Chapter Twenty-Four

Cutter

 

 

 

 

The warehouse is in complete darkness. Not even the moon is out. There are about fifty fuckin’ windows but nothing to see; at least, not from this distance. Hidden down the side of a dumpster, Whip and I wait for the signal from Pres. When he got a tipoff early last week that this is where the guys who hijacked us are staying, the brothers immediately set to work on a plan of attack. It couldn’t have been more perfect: abandoned warehouse, four access roads, no neighbors. It was like they were asking for us to come after them.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. Pres: Side door.

I signal to Whip, moving swiftly down the side of the building, my gun in my hand, two backup rounds tucked into my waistband. They may be stupid, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be armed.

Twisted and Lady meet us at the side door, Twisted carrying a Halligan bar. The wind picked up around us and I held up a hand, stopping the boys listening for any sign of movement inside. For all we know, they could be waiting for us to break in. Which is why Pres and the other brothers were over the opposite side. Fuckers won’t know which way to look.

I give the “all clear” signal and Twisted winds up to swing the Halligan into the door when Pres rounds the corner.

What the fuck.

“It’s a fuckin’ trap,” he says, out of breath. “Nikki texted. There are men at the club. Fuck!”

I start running toward my bike. Fuck the warehouse. Fuck everything. I gotta get back to Jaz.

Pres jumps on his bike and brings it around in front of us. “Split up. Half in front, half at the back. These fuckers have guns but they’re in our house. Silencers on. Take out as many as you can without the others knowing. Park at the end of the road and walk the rest of the way. Back half go in a few minutes early.” As he rattles off orders, the pit in my stomach grows.

Something tells me there is more to this rogue club.

Dylan is involved.

I just know it.

We race toward the club, each of us anxious knowing that our families and our girls are there. Sure, we have guys on them, but they aren’t our best men.

Once the bikes are parked we split up, and I join the group heading in through the back. I want to be one of the first in. I need to find my girl. The steps leading down to the back door are unguarded so we move quickly. Lady moves around the corner but comes straight back. “Two,” he says. “Left and right of the door.”

I nod, attaching the silencer to my gun before moving quickly and quietly.

Two bodies hit the floor.

I wave the guys forward into the club. The lights are on but the only sounds I hear are men shouting. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Moving through the kitchen, I climb onto the worktop and peer through the vent.

Our guys are on their knees next to the pool tables, except for Mouse, who is lying face down and from this angle I can’t see whether or not he’s alive. Pres was right; the guys are fully armed, and they don’t look like amateurs. A quick count tells me we’re outnumbered from this side.

I send a group text to Whip and Pres, letting them know the situation and suggesting we all go in at one—just like we’d planned back at the warehouse.

I scan the room, finding the girls huddled in one corner. I run between them, moving them out of the way in turn.

Jaz isn’t with them.

Lucy runs to Whip, jumping into his arms. I know I should give them a moment but, fuck . . . Jasmine.

Tears run down Lucy’s face and even from here I can see her shaking. I reach out to touch her shoulder and she jumps. Whip shoots me a death stare, but that doesn’t even come close to what’s twisting my gut. His woman is safe. He’s holding her in his arms. Lucy opens her mouth but before she even says anything, I know.

“He was here.”

“Fuck!”

Everything I look at turns red. It’s like someone has dropped a film down over my eyes. Everyone clears a path for me as I barrel through the room, heading straight for the fucker Pres still has alive. The boys have taken him to the kitchen and when I walk in, they’ve already got him tied to a chair, his hands cable-tied behind him, his left eye all but closed. Twisted stands behind him, shaking his hand out, the knuckles swollen and bloodied.

“Where did he take her?”

The guy looks up at me, his eyes unfocused and glassy. “Fuck you.”

I press my gun to his forehead, the safety making a loud click that he doesn’t miss because suddenly his eyes lock on mine and the whites are fuckin’ wide.

“I-I don’t know.” His voice shakes. “He gave us intel on you guys . . . had a source . . . said he wanted his wife back. The deal was if he got us in here, he got to take her."

I look at Pres. "You gonna kill this fucker?"

“You know it.”

“Good, let me get the last shot in.” My feet move of their own accord, taking me out of the room, toward the back room. “Wrench!” He follows me down the hallway. I reach over and clear his desk with a swipe of my hand. Everything else can get fucked. I stab at the computer, trying to get the fucking thing to turn on. The screen comes to life and Wrench pulls up a chair. “Find out where this asshole could have her. Fucking track them down.”

