It was all he could do.
He nodded at Bart, who brought another stool over and set a laptop on it. Isaac looked back at the shaking, weepy girl, feeling no sympathy for her, yet feeling the weight of what they were doing nonetheless. “Here’s what’s next, Marissa. We’re calling your daddy. Using your Skype account, so I bet he picks up. We’re gonna let him get a load of you. And then we’re gonna talk to him. You’re gonna do whatever we say. If it comes to it, you’re gonna say what we tell you to say. That’s how you keep hope alive that you walk out of here. Catch me?”
Again, she nodded emphatically. Her sobs and tears had abated for the moment.
“Good girl. Okay, let’s do this.”
Isaac stepped out of the way, and Bart placed the call. The face of an obviously wealthy man—with thinning but elegantly groomed white hair, a ruddy golfer’s tan, and an expensive and perfectly pressed striped dress shirt—filled the screen. Behind him, a wall of windows overlooked downtown Chicago, Lake Michigan glittering off in the distance.
His expression was warm and devoted at first; then he really saw the state his daughter was in. “What—Marissa? Oh, sweetheart. What—who? Jesus! Who’s there?”
Without moving in front of the camera, Isaac said, “Calling back in one minute. Make sure you’re completely private and won’t be disturbed when we do.” Bart killed the connection.
Looking down at Bart, who was squatting next to the laptop, Isaac asked, “You’re sure you’ll be able to tell if he’s alone or tracing the call?” Bart nodded, and that was good enough for Isaac. He didn’t need the technical description that he was sure Bart would love to give him. Not the time to let the kid’s geek loose.
Bart placed the call again, and this time, when Halyard came onto the screen, he looked aptly horrified. He’d put his daughter in the middle of the lion’s den, served her right up like a pig on a spit, and Isaac knew he’d believed her to be safe. Rich people. Thought they were above everything.
“Marissa, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” Her father’s voice was rough with regret, and Marissa whined and began to cry again.
Isaac sat down on the stool between the screen and Marissa. “Okay, Martin. This is our endgame. You play right, on my side, and Marissa’s hurting as bad as she’s gonna. You miss your play, and you watch her hurt more. You disconnect at any time, and she dies hard. You know what went down here a couple of weeks ago. You had your hand in that. So did she. So you can imagine what’s owed now. Think about that, and make your move.”
Martin’s face warped into a snarl. “You’re an animal.”
Isaac sighed. “No. Actually, I’m pretty civilized. Can’t say that about everybody in this room, though. First mistake, Martin. Not looking good for your little miss here.” Ignoring the sick weight in his gut, he stood and nodded at Len, who grabbed Vic. They walked to the far side of the room, picked up a metal table, and carried it back. Then Len unbound Marissa from the chair. She fought, screaming around the gag and kicking, but, with Havoc’s help, Len muscled her to the table and bound her to it, her arms over her head and her legs spread. He looked back at Isaac, who nodded again, and Len removed her gag.
“Please don’t. Please. Please!” Her words collapsed back into sobs. She was tiny, naked, and shaking, and Isaac felt the first stirrings of sympathy for her. He looked over at Show, who was staring at the far wall, his jaw twitching rhythmically. Isaac didn’t know how to read that. He sat back down and faced Halyard. “You see how this is going, Martin?”
“
What is it you want?
” Halyard slammed his fist down, and his image on the screen shook. Marissa had fallen into a steady, moaning whine.
“You know what we want. Lawrence Ellis. Enough to take him down. You’re his money guy. You give us what we need.”
“I
can’t
. You have this naïve idea that you have a chance. You don’t. You can’t beat him. He’s beyond your reach. You’re all idiots for trying to fight him. This isn’t David and Goliath. It’s Tom Thumb and Gargantua. Pack up and get out before he really comes for you. You think he’s hurt you? You have no idea what he can do to people in his way. I do. I know. Nothing you can do is as bad. I
can’t
help you.”
He wasn’t saying anything that Isaac hadn’t already confronted in his own head. All the Horde knew that their chances were so slim they might as well be nil. But they were not men who lay down. They fought for what was theirs. And now, Martin Halyard had forced Isaac’s hand. With a sigh and a sad shake of his head, he stood again and nodded once at Len, who immediately walked to the end of the table, opening his belt as he went.
“Hold up. No.” That was Show, who stepped up to the table. “It’s me. This is me.”
