Chapter 18
Ginger
I didn't know where I was. Everything had happened so damned fast. First, they'd pushed me down onto the floorboard of a car, and then we were moving through the streets of Daytona. I remained silent, saving my energy for when I would need it, and estimated that we'd been traveling for about half an hour before we reached our destination.
From there things got scarier. I was pulled roughly from the car and bound with my arms behind my back with a scratchy piece of rope that Jack had found in the trunk of his car. I was thankful that they hadn't forced me into the trunk of the car, because it looked like a catch all for discarded, smelly junk. Jack had foraged around until he’d found a half roll of duct tape, and slapped a strip of it over my mouth.
"Don't want you causing us any trouble," he said, giving me a wink.
"Come on," Daryl snapped, grasping me around the upper arm.
I took in my surroundings as he pushed me toward a large, white house. It was isolated, located at the edge of a swamp, and overshadowed by huge, ancient cypress trees. The sight of the swamp made me nervous when I thought about the snakes and alligators that made their homes there. It was the perfect place to get rid of a body.
I stumbled up the porch steps. Daryl knocked loudly on the door, which was answered by a fairly short, round man who quickly showed his disgust at seeing us.
"What the hell!" His nervous little eyes darted around the area beyond the door, as if he were expecting to see someone else, while he rushed us inside and shut the door. "I don't like people just showing up at my fucking home."
"We have a proposition for you, Clark." Daryl kept a tight hold on me, ignoring the man's anger. "You got some place we can stash her while we talk business?"
The man pointed toward a door. "Through there," he grated.
I was rushed through the room and deposited into a small room that looked like a kind of holding cell. The meager furnishings were shabby and old, nothing like the well cared for, older pieces in the rest of the house. I glanced at the bars over the windows with dread. They weren't for security, they looked more like prison bars, as good for keeping someone in as they were for keeping someone out.
I put my ear to the door to hear what was happening on the other side. It was hard to hear over the sound of my pounding heart. I could vaguely make out the murmur of voices until the tone changed, and with it the volume. "You idiots! I'm not the only supplier for those auctions, and I don't like doing business here at my private residence!" The voice belonged to Clark.
"Look, man, I'm sorry but you're the only one I know of who’s involved in this shit, and I need money now! I owe someone, and they're not waiting." Daryl's tone was desperate as he ignored the other man's objections. "You saw her. She's a looker. And with her curves? You could make thousands on her."
"That was before you told me that she's involved with a biker named Rebel. Bikers don't like when things are taken away from them, especially their women. I've heard of him. He has a real badass reputation. The people I work for wouldn't be pleased if we brought that kind of attention to their organization. They'll kill to remain anonymous."
"She's not exactly his‒" I heard Daryl begin before he was cut off. I rolled my eyes, because he was too dense to hear the real warning behind Clark's words.
"He fucking her?" Clark grumbled.
Silence.
"You two are assholes," Clark snorted with disdain. "You stole a nomad's woman, and not just any nomad. Who the fuck do you think had a hand in taking out Wildman's club? Huh? Remember hearing about that when it went down four years ago? I heard Rebel went through a lot of fucked up shit while he was undercover, he came out a different man."
A loud scoff followed his rant. "I don't know about that. I met the dude the other night, man." I could almost see the look of indifference on Daryl's stupid face. He was so desperate for money that he was willing to downplay the danger. "He didn't look so fucking threatening to me."
Really? He didn't know Rebel, then.
"That's probably because you were fucked up then, and you're fucked up now, man," Jack snorted. "Shit, man, I should have left both your asses back at the apartment. You're the one who needs the money."
"Just calm down," I heard Daryl saying. "Look, all I need is a thousand bucks." He said it flippantly, as if he were only asking for ten dollars. "You have the means to get rid of her. I don't care how you do it. No one knows she's with us, so you don't have to worry about fallout."
"Are you forgetting about your girlfriend?" Jack asked.
Della! Damn him for bringing her up.
"So we go back and take care of her," he suggested.
What?! I didn't like the sound of that. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. How could he so calmly talk about taking care of someone permanently, as if it were nothing? As if she was nothing? They'd had a good relationship in the beginning, before the drugs had changed him. We had never meshed, but we'd put up with each other for Della's sake.
"Look, I don't care about your money problems. If you want to take her down to New Mexico I'll get her in our next auction down there, but I can't get rid of her tonight. She doesn't meet the criteria for what our buyers are looking for, and I don't have any way of holding on to her for the next month. When, not if, Rebel comes looking for her, I don't want her anywhere near here. Right now I want you all out of my house."
Oh, fuck, this wasn't going to bode well for me. Desperate people did desperate things, and Daryl was just that desperate. I looked around the shabby room, unsure of what it was that I was searching for until my gaze landed on the broken edge of the hanging mirror on the wall. Maybe I could use it to cut through the rope they’d used to bind my wrists, but I didn’t know what I would do once I was free. Try to squeeze through the bars on the window? That would be hopeless, but at least if I could get my hands free I'd have a better chance of fighting my way out.
