He slid back down and turned to his side, brushing his hand over the silky, firm skin of her waist and hip. He traced his fingers over the sentence inked in Italian script up her side, from her hip to her ribs:
L’amor che muove il sole e l’altre stelle
. The love that moves the sun and the other stars. Dante. The last line of
The Divine Comedy
. A memorial to her father. And the kind of love Isaac felt for her.
Her first tattoo was a butterfly on the back of her left shoulder. Intricate, black and grey, the kind of tattoo a young woman got before she’d figured herself out. He traced its delicate lines, and she brushed at his hand in her sleep, sighing deeply, but she still slept.
Finally, he ran his fingers lightly over the back of her neck and down between her shoulder blades, where her new ink was healing well. The very next day after she’d agreed to take his ink, he’d called Tony, the Horde’s guy, and had taken her to his little shop in Millview. He’d already known exactly what he wanted it to be: Mjölnir, with his name worked into the pattern. His mark. Where he could see it, touch it. No matter where they were. She was his.
“Hey.” She said it on a breath, then rolled to her back, her body sliding against his as he held her. “Morning.”
He brushed her hair from her eyes. “Morning, Sport. Rough night.”
She made a face but said nothing; she didn’t like to talk about the dreams at all. After a few seconds, she asked, “Time is it?”
“’Bout ten. I gotta get movin’, but I wanted to spend a little time with you first. Could be a late one tonight.” He kissed her, and she opened her mouth and drew his tongue in. Groaning as his cock swelled, he pulled back. “Don’t have that kinda time, baby. Unless you want to shower with me.” He loved showering with her, but getting her to agree to get in there with him was tough—she had a weird privacy thing—so he grinned when she nodded. “Good girl. I’ll get it started.”
He got the water very hot, the way she liked it, and stepped in. She came into the bathroom a minute or so later and slid the curtain back, standing there gloriously naked and beautiful. She looked tired, though, still. But she was smiling, and she looped her arms around his neck as he pulled her close with one arm. He held his swollen cock in the other hand and pushed it against her folds, making her gasp and flex.
There wasn’t a lot of time, but he didn’t want to rush this, either. Relishing the hot slide of her wet body on his, so pliant and delicious, he slid his cock between her legs, letting her thighs hold him snugly, sensuously. Then he bent his head to take a beautiful, rosy nipple between his teeth. He suckled her hard, the way she liked. Her hands curling into his hair, she moaned his name.
And then she went completely limp in his arms. Surprised, he nearly dropped her, then nearly dropped her again when she remained limp and her slick body slid through his embrace.
“Lilli! Baby!” She was out cold.
Holding her tightly, he swept her legs up and carried her out of the bathroom, both of them dripping wet and the shower still running. When he got back to their bed, he laid her down and pulled the comforter over her. She was pale. Had she been before? Had he missed that?
She was breathing, but her pulse was pretty fast, and he was alarmed. Sitting on the bed at her side, he held her hand. “Baby, come on.” He was going to have to get her to the hospital. Out here, 911 was a joke in an actual emergency.
He ran to turn the shower off, then jumped, still wet, into his jeans. A thought was occurring to him, but he was no less scared. She was still out, and that couldn’t be good. He was grabbing his shirt off the floor when she came to. He dove to his knees at the side of the bed.
“Oh, thank God, baby.” Her eyes fluttered shut again, and he shook her gently. “Hey. Stay with me. What’s going on?”
She blinked and took a deep breath. “Not feeling so well, I guess. I’m okay, though.”
“Scared the shit outta me, Sport. Gettin’ to be a habit with you.” He ran his fingers through her wet hair. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Just got lightheaded. I’m better. Tired, but better. Might sleep some more.”
None of this was like her. He asked the question that had occurred to him. “Lilli, when’s your period due?”
He saw her understand. Since they were trying—very enthusiastically—to knock her up, they probably should both have been looking for signs, but everything was so busy and nuts that he, for one, hadn’t even thought to watch the calendar. But he’d just done a quick count, and they’d been going at it unprotected for more than two weeks, so…
“Couple days. It’s too early for me to have any symptoms, though, right? Even if I am?”
He grinned. “You’re asking the wrong dude, Sport. I got no idea about any of this. I’m gonna have Badge get you a test, though, before he gets here.”