We spend the next two hours looking at every possibility and come up with shit. I’ve even been back to the kitchen twice and all that’s gotten me is bruised knuckles and my gun is a bullet lighter.

My phone sounds with a text and I snatch it up.

Jaz.

The file that comes through is a video. I breathe a sigh of relief until I open it.

What I see on the screen will stay with me until the day I die. Hearing her scream. Watching his filthy hands all over her. Listening to her beg over and over . . .

Wrench snatches the phone from me and switches the video off. I’m about to take it back off him when he smacks my hand away and plugs it into the computer.

“What the fu—”

“Tracking,” he says, eyes on the screen. “If the fucker wasn’t smart, we can get a lock on their location.”

Even as his fingers dance over the keyboard, Jaz’s screams continue to sound in my head. It’s all I can hear.

Nervous energy runs through me.

What if I don’t get there in time?

What if he breaks her again?

What if . . .

My hand flies through the closest wall breaking the Sheetrock, sending a shooting pain up my arm. "I need to get to her, now," I say to no one.

I’m not a religious man. I go to church, but it’s not the Jesus kind. But a desperate man will do anything, so I pray. I pray that Wrench knows what he’s fucking doing. I pray that Jaz will be okay, vowing that if He keeps her alive then I’ll do whatever I have to do to heal her.

Wrench bangs the desk and jabs his fingers at something on the screen.

“Got ’em.”

 

***

 

The wind whips past me as I lead the guys toward the address that’s burned into my brain. Pres, Torch, Whip, and Lady ride behind me. I’m pushing my bike to its limits, knowing each second could be the difference between getting her back and losing her forever.

Dylan has her in a cabin that his mother owned. It was registered under her maiden name, which is why it didn’t come up in any of the original searches.

The cabin is a little way out of town. If Wrench hadn’t been able to get an exact lock, we could have spent days looking for it. As houses become few and far between, the landscape filling up with trees and hills, the roads become less traveled and harder to ride along. As we finally reach the turn for the laneway that should lead us straight to Jaz, I signal to the boys to pull over. There’s no way we can take the bikes down there. Not only because of the potholes and mud, but the noise would take away the element of surprise.

The sun is just starting to peek through the trees, the only sounds around us are birdsong and the squelching of mud. Last night’s rainstorm has left the track sodden, making it difficult to navigate.

We climb into the back of the truck, Torch suggested bringing it, in case it’s as bad as we’re hoping it isn’t. He takes the road slowly. Parking as close as he can without being noticed.

We all get out and slowly take the steps up, stopping at the door and listening for any movement inside. I don’t hear any voices. I’m not sure how that makes me feel; the lack of sound could mean any number of things I don’t want to consider.

Whip picks the lock with tools from his belt. Once it clicks, he turns the handle slowly and I raise my gun as we all step inside. The room is empty, but there’s a faint noise coming from elsewhere in the cabin. I hold my fingers to my lips and listen.

A shower.

I wave the boys toward the noise and then point to myself. “Jaz,” I whisper. Whip nods and moves out, Lady on his heels, both of them armed and ready. A hand lands on my shoulder.

“Lead the way,” Pres says quietly, his eyes looking over my shoulder toward the back of the cabin.

The place is a shithole. The kitchen counters are covered in half-eaten meals, flies swarming around the rotting food. As we move through, we find nothing but years’ worth of clutter and dust. The back room is empty except for a hatch in the ceiling.

An attic.

Pres gives me a foot up and I grab the metal hook, pulling down a set of stairs. They catch halfway down and I give a yank, nearly pulling them off their hinges. Pres turns his back to me, gun pointed back in the direction we’ve just come from. When I pause he says, “Go,” and I disappear up the ladder.

The first thing that hits me is the smell. A tangy, iron smell that I know to be blood clings to my nose and I have to cover my face with my shirt. There’s a light in the corner, but the light it casts is weak at best. As my eyes adjust, I almost miss her. She's crumpled in a corner, naked, her body twisted at unnatural angles. My stomach contracts violently and I dry-heave, my hand coming to cover my mouth as my eyes water and tears spill out. I’ve seen some shit, but this . . .

This . . .

I crawl to her on my hands and knees, half afraid to touch her. Dried blood cakes her skin, the flowering bruises already a deep shade of purple. Parts of her scalp are visible where her hair has been ripped from her head.

Fuck.

