“Sometimes the gavel in my hand weighs too heavy. Sometimes, I hate the decisions I have to make.” - Rider.

 

They did let her go as Nathan told her.

Soon as Grigori informed their conversation was over, the stockier of his men wrenched her up off her knees. They exchanged dialogue in Russian she didn’t understand then the one gripping her arm tight enough to break skin dragged her away, up the staircase, through more corridors than she could keep track off and he shoved her out of an emergency exit, smirking a slew of Russian at her that she surmised was nothing good from the lecherous way the pig looked her up and down before he slammed the door shut.

With Nathan, still inside.

Oh, god, her heart was smashed to pieces.

What could she do?

Luxe had been too stubborn and cemented in her convictions for far too long, torn between storming back inside and...what? Getting her man killed for it? And doing as he requested from her by taking the message to Rider. Almost doubled over with a silent scream Luxe rested her hands to her knees. Were they watching from inside? Was the place under surveillance? It looked like nothing, a building you wouldn’t even look twice at if you were to drive by. A perfect place to kill someone.

Bile poured up from her belly. Please be okay, Nathan. This was just fucking bullshit. She had no cell phone, no pocket change and the man she cared for was inside incapacitated and alone with madmen.

She kicked the concrete wall. Then did it again. Frustration in her every muscle. But she had to do this. Looking around, indexing other buildings to recognize, she set off running.

The chill of the night air bit at her bare legs, if any cab were to stop for her she’d probably frighten the man to death, what with the blood staining the front of her shirt and hands.

Hazarding a guess at the time, it was still midnight black, she just kept on running.

Until thank god, she recognized a gas station.

She ran.

She ran.

Her feet burned and she didn’t stop.

There was the seven-eleven store.

And the truck stop.

It was on the long patch of bare deserted road, pitch black, that she felt the clutch of fear.

Oh, not for herself, she’d become numb to everything but the fear of what was happening to Nathan.

Tired, she had to stop, her lungs were on fire, she hated exercise with a passion, her Mimi would say this was payback for all the times she refused to go dancing with her.

Even though she felt sick and dizzy with fatigue she continued and then she saw it, sometime later, god it felt like weeks, as though she was the only women left in the world, the high intimidating gates locking off the MC compound came in sight. It somehow gave her a surge of adrenalin, powering her weak legs.

Nathan. Please be alright.

Pressing frantically at the call pad, someone better let her in or she was scaling the damn fence! Though, she had no fucking idea how she’d drag herself up there.

“Yo.” A voice crackled through the speaker. “You know what the fucking time is?”

“I don’t actually,” she yelled sarcastically. “Open these damn gates right now. They have Nathan! The Russian men have-----”

“What the fuck? Slow down. Who has who? Who is this?”

“The gates!” She was screaming at the speaker now. “Open the fucking gates, I need to see Rider right now.”

As though she’d spoken open sesame a whirring sound began and the gate started to slide open. About an inch and she pushed her way inside, did the same to the next two and was running towards the entrance door when a light popped on from inside and she was greeted by a wall of hard chests, some of the chests were naked, every face looking callous.

Exhaustion punched her in the face. She’d reached her destination and her body was about to die, she hadn’t realized her jelly legs had given out from under her until she felt the foyer carpet rise and meet her knees. Sweat pouring out of her, she dry heaved.

“Oh, shit.” Someone said around the ringing in her ears.

“She’s covered in blood.”

“It’s Grinder’s chick. Shit,” another announced. I’m Grinder’s chick. Yes, Grinder’s. And it was that voice who hunkered down next to her. “Babe. You hurt? Where’s the bleeding coming from?” Snake. She recognized him. Sweat in her eyes, though she was shaking from head to toe, she raised her head, panting. “Not--not mine. Nathan. They---They have him. They’ve beaten him so badly. They’re killing him.” Tears pooled into her eyes. Pain lancing her inside.

It was as though she’d set off an atom bomb. Everything became still. Silent.

And then a lot of things happened at a fast pace. People began to move and shout out orders to call Rider, to call Preacher, to call people she didn’t recognize names of.

Someone helped her up from the floor, her adrenalin had crashed, leaving her a shaking mess. “Are you sure you ain’t bleeding, babe?” blinking, she looked down at her stained hands and shook her head. “It’s not mine. It’s his.” Oh, god, it was his. So much blood.

Questions from a lot of voices came at her at once.

Where was Grinder?

Who had him?

Did she know where they had him?

How long had it been?

How did she get away?

