Breaking Hammer (Motorcycle Club Romance) (Inferno Motorcycle Club Book 3) Page 4

  “Meia,” he said, looking me over. “The name suits you.”

  I kept my head bowed, my heart continuing to thump in my chest.

  “Look at me, girl.” His voice was sharp and I obeyed. I didn’t realize then he would want to see my eyes, see what I looked like before he stole everything from me.

  What he didn’t know was what I had looked like before. Before any of this. He didn’t realize there was nothing there anymore. Nothing left to steal.

  He could torture me, but it was irrelevant. An irritation. Like the sharp bite of a mosquito on the skin.

  “You are to be given free reign here, provided you please me,” he said, taking my hand in his thin one. He guided me through the great room, toward the rest of the house. As we walked, I looked around at the vast expanse of my kingdom.

  I would be a caged bird.

  He coughed, the sound jolting me out of my thoughts. He brought a handkerchief to his mouth. “You are not a prisoner,” he said, as if he could read my thoughts.

  “No, sir,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. I would learn to call him Master.

  He stopped, turned toward me again, and I felt his eyes on me, but I looked straight ahead. “You are a rare beauty, Meia.”

  I nodded. It wasn’t a good thing. It was a curse.

  Later, when he showed me the room, the feeling of terror intensified again. I stood there, staring at the instruments, the implements I would come to know well, my child brain unable to wrap my mind around what could be done with them.

  That night, I would begin a new set of lessons. He would subject me to small pains at first, stimulating my body at the same time. Those were the pains I was used to from the finishing school in Bangkok...the sharp sting of the whip, the flat hand across my body. It was gentle compared to what I had suffered before.

  That first night was the easiest. It wasn’t until he had lulled me into a sense of security, treated me kindly over the course of the first week, that he began the torture.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was an irony that the thing that saved me from the old man - my pregnancy - was the very thing that would become my undoing, the very thing that would keep me bound to Aston. The old man was no longer interested in me after I became pregnant. He left my child and I money in the will, an apology of sorts, or at least I liked to think it was. It was the money that made me bold, made me think I could simply walk away from everything with my son. But I hadn't been so lucky. Aston had found us.

  "Fights?" I asked, looking around the old building behind the clubhouse. It was a small building, decrepit the last time I saw it and just about the same now, with a concrete floor and metal walls like any other warehouse. Except this looked like a fucking training facility, nothing fancy, but the type of thing you'd find in one of those old school boxing gyms - a makeshift ring in the center, some heavy bags hanging in the corners, and weights over in the side. Two of the brothers were inside, their hands wrapped, punching at the bags.

  "What the hell is this?" I asked, turning toward Blaze. "You guys starting a boxing gym or something?"

  Blaze smiled. "Benicio's doing some underground stuff." He shrugged. "Don't knock it. We get paid good for providing the muscle during the fights, running the books, and keeping the bullshit to a minimum."

  "What's with the set up here then?"

  Blaze shrugged. "A couple of the brothers have gotten in on the action. They're legit pretty good, unlike Big Mike and his shit talking."

  I remembered Big Mike, and couldn't help but laugh. Big Mike could barely walk a hundred yards without breaking a sweat, his gut hanging over his jeans. He was a walking fucking heart attack. He wasn't going to be doing any underground fighting any time soon, and we all knew it. But I had no doubt he would be talking himself up big time as the next big thing. Dumbass would get himself killed one of these days when someone called him out on his bullshit.

  I watched one of the brothers go at the heavy bag, throwing jab after jab, his fist making contact with the bag over and over. It brought back memories of high school, of all the fighting I had done while I was growing up. That's what happened when you were white trash like I was. I'd been smart though, good with computers and figures- it's how I got away from all that shit.

  But now, surrounded by the sounds of fists making contact with a heavy bag, the stale smell of sweat in the air...I clenched my fists at my sides, unfurled my hands and then closed them again. I could feel myself getting the itch to fight, and I told myself to shut it down.

  But shit, on the other hand, all the working out I was doing now, the weight lifting, wasn't doing me any fucking good. Letting my fist connect with something might be what I needed.