Jesus Christ. No. Isaac couldn’t let him do it. Len, Havoc—those guys could do the dark work and come out the other side intact. They could compartmentalize. Vic, well, he didn’t need to compartmentalize. He was a sick fuck and enjoyed it. But Show would come to regret this. He’d never recover from the loss of his girl if he laid the abuse of this one on top of it. He held up his hand, stopping Show, then spun back to the laptop and squatted down. “Last chance, Martin. Give us Ellis. Now. Won’t ask again.” Christ! Halyard
had
to give them something. Could a father let this happen to his child?
Marissa screamed, “Daddy,
please
! Oh
please
!”
Halyard was sobbing as hard as his daughter was. “I can’t. Oh, God. Oh, Marissa. Sweetheart, I love you. I’m so sorry.” He stared at the camera, his anguished eyes meeting Isaac’s. “Please. I will do whatever I can. I will give you money, help you start someplace fresh. All of you. But I can’t give you what you’re asking for
. I can’t
.”
“Isaac.” Show’s voice was low and sharp, a warning.
“I’m sorry, too, Martin. Really am. But this is our home.” He stood and turned to face the vista of the room: Marissa Halyard, bound to a table, weeping quietly. Len, belt still unbuckled, standing behind it, his face a blank. Havoc, looking serious and alert. Bart, sad and nauseated. Even Vic, hanging back near the tools, looked ill.
Show stood at the end of the table, staring down at the trembling girl. Isaac addressed him quietly. “Show. Brother, think. Think first. I told you it’s your call. But I want you to think. Don’t want to lose you, man. I need you strong. I need you with me.”
Show didn’t answer. He stood, staring silently down at Marissa. The room froze, waiting for him to move. Long, tense seconds passed, and then Show said to Marissa, “Her name was Daisy. Say it.”
She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “Wh-what?”
Show kicked the table, hard, and she screamed. “SAY IT,” he shouted over her.
“D-Daisy. Her name was Daisy.”
“She was fifteen. Say it.”
“She was fif-fifteen.” A lilt of fragile hope entered Marissa’s voice.
Then Show stared again. From the laptop behind Isaac, Halyard whispered, “Please.”
Show turned his stare to Isaac and held for a few seconds. “Do what you want with her.” He turned on his heel and left the Room.
Isaac watched him go, then turned back to his brothers. Marissa was quiet, finally, maybe relaxing a little, thinking the danger was passing. From behind him, Halyard said, his voice quavering, “Isaac? Mr. Lunden?” Isaac ignored him.
For the first time, Havoc spoke up. “He said to do what we want. I want to give him justice.” Isaac looked at Len, then Bart. Both nodded, Len readily, Bart reluctantly.
Vic, still farther back from the rest, said, low, “Head in a box, man. That’s what he said.”
Everything was sideways. How did they end up in a place where they were torturing women, ready to rape them, deciding to kill them? How the holy fuck had it happened?
Ellis. It came down to that one elusive son of a bitch. Isaac wanted
his
head in a box.
He nodded at Havoc, who turned and headed toward the tools. But then Vic charged forward, his arms over his head. “You vicious
cunt
!,” he bellowed and brought an axe down on Marissa’s neck, cleaving her head neatly from her body. She didn’t even have time to scream.
Her father did, however. He screamed until Bart slammed the laptop closed.
~oOo~
Isaac left Len and Havoc putting a beating on Vic for acting out of turn. Isaac thought Show might be right—if they got clear of this shit, Vic’s patch should go to a vote. Maybe more. But for now, they needed the warm body. As soon as he was clear of the double doors, Isaac slumped against the hallway wall and closed his eyes. He did not recognize himself. Or his brothers. Or his club. They’d become something he didn’t understand. And that was his fault. He’d led them down this path.
But there was no way back, not until Ellis had been dealt with. Or until he’d won, when it wouldn’t matter anymore.
He went out into the Hall and sent Dom back to help Bart clean up the mess. The Room had been the repair bay back when the clubhouse was Signal Bend Construction. Walls and ceiling of concrete, drains in the floor, it was an ideal space for wetwork now. A bleach rinse, a trip into the woods for a fire and a burial, and Marissa Halyard no longer would exist in any identifiable way. Except on Isaac’s conscience.
