Page 48 of Tear Me Down (Descent to Darkness Trilogy #2)

The sitting man gestures to the two chairs sitting in front of the desk, making it more apparent that he’s in charge.

A patch with the word ‘President’ is stitched across the left side of his chest, and after he lowers his hand, he sits back in his chair like we’ve just walked into his kingdom.

The one standing, whose vest reads ‘Vice-President’ doesn’t move an inch, almost like if he starts moving he won’t be able to stop and would barrel through whatever necessary to get to us.

Whatever this impromptu meeting is about, it’s serious, and I’m afraid that they think DH has done something wrong to them.

Damien pulls me over to the chairs, and he sits in the one on the right.

He places his hand on the back of the left one so he can assert that I'm his once I sit, but I have a better idea. I know how leaders try to intimidate others, especially those who believe that nothing can touch them. So, I sit on Damien’s lap, staring right at the man behind the desk to assert my loyalty up front.

I feel my fiancé smirk against the space behind my ear as he wraps his arm around my waist, while mine lays around his neck.

The men that escorted us inside don’t leave, but they stand at the edges of the room to listen.

All of them stand at attention and stare at us like we’re going to make a break for it, but our confident posture will tell them otherwise.

“We’d heard you had an old lady, D. I like her spirit,” the president says with present attitude, clearly trying to prove his point that he’s been keeping tabs on us.

“What is this about, Grease?” I hope that’s his biker name . “This couldn’t have been a phone call?” Damien retorts.

“I thought you had Dust under control? We don’t cross into your territory, and you don’t cross into ours. Yet it seems the druggies are growing a pair of balls,” the president retorts, his patience obviously wearing thin.

“You going to tell me what you’re talking about?

Or are we going to sit here and play twenty questions?

I don’t have time for your shit,” Damien spits out as his grip on my waist tightens.

He clearly doesn’t like being here, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m here with him, or if there is actually bad blood between them somewhere.

“OUR shit?!” The VP slams his hand on the desk, causing the sturdy wood to quake hard enough for us to feel it from our seats.

“Dust is YOUR problem! The MC’s are ours!

That’s the deal! And yet you let Dust slip away with my old lady!

” Ice shoots through my veins at his words, and I feel Damien tense under my hold, clearly unaware of this revelation.

Considering this guy’s wife is missing, maybe sitting on his lap wasn’t the best idea .

“Care to elaborate?” he says, trying to come off as unaffected as possible.

“Maria, his wife, was taken from their house last night,” Grease says much calmer than the VP.

“How do you know it was Dust and not someone he pissed off?” Damien says with an accusatory tone, earning a warning glare from the muscle man, and Grease starts typing on his computer before turning the screen to us.

He clicks a key, and a video starts to play, instantly showing a grainy, but mostly clear recording.

It looks like it is from a doorbell camera, only showing us their driveway, sidewalk, yard, and half of the street.

We watch as a woman, who I’m assuming is Maria, gets out of her car, and as soon as she takes a step onto the walkway towards their door, a black van screeches up and three men run out—all of which are tall, clearly fit, and covered head to toe with black.

They each have long pants, sleeves, and a balaclava hiding their features.

She tries to fight, even pulls a gun, but they’re on her too quickly, practically tackling her and trying to wrangle her like a steer.

As she tries to fight back, one of the men hits her on the back of the head, and the two others carry her into the van before they speed away.

“The man that hit her?” Grease continues and clicks over to a screen shot of the video to reveal a tattoo of a small dagger running over the man’s thumb.

“Matches saw him early this morning completing a deal with a known Dust mule on the edge of town, for those new pills floating around. My guess is they needed more workers. You know Dust uses women to make most of their drugs.”

Damien growls low, but keeps his composure as he responds.

“They do when they’re in the warehouses, but they’ve been popping up less and less, using other means to manufacture, and this looks targeted.

Dust tends to pray on women walking down the street or out bar hopping.

This was at your house. Which, to me, is very odd.

It’s a large escalation for them. You got anything else I can go off of?

” Damien leans forward and takes a picture of the man’s tattoo with his phone, and I watch his screen as he immediately sends it to Carter.

“Yeah, Matches managed to follow him, see if he would take him to Maria. Technically, he did, but it’s way out of our reach and too many guards for us to handle without putting her in the crossfire.”

“How big is the building?” Damien asks, not bothering to look up as he types a message out.

“It’s a two-story home.”

Damien snaps his head up to that response, clearly taken off guard, and that might be the most concerning look I’ve seen on his face this entire encounter. He has every reason to be shocked—just from the little I know, they’ve never done that before.

“That’s new. ”

“We thought so, too,” Grease agrees.

“Location?”

“Out past Gunther’s Farm, down an unmarked dirt road. Goes back into the forest about three miles.”

“That’s also an odd location. That’s nowhere near downtown, or civilization for that matter.

There’s no way they would be able to transport the shit they need being that far out.

” Damien continues to try and reason with him, though, I’m not sure that’s possible for the VP, who is practically buzzing with hostile energy.

“That’s what we thought, too.”

“This may not be Dust—not completely, anyway. If they’re delving into deeper shit, we’ll handle it,” Damien reassures him.

“The bottom line is you need to help us get my wife!” The man next to Grease yells out as he lunges, but he’s stopped in place by Grease as he holds a hand out and plants his palm to the VP’s heaving chest.

