When I come to, I’m barely aware of two things: I’m somewhere dark...and cold. And, two, I am not alone. I can hardly make out Ben Cain’s form sitting in a straight-back wooden chair until he leans forward in a dark corner of the room. And, when his gaze settles on mine, I’m forced to shudder to keep my teeth from chattering because of the cold chill in the air.
Have I mentioned how much I hate being cold?
As I sit up, I notice the lumpy mattress under my bottom and the cold, damp concrete room I’m in. Then I nervously glance around the small space. And, without thinking of the consequences, I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind.
“Where the hell are we, you crazy motherfucker? Jacques is gonna kill you. He’s so gonna freaking kill you—”
But his dark chuckle cuts my whispered warnings and threats off. Just as the hair on my arms rises at his even darker voice, he whispers, “Vagabond, even if he makes it—he doesn’t give a shit about you. Don’t you realize that? He doesn’t care about you. Not anymore. Or he won’t. Not with Roxy back in the picture and bidding his beck and call. He was supposed to die. Why can’t they just fucking kill him already?”
I note the sad, dark tone laced with confusion in his voice, but I can’t focus on that. I can’t focus on what he’s focused on. I need to know where I am. I need Ben to know I’m loved, that I have family and friends. People who love me. I need to make myself seem loved. Real. Special maybe? And, even though his words do sting, I brush them off and go back at him.
“Okay, so if Jacques doesn’t want me, I know Ty does. And I texted my friend Lauryn too. She knows I’m in town. We have plans, actually. Tomorrow,” I somewhat coolly lie. “So there are people who’ll be looking for me.” I feel myself pleading with his eyes through the dark.
Until I’m wincing when the hand I was reaching up to tie a ponytail in my hair hits the egg on at the base on my skull. I gently brush my fingertips along the jagged but approximated edge where his pistol split the skin earlier.
“You stitched me?” I ask in a whisper. “Thank you.” And no, I don’t know why I’m appreciative. Especially to him.
Maybe it means he doesn’t plan to kill me if he’s sewing me up? That’s as far as my mind takes it.
First of all, I don’t know why I’ve been kidnapped twice in the last month, but I’d be willing to bet it’s because of my affiliation as of late with a certain man from an MC, but right now...it’s slim pickin’s on whose side I can chose. And the police are no damn help. Can we all agree? Besides, I already see where the lines in the sand are being drawn, and you can bet your ass I know where I belong in those lines. I know whose side I’m on. And he just so happens to be the only ally I have—as well as the damn president of Sons of Silencers, NYC.
“She has manners.” Ben tips his head to the side before nodding and chuckles as he moves to stand up. When his laughter quiets, he breathes deeply before exhaling.
All the while, I haven’t moved from my spot on the mattress. I’m still even as his eerie, black eyes settle on mine.
“So, what do you think? How do you feel about what I did? Huh, Vagabond? How do you feel about what I’ve done to my family? My club?”
My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “What do I think? What does it matter?” I ask the honest question.
“It matters because, now that we know who your daddy is, that fucks everything up. Especially when he isn’t even back in his own town because he’s fucking with Jacques in Daytona, who’s been fucking with you! Who’s it supposed to look like killed my father when the main players aren’t into position?! That puts me and my plans at odds with not one, but two MCs, honey. Do you know how many fucking men that is in cuts?” He tsks before stepping towards me. “Too many for my eight to ten to handle. That’s for fuck’s sure.”
After he’s slowly made it across the small space between us, he walks onto the raggedy, wafer-like mattress I’m on like it’s nothing more than a floor mat. Then he takes the toe of his boot and shoves it between my crisscrossed legs, butting his steel-toe boot against my pelvic bone. When the heel of his boot digs into my ankle, I wince and bow my head before separating and straightening my legs on either side of his foot and scurrying back. Once I’ve backed up to the point of feeling the cold stone hit my back, I tuck my legs beneath me, pulling myself up on my haunches. And only then do I realize I’ve got myself cornered into a huddle on the thin mattress in the dark room with my kidnapper.
My thoughts begin scattering like pins hitting the floor. Racing and running. I squeeze my eyes closed and try to breathe as Ben looms over me.
