Bad Boy's Baby: Wicked Angels MC (22 page)

Before I could stop him, Phin turned around in my lap and faced Darius defiantly. My cheeks burned with shame knowing my son had listened in on this conversation.

“My Daddy is going to come save us,” Phin piped up. “You should be afraid of him! He’s tough!”

Darius threw his head back and laughed. It was a rumbling, throaty sound that echoed through the damp basement.

“Your daddy is dead,” Darius said evenly. I gasped and he made no response. “And you’ll be dead soon, too.”

I was in shock as Darius got up and walked towards us with a length of rope in his hands. As he tied my wrists together behind my back, more tightly than before, I was barely paying attention. All I could think about was Tristan. Was he really dead? What was going to happen to us now? I felt like crying, but in front of Darius, the tears wouldn’t come.

When Darius was finished binding me, he moved to Phin and tied up his hands and ankles. Then he twisted my ankles together with the same rope, effectively binding me to my son.

“I hope you enjoyed your snack,” Darius said just as my stomach rumbled from fierce hunger. “That was the last time you’ll be untied for a few days. I hope it was good!” He grinned at me as he turned around and climbed back up the stairs, flicking off the lights and slamming the door hard behind him.

“Mommy, what are we going to do?” Phin’s voice was trembling and scared but I couldn’t even respond. I was too trapped in my own head, too aware of my own shortcomings. Somehow, all of this had to be my fault.

And now I was feeling more scared than ever before.

Tristan

When I finally got back to the Angels’ HQ, I was covered in sweat and physically gearing up for a confrontation. Before Jenny had come back into my life, I didn’t care about the violent acts that went on all the time. But now I was seeing them from a faintly different perspective, almost as if Jenny were watching me all the time, like a little guardian angel on my shoulder.

“Hey, boss,” Rod greeted me. He clapped me on the back, no doubt trying to make up for me passing over him in favor of Eric.

“Sucking up ain’t gonna do you any good,” I told him. “Where’s Eric? Where’s the guy?”

“Back here!” I heard Eric calling. “We fuckin’ got him, man.”

I followed the sound of Eric’s voice to a dingy room in the back that we sometimes used for bike repairs. The concrete floor was covered in grease and sweat and it smelled like
man
, the kind of man who rode in an MC. I shuddered, thinking that maybe this would be my last time in the clubhouse. I was going to miss it. The Wicked Angels had been a part of my life for so long that I couldn’t even think about how empty it was going to feel when I was just another average Joe.

There was a bulky man, bound to a chair, placed in the center of the room. His bald head was beading with sweat and when he saw me, the terror reflected on his face was as plain as day. Someone had gagged him and he began trying to talk frantically, resulting in garbled sound. Rod smacked him on the back and he winced.

“This one’s a chatty motherfucker,” Eric said with a smirk. “We caught him behind the trees. Luckily, he didn’t get too far away before we dragged him back.”

I stared at the man, taking in his swarthy appearance. He had to be at least three hundred pounds, with as much fat as he had muscle. There were tattoos covering his arms, including the Iron Fangs insignia—a set of shark’s jaws in steel gray. I pulled my knife out of my pocket and jabbed at his arm, just hard enough to make a speck of blood appear.

“Take the gag out,” I ordered.

Eric stepped forward and ripped a dirty rag from the man’s mouth. He started yammering away and I swung back and clocked him hard in the face. My hand connected with muscle, bone, and I felt blood dripping from my fingers as I lowered my fist.

“I’ll hit you every time you start talking,” I growled. “Right now, you’re going to fucking listen to me. Then we can talk. Don’t say anything. Just nod if you understand.”

The man nodded. Sweat dripped off his fatty upper lip and chin. I could tell that he was really scared. And he had every right to be; the next few hours weren’t going to be very fun for him.

“I had a friend,” I said lazily, walking around in a circle and beating at my left palm with my right fist. “This guy named Wolf. He was in the Wicked Angels with me for years, and I always thought he was a loyal companion.”

If our hostage recognized Wolf’s name, he didn’t show it. The whites of his eyes showed in fear, and I could guess that he had at least some idea of what was coming.

“Well, Wolf and I were such good friends that I really felt like I could trust him,” I continued. “In fact, I told Wolf just about everything that went on in the world. He was one of my best friends. I would have trusted him with my life.”

From the other side of the room, I saw Rod and Eric focus their eyes on me. They didn’t know what was coming, but I guessed it was going to be an unpleasant shock. Finding out that a member squealed, no matter if he was anything to you personally, was always a hard thing to take.

“Wolf and I were so close,” I said, leaning down in the hostage’s face, crossing my two fingers and shook them close to his eyes, “we were like this, man. So, naturally, when a certain lady from my past and her son waltzed back into my life, I told Wolf. You see, since Wolf was on my side, I thought he would help me protect them both. And they did need protecting; she’d been attacked twice in the span of a week, and her kid was pretty helpless.”

The hostage had begun to moan, a low, liquid sound.

“Hey, Rod,” I called. “Bring me those gardening shears we have over there.”

The hostage’s eyes opened. When he parted his lips, I swung my fist back.

“Remember, no talky for now,” I told him. “I’m not finished telling you the rest of the story.”

Rod crossed the room and placed a gigantic pair of gardening shears in my waiting hand. The blades were bigger than my thumbs, and I knew from past experience that they could really do some damage. I strode behind the hostage and grabbed one of his bound hands, placing his thumb in between the blades of the shears.

“Well, you might guess what happened next. Some of your guys, the Iron Fangs, if I’m not mistaken, grabbed Wolf and beat him to a bloody pulp.”

The hostage started shrieking and squealing when he felt the cold blades of metal pressing against his finger. I wasn’t applying enough pressure to cut the skin, but one jerk of my fingers and this guy wouldn’t have his thumb anymore.

“What did I say about talking?” Angrily I stepped in front of him again and glared. Tears were running down the man’s face and he was red with sweat and anxiety. He opened his mouth and I swung my fist back and punched him harder than before. When he spat at the ground, two teeth fell out of his lips.

“I’m done waiting,” I announced, stepping behind the man and grabbing his thumb with my fingers. Before he could say anything, I snapped his thumb in my hand. It was like breaking a thick, fatty twig. The hostage screamed in agony and I grabbed his pointer finger.

“This is what you guys did to Wolf,” I said softly. “You broke all of his fingers until he agreed to tell you what you wanted to know. And I hope you know, the Wicked Angels have much, much more devious methods of hurting you than breaking your fingers.” I sliced the shears together in front of the hostage’s face. “I think these would do a great job cutting off your nuts, just in case we run out of fingers before you start to talk.”

The hostage started shaking so hard that I had to tighten my grip on his pointer finger. Before he could move again, I snapped the finger in my hand. The hostage screamed and tensed, his body jerking against the chair. For good measure, I grabbed one of his middle fingers and pulled it hard until it sprang from the joint with a soft
pop
sound.

The hostage screamed in agony. Chuckling, I walked around and faced him.

“So, are you ready to tell me where Darius took my girlfriend and my son? Or would you like me to break more fingers first? Or slice them off.” I held up the shears and waved them in front of the hostage’s face. “I could do that, too,” I said with a wicked grin.

“I can talk!” the hostage screamed. He looked at me with big, scared eyes that were bloodshot. “I can talk,” he repeated numbly. He spat out another mouthful of blood and locked eyes with me. “Darius took them to the old Wilson farm, outside of town.”

“Good,” I said, stepping behind him. The man tensed as I grabbed one of his ring fingers and snapped it with ease between my own hands. His swollen, broken fingers looked like red pork sausages jutting out from his meaty hand.

“I had to get that one in for good measure,” I said casually as I stepped back around. “Don’t worry, you only have a few left. Then we can start on the shears.”

The hostage trembled and shook. I rolled my eyes. He was a pussy, just like Wolf had been. My guys had been through a lot worse than broken fingers in their days. I cracked a grin. Hell, I should be feeling
lucky
. After all, the man who stayed was a man who would talk. And that was a good thing.

“And just what was Darius planning to do with them?” I pressed the shears against the man’s unbroken thumb. “Tell me or I cut this off.”

“He was going to kill them!” The hostage gasped before I could bear down on the shears. “He’s going to kill them in the morning even though you stepped down!”
Anger flooded my body and I was more than halfway tempted to just cut his thumb off right then and there.

“You fucking ingrate,” I snapped under my breath. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me that before?” Stalking around and facing the crying, red-faced hostage, I glared at him with all of the strength and anger in my body. “Then what?”

The hostage shook his head. He suddenly looked nervous. “I don’t know,” he stammered. “I don’t know! Darius didn’t say anything else!” His voice grew to a boyish, high-pitched wail.

“Come on,” I said in a deadpan voice. “Tell me who’s guarding them.”

“Darius is!” the hostage yelped quickly. “But he only took a couple of men with him! I think three. You could easily take them,” he added in a shaky voice, glancing around the garage. “You could easily overpower him! You’re stronger!” He was shaking and quivering and I could tell that he thought we were going to kill him.

“Relax,” I said. “We’re not going to kill you.”

“You’re not?” The hostage looked up at me in disbelief.

“No,” I said shortly. “We’re just going to leave you here while we go storm the farm. Come on, guys.”

Rod and Eric followed me out to the bikes. The old farm that the hostage had mentioned was about twenty miles outside of Centreville and surrounded by a forest on all sides. It would be tricky, and I wasn’t sure if we had enough time to get there.

“We have to get there by morning,” I told the guys. “You get that?”

Eric nodded. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “We’re with you, brother,” he said gruffly. “Prez or no prez, we’re behind you all the way.”

Rod gave me a reassuring glance. “Eric’s right,” he said solemnly. “Come on. Let’s go get your family.”

As we mounted our bikes and rode out towards the Wilson farm, I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if it was too late? What if Jenny and Phin were already dead? Nausea overtook me but I couldn’t stop to hurl on the side of the road. I had to get to them, and I had to get there as soon as possible. If anything happened to Jenny, it would be my fault. And this time I knew that I’d never be able to forgive myself.