White Knuckles (Lost Kings MC 7)

It’s a small store. Finding my way to the spices only takes a few seconds of navigating through the narrow, dirty aisles.

My hand barely brushes over the chili powder when warm, soft lips graze my ear. “Do you need help?” Even though I’d been expecting it, the voice rattles me down to my toes. I’ve never been up close with a Viper before, but without a doubt, this is Ransom. His low, sinister voice crawls over my skin like spiders.

Act natural. I have to remind myself I’d be startled, but cool if I didn’t know this was a set-up.

“Can you reach that for me?” I ask in a flirty tone, pointing at the bottle that’s about two centimeters away from my fingertips.

Ransom’s not as horrible as I expected. In my head, I’ve always pictured him short, with greasy, stringy black hair. Scrawny and pockmarked. Maybe even with a bad-guy mustache. I couldn’t have been more wrong. He’s a snake in a decadent bad-boy’s body. Dark curly brown hair I’m sure lots of women love running their fingers through. Or yank when they’re trying to pull him off them.

I shiver with revulsion at the thought.

Maybe it’s because Mariella shared more than a few stories about the way he tortured her, but he gives me the creeps. Especially the way he studies me with his dark amber eyes for a few seconds.

“You don’t really need that, sweetheart.”

The crawling sensation returns to my skin.

“I was told to get it,” I say, keeping my tone light.

“Reymond,” he says, extending a hand. I have no idea if that’s his real name or not. It doesn’t really matter.

“Trinity.”

“What an unusual name for such a beautiful woman.”

None of this is what I expected. I was prepared for him to shove a gun in my back and march me out of the store. Apparently, he plans to go the seductive route instead.

I think I’d prefer the gun to my back, honestly.

Instead, he takes my hand. Like we’re lovers or friends who happened to meet up in the spice section. Haha, what a romantic story.

“What’re you doing?” I ask, remembering to pretend I don’t know what’s happening.

His hold on me tightens.

“Let go of me. I have people waiting for me outside.” I lower my voice. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. My man will fuck you up just for looking at me.”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps pulling me toward the back door. I have to pretend to put up a fight.

“Hey! Let me go.”

“Shut up,” he hisses. “No one’s gonna help you here. I still have connections in this fuckin’ town.”

“Who are you?” I ask, as he shoves me into a dark, filthy hallway. He pushes me along without answering my question. At the end of the hallway, he opens a heavy steel door, which leads to the alley.

I dig my heels in. “No. I’m not going with you.”

Now he takes the gun out, pressing it into my side. “Easy or hard, whore. Your choice.”

“I’m not a fucking whore, jackass. My ol’ man’s the enforcer for the Lost Kings MC. He’s going to kill you for this.”

“That would be a lot more convincing if his president wasn’t the one who handed you over.”

I gasp and pretend to think that over. “Rock would never do that to me.”

He takes his hand off the door, allowing it to slam shut with a heavy clank.

“Why?” He uses his body to push me up against the wall and lowers his head so he can whisper in my ear. “’Cause you’re such a good fuck?” He punctuates that word by thrusting his hips into me. I turn my head and try not to vomit.

He chuckles deep and sinister as he backs away. “You can’t be that good. Kings gave you up to save their business.”

I don’t respond. The next time he shoves me into the alley, I don’t offer any resistance. We stumble outside together. A young black kid leaning against a low brick wall across from the door waits for us.

“What took so fuckin’ long, man? Her guys drove off, but we still need to get out of here.”

“They ain’t comin’ back for this bitch.” His smooth olive skin creases into a scowl. “Which ones?”

“The VP and the blond dude we ran off the road.”

“Wait, what do you mean they drove away?” I ask, reminding myself to act shocked that Z and Teller would leave me behind.

Even though in my head, I know the guys aren’t far away, true fear beats in my chest. I’m now truly alone with these two psychos.

It’s up to me to keep the plan moving.

“Told ya, they gave you up.” Ransom sneers and rubs his hand over my ass.

I keep my head down as they hustle me into the parking lot. While I pretend I’m not paying attention, I’m actually trying to remember every single word they say. Whoever this other punk is, he played a part in Teller’s accident. Rage at the unfairness of Mariella’s death pulses through me. My fingers twitch, eager to grab one of the guns Wrath strapped to my body and blow this kid’s fucking head off.

We stop at a shiny black Impala, and I almost laugh at what a cliché these two are.

“Get in.” Ransom digs the gun into my side a little harder.

“No. I’m not going anywhere with you. Who the fuck are you?”

“You give your man this much backtalk?”

“Never. I actually respect him.”

His eyes narrow. “You’ll learn.”

The other guy grabs my shoulder and spins me, pushing me flat against the car. “You search her for weapons?” he asks.

Ransom snorts. “Why’s Rock gonna have her strapped when he gave her up?”

“’Cause her man’s one twitchy motherfucker,” he says, patting my sides. I tense up, afraid this is an excuse to grope me, but from the knees up he’s ruthlessly thorough. Almost professional. He finds my cell phone and hands it to Ransom. “He probably has her carry everywhere she goes.” It worries me that whoever this kid is, he seems to know so much about Wrath.

