| |
She tells me her story. It has a lot of expletives in it, things like, “That blond fuckweasel stuck his gun in my back like a common fucking thug,” and other such creative name calling.
In spite of the imaginative storytelling, I manage to piece together that Spree stuck a gun in her back as she left her mom’s this afternoon. This girl, Tanzie, kicked him in the shin and ran for the woods nearby. He chased her and she fell down a hill because, in her words, she was “wearing fucking flip flops and that shitgibbon owes me a new pair of Havaianas.”
Shoes gone, he caught up to her, slapping her once and tearing at her shirt, threatening to “stick his cock so far up her ass she’d feel it in her spine” and binding her with rope. She tried to fight against him and he laughed, telling her he was going to leave her as a gift for his boss, that she’d be Barking Angels’ property now.
As she finishes, I’m feeling like doing some creative cussing of my own. I swear to God, I will rip that motherfucker’s head off. I half expect Drew Williams to come here and shoot this place up right now. I would, if someone made off with my daughter like that. What in seven hells was Spree thinking, taking her like that? Oh, that he’d start some shit with a bordering club just to get some action? Probably, because that asshole seems to thrive on stirring the proverbial pot.
Drew’s club, the Blazing Pistons, is older and bigger than mine. Their territory is larger and their business operation more immense. Drew is known to be fair and even handed, but he’s not to be crossed. When I was younger, I thought about joining up with him. He’s got operatives and alliances and deals all the way to the tip of South America. Blazing Pistons is an impressive operation, but they’ve been encroaching on my territory lately, trying to undercut my deals, riding in my neighborhoods, and even luring our club girls away.
I don’t care so much about the last one, other than the fact that the girls talk. And the guys talk when they’re getting their cocks sucked, so those girls leave with lots of information that they could easily share when trying to get in good with the other clubs.
“Does Spree know you’re Drew’s kid?” I ask. I twirl a knife through my fingers, a habit I picked up when I was younger. I thought it made me look menacing or something back then. Now, it just helps me calm down.
“I think so,” she says, eyeing the knife. “He seemed to have scoped me out. I was in our territory. My mom’s place is just inside the border. She hates my dad but she also knows if she moved out, she’d be a target.”
It surprises me how much information this girl is sharing. As Drew’s daughter, I’d expect her to be less forthcoming. Simply telling me that her mom lives on the border of GR’s territory is information I could use. Divorced or not, Drew would still provide for his ex. He’d still want her to be safe. Anyone raised in the club would know better than to be so trusting, to share so much information and so willingly.
It confuses me, because this girl just spit in my face and swore at me before telling me who she was. I assess her for a moment. I can tell my staring makes her uncomfortable, because she stares at the knife in my hands before her gaze timidly moves to my face. When she makes eye contact, she looks away quickly, picking at some imaginary something on the comforter.
I take several deep breaths, trying to calm myself. First of all, I make it my business not to involve the children of club members—mine or anyone else’s. I want my daughter out of club business and assume others do, as well. So, while I might have known peripherally that Drew had a family or a kid, I would never have made it my business to know their names or ages or locations. It pisses me off to know that Spree not only made it his business to know, but also to seek out this girl and take her right out in the open, without provocation, and without permission from me.
Spree has pulled quite a bit of bullshit these past weeks. At first, I wanted to let it slide. He’s got a different style than I do, but every leader needs a second in command that won’t fuck around. He’s been with me since the beginning, and though he’s a wild card, the other guys respect him. Lately, though, he’s erratic and drug-fueled. He’s not thinking clearly or making good decisions. Abducting Drew Williams’ daughter is just one more nail in Spree’s casket.
My temper is raging now, deep into the pit of my stomach. Spree orchestrated this. He planned it. He willingly went into another club’s territory to take this girl. And he pretended it was under my orders. This is different than nabbing some club girl and letting the guys claim her for themselves. This is an act of war. What’s worse? It’s an act of war without my consent.
“I won’t say it again,” the girl says, pulling me out of my internal conversation. Her eyes are huge in her pretty face. “You need to take me home. My father will rip your balls off if you touch me.”
I grab something out of my closet without looking and turn sharply, heading back to her in just a few steps. She skitters back against the headboard like she’s expecting me to hit her. Instead, I throw one of my jackets at her.
“Cover yourself up,” I order. “Your tits are hanging out. And for the record, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you think your father will do to me. I’ve got a business to run. Try to run and I’ll personally make your stay here a living hell. Stay and be good, and you’ll be treated like a guest.”
“Do all your guests get bound and gagged before they visit? Not very hospitable,” she sneers.
“Don’t push me,” I say, opening the door and slamming it behind me.
I call one of my guys and order him to have one person assigned outside the window and one outside the bedroom door. I didn’t want this little brat, but I’ve got her now, and I’ll be damned if I let her run out the door and back to a rival club.
No, I’d best do what I can to use this new development to my own advantage.
*