That last one stung and brought fresh tears hastily to her eyes she blinked back. Wouldn’t show emotion or weakness. The accusing voice joined a wall of eyes.

“He said---he said to tell Rider Grigori wants to use him as a bargaining tool and not to accept.”

Her voice sounded different. Far away. Raising her hand, she brushed back her hair.

“Jesus Christ,” Snake again. He was sliding his leather cut on, his hair disarray like he’d been either sleeping or passing time with a woman right before she stepped into their clubhouse. “Goddamn cock-munching Russians.”

It might have only been minutes later that she heard the roar of bikes pulling up outside and the towering presence of the man in charge came through the door.

She’d seen Rider Marinos a bunch of times now, none of which she’d felt the punch of his aura before. But oh, she felt it now as blue eyes sought out every one of the men that were around as he strode in with powerful steps, before meeting her eyes. The tautness of his tanned skin across high, sharp cheekbones covered in a fine dusting of a beard, shoulder length brown hair that was usually tied back hung down and he strode like he knew how important he was to every man there.

“Who wants to tell me what’s goin’ on? Has someone checked you out?” he asked her gently. Much more softly than she’d expected. “Someone get the Butcher out of his pit, she’s covered in blood, for fucks sake and get her a drink, make it strong.”

Just like that, bodies scattered.

She repeated. “It isn’t my blood.”

She then told him everything in a calm voice, where the place was, what had happened from the moment she’d left his club the first time, to being grabbed and then seeing what they’d done to Nathan, dragging the strength from somewhere, her voice didn’t shake and she didn’t leave out a detail, all too aware the time was going by and Nathan was with cruel men.

“Targeting our women now? Punk ass bitches.” Snarled a rough man.

Rider regarded her thoroughly. Was he blaming her, too? She kicked up her chin refusing to look away. “You have to go and get him. I know what he told you, but you didn’t see him. He’s in fucking chains, he was bleeding heavily from everywhere,” her voice broke and she took a millisecond to clear it. “Please. Time… it’s been so long already. He’s hurt, I don’t know what they’re doing to him now.”

Please be okay. Please. Please.

“Prez. Do we need lockdown?”

Pensive. Rider paced, hands on his slim hips, she could see the anger on his face, felt the snap of it though his voice never raised. “Not yet. I need to make some calls. Someone take care of G’s girl,” and then to her. “Try not to worry. Your man is tough as shit.” And then, without giving her a solid answer whether they were going in to get Nathan or not the man in charge walked off down through the corridor and disappeared through a doorway.

Luxe stood on wobbly legs, feeling lost.

They weren’t just going to leave him there, were they?

Nathan was their friend. Their club brother. Even though he’d been clear to her to tell Rider not to let Grigori use him in any way to blackmail the club, which could only translate as to leave him there to his fate, he was more than that, more than a bargaining chip.

“Someone has to go and get him.” She spoke to no one in particular.

More bikes arrived outside, hardly anyone gave her attention as burly men barreled in and followed the same path as Rider.

“Someone has to---”

“Hey, now, sweetheart. Look at you, you’re frozen through. Let’s get you something warm to drink, eh?” blinking, Luxe looked up to see a tall white-haired man had appeared from nowhere. He must have been one of the men just arriving. “You come with me,” she hesitated. Not because she was afraid, the old man didn’t look like he’d swat a fly, she was bone tired, sick with worry, her feet wouldn’t move. “It’s okay. No one is going to leave Grinder there, I promise.” Luxe deflated with relief. “Come on, the kitchen is this way, we’ll get you cleaned up. Do you need a doctor?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I’d like to clean up, if I can?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. I’ll show you the bathroom. That’s it, you lean into me if you want. And call me Uncle Jed, everyone does.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

“Club business.” Translation; mind your own. She scowled. Nathan was her business. “We’re not letting him rot there, he’s gonna be fine. But he’ll kick up a fucking stink if he sees we haven’t taken care of his girl.” He smiled, his craggy face transformed from stern to kindness and Luxe allowed him to lead her to clean up.

Time suspended itself. It was as though Luxe wasn’t even here, washing her hands in a porcelain sink with soap she didn’t like the smell of.

Or gulping a dark rich cup of coffee.

She was on autopilot.

Her heart was elsewhere.

In a basement.

 

******

 

The air was ten degrees colder from Rider’s expressionless stare. He sat at the head of the table, fingers drumming, as more of his men arrived, each of them angrier than the last.

The enemy had touched one of their own.

And make no mistake Grigori was an enemy now.

