Vicious Cycle

  Her face was mere inches from mine when I whispered, “Don’t leave.”

  Tilting her head, she gazed up at me. “Why?” she questioned in almost a whisper.

  “Because I don’t want you to.”

  “Why?” she repeated.

  Gritting my teeth, I glared down at her. “Because I fucking don’t want to see your aggravating ass go.”

  She blinked before turning back to the spray to rinse her hands of the soap. When she started to reach for the curtain, I grabbed her hand. “Because I care about you. A lot.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, I fucking do.”

  “I care about you, too.” Alex’s hand came up to cup my cheek. “And because of how I feel about you, I really don’t want to go anywhere.”

  My brows shot up in surprise. “Even after everything that’s happened?”

  “If I truly searched myself, the answer would still be yes.”

  With a teasing grin, I asked, “You want a little of the outlaw life, White-Bread?”

  “No. I just want more of you. Regardless of the risks or the obstacles, I want you.”

  The seriousness of both her words and her expression wiped the grin off my face. We were at a hell of a crossroads right now. Really it was more like standing on the edge of a cliff. “You deserve better than me,” I argued softly.

  “I know,” she replied, the corners of her lips fluttering as if she was trying not to smile. “As long as you try hard to make yourself worthy of me, I think we’ll be fine.”

  I couldn’t help the corners of my lips turning up at her statement. It didn’t stop me from countering, “I ain’t never had to work for a woman.”

  “Maybe you never had one worth working for.”

  I gazed into her dark eyes—ones that were now battle worn from what she’d been through tonight—and I realized how right she was. I’d never been with a woman who was book smart and educated. I’d never had a woman who cared enough about one of my brothers that she would sacrifice more of her time to help him pass the GED. I hadn’t seen one of my conquests ever talk sweet or be considerate to my mother. Nor had any of them been as kind and compassionate to my daughter.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  Her eyes flared at my response. We kept staring at each other until I finally cleared my throat. “Come on. We need to get you out of here.”

  Alex gave a quick nod of her head before I stepped out of the shower. Offering her my hand, I helped her out. I grabbed a towel and handed it to her while I went about toweling myself off. Her breath came in tiny gasps and hisses as she tried patting dry her broken skin.

  After wrapping the towel around my waist, I headed out into the bedroom. Just like I had asked, Mama Beth had laid some pajamas out for Alex on the bed. I grabbed them and then went back inside the bathroom. Alex held out a tube of Neosporin. “Can you do the ones on my back?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I murmured, handing her the pajamas. As gently as I could, I dabbed the cream over her broken skin. I knew we would need to repeat this several times a day so she wouldn’t scar. She had much too beautiful skin for it to be flawed. It would also mean a physical reminder of what she had been through.

  When I was finished, Alex slipped on her pajamas. I went about picking a shirt and a pair of jeans I would be willing to throw away as Alex dried her hair. I came out of the closet to find her sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest. Without a word, I went over to the bedroom door and opened it. “Breakneck?” I called.

  His footsteps echoed down the hallway from the living room. When he came into the bedroom, Alex eyed him cautiously. “I’m going to give you something to help you sleep. Your body and your mind need uninterrupted rest, and often after a trauma, our minds can’t seem to shut down to let the body rest.”

  “You’ll stay with me, won’t you?” Alex asked me.

  “Of course,” I lied. The truth was, the moment she was asleep I had business to take care of—business that wouldn’t wait.

  She nodded at Breakneck. After digging a syringe out of his bag he stepped over to her. Alex winced as the needle entered her arm. Once it was over, she eased back to lie down in the bed. Her eyes sought out mine, pleading for me to join her.

  After I gave Breakneck a grateful pat on the back, I went over to the bed. As soon as I stretched out, Alex burrowed herself against me, laying her head on my chest. I wrapped one of my arms around her, trying to give her the shelter and safety she so desperately needed. “Talk to me,” she whispered.

  “About what?”

  “Anything. I just want to hear your voice.”

