Breaking It All: A Hellfire Riders MC Romance (The Motorcycle Clubs) (15 page)

I force the answer past the lump clogging my throat. “I had a tumor removed.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Irritation deepens his voice. “I’d screw you from behind so I don’t have to look at it, but the whole goddamn point of this is videotaping your face while I’m fucking you. Now get the rest off.”

Despair threatens to choke me. So they’re going to show Stone a video of me being raped? That will kill him. And it won’t matter that I’m numb or if I conceal how much it hurts, refusing to cry out. Stone will know. He knows how I hide when I’m hurting.

I toss the dress aside—covering the pepper spray. If I get lucky, maybe I can grab it and he won’t realize what I’m really reaching for.

“Those granny panties, too.”

The light moves downward and focuses on the juncture of my thighs as I push my underwear over my hips. Hot vomit fills the back of my throat. Now that the flashlight isn’t shining into my eyes, I can see him better. His right glove is off and his jeans unfastened. He spits into his palm and strokes his erection.

“Oh fuck, yeah. Your cunt’s nice and smooth like I like. Now spread those legs— What the fuck is
that
?”

The abrupt, angry disgust in his voice scares me more than taking off my clothes did. Everything before was playing with me, a predator with his prey. But that disgust. It’s like he’s taken personal offense to something I’ve done.

He shines the light down—at my discarded underwear. A few red streaks stain the pantyliner adhered to the gusset.

“That mess in your panties. Are you bleeding up there?”

Barely. My period is almost over.

But I nod for all I’m worth.

“That’s some nasty shit,” he spits, and I cringe as he turns and roars,
“Shut up!”

Daisy only barks louder.

The light returns to my groin. “God damn it. I’m not going to fuck that if it’s bleeding. Makes me as limp as a priest.”

He’s not lying. Roughly he shoves his flaccid penis into his pants, then jerks the light to the side. “You get into that room over there, sit your ass down in that chair. Don’t do that”—he stops me as I reach down for my dress and the pepper spray beneath it—“just fucking move your ass like I tell you.”

Naked and shivering, I head for the chair. He follows and the rip of duct tape joins the staccato barking from upstairs. I sit, shaking uncontrollably as he leans in close, taping my ankles to the chair legs and my wrists to the armrests.

He sits back on his heels, lifts the phone. The flashlight abruptly blinds me again. “Say something to your brother, Anna.”

Recording a message to him, showing me bruised and bleeding and naked. My voice is a hoarse whisper as I tell Stone the most important thing he needs to know. “I’m okay. Don’t freak out. I’m all right.”

“A little roughed up,” is the bastard’s cheerful addition. “But it could be worse. This could be my fist.”

His palm explodes across my cheek, whipping my head to the side. I stifle my scream but can’t stop the tears filling my eyes, instantly watering from the stinging pain.

“Now, Stone, here’s the deal. You fight, you win, and you’ll get to call your pretty sister and hear how alive she is. In fact, you can call her after every fight you win.” His tone hardens. “Anna—do you know what happens if your brother doesn’t call?”

The answer almost chokes me. “It means he lost.”

And in a cage match to the death, that means he’s dead.

“It means something else, too.” His fingers lift to my bruised cheek and I barely stop myself from flinching away. “Because for everyone else, the threat to their family is enough to make them fight. Then we leave the family alone, even if he loses. And they keep their mouths shut so it’s a win-win for everyone. Yeah?”

No. The fighters lose, the family loses. But I know better than to say that.

Mutely, I nod.

“But with your brother, and because he’s so fucking stubborn, we’ll be doing something different.” His voice hardens. “Because as soon as you lose, Stone, I’m coming back here to finish what I started. I’m going to fuck your sister’s sweet ass, I’m going to tear that pussy apart with my cock, and then I’m going to put a bullet in her brain. So as soon as you lose, motherfucker, your sister loses, too.”

The light abruptly turns off and I know the last image Stone will see is the horror on my face.

Quietly, the bastard in front of me says, “You didn’t win, honey. You just bought yourself some time. A few weeks, a few months.”

A short, raw laugh escapes me. A few weeks to live. Those are words I’ve always expected to hear. But not like this.

He rises to his feet and returns a few moments later with my phone in hand. “What’s your number?” He enters the number I recite into his own phone, then says, “Your brother will call if he wins. Now close your mouth.”

Panic tears through me as he leans forward with a strip of tape. He seals my lips and every harsh breath through my nose feels clogged, restricted. His hands are gloved again and I whimper as he grips my fingers, thinking that he’s going to smash them and get a last bit of torture in, but he simply presses my thumb to the home button on my phone, unlocking the security screen.

He lifts the device, snaps a photo of me. I blink away the afterimage of the flash and stare up at him in confusion.

“We don’t want you starving to death here. Now, I don’t need to tell you that going to the police will get you killed a lot faster, do I?” He waits until I shake my head before continuing, “So who’s in your contacts? Should I send this to your mommy—?”

“No!” It’s muffled by the tape but I try again. “No!”

My sharp desperation makes him chuckle. His thumb swipes down the screen of my phone. “All right. Unicorn Daddy?”

Stone’s phone…but Gunner has it.

My terror disappears and I look up at the masked fucker who’s getting so much enjoyment out of this.

Gunner will come. And maybe this asshole will get away tonight, but as soon as Gunner knows what happened to me, as soon as my brother and the Riders know how he’s hurt me, there will be
nowhere
far enough for him to run.

I nod and hear the swoosh as he sends the photo. That sound is his death knell.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

Gunner

It’s heading toward midnight when I leave the clubhouse—sober as hell, though I wish I wasn’t. Any other night, I’d have stayed and drank myself numb. But I’ve got somewhere to be tomorrow and there’s no avoiding it.

Even layered up and with my handlebar warmers going, it’s a shit night for riding. The asphalt’s as slick as snot. But unless they’re transporting the body or unable to sit on their bikes, any brother who arrives at a Hellfire Rider’s funeral in a cage doesn’t deserve to wear the club’s colors. Red can’t ride anymore. So for the rest of us who still can, it’s ride or die.

Right now, riding and dying feels about the same.

Stone’s phone vibrates against my chest as I hit the main road and get reception. After a week of answering Anna’s messages, I’m like one of Pavlov’s drooling dogs—my heartbeat picking up, my hand automatically reaching for the device.

But I’m so damn layered up I can’t get to the phone without steering one-handed longer than any man ought to on a slick road.

So I keep on riding. It won’t be Anna, anyway. Not now that she knows who’s got the phone. Most likely it’s one of Stone’s regular hookups. Christ knows they’ve sent him plenty of texts this week.

Anna doesn’t want to see me or talk to me again. And, Jesus. The shit I said to her on my way out, I don’t deserve to see her.

But I’m so fucking pathetic I only last a mile before pulling over and reaching for the phone. My chest tightens when the screen lights up.

It
is
from Anna. A photo, a tiny thumbnail on the notification screen. A selfie? Did she send me one of her selfies? Maybe the one she took in the brewery.

I’ve never swiped so goddamn fast before.

And it’s wrong. All fucking wrong. For a second I stare at the picture, telling myself that it’s a joke, that she’s just fucking with me, because she’s sent pictures like this to Stone before. Over the years, she’s dressed up with fake blood and posed with rubber vampire bats and Gremlins and all kinds of crazy shit. But the light’s too bright, her golden brown skin washed out white. As if taken in the dark with a powerful flash—and the camera’s too close, like something out of
The Blair Witch Project
. Anna doesn’t give much credit to herself but her photos are never poorly lit or framed. And that blood looks too damn real.

And there’s no
Anna was here
.

Christ, no. My chest turns inside out and I rip the throttle open. The engine roars. The bike shoots ahead, fishtailing before gripping the blacktop.

The road unravels ahead but I only see her eyes. Tear-filled, terrified, angry.

An image that will haunt me for the rest of my fucking life.

Gunner

I never should have kissed her. Never should have moved to this fucking town. Never should have given my family any reason to look at her. Never should have let my brothers live after discovering they knew about her.

But now it’s just too late.

Her car’s out front in its usual spot. Gravel spits out from beneath my tires as I race past it, practically riding up onto the porch before killing the engine and tearing up the stairs. Everything’s silent. Daisy’s not barking. She wouldn’t bark at my arrival anyway, but she’d bark if anyone was here who shouldn’t be. Unless she
can’t
bark.

My brothers would kill a dog. They wouldn’t even hesitate.

Terror slicks cold sweat down my spine as I slam through the door, my semi-automatic leading the way. My gaze sweeps the entryway and everything I see is a knife to my heart.

Her scattered purse. The upended table. Her coat and dress and panties on the floor.

They caught her as she came in. Stripped her clothes off. It’s too easy to fill in the rest but none of that matters now. Just finding her. Just making sure she’s safe.

Then I’ll kill them all.

“Anna!”
I roar her name and feel my guts come up with it, hot and sour.

A muffled noise comes from the living room. I pivot toward the sound, slipping through the dark hall. Empty, except—there. In the shadows just inside the room. From the chair beside the wall, Anna’s staring at me with wide eyes shimmering with tears.

With a tortured groan, I drop to my knees in front of her. Her arms and legs are taped, her mouth covered. Her jaw is swollen, her cheekbone a vicious red even in the dark.

And she’s naked in this goddamn freezing house.