“We’re politely asking, of course, regardless of Viking’s anger. You know I respect the fuck out of you, D, but if this is Dust, I'm kicking your ass.”

“If it’s Dust, I'll let you.” Damien contemplates for a moment, clenching his jaw and thinking through the evidence. “Alright. We’ll go grab some equipment while I drop her off, and as soon as I'm back, we’ll head out.”

“Nah, you can. She stays as collateral,” the man, Viking, says while nudging his head to me, and in an instant, the entire mood takes a deep dive—plummeting to a dark place as Viking’s words sink in.

Damien immediately stands, holding me tight to his body, and draws his pistol, pointing it at Viking without hesitation.

We hear several more clicks as everyone but Grease points their guns back at us.

“You've lost your fucking mind!” Damien roars so loudly that I can feel his chest reverberate.

“Everyone stand the fuck down,” Grease says, clearly aggravated.

I can hear the men behind us lower their weapons, but Damien and Viking don’t.

Instead, they stare at each other with pure hatred, like at any wrong movement, they would shoot each other without blinking.

Grease turns to him and places a strong grip on his shoulder, showing authority and concern at the same time.

“Stand the fuck down, Vike. Keep your head straight. We don’t want this problem with him.

You want your old lady? Knock it off.” He turns back to us, clearly trying to keep his own anger at bay.

“How about this? Call one of your guys to bring your supplies. He can hang here with her while we go and scope. She’ll be fine here, D—we don’t hurt women, and it’s insurance that you won’t bail. ”

“It seems one of you might hurt her,” Damien seethes, and Grease holds a hand up gently, trying to calm him down.

“He’s obviously upset, but he wouldn’t hurt her.

She has nothing to do with this,” Grease argues, and glances back at Viking, nodding once and ushering him to cautiously lower his gun, but Damien keeps his pointed, contemplating on whether to kill him anyway just for the threat.

I turn in his hold to face him and delicately place my hand on his chest, rubbing his heaving muscles tenderly to get his attention.

“I’ll be fine,” I whisper to him, but that doesn’t help.

He still points the gun, breathing heavily, like if he doesn’t pull the trigger it’ll ruin him.

“What if it was me?” I add, knowing that will make him think.

He looks down at me with that anger for only a split moment, but his face softens, and I can feel the muscles in his torso relax.

He looks back to Viking, clearly torn and at war between his thoughts and his emotions, but he ends up lowering his gun.

“He doesn’t go. If he’s this unhinged, we don’t need him getting himself killed,” Damien demands.

“Done.”

“No fucking way!” Viking screams back, and Grease shoves his hand into his chest.

“Shut the fuck up and sit down! He’s right.

You are not in the right spot. Ahora es el momento de que escuches .

” Viking snarls and then sits in the corner of the room like a child in time out before Grease turns back to us.

“Call your guy,” he demands through gritted teeth, clearly getting more aggravated by the second.

Damien turns us and walks out of the office, leading me back outside with a firm grip around my waist. As soon as we walk off to the side, he releases me and pulls out his phone, not wasting a second to put it to his ear angrily.

“Carter, meet me at the MC. Bring the new surveillance and infiltration gear in the Charger, and pack yourself a fucking gun… Now, I need you here now … You'll be staying here with Ashia… Alright.” He hangs up and runs his hand through his hair, grabbing the base of it in anger. I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his torso, pressing myself against him so he can feel that I’m here.

“I’ll be fine, baby. You heard Grease talking; he doesn’t want to get on your bad side,” I try to reassure him.

“Oh, he’s already fucking there.”

“I know, but if you guys already have some kind of truce then maybe we should comply.” He grabs the back of my head with one of his hands and nudges our foreheads together, taking a shaky breath in as he tries to contain himself.

“What kind of truce is it?” I ask, trying to focus his mind on something he can hang on to.

“They sell marijuana. Of course, it’s not illegal anymore, but distribution is, and they don’t mind selling to teens.

Plus, they own a couple of the major strip clubs in town and run gambling and fighting rings.

As long as they don’t get into selling heavy shit, and stay away from Dust, we stay away from them.

” He buries his nose in my hair and takes a deep breath in.

“A couple of years ago, another MC tried to take them out, and it put a few civilians in the way. Ten people died, and I came after them. They… explained the situation, an d we agreed that as long as they handled it, we’d stay out of each other’s way.

We allow them to get guns from DJ, but we always get first go ‘round when he gets new shipments in. We’ve been fine. Until now.”

“Do you think Dust took her? From what you were saying, it doesn’t sound like they did.”

He shakes his head and pulls back just a little.

“No, I don’t think so. One of their guys may have bought from Dust, but this feels different.” He takes another deep breath in, and I run my hands up and down his shaky back.

“They just need your help, baby. Go save this woman, and then I'm sure all will be fine again.”

He grits his teeth and shakes his head in quick succession.

“There's no reason for them to keep you here.”

“I agree, but they’re on edge and don’t have the resources to get her back. So, we're just going to have to play nice. Carter will be here,” I add, trying to lighten my worry.

“Yeah, and that pisses me off too. Carter’s a terrible shot.” I giggle and he smirks barely.

“It’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Stay focused, I don’t want you getting hurt.” He leans down and gently kisses me, cupping my face in his strong hand and caressing my cheek softly.

“You know I'm going to worry.”

“I know, but I thought I would try.”