She sat up fast, then—too fast. She put her hand to her head, worrying him again. “Lilli?”
“No fucking way is Badger going to pick up a pregnancy test for me. I have errands to run today. I’ll pick one up then. When he’s not looking. Nobody needs to know. Okay?” She pushed lightly at him. “I thought you had to get going.”
He really did, but he didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to be with her when she took the test. He wanted to make sure she was okay. And Badger wasn’t there yet, anyway. But, fuck, he really did need to go.
“You sure you’re gonna be okay, baby?”
She rolled her eyes. Her color was better, and she was feeling well enough now to get pissed off. “I’m fine. I’m going to sleep more, and then I’m going to have my day. I’ll have Badge around if I need help. So get out. Go do your thing.”
“Bed’s wet. You’re wet. C’mon. I’ll help you with that before I go.”
She started to protest, but then she gave up and nodded. He helped her up and followed her to the bathroom. Once there, she flipped him off and closed the door in his face. Grinning stupidly, feeling a bizarre and nearly debilitating mélange of hope, happiness, concern, and blinding fear, he stripped the wet bedding and remade the bed. Lilli came out of the bathroom, her wet hair braided down her back. He helped her into one of his t-shirts and guided her back to their now-dry bed. That she let him fuss as much as she did told him how crappy she really felt.
“Hey. Wait to take the test until I’m home, okay? I want to be here.” Her eyes closed, she nodded.
The kitchen door squealed, and Badger called out, “I’m here, boss!” Isaac bent down and kissed her forehead. “Badge’s here. I gotta go, baby. Call me if you need
anything
. Okay?”
Her only answer was a quiet moan as she drifted back into sleep.
~oOo~
Vic’s little friend Marissa was already bound when Isaac got to the clubhouse. It was his custom to be last in—he fucking hated waiting for people. Show was sitting at the bar with Bart when he got there. Dom was putting away clean barware. The Hall was otherwise empty. That wasn’t so unusual in the late morning, when people were off at their work, but there was a heaviness in the air that was different. Isaac knew what it was—the work of the Horde today was dark business.
Show and Bart stood when he came in. As Isaac approached, Show said, “We’re good to go. Ceej and Dan are leading patrol. Vic, Len, and Havoc are in there with her.”
Isaac looked at Bart. “You set up?”
Bart nodded. “Yeah. I’m in her Skype, got the signal protected. We should have a good window to transmit what we want without anyone making record of it. Can’t keep Halyard from recording if he wants, but otherwise we should be clear.”
They planned to Skype Marissa’s session with the Horde to her father. Isaac wanted him to see their faces, but he wanted to avoid the chance that someone could snag the feed and record it. Video evidence of what they were about to do could take them all down, send them inside for a long time. Until recently, the Horde had been a small-time club. They were careful with the meth, and otherwise they’d barely been outlaws. They all had records, but only C.J. had done serious time—an eight-year stretch back in the day. Isaac didn’t relish the thought of landing the whole club in Marion. So he hoped Bart’s protections were solid. Because this day was going to be fucked up.
A cyclone filled his head. He’d left Lilli sick, maybe pregnant, and thoughts of her clamored even more loudly than usual for the lead. But those thoughts were in direct conflict with his plans for the day—the torture of a young woman while her father watched. Dark shit. She deserved it, and her father deserved it. They’d gotten Daisy killed horribly, and her mother brutalized. Yet Isaac questioned what the Night Horde had become if they’d reached a place where what they were about to do was the right course. He didn’t know how he was going to live with this day on his conscience.
Through force of will, he pushed those thoughts to the back of his brain and let them squabble there. To the fore, he pulled resolve. This was their play; they’d all agreed. Times were desperate, and Marissa and her father could be the key that would open a path to success for them. Success meant saving Signal Bend. And saving Lilli, who, Isaac knew, would be Ellis’s next target.
He looked at Show, who had pulled himself together fairly well over the past two weeks, focusing his energy on the job and on his need for revenge. “You ready for this, brother?”
Show nodded, and the three of them headed down the hallway to the Room. Bart went through the double doors and hanging plastic dock strips, but Show pulled Isaac back.