When his dark voice continues rattling on, I’ve already started to shut his rambling riddles out. I learned this trick a long damn time ago. ’Cause, after all of those years in the Child Protective Services system and all of those counseling sessions the tax payers’ money paid for, I learned a thing or two. And deflecting isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes, it can save your sanity. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can save it. And your ass.
I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, conjuring up the first image of Jacques I can from when I was child. I can’t remember if it’s an actual memory or one of my favorite dreams… I just close my eyes and myself, blocking out what Ben’s haranguing about at me in the background.
So, when Jacques Cain’s navy-blue eyes settle on mine, it doesn’t happen in this room. And we’re aren’t in a place in this time. He’s where I’ve always kept him. It’s a place I’ve kept hidden, even from you. Hidden in the clandestine corners of my heart. He’s where I always find him. Just when things seem darkest, he’s where I always need him—there to hold my heart. I almost feel his fingertips tilt my chin up, and it causes a smile to cross my face.
Which is odd, because in this memory, I’m above him…looking down.
“Vagabond, huh? You can’t beat that. I like that, actually. I’ve been calling myself a roamer. Or Nomad. But Vagabond has a much better ring to it. Name’s Jacques, and you? What’s your name, little one?” His dark-blue eyes search mine through the branches of the old oak tree I’m saddled up on as a smirk creeps across his cheek and a dimple appears.
When I see the cross hanging from his tanned neck, I try to remember the little prayer I learned last week in Bible school.
Now, I lay me down to sleep... No.
Lord, I lay me down to sleep… No.
If I should die before I wake. I pray the Lord my soul to take.
When I notice Jacques’s eyebrows start to rise—probably because of the stumped look on my face—I hurry to answer, trying to sound like a grown-up. Like he did when he asked me my name. I completely forget Bible verses and bedtime prayers.
“Jacques. There’s a reason I’m still here…”
When Ben’s fingertips dig into my chin, his words cut through my happy place with Jacques and my eyes almost fly open to glare at him for it.
“Huh, Vagabond?” His cruel words are harsher than the ones in my memory.
But I slow my thoughts and my breathing. Then I watch him through my lashes as he leans over me until he settles each of his knees on either side of mine on the thin mattress. I squeeze my already clamped thighs closer together, and my hands involuntarily clench into even tighter fists. I’m trying to keep from touching him. I huddle closer into the corner of the cold room in an effort to make myself smaller until hopefully I disappear, but he won’t let me.
My lungs constrict around my battered and confused heart when the hand he was gripping the lower half of my face with slides down until it wraps around my neck. As it tightens like a vise, his other hand comes from out of nowhere, and I’m not ready for it. But I highly doubt anyone my size would ever be ready for a hit from someone with his towering stature and weight behind it. The bones of his hand connect with the weaker ones in my face, and it’s my flesh and bone that don’t win.
“Huh? Vagabond? Huh?” The voice belonging to Ben mimics a ricochet of Jacques’s from my earlier memory.
And I briefly wonder if Ben can read my fragmenting mind after the hand that struck me comes back to my face. This time when his hands settle on me, he keeps the one hand clenching around my throat, and the other hand lands on the swollen side of my face. His fingertips bite into my quickly swelling cheek, and it makes my vision blur with tears.
“I pray to God Roxy makes the right choice,” he mutters vaguely. “She’s the only damn thing I have that hasn’t been blown to shit because of you.” His spit flies from his lips.
And I decide, Fuck it.
I can’t take this shit anymore. And I’m not helping a goddamn thing by huddling up in this dark corner. I try to breathe around the threats he’s barking at me. I try to concentrate on my memory. My memory of Jacques. But his words won’t stop.
“She’ll do the job though. Roxy’s a big girl, and she knows the ramifications if this shit goes off the rails. She knows the plan. Rox’ll kill him. She’ll finish the job the chumps I’ve accumulated couldn’t. I think they said the last guy who took the literal hit for my unusual sloppiness sneezed—and that’s what got him killed.”
And I decide, I fucking can’t. I can’t listen to anymore of his bullshit.
He’s flaunting. This is his pride. For what? I don’t know yet, but I’m not learning anything by sitting here and listening to his psycho-babble, either.
