Cash (The Henchmen MC Book 2) (20 page)

“We need to know everyone's dirty secrets,” he shrugged.

“Right, well... keep me updated.”

“Will do,” Malcolm said, swiveling back to the computer and not bothering to walk me out.

I was glad for the privacy as I looked around the grounds, looking at the life Lo had built for herself and for her people. It was pretty fucking amazing what she had done for herself in just over ten years.

“Is Lo alright?” the guy at the gate asked, unable to help himself.

“She's fine. She'll be even better in about... thirty minutes,” I said, giving him a sly smile that left him slack-jawed as I pulled away.

I pushed back the frustration and the guilt as I drove into my development. I needed to...

Every single thought flew out of my head as I pulled into my driveway to find my door thrown open. Don't ask me how I knew, but I knew. Technically, there could have been any number of reasons the door was open, but in that moment, I knew she was gone. I barely got the car into park as I flew out and up my front path and into... utter fucking chaos.

My dining room table was slammed against the wall, the chairs overturned, porcelain from a coffee cup splintered everywhere. And there was blood. Smeared across one of the walls, drops on the carpet.

“Fuck!” I growled, picking up one of the overturned chairs and throwing it across the room, not getting an ounce of satisfaction from it breaking apart.

I turned back toward the living room and spotted Lo's gun half lodged underneath the couch. She had gotten to it at some point. I went to it, hoping in an altogether too hopeless way that maybe she had gotten a shot off, but that hope drained when I opened it and found all bullets still inside.

On a frustrated yell, I grabbed Lo's phone off the floor, hoping I could find Hailstorm's number and fill them in. I stepped out onto my front path, not able to stomach the thought of being in my house with her blood on my walls.

“Mr. Cash!” I heard from the side and groaned. The last thing I needed was to talk to one of my neighbors right then. “Mr. Cash,” Ernie, the sixty-something year old widow that lived across the street next to the girls' family called as he shuffled over to me in his tan slacks, green checkered shirt, and brown belt... looking every bit the old man.

“Ernie, I have to...”

“I know you're a busy man. And this is probably none of my business...” he hedged.

I sighed inwardly. “What isn't your business?”

“Well... there was a man here earlier...”

Immediately, I straightened and went from half-listening to completely fucking apt. I ripped my phone out of my pocket, again drawing up the picture of Willow and Damian. “This him?” I asked, a little too roughly.

He took his time getting his glasses from around his neck onto his nose and pulling my phone up to his face. “Yes. Yes, I'd have to say that is the man I saw.” He pushed the phone back at me. “I know it's not my place, but well, I would want to know if I were in your place, son...”

“Know what? I asked, trying to draw forth a little patience.

“Your girlfriend... she, ah, well my boy... there's no easy way to say this. She left with that man.”

“How long ago?” I asked, not wanting to ask if she left willingly, not willing to bring up that can of worms and force old Ernie to call the police.

“Well, I was just finishing lunch. Maybe around noon?” He paused. “Sorry to have to be the one to tell you about this, son.”

“Happen to get a make on his car?”

Ernie looked surprised for a moment before his chest puffed out slightly. “Better than that. I got the license plate number. You know... you can never be too careful when you see strange cars in the area.”

It was right then that I thought a thought I never imagined I would: Thank fucking god for nosy neighbors.

Ernie rattled off the number and gave me a sympathetic clamp on the shoulder before heading back to his house to stare out the window some more. I swiped through Lo's contacts as I got back into the car and backed out of the driveway.

“Malcolm,” his voice met my ear and I felt a slight amount of relief that I had someone to share the information with.

“It's Cash,” I said immediately.

“Where's Lo? Why are you on her phone?”

“She's gone. He got her while I was there.” There was no use easing him into it. Besides, he struck me as the kind of man who handled emergency situations with a practiced kind of ease. “I have a plate and model number. Maybe you can catch it on your cameras.”

I rattled off the information and he gave me a clipped, “On it,” before he disconnected.

I drove, realizing I had nowhere to drive to so I drove to the compound, tearing through the main area, completely ignoring anyone who talked to me and stomping down the steps to the basement, going through two locked security doors to get to the gun safe.

“The fuck you doing?” Repo asked from behind me as I put a gun in the waistband of my jeans.

“Not club business,” I said, trying to brush past him and shocked when his hands landed on my shoulders and shoved me back against the wall. “The fuck...”

“Everything is club business,” he countered.

“Don't do this, Repo,” I warned, in no mood for his brotherhood shit. I knew the club meant fucking everything to him, but he was overstepping a line.

“Don't put personal shit over your loyalties.”

“Like Reign did?” I exploded, shoving him back.

“Different situation and you know it,” he countered.

“Same fucking thing, man. And I don't have the time to fucking fill you in. So back the fuck off and let me handle my shit.”

“Cash, man...” he said, clearly taking a step back, but not wanting to let it drop.

“Back,” I said, emphasizing with a shove, “off.” With that... I stormed back up the stairs and took off toward my bike.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I picked it up. “Malc?”

“Got an address. We're on our way but you're closer.”

“Give it to me,” I demanded, already on my bike.

He gave it to me and I sped off, full of a sensation I had never understood before: heart in your throat.

She was okay.

She
had
to be okay.

Nineteen

Lo

The funny thing about the space of years is, it doesn't exist, not really. When your past comes crashing into your present, it didn't bring with it the foggy haze of time. The kind of dread I used to feel spreading through my whole body sprang through my system as Damian closed in on me. Suddenly, I wasn't the woman who pulled herself up from her bootstraps, a woman built a career cutting men off at the knees who dared use his power for evil, a woman who never backed down from a fight, a woman who never ever cowered. I was just little Willow Crane, I was just a girl raised to be submissive; I was the young woman who learned to never so much as step a toe out of line out of fear of retribution.

I rubbed my side as I tried to push myself up, as I tried to remember my training, get my wits about me. I still had a chance so long as I was in Cash's house, so long as I wasn't taken to a second location.

“Shoulda known you'd shack yourself up with some man. Trading pussy that belongs to me for protection.”

That was when the anger kicked in, heady, so strong I finally understood the term 'seeing red', because my vision was tinted in it.

“That's where you fucked up, Damian,” I growled, getting to my feet, ignoring the slight shooting pain up my side. In response, I got a brow raise. “I don't need a man to protect me,” I said and flew at him.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was screwed. I knew our training was about matched and he had the advantage of six inches in height and a solid hundred pounds of merciless muscle. I also didn't have the flinch factor- the fact that most men who found themselves in a fight against a woman, no matter how big and bad they were, would hesitate, would flinch. It gave me the chance to challenge, to get the better of them. I had five years of proof that Damian didn't flinch.

So, yeah. I was screwed.

But damn if I was going to cower, to let myself get beat by him again.

I was going to put every bit of myself into the fight. I was going to make him hurt.

I got a hook to his ribs and a knee to his groin before he got me, flinging me hard at the wall and I watched in a fascinated kind of horror as my blood dripped down Cash's dining room wall.

“So you gave him my pussy just because you're a slut, is that it?” He growled, grabbing me by the ends of my hair, twirling, and twisting.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my cries, then, “Newsflash, Damian... it's
my
pussy and I've been sharing it with any man I want for the past thirteen years. And guess what? They, unlike you, could actually make me come.”

“Stupid cunt!” Then I was slammed against the wall hard enough for my vision to waver in darkness for a second. The crack was accompanied by an immediate and skull-splitting migraine.

Despite it (and quite frankly sure it couldn't possibly hurt any more than it already did), I threw my head back, cracking him in the mouth and swung out from him and made a grab for my bag, rummaging around until I found my gun and pulled it out. I swung around, arm raised, to have my wrist grabbed and twisted until it cracked and he grabbed the gun and tossed it.

Shit.

That was really my only chance.

“I should drag you upstairs to his bed and fuck you there until he gets home.”

I sneered. “He'd kill you,” I said simply, knowing to my marrow that it was the truth.

“Please... some weakass biker...”

“You've obviously never seen him in action. He'd take you.” It was mostly bluster. I honestly had no idea who would win if they were matched up. They both had their strengths. Cash might have the advantage of not letting his rage get to him, of battling cold. But other than that...

“Don't worry. He's gonna get what's coming to him,” he grinned and I felt sick satisfaction seeing the blood staining his teeth.

Fuck.

I didn't consider that. I didn't think I was putting Cash in any kind of danger. There was no way I could let him get hurt because of me. He had been nothing but good to me and I had done my best to be a bitch.

That was what he was going to remember about me.

I had no delusions about my future- it wasn't going to be a very
long
future. I was going to die, slowly, painfully. And that was going to happen soon.

I would never get another chance to let Cash see a better side of me.

All he would have to remember me by was my snippy-ness and the sex. Hell, he would probably find another chick in an afternoon and forget about the sex too.

There was nothing I could do about that now.

Hopefully he found something decent to remember me by.

“Now you're going to be a good girl and go to my car with me.”

Ha. Fat chance.

“Like hell,” I smirked, charging at him.

From there... it was just blow after blow, the shocking jarring of my fist colliding with his bones, and the almost blinding pain of his fists in my face or busted ribs. It didn't take much for me to get pinned. Two, three minutes tops and I was trapped under his weight, his body pressing so hard into my chest and abdomen that I couldn't draw a proper breath.

“It's gonna take some time to break this spirit of yours,” he grunted , grabbing my hands when I reached up to claw down his face and pinning them over my head. “But, trust me, wife, I am looking forward to it.” He shifted both of my wrists into one of his palms and brought the other hand down to my throat. “Starting now,” he said, pressing down and cutting off what little air supply I had. “We're gonna keep doing this until you agree to get up and walk to my car like the obedient little bitch you used to be.”

If he was going for cooperation, he was going about it the wrong way, reminding me of how powerless I used to be under his control.

As such, he got six times, six times of completely cutting off my air supply until my face went tingly and numb and I felt oblivion start to pull at me, only to have him pull away at the last possible second and force my consciousness back.

“Fine,” I gasped, the sensation of razor blades down my throat with each swallow. What was the point of resisting? Cash hadn't been gone that long; he could be gone for hours more. The chances of him charging in and helping me were slim to none and the way things were going, I'd have been too weak to pitch in in a fight and it would just be Cash and Damian. Both had reason to want to kill each other. Either could win. I couldn't put him in that situation. It was better to do what Damian wanted.

So I did.

“Fucking stubborn little cunt,” he said, getting off my body and reaching down to haul me onto my feet. I wavered and, in absolute horror, had to reach out to Damian's chest to steady myself, making him chuckle. His arm went around my shoulders, hauling my front against his side as he led me awkwardly outside toward his truck.