Page 23 of Unmasked Anarchy (Fallen Sons MC #3)

I wake in a stale, dark room. The faint scent of blood lingers in the air, and before my brain has even registered that I am awake, the memories come flashing back. The cartel took me. They were the ones behind it all along. Of course they were, and of course it linked back to Gage.

It always links back to Gage.

My eyes spring open and I stare around the room, pulse racing as I take in the space. Just like I’ve been taught. Concrete walls, no windows, and a blood-stained floor. A dull light hangs overhead, swinging back and forth as the rusty old fan on the wall rotates around the room.

I’m bound to a chair, hands pinned behind my back, ankles tied together.

Everything in my body is numb and I wiggle my fingers and toes, letting the sensations slowly come back.

First is the ache in my wrists, then the sharp tingle in my hands, then, finally, the taste of iron in my mouth.

Blood—old, coppery, sticky on my tongue.

I move my jaw, working it loose, jawbone creaking.

I must have taken a hit at some point. The right side feels swollen, tender to the touch.

Focus, Sable.

I jerk my chin upward and scan the ceiling.

Just a flat gray slab. Nothing to count, nothing to mark the minutes.

The only way I’ll know how long I’m here is if I keep count myself.

Five, maybe ten seconds pass. No voices behind the wall, no footsteps in the hall.

Not a single sound except the old, rusty fan.

I shift my feet, testing the rope around my ankles. They know what they’re doing—nylon cord, double knotted, biting into the skin so hard I can already feel the purpled skin beneath. Hands behind my back, no give at all. A bitter laugh escapes my throat. Only I would end up here.

I focus on counting my heartbeats, trying to calm myself.

Fifty, maybe sixty, before the door scrapes open.

It’s loud and deliberate. I let my eyes settle on it, just as two men enter the doorway.

The first guy is small, wiry, too clean-cut for the cartel which makes me think he is an associate, probably a businessman gone rogue.

The second guy, on the other hand, is something else.

Old school, reeking of cigarettes and leather.

He looks expensive, if you can ever call a cartel enforcer that.

Black suit, white shirt, no tie, gold cuff links that catch the sickly light from above.

He has an empty coldness to his eyes and a permanent smirk on his face, as if he knows the world can’t touch him.

He steps forward, boots ringing hollow on the concrete, and crouches so his face is level with mine.

His smile is wide, lips stretched too thin over his teeth.

He takes me in, looking at me like I’m nothing more than an obstacle in his way.

He almost looks bored, as if he expected me to be something else entirely.

“This her?”

Wiry man shrugs. “She doesn’t look like much.”

He’s rewarded with a snort from the boss man, who leans in, nostrils flaring.

“Aren’t you a little fuckin’ dainty to be causing me this much trouble?”

“Didn’t think men like you would be scared of a little girl like me. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me.”

His hand moves so fast I don’t see it coming. A backhand—open palm, but with intense force. My head snaps sideways. For a second, I see white, then the room spins back into place. Something wet ripples out from my nose, and it takes a second before I taste blood on my lips.

He shakes his hand off, like hitting me dirtied him. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know. And then I’ll decide if you get to keep your tongue.”

“I don’t know shit,” I say, spitting blood onto his shoes.

He smirks, standing up to his full height. He’s taller than I realized. “That’s the thing, girly, I don’t actually need you to know anything. It would be helpful, but I can live without it. After all, you’re bait and that is going to get me everything I need eventually.”

I roll my eyes and tip my head back. “What, you think Gage is going to come running for me? Please. He wouldn’t care if you sent him my tongue in the mail.”

Boss man grins, unbothered by my attempt to change his thinking.

“He’ll come, because he can’t help himself.

Besides, it’s not just him we’re after. You have more than one man interested in you, girly.

We are going to wipe out every last piece of garbage trying to cut into my product.

You, sweetheart, are going to bring them right to my doorstep. ”

Kael.

He’s going to bring the Sons’ right here, too.

This isn’t just about Gage.

This is about all of them.

My heart skips a beat, but I won’t show him how scared I am. That’s what he wants, that’s what they all want. I’m not going to give it to him.

“Why me?” I ask. “I’m nobody. The Sons’ kicked me out. Nobody gives a crap about me, buddy.”