I squeeze my eyes shut before plugging my ears like an eight-year-old—which is what I prefer at the moment. Then I abruptly stand, trying to shut his words off. Using my weight against him, I stand with all of my might, shoving with every ounce I own. Until I’m steady on my own two feet. And, when my head connects with the spot under his chin, it makes his teeth clack and he stumbles backwards before falling onto his side and cursing.
“You stupid bitch!” he whines.
Then, a split second later, I’m up. I trip once. But still, I’m on my feet another split second after that, and I’m running. My feet slam against the condensation-covered concrete floor, and it’s difficult, but I slip and slide my way across the room. When I finally make it up the wooden stairs and reach the door, I cry out. Hell, I may even laugh because I’m so excited when the doorknob at the top of the rickety, wooden stairs turns in my hand.
“Thank you, God,” I mutter before going to shoulder the door open.
I never see him. I never hear him. I never feel him. Fuck, I think I forgot him the second the door opens. But I do see Roxy. I do see Roxy step from the eerie light illuminating behind her in the well-lit house. She almost looks angelic. The thought crosses my mind just before her words strike out across the basement-like room.
“Don’t I clean up enough messes? Between the both of you, I swear to fucking God, Ben. Don’t I stay busy enough?!” Her hands land on her hips at the same time she begins tapping her toe.
And like I said, Ben has been forgotten. So when I hear him and his face is directly beside mine...oh—I scream. Like a bitch. You can kiss my ass. I scream. Of course, until it registers that I need the information being exchanged here.
“Did you clean up the last mess? Did you finish it? Is he still alive?” Ben’s voice circles my mind for a second or third time.
“No, I didn’t. And yes, he is.”
I didn’t realize I was even holding my breath until the moment she speaks the words. But she continues.
“There’s been a change in plans. At least until we know what’s gonna happen when he wakes up. I didn’t want to burn any bridges. That was never a part of my plan, Ben! Never!” Roxy’s light-blue eyes can be seen, even in the dimly let stairwell, as she glances down at me after her accusing words ring off the narrow walls. Her tone is cold as a tomb the next moment she speaks. “I’m not gonna be put on the back burner. Not by either of you. Do you understand me, Ben Cain? Not by you or by Jacques.”
Ben’s warm breath stirs the ringlets that hang around my face as he chuckles again. I’m sure my unruly hair is even more so from the humidity in the room and the time I spent in it while I was unconscious for however long. I bring my hands up beside my face and unconsciously tuck my hair behind my ears for reasons I can’t explain. But it’s probably ’cause of the look of disgust on Roxy’s face when she finishes eyeballing me from head to toe. Then she glances over my left shoulder, back at Ben.
“I’m not just a pawn in this fucking game anymore. Jacques and I talked. He was headed to my house. Before you and your thug friends wrecked his bike! None of this was supposed to happen!” she cries, and when I see the tears and hear her bittersweet words breaking off, my heart constricts within in my chest.
And I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.
Her blue eyes appear the color of mercury when they narrow back on mine. “Did Ben tell you what he did to your sister? I had to take her to the hospital the first time. He wouldn’t even do it. I at least tried to get her help. It’s not my fault she kept bleeding. She wasn’t supposed to die.” Her words are spoken as taunts.
And for some reason, this fact confuses me. Because her words alone hurt enough. So I don’t understand…
“Why?” I whisper as my heart shatters before barely faltering to a still beat in its cage. “The baby?” Hot tears well up in the corners of my eyes before scalding a searing path down my face.
I back away from both of them, heading down towards the basement again. Stupid, but it’s my only choice at this point. And I quickly try to remember if I saw any window or doors in the room below, but I can’t think straight. My mind is going too fast in circles, trying to solve the riddle of my path out of here. My thoughts start mimicking the pins scattering on the floor again and I can’t seem to find my lungs and tell them to breathe.
I grip the sides of my head around a headache that’s been lurking at the edges of my subconscious since awaking in this godforsaken place. I’m hoping and praying the pressure of my hands will ease the ache…
But when my eyes fly back open, I’m suddenly not hurting anymore. I pull my shoulders back and slowly breathe in, checking for any sharp aches or pains. I mean, other than my heart. Or the spot where it used to beat. I’m not hurting anymore. Not really.
