Devil's Mark

  “Some hulking Neanderthal biker asshole,” Benny snapped, but his wary gaze was on Chaser. Who had put away his piece and was now toying with the huge hunting knife he had strapped to his hip. “With an eye patch, like he thinks he’s some kind of pirate, but don’t tell him that. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.”

  Uptown felt frozen solid at that. He could tell everyone else was having the same reaction. Because they all knew only one motherfucker who fit that description. To a tee. Fat Irish was the douchebag president of the Little Rock charter of the Black Dogs MC. Rumor was he’d lost his eye in a knife fight with Sugar, one of DKMC’s locked-up brothers, but he liked to tell the world it was from a bar brawl he’d won—that he’d lost the eye and kept right on kicking ass. He was a liar to his bones. He was also a rough and rowdy shit disturber by any measure.

  And he was a mortal enemy of the club. It was on his watch that the Black Dogs had started encroaching on the Devils’ territory, trying to fuck up and outright take over DKMC’s agreement with the cartel. He was personally responsible for the growing threat of war between their clubs.

  There was no scenario in which Digger should have been hanging out with Fat Irish at all, much less talking cuts of protection money with him and someone like Benny, who was supposed to be a club asset and nothing more.

  And Uptown realized that it had been much better to worry about shit with Digger. To wonder. Because then there was still room for doubt.

  He didn’t doubt it anymore. He knew. Everyone standing here on the mayor’s front porch knew. Digger had gone bad.

  It felt like someone had died. He flashed a glance to either side of him and saw that all his brothers had the same look on their faces. Grim. Pissed. Dark and stunned and murderous besides.

  “And it’s bad enough he sent you out twice in one day,” Benny continued, sounding aggrieved, and like he was unaware he’d dropped a bomb. “But that little shit hit me. Look at my face!”

  Uptown caught Greeley’s gaze, as dark as he felt. Chaser had gone ominously quiet. And Roscoe, Digger’s VP, was scowling at the floor. Uptown couldn’t imagine what this felt like to him. Betrayal on top of betrayal.

  “Who hit you?” Uptown asked Benny, through his teeth. Trust a narcissistic dickhead like Benny to completely fail to recognize that everything had changed. That no one cared about his shit anymore—or not today, anyway. Not when he’d just casually revealed that their club was dying from the inside out. “Did he stick around so I could thank him?”

  “Digger’s kid,” Benny snapped. “That wimpy-looking one. He sucker punched me in my own goddamned study.”

  That got everyone’s attention. Roscoe finally lifted his head, his gaze gone lethal.

  “What the hell did Whale want with you?” Uptown asked. Something itched at him then, like there was something he should have remembered. Why does the fun of popping that cherry go to Uptown? Whale had asked, right there in church. Uptown eyed the dark house behind Benny, and asked the question he was pissed as hell that he didn’t ask from the start. “Where’s Holly?”

  Benny scowled at him. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He took her.”

  —

  It was the longest few hours of Uptown’s life.

  They tracked Whale out past the Lagrange town limit, out to a crumbling, abandoned old refinery the moss and weeds were taking back into the earth. Whale’s pickup was parked outside, getting pounded by the storm that had finally moved in and squatted down over St. Germain Parish like it wanted to help the brothers kick a little ass.

  Uptown’s head was full of Holly’s face and a whole lot of what-ifs. What he would do if Whale hurt her. What he would do if he was too late to keep her from being harmed, or worse. What he would do and how he would do it, in excruciating detail.

  And his heart was full of murder.

  They’d brought Benny along for this shit, Roscoe’s thinking being that it would be harder for Whale to lie directly to his face about the things the fat fuck had said. They’d left the bikes in Lagrange to make sure Whale couldn’t hear them coming.

  And now Uptown was picking his way over the remains of a thousand local parties. Glass and cigarette butts. Beer cans strewn everywhere. The old refinery loomed like a monument to dreams smashed apart and hopes crushed underfoot, a rural Louisiana specialty.

