Unholy: The Unholys MC (18 page)

“What?” This was Dogwood, his eyes wide and full of the same panic I remembered feeling. “Charlie?”

“The Reverend’s girl?” It was Jonesy this time. He looked pushed just past the point of insanity.

That was the other part of the reason that I’d picked the D’Rangers to call in for outside help. “Yeah. And I was told by a messenger that if I didn’t cooperate, Charlotte would...” I swallowed hard, almost not even able to get it out. When I did manage it, it came out as a choke: “...that she’d be first.”

That was all it took. The men in the room were up in arms and there were cries of vengeance and pain towards Stitches and his disturbed men. I had promises that the rest of the D’Rangers would be in that evening and that, if I went and started a war with the Berserkers, then they’d have my back.

I let out a deep breath that I’d been holding. “I’ve put a price out on Stitches,” I told Jonesy. “And that extends to your boys, too. Anyone who brings me Stitches—dead or alive—gets a reward. No questions asked.”

Just as I finished, I saw Specter appear. He’d missed the meeting, so I’d have to fill him in, but he’d probably guessed most of it on his own anyway. Jonesy and the D’Rangers shook my hand and left to meet up with the rest of their boys. Dogwood would be riding with them for a little while, at least until this mess was clearing out. He seemed an odd mixture of annoyed and relieved to be out of retirement. He’d probably be grateful when he got to go back to his little hole in the wall.

As they left, Specter came in. “It’s done,” he told me grimly. That was all we spoke about the body at the cabin.

I nodded once. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about what’s going down with the Berserkers and Stitches,” I said to him, “but I’ve got the guys pretty riled up.”

Specter nodded. “I heard some of it.”

“Good. Listen, I need something special from you. I need you to stay undercover with Stitches, and don’t let on that I know what’s going down. I want you to find out who’s pulling Stitches’ strings.”

Specter frowned, looking a little nervous, but ultimately he didn’t argue. “You got it, boss.”

As Specter turned to leave, I noticed the only body left in the shop apart from me: Worm, the new guy. I’d picked him out of the group and asked him to stay, because I knew that I’d have to send Specter off to play spy. It meant I’d be without a bodyguard, so I needed to pick a temporary replacement. I picked Worm.

Maybe it seemed like an off choice. He hadn’t been with us long and though he was big, much of that was in fat rather than muscle. But I had my reasons. Most of them were the fact that he was still recovering from the blows of his initiation. The other part of that reason was that he was so interested in being an Unholy, so desperate to be one of us, that he’d do a lot to prove himself to me.

And I needed a few people I could trust.

Chapter Twenty One

The meals came in through a little flat opening in the bars. It was horizontal and barely wide enough to fit my hand through, but it was big enough to allow a whole tray to come through the bars, complete with a plate of food, a plastic spoon, and a juice box.

The meals were bland, but not necessarily bad, and they gave me the strength to deal with what was happening to me: The cage. The quiet. The knowledge that I was the queen bee in enemy territory. It got difficult to tell just how long I’d been here, but I was pretty sure that they gave me three meals a day, and if that was true then I'd been here for several days at least.

No one would speak to me. That was probably a good thing, given the circumstances. If Stitches came to see me, what good would possibly come of it? Would he tell me, “Oh, sure, why don’t you just skip on out of here?” Doubtful. It was much more likely that, if he came to me and spoke more than a handful of words, all of them would be bad.

After all, he wasn’t keeping me for shits and giggles. There was a reason behind doing what he did and I knew that it had to do with Johnny. He was trying to lean on him about something. I just didn’t know what.

It had to be bad though. It
had
to be, otherwise Johnny would have done it and I would be out of here.

Maybe.

I’d begun to look at my options, thinking if I could save myself then maybe Johnny wouldn’t have to do something terrible and I wouldn’t end up on Stitches’ chopping block.

It was a decent plan, but unfortunately, I didn’t see a single means of getting out. The cage was made with metal bars that weren’t likely to break, especially not given my delicate hands. There had to be a key, of course, but I hadn’t seen it. I’d been unconscious when I arrived, so I never saw anyone unlock or lock the door, though they must have done just that. If the key was lying around somewhere, it wasn’t any place I could see and it was doubtful I'd be able to reach it anyway.

