Blood and Honor (23 page)

Hawk patted the lady fed’s hand. Dax smiled as she stiffened and yanked her hand away, giving the old boy a stern look. The skirt walked out, but Hawk remained seated at the small table, a faraway look in his eyes. Dax pulled a book from the shelf and made his way over. To his credit, Hawk didn’t look surprised as Dax pulled up a chair and sat down across from him.

“Hope that’s not cheese, ‘cause it’s not what you think.” Hawk said softly, his gaze on the book tucked into Dax’s hand.

Dax glanced down at the book in his hand.
Heart of Darkness.
Sounds appropriate.

“Word is we got a rat, Hawk. You gotta admit—this right here don’t look too good.”

“Not a rat, kid.” Hawk sighed. “I was trying to keep you out of this mess.”

“You make a deal, Hawk?”

“Let’s go for a ride, kid. Can’t talk about this shit in a fucking library.”

They walked out in silence,
Heart of Darkness
tucked heavily into Dax’s back pocket.

Chapter Fifty

The contents of her backpack were the only constant in her life. At first, she was afraid to look for it, fearing that Wince or someone else had taken it. She had been in and out of consciousness, and she hadn’t been able to secure her environment like she usually did. But, her trusty bag with its faded patches rested faithfully against the side of the bed. Mickey breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was still there.

Of course, she had nothing of real value in there, but the things in that old, frayed sack were her personal history. There were bus passes, the chapstick she picked up at a corner store in the ghetto, and that old doll, Amy. Sure, it was strange that she lugged that doll with its faded gingham dress and cracked cheek around with her, but the doll meant a lot to Mickey. Those unseeing black eyes stared at her night after night, witnessing unspeakable horrors.

It was Rhee’s old doll…the one Mickey had broken so many years ago. Amy was Mickey’s version of a security blanket and she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Amy had seen everything and she was still there—which was more than Mickey could say for anyone else from her past.

Because I killed them all.
As sure as I’m going to get Rhee and her baby killed now.

The thought chilled her to the bone.

The man, Wince, stepped out once she was able to convince him she would be okay for a few hours. His phone had been buzzing all night and all day long, and she knew he had club business to attend to. He looked exhausted, like he was about to drop, but she knew how the club came first. Wince had lagged long enough to take care of her, and she was grateful, but she would be damned if she got in the way of another man’s business. She gave him her word that she would stay put until he came back for her, but she was itching to test her ankle. It was a little swollen but overall, Mickey felt much better now.

After an hour passed, she was unbearably bored.

She limped to Wince’s desk, where his laptop sat. Even though she knew she probably shouldn’t, she fired the thing up, expecting it to be password protected. It wasn’t—a testament to how tired the man obviously was. From the little she knew of him, Wince was one smart dude. How he came to be here was a question she would love to have answered one day. As she clicked the button to activate the browser, her name popped out at her from a file on the desktop.

Wow. The man had done his homework. She scanned the file names and learned that Wince had some mad skills. He had copies of confidential government files and sealed records on there. One file contained a bunch of images. She got a funny feeling when she opened it—that feeling that warned her away from a bad decision.

She ignored it.

Then, she regretted it.

It all made sense now. All of it. Paul’s behavior when she was younger, the other man’s involvement…and now, she knew his identity. Now, she knew how bad this mess really was. He was an influential politician—one who was making a run for senator this year. No wonder he was featured making donations to charities such as Rhee’s—the pig was trying to ramp up his votes.

She clicked on some of the other images and found screenshots of websites that catered to men like her stepfather. The significance of those images manifested suddenly and violently.
I might be on here somewhere.
Mickey barely made it to the bathroom before she heaved up the meager contents of her stomach.

That light, that blinking red light in the ceiling of her childhood room, and the all-seeing eyes in Amy’s head…

Mickey had often wondered how Paul financed his high-stakes card games.

I’m on these sites.