“My back,” I say, hoping if I give up one weapon, they won’t search for more. At least that was the plan back at the house. It all seemed so simple when we were simply talking about this.

Now it’s real and anything but simple.

The kid stops. “What?”

“I’m carrying at my six.”

He lifts my sweatshirt and lets out a low whistle. “Got yourself quite a holster there.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all just shove a gun down the back of our baggy jeans.” I cast a dismissive look at his gangster uniform of low-slung pants and Timberland boots.

He cups my jaw with one hand, turning my head and applying enough pressure to make it hurt. “You’re a sexy bitch.”

“Hands off, Kidd. Wrath’s bitch is all mine.”

Kidd lets go of my face and runs a finger around the edge of the holster then pulls the gun loose.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him waving the weapon in Ransom’s face. “See?”

“You’re more fun than I expected,” Ransom says to me, pinching my ass.

“Get your hands off me.”

Kidd grabs my hair, yanking my head back. “What else you carrying?”

“Knife. Right pocket.” This time the fear in my voice is authentic.

“God damn.” Ransom’s laughter echoes across the parking lot. I’m glad he finds me so fucking amusing. The chuckles stop abruptly, and he taps my arm with his gun. “Get in the fucking car.”

Obviously, they don’t expect me to be carrying any other weapons. I hang my head in what I hope looks like defeat and slide into the front seat when Ransom opens the door. As he shuts it, I look up through my lashes, giving him the saddest pound-dog eyes I can come up with.

He laughs.

I can’t wait to put a bullet between his eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Black Impala.

I receive Sparky’s text at the same time Z calls Rock.

“She’s in the car,” Z says. As fu

cked up as I am over the situation, even I can sense the edginess in Z’s voice. He’s hating this, too. “I’m following Sparky.”

“Where’s Stash?” Rock asks.

“Ahead of both of us.”

Rock puts the truck in gear and eases out of our parking spot.

“They’re turning onto Park Street.”

“Seven. They’re headed for route seven,” I say to Rock.

He nods and eases his foot off the gas. If we keep going, we’ll pretty much run right into Ransom as he’s turning onto the highway leading out of Ironworks.

A few minutes later, my theory’s confirmed by Z.

“They just got on Seven East.”

My fist slams into the dashboard. “That’s slow-going traffic until you’re out past Tibbit’s. Lot of chances for Sparky to lose sight of them.”

“Trackers are working,” Z says.

In the background, I hear Teller. “Still moving slow up Seven.”

Rock presses down on the accelerator, and a few minutes later, we’re also on Seven, somewhere behind Z.

“Motherfucker,” Rock grumbles, slapping the steering wheel as we get stopped at a red light. “Rush hour traffic. He’s hoping we won’t be able to tail ’em.”

“No shit.”

“Ah, fuck,” Z’s voice comes through the line.

“What?”

“Stash got pulled over. He ran a red light trying to keep up with them.”

The dashboard takes more abuse from me. Rock glances over. “Sparky and Z are still behind her. We’re good.”

“Tell Sparky to go easy,” I snap.

The next twenty miles seem to take hours, but probably only forty minutes have passed.

Forty minutes Trinity’s been alone with Ransom.

Every now and then, my gaze strays to the side mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the brothers following behind us.

All I see is a stream of unfamiliar vehicles.

Ransom decided to drive, while Kidd sat directly behind me.

“Did your man cry like a little bitch when he saw what I did to his business?” Ransom glances over to see if I heard his question.

I’d love to punch the glee off his smug face for joking about what has to be one of the worst days of Wrath’s life.

“Come on. That arrogant cocksucker’s had it coming for years,” Ransom taunts.

Behind me, Kidd sighs as if this game of torment the kidnap victim is beneath him.

“No,” I finally answer, stretching out my hand and studying my nails. “He was getting tired of runnin’ that place. I think you did him a favor.” I glance over and flaunt a fake-as-fuck sweet smile.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

I should be more scared. The lack of fear swirling through my belly actually scares me more. Over-confidence will get me killed.

It’s not myself I have so much faith in, though. It’s the club.

Well, that’s not exactly true. I survived some pretty fucked-up shit in my life. I spent years living with a numbness inside that no amount of hurting myself ever cured. With Wyatt, I’ve finally found peace. Found happiness. Safety. Security. And so much love.

I won’t allow anyone to steal that from me. From us.

This time tomorrow, I plan to be Mrs. Ramsey.

The weight of the weapon strapped to each ankle comforts me. They won’t be easy to draw if things get bad fast, but I can do it. I’m glad we spent the extra time at the range yesterday. In my head, I go over each step. Picture aiming at Ransom’s crotch and pulling the trigger.

Mariella cried in my arms more than once about the horrible things she endured under Ransom’s control, so yeah, I’m shooting him in the crotch before Teller takes him out. No one told me that was the plan, but I didn’t have to be at the war room table to know that’s the way it will go down. Unless Ransom hurts me. Then Wrath will kill him for sure.