  It might even be goddamned therapeutic, I thought, smiling wryly at the thought of what MacKenzie's therapist might think. Somehow I thought beating the ever living shit out of someone else wouldn't exactly fit the bill.

  "You want to give it a try?" Blaze asked. "Get in the ring with one of those guys, spar a little?"

  My muscles tensed up at the thought of it, twitched at the idea of getting in there with one of them. It was like my whole fucking body was on high alert, every fiber tensed up and coiled.

  Motherfucking right I wanted to get in there. But there was a rational part of me, a small part of me, that said it would be a bad idea, that I didn't want to cross that line, that I couldn't control myself, once I started. Just like it was with Tink.

  For a minute, the image of Tink, broken and bloody, flashed through my mind's eye. I thought about how it had felt, smashing the sledgehammer through his body over and over again, first hearing the sound of bones crunching, then everything just going...softer...as there was nothing left to bludgeon into oblivion. The rage that coursed through my veins at the idea of what he'd done to my wife.

  And the feeling of power. Omnipotence.

  Did I want that feeling again? I longed for it.

  I was afraid if I tasted it again, I'd never stop. I'd go over the edge. I'd need it, like some kind of junkie.

  "Well?" Blaze asked, grinning. "It's pretty fucking fun, I'm not gonna lie."

  I shook my head. "No," I said. The word came out slowly, languid, like I was forcing it. It was a lie, and we both knew it. I turned away from the fighters, looked at Blaze. "What's the job, Blaze?"

  "This isn't the place where the fights happen, obviously," he said. "We're not set up for that kind of shit here. This is just for hobby purposes, training for the couple guys who are doing it."

  "So it happens at Benicio's locations."

  He nodded. "Yeah. He's got some warehouses he's using for it. Takes bets on the outcomes. It's small shit here, honestly, but the Vegas ones are getting to be more...lucrative. The chapter out in Vegas is acting as muscle at the fights, but he wants an additional layer of security."

  "Cameras?" I asked.

  "Something like the casinos use," Blaze said. "Eye in the sky or some shit like that. Make sure no one's pulling out a camera phone and recording or anything. Shit that would be used as evidence. You know how people are. We do patdowns, make sure no one has a camera, but it's easy enough to hide something if you're motivated."

  "When does he need it?" I still wasn't sure I wanted to get involved, however tangentially it was, in any more club bullshit. Even if it was more of Benicio's thing and less of a club thing.

  And even if it involved this fighting shit. Especially if it involved this fighting shit. I needed to stay far, far away from that. I could feel it in my bones.

  "As soon as you can do it," Blaze said. "It's Benicio, so you know he's not exactly stingy. He'll pay you fair. Cash. You have to keep it separate from anything else you're doing, that goes without saying."

  I tossed Blaze a dark look. If that fucker thought something had changed with me, that retirement had somehow made me disloyal, then maybe I fucking needed to remind him of how loyal I'd been to this goddamned club.

  "I thought you might be interested, since this is your
area," Blaze said, interrupting my thoughts. "Easy cash, in and out, no questions. Figure I'd rather give the job to someone I trust, a brother, than outsource it somewhere else. Benicio's on board with it, didn't have a guy of his own that came to mind right away, so I told him you might be willing."

  I felt my hands relax as he talked, unfurl from their tight clench. Blaze didn't think I was disloyal after all. He still counted me as a brother.

  "You heading back to Vegas tonight?" he asked. Then, before I could answer that I was, he said, "You should stay. Prospects are going to grill, got a party going on, some low-key shit though, nothing crazy. But those guys are gonna go at it. For practice."

  I nodded. "All right," I said. "I'll stay."

  It was fucking strange being at a club party after being away for two years. Strange and familiar all at the same time. I didn't know some of these guys, but most of them were old friends. People I'd considered friends a long time ago.

  A brother named Gunner clapped me on the shoulder. "Hammer!" he said, stopping when I looked at him the way I did. "Oh shit, is that not cool? I thought you knew that's what everybody's been calling you."