  Normally he would take the opportunity to thank god for the club that had saved him from this. That had kept him from following right along in his mother’s footsteps. The swamp was a merciless place. Lose your footing and it sucked you in, deep.

  But tonight all he could think about was Holly.

  He and his brothers moved silently through the old shithole, the driving rain covering any noise they might have made. Inside, the place was as crappy as it was outside. Uptown followed the faint crackle of a fire, keeping to the shadows as he crept closer, numb from the top of his head to his feet.

  The truth was, he wasn’t ready to lose her. He’d barely tasted her. It had been clear from the start that Holly Chambless wasn’t like any of the other women he’d spent time with over the years. He’d waited for her. He wasn’t interested in anyone else.

  She’d been like a gut punch from the start. Why hadn’t he locked her down? Why hadn’t he slapped a property patch on her back and made shit all nice and official?

  Not that it would have helped Whale be less of a crazy asshole. But it might have helped Holly to know that he knew exactly what that soft look all over her face meant, and he liked it.

  He’d been denying that all day, but it was true. He more than liked it.

  He crouched behind a pile of old, picked-over machine parts, only half aware of Greeley squatting beside him. Whale was there on the other side, sitting on a block of concrete with a bottle in one hand, a gun in the other, and his attention on the fire.

  There was a soft little lump on the ground near him.

  Uptown told himself it couldn’t be her. Because if it was, she wasn’t moving.

  And he found that after all the shit he’d seen and all the crap he’d done himself, he couldn’t handle it if she was hurt. It would end him, one way or another.

  He didn’t have to label that shit with pretty words. It was simple fact.

  “Easy,” Greeley murmured next to him. “Roscoe’s got this.”

  They’d decided. Uptown had agreed. It made sense for the VP to do this, so there could be no accusations later that it hadn’t been treated right. That Uptown had gone off the handle and acted wrong because his woman was involved.

  But that lump on the floor that had to be Holly wasn’t moving. Roscoe was taking too long.

  Uptown tensed, about to get in there and deal with this himself and who cared what the consequences were—

  “I know you’re awake,” Whale snarled, still staring at the fire. Then he signed his death warrant by sticking out his leg. And kicking her.

  Uptown started to rise. Greeley cursed and rose with him.

  But though Holly had jerked when Whale kicked her, she gave no sign of being in any pain when she sat up a moment later. Her hair was piled on top of her head with only little bits falling down, and it made her look more vulnerable. She crossed her legs, her back straight, as she gazed at Whale.

  She’d never looked more like a princess in her life.

  “You’ve now hit me in the head and kicked me,” she pointed out, her voice clear as a bell and totally even. Something warm moved through Uptown then, taking away the numbness. Making him alarmingly close to happy, despite the circumstances, because she was okay. She was still herself. Holly frowned at Whale as if she was disappointed in him. “That’s not very nice.”

  Pure Holly.

  Whale bared his teeth. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “That is rude,” Holly admonished him. “What are you thinking? I know your mother. I was chatting with her just the other day. I can’t imagine she’ll like finding out she raised a son like this. How shameful.”

&n
bsp; “Is she…” Greeley stopped, looking at Holly in astonishment. “Is she scolding him? While he has a gun on her?”

  And for the first time since that moment on the mayor’s front porch, Uptown relaxed a little bit.

  “Oh yeah,” he said, and he didn’t try to hide the pride in his voice. He didn’t even care when Greeley shot him a deeply amused sort of look that promised all kinds of shit later. He didn’t care about anything except this—she was alive and she was relatively unharmed. Uptown had every intention of keeping her that way, for the rest of his goddamned life. “That’s my girl.”

  —

  Holly understood that she should have been scared.

  Whale was bigger than her, and a little bit drunk if she was reading that sloppy look on his face right—to say nothing of his breath—and had already proved he had no qualms about hurting her. But instead, she was annoyed.

