“Oh. Are we going to Myrtle Beach today?” I ask him.
“No. We’re going to Myrtle Beach for the weekend,” he responds. “Shit, I forgot you don’t know fuck-all since you don’t sit at the table. I thought Torin or Reece would’ve told you. Guess we’ve all had more important things on our minds.”
The ‘more important things’ were trying to keep Ian, fresh out of prison for only a few months, from killing someone after his boy Gabriel took the fall for him. Gabriel is going to be spending a year in jail, and Ian has been nearly inconsolable.
The Kings have all been through a lot since the time I became a prospect. Dalton fell for an ATF agent. Reece’s girl was nearly killed by a crazy motherfucker. Miles brought the wrath of the Russian mafia down on the Kings because of his internet wife Kira that he’s madly in love with, and he now has a kid on the way. Sax nearly got all of the Kings arrested on murder charges, and then Cooper was almost killed when the Russians blew up our strip club. The Savage Kings’ strip club, I should say, since it’s not mine. Lately, I’ve been referring to the Kings as us or whatever like I’m a part of the group, when I’m still just a prospect looking in from the outside as time slowly ticks by.
“So, um, you got any idea when I may be up for a vote?” I ask Chase, trying not to sound desperate. I seriously thought I would’ve patched in as a full member by now. I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me. I take night shifts from Reece to keep an eye on the security surveillance for all of the businesses and most of the Kings’ private residences. I’ve proven my loyalty and been working out in the weight room every free moment I have to get stronger. But still, nothing.
“Every time you ask one of us about your vote, we put it out for another week,” Chase replies with a grin hidden behind his reddish-blond beard. I have no clue if that’s true or if he’s fucking with me. “Wash the bikes, pack a bag and then get the van south to the MB Kings’ clubhouse. We’re sending a few cases of beer for tomorrow’s bonfire before we crash at one of their rental houses tonight. I’ll text you the address, and then we’ll all meet you down there later.”
“Yes, sir,” I agree with a sigh before I go out back to fill up my bucket of soapy water and grab my sponge to get to work.
Five hours later and I’m sitting in bumper-to-bumper beach traffic. Even though it’s November, it’s a Friday and, yes, that’s precisely when everyone heads to the Vegas of the South to party. I haven’t been to Myrtle Beach for fun in years, not since spring break with Evelyn and some of our friends from school our senior year. Since most of us were broke, there was like six of us crashing in one rundown motel room with two queen beds. With a grin, I remember that we didn’t give a fuck about the peeling wallpaper or packed lodging. We went to the beach, we drank, and we had a good time together. It was one of the first times all of us had been out on our own without any parents.
I’m driving the MC’s van along at snail speed, moving up a few feet every time the stoplight at the intersection of Broadway at the Beach changes when I’m suddenly jolted forward.
Hard.
Son of a bitch. Someone rear-ended me!
I glare up at my rearview mirror to see who the idiot is that wasn’t paying attention, pissed that they’re gonna delay this delivery even longer and that I’ll have to explain to the Kings why their shit got fucked up. Behind me, to my surprise, is an ambulance. I don’t think it’s in any sort of hurry, though, since the lights and siren aren’t on.
Throwing the van into park and putting on my emergency flashers, I crack open my door to slip out and go see how bad the damage is. Hopefully it’s not much so I can get the fuck out of here, and just let Eddie fix it at his junk yard once I get back to town.
Just as I climb out, two figures emerge from either side of the ambulance…both in all black and wearing ski masks over their faces. Oh, and they have big ass guns in their hands that they rack ominously as they start to rush toward me.
Fuck!
Getting away in the van is impossible right now thanks to traffic, so I take off running on foot through the lines of cars, heading toward a nearby strip mall before I get run the fuck over. A quick glance over my shoulder as I make my move confirms what I already guessed, those fuckers are chasing after me and I have no goddamn clue why. All I know is that they don’t look friendly and I don’t want to die tonight. There’s still a lot of shit left for me to do, like save Evelyn from her asshole husband.
Could it be her asshole husband and his crew coming after me?
Nah, I’ve definitely been flying under the radar, so there’s no reason to believe I’m being chased down by the Dirty Aces.
Unfortunately for me, the shop doors I try at the strip mall are all locked up tight, closed even though it’s just a little past six p.m. A lot of these little shithole stores are closed in the off season. Slowing down to try the doors costs me precious seconds, and any lead I had on the men is wasted.
Just as I start to race around back to the alley, I hear heavy breathing behind me right before I’m suddenly yanked backward by my prospect cut.
One thing is for sure. I’m not going down without a fucking fight. There’s too much for me to live for.
Thanks to my constant weightlifting and Reece’s training when I first became a prospect, I can throw a decent punch now, which is what I do when I swing around to the figure who is holding me and ram my fist into the center of his masked face. There’s a definite crunch sound, followed by a howl of pain when he lets me go and drops his big gun, giving me the time I need to make a run for the alley.
And wouldn’t you know it, in the dead-end alley are not one but three more of the assholes waiting for me, dressed in all black, faces completely covered other than the violence in their narrowed eyes.
“What the fuck do you want?” I yell at them. “I don’t have any cash on me!”
“We’re not here for your money,” one of them growls. “We’re here to make you squeal like a pig!”
Shit, that doesn’t sound like any fun at all. So, when the three men lunge for me at the same time, I hit and kick every piece of flesh on them that I can reach while taking a beating.
I’m only able to hold them off for a few minutes, because inevitably, the four of them, yes, broken nose guy came back and joined the party too, wrestle me down to the hard pavement face first. My arms are then wrenched behind me. In no time at all, I’m hogtied, ankles attached to my own wrists with coarse rope, and a suffocating dark cloth is draped over my head. It becomes blatantly obvious that there’s no chance in hell of me ever getting out of this shit alive.
Chapter Seven
Evelyn
“Look! Look at her, Evelyn, and take notes,” Lowell orders while some slut takes his dick into her wide-open mouth. “After years, you still can’t deep throat worth a shit.”
I watch unflinching as another woman goes down on my so-called husband. She gags and slobbers all over his cock while tears spill from her eyes when he stands up and fucks her throat like the heathen he is.
I’m not allowed to talk to men or look at them, but he sure as hell gets to screw women whenever the fuck he wants. He tells me how to dress, where I can go, and what I can do. I feel like a prisoner. Hell, I am a prisoner, just without the shackles.