"Where are we going?" I ask, stepping closer to her even as I slip the cuffs onto my right wrist. It closes with a snap. Kylie doesn't relax until the other is also in place.
"To meet an old friend. He's dying to see you again, Penelope."
And with that ominous pronouncement, she seizes me by my cuffed wrists and drags me away from the car, away from Calamity, and into the unknown.
16
Calamity
The squeal of tires wrenches me from my peaceful sleep.
I instinctively try to pull Penelope closer, only to find she isn't there. Whipping my head around, I can't spy her in the passenger's seat or the back either. Her jacket is gone from the bag. She's gone.
I scramble out of my seat as my mind puts her disappearance together with the squeal of tires. There are only a few possibilities. Either the Cruz brothers tired of waiting and absconded with their sister, or someone else has. I doubt the kidnappers are her brothers. There's no chance they'll leave me alive. So that only leaves one other option. This is a coup d’état, yet another attempt to overthrow the existing power in this city. I can only think of one group that would take Penelope and leave me alive. The Hellions. They don't want to make an enemy of me and mine by making an attempt on my life. Theywouldmake an attempt on Penelope if they think they can maneuver her brothers into a position to be killed by using her.
But they don't know that I've formed an attachment to her. They'll expect me to be pissed that they've broken my new favorite toy. They'll never expect that I'm ready to slit every one of their throats. That I can use to my advantage.
I leap out of the Camaro, thinking quickly. I've got Penny's bike hanging half out of the back of the trunk, secured by cords. It'll be less distinctive than the car, and easier to stay out of sight if I follow them. I take a frustrating thirty seconds to undo the cords, and the bike settled on the soaked pavement. The keys are already jammed in the ignition, ready for Penelope to ride away when I traded her to her brothers. I twist them savagely and sling a leg over the bike. The Softail Slim feels strange after spending so much time on my Fat Boy, but it'll drive just fine.
I gun the throttle and race after the car, turning the corner off Hart street. Once I've closed the distance somewhat, I try to keep several car lengths away, hoping the unusually dark morning will disguise my features, or that the kidnappers will be too busy with their captive to notice a lone bike following in their wake.
Whoever is responsible for this is dead. I don't give a shit what their motives are. I've been too lenient with my people if they think they can get away with rebellion not once but twice in one year. I will end each of them and destroy the empire I've built here. If I die in the attempt? So be it. Just so long as Penelope survives.
The car veers off the main roads quickly, and I'm forced to follow even further back, to escape notice. In the center of our part of South Hollens, a motorcycle is a sight so common as to be ubiquitous. Here, in the slick dirt roads that lead out of town? Not so much. If I'm spotted, there will be no doubt who I am. So for her sake, I keep as far back as possible without losing them. I know where they're going, though. There's only one thing out here of note.
Sure enough, the car pulls up to a rickety shed that overlooks the South Hollens Rock Quarry fifteen minutes later. I pull Penelope's bike to a stop near a copse of trees. I'm still at least a half-mile off, and this is still risky. They're likely to hear the bike. I need to be assured that she's safe, and I have to figure out which lives I'm ending tonight.
The car crunches to a stop a moment later, and a short, busty brunette steps out. Her face is nice, but not overtly pretty, like Penelope's. Her makeup is applied thickly, so she almost resembles a drag queen. My lip curls immediately. Kylie. I should have known better than to assign her as Penelope's bodyguard. It had originally been a ploy to make them both miserable, and now it's backfiring spectacularly. Kylie's probably sold her downriver just for spite.
She's going to regret that decision when I'm through with her.
The passenger's side door opens, and another woman steps out. I recognize her at once. I've only seen that distinctive hair in the King's portion of South Hollens once before. Avis Harding. She's got all that fiery hair tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail and has changed into a scarlet zipper top that mounds her small but firm breasts, pushing them up to just beneath her chin. Her midriff is mostly bare beneath the leather jacket she's wearing, and her jeans ride low, showing off creamy flesh. Going for a femme fatale vibe. A few months ago, I would have appreciated the show.
Now? The sight of her just pisses me the hell off. The bitch is in my territory and kidnapping my woman.
Penelope is dragged out next. I'm relieved to see she appears mostly unharmed, except for a bruise blossoming on her right cheek. Someone will lose their hand when I figure out who struck her.
I'm assessing my chances of taking down the five men who pile out of the vehicle after her. It makes six that have to die and one that I'd like to spend my time punishing. Those odds aren't the worst I've faced. The situation with Dallas was far worse. Just about the time I've pulled my gun and fire on them, a second car approaches from a different side road. Then another. And another. By the time they've all emerged, there's thirty, with enough bodies to obscure my line of sight on Penelope.
Shit. I'm good, but I'm notthatgood. During the stalemate with Dallas months ago, I had Malick and several other men at my back. The Glock I have on my person has seventeen shots total. It's not enough, even if I never miss a shot, which I'm bound to do at this range. I need backup. But I can't trust that the men I drag from the clubhouse won't immediately put a bullet through my skull the second I turn my back.
Even if I could find a group of loyal men to come with me, none will stay loyal when they discover what the objective is. No King is laying down his life for a Spade. A Spade that, for all they know, is just my new favorite piece of ass. To them, she's less than a prostitute. They'll let her die.
So there's only one place I can turn to for aid. Every fucking cell in my body tries to rebel against the conclusion I come to. No. No fucking way was I going to lay my life in the hands of my enemies. It's just as dangerous as charging this group, and it's twice as humiliating if I fail.
It's Penelope's cry of pain that jerks me out of my furious contemplation and decides for me. I can't save her alone. If I try, I only guarantee both our deaths.
I wheel the bike around, slinging mud in an arc behind me as I turn back toward town. I take off as quickly as I can, mind made up. I need allies if Penelope will survive the night. I can't trust my own people. So I will have to trust hers.
I check my wristwatch. It's a half-hour past noon. Past time to meet Kase and Cruz at the boundary line. I have to hope there's not an ambush waiting. Both our lives depend on my ability to talk down two hot-headed men who thought I'd killed their father, raped their sister, and tried to destroy everything they'd ever built.
In short? We are fucked beyond belief.
But I still have to try. For Penelope.
So I leave the quarry and the woman I’m falling in love with behind, about to make a deal with the devil to save her soul.
17