Most likely, Stitches had it. If I were a bad guy or a supervillain or something, that would be where I would keep the top secret key.

Slumping onto the poor excuse for a bed, I sat back and tried to tell myself that everything was fine. Everything would be fine. I was okay.

For now.

Johnny would come for me, of that I was sure, but the problem with that was there was no guarantee that he could get to me before they killed me. And if he could (because I didn’t think it was about killing me, though maybe that was their endgame), then how would we get out? The only other option was Johnny doing what Stitches wanted.

I shuddered at the prospect. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

I stared down at the untouched plate of food. It was from the morning, mostly breakfast stuff. At the time I’d been starving, but incapable of eating a bite. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was the food, or maybe it was just stubbornness. Now, however, I was contemplating gnawing at a piece of toast or something. The juice box was already empty, and I was starting to get thirsty, so I ultimately decided eating anything would probably do nothing to temper my thirst. Still, wasn’t it better than a completely empty stomach?

Before I could decide one way or the other, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. More than one person, it sounded like, based on the cadence. It sounded almost like a horse trying to awkwardly tromp down the stairs.

The image almost made me laugh. Almost.

Then I saw who it was and any desire to laugh died completely. Stitches’ face matched his name. He could have been a shoe-in for the Frankenstein monster and I desperately wanted to tell him so. It wouldn’t be kind and I was fairly certain that he’d take it out on me if I got clever about it. My own cowardice prevented me from saying a damn thing to the man.

The second man came down the stairs behind him and, with a start, I realized who it was.

Specter, Johnny’s lieutenant.

I clamped my mouth shut tightly so that I wouldn’t gasp in surprise, but it was hard. I’d known somewhere in my gut that Specter was the wrong kind of man, but I would never have imagined this.

They came to a stop several feet of the cage, one right next to the other, and stood there facing me. Specter folded his arms across his chest and gave me a broad, menacing grin. He was leering at me. Stitches’ expression matched Specter's except...

Except there was something a little off with Specter’s expression. A dull color to his eye and a pallor to his skin. Beads of sweat trickled down across his bald head and slid down his face in disgusting rivulets.

I couldn’t trust this man, but something was strange here.

“It’s almost that time, Cherry, sweetheart,” Specter told me, his tone full of something akin to lust, bordering on giddiness. He was convincing. So convincing.

So why, this time, didn't I believe him?

“Do you know what’s coming, baby?” he asked, his tone cracking just slightly. I didn't think Stitches caught it, but I did. This—these words, me in a cage—it was killing him.

I swallowed and shook my head just barely. My response caused both men to grin wider and it was Stitches who finished Specter’s words for him. Specter looked strangely relieved by the fact.

“We’re gonna use you,” he told me, his grin widening as his eyes dropped down over my body, making me feel as though I was naked before him. He looked maniacal. “That pretty little body of yours. We’re gonna use you just like your pretty little mommy.”

I froze.
What?

I didn't know what his words mean, but they stabbed at me somewhere in my heart. I knew they can’t be good and that Stitches said them deliberately to torture me, to goad me, to make me feel terrible. It made it all the worse, because there was something in his voice that rang true. He threw the words at me, because there was meaning behind them.

I just didn't know what it was.

The men stood there watching me a while longer. Stitches said a few lewd things about my general appearance—and the things he was going to do to me—then shared whispers with Specter.

“You gonna let me have a go at her?” Specter asked Stitches almost casually, like they weren’t talking about taking turns. “You must have some idea how long I’ve wanted a piece of that.”

Sweat dropped down his neck, where it was absorbed by the collar of his shirt. Stitches pretended to think about it, probably more in an effort to scare me further—which was a moot point, since I was terrified already—then finally answered with a small, wicked smile.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” he said to Specter, placing a large, scarred hand on his shoulder. “We’ll all get a shot at that pussy.”

I felt like throwing up. My body was trembling with fear and disgust. I didn’t want this. But I didn’t see any way out of it. I was quickly running out of time and if Specter was here, working for Stitches, then my chances of making out had just dropped significantly.

I was going to be used. My arms wrapped themselves around my body as I shuddered against the burning bile that tried to come up my throat. Stitches must have seen my volatile reaction, because he laughed heartily at it. It was manic, a little crazed, but genuine.

He was enjoying my fear, my disgust, and the prospect of… of
raping
me.

I turned away so I didn’t have to look at them anymore and squeezed myself into the farthest corner of the room, desperate to put as much distance between them and me as I could. It didn’t even matter to me anymore if they saw how scared I was. Bravado wouldn’t save me in the end.

“Keep an eye on her, would you?” Stitches' voice called. I heard his heavy clopping footsteps and for a moment the room was silent other than those steps. They echoed up the stairs and when the door at the top shut, I finally spoke.

“How could you?” It came out of me as a whisper, but I was pleased to hear the complete and utter disgust laced there.

For a moment, Specter didn’t answer. In fact, he was silent so long that I finally submitted to the urge and turned to look at him. I was surprised to see that he’d come closer and was now standing right beside the bars, his big, beefy hands gripping them tightly. I pressed myself against the wall, worried that he was going to try and get a little preview before the main show. But then I saw his eyes.

How
pained
they were. I was right. Before, I’d sensed that he didn’t want it and now that Stitches was gone, it was written plain as day on his features: he hated this.

“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he apologized immediately, his words sounding sincere. But I wasn’t sure if I could trust him. If you can lie one way, wouldn’t it be easy to lie the other? And Specter had just put on quite the show.

I shook my head. “You’re a monster.”

He winced as though I’d just punched him, but nodded as though in agreement. “I know. I… I knew what was going on and I was too… fuck, I was too chickenshit to stop it. But I swear to you, Charlotte,
I didn’t know about this!”

Again, I didn’t know if I could trust those words, but I tried to. Probably it was my own desperate need to believe that things were going to be okay and that I didn’t really have to fear Stitches’ threats, because someone was on the inside helping me.

“You’re working for them?” I asked, hesitantly and suddenly unsure of exactly what was going on.

He shook his head, then glanced towards the door at the top of the stairs, paranoia evident in his expression. He looked back at me and said, “No. I’m… well, I
was
being blackmailed. Now I’m undercover. Johnny knows what’s going on and he told me to stay under so I could get to the top.”

I stepped away from the wall, just a little bit. “The top? Isn’t Stitches the top already?”

Specter shook his head again. “No. He’s not. He may run the Berserkers, but there’s someone else pulling his strings. If I can get to whoever that is, maybe I can bring this whole fucking thing crumbling down on top of them. Maybe…” He shook his head. “I don’t want to see this kind of thing happen to anyone. Ever.”

I bit my lip. I wanted to be angry with him, because I sensed that his admission meant he wouldn’t be getting me out. Not now, anyway. He had to keep his cover and a jail break would mean that they knew he was a rat.

That didn’t exactly inspire a lot of confidence on my part, given the cage I was in and the promise of violence to come.

“Is Johnny coming for me?” I asked in a small, scared voice.

Specter offered me a half smile and nodded. “You know he is. Johnny’d take on the whole damn world if it meant he could keep you safe. You must know that.” He said it with a bitter sweetness and I was reminded that Specter had once made a very serious pass at me. It was hard to think how he’d wanted me, and now… Well, a lot was going on now and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it all.

“I’ve got to go before someone catches me talking with you,” Specter said. He must have heard something, because his gaze was back at the door.

“Wait!” I said, remembering his words and realizing that Specter knew something. “What did you mean before?”

He looked horrified. “I didn’t—Charlotte, really, I never would have done… You’ve got to believe me.”

I shook my head hurriedly and held up my hand to stop him. “No, no. Not that. The other thing. The thing about my mom.”

He froze. For a moment, his expression went completely blank, then there was only pain. He pursed his lips tightly together, then shook his head, almost numbly. When he spoke, it was in a small, tired voice that rang with things I didn’t quite understand. “I can’t… It’s not my secret, Charlotte. I’m… I’m just sorry.”

He pushed back from the bars and started towards the stairs. I rushed forward and slammed against the wall of the cage, reaching for him, suddenly desperate for this information he wouldn’t share. “No, please! Wait! I need to know.”