The dry retching burned her throat and she fell back against the wall of the bathroom, resting her cheek against the cool tile of the toilet. Wince knew. He knew—everything. She was so dirty—God, how could he have tolerated having her in his bed? And if Wince knew everything—Rhee did too. Right?

Everything except the part where she murdered their mother.

On shaky legs, Mickey forced herself back to Wince’s desk and reviewed every single thing in that file. When she was done, Mickey’s head pounded and she felt the adrenaline pulse through her body, preparing her to flee. This was worse than she could have ever imagined. She looked around the dim bunk and then down at herself.

There is nothing here for me.
There never was.

She knew what she had to do now. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but if anyone was going to risk their life, it was going to be someone who had nothing to live for.

Someone who was worthless.

Tainted.

Toxic.

Me.

Chapter Fifty-One

Alanna was well and truly fucked and there wasn’t much she could do about it but pray—and she was pretty sure that God wasn’t listening to her.

Once the man, Vidal’s former henchman or whoever he was, forced his way into the her vehicle, she found herself bound, gagged, and tossed unceremoniously onto the floorboards. She struggled and screamed against the tape over her mouth for what seemed like forever, to no avail. Finally, exhausted, she resigned herself to her fate. She knew she was a bitch, but she was no dummy. The man’s appearance now could only mean one thing: He meant to collect on her offer.

For a while, she stared up at the windows, willing a big rig to drive by and its driver to notice her. The beach scenery faded away and she knew they were hitting the freeway. They seemed to be heading to the outskirts of town, but Alanna couldn’t be sure. The fumes rising up from the back of the old van were making her nauseous, so she closed her eyes. Later, she regretted doing that, because when she opened them again, she had no idea where she was.

The vehicle slowed and she could hear the sounds of a gate opening. Alanna feigned unconsciousness as hands reached for her and dragged her roughly out of the van. Then, she was hauled over some guy’s shoulder. She heard men’s voices and laughter as the smell of stale cigarettes and beer met her nostrils. A door opened and she was dumped roughly on a cot. She lay still, huddled in the fetal position, until she heard the door slam and a key turn in the lock.

Alanna surveyed her surroundings. The room was small and the only source of light was a naked bulb dangling from the ceiling. There was no paint on the walls, and some sort of dark stain spread across the floor. It was cold, too. For the first time, she wondered if her quest to be with Dax was leading her down the wrong path. After all, she couldn’t get with him if she was a prisoner.

Or…worse.

Sounds that were vaguely familiar began to trickle in through the thin walls of the room that housed her. There were men here—drunk men. The loud rattle of custom pipes sank in and then she knew where she was—she was in a biker compound.

If only she knew which one.

***

It turned out she didn’t have long to wait. The door flew open and the big lug who had snatched her walked in behind a shorter, olive-skinned guy who held one of his hands behind his back.

“This the bitch?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what’s she got on Jamison?”

Alanna kept her eyes downcast but at the mention of Dax’s last name, her heart leapt into her throat.

“Thought I’d wait til you were here before I started.”

Started? Oh, fuck. Alanna felt the color draining from her cheeks as the two men sized her up. Then, the smaller man approached her.

“Look at me, bitch,” he commanded softly, in accented English.

Slowly, Alanna brought her eyes up and when she did, she was unable to hold in the shriek that burst from her lips. Before her, the man held up his wrist, displaying nothing more than a ragged stump.

“You see this?” He waved his disfigured appendage in her face and she jerked back, horrified. “This is your friend Jamison’s fault. So, I’m gonna take him down. But first, I’m gonna take down his club. My
amigo
here says you got dirt on the Phantoms and I want what you got,
comprende
?”

Oh double fuck. This was worse than she could have ever imagined. These men wanted to hurt the club—hurt Dax. Maybe even kill him. There was no way she was going to let that happen. Alanna stubbornly lifted her chin and resolved to keep the information she had from them, no matter what they did to her.

Both men chuckled, as though they had understood her silent conversation with herself. Alanna held out a few minutes. Three maybe. But when the man with the accent grabbed her and began tracing her face with what remained of his mangled wrist, she broke so fast she was ashamed of herself.