Shit wasn’t gonna wash.

They were still reeling from Tiny’s untimely death last year, so, keeping with the current situation Rider was about as pissed off as he’d been in a while.

It was down to him to make the tough decisions, the kind that no one wanted, because at the end of the day his club thrived or died because of him.

To separate the big from the small.

And Rider, as hard faced as he’d always been, was facing the toughest decision yet.

To draw his club into what would be a hard turf war over organized crime, that could go for months, years, generations, that even his kids would be embroiled in, to upset all the work his club had done in the past ten years, to put them back at base camp of fighting for every goddamn scrap, again.

Or, the more difficult option, he left one of his best men in the hands of the mafia knowing fine well it would only result in Grinder’s death.

He turned his back on the room, his lungs burning, allowing his eyes to close for a second.

He hated this fucking job sometimes.

 

 

******

 

 

Stepping through the doors of the MC came Preacher after what felt like the longest fucking bike ride in history after receiving the call and the tall man was not happy. He’d been pulled out of bed with his old lady, one of the rare nights they both had off and they were catching the best sleep either of them had had this week.

Anger and worry warred for attention, making his tongue and mind more vicious than was natural to Preacher, but as a man who was used to keeping his emotions locked inside, because of Ruby and Seb, his box was now gaping open and all manner of expressive bullshit poured out of him. Better in than out his wife would say. But, Jesus, he felt like a loose cannon most days. Now this.

He guessed his brothers would be in the church already, his big body about to carry him there, it was a hunched figure on a sofa in the main room that caught his attention. Not that they were moving, it was the bent head and bandana holding the black hair back that alerted him to the woman. And his anger surged taking long strides over to her.

His voice carried. “I’m taking this is your doing? They have G because of you. Because you needed your sticky fucking fingers on something of theirs and you dragged my boy by the dick.”

He watched her visibly recoil. “I couldn’t--couldn’t do anything. He told me to leave. To come here.”

Preacher sucked air in through his teeth, aware he was taking out his temper----his fear, on the wrong person, but as she sat before him, her slim shoulders arched in, fingers shaking as she clutched them together he had nothing good to say to this woman who had brought trouble for not only his club, but his best friend who could be dead as he spoke.

“Don’t you worry, we’ll fix your fucking mess.” He turned on his heel and marched off sucking on his teeth and keeping his mouth shut before it got him in more trouble. Grinder heard about the way Preacher had spoken to his woman he’d probably take a punch for it, well, G could try anyway.

They just had to get his best friend back first.

Every pair of eyes turned towards Preacher’s loud entrance. Maybe it was the fury on his tight face that had every set of lips snapping shut not saying a word.

He prowled in, took his seat, his fingers rolling down his pointed beard.

“So. When the fuck do we roll out to get our boy?”

 

 

******

 

Blow after blow rained down on Grinder.

He had no clue if his body could take much more before he passed out or he went to the pearly gates. But the Russian’s knew what they were doing. Just enough to keep him awake and cooperating. Not enough to kill.

Oh, he didn’t long for death, not unless it was theirs. Those two special motherfuckers, tweedledee and dumbfuck would get it from him.

Just as soon as he stopped choking up blood.

Just as soon as his vision realigned.

Just a bit longer. Hold on longer. He let them beat him and kept his mouth shut a bit longer.

Bloodied knuckles rested on the concrete floor, they’d long since unhooked him from the chains, all the better to beat him, he snarled, blood matted his beard, dripped into his eyes.

Both men flagged either side, he was looking at their shoes, fighting for air, they were waiting for him to regain enough strength to give him a second and third go.

“Are you ready, my friend? This all can go away. You call your boss and we come to a deal that pleases all, da?” how fucking cheerful Grigori sounded standing away a little, surveying his men like a proud papa.

Oh, Grinder would kill them all.

He managed to lift his head and look through the haze of red at the man in charge. He was casually shelling peanuts, flicking the husks onto the floor as he chewed.

Those watchful evil eyes on Grinder, like he already knew Grinder was in a no-win situation here. What the dipshit didn’t realize is, he was prepared for them to kill him. No way would he involve the club because of him.

And if Rider got the message from Luxe, his prez would agree to leave him here.

Prepared to die for his woman and his club, he curled his busted lip.

“How about never? Never sounds a good time, you arrogant blowhard.”

And Grinder, despite the pain he was in, began to laugh as anger filled Grigori’s face.

A beaten man had to take his pleasures where he could.

He didn’t see the fist coming at him, but he sure as fuck felt it.