  Her head hurt. When she lifted a hand to feel her temple, it was tender to the touch and made her stomach feel a little iffy, and she didn’t think there was anything the least bit healthy about that. And now her hip ached, too, from that unnecessarily vicious kick.

  Yes, she’d been awake. Pretending to still be passed out, because she didn’t know where she was and it had taken her long, confused minutes to remember what had happened.

  “My mother doesn’t talk to the whores,” Whale was snarling at her. “She’s above you.”

  That was when Holly noticed the gun he was holding, and things got a little more tense. Inside her, anyway. Whale continued to wave it around, half threat and half danger to himself. She knew which half she wanted to win.

  “You’re not so high and mighty anymore, are you?” Whale continued. “Why don’t you get on your knees and show me what Uptown taught you. He’s dirty as fuck. I bet you suck a cock real good, don’t you?”

  She knew it was stupid. She knew she should try to appease him. She knew she should do whatever it took to survive this, even the things her mind veered away from. She thought about her mother lying in that bed, year after year, her rebellion in her resistance. In her refusal to get up, clean up, play her part. And Holly couldn’t bring herself to do it. She just couldn’t.

  “I can promise you,” she said softly, and she lifted her gaze to Whale’s, hoping he saw the open defiance on her face, “that you will never, ever know.”

  Whale snarled at her. “You’re a little snot-nosed bitch. You’ve always thought you were better than everyone else. Not anymore. Your father’s a dead man whether he goes to prison or gets tagged before he makes it there, and you’re nothing but one more biker tramp.” He sneered. “Good thing you’re young. Play your cards right and you could have a few good years on the pole down at Petit Joe’s. Turn a few tricks, make a few movies, who knows? You could make something of yourself.”

  He shifted on his concrete seat, turning to face her. She didn’t know what he’d used to make his fire, but it smelled wrong. Like there were chemicals in the smoke. And she really didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

  “I’m glad you’ve given my future so much thought,” she managed to say.

  Looking around, she could make out old machines and industrial windows. Like they were in some kind of factory. She could hear the rain slamming into the roof and dripping in through the open parts of the ceiling.

  Whale leaned closer, tapping his gun against his knee. If he was doing it to threaten her, it worked. Her eyes kept being drawn to it. But it was the hard look on his face that was worse.

  “I like this part,” he told her. “A girl with morals in the middle of her downward spiral. All the lines you draw. All the things you’re so sure you won’t do, and then, one by one, there you are. Doing it all.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not in a downward spiral. Unless you count being kidnapped.” She saw temper spark in his gaze and had to fight to keep a tremor out of her voice. “But we both know you’re going to let me go, right?”

  “Sure,” Whale said. And Holly really, really didn’t like the way his gaze moved over her, like he could see her breasts through her shirt. Like she had breasts to see. He smirked. “Eventually.”

  Finally, Holly thought, she felt as scared as she should have from the start.

  But that was when another biker showed up. He strolled out from the shadows as if he’d been invited to this party, and Holly’s stomach sank. Because she assumed his appearance wasn’t an accident. That Whale wasn’t doing this—whatever it was—alone.

  Which meant she was in a whole lot more trouble.

  This biker was not ugly inside and out like Whale. This one was built rugged. His dark brown hair was shaggy and he was solid and rangy, moving in a lazy way with his hands in his pockets, with a half-smile on his face that made her think of Uptown.

  And then Holly had to order herself not to think about Uptown, or she’d cry. And she didn’t need anyone to tell her that the last thing she should do was show that kind of weakness now.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Whale snarled at the new guy, which gave Holly a little bit of hope. Maybe they weren’t a team. Maybe she had a chance. She looked around for something she could use to protect herself as Whale rose to his feet and faced the newcomer. “No one invited you to this party.”

  “It doesn’t look like much of a party, brother,” the new man said in a friendly voice. So friendly that Holly jerked a bit, then looked up at him. To find his blue eyes were ice cold. He moved closer to the fire and she read his name on his cut: T’ROSCOE. She knew that name. He was the club’s VP. “In fact, that looks a lot like the mayor’s daughter.”

