Damon:A Bad Boy MC Romance Novel(78)

     



 

The bar came into view, and he peeled off the road, parking his bike  randomly off to the side. His stride as he walked across the porch and  into the bar was the stride of a leader, a man with a mission, someone  who would accept no argument or denial. He carried this same aura with  him, and everyone knew when he entered. Heads turned; half-drunk, the  gathered members of the Black Smoke Motorcycle Club rose to greet him,  all feeling his determination.

Honey put down the glass of beer she'd been filling from the tap, the  head foaming up as she stared at Reign, anxiety rising like bubbles in  her throat. I should have told him, she thought suddenly, knowing from  the look on Reign's face that there could only be one explanation.

Something had happened to the girl, and Reign had found out. Somehow,  that little bike ride he'd taken had brought him straight to the  conclusion that something was dreadfully wrong with Gabriella. And Honey  was the only one, besides Endo, who might have a clue about the  particulars.

"Boys, get ready to ride," Reign said, his voice ricocheting through the  bar. There was no hesitation as the men gathered around their  soon-to-be-leader, ready to do whatever he asked. Reign looked over the  sea of faces, all looking back at him with respect and loyalty.

"We've got a damsel in distress, boys," he continued, still shouting  although someone had already thought to turn the jukebox down. "That  girl, y'all know the one?"

The crowd nodded en masse.

"She's in some kinda trouble now. I ain't sure what, but her car's  fifteen miles outside town with no wheels. Taco, Rifle, you two go get  that shithead dealer's tow truck and have him help y'all get it off the  road and somewhere safe. Don't need no law getting involved now and  mucking everything up. Everyone else, spread out, and start combing  every inch of this earth for her. I ain't pussyfooting around here,  boys, if she ends up dead, or hurt, that'll be on us. We're gonna find  her, and we're gonna make sure whoever's out to get ‘er gets his due.  You got it?"

Another general nod.

"I want most of y'all headed out to Colorado. Damn ex-husband might have  her. He's got a badge, so be careful if you gotta lay him out. Everyone  else, head towards Salt Lake. I don't have no clue what kinda time they  got on us, but you best believe you'll be speedin' tonight," Reign  said, finishing his orders with a bark. He looked out at the crowd, a  General sizing up a troop. These men would find her, he was sure of it.  They had no reason to give a shit about Gabriella, but they'd do  anything for Reign.

"You boys do me proud, now," he said, and the men responded with a  unified holler, raising their fists in the air and shouting the club's  name into the rafters. Reign held his stance, arms crossed across his  chest, as the crowd broke around him, streaming out into the night. The  sound of motorcycles revving soon filled the air, and in the deafening  roar Reign felt his unease, which had settled while he was taking  charge, threatening to overwhelm him.

Honey watched from behind the bar. Endo had slipped out with the rest of  the men, apparently unwilling to bear witness to what was surely about  to happen when Honey told Reign what she knew. Which she had to. If  Gabriella had disappeared without a trace, if someone had cleared the  road before Reign got there …

But if "if's" and "but's" were candy and nuts we'd all have a merry  Christmas, Honey thought, remembering one of her late mother's favorite  sayings. She couldn't keep this from Reign anymore. She couldn't live  with herself, couldn't live with the club, knowing that she could have  helped him but kept her mouth shut out of fear.

Reign's downcast eyes eventually made their way to Honey's. He walked  towards her, slow and seeming defeated, especially compared to the way  he'd entered, the way he'd spoken to the men as though he were Zeus.

"Honey … " he began, but Honey hushed him with her admission, blurted out like a seventh-grader's crush at a slumber party.