Before I moved away from the door I turned and fumbled around blindly for the lock, praying that by locking the door it would buy me some time.
"You're building this all out of proportion, man!" Daryl all but screamed. "What about all the shit you were spewing the other night about how easy it was and how much money could be made? You do this all the time, man!"
"Under the right circumstances!" Clark shouted back. "You think I have control over this? I'm just one of many. I'm a supplier. I listen to what my associates want, and I carefully pick the merchandise. Most of the girls I get for the people I work for are runaways, orphans, women working the streets who won't be missed. Sometimes they're handed to us on a silver platter because someone just wants them to disappear."
I heard Daryl make a frustrated sound that came out like something between a growl and a yell. I began sawing back and forth over the jagged edge of the mirror, nicking myself more than once in the process. The pain of the mirror cutting into my flesh barely registered, nor did the feeling of the warm flow of blood that ran over my hands. All I knew was that I needed to get loose.
"So what the fuck you gonna do, man?"
I recognized Jack's voice.
"Let me think!" Daryl snarled. "Fuck, all I need is enough money to pay off Wicked.”
"You owe Wicked drug money?" Clark's tone revealed that he thought only a fool would get into that kind of trouble. "I heard he and a few of his boys got the shit beat out of them recently. Doesn't surprise me he's dealing drugs, but when it comes to money, he doesn't play around." There was a slight hesitation. "Maybe he'll take the girl as payment. I hear he's been looking around for a new pet."
I could envision Daryl's eyes growing round with excitement at this information.
"Do you think?" Daryl asked with hope.
He was delusional.
"And what, if he doesn't want her we take her to New Mexico?" Jack scoffed with skepticism. "You need the money now, man. Turn her loose."
Yes, let me go!
"Letting her go isn't an option," Daryl insisted. "If Della doesn't make it, she's a witness."
"Fuck, I forgot about that, man."
"I suggest that you don't mention Rebel’s name while you're trying to pawn her off on Wicked," Clark remarked.
I could tell by their voices that they were moving closer to the door, just as I was able to pull my hands free. I brought them around in front of me so that I could inspect them. The cuts were superficial but still stung, fine lines of blood dripping down onto the stained carpet. I glanced again at the window, but the bars were still there. It didn't matter anyway. Before I had a chance to move I heard the door handle rattle, and then a loud thump right before the door was forced open. I quickly returned my hands behind me and stood frozen, watching as Daryl came into the room while Jack and Clark stood back in the doorway. I glared my hatred at Daryl before shifting my gaze to include the two men behind him.
"She is a beauty," Clark commented, stripping me with his beady little eyes. He had a slightly pock-marked face, probably as a result of acne. Goosebumps covered my skin where his gaze touched me, and I was sickeningly aware that I was barefoot and still dressed in sleep clothes that inadequately covered my body. "Too bad she isn't a virgin. The buyers would go wild for her tonight."
Daryl grasped my arm roughly, and it was all I could do to keep my arms behind my back so that he wouldn’t realize that I'd cut my wrists free. Now wasn't the time to make a move to escape, not when I was facing down three men. I knew that I'd have a better chance if I mislead them into believing that I was subdued. I would get them to let their guards down so that I'd have the element of surprise on my side, if only for a few precious seconds.
Lowering my gaze to the floor, I let Daryl drag me from the room.
****
Rebel
"We'll find her, brother," Jace said in response to my smashing the beer bottle against the wall. The bartender frowned, but smartly remained silent as he continued to wipe the bar top down. "We've put the word out. Someone will see something."
We'd spent the afternoon looking for Ginger. Jace's contact had only been able to give us three names of individuals that he knew were involved in human trafficking, and they hadn't panned out. Moody was still out checking his own leads, but time was running out before we'd have to give it up long enough to hit Duponte's estate. That job had to get done, and I wouldn't let Jace down.
I was going to kill Daryl and anyone else who kept Ginger from me, and God help them if they laid a finger on her. I thought about her sweet smile, the fire in her eyes when she let her emotions rule her, the softness of her supple flesh as she yielded to me. Damn, the thought of another man touching her caused me to clench my fist and hit the polished wood of the bar. The pain didn't register, but the rage of frustration that was simmering inside me did. Every minute that I didn't know where she was was fucking torture. I saw Jace motion to the bartender out of the corner of my eye, and then the bartender was setting another beer down in front of me.
"Drink this one first before you throw it," Jace said in a grim tone.
I growled, reaching for it. As I tilted my head back to drink I saw Moody walk in and make his way towards us.
"Anything?" I asked, setting the bottle down.
