before taking a sip of the beer in front of her.

That gives me a sense of satisfaction. The thought of these assholes getting at least half of the beating I got. That makes me realize I haven’t seen what my face looks like. I know it hurts like hell.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask.

Carrie points to a door right past the one that Shorty’s standing outside of. I walk into the large bathroom that has a gorgeous shower, a marble countertop with two sinks, and two stalls with toilets.

Behind the marble counter is a large mirror that covers the wall. I gasp as I see my reflection looking back at me. I hardly recognize myself. My right eye is almost swollen shut and a nasty shade of black. My cheek is bruised, and my temple has a knot on it the size of a softball. I fight back tears again. I don’t want to cry because of what they did to me. They don’t deserve my tears.

I only have one thought. Cass is going to be so fucking pissed.

I splash a little bit of cold water on my face and lightly pat it dry, trying not to press too hard on the swollen spots. When I walk out of the bathroom, Leo is standing next to Shorty with his hand outstretched, my phone sitting in his palm.

I take it and return to the bar. Is it too cliché to start drinking right now? Probably. But I do it anyway. The prospect behind the bar must’ve read my mind.

“Do you want something to drink?”

I nod. “As a matter of fact, I’ll take a double Crown and Sprite.”

He walks off, fulfilling my request while Carrie and Ryan eye me suspiciously.

“What?”

“Nothing. We’re just waiting for you to talk,” Ryan says.

“About what?”

“Basically anything. You’re acting strange. You were crying your eyes out one minute then the next your locked up tighter than a nun’s cunt. I don’t know about Carrie, but I’m just trying to figure this shit out.”

“I’m not really sure what to say, but I am sure I want that fucking drink and I want to see Cass,” I say, pointing to the drink that was just sat in front of me.

I down half of it before setting it down on the bar. I unlock my phone and see that there are eighteen texts from Mindy. Shit. There are no unread messages from Cass and that strikes me as odd. I open the thread between us and the last thing that was sent is a photo of me, bloody and beaten and out cold. Before the picture, Cass had texted constantly.

There were at least thirty messages, maybe more. I dial his number and wait. It rings five times before going to voicemail. Anxiety rises in my chest.

“He isn’t answering my call,” I sigh.

“He’s probably on the bike, love,” Carrie says, rubbing my arm.

The door that Shorty and Leo have been guarding swings open and Gater pops his head out. “Lilly, we need you in here. “

I take a breath before walking into the room. I have no idea what’s waiting on the other side of the door, but I know they’re probably going to want details of what happened tonight.

Inside of the room is a long, wide black table similar to the one in Cass’s office at the shop. There are twelve chairs around the table, but only six men are in the room, including Gater.

He stands at the head of the table, no doubt filling in since Cass isn’t here. The other men in the room are men I’ve never seen before. My eyes scan over them one at a time. Next to Gater sits a dark-skinned man with jet-black, slicked back hair. His name patch deems him Mario and he has a sadness in his eyes when he looks at me.

Next to Mario is a man that is the polar opposite. He has ivory skin and his hair, although under a hat, has a tint of red. His name is self-explanatory—Red. Next to Red is an older man with soft, light eyes but his rough exterior will keep most people from noticing that detail. His name patch is in old English lettering and labels him ‘Old School’.

Next to Old School is a large, bald, stocky man. His head looks freshly shaved and the look on his face alone is enough to intimidate anyone. He has this look about him that says, ‘I’ll fucking kill you’. His name patch states his name is Snapper. Rightfully so.

Digger sits next to Snapper. He’s young, looks like he just graduated from high school. His baby face doesn’t make him look like much of a biker, but that shit’s in the heart anyway, so who am I to judge?

“We talked to the throw-aways, say they won’t give out any information unless it’s to Cass,” Gater says to me.

“Throw-aways?” I ask. I understand who he’s talking about but that’s a new term to me.

“Yeah. Throw-aways. Expendable. Trash. Druggies that they aren’t worried about. They only let them into their club to do their dirty work and if they get caught then the club washes their hands of them most of the time.” Snapper’s voice is deep, but somehow soft when he speaks.

“What?” he asks, looking past me at Gater.

I look between the two of them and Gater’s face says Snapper should stop talking. While the two of them stare one another down, I speak up.

“Where’s Cass?”

“Him and Scott are on their way here. We called him when you showed up,” Gater states, annoyed that he has to speak to me.

A flood of relief envelopes me. I’m finally going to get to see him and be safe in his arms where I belong.

“What are y’all going to do with the throw-aways?” I ask, my voice void of any concern. I don’t care either way, I’m just curious.

“We’ll take care of them, don’t worry,” Old School says. His sadistic grin somehow makes me feel at ease.

“We were going to ask you some questions. That’s why I called you in here, but it sounds like Prez is here.” Gater points toward the door.

I don’t wait for another word. I’m out the door and barreling into the parking lot. An exhausted Scott stands next to an even more exhausted Cass. They look tired and pissed. Cass’s eyes light up when he sees me. My feet are beyond my control because before I can tell them to, I’m in a full blown sprint across the parking lot.

I don’t slow down as I close the distance between, I simply barrel into his arms. He stumbles back but regains his footing quickly. He wraps me in his arms, my feet hanging just above the ground. His head is buried into the nape of my neck and for a moment, it feels like nothing has ever gone wrong. That fades quickly when Cass sets me down and stares at me. His expression morphs from one of relief to anger in the same second.