They left her in the small cell shaking with self-directed rage. Her phone, with its incriminating pictures, left too, stuffed in the front pocket of the Chicos’ club president.

Chapter Fifty-Two

The last thing he wanted to do was leave the girl. But, shit was going down now, so there was no help for it. Wince took a deep breath and opened the door of the meeting room. Dax and Slade were waiting for him, sharing similar looks of grim anticipation.

“Finally. Now we can get this shit straightened.”

Dax motioned for Wince to take his seat. When his VP began talking, Wince was glad he was seated. An hour later, Wince’s head was about to explode. Dax had a plan but it required Wince and Slade to do their parts. Wince wasn’t sure what the hell Hawk was doing, but Dax was going along with it, and that was all he needed to know for now.

But first, he had to get to Mickey and let her know to stay put. She’d be safe here at the clubhouse for a day or two until the time was right for a little family reunion. It was so quiet in his room he had a fleeting suspicion that she’d taken off on him again. She was right where he’d left her-curled in the middle of his bed. Wince let out a sigh. After all of these years of trying to track this girl, the sight of her, safe and sound did something to him.

Something warm and fuzzy and…nice.

Before he could stop himself, he was kneeling beside her. She was only pretending to be asleep—he could tell by her controlled breathing.

“Mickey?”

There was no response.

“I know you’re not asleep, baby.”

Baby?
The word was out of his mouth before he realized he was going to say it.

“You left your computer open.” Her voice was devoid of any emotion and the flat quality scared him more than if she had screamed at him.

Wince sat back against the carved, wooden headboard of his bed. “You saw what was on my desktop?”

“You know.” It was a statement of fact and now he could hear the shame that tinged her voice.

“I know,” Wince admitted.

Mickey squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “The—the videos he made—I didn’t see those.”

“I couldn’t find any of you…or at least any I thought might have been you.”

“How many?” Mickey whispered.

“How many girls?”

“No, how many sites are there? I knew my stepfather was a disgusting pervert, but I had no idea he was doing this.”

Wince hesitated. There were some things that were better left untold, right?

“How many? Please, I need to know.”

Everything in Wince begged him to touch her, to pull her into his arms and promise her that he would take away her pain. But, he knew that putting his hands on Mickey Blake would be the worst possible thing he could do right now. Still, he couldn’t deny his reaction to the woman who huddled in his bed.

His every nerve seemed to be fired up in her presence. His eyes slid over the wild haircut, the faint bruises on her jawline, down to the wrap on her ankle. Despite her injuries and her demeanor, she exuded an inner strength. Mickey was tough yet fragile—a puzzle of interesting dichotomies—the kind of puzzle that called to him in a very primal way.

“I found twenty-three.” And counting. Wince was certain there were more porn sites connected to the same interface but he simply hadn’t had the time to hack into any more of them.

Mickey gasped and her body jerked as though she had been slapped. Then, she sat straight up and turned to look Wince in the eye. “He needs to be stopped, Wince.”

“Who? Who’s behind this, Mickey?”

“Marvin Thatcher.”

“The fucking congressman?”

“The one and only.”

Wince’s mind reeled. “But—Marvin Thatcher is the politician who’s giving your sister a massive grant. She’s been meeting with the piece of shit. Something doesn’t make sense…”

Mickey smiled but the look on her face was positively terrifying. “I have something Thatcher wants. Evidence. He’ll do anything to ensure it disappears before the election.”

“And he thinks Rhee has it?”

“Maybe. Or he’s just trying to lure me out of hiding. It worked, I guess.”

“This evidence, what is it?”

Mickey went silent, and her face went ghostly white.

“Mickey? Are you alright?”

She swallowed and pointed to a bottle of water he had left on his desk. Wince retrieved it and opened the cap for her. Mickey took a long swallow before she finally responded.

“I have the video my stepfather made of Marvin Thatcher raping me when I was sixteen years old.”