He shrugged. "Not sure, brother. I ran into Pinkie down at the pier, he had something interesting." Everyone knew that Pinkie sold drugs and that the pier was his home away from home.
"What?" Jace inquired.
Moody motioned for the bartender to bring him a beer before responding. "That someone named Daryl owes drug money to an MC in Sanford. Could be the Daryl that we're looking for."
An MC in Sanford. I frowned, trying to think of who it could be. There were a lot of little clubs in and around the area, and I hadn't been home in a few years. There was no telling how many had come and gone. One thing I did know, though, was that Tanner would know.
"It’s a club called the Kings," Moody continued after chugging back half of his beer. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Run by someone called Wicked."
"I've heard of them." My gaze shot to Jace for an explanation. "They're mostly good at petty crimes and shit. I heard they caused some trouble here recently, got their asses handed to them on a platter for it. You said Daryl was tweaking when you saw him, desperate for money. It makes sense now if he owes someone drug money. You know as well as I do that if you owe money to an MC, they want it when it's due. They don't wait."
I thought about the situation for a minute, taking another drink. We'd spent hours hunting down and checking out the suppliers that we'd got from Jace's contact. Three lousy suppliers out of probably hundreds. It had hardly been worth the effort. Not one of them had known anything, or at least none of them had admitted to it. They hadn't heard anything either, and we'd had no reason not to believe them. Even though they weren't the most trustworthy individuals—they did, after all, steal innocent girls off the streets and sell them to be auctioned off--but if threatened with bodily harm they would give up their own mothers. Fucking cowards.
If Daryl hadn't found someone to take Ginger off his hands, then maybe he'd taken her to Wicked in the hopes that Wicked would take her as payment. I knew that some MCs would take a girl and prostitute her out to get their money back.
"Fuck." We'd been looking in the wrong places. I got to my feet.
"Where you going, brother?"
Jace's question did two things--it stopped me in my tracks, and reminded me that we had a job to do in less than two hours. Fuck! I met the solemn look in his eyes. He knew that Ginger meant something to me, although I was still trying to figure out exactly what that was. He wouldn't guilt me into staying to do the job that he'd hired me to do, we didn't roll like that. When something came up that needed immediate attention it trumped everything else. Yet we both knew that trust and brotherhood always came first. We were nomads. Our word was everything.
I let loose a loud breath."Christ." I sat back down.
"If I didn't need you I wouldn't give a fuck. It's‒"
I held my hand up to stop him from saying more. "It's okay, man. I've never let pussy come between me and a job, and I'm not about to start now." Even I flinched at the callousness of my words.
Moody called me on it. "We all know that she's more than just pussy to you, brother." He held up his empty beer to get the attention of the bartender. "That's why you're torn up inside."
He was right. For the second time I thought about Tanner, and I dug out my phone, hitting his number. "Brother," I said when he answered. "Are you familiar with the Kings out of Sanford?" I'd be surprised if he wasn't.
I heard him make a pained sound. "Unfortunately. Why?"
"I just found out that the man who took Ginger might owe them drug money. Is Wicked the kind of man who'd take a woman as payment?"
Tanner snorted. "I wouldn't put anything past him. I take it you struck out this afternoon, too?"
Well, that answered my question as to whether or not he'd had any luck on the streets. "Yeah, but I think we've been looking in the wrong direction. Do you know how to find Wicked?"
"Yeah."
"Look, brother, I have a commitment I can't break. After that‒"
"Yeah, I know. Say no more, we know where the Kings clubhouse is, we'll check it out for you."
"Thanks, man. I owe you. You won't be able to get in touch with me until later. You find Ginger, do whatever you have to to get her out of there."
"You got it. I'll be in touch."
I crammed my phone back into my pocket, meeting the quiet consideration in Jace and Moody's watchful eyes. "That was Tanner, president of the Sentinels."
Moody nodded. "Good man."
"Good people," Jace added.
I wasn't surprised that they knew the Sentinels or their reputation. The twelve ex-military men did a lot of good in Daytona, fighting to keep the neighborhoods safe. They were an MC who worked with law enforcement, but they'd also gained the reverence of other clubs. When you rode through Daytona, it didn't matter what caliber club you were, you showed respect by keeping shit peaceful and your nose clean.
"Tanner and I go way back. Haven't been here in years, but those kinds of friendships don't go away," I told them.
Jace nodded in understanding. "Let's hope he has better luck than we have finding your woman."
"Yeah." I ran my hand over the bottom half of my jaw, trying not to think about what Ginger might be going through.
My thoughts drifted back to four years before, and how she'd shown wisdom beyond her innocence, accepting what she couldn't change and all in the name of self-preservation. My gut warned me that she may not be that compliant this time around. She'd been on her own for a while, and she’d grown into a strong, independent woman.
This time she'd fight.
And she might lose.