  “How did you know to look for me here?” Whale sounded suspicious.

  Roscoe smiled. “Got some high-grade civilian pussy out this way I like to tap every now and then. I was driving back and saw your truck. Thought you might be in trouble.”

  Whale considered that. Holly found the narrow neck of a beer bottle, still connected to a shattered base, and wrapped her hand around it.

  “Uptown wasn’t getting shit done,” Whale said after a moment, and he sounded less creepy and disgusting than he had when he’d been talking about her future as a whore. Now he sounded a lot like her father, all puffed up and officious. “So I had to step in. I told Benny to bring the money he owes the club if he wants to see his daughter in one piece again.”

  “Oh, bad plan,” Holly chimed in. She smiled when both men turned to look at her. “My daddy washed his hands of me, I’m afraid. He’s not about to come running to save me. Especially not if he has to pay for the privilege.”

  “Why would Benny come and pay you, Whale?” Roscoe asked, looking so pleasant and relaxed it set off an alarm somewhere deep inside Holly. “You already knew he was stealing from the club.”

  Whale bared his teeth. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You tricked the brothers into voting for you and making you VP, but you and I know you stole it from me.”

  “I didn’t steal shit.” Roscoe still looked friendly.

  “Benny will do what he’s told,” Whale said grandly. “The club owns him. If I tell him I want money, he’ll bring it. That’s how it works—or did you not know that? Maybe that’s why you’re not a very good VP.”

  Roscoe nodded toward the shadows. “He’s here, brother. But he doesn’t have any money.”

  And Holly’s mouth dropped open when Chaser appeared, pushing her father in front of him.

  “What the hell is happening?” Whale demanded. He scowled at Benny. “Where’s the fucking money?”

  “I told you I don’t have it,” Benny retorted.

  What he did not do, Holly noticed, was demand his daughter’s release.

  The bikers all started shouting at each other. Holly stayed where she was, cross-legged by the fire with her broken beer bottle weapon at her side. Her father looked even worse than the last time she’d seen him. He glanced over at her, and she couldn’t imagine what he saw. She had dirt all over her w
hite jeans. She was sure she had a bruise on her face. But his mouth tightened as if she’d rolled into his office like this, bedraggled and dirty.

  “I know what you did,” she said. Softly, but he was looking right at her from only a few feet away. She knew he understood her. “To Mama.”

  Her father smiled and destroyed any remaining hope she might have had that he was some kind of a decent person, because it didn’t reach his cold eyes at all.

  “Your mother,” he said very distinctly, “was good for exactly one thing. And then she decided to put herself in a coma. I thought I could count on you.” He sighed. “But you’re the biggest disappointment of my life.”

  “So much for the cavalry,” Holly muttered, and told herself it didn’t hurt.

  Because soon enough it wouldn’t, she knew. Soon enough, if she survived this, she’d wonder how she ever even pretended to believe this man and his act. She already did. She could feel his influence on her fading, like the rain was washing away whatever Uptown hadn’t cured her of already.

  Don’t think about Uptown.

  But she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  The fight got louder, and she heard her father weigh in, saying something officious-sounding about an Irishman.

  “Shut your fucking mouth, you useless fat fuck,” Whale growled. Then he took the hand that was holding his gun and he slammed it into her father’s face.

  Holly gasped, then slapped a hand over her mouth because she didn’t want to draw any attention to herself. But she didn’t have to worry. No one was paying her any mind at all. No one was watching her father crumple to the ground, where he landed hard and laid still.

  “You need to think real hard about the next thing you say,” Roscoe was telling Whale. And he no longer sounded the least bit friendly.

  “Thanks for the advice.” Whale’s voice was furious, but not at all cowed. “Go fuck yourself. Your time is almost up, brother. You won’t be quite so full of yourself when you’re not rocking that VP patch, will you?”