  As I racked my brain, trying to think of something to talk about, I finally settled on a story. “The first day I came to live with Preacher Man and Mama Beth was both scary and happy. While it was weird having parents again, it was an entirely different story having two new brothers. …”

  When Alex’s labored breaths signaled she had finally fallen asleep, I slowly began to extricate myself from her embrace. Whatever was in the shot that Breakneck had given her had sufficiently knocked her out. She didn’t even stir as I slid off the mattress and stood over her. It felt good to finally see her peaceful. Of course, her face, marred with bruises and cuts, along with the rest of her exposed skin, didn’t appear peaceful. It was the badge of someone who had been through terrible trauma.

  A trauma that I was going to ensure was avenged. I opened the door to find Rev and Bishop both standing outside. Just a jerk of my head answered their unasked question. I may have been caring and tender in the last two hours, but now I was ready to go to work. In silence, we walked down the hallway. In the living room, I found Mama Beth and Kim staring expectantly at us. “Can you guys go sit with Alex? I have some things I need to take care of.”

  They didn’t bother questioning what kind of business would take me from the bedside of the wounded woman I cared for. They had spent enough time with Raiders men to know what I was about to do. Mama Beth reached up to cup my cheek, tears brimming in her eyes. While she couldn’t condone my actions, I knew she grasped my reasoning. Then she trudged down the hall with Kim behind her.

  We headed out into the dark night. Silence hung heavy around us. We were all weighted down with the task ahead of us. Even if Rev and Bishop didn’t lay a hand on Alex’s attacker, they would share in his demise just by witnessing it, and in turn, they would have blood on their hands.

  When we got to the clubhouse, members still milled around. At the sight of what had to be my grim, yet determined, expression, they moved out of my way. As I pounded down the basement stairs, the familiar rush of adrenaline began to pump through my veins. Blood pounded hard in my ears, drowning out the sound of my boots on the wooden stairs.

  If Willow had been frightened by the basement at Mama Beth’s, she would have pissed her pants at the sight of the one at the roadhouse. Stark white walls that often had to be repainted to cover the blood stains were illuminated by a lone lightbulb that hung on a chain and cast eerie-looking shadows into the four corners of the room. On one of the walls was a rack that resembled something out of a medieval torture chamber. Next to it sat a table filled with tools of torture.

  I jerked my chin at Case and Boone before turning my attention back to the task at hand. In the middle of the room, Alex’s attacker was strung up to one of the hooks hanging from the ceiling. His arms, which were covered in multicolored ink, stretched taut over his head, and I knew the position had to hurt like hell after a while. But he deserved it. He deserved every fucking thing I was about to give him.

  He was conscious now. He eyeballed me as I strolled up to him with a shit-eating sneer plastered on my face. “What’s this fucker’s name?” I questioned.

  “Name on his cut says ‘Crank,’ but his ID says Keith McGuiness,” Mac replied from behind me.

  Staring him straight in the eye, I said, “Crank, you fucked with the wrong man.”

  He mumbled something at me behind his gag. Cupping my ea
r, I said, “Sorry. Can’t hear you.”

  This time when he screamed it, I could pretty much make out the “fuck you!” but I still reached forward to one side and yanked off the gag. The force was so hard that two of his teeth popped out and clattered onto the floor. “Sorry about that. But you won’t be needing those when I’m through with you.”

  Crank’s reply was to spit a stream of blood, which spattered onto my boots. For the moment, I chose to ignore it. “Sigel sent you to rough up my girl. Thought it would draw me out for his revenge, right?”

  Crank didn’t respond. Holding out my hand, I waited for one of the brothers to hand me a tool. A set of pliers was placed into my palm. “You gonna answer me?”

  When he continued to ignore me, I brought the pliers up to his hands. In rapid-fire succession, I cracked and broke the knuckles on one of his hands. Trying not to give me the satisfaction of his pain, he sucked in breath and panted it out, refusing to scream. Once I did the other hand, he did cry out as his hands, searing with pain, jerked and convulsed against his bindings.