“Hi,” I say, smiling as best I can.

“Hi.” Cass places his hand under my chin, guiding it in different directions as he inspects the damage. His nostrils flare each time his eyes land on a different wound. I’m not sure when he got here, but Scott is standing next to Cass staring at me. His facial expression is unreadable, expressionless, but there is a darkness in his eyes that scares me. It’s like a storm brewing, but not one that comes on strong at first. No, this is not that kind of storm. It’s like the eye of a hurricane. A quiet, dark calm before the storm.

“Stop,” I whisper, fighting tears as Cass eyes me. I can’t handle much more of the look on his face.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, holding me in his arms. I rest my head on his chest and breathe in the scent of leather and Cass. He says something to Scott that I can’t make out and then Scott’s footsteps trail off, getting further away with each step. He must have sent him inside for something.

I don’t move, and that doesn’t seem to bother Cass. He leans against his bike, keeping me close. Cass is shaking and I can’t figure out why. I lean my head and look up at him and when the air touches my face, I realize it’s wet. I’m crying. I’m the one shaking.

“What did they do to you?” Cass asks through gritted teeth.

“Did they….” He stops, unable to finish his sentence.

“No. No. All they did was beat the shit out of me,” I reassure him.

He lets out a ragged breath and looks down into my eyes. Something unfamiliar lingers in his stare. Relief? Fear? I can’t put my finger on it.

“I was terrified the whole time you were gone. And then I got that fucking picture and I almost lost it. I was scared I wouldn’t get to you in time.” His expression is sad. He’s genuinely upset. He really does care about me.

“I’m okay now, though, baby.”

I try to comfort him and laugh at the gesture.

“What?” He looks at me, confusion etched onto his face.

“I’m the one who was kidnapped and beaten, yet I feel compelled to comfort you,” I laugh, a genuine, gut-wrenching laugh and damn does it feel good.

Cass chuckles, a small smile forming on his face. His eyes are alight with adoration, boring into mine. The muscles in my stomach clench, remembering his promise the last time I saw him. I shake my head as if to shake the thought from my mind. That’s the last thing I should be doing right now.

“I have to tell you something,” Cass says, his hand reaching up to brush the knot on my temple.

I flinch away from his hand, trying to stifle the scream that beckoned at the pain. Cass drops his hand to my waist and wraps his arm around me again.

“I love you, Lilly Summers.”

What? He what? Did he just say he loves me? I know he didn’t just say he loves me.

I stare at a smiling Cass who seems slightly worried that I won’t say it back. I smile at him as my stomach does a somersault.

“And I love you, Caiden Sonnier. I think I have since the very first night I met you,” I say, fighting back tears that are blurring my vision. He kisses me gently, as if I’m a breakable piece of fine China. I ride the high from his kiss. Or his words. Either way, I’m high on what he’s doing to me.

“Hey, Prez.” Scott’s voice jolts me back to reality. I turn around to see Scott, Old School, and Snapper standing behind Jordan and Boulder. Instantly, I can feel Cass’s energy shift, sobering me up and ripping me from that euphoric state I lulled in only a moment ago.

Cass steps around me and approaches the men with an eerie calmness. I stare, in awe at how he maintains so much control over himself without leading with his emotions. Before I finish the thought, Cass delivers a blow directly to Boulder’s temple. Boulder’s head bounces with the connection and he lets out a scream. Pussy.

“They say they have a message for you,” Scott says, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

“They do?” Cass’s laughter startles me. He is full-on laughing .

“Well, come on boys. Don’t be shy,” Snapper says, jabbing Jordan in the back.

Jordan looks over at Boulder, fear written across his face. He fucked up and he knew it.

“Asher sent us with a message to give to you, and only you,” he says, shakily.

“Spit it out.” Cass demands.

“Give us what we want. We’ve already proven we can take from you and do whatever we want. Give us our contact list that’s rightfully ours or more shit like this will continue. You brought this on yourselves,” Jordan says it as if he’s reading it from a book. Like he had rehearsed it a million times.

Old School reaches into his cut and pulls out something. He hands it to Cass, who turns to look at me. He mouths the words, “I’m sorry” before turning to face the two men.

Jordan starts twitching, freaking out. “No, man. Come on, no. Don’t do this!” he shouts.

I look closer at the object in Cass’s hand. It’s a pistol. Son of a bitch.

I note that the guys have moved away from the two throw-aways and Cass points the pistol at Boulder first. He doesn’t make a sound. Doesn’t beg. Doesn’t whine. He simply stands there, defeated.

The sound of the gunshot makes me jump as the bullet pierces directly between Boulder’s eyes. His lifeless body falls to the ground with a thud. Without hesitation, Cass shoots Jordan in the same manner.

Everyone is standing outside the clubhouse now, looking at the scene before them. No one looks surprised, not even the ol’ ladies. They act like this is normal. Probably because it is.

I’m in love with a murderer, yet somehow, I’m okay with that.

Cass looks at the men and women standing before him. I take my place at his side, unphased by the fact that he still holds a gun in his hand.

He places a chaste kiss on top of my head, his eyes silently pleading for my forgiveness, before turning to look at the crew of Hounds behind him.

“They want a fucking war; I’ll give them a fucking war.”

THE END…FOR NOW…