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What he said didn’t make any sense. Everything pointed to Antonio’s enemies being responsible. I’d been shot at in front of his house and then taken from his club. Even selling me into sexual slavery would have been more of a slap in Antonio’s face than my father’s.
If this was about the club, and Antonio had nothing to do with it, then why had they taken me? My father was a founding member, sure, but he’d given up his VP spot years ago. He was only a member now, which was the lowest man on the totem pole. They would get more bang for their buck by taking Ryder’s old lady, Valentina, or I swallowed, even Hunter’s old lady, Brandy.
My gut told me not to take anything this man said at face value. Despite them alluding to me pulling in a pretty penny, I doubted money was the motivating factor in their decision to sell me. They could have easily killed me, and it would have sent the same message.
No, something here stank like yesterday’s trash, and I needed to figure out what in the hell was going on before anyone I loved got hurt. Looked as though I was going to be stuck, naked, in this hellhole with these assholes for the foreseeable future.
That didn’t mean I was going to play nice. I’d die before I ever let them break me. Hopefully, by the time they figured that out I’d have the answers I needed.
“What makes you think they’d even care about some old timer’s daughter?”
One nod of his dark head and Michael pressed the muzzle of his gun against Jules’s temple. Fuck, I had forgotten he was even here.
“What was the name of the young man you gave me? The one that I believe you said, and I quote, watches her like a hawk?”
Michael pressed the muzzle of his gun hard enough against Jules’s temple to move his head a fraction of an inch and Jules hissed, “Tweak.”
Laughter bubbled out of me, and I was having a hard time keeping my hands in place. Really? These assholes were not only cruel, but dumb as a box of rocks. No wonder they took me. They knew fuck all about the club, otherwise they’d have known that Tweak was a man whore.
“What is it you find so amusing?”
He sounded pissed. Good. That’s what he got for throwing me in a cell, letting his douche lackey clothesline me, and stripping off my dress while I was passed out. I shouldn’t even bother to clue his ass in about Tweak, but I wanted to see what he’d do with the information. That and if he recognized Antonio’s name.
“Hate to break this to you”—I paused and gave him a fake-ass smile—“whatever your name is. I’m afraid I was too busy running out the cell door to ask the name of my captor.”
“Mateo,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Mateo,” I repeated, drawing out the O just to annoy him. “Tweak will fuck any girl with a pulse and a penchant for costumes. The club won’t have a clue that this attack wasn’t directed at my boyfriend Antonio Sanchez. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
“Hmm, indeed I have.” His face was half in shadow, so it was difficult to read him. “It seems I have no use for Jules then.” The gun went off, making me jump, and Jules’s body fell forward. “Let’s talk again in a few days and see if you’re feeling less combative.”
My teeth chattered, and not from the chill in the air. I watched both men walk out of the cell because looking down at what was left of Jules’s head, or the blood splattered across my naked body, wasn’t an option. They didn’t deserve to hear me scream. Not now, not ever.
“W…w…wait!”
The cell door slammed shut, the finality of the metal lock echoing off the walls. My captor, Mateo, glared back at me. His gray eyes would have been arresting had they not held such loathing.
“Yes, little one?”
“You can’t just leave a dead body in here!” I hated the note of desperation in my tone, but it wasn’t every day a man was shot in front of me and dumped at my feet.
He smiled, but it held no warmth. “You got him killed, now you can clean up the mess.”
CHAPTER 9
SWITCH
When church was over, I expected Ryder to stay behind and give me shit about being ready to move out tonight, but he’d cleared out along with everybody else. Well, almost everybody. The last person I wanted to talk to right now stood in front of my chair, preventing me from leaving.
Mad Dog still had a commanding presence, despite his graying beard and weathered face. Maybe it was because the mantle of responsibility still clung to him like a shroud long after he’d been forced to give up his title. Carpal tunnel mayhave taken away his ability to ride for long periods of time or fire a weapon, but it could never diminish the fierceness with which he protected his club and his daughter.
His brows drew together as he stroked a beard that had gotten shorter and shorter over the last couple of years. “Glad to see you looking like shit.”
Thanks for that, captain obvious. Apparently, everybody and their brother felt the need to comment on my appearance today. Yeah. I looked like a bag of ass. Check.
“If that’s all,” I said as I stood, too hungover to entertain any bullshit remarks.
He never stepped back, putting us toe to toe. “No, that ain’t all.”