  I took a drag on my beer. "No, you fuckstick," I said. "I didn't know."

  He laughed, a sound that came from deep in his belly. Truth be told, I guess I did miss this guy. Just a little. And maybe I missed the club a little bit too. All of this, the chaos and din of the clubhouse, the friendships I'd had...I hadn't had any of that in well over two years. My life was quiet now. Too quiet sometimes. But all of this had been tainted by April's death.

  I felt someone beside me, and the sensation jolted me out of my thoughts. Gunner was still talking about something, but I hadn't heard a word of it. Then he laughed, and I looked beside me at the topless girl who had attached herself to my arm, her bare tits pressed up against me. She leaned in and purred, her voice close to my ear, "Hey, baby, you want to play?"

  "Hey man," Gunner said. "Have at it. You're retired, not dead."

  I felt the familiar stirring of arousal, and slid my hand over one of her tits. Shit. I hadn't been laid in a long time. That part of me had been dead for a while. "What's your name, darlin'?"

  "April," she said, leaning into me as she slid her hand down the front of my shirt toward my pants. I caught her by the wrist, pulled her away from me, filled with anger.

  "Is this some kind of fucking joke?" I asked, looking from her to Gunner, whose face was chalk white.

  "No, man, I don't know what the fuck," he said.

  Her wrist felt tiny in my grip, and when I squeezed it harder, she yelped, her face contorting in pain. "What the fuck?" she screamed. "Let go of me, you psycho!"

  I couldn't. "What the fuck do you mean, your name is April?" I heard my voice, loud even to my own ears, and I was aware that people were starting to stare at me.

  She began whimpering. "All the girls here tonight - we're the months. April, May, June, you know? What's your problem?"

  "Did someone tell you to say that?"

  "Yeah, man." She struggled, trying to pull her wrist from my grip. "Our fucking pimp."

  I looked at Gunner, who shook his head. "It wasn't on purpose man, just coincidence."

  Not on purpose. Just a shitty piece of coincidence. Like the rest of the shit that happened with this fucking club, right?

  I felt my grip on her wrist loosen, but my anger didn't dissipate. She yanked her arm from my grasp, and I heard her yelling about "fucking assholes" as she pushed her way through the crowd toward the other hookers.

  Blaze walked up beside me. "You okay, man? I didn't know about that."

  I could still feel my heart pounding in my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my body. I was ready to lose it on someone. Fuck no, I was not okay. What I needed was to get the hell out of this clubhouse and away from all this shit. The reminders of what was everything to me at once was too much. I couldn't take this.

  "I need to get the fuck out of - " I didn't even finish the sentence. I turned to leave, get the hell away from this place, and right in front of me stood that fucking prospect, the mouthy one from earlier who made the comment about me driving up here in a cage. Except he wasn't wearing his cut, he was dressed in athletic gear, prepping for a practice fight. His cocky smirk just sent me over the edge.

  I took one look at him, and rage took over. He saw it too and tried to dodge, but I punched him square in the jaw. He went straight to a knee, but stood up on wobbly legs, full of fight. "Cheap shot," he said, and in a blur, he was coming at me, swinging wildly, not controlling his delivery, and full of rage.

  I stepped back, clear of his swings, and then went forward with a jab to his nose and upper lip that resulted in a gush of blood. He was stunned momentarily, then turned back at me with a roar and lunged into me. We hit the floor hard and he got in a few good shots on me, but all he was doing was keying me up even more. It felt like child's play, brought me back to my high school days, all the brawling I did. Part of me was enjoying beating on this little punk. It was only when he hit my with an elbow to the side of the head that I started to lose control.

  Everything went blurry, and the only thing I was aware of was that feeling of all-consuming rage again, the same thing I'd felt before when I beat Tink. I didn't give a shit about anything, except what was happening right now. I didn't give a shit if I lived or died.

  I felt hands on my back, pulling me off of the prospect. "Hammer!" someone yelled. More hands.

  "Hammer!"

  I could see Blaze from the corner of my eye, his expression grim. "No more," he said. "You're going to kill him. I don't need a dead prospect to deal with."