Eventually, we leave the Ironworks city limits and the traffic thins out. Two or three cars still trail behind us. Whether they’re Lost Kings, I’m not sure.

I sneak a glance at Ransom and find him checking out the rearview mirror.

Not good.

“Why did we leave Ironworks?” I ask to distract him, in case it is Z or one of the others behind us.

“Don’t worry, chica. I got a nice place all set up. No neighbors to bother us. No one to hear you screaming. It’s perfect.”

“Sounds lovely.”

He smirks at my sarcasm.

For the first time, my confidence slips. Mariella spent a week being raped and tortured by Ransom, before he tossed her to his Viper brothers. After they broke her, they pimped her out. I assume that’s what Ransom thinks my future holds.

I’m so lost in the gory details I remember Mariella describing, I don’t notice we’ve turned onto a smaller dirt road. Our speed slows to a crawl.

A glance in the mirror shows no one behind us now.

Don’t panic.

They’re close by. I know they are.

Z can track me through the two little bugs embedded in my sweatshirt and through my cell phone, which I’m pretty sure Ransom still has in his pocket.

Wrath would die before he let anything bad happen to me.

He’s near. I can feel him.

Ransom stops the car.

There’s an aging farmhouse to our left and a large dirt parking circle. Further back on the property, I notice a rusty, broken-down trailer. If I had to guess, it’s where they’ve been cooking meth. Trees and overgrown grass and shrubs surround the parking area. Plenty of cover for the guys to use when they get here. Z’s probably pulling up a map of the area right now.

“You need a landscaper,” I comment, and Ransom laughs.

“Your club don’t seem to control its women. You got a smart mouth for a whore.”

“I’m not a whore.”

“That’s not what I heard.” His voice comes out low and deadly this time.

No traffic sounds reach us here. Only the rustle of the trees and an owl in the distance. At the clubhouse, those sounds always soothe me. They mean I’m safe from all the dangers of my past.

Faith is stronger than fear. Faith is stronger than fear. Wrath has that saying tattooed on his chest, and it’s always brought me comfort. It never meant as much to me as it does right now.

I have faith. Lots of faith.

Wrath will be here soon.

The club will be here soon.

“Come on, man. We doing this out here?” Kidd asks.

I don’t bother to ask what. I think it’s pretty obvious.

Ransom’s gaze crawls over me, stopping at my breasts. Irritation flickers at the corner of his mouth when I remain still. His eyes meet mine, and I’m struck by how flat but familiar they are. Familiar like one of my mother’s boyfriends who used to “accidentally” wander into my room at night.

I’m not the same scared little girl who hid behind the couch when her mother “entertained” her boyfriends.

Back then, I couldn’t fight back. Now, I can.

Then, I had no one to fight for me or protect me. Now, I have Wrath. I have the club.

A smidge of confidence returns.

Kidd grips my arms and steers me toward the house. I relax and let him lead me. I’m terrified that if I fight back too much, they’ll tie me up or worse. So for now, I remain compliant.

The door closes behind us with an ominous thud.

Faith is stronger than fear.

Kidd circles the room, looking behind furniture and flicking on lights as he goes. Ransom stays by the door, watching me.

He moves in closer and runs his hand over my cheek, traces my bottom lip with his finger. “Pretty girl. Gonna get me back in business and earn me a lot of money, aren’t you?” he says in a low, hypnotic voice—hypnotic the way facing off with a crocodile might feel while you pray he doesn’t bite you in half.

I’m too scared to move or even blink.

“Ransom? You qu

estioning her or what?”

“Yeah, but get her undressed first. I want to finally see those tits,” he says to Kidd without taking his eyes off me.

My stomach twists, but I don’t react. He expects me to say something. He’s waiting for a response to his crude demand. He plans to question me? Once it becomes obvious I don’t know anything about MC business, I’m in trouble.

Wrath will be here soon.

I stay silent. On the outside.

Inside, I’m screaming. Hell fucking no.

Something Mariella told me rattles at the back of my head. Fear. Ransom gets off on it. Big time.

By sheer force of will, I stop my body from trembling.

I place my hand on my hip. “You want me to just strip? Or I can do it nice and pretty for you, Reymond.” I lower my lashes and put a little purr in my voice when using his name.

“That’s more like it, sweetheart,” Kidd says from behind me.

I glance at Ransom, letting him know I think he’s the one in charge. He nods.

Shit.

Kidd’s behind me and to my left.

Ransom’s blocking the door.

By some unspoken agreement they both circle me, switching positions.

Ransom settles on the couch and crosses one leg over the other, placing his ankle on his knee.

“Let’s go, chica. We ain’t got all night.”

I’m frozen with fear.

Two guns or not, I’m not some movie, super-girl hero who can double-draw and shoot two people on opposite sides of the room.

Kidd.

He’s the one on alert, while Ransom has been treating me like a joke all night. I should definitely shoot Kidd first.

“Come on, cunt.” Kidd sneers.

Ransom claps his hands. “Hurry it up.”

Where’s Wrath?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE