Snare: Road Kill MC (A Novel) (15 page)

The sound echoes in my mind, along with the screams I imagine I hear from Sara.

From my daughter.

Sara

I'm not much for taking orders, but I do what Lola said. I prop my feet up, crossing them at the ankles. I shaved and lathered and rinsed, then I'd filled the tub to the brim with scented lavender crystals.

Soothing.

My foot moves in time to a silent beat, my eyes checking out the clock in the hall through the open bathroom door. Jaylin is safe with Lola, and I'm getting downtime.

I force myself to be calm and relax. But it's impossible not to think of Snare. Lola's right. Why would he work so hard to find me, barging into my life again after I so painfully and obviously excavated a spot for myself without him?

A tremor of fear courses through me that even the heat of the bathwater can't soothe away.
What if Snare's hurt?

I squeeze my eyes shut.

What if Riker got to him?

My fingers curl around the rolled porcelain rim of the tub, gripping the coolness. Trying for calm.

Fuck it.

I stand, water dripping off me like a river and sounding loud in the amplified acoustics of the small bathroom.

I step out onto my fluffy lime-green bath rug and pop the drain, watching the water swirl down.

Sighing, I rip a bath towel off the old-fashioned thick glass rod and wrap my hair up high on my head. I dry off, getting my feet and between my toes last. Straightening, I swab on deodorant, lotion, squirting body spray. Finally, I move to my bedroom and tossing open the closet door I slip on my most comfy yoga pants with the banded tie-dye waist. I fold them down and throw on a T-shirt. I slip my feet into flip-flops and move out into the living room.

The ticking clock counts the time with loud insistence. The stillness of the apartment without Jaylin's kid noises stifles me.

I think I've had just about all the alone time I can stand.

Tonight, I get Jaylin back. Tomorrow, I move on. If Snare hasn't come, I go forward with the plan to help Micah and Denny. They don't deserve to live without justice. And Riker can't do anything to me. I'll move far away. Like different-state far away.

I won't lie.

I bite my thumbnail, thinking about how the police had seemed to discount Riker's presence outside my apartment.

But I realize that to them, I seemed like a panicker. Because there's no record of Riker's abuse connected to me without admitting who I really am. He'd flown under the radar. In part because of the shitty place we lived and how normal that kind of stuff was. Abuse. Drinking. Rape.

Yeah.
Too common,
I think sadly.

Then factoring in Snare's refusal to confess what we were really living, for fear Riker would return and take it out on the twins—or me?

No wonder there'd been no concern from the police.

It's time for the shame and uncertainty to live somewhere other than inside me. Time for me to not rely on Snare—whether or not he is even coming back. I'm ashamed at how quickly I fell back into a mental pattern of counting on Snare—the very man I want to protect from being obligated to me in the way he was.

I walk to the door, turn the knob, and poke my head out.

The four apartments on the tenth floor are quiet. I glance at the huge face of my pure white wristwatch, the shiny gold second hand ticking like heartbeats of time.

Straight up ten o'clock. Jaylin's sleeping.

I fill the threshold of my doorway, trying to figure out if I want Jaylin back bad enough to wake her.

I decide I do.

After stepping out into the hall, I close the door behind me and throw the looped bolt that keeps it slightly ajar as I'm swinging it shut. I walk the thirty feet to the end unit.

I knock softly. After a few seconds, I hear a low curse.

I'm still smiling when Lola's hazel eyeball fills the crack in the door. “What are you doing? I just got monkey down.” She's frowning.

“I miss her.”

She opens the door, swinging a palm toward me. “Come in, you needy bitch.”

I suppress a laugh, trying to be quiet in case Jaylin's already asleep.

Looking around Lola's place has me smiling for real. Everything is pure Pier 1 Imports. Sheer cloth with beaded fringe is thrown over the top of lamps to soften the light to whatever color Lola deems is “in the moment.” A curtain of large wooden beads with faceted plastic separator beads defines the small space between kitchen and living room. Very bohemian.

They rattle as she parts them like a diving swimmer. “You coming?” she asks.

I nod, following her through the beaded curtain.

Lola's in my favorite pajamas. Leaping frogs litter the fabric, hopping forever above sparkling lily pads. Big fuzzy slippers complete the white-trash look, and her hair is encased in foam curlers for the night.

She pats her head. “You're seeing my beauty secret.”

I giggle, and her frown returns.

“I'm okay with my hippie curtain,” I say, grabbing the topknot of hair that rides at the crown of my head. My long hair is part of my act, and I use it when I strip.

When I used to strip.

It's almost long enough to sit on, and that lets me know when I need a trim. Usually, I just throw it up on top of my head, and it flops around like a semipermanent ornament. For my act, I let it crawl over my body, flowing over me like chocolate water as I twirl at the pole, arch, grind, and dip to take the Dicksʼ money. I shake those thoughts away.

Lola likes her extreme coiffing. I like simple. It works.

We smile at each other.

“Hippie curtain?” Lola's fingers trail over my huge bun at the top of my head.

Silence cocoons us as she turns toward the cooktop and quietly makes my favorite. The aroma of hot cocoa fills the kitchen. She opens a bag of marshmallows already sitting on the counter and plops three in my steaming mug.

Turning the mug's handle to me, I take it from her. Sipping slowly, I savor the rich thick texture of all that chocolate goodness. My head tilts back, and I sigh.

“Good, right?” she asks, and I nod, my eyes still closed.

“Don't take Jaylin. Just let her sleep.” Her eyes don't leave mine, nailing me to the spot. “She's had a great time here. You're a single mom—when do you ever just have some time to yourself?”

Lola's right.
And I know the answer:
never
.

I hug the mug of hot cocoa to my chest, not answering. Finally, when Lola's eyebrows are hiked to her tightly wound hairline, I answer, “I miss him. It's like—I got a taste of Snare, and one will never be enough.” My chest aches, and I keep my mug there, trying not to cry.

“He'll come for you, Ki—Sara,” Lola corrects. “Maybe he's just getting things together, ya know—making a nest for you.”

We both get the same thought, glancing at her tiny guest bedroom that is a mirror of my own. Damn.

Her eyes move back to me. “You haven't told him about the monkey.”

I shake my head, feeling a rueful grin on my lips. “Didn't really have time. Too busy screwing his brains out everywhere.”

Lola's lips twist. “Yeah. There
is
that.”

She fixes her own mug while giving me a critical look. “You're too thin,” she says.

I frown. “Not for a dancer.”

She shakes her head, setting her mug of hot cocoa down on the chipped Formica countertop. Only the microwave light is on, casting the two of us more in shadow than illumination. She hikes her boobs with her hands.

Lush bosom
, Lola calls the girls.

“This is the proper curvature,” she says in a haughty voice.

And I have to admit, fewer men all the time are liking that ultra-skinny look. I used to be more filled out. But with all the exercise and my lack of care, except for Jaylin, I just don't like eating that much. I don't battle depression with food. I just don't battle. Or eat.

Her hands drop from her boobs. “I think Sara needs to think about taking care of Sara. Now”—her intense eyes study me—“I think it was great you had a proper fuck, but let's not put your life on hold because of a man.”

I open my mouth to defend Snare, explain the unexplainable. But some stuff just
is.

She presses a fingertip against my lips, silencing my future comments. “He'll come, and when he does, be ready. Tell him about Jaylin. Figure out what's best for you
before
he sweeps you off your feet. You hid from Snare for five years.” An eyebrow arches on her pretty face.

“Because I didn't want him to feel obligated.”

“Pfft,” she dismisses. “Clearly, he wants to be. All the way.” She throws her hips out like a thrust, and I smirk.

“Maybe,” I admit.

Her eyes roll in her head. “Ah—
duh
.”

We sip hot cocoa in companionable silence. “Okay,” I agree after a few minutes. “You keep monkey.”

“Through tomorrow in case the big P comes back.”

I scowl. “Did you just call Snare a Penis?”

She hikes her cup up. “Hell yes. He's certainly not a Dick.”

I shift my weight on her couch. “True, but ʻbigʼ?”

“You said it, not me.”

I fold my arms. “Yeah, I guess I did.” I sound peeved.

Lola winks. “There's worse things, girlfriend.”

My face splits into a grin, and I stand. “Amen.”

We hug. She holds me for longer than usual.

Lola's friendship gives me more confidence to love.

*

Lola flutters her fingers in a wave from her open doorway, and I give one back. She shuts her door, and though I don't have a spring in my step, there's something about a good friend and chocolate that boosts my spirits.

I move to my door, spying the looped bar still propping it open, and breathe a sigh of relief. The door is self-locking, and I really don't feel like calling my landlord at midnight because I'm a dumbass and locked myself out. Again.

I push the door open and immediately turn, swing the bar against the inside of the door, latch it soundly, and throw the bolt.

I turn.

Riker is there like a looming shadow of doom.

I push back, falling against the door, and he moves with me, grabbing my nape with one hand and shoving a cloth against my nose with the other.

I thrash, tasting my pulse, like a metallic beat of fear inside my body.

The vision of Riker in front of me triples, and I stumble against him, when all I want to do is get away. My nose fills with a chemical smell that reminds me of the inside of a hospital, and I flail harder, gasping in more of the noxious substance swarming my senses. Dulling me. Softening me.

I lull against Riker.

“There we go, little girl. Come to papa.”

No!
My mind wails, but Sara's body isn't cooperating.

My feet leave the floor, and as my eyes close, I see one of my flip-flops is on the ground.

Then blackness enters, where light and hope were before.

Snare

I spin in a slow spiral as my head falls to my chest.

Beatings are exhausting. Especially when one is on the receiving end. My scar throbs where my lip's been cut. Having an old wound reopened is always a bitch.

“That all ya got, candy ass?” Noose grunts as another fist swings his way.

He's already passed out twice.
Geezus,
what an animal.

“That's all I got in me. Fucking knuckles are raw.”

The other Chaos fucker turns to his little shotgun bitch and says, “Yeah? Prez wants them
hurting
.”

Little Bitch looks from me to Noose. “They look like tenderized meat, Butch.”

Another guy walks through the heavy stainless steel door. This guy is big and just as bad as the rest, but there's some elemental difference I can't put my finger on.

His eyes sweep us then shift to the gore at our feet.

“Fuck off,” he says to the other two, jerking his thumb toward the door he just came through. “I'll do the rest.” His grin is anticipatory, and I feel what little blood I have left run like ice in my veins.

I glance down. Blood splatter decorates the floor like tossed paint. I exhale. Ribs creak.

“
You
fuck off, Puck—Prez said it's us that do the damage to these Road Kill fuckers.” The big mountain of shit flexes his fists. His knuckles are a bloody ruin, but his rage hasn't been put to rest.

The Chaos guy named Puck stares at the big fucker, who'd really worked Noose over.

Not too tough to do when a man's chained up.

Puck stares, unblinking.

The huge Chaos Rider shifts his weight. Finally, he breaks the staring contest first. “Fine. But you better do it right.”

Puck stares more. I'd say we'd get along fine if he wasn't about to torture me. He has a way.

They leave, and Puck turns around, shooting the interior bolt to keep everyone out.

I flinch at the sound, a low moan of pain squeezing from between my lips at the involuntary movement, and my eyes shut.

“I'm Puck.”

I crack open an eyelid and look at him again until Noose distracts me by lowering his hand so slowly, it's thirty seconds before his palm is chest level, the chain rattling as he does. His middle finger shoots up.

I laugh, then give a hoarse groan when my body seizes in pain.

“Fuck. Off.” Noose's grin is bloody.

I look at him in horror. He's got a slit for one eye, and part of his ear is torn.

Puck puts his hands on his strong hips, giving a single nod. “Don't have a lot of time to get acquainted...”

Noose keeps the finger extended through sheer willpower and grunts.

I know it'll hurt, but I can't stop more laughter.

Puck looks between the two of us. “You fuckers are hard men, I'll give you that.”

I raise an eyebrow and wince. Fresh blood is a warm trail down my face.

Puck walks to where we hang, and I tense, preparing for more beatings. He stalls out in front of us.

“I'm a cop.” The flat delivery of those words is like a bad punch line, and they freeze me.

Noose gives a bored exhale, keeping his finger like a stiff flesh pole in the air.

Puck frowns in Noose's direction. “I know who you are, Sean King. You can stop flipping me off.”

Noose carefully lowers his finger. “Don't,” he wheezes, “believe you, Chaos
fuck
.” He spits, tensing instantly, and pain washes over his face. Then Noose shuts that expression off like a light switch.

His new one is glaring at Puck. 

“Fine—
fuck
,” Puck mutters and jerks something out of the interior of his cut. Looks like a wallet.

He flips it open and brings it to my face.

Hate to say it, but I know a real badge from a fake one—seen plenty to know the difference.

Puck moves carefully to Noose and puts it under his nose.

Noose gives it a slitted study from half an eye. “Looks legit.” He continues to scowl at Puck.

“I'm getting you down now.”

Thank fuck.
I don't know why a cop is here posing as a Chaos Rider but don't much care at the moment.

Puck picks up the chair that Mover had been in earlier and carefully places it beneath Noose. Once the weight of his body isn't part of his pain, Noose groans.

Puck eases the big man on the chair. Producing a key, he unlocks the chain, carefully unwinding it from Noose's wrists.

Noose latches onto Puck's cut like a cobra striking, hauling him in hard and fast. He rides him to the ground, and Puck sticks a .380 pistol into his gut. “Ease down, Sean.” His voice has dropped to whisper-quiet.

Noose blinks, his blood dripping like liquid measles from the gashes on his jawline to the cop's face. Noose smirks, grinding his torso into the tip. “You gonna shoot me in the gut, ya pussy?”

God.

Puck nods. “If I have to.”

Noose grunts and rolls off the top of him, stifling a scream as his back hits the cement. “Fuck!” he says softly and with feeling.

“Hello,” I say.

Noose rolls his face in my direction, and Puck stands, striding to me and yanking the chair from where he unlocked Noose. He hauls it to my position and repeats what he did with Noose for me.

I don't go for the cop. I guess with the arm exercises Noose had me do, I might have been able to, but this Puck guy is here to help.

I try to stand and fall to my knees instead, my hands hanging limply by my sides as I pant through the pins and needles of feeling surging through my limbs—the agony of wondering about what's happening with Sara.

“I'll be fast, boys. Got to be.” His eyes meet ours. “I'm undercover, and after Ned had his showdown, the powers that be decided I needed to ride it out a little longer. So now my cover's blown but not without a good reason.”

Okay.
I nod, catch my breath, take a deep inhale I shouldn't have, and cough up what feels like half a lung. I clutch my ribs and manage, “My stepsister—”

“Riker Locklear.” The words drop out of his mouth like twin bombs.

My eyes bulge. “What?”

“We have our people on this already.”

I stagger to a stand, just about dump it, and stay standing by grit alone. Mover had told us Riker's place in the Chaos hierarchy. What does this new bullshit mean?

Noose is already upright, leaning against the wall. Looks like his arm's broken. There's a shitty gray hue to his skin.

“Rose is gonna be pissed about this,” Noose comments nonchalantly.

God.
“Rose?” I ask incredulously. “You’re barely alive, Noose—just—
fuck it
.”

Puck smirks. “Heard that about you boys, tough as nails.” He looks over at Noose. “Looks like you dislocated something with all your acrobatics in the chains.”

Noose shrugs. Grimaces.

Puck chuckles. “We know that Riker is the new ʻNed.ʼ He doesn't have the brains for the things that Ned did, but he's as vicious. Different pawns for different tasks.” Puck's gaze shifts to me. “I'll get you out of here, but you're
not
a police officer.” He gives me the full weight of his serious gaze. “And Sara is now a matter for the police.”

Sara is not a
matter
—she's the woman I love. The woman I'll always protect.

My head snaps to him. I ignore my pain and shamble toward him like a newly risen zombie. When I reach Puck, I grab at his cut. “What do you mean, Sara?” My grip is solid. I shake him. “I heard you about Riker—hell—fucking Mover told us Riker was their new drug runner.” I don't say anything about the guns. “He said Riker wanted Sara in exchange for his cut of the money.”

Puck shakes his head. “I've been undercover a long time now. Six years, and I've never seen Mover this desperate to fund the coffers of Chaos. He doesn't seem to care who's hurt in the process.”

He pries my hands off his cut. “I'll drop you guys at the hospital.” His eyes meet mine. “
I
will get Sara.”