  Kill him? I was confused. We'd barely been fighting for a few minutes, and he was talking about killing him. This prospect had to be a real sack of shit if he couldn't take a couple of punches. Shit, I was more torn up than he was, my knuckles raw. I could feel blood dripping from my nose, and my face throbbed.

  Then I looked down at the prospect lying on the floor, barely moving, his face a bloody mess. One of the brothers squatted down to pull him off the floor, and I watched, not quite understanding.

  I hadn't done that, had I?

  I looked at Blaze. "Shit," I said. "I didn't think I was going at him that hard."

  He nodded, and shrugged "It's all right," he said. "He's a shit stain of a prospect anyway. So fucked up he has a hard time doing wrong right. Was good for fighting, though. Maybe you need to get in the ring sometime."

  Fuck, I thought. That was the last thing I needed. On the other hand, a feeling of calm began to descend over me, and I hadn't felt calm like this in a long time. It was a relief to finally feel peace, even if it was temporary.

  "Mama?" Ben asked, his voice timid, hesitant.

  My heart nearly broke when I heard him speak, the way it always did when I was allowed to talk to him. The phone calls were dependent on Aston's moods, and sometimes I went a month without hearing Ben's voice. He was changing so much, I knew. Aston gave me photos of him - the first time, I couldn't help but be reminded of the photos a kidnapper provided for a ransom demand as proof of life. It was a bleak thing to think about, the fact that I needed ongoing proof of life for my son.

  In each picture, he was bigger, taller than the previous.

  He turned five last month.

  He would have spent the last two years in...I didn't know where he was, exactly. Hidden in southeast Asia. The photos were nondescript, but Ben was well-groomed, and well-cared for by a family hired for that purpose- a Thai family. So I assumed he was being held in Thailand, although I wouldn’t put it past Aston to be keeping him someplace else. I'd insisted on knowing that there was a family taking care of Ben- in some kind of delusional notion that I could bargain with my captor. But Aston had granted it, I suppose understanding that there was no way I'd comply without knowing my son was being cared for by a family.

  In that way, at least, he wasn't a monster. Just pragmatic.

  It didn't make it any less hea
rtbreaking.

  Each time I spoke with Ben, I tried to listen for anything in his surroundings, to pay attention to anything he said that might give me some kind of indication of where Aston was keeping him. I knew better than to ask any questions that might lead him to give me any information. Aston would kill him in a heartbeat. I knew he killed without compunction.

  And if he grew tired of me...Ben's life would be extinguished.

  I was forced to stay in Aston's good graces, whatever it took.

  "How are you, baby?" I asked. "Are you being good?"

  "Yes, mama," he said. "I'm practicing my counting and my letters."

  I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes, thinking about the time I was missing with my son. I was supposed to be the one to sit with him, practicing counting and teaching him to read. I was the one who was supposed to be there when he fell off his bicycle for the first time, the one who would bandage his knee, who would kiss his forehead and tell him everything would be okay. I was the one who was supposed to read him stories, to hold him when he couldn't sleep.

  I wanted to ask if someone was doing those things for him now, if they hugged him. I wouldn't let my mind wander to the other possibilities, that he might not be well-treated, or even worse. I couldn't think about it. I knew it would destroy me if I thought that way.

  "That's great, baby," I said. "Keep practicing. I miss you so much."

  "Will you come for me soon?" he asked. I willed myself to finish the conversation, grateful for any time I had to talk to him, when I wanted to run sobbing from the room, to find Aston, the man who had taken Ben and destroyed me. I wanted to claw Aston's eyes out. I wanted to obliterate him.

  More than anything, I wanted my son back.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinked back the tears in my eyes. "I'll see you soon, baby," I said. "You just keep being good, and I'll see you soon."

  I sat at the table in the bar, looking her up and down. She was gorgeous, model gorgeous, with green eyes and red hair that cascaded down her shoulders, tendrils curling at the ends. Shirt tight across her breasts, long legs. She looked like she had stepped off the pages of a porn magazine. She was every man's fantasy.