"I think I know what happened to her," she said, and watched as his eyes  grew wide. He waited for her continue, but the words seemed stuck in  her throat. He rapped his knuckles against the bar, impatient. "I saw  someone … I saw someone last night … watching you two and … and when you went  for the ride, he went to her room. That's it, Reign, that's all I know  but … "

"And you didn't think to tell me? You didn't think I might be interested  in knowing that sort of thing? What the fuck, Honey? You've got one  fucking job at this fucking club, and it's to tell me when shit like  that happens. Holy fucking shit, you watched her leave! You watched me  say goodbye to her, and let her drive off … "         

     



 

"I'm sorry! I didn't have time to … "

"Don't fucking give yourself excuses, Honey," Reign's voice grew low,  his eyes dark and narrow, hate pulsing through them. Honey shrank under  his gaze.

"You could have called, texted. You didn't say anything because you  wanted her gone. Because you're a selfish fucking bitch, and you didn't  want some other girl in here getting attention.

You wouldn't even smile at her, Honey, you'd barely talk to her. You, of  all fucking people, treated her like dirt. You came here totally  fucked, and this club took care of you, and now you're all high and  mighty and can't fucking return the favor?

I tell you what, you old bitch; if anything happens to Gabriella, it's  on you. Her blood will be on your fucking hands. And I'd like to see how  much you get to whore around when everyone knows you could have done  something to save her, and you didn't."

Reign had never spoken to her like that. Hell, no one had spoken to  Honey like that since she left her husband. Tears filled her eyes, his  words clattering in her head painfully.

"Reign, it's not like that, I was worried about you … "

"My ass, Honey. You were worried about yourself, and losing your special  little position in the club. I swear, Honey, if a single hair on her  head … "

"Please, you have to … "

"Shut up. Just shut up. I don't want to hear another word out of your  lying mouth. You better just fucking go home, Honey. There won't be  anyone to serve tonight, ‘cause we're all going out to find the girl  that you let leave. You let her put herself in danger.

And it coulda been you, ya know. All those years ago, someone coulda  done the same to you. The difference is," Reign said, and now his eyes  glinted, like he knew he was about to say something that he couldn't  take back. "The difference is that no one would cry if you'd died,  Honey. No one gave a shit about you. They just pitied you. They still  pity you. Old, washed-up bitch. I love Gabriella. No one's ever loved  you, and no one ever will."

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the bar, leaving her  alone, Patsy Cline singing softly on the jukebox, the bar quiet and  lonely and dim. She picked up a dishrag idly, needing something to do  with her hands, and began to wipe at the bar. Her bar. It was her bar,  after all, right? After everything Reign had said, wasn't it still  Honey's bar? Or did it belong to the club, like everything else? Was  there anything on this earth that Honey could truly call her own? No  man, no woman, nothing …

She felt the phantom pain in her womb throb, as it did at certain times,  as though reminding her that the only thing she'd ever actually had for  herself was gone. Outside, one final motorcycle kicked to life and took  off. And then Honey was alone. Really, truly alone. For the first time  in a long time, she felt that the earth was a cold and lonesome place,  and that she'd always be alone on it. No one's ever loved you, and no  one ever will …





31





I could still feel it. It was gone, but I could still feel it when I  wiggled my toes. It didn't help to look down, to get the visual feedback  that told me I didn't have a pinky toe on my left foot anymore. I'd  read about phantom limb syndrome before, but it was interesting to  experience it for myself. I say "interesting" instead of "terrifying" or  "awful" because everything else was so terrifying and awful that losing  a toe was relegated to the diminutive role of "interesting".

The pain wasn't even so bad compared to my thirst and hunger and the  constant constriction of the binds that tied my feet and wrists  together. The man who'd taken me  –  the tall, dark stranger  –  had taken  care to dress the wound properly, while I was unconscious from the pain.

I guessed that was mostly a way to occupy time. I got the distinct  feeling that he didn't plan on keeping me alive forever, so saving me  from sepsis was not much of a priority. It probably also saved the floor  from needing another washing.

I'd watched, numb and dumb, as the man had mopped up Jeremy's blood and  dragged his body outside. I don't know what he did with it, only that he  wasn't gone for very long before he returned.