’Cause I’m pissed, and I allow that fury and that anger to swell inside me. And, when the adrenaline is pumping fast enough through my veins and I can hear the blood whooshing past my ears, I stop cutting old scars across my heart with the painful memories I keep in my arsenal. So that, by the time I feel so pissed that I’m so angry and my tumultuous thoughts are the only thing fueling me, I might as well be ten feet tall and fucking bulletproof.
I glance around the room after making my way back to the wooden chair Ben was sitting on when I awoke. And my thoughts are like little, fast-moving molecules. Only the faster they get, the more they seem to almost...still. So I focus my attention on that stillness instead of my racing thoughts.
“I’m not worried,” I tell both of them—honestly in a calm tone. ’Cause I don’t have to lie my way through this. Not anymore.
I’m suddenly aware of a very few but very certain things. One, I’m not going to be forgotten about. Jacques’s SOS brothers were there. They saw Ben take me. And King was already there. Even Dreads said so on our way downstairs before all hell had broken loose. So, as soon as the stuff with Jacques is figured out, they’ll remember me. They’ve fucking got to.
“As far as I’m concerned, I have all the time in the world.” After settling my weight evenly in the chair, I lean back. And, when my eyes narrow on Ben’s across the room, I throw out the only card I’ve got. Even now, I know that it’s probably a shit hand. But it’s the last one I have up my sleeve. “You can’t afford to kill me, Ben. You need a hostage. The first my father hears about me, he’s coming. He already knew before the meeting you tried to sabotage. He just hadn’t been told I was his daughter yet. But he will be told. Oh, he will be.”
I barely notice that it’s my dark, sinister chuckle when I hear it echo back to me in the small space as I look from Ben to Roxy. I also didn’t realize how quiet it’s gotten until I spoke. My harsh tone strikes out again, almost startling even me.
“Whoever killed my sister will die. At my hands. And that’s if the both of you live when my pops finds out he has a daughter. I’ve done my homework. Have you? I don’t think you paid attention, then, ’cause King O’Malley is about one thing after his MC. And that’s family. Who just so happens to be me. Only me, aside from one nephew since his mother’s—my grandmother’s—passing. You two are fucked. If you aren’t dead by the time he gets done with you, chances are you will be once the NYC chapter of SOS figures out this one’s bullshit.” I nod towards Rox.
I can’t think about my sister right now. I can’t mourn the loss of her. Not yet. As much as it hurts the old scars around my hurt, I can’t mourn Eden. Not yet.
Besides, I’ll need that fuel for another day.
I slowly look around the room. And, when my eyes land on Roxy’s, I can’t help it.
It’s like I see Jacques do it in my head, so I do it. I smirk, before winking at the bitch. Meanwhile completely pulling off the badass loner girl act I’m shooting for.
“Roxy? Bell? That’s your name, right?” I snicker, meaning for it sound every bit as snarky as it does. “I don’t know what to tell you, sweetheart. For someone who didn’t want a lot of people killed, you sure are standing there with a lot of blood on your hands.” I shake my head and glance down. And it’s then that I see my cross.
His cross—Jacques’s cross.
I don’t know how it got here, but it’s here. And it just became my saving fucking grace. I slide the toe of my navy Chuck over it, trying to keep it concealed. Suddenly, its guarded position takes precedence over my very own. And, when I look back up at Roxy, I keep my thoughts on that anger. On that fire burning deep within me, the one that’s keeping me going. The only thing that’s keeping me going. It mirrors a sunburn, but from the inside, it’s tight. And taut. Making me feel stretched.
I burn my gaze into Roxy’s and growl my words at her. ’Cause I’m still pissed. Above all, I’m still more than pissed. And that feels better right now than feeling the hurt.
“If I were you, I’d stop giving me the evil eye and start fighting with him.” I nod towards Ben, who’s standing beside her, “And try to finish the job you started on the Blakeney girls when you killed Eden and the little niece or nephew of mine she carried. My last name may be O’Malley, but I’m still my momma’s daughter. And I’m still my gram’s kid,” I say from the bottom of my heart.
They’re the only words I know for certain. Other than that these two are fucked—my fate aside.
“Because you two are fucked either way. You were fucked the moment Ben decided to take me from the NYC chapter of Sons of Silencers. My question is: How does it feel? Knowing that?” I chuckle.