  “I’ll ask you again. Didn’t Sigel sic you on Alex so he could draw me out to get revenge?”

  Once again, he only stared me down with pure venom boiling in his eyes. Over the years, I’d come across men like Crank—tough nuts to crack. Well, unless you actually cracked their nuts, and then they’d start singing like canaries. So I went back to work, but this time I replaced the gag.

  After using the pliers to pluck off each of his fingernails, I handed the bloodied tool back to Bishop. He then handed me a crowbar. With almost the same stance as a golfer, I leaned back before putting all my strength into landing a solid blow into his right kneecap. A muffled scream broke through the gag, but I ignored it. Instead, I launched the crowbar into the left kneecap, shattering it on impact.

  Crank now hung precariously by his arms, unable to support his weight by his broken knees. Sweat poured off his face, which twitched with the pain that ran over his body. I ripped off the gag again. “Just tell me yes, and this will go a lot easier.”

  Eyeballing me momentarily, Crank croaked, “Fuck you.”

  “No, man. I’ll fuck you with the rusty end of this crowbar if you don’t start talking.”

  “Should’ve slit your brat’s throat when I had the chance,” he spat.

  “Excuse me?”

  A menacing smile curved on his lips. “I could’ve fucked her every which way before slitting her throat, but Sigel said no.”

  I swallowed hard at the image he had painted—one I was all too familiar with using during torture scenes. I just sure as hell wasn’t used to having the tables turned on me. Without another thought, I launched the crowbar at his lower back, nailing his kidney. He screamed, a combination of spit and blood spewing from his mouth. After nailing the other one, I allowed him a moment to ride the wave of pain. “Are you going to tell me shit, or should I just end you now?”

  “End me,” he groaned.

  “Fine.” Tossing the crowbar onto the table, I took the long bowie knife. Eyeing the tats on his chest, I shook my head. With methodic precision, I began to slice at each of the tats that represented his ties to the Nordic Knights and the venomous hate they spewed.

  I don’t know how much time passed or when Crank finally stopped screaming. When I glanced up at him, his eyes had glazed over, and I knew he was in the shadowy area where you have one toe still in the living and another one over the line into death. Taking the blade, I slashed it across his wrists. His once-groggy state turned over to panic as the last of his life force spurted and flowed out onto the cement and down the drain in the floor.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I gauged my brothers’ responses. Only Rev wore a look of disgust. I’m sure he felt I’d gone too far, regardless of what Crank had done to Alexandra. Without a word to any of them, I walked down the length of the room to the shower. After pulling off my blood-saturated clothes, I ducked under the water. As I got rid of the physical evidence of my crime, my brothers worked at getting Crank down.

  Lathering up my body, I watched as they rolled him in plastic and then in a tarp. He would be deposited on the doorsteps of his clubhouse sometime tonight. It would involve a major production plan of changing unmarked cars to go into Knights territory. Most likely a runner—someone who worked for the club on odd jobs—would end up tossing the body, so that none of us would be connected to the crime by the Feds. But Sigel would know loud and clear who’d ended Crank.

  After I showered, I slipped on the sweatpants and T-shirt that Archer brought to me. Although I should’ve gone back home to Alexandra, I headed out of the clubhouse toward the woods. Before I could be with her again, I had to get my head on straight. While there had been many kills in my life, they still all affected me. My emotions got jangled, and I would need some time to decompress.

  With only my gun and flashlight, I tromped through the brush and headed into the woods to the one place I always went to find solace and healing.

  As I slipped into a groggy consciousness, my limbs felt too heavy and laden down to move. Blinking furiously, I struggled to open my eyes. The moment my lids finally flew open, everything that had happened the night before came crashing down on me like a building crumbling in on itself. A scream tore from my lips as a reel of images assaulted me. The arms and legs that I had previously not had the energy to lift began to thrash violently on the bed. My body shook and convulsed until a soothing voice to my left calmed me. “Shh. It’s okay, honey,” Beth said, as she took my hand in hers.