Isaac turned and raised his eyebrows, questioning Show’s hesitation. His eyes intent and his voice low, Show gritted, “She dies, Isaac. She doesn’t go home to daddy. Don’t give a fuck what he gives us or what you promise him. Her life for Daisy’s. Don’t take that from me.”
Isaac heard a desperate bite to his friend’s tone, and he put his hand on his shoulder. That kind of bloodlust wasn’t part of Show’s makeup. He looked like a badass motherfucker, and he was tough as anyone, but he wasn’t brutal. He was thoughtful. He was honorable. He treated women with a gentle respect. Or he had, before his teenage daughter had been raped to death. “I told you, brother. It’s your call. When it comes to it, it’s your call.”
Show nodded with evident relief, and Isaac guided him into the Room.
Little freckled Marissa was a blubbering mess. Vic had fucked her hard one last time and then dragged her naked ass into the Room. Now she was bound to one of the metal chairs. She was gagged, too, but she was still making a fair amount of wet, whimpery noise. They hadn’t done anything to her yet, other than the humiliation of being naked and bound to a chair, circled by a bunch of angry bikers. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly why she was there, and her fear was so heavy it stank.
Isaac pulled a stool up and sat down in front of her. Her eyes were huge and wet, mascara smeared across them like a mask. She had a fair number of bruises and bite marks, especially on and around her tits. Vic’s reputation as an animal was well earned. She’d worked hard for the intel she’d gotten out of him. He wondered if she still thought it was worth it. She wouldn’t by the time they were done.
Victor’s culpability in this disaster had not yet been addressed. Show wanted his patch, but Isaac had talked him down. They couldn’t afford to lose another member, not now. Vic was happy to have the chance to buy back some good grace by feeding this skinny little bitch rigged information, but Isaac knew that if they were still standing when this crisis passed, Vic’s patch would probably be up for a vote. He was sure Vic knew it, too. That made him extra loyal and careful now, and Isaac intended to put that to good use.
“I’m gonna talk to you a little, honey. I can see you know enough to be scared, and that’s smart. That college education didn’t go to waste, then. You should be scared. We know what you’ve been doing. Taking advantage of poor, stupid Vic like that. That’s some bad shit, little Marissa. You know what happened because of you?” He stopped and gave her the chance to respond with a nod or a shake of her head, but she simply stared, her chest heaving, snot running from her nose.
He looked at Len. Normally, Vic would be his go-to for this work, but Vic had done all he was going to do to her. He liked it too much, and Isaac didn’t want him enjoying himself now. Len could go equally hard, but he was cold-blooded about it. He didn’t get off on it. He worked, he didn’t play. Len came around now with a long, slender metal cocktail pick. That’s all it was—a cocktail pick. Isaac stood so that Len could take the stool.
His mouth set grimly, Len lifted Marissa’s fingers with a gentle grip. As if he were studying them to determine where to start, he massaged each one. Marissa tried to talk, to beg, through the terry cloth of the towel with which she was gagged. Len selected her index finger and slid the pick between her nail and its bed. She went rigid, and she screamed—one continuous, muffled note that took on a higher pitch when Len pulled the pick back out.
When she was quiet again, Len stood and Isaac sat. “Okay, honey. I asked you a question. Just nod or shake. You answer it, and then I’ll let you know how the rest of the day plays out. Do you know what happened because of you?”
She nodded, her head bobbing emphatically. Isaac wasn’t surprised that she’d known, but to have her confirm it—she’d
known
. She’d known what the intel she was getting could do, how it could hurt, and she’d kept right on taking what Vic gave her and sending it along to the people who would use it. He had no appetite for what they were doing now, but he had no sympathy for this girl, either. She was no innocent.
Weeping, she tried to talk again, but her words were obscured by the towel. Isaac had no need yet for her words. She had nothing he needed to hear. Her father, though, might.
“You don’t need to talk right now, sweetheart. Just do what I say. That’s the way to play this. Things’ll go better for you that way.” He looked over at Show, who was regarding him steadily. He’d meant it when he’d said it was Show’s call. He would probably have to make promises today, but the only one he knew he’d keep is the one he’d made to Showdown. What happened to Marissa Halyard would be up to the man she’d hurt most. It was the least Isaac could do.