Rage and agony forge my lungs into hot iron, each breath burning. “Anna, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” The words are gravel, my throat scraped raw. “I’m so damn sorry. Let me get you out.”

I reach for the tape over her lips. There’s no help for this, no way to stop it from hurting. The only thing I can do is make it quick. I rip the tape off. Her head falls forward and she drags in air, her hiccuping sobs shuddering through swollen and bloodied lips.

The sight crushes my heart all over again. Shattered from the inside out, I pull my knife from my boot, pop the blade.

“Try to stay still, baby. I’m going to cut this tape away. Ah, Jesus.” Her hands are like ice. Briskly I rub my left palm down her legs, trying to warm her skin while I carefully slice through the gray tape around her wrists. “Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me you’re okay.”

She doesn’t—or can’t. Her body shakes violently and I don’t know how much is from the shock and how much from the cold. I can barely fucking breathe and only knowing that she needs to hear a friendly voice keeps me talking instead of howling in anger and pain. With soft murmurs, I try to soothe her as I peel away the last wrap of tape.

The second she’s free, I pull her into my arms. She comes without resisting, burying her cold face against my neck. Her slim form weighs nothing when I slip my arm under her knees and lift her against my aching chest.

Faint streaks of blood stain her inner thighs. More dark drops stain the pale upholstery of the chair’s seat. The agony in my chest swells and hardens into sheer rage as it rises, sharpening on my tongue.

“I’ll kill them for hurting you,” I swear to her. “I will fucking
end
them.”

Even if means finding another way to get to Stone.

Her body wracked by shivers, she nods against my shoulder. Jesus, I’ve got to get her warm. I start toward the bedroom but a ragged cry from Anna stops me.

“The phone,” she says frantically, twisting in my grip to look for it. “I need my phone.”

I spot the phone on the floor by the chair. The second I give it to her the tension seeps out of her body and she sinks into my arms again. I expect her to make a call but she just clutches it to her chest as I carry her to her bedroom, a route I’ve taken in my mind a thousand times but never traveled before.

“We’re going to get you warm, then get you to the hospital, all right?” I pull back the blankets and slide her in. She stares mutely up at me from the pillows, and the dull light in her eyes rips through my gut. All the sparkle is gone. As if she’s broken. “Just don’t move. I’m going to call Zoomie and Jenny.”

She’ll need her friends. Women who can help.

“I don’t need a hospital.” She drags the comforter up to her chin, still clutching her phone. Her voice is a rasping whisper. “And don’t tell Jenny. Not today.”

After her dad’s funeral. “You want me to contact your folks?”

I should anyway. Clara will be able to help her more than anyone else.

A shake of Anna’s head stops me.

“Sweetheart—”

“No.” The response is hoarse but firm. “I expect the Riders to take care of this.”

It won’t be the Riders. “I’ll do it myself.”

Her trusting nod is a kick in my chest. I step out of the room, pulling out Stone’s phone. Another glance at the photo—my first look at the timestamp—has me gritting my teeth against the anguish tearing through my soul.

Three hours. She was taped to that chair for three fucking hours. While I was sitting on my ass at the clubhouse and feeling sorry for myself, she was sitting here freezing. Sitting here bleeding.

Maybe thinking I wasn’t coming for her.

My throat’s a solid knot as I send a text to Blowback.
Stone’s place. Haul ass. Bring Z.
He and Zoomie left the clubhouse a while ago. They’re probably already in town and they’ll get the message. I’m about to send the prez a text when I hear the shower start up.

I head back in. In the master bath, Anna stands naked in front of her glass shower stall, her eyes dull, body shaking, teeth chattering. With one hand she tests the water temperature. In the other, she’s still holding her phone.

Snagging a thick towel from the shelf, I slip it around her shoulders. “Anna. Sweetheart, wait until later for this.”

“But I’m s-so c-c-cold.”

“I know.” My voice is thick, broken. “But at the hospital they might want to take samples, make sure there’s no diseases—”

“I w-wasn’t r-raped. And I don’t n-need a hospital.”

In denial. I sweep my hand up and down her arms. “There’s blood on the seat—”

“From my p-period. He
would
have raped m-me. B-but my uterus s-saved the day.”

It’s a toneless response. She pulls out of my grip when she’s done, placing the phone beside the sink and stepping into the shower, where she curls in on herself. Her arms go around her middle as she bows her head beneath the stream of water, as if she’s trying to contain all the hurt.

I drag off my boots and kutte and follow her in fully clothed. Maybe she wasn’t raped but she doesn’t need a naked man pressing up against her now. I draw her back against my chest and she seems to soften against me, as if the hot water and my warmth are melting the brittle ice inside her.

My arms circle her slender form in a tight embrace. And I swear to God, I’m never going to let her go. Because if I’d been holding onto her? If I’d been here?

