Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2) (13 page)

He gave me another kiss. Warm. Hot.

“Now. I’m sorry. They’ll look after you here. You can use my room for now. Let anyone out there know if you need anything.”

I nodded but he was already on his way.

From half way down the hall he turned to look at me. “It’s going to be okay, you know. That fucker ain’t getting you back. No way. No how.”

For a moment I believed him and gave a wan smile. I went and sat back down on the bed and lost myself back in my thoughts.

At the least the door wasn’t locked this time.

D
ewey

He turned off the little speaker. Perfect. The morons thought they had a new plan and it was even dumber than the last one.

It seemed their interim leader was going to be coming to pay him a little visit. Soon he’d get to join his buddy Red.

The only unsettling thing was that Karen had been acting very strangely. He guessed she had to put on an act for the bikers, pretend that she didn’t actually want to be with him, pretend that she was
scared
to be coming to see him.

The very idea of her being scared of him was preposterous though. He had been the epitome of a perfect boyfriend throughout high school, never once raising a fist to her.

There had of course been the
final
incident. But
that
was entirely her fault. Surely she understood that by now?

Dewey let out a sigh as he grabbed a couple of bottles of water and his night vision equipment. He had to water Red before he went to play hunt the Bottle. He wondered whether he should pick him up immediately, or let him settle in for a while.

Probably best to leave him there a while, he mused, let him get nice and stiff from lying in the cold dirt. And bored. He’d get lax after the first twenty fours lying there. Probably sooner, actually.

Yes, that’s what he’d do. Leave Bottle there until a few hours before the drop-off.

K
aren

Although I wasn’t a prisoner I sure as shit felt like one. Although I didn’t try and leave the clubhouse, I knew that if I tried I’d be stopped.

Every time I got near the door a chair would shuffle or a man would cough and raise an eyebrow. They didn’t want to say anything, and nothing needed to be said. I understood. I was not to leave.

They brought me food, they gave me coffee and later beer. But shit, it was
boring
. There was a big TV in the corner but nothing can entertain when you’re on edge like that. I felt like a condemned prisoner the day before her execution.

In the later afternoon the front door opened and someone came to speak to me, finally. Gauge.

“How are you doing?”

“Great. Really enjoying myself,” I said.

He let out a low chuckle.

“It’s going to be cold out there, when we drop you off.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Here,” he said, “I brought you this.”

I let out a small smile as he handed a thick hoodie over. It looked warm.

“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it.

I was about to tell him that I’d never worn a hoodie before; Dewey didn’t think they would suit me, and they hadn’t been issued in prison; but I didn’t think he would understand.

“Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll wake you at 4. We’re going to have an early start.” He grinned and seemed pleased at the insanity of the hour we’d be starting off.

I shrugged. “Okay.” I actually was pretty tired, but I was also wired with nervousness. Still, it might be worth trying to get some rest.

I headed out back to Bottle’s room and Gauge stalked out the front door of the club to go do whatever he had to do.

“Strange guy,” I said to no one in particular as I closed the door to Bottle’s room.

I lay down on the bed. Had Gauge really come here just to give me that hoodie? Or was he in fact checking up on everything, making sure I was still confined to the clubhouse.

Probably the latter I thought.

I was still trying to figure him out, and just what the hell was going on, when somehow I managed to fall asleep.

B
ottle

He shifted in the dirt, trying to get comfortable. It was impossible. “Fuckin’ Gauge” he muttered to himself. What the hell kind of bullshit plan was this?

Usually Gauge’s plans were much better. Shooting shit? Cool. Burning stuff down? No problem. Lying in the fucking dirt for thirty hours? Major league bullshit.

To his side lay the Remington 700 rifle he’d borrowed from Gauge. Every so often he pulled it toward him, held the stock against his shoulder, and peered through the scope to the distant black rock where the deal was supposed to go down. Dewey wasn’t supposed to be there for hours yet, but maybe he’d show up early to scout around. Maybe he’d even set up a trap of his own. Who knew what that sneaky fucker would try and do.

Gauge’s dumbass plan was simple: Get out there, undercover,
way
before the exchange was supposed to happen. Then, when the asshole-boy-scout showed up, he’d shoot the arrogant cocksucker. Boom. Done. At the range he was at, there was no chance of Dewey spotting him. Thanks to the powerful scope and excellent range of the rifle, as well as the practice he’d put in, the fool wouldn’t know what hit him.

Even if Dewey was already keeping a watch on the rock he wouldn’t have seen Bottle. Gauge had insisted that he hike the last five miles carrying the heavy-ass rifle, the camo net, his water, and his
rations
as Gauge had insisted on calling the four foil-wrapped burritos he’d taken with him.

So there he’d been, since yesterday afternoon, sweating then freezing his balls off as he hiked through the arid landscape and then dug in to wait.

He’d played count the bushes, then count the tumbleweeds, then count the rocks, and now he felt he was slowly losing his mind. For the twentieth time that hour he raised the scope to his right eye, closing the left as he squinted through the cross-hairs, peering at the distant rock.

The moon was bright and bathed everything in its glow, giving the night scene the black and white look of an old movie. He didn’t have night vision on the weapon, but they wouldn’t be dropping Karen off until morning when it would be unnecessary.

The biker swung the scope slowly across the scene, then urgently swung it back half an inch. He’d seen something. Bottle swallowed as he scanned the area. There it was again, movement right where they were going to drop Karen off in their fake trade with Dewey. As he peered intently it disappeared as a lone cloud decided to park itself in front of the moon, casting the desert in a murkier darkness. What was it he had seen? Was Dewey there already, planning a surprise for T-Bone and Gauge? If he was, he’d be getting a surprise of his own. Bottle gave a wicked grin to himself.
This fucker don’t know what he’s got himself into.

Bottle was squinting, trying to make out who or what he had seen when the lone cloud kindly drifted off allowing the moonlight to illuminate the rocky site of the morning’s supposed trade. Bottle’s fingers rested on the trigger, ready to drop the target earlier than planned if he was there already. They couldn’t allow him to set up a trap, even if it meant it would be harder to find Red.

Bottle peered intently through the scope and then let out a sigh as he realized what it was that had caught his attention. It was just a coyote nosing around.

As his heart rate slowed and the surge of adrenaline faded away he placed the rifle back down next to him and let his head thud into the sandy, gritty ground beneath him. “I am never following one of Gauge’s plans again,” he said into the unlistening earth.

Just as he was about to doze off there was an ominous metallic click behind him and Bottle felt his heartbeat surge again. “Oh fuck.”

“’Fuck’ indeed grease-monkey. Don’t try anything clever. Put your hands behind your back, slowly. We’re going for a little walk.”

He had no choice. It was obvious Dewey had a weapon trained on him and trying to take it from him would be suicide.

A  moment later Bottle was clambering awkwardly to his feet, his hands locked in metal handcuffs, as the immaculately dressed Dewey watched on.

As they began their march away Bottle let out a sigh and shook his head. “Fuckin’ Gauge...”

I
shivered in the back of the truck as we rumbled toward our destination: some god-awful place in the middle of nowhere, picked by Dewey of course. I was on my own while Gauge and T-Bone were up front. I had thick duct tape wrapped tightly around my wrists —
We want it to look realistic —
and my ankles
— he said to make sure she can’t run.

I hoped to fuck the plan was everything they said it would be. As far as I understood it, I’d be dropped off, they’d drive away, and an indeterminate amount of time later Dewey would show up with Red. When that happened, Bottle would take him the fuck down.

Would it work? Fucked if I know. I hoped those guys knew what they were doing.

I rubbed my head against the hoodie I was wearing, trying to get the hood to come up over my hair and help keep me warm. It would have been much easier if my hands were free, but they weren’t, of course.

As we hit a pothole my head bounced up and then smacked down again onto the hard metal bed of the van with a thud far quieter than it seemed it should have been, considering the pain that shot through me. “Mmmph!” There was a rag (clean, thankfully) shoved into my mouth and more tape keeping it in place, and this had thwarted my attempt to curse like a sailor’s whore.

