CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
"Shut up, Jere," Rezan ordered. "What time are they meeting?"
Manda panted, squeezing her hands in tight fists, her short nails digging into her palms. It was hard now to even remember why she was here. She just wanted this over, she wanted to be done so she could hide.
No. She couldn't run, not yet. T-Bear—she had to help T, even though he was through with her, even though he wouldn't look at her anymore, not even earlier at the Flyers' clubhouse , when Stick Vanko had called him in to confront her. She still wanted to keep him safe, even if that made her a lovesick fool.
"Um, they’re meeting late, like when the bar is about to close. In the back parking lot," she said hurriedly, the words tumbling over themselves.
Rezan relaxed and smiled. Then he reached to flick her under the chin with his finger, making her jerk as if he'd prodded her with an electrical charge.
"There, see now? That wasn't so hard, was it? You help me, I help you, that's how this works. Now, tell me that other little tidbit you hinted at."
"Huh?" What was he talking about? She'd done her job here. Now she needed to get away, she needed to hide. Somewhere Rezan and Jere couldn't find her.
"Focus, you stupid bitch," Rezan spat. "What else you got for me?"
There was something... a whisper of sound behind her, inside the warehouse, as if a large force was coiling, waiting.
This sent goosebumps skittering over her skin, and yet steadied her, just enough.
"Oh, right. Uh, one of the Flyers asked if they could trust the Wolves. And another one laughed, and said it didn't matter, 'cause they were gonna take care of that problem."
"What?" Rezan moved in again, and this time grabbed her arm in a painful grip. "What else did they say? Did they name any names?"
"Ow," she cried out, wilting as he twisted her arm. "Stop—that hurts!"
"Cut it out, man," Tim said from nearby. "You hurt her, she'll fold. She don't do pain."
"Fuck off," Rezan said, but his grip eased. "Talk, bitch."
"It—he had a weird name," Manda said. "One I never heard before."
"Fuck this. Was it Chaske?"
Manda nodded, hard, so her hair flipped. "Yeah, that was it. Chaske. Chaske Fire-something. Now can you let go of my arm? You're hurting me."
"Stupid bitch." He slapped her arm away carelessly. "It's Firewalker, dummy. He's Native American."
"What'd she mean, the Flyers are gonna take care of him? Huh, Rezan?" Jere demanded, shifting to peer into Rezan's face.
"Yeah," Tim added, agitated, nearly dancing on his toes in the background. "Shit, if the Flyers are onto Chaske, they'll make him talk. That means they'll find out about our deal. They could mess the whole thing up."
"Shut up!" Rezan snarled. "Don't you think I already thought of that, you fuckwit? Just shut up, and let me think."
Uh-oh. Now he was angry. That was bad, that was really bad.
Manda sidled a step closer to the crack in the old warehouse door. She'd rather brave what lay inside than deal with a ramped-up Rezan again.
And it was time, because she'd done as she agreed, and now she needed to disappear.
She reached behind her and found the edge of the door. It creaked loudly, and she froze.
"Hey!" Jere called, stabbing a finger at her in the light of Rezan's phone. "Where you think you're goin', bitch? Rezan promised me a turn with you tonight."
"No!" Manda pushed back against the door with all her might. "Oh, no."
"Hey! She's gettin' away!" Jere bellowed.
"Jesus, do I have to do all the thinking for you two?" Rezan demanded. "She can't get away if you get hold of her. So do it!"
Jere lunged for her and grabbed a handful of fleece sleeve.
At that moment, the door behind her gave way with a loud groan, as if the rust-stiffened hinges had given out.
She catapulted backward into the darkness, Jere stumbling with her. His familiar stench filled her nostrils—stale sweat and tanning product.
Her mind and body revolted, her hands clawing, heart pounding. No! She would not allow him to hurt her again, she wouldn't.
She swiped at him with her free hand. Her nails dug into flesh, and scraped. Jere yowled. "Ow! Fuckin' cunt, you scratched me. You're gonna pay for that now."
Manda came up against something hard and long and tall, was grabbed from behind in an iron grip, just as Rezan and Tim burst through the door after her and Jere.
"No!" she yelped. "No, no, no!" She fought his grip, mindless panic giving her strength.
"Fuckin' A, woman," her captor hissed. "Stop. It's me, Rocker."
"What?" Jere demanded, yanking at Manda. "What the fuck? Rezan—it's a—!"
His last word was lost forever as Manda snapped. She sucked in a sobbing breath and let loose, all the pent-up terror of the last hours, as well as Rezan and Jere's first attack, tearing from her throat in an ear-piercing shriek.
Struggling against the iron hands that held her, she kicked out savagely at Jere, striking him over and over with her feet, anywhere she could reach, as she continued to scream.
"Fuck!" another deep voice complained. "Turn the volume down."
A hard hand clamped over Manda's face.
"Stop," Rocker hissed in Manda's ear. Her mouth and nose covered, she could not breathe, so she sagged in his arms, spent.
Instantly he removed his hand so she could breathe, and she staggered back toward Jere as he tugged on her sleeve.
"What the fuck?" Rezan demanded in the sudden silence.
With shocking swiftness, three spotlights flashed on, revealing this part of the interior of the warehouse in stark color.
And in the light, the big men in Flyer cuts gathered in a loose circle around the warehouse door.
Rezan stood frozen in the lights, gaze darting from Flyer to Flyer. Just behind him, Tim's face was a rictus of horror.
Jere stood, still hanging onto Manda's fleecy sleeve, his face blank, mouth open as if he could not comprehend just how completely the situation had turned.
Manda had eyes only for the big, ginger biker looming in the lights, feet spread, arms at his sides, head down and gaze locked on Jere.
"Let. Her. Go." T-Bear rumbled, his voice like the boom of thunder after a lightning strike. "Think you're a big, tough man 'cause you can tie women up and push 'em around? Threaten to rape and abuse them? Lessee how you do against a real man, you slimy, little piece of shit."
Jere let her go and backed away, toward Rezan as if for protection. "No, no, man," he babbled. "I didn't mean nothin'. It's cool, it's cool."
T advanced on him, hands curling into massive fists. "Cool?" he snorted. "It'll be cool after I pound you into a pile of stew-meat and feed you to the dogs."
"We got dogs?" Cooler asked, sounding interested.
"I'll find some," T assured him.
Jere darted toward the door, but another tall Flyer was there, blocking his way—Pete Vanko. He shoved the bodybuilder back toward T.
"No, no," the baby-faced Jere whined. "Rezan, tell 'em. I was just doin' what you told me—just followin' orders."
T reached out a long arm and grabbed him, lifting the smaller man right off the ground. "Oh, yeah? Was you followin' orders when you shoved her headfirst into a wall? And when you told her how you was comin' back later to rape her, maybe break her legs? Well guess what, I ain't followin' no one's orders, shithead. I'm doin' this 'cause I want to. And don't think your boss is gonna get off easy, either, 'cause he ain't."
He drew back his other hand and cuffed Jere across the face. Manda flinched at the meaty smack of flesh on flesh. Jere's head jerked to one side, then the other as T hit him again. Then he casually dropped the smaller man, drew back his booted foot and kicked him, right in the groin. Jere convulsed into a ball, uttering a sound of agony.
"Huh," T said, towering over him. "Guess you won't be doing any raping any time soon."
"Or ever," one of the Flyers said. "Fuck, man, think you kicked his gonads up so far he'll choke on 'em."
"That'd be good," someone else said. "Save us the trouble."
"T?" Manda called softly. "Thank you. That was—I wish I could've done that."
“Just stay out of the way,” T answered, without looking around. As if he didn't even want to look her.