They’d
never
have touched her.

But instead I left her alone. I left her vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” I tell her hoarsely. “This shouldn’t have happened. I should have ended it a long time ago.”

Another shudder wracks her body. Her head’s bowed and her wet hair is streaming down the sides of her head in a thick curtain. “I’m okay.”

Okay? Probably not. Brave? No fucking doubt. “Anna—”

“He just slapped me around a little. Taped me up. I’m okay.” I can’t see her face but her voice sounds stronger. Her body shudders again. “And I knew you’d see the message he sent.”

My chest hitches against her back and I bury my face against her wet hair. “When I saw that picture—”

“Probably not my best, was it?” She turns in my arms and her shattered gaze lifts to mine. Her eyelashes are clumped into wet spikes. Tears fill her eyes and her voice chokes up. “And you came. Even though I told you to stay away—”

“Stop right there.” Gently I cushion her bruised face between my palms. “I’ll
always
come for you.”

Her tears spill over but a wavering smile curves her lips. The sparkling gold in her eyes lights again, and the broken pieces inside me all slide into place.

Anna’s here in my arms. And there’s not a force on this earth that could have stopped me as I lower my head. No force except Anna. But instead of pushing me away, she closes her eyes when I kiss the salty tears from her cheeks. I dip lower and her mouth lifts to meet mine. Tenderly I kiss the corner of her mouth. A broken sigh trembles from between her swollen lips.

This is what I should have done before. I died in that brewery. Not when she told me to stay away, but when I lied and said she wasn’t anything more. When I denied who I am.

And I’m hers. I’ve always been hers.

I could have shown her, told her with a kiss. Instead I covered myself in the filth of my lies like tossing dirt onto my own grave. But I tell her the truth now, softly tasting her mouth, giving her my strength, offering my heart, and with every touch, every breath, I begin living again.

I’ve got more to tell her, though. Because I’ve always been hers. But now…nothing will stop me from making her mine.

Her lips part beneath the stroke of my tongue. Her fingers curl into my biceps, a low moan reverberating in her chest. I deepen the kiss, claiming her mouth, claiming her—but gently, because she’s bruised and naked. Slamming her up against the tile and fucking her would hurt her, scare her.

I’ll always protect her, even if that means protecting her from myself.

So I’ll be patient. I’ve waited this long; waiting a little longer is nothing. I won’t scare her away by rushing in too fast, by claiming her too quickly. She doesn’t love me—because says she doesn’t know me. So I’ll show her who I am. I’ll bring Stone home, and give her everything she needs to trust me again.

She wants a future? I’ll
be
that future.

Whatever it takes.

But for now, it will take time—and by the faint rumble of the approaching engines that I’m hearing over the noise of the shower, we’ve run out of it.

Reluctantly I raise my head. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyelids heavy with arousal. Slowly she looks up at me, the light still in her eyes, soft and warm and glazed with need, a starburst of deep gold and brown.

I stroke my thumb along her jaw, feel the shiver that races over her skin. That shiver’s not from the cold. “Got you heated up now?”

A little laugh breaks from her, then she bites her swollen lip, her wondering gaze searching mine. Maybe asking what I meant by that kiss. But she’s got reason not to trust my words now. So I’ll just show her and keep showing her, until she’s ready to believe me when I say she owns my heart. Until she’s ready to be mine.

And then I’ll never let her go.

But I’ve got to let her go now. She tenses in my arms, gaze darting to the bathroom door. Blowback’s standing there. His empty eyes meet mine. I shake my head, answering his wordless question.

There are no bodies to get rid of. Not yet.

Zoomie strides into the bathroom, tucking away her gun. “Anna! Oh shit, honey.” Her gaze slides across Anna’s bruised face. “Who did this?”

“I’ll tell you”—her voice is still raw as she turns off the water—“as soon as I get dressed. Will you bring me one of those towels?”

Zoomie steps forward, gently wrapping her up in the thick bath sheet. As soon as she’s got Anna secured, she grabs another towel and tosses it at my head.

Her flinty gaze rakes down my dripping form. “You got clothes at Stone’s?”

Probably. “I’ll find something.”

“Will you let Daisy out, too?” Anna picks up her phone, clutches it tight in one hand and the folds of her towel in the other. “I didn’t get a chance. She’s probably desperate by now. Or hiding under his bed in shame.”

Didn’t get a chance.
My jaw clenches and I see Zoomie’s face tighten. But her hands are gentle as she picks up another towel, starts rubbing Anna’s long wet hair.

“Go on,” Zoomie tells me. “We’ll meet you in the kitchen. And make her—Anna, do you want coffee or something stronger?”

“Something stronger.”

Definitely something stronger. Because when she learns who came after her, I don’t know if she’ll ever let me touch her again.