Reprisal (Tidals & Anchors MC Book 2)

Copyright Page

Thank you

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

The Vote

Epilogue

S
tar & Skull Graphics. You did such an amazing job with this cover! I couldn’t be happier!

Sarah Ve, for being my perfect, bad ass, biker gal. This story speaks more to me now that we have a face to Stilettos & Steele!

My bad ass PA, Brittany Reece for giving this a look over for me! My street team Vixens & Villains for working so diligently to get the word out!

My readers. Back for more? Ready for part two of Tidals & Anchors MC? Get ready, cause here we go!

Reprisal

Tidals & Anchors MC #2

T
he glowing ash as I pulled on my cigarette was the only thing that lit the room. I had been sitting in the Stilettos and Steele MC meeting room waiting on a report. The music from inside the
Femme Fatale
gentleman’s club was blaring through the walls in dull beats. The last thing I knew, one of the members of Tidals & Anchors Motorcycle Club had been taken hostage and half the club was for his death, while the other half was against it. I can’t say I didn’t know what he had done, because it traveled through the grapevine, but what he did wasn’t a crime; it was a mercy, not to mention a setup.

It was shady shit and I didn’t like it. From what I heard, Pardon Quinn, the current president of Tidals & Anchors had setup one of his crew to kill our President, Alaska Winslow, so that he could have him taken out and no one would question it. That’s when I knew that Pardon had to go down and that Swing had to be saved. I wasn’t sure where he was, but I was just sitting here waiting on a location. My best tracker, Tumbler, was on the case, and I knew she’d find out what I needed without being seen.

But once we got Swing out, then what? Should we turn him loose on Tidals & Anchors, or should we put him down ourselves? I wasn’t sure about it yet. If we let him take out Pardon, all of the charters of Tidals & Anchors would end up at our doorstep looking for him and would most likely kill anyone in their way. If we put him down, the same result would happen unless Pardon stopped it.

Fuck.

I used the tips of my fingers to rub my forehead before taking another drag on my smoke.

In the near distance, I heard a motorcycle engine roaring toward the strip club we managed. There was money to be made in women flashing their bits and pieces, not to mention that it was good, legit money. It was also how we came up with our club name. The dancers wore the stilettos, but we rode the steel.

About ten or so minutes passed before there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” I called out.

“It’s me,” Tumbler said through the door.

“Come in.”

She pushed the door open and flipped the light on. I turned, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray that sat on my desk and propped my legs up. One thing I liked best about her being my tracker is that she was to the point with her information.

“I found him,” she said, taking the seat across from me. “He’s in a warehouse kind of place in Bend. Pardon was there, so was Mary Ann, and I’m pretty sure I saw Saylor too, but I can’t be sure.”

“Mary Ann and Saylor?” I asked curiously.

“Yeah. The decoy was her kid. Did you know that?” Tumbler asked.

I shook my head. It was true, I
didn’t
know that. And if Saylor was there, it would make perfect sense, because the decoy was her sister.

“Is he alive?” I inquired, pushing my thoughts aside for the moment.

“Barely. They’ve got someone there cutting him up slowly,” she replied with a shudder.

I let out a long sigh and crossed my hands behind my head. I still wasn’t sure what to do with the situation at hand. Maybe it was time to ask someone else’s opinion.

“What would you do if you were me?” I asked her.

Tumbler let out a good-natured laugh, “I wouldn’t dare try to put myself in the Dame’s shoes.”

Dame was the nickname given to my by my girls because I was their leader; their president. See, we had caught wind of Pardon’s plan to have the president of our club assassinated and knew that couldn’t happen. We hadn’t found out why until later, but I had come up with a solution to it.

One of our Newcomers, I had found out, was terminally ill. She said she wanted to have a little fun before she died and volunteered to play the part of the president of the Stilettos and Steele Motorcycle Club. When she went crashing into the Tidals & Anchors MC clubhouse, she was putting our plan into play. She made them all believe that she was Alaska Winslow.

When Swing put a bullet in her head, he did her a kindness. She wanted to die but wanted to got out like a warrior, and she did. The only problem now was that Mary Ann had teamed up with Pardon and possibly Saylor to get revenge on Swing, even though I was sure they knew why he had ordered the hit by now.

“We have to save him,” I finally decided quietly. “I can’t explain it, but I think he would do the same thing for me.”

“Because of Warner,” Tumbler agreed, with a nod.

Our eyes met for a brief moment, before I dropped my legs down from the desk top. I reached into the top right drawer and pulled out my Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum Revolver and got to my feet. I rarely used this gun because it was so big, but I didn’t know how many people I would have to take down to get him out, and I was a damn good shot. Anything in my way, was going to go down.

“I’m coming with you,” Tumbler said.

I didn’t argue with her; I couldn’t. I needed all the help I could get and I wasn’t going to ask the rest of the girls to get in on this.

Swing thought he killed Alaska Winslow. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when we saved him and told him who I was.

Swing

W
hy won’t she just fucking get this over with?

I wasn’t sure if it had been days or weeks at this point, but this little game that my faceless coward was playing with me was getting tiring. I had spent most of whatever time I was left alone in the chair trying to wriggle out of the ropes. So far, I think I had loosened them, but not enough to get fully out of the chair.