Show was at the bar, a bottle of Jack in front of him. No glass. He didn’t acknowledge Isaac coming into the room. Isaac pulled his burner out to call Lilli. His hand shook as he opened the phone.
She answered on the first ring. “Hey. You caught me putting groceries in the truck. Can I call you back in about five minutes?” She sounded significantly stronger than she’d been when he left her in the morning, and he felt a measure of relief, even amidst the stress of the day.
“No, Sport. Take a break, because I need to talk now. Where are you?”
In the pause that followed, Isaac knew her brain was pulling out the real information in the few words he’d said. “At the Walmart. Groceries. And, you know, other things. What’s wrong?”
Other things. Christ, he’d fucking forgotten the pregnancy test. “Maybe trouble. We’re locking down. You know what that means?”
No pause this time. “Yeah. What do I need to do?” It lightened his heart a little more that she began problem-solving immediately, casting aside any other questions.
“You carrying? Badge?” He knew they were; since the attacks, he was militant about that. Even he thought he was obnoxiously fixated on it. But he still wanted to hear her confirm it.
He didn’t miss the aggravation in her voice when she answered, “Of course.”
“Go back in, get enough basic food for about forty-fifty people for a few days. Coffee, booze, and beer we got, but not much else. Then get your beautiful ass here. Don’t go back home.”
“Isaac, the animals.”
“I’ll cover that, and I’ll make sure to get you some clothes. But I don’t want you back there. Lilli, don’t fight me. We’re in deep here.”
“Okay. Be safe.” He heard the military carriage in her tone. She was on the job. His warrior woman.
“You too, Sport. Jesus. You, too. I love you.”
He closed his phone and turned to Show. “She’s dead, brother. Her father watched. You really want her head sent his way?”
Staring straight ahead, Show said, “No. It’s done. Now what?”
“Now we hope Bart and Rick give us something more. We did that for nothing. It didn’t get us any stronger in the fight. Maybe upped the risk.”
“Not for nothing. That was justice.”
Isaac wasn’t going to argue the point. “Okay. I need you now. We gotta pull everybody with ties to us in, let the rest of the town know to batten down. You up for that?”
Show took another swig from the bottle and then put the cap back on. “Let’s do it, boss.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Badger and Lilli pulled into the lot about three hours later. Badge had to honk and wait for the gate to open, and then, as soon as they were through, the hangarounds at the gate ran to close it again. Lilli looked in the passenger door mirror and watched as they looped a chain and closed a big padlock. By the time Badger had parked, Isaac was at her door. He opened it and pulled her out of the car into his arms. Feeling the tension vibrating in his arms, she let him hold her, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“That was too long, baby. Too long.” He’d called her three times, checking in, so he knew she was okay. But this was a thing with him—he had to see her to believe she was safe.
“You gave me a lot to do. I’m here now.”
He took her face into his hands and kissed her. “Come inside. The others will get the stuff.” He took her hand, then stopped. “Do you have the thing?”
She smiled and patted her messenger bag. Next to her Sig were two boxes of pregnancy test kits, two tests in each.
Life was very strange these days.
~oOo~
Lilli spent the afternoon making sleeping arrangements for the patches, hangarounds, club girls, and family members. Badger and Dom, who lived at the clubhouse, were displaced in deference to the patches. Every room except Isaac’s office and the Room was full with cots and sleeping bags, and every couch and remotely comfortable chair was made up for sleeping. She hardly knew most of the people, but they knew her, and it turned out that, by virtue of being Isaac’s old lady, she was in charge. She didn’t mind; she was good in charge. But she was surprised how readily she was accepted in the role. Apparently, the clubhouse was hers to run.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She hadn’t yet spent enough time around the clubhouse to get to know anyone but the members, but she’d spent enough time to understand that running the clubhouse under normal conditions meant keeping the food stores up and, most likely, managing the girls, who currently more or less managed themselves. A sort of pack hierarchy had developed, she’d noticed. It seemed to work well enough, and she saw no reason to disrupt it. She wasn’t keen on becoming what amounted to a madam for free whores.
She gave herself a little mental slap for the severe judgment in her thought. She had no problem at all with women using their bodies in any way they chose. And she was certainly no prude. But she didn’t much like the dynamic among the women. She hated to see women tearing each other down, especially over the slim pickings of men who saw them as little more than an assortment of warm, wet, willing holes.