“Get her?” I ask like I've just been the recipient of the biggest sucker punch in the world.

Puck blows out an exhale like a cannon of air, scrubbing a hand through his pale blond hair. “Not the way I wanted to tell you, but a friend of hers called in that Sara has been missing.”

“Since when?” I croak from my abused throat.

Puck glances at his cell. “Since last night. Guess she visited with said friend the prior evening and went back to her apartment around midnight. When the friend came back to return the daughter today, there was no response. Looks like foul play. Purse, keys are there. But only one shoe is there. Signs of a struggle...”

“Riker,” I say in a dull voice.

Puck nods. “There's a police report from that address of a 9-1-1 call from a week ago. Cops thought it was nothing. But the call was duly noted, and the guy matches Riker's description to a
T
.”

Not
nothing. Sara had already been freaked when Riker paid her a visit, and she tried to get the cops to protect her. But Riker must have already threatened her. Got her to shut her mouth.

How?

Doesn't fucking matter now. Sara's with Riker, and I'm here—all busted up and not a clue where she's at.

“Come on, fellas. I'll get you out of here.”

Noose flips him off again. “Coulda saved me the beating, asshole.”

Puck's lips twitch. “Piss and vinegar.”

Noose slings an arm around Puck's shoulders. “I'm not sugar and spice, like
some
pussies.” He eyes Puck then spits another thick, blood-laced loogie on the floor to join the rest.

Puck shakes his head, grabbing onto Noose's hand that dangles over his shoulder, and half drags him out a door at the far end of the room. I'm just better enough that I drag my own sorry ass after them and dump myself through the doorway and into a large garage.

Dark-colored SUVs line the place. No bikes. I scan the interior then cautiously move forward.

Puck heaves Noose against the side of one, opens the back door, and half lifts, half shoves Noose onto the bench seat in the back.

Puck turns to me. “You okay in the back, head down?”

I nod, and wince at the fucking pain. Figure the only thing that doesn't hurt is my big toe. “Yeah.” My answer is barely above a whisper.

He starts the vehicle, and we roll out as the automatic garage door opens.

I recognize the building as I peer out the back of the rig. It's the same one where Rose was held and they did their gangbang action.

Good thing Noose is barely conscious.

*

Two broken ribs, fractured arm, cheekbone, and a certain concussion have the big knotter laid out.

Noose moans as a nurse sticks an IV in him.

His hand strikes like a whip, capturing her wrist. “Stop poking me with fuckinʼ needles,” he slurs.

She looks at me for help.

“Hey, big guy,” I say, “let the nurse give you the feel-good juice, man.”

Noose rolls his eyes to me, but only a slit of one stares at me like mercury fire. “Don't like being all fucking looped and shit. I know you're going after Sara. Don't do it without me.”

I look at the nurse. She's offloading the shit from a syringe right into the IV. Good. Noose is a mean sonabitch when he's hurt. I think about that for a sec.
Or when he's well.

His eyelashes flutter, but his free hand remains like a vise on my arm. “Don't go alone,” he whispers, his eye moving to the nurse. “Shut your ears, ma'am.”

The nurse huffs and pats his leg. She swings the curtain shut and leaves us.

“She gave me sumpin’,” Snare slurs. Then his eyes roll around in their swollen sockets. He appears to wake up as I try to ease my arm from his grip. His eyes snap open. The one that's swollen even has a tiny opening in the center, surrounded by an angry mass of red tissue. “Take Lariat and Wring. Those fuckers will watch your back.” And with that, he falls backward, releasing his grip.

I turn to go.

Noose flares to life again, sitting up like a plank in the bed.

I jump at the suddenness. “Fuck!” I hiss.

“Promise me, you dumb fuck.”

“Promise,” I answer automatically.

Noose flops backward.

I watch him warily. Soft snores begin to pour out of him seconds later, his mouth so dry the skin of his lips is cracked.

I leave the hospital as quietly as we arrived, speaking to Trainer on the way out.

They patched me up, but I hadn't been antagonizing the Chaos guys the way Noose had. He'd done it for me. I knew what Noose did because I've done it before myself. Hell, plenty of boys that were now men had protected others through sacrificing their own flesh and blood for the cause. We never forget. We recognize it in others.