Sword (Bones MC 3), page 2
On the other hand, Magenta knew she herself was well and truly screwed no matter the outcome for Ginger. Crow would never let her go. Unless she was mistaken, he was just biding his time until he made a move on her. If he did, she’d resist in the most violent way she could. Which meant she would be beaten. If she was lucky, beaten to death. If not… well. They could keep her against her will until they tired of her. And she knew they’d all have a go at her. Death would definitely be preferable to her.
Handlebar had done a number on her face when he’d dragged her to the clubhouse. Her knees and legs were scraped and bruised too, so she had to wear jeans to cover up the mess. She had a leather vest she’d been instructed to wear because it was tight over her breasts and pushed the small mounds together enough to produce cleavage. Unfortunately, that also left her arms bare, the bruising over her fair skin visible where Handlebar had gripped her too tightly. Layers of makeup covered the worst of the bruising to her face, but, even after the ice packs and anti-inflammatories, there was nothing she could do about the swelling. Her long, thick, blond hair hung loosely in spirals down her back past her buttocks. Other than her hair, she definitely wasn’t looking her best. Which was fine with her. Maybe she’d be spared this humiliation and could just go to sleep.
When she entered the common room of the clubhouse, a sectioned-off area where all the parties took place, she found five grim-faced men she didn’t recognize entering from the front. All of them were scary as hell, and she had to force herself not to flinch. None of them looked as if he’d ever smiled in his life. There was a hard, deadly aura surrounding the lot of them. Cold, all-seeing eyes quartered every part of the room and assessed every person -- man or woman -- around them. It was hard not to stare, but she cast her eyes down and stood with the other seven women in the line. Introductions were made as the women lined up before Crow presented them to the rival MC.
“Our best,” Crow said, sweeping a hand in their direction. Most of the woman in the line with her giggled, trying to look coquettish. “As a warm welcome to Bones MC, you may choose your company for the night. We’ll talk business tomorrow.” Code for, “Our women will try to bleed you for every stitch of information they can get before tomorrow.”
Torpedo, the vice-president of Bones, shook his head, but another man put a hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to whisper something. “I suppose some of us might want some company to wind down after the long ride down here.” He waved a hand at the girls in the line. “Boys, take your pick.”
The one they called Arkham immediately came forward and snagged three of the women. All three went willingly, giggling all the way, telling him how good they’d make him feel. Arkham didn’t say a word, just indicated for the women to take him to a room. The other members of Bones begged off except the one who’d stopped Torpedo from declining for all of them.
“Sword?” Torpedo raised a questioning eyebrow at him. Magenta shivered, lowering her gaze once more. When had she begun watching the men? While all five were striking in appearance, Arkham was by far the scariest with more than one scar decorating his face and strange, dual-colored eyes. This Sword wasn’t so much scary as hard. She knew instinctively there would be no give to the man. Once he made a decision, he stuck to it. Men like that had a distinctive look in their eyes. This one more so than most.
“You.” He stood in front of Magenta, but she steadfastly refused to look at him, going so far as to squeeze her eyes shut. And really, this was her worst nightmare. Every single time the club gave her to a visiting club she had to fight off her disgust to accommodate the men. None had ever been satisfied with her and she knew Handlebar would tolerate only so much more before he took her in hand himself. His lessons in pleasing a man were brutal at best. More than one woman hadn’t survived his lessons and had become gator bait. He was called Handlebar for a reason. His favorite thing to do was to bend a woman over the handlebars of his bike and fuck her without mercy while both were astride the machine.
“Magenta,” Handlebar said warningly. “Go with the man.” She couldn’t help shuddering and wrapping her arms around herself.
“Come with me,” Sword said. “You’ll suit my needs fine.”
Handlebar sneered when she glanced his way. “After this, I’ll be givin’ you a lesson in obedience.” Magenta had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing. Against her will, tears sprang from