Why the hell was my life like this? It wasn’t fair. I didn’t want anything special, I didn’t need to be the child of a billionaire, or a European princess, or a talented Olympian. Why couldn’t I have just had a normal life? A normal boyfriend? Parents who
didn’t
die far too early?

It just wasn’t fair.
At least you’re not an Ethiopian
, I heard my mother echo in my mind. It’s what she used to say to me as a child, referencing the famine in the eighties whenever I complained about something not being fair. She was right then of course, but she didn’t know what was coming.

I may not have died of starvation, but I was still devastated in a different way. By him. By Dewey.

And where was I going now? Were these bikers really using me as bait to trap him? Or were they actually going to turn me over in exchange for their boy, leaving me to Dewey’s cruel mouth, cruel hands and crazy mind.

All I knew was that right then, tied up in the back of the van, it was all out of my hands. It may sound crazy, but it was a relief to be out of control, to know that the decisions were now being made by other people and that, come what may, whatever happened next was no longer up to me.

We hit another pothole but this time I was a little more ready for it and managed to hold my head straight instead of allowing it to bang onto the floor again. I shoved myself with my feet up against the side of the panel-van, using the wall to give myself a little more support in avoiding being smacked around too much by the ride.

In my mind the dark and dusty interior of the panel van stood in stark contrast to yesterday’s exhilarating rides on the back of Bottle’s motorcycle. As we had traveled back and forth the day before I had felt a freedom I’d never felt before when traveling
inside
a vehicle. It’s not just a different form of transport, it’s a different way of looking at the world, a different way of
living
. It’s only when you feel the wind in your hair and on your skin that you realize how passive it is to ride in a car. It’s like watching a basketball game on TV rather than actually playing it. On a bike you’re
there
, in a car you’re simply
watching
. And tied up in the back of a panel-van? Well, that’s just fucked.

The potholes got more frequent, until suddenly the entire road seemed to be potholes. I braced myself as best I could as I was bounced up and down, up and down, up and down. I knew I’d have even more bruises on me tomorrow. In fact, would there be anything
but
bruises I wondered? My musings terminated abruptly when a particularly deep hole flung me completely off the floor of the truck before I landed back down hard, letting out a grunt that was the closest I could get to the “
Motherfucker!”
I wanted to scream out.

The journey seemed endless, but like all seemingly endless journeys it finally had one, and we pulled to a stop god-knows-where. Even though the vehicle had stopped moving, I hadn’t. My body was shaking from the trauma of being tossed around, the chilly pre-dawn air, and, of course, fear.

The last time I’d seen Bottle he’d held me, and whispered in my ear that he wouldn’t let this motherfucker take me away. His arms had wrapped around me, I’d buried my face in his chest, and I’d believed him.

The rear doors swung open and I saw the unreadable faces of T-Bone and Gauge peering in. Were they really going through with a plan, or were they just going to toss me out like carrion? Is that why Bottle wasn’t there? Was he too ashamed to look me in the eye as he gave me over to my tormentor?

“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” said Gauge as he reached in and pulled me toward them. My body slid across the flat bed of the van to the doors. T-Bone grabbed me by the legs and Gauge my upper arms, and I let them carry me. I didn’t struggle.

They took me around the front of the van to a large, dark, almost black rock that jutted out of the sandy dirt like an old decayed tooth. They put me down next to it, sitting up so I could lean my back against it.

“This rock should give you some shade once the sun comes up, as long as he doesn’t take too long getting here.”

I bowed my head down into my knees. I couldn’t speak to them and I wasn’t about to thank them anyway. At best, I was bait in their trap, and who’d thank them for that?

I opened my eyes wide with fright. Gauge had tied something around my leg. I watched on with scared eyes as T-Bone hammered a heavy wooden stake into the ground, to which Gauge tied the cord which he had just attached to my leg. “Don’t worry hon, we’re just doing what he told us. He doesn’t want you running away.”