He laughs. I hate that sound—smooth, slow poison poured into my ears. “Nice try, but I already know everything that went down.”

He steps close again, this time placing one swollen-knuckled hand on my chin and tilting my face upward. His fingers are cold and calloused.

“You’re not nobody,” he goes on. “You’re the reason for everything. If you hadn’t have run off with that biker, making your husband crazy, then we wouldn’t have been given the chance to kill two birds with one stone. I already had Gage where I wanted him, until them.”

He presses his thumb into my jaw, hard enough that I wince.

“You were supposed to be a message to Gage originally, but my useless men fucked it up and you lived. No matter, it worked out better for me. How is that scar? I heard it was quite a mess...”

“Go fuck yourself,” I spit.

He circles the chair, boots scraping on the concrete in slow, deliberate time.

I tug against the binding on my wrists, already knowing it’s pointless, but I keep at it.

He stops behind me, and I hear the click of a lighter, the inhale of a cigarette.

Smoke drifts over my shoulder, curls in front of my face, and makes my nose sting.

“Here’s how this is going to go, Sable. You’re not stupid, you know exactly what happens next.

Your boys, the ones who think they’re knights, are going to track you here. That’s the point.”

He steps around to the front again, flicks a bit of ash onto the floor, and leans in, exhaling smoke directly into my face.

My eyes water, but I glare flat and empty at him.

“Gage will come, even if you think he won’t.

Your biker boyfriend,” he grins as he says it, “will come running, too. I made damn sure of that. Left a trail even the dumbest of them could follow.”

I don’t waver, even though inside, I am terrified of what he is going to say next.

“When they get here, I’ll have every single one in the same place.

I won’t just kill ‘em. I’ll make it a show, make an example.

The kind of message nobody forgets.” He grins at something only he can see, lets the silence dangle.

“Then, while they’re fighting amongst themselves, over you, I am going to fucking blow the lot of them.

An explosive that will send their heads flying.

All the cops will see is a club war that ended in disaster. I walk free.”

A cold prickle rides down my spine. He isn’t bullshitting.

This is bad.

So fucking bad.

He flicks his cigarette into the corner, then squats down, face a half inch from mine. I smell nicotine and aftershave. “All you gotta do,” he says, “is sit pretty and wait.”

“They’re smarter than you think,” I hiss. “They won’t fall for your pathetic plan.”

He stands, laughs, and this time the sound is real—rich and poisonous. “Tough act,” he says to the wiry man, who grins. “No wonder the clubs are obsessed.”

He heads for the door, and the wiry guy follows, not another word is spoken.

He has said all he needs to say. I think about the plan.

He’s left a trail. He wants them to come, and they will.

Every single one of them, and likely, other chapters.

So many bodies, all walking straight into the kill box.

I feel the fear, raw and physical in my stomach, but I shove it down.

I need to think.

I can’t let this happen.

If I could get free, even for a second, maybe I could flip the script. Warn them, at least. But the knots are cruel, the chair solid. The room is completely empty. There is nothing. Nothing for me to use for escape. I scoot the chair an inch, two, then give up as my arms start to tingle numb again.

Think, Sable.

It doesn’t matter how much I wrack my brain, I can’t think of a way to get out of here.

These men are smart, they would have thought every possible scenario through.

They’re not going to fall for the old sickness, or fainting trick.

They’re not going to leave weapons that I can cut myself loose with.

My stomach drops.

I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this alive.

Worse, I don’t know how I’m going to save the club.

Both of them, for that matter.

~*~*~*~*~*~

T HE NEXT MORNING, I wake to a clatter in the hall.

My neck is cramped, my hands swollen, and my back is soaked in cold sweat.

I must have eventually passed out last night.

My mouth is dry and my throat burns. I flex my fingers, wincing, and force myself to take account: still tied, still hopeless, but still alive.

The door bangs open and a young man walks in.

He isn’t much older than me, maybe twenty-five or six, but he already has the face of someone who’s had it punched one too many times.

Acne scars on his cheeks, hair buzzed too close to the scalp, shirt stained with something brown.

His eyes flick over me, and he shows nothing.

Not a single thing.