  Bile rose in my throat, and when I swallowed hard, my throat raged in agony. But it wasn’t the screaming from last night that had left it raw like it had been shredded by razor blades. It was a combination of the strong hands of my attacker on my throat as well as my cries of terror before Deacon had swooped in to rescue me.

  Oh God, Deacon.

  He had been my protector—a true knight in shining armor. His strength had saved me from a hellish nightmare. My eyes scanned the room wildly for him. “David is fine. He just had to take care of some things. He’ll be back in a few minutes,” Beth reassured me.

  I couldn’t help wondering what he was doing. I’d still been cognizant enough to remember him barking orders to Rev and Bishop about bringing my attacker back to the compound. Had he gone to torture the man for information? Maybe even kill him?

  At my shudder, Beth eased the covers tighter around me. When I glanced up at her, she tenderly cupped my cheek. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, honey.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “Are you hurting anywhere?”

  “I just feel achy—that’s all.” When I shifted in the bed, some of the lashes on my back screamed in agony, and I grimaced.

  “Let me get you some of the medicine Breakneck left.”

  “Breakneck?”

  She laughed. “I’m sorry. I still refer to him like when he was a club member. I meant Dr. Edgeway.”

  A small knock came at the door. “Grandma Beth, can I see Alex now?” Willow’s muffled voice questioned.

  I shook my head wildly back and forth as tears stung my eyes. “I-I c-can’t let her see me like this.”

  Beth twisted the hem of her apron before meeting my gaze. “She’s been asking to see you all morning. She cried herself to sleep in Nathaniel’s arms because she was so worried after they brought you home. I don’t think she’s going to be satisfied that you’re truly okay until she can see you.”

  “W-what does she …?” I swallowed again. “What did you say happened to me?”

  “David told her you were in a car accident. He thought that was the best explanation for your injuries.”

  “My injuries?”

  Beth grimaced. “The cuts and bruises.”

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  The once-gentle rapping at the door grew louder. I could almost imagine Willow’s tiny palms smacking against the wood. “Please, Grandma Beth, let me in!” she cried.

  Her agoniz
ed tone broke me. Regardless of whether I had the emotional and physical strength to see her, I couldn’t deny her. She had been through too much in the last year. There was only so much a child could take, and I couldn’t add to her suffering.

  Pushing myself up in the bed, I called, “Come in, sweetheart.” I winced from the slicing pain in my throat.

  The door flew open, banging back on its hinges. Willow came barreling into the room. As her dark eyes met mine, the haunted look faded slightly. Her tear-streaked cheeks stretched into a wide smile. But as she surveyed me, the smile started to dim. I could only imagine my face was pretty messed up. “Oh, Miss Alex, you have so many boo-boos. Are you going to be okay?”

  Forcing a smile to my face, I nodded. “I sure am. Just a little battered and bruised, but I’ll be fine.”

  Her dark brows creased in worry, and I could see the wheels in her head were turning. She was wondering whether to believe me. Lifting my hand, I motioned her to the bed. “Come sit with me. I know being with you will make me feel better.”

  She grinned as she made a beeline to the bed. “Careful,” Beth warned when Willow scrambled onto the bed.

  “Want to watch some cartoons?” she asked.

  “I’d love to.”

  With a grin, she reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the remote. After turning on the TV, she settled on an old Scooby-Doo episode.

  “Think you could eat something?” Beth asked. When I shook my head, she said, “I have some biscuits and gravy made. They’d be soft on your stomach. But if you want some soup, I can make you some of that.”

  Her insistence caused an emotional ache to burn through my chest. She was mothering me, and it had been so long since I had been mothered. It was something I missed desperately. At my continued hesitation, she said, “It’ll do you good, honey.”

  With my throat clenched at the onslaught of emotion, I merely nodded my head. Beth’s face lit up at my agreement. “All right, then. Biscuits and grits or soup?”