As my fingers ghost over her throat, looking for a pulse, a loud rasping noise fills the air and her body starts twitching.

She’s breathing.

The stairs creak behind me and I turn, gun aimed. Pres emerges, one hand up, a blanket clutched in the other.

“Jesus.” He pales when he takes in the sight. “Here.” He tosses me the blanket and I cover her, gently easing her up off the floor and into my arms. She moans and although the sound cuts me to the bone, at least I know she’s alive. The visible damage is horrific, so fuck knows what her insides are like.

I wrap the blanket around her carefully, then hoist her up into my arms. When my knees start to buckle beneath me, Pres catches hold of my elbow and waits for me to right myself. Pres helps me navigate the stairs, taking them slowly, keeping her as still as possible. Together we ease her down the stairs, her breathing coming in short, harsh pants. Each hoarse intake is another nail in Dylan’s coffin.

The gravel crunches under my feet as I take her to the truck, laying her across the front seat, securing the seatbelts around her to hold her steady. I’m rounding the truck to get in the driver’s door when I see Lady dragging Dylan down the steps. His wrists are bound behind his back, the material of Whip’s bandana hanging out of the edges of his mouth. Lady gives him a shove and he stumbles down the front steps, landing on his knees in front of me.

When he looks up, there is no fear in his eyes. I’ve been in this position before and most men would have crumbled. They beg for their lives. Some even piss their pants.

Not Dylan.

The whites of his eyes are wide and bloodshot. If I didn’t know he was crazy, I’d say he’d taken something, but this fucker is just psycho. He tilts his head at me and a wry smirk plays at the edges of his lips.

My fist connects with his temple and he drops to the side, hitting the ground with a thump. “Wrap his legs,” I say to Whip. “Then toss him in the back.”

Whip nods and tosses the truck keys my way, and I throw my bike ones back at him. Pres walks up to Dylan, pausing for a moment to deliver a swift kick to his ribs. He turns to me.

“Call Doc. Tell him he’s there by the time we get back, I’ll double his usual.”

I climb in and pull away from the cabin. I can’t look at Jaz. I promised that I’d protect her, that Dylan would never get to her. He did, and it’s on me.

I failed her.

Seeing her this beat up is killing me.

Every bump we hit elicits a sound of pain from her and tortures me at the same time.

When I pull into the clubhouse, I’m grateful to see Doc’s car. Jaz’s noises have become less and less frequent and I’m on the verge of panicking. The journey up to our room is a slow one, and any positive thoughts I may have been clinging to leave me when I see Doc’s face. Remaining impartial is one of his specialties, so the fact that he’s even reacted at all is not a good sign.

“Send in one of the girls and wait outside.”

It isn’t a question. Doc never lets a brother stay in the room while he works on their girl. Let’s just say he’s learned from experience that it’s safer for them to be elsewhere.  I walk downstairs and send Lucy up. Jaz would want someone she knows up there, not just a random club whore.

Needing to release some of the rage inside of me before I get to see Jaz again, I head for the garage, knowing this is where they’ll have taken him. Sure enough, Dylan lies on the floor, gagged but out cold and still hogtied, the guys surrounding him.

No one moves. It’s an unwritten rule that, in this situation, the brother whose girl is hurt gets the first swing.

“Hang him up and strip him.” I point to one of the prospects. “I need a fucking punching bag right now.”

They make quick work of my demand. A bloodcurdling scream echoes around the open space when they release him and his shoulders bear his full weight, both raised up above his head, about five inches from where they should be.

That’s one way to wake up.

“What’s wrong? Not a fan of pain?” My fist connects with his side, in the fleshy part between the pelvis and the ribcage. “And I’m just warming up. Pretty soon, this shit is going to feel like Christmas.” I take two jabs to the other side, enjoying the release.

He laughs, blood coating his teeth and running down the sides of his mouth, dripping onto the concrete floor. “Bitch got what was coming.”

My fist connects with his stomach.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Dylan makes a gargled noise and I step back just in time for him to vomit all over himself, the foul smelling liquid running down his body and mixing with the blood on the floor below. He coughs over and over, his entire body twisting and contorting. Yet still he laughs.

I roll my shoulder back, ready to deliver a fresh set of blows when he lifts his eyes to meet mine and a wry smile crosses his face. “Doesn’t matter. She’ll be dead soon.”

The blood drains from my face and my arm drops to my side. I’m blindsided. Dylan doesn’t miss it.

“Aww, pretty boy didn’t know.”

I move close to grab his face, my fingers digging into his skin so hard that I can feel his cheeks touching on the inside. “What the fuck did you do?”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips and his head cocks to the side and he says, “Like I’d tell you.”

The brothers all take a step forward, closing the circle around Dylan as I move away and I pull out my phone to dial Wrench’s number. Pres sent him to the cabin to clean it up. There must be something there that can help us figure out what he’s done.

The call connects. “He did something to her. I don’t know what. Something that will kill her, maybe poison. Fucker won’t say, yet. Look around and get me some goddamn answers.” I hang up without waiting, immediately calling Doc and letting him know the same information.

I close my eyes and breathe deep. When I open them, Jason is gone.

I’m Cutter.

My hand goes to my ankle, where I keep my knife. My knife is infamous in our world; or rather, what I do with my knife. I saunter back into the circle. Dylan’s eyes track me with every step.

I’m going to enjoy this.

"Ever wonder why they call me Cutter?"

I don’t wait for an answer. I swipe the knife and cut a few centimeters of skin off, letting it fall with a sickening flop. His yelp only fuels me. I slice diagonal lines all over his chest, spreading the pain as far as I can. Each swipe fueling me even more than the last. The growing pool of blood underneath him pushing me more.

I want him to hurt, the way he hurt her.

I want him to bleed, the way he made her.

I want to kill him the way he almost did to her.

"How about this? You ever hear of something called Lingchi? Roughly translated, it means death by a thousand cuts. It's where an executioner makes so many tiny cuts in someone, it eventually results in one large gaping hole."

I swipe the knife again, this time cutting the skin over his ribs.

I lean in close, lifting my mouth to his ear so he can hear every word. "I will cut you. I will take my time and make new holes in you. I will cut you over and over until your insides fall out. You won’t die straight away, so you’ll be able to see them. It’s quite a sight, let me tell you.

“In the meantime, while we wait for the blood to drain from you, I'll let everyone else have some fun. We’ll mix it up a little, though. Keep it interesting for you. See, we all get our names for different reasons." I swipe again, this time across his collarbone as I move my hand to point to my right. “That there is Twisted. Ain’t nothing he won’t do.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

Wrench.

“Arsenic. The fucker gave her arsenic. I don’t know how much but you need to tell Doc now!”

I tear from the room and up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As I get closer, I can hear Jaz screaming. I burst through the door. Doc and Lucy are trying to hold her down, but she’s lashing out like a wildcat.

“She is freaking out, Cutter, I need the other girls to help me so Doc can work on her.” Tears stream down Lucy’s face. I can only imagine the bad memories this is bringing up for her. I move alongside her, sitting behind Jaz so her back is against my front, and my thighs trap hers. Doc shoots me a warning look. “You got a better idea?” I ask. Lucy looks at Doc and nods. “I’ll just calm her down then I’m gone, okay?”

I hold Jaz close. “Shhhh, babe. I’m here.” Her body goes limp at the sound of my voice. “You gotta let Doc work, yeah? There’s a whole future we have to live. Just let him do his job.”

I look up at Doc, remembering why I came up here. “Doc, he gave her arsenic. We don’t know how much.”

Doc’s eyes widen and he runs toward his medical bag. “Get me the other girls and some liquid charcoal.”

I nod and motion for Lucy to take my place behind Jaz. When I move she starts to thrash again, but I grip her hand and squeeze. “Please. For me.” Lucy slips in behind her and holds her tight. I don’t want to leave her but I have to get that charcoal.

The women are huddled in the kitchen. “Tracie, Izzy, Nikki. Doc and Lucy need your help, now.” I see a few of the brothers and head over. “We got any liquid charcoal?”

One of the prospects who was watching the old ladies jumps to his feet. “I think we have some. If not, I’ll get some.” He races off into the back room as I pace the floor. Fucking poisoned. Thank God that prick has a big mouth.

“Cutter, here.” The prospect holds out a bottle to me and I snatch it from his hands and sprint back upstairs.

The room is crowded but I pushed past the women to get to Jaz. She’s sitting up in the bed, puking her guts up, Lucy still tucked in behind her.

“Here.” I hand the bottle to Doc. “You need me to stay?”

"No, we have it," he says flatly.

He blames me just like I blame myself. I take a step toward the bed but then backtrack.

She will never forgive me for what I let happen to her.

And I’ll never forgive myself.