The chair. This was just too fucking ironic for words.

It all started with a plan that was thought of by the current president of Tidals & Anchors Motorcycle Club. Through my blind fumbling and following orders, I had found out that he had set me up to kill the club president of the newly formed bitch gang, Stilettos and Steele. Apparently, my mouth was getting too much for him to handle and he wanted to erase me. But much like my faceless coward, Pardon never could get his own hands dirty and would always send me to do the dirtiest work when someone was to be put down.

And now here I was, somewhat tied to the actual chair that belonged to the president of Tidals & Anchors, trying to hold on to consciousness. I had been cut a few times; some were too deep and some were superficial. Either way, the loss of blood was starting to get to me and I needed to get the fuck out of this.

I think it had been an hour since our last “session”, maybe more or less, but I was struggling to stay alert and I knew that this would be the only chance I really had to make a final break for it. If I couldn’t, then I was going to die in this chair and I’d never get the chance to kick Pardon’s face in.

I looked up at the table and saw some sharp, shiny things.
My favorite,
I thought with a grim smile. If I could just finish getting my wrists out of these goddamn binds, I would be able to get to the table and surprise the bitch when she got back.

I took a deep breath and put the rest of my energy into getting out of the restraints, but it was no use. I had lost too much blood and I was already too tired from just sitting in this chair to do much to help myself.

My head slumped against my chest and I let my eyes close. There was no point in fighting this shit anymore. I wouldn’t be able to get myself out of this.

Pardon wins after all
.

“Not yet you don’t,” the muffled voice said.

I chuckled slightly. Maybe she hadn’t left the room after all. Maybe she had been lurking in the shadows watching me struggle and maybe she was finally going to call the old bastard and let him know that it was time.

I felt something plastic and somewhat sharp being shoved against my lips. It took another couple of jabs to realize that it was a straw. I parted my lips and let her push the straw further into my mouth and started sucking down the cold water she had brought to me. Slowly, very slowly, but surely it was starting to give me a little bit of energy back.

“Feel better?” she asked, pulling the straw away when I was done. “It’s far from over, Swing. I need you to stay with me until it’s time for you to die.”

“Can’t wait,” I managed to say.

She scoffed and threw the cup across the room. It seemed that I wouldn’t be getting anymore water today for my little remark, but I had been told before that my mouth was a bit of a problem.

“What the hell?” she muttered suddenly. I heard her footsteps as she walked somewhere behind me and the
whoosh
of the old, ragged curtains on the window being pulled back.
I never
did
get a chance to replace those,
I thought as I closed my eyes again.

The unmistakable sound of motorcycle engines roaring closer made me smile. Maybe Pardon decided to come check on his little project. I’d be able to get in one last fuck you before I died and that would be enough to make me genuinely smile.

“Hmph,” she said quietly, as the engines finally died away.

Or maybe not.

She came back over to me and I felt her hovering for a moment before she went back to the table.

Then I heard the sound of the door as it caved under some kind of assault and heard her gasp in surprise.

“What are
you
doing here?” she asked in surprise.

“Sorry. But we need him alive,” a voice replied.

Those words were punctuated by one of the loudest gunshots I had ever heard in my life, and the masked assailant’s body dropping to the floor. I cracked my eyes open and saw the mask was crying tears of blood and realized she had been shot in the forehead.

“Cut him loose. We gotta get him back to
Femme Fatale
so I can fix him up,” the voice commanded.

Immediately, I saw a petite frame appear in the corner of my eye at the table. I watched as a knife came back toward me, disappearing behind me, and felt the movements of whoever it was cutting the ropes off.

“Can you stand up?” the person asked from behind me.

Another girl. Great.

“I don’t think so.”

“Go back to the club and get the truck. I’ll wait here with him. If he can’t stand, he can’t ride and without it we can’t get him back.”

“Be back as soon as I can,” the second voice said. I listened as the door closed behind us and the first person sighed. I glanced over toward the table again and saw legs dangling.
Sure, have a seat
.

“I think it’s about time you and I got acquainted,” the first voice said to me. “You’re gonna need me to save your life.”

Alaska

I
n a way, I felt bad for him. He hadn’t fallen from motorcycle club grace, he had been thrown from the rooftops and swan dived into Hell. I didn’t know how he would receive knowing I was
me
yet, so I decided I wouldn’t tell him just yet. I’d wait for Tumbler to get back just in case.

“Ugh,” he moaned, shifting in the chair and leaning his head back. “Feels good.”

“What does?” I asked.

“Not being strapped to this fucking chair anymore. Thanks.”

He finally turned his eyes toward me. Swing was as every bit as handsome as the rumors said he was. Even though half of his face looked like pulp and the other half looked like it had been through a war on it’s own, I could tell he was definitely someone I’d like to play with.

I nodded in response and fished my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket. I pulled one out and lit and felt his eyes still lingering on me.

“Want one?” I asked, holding out the pack.

“Yeah.”

I hopped off of the table and walked over to him. He wiped his hands on the leg of his jeans, before he reached up and grabbed one. His hands were shaking, probably from being held in one position too long, so I lit the end of the cigarette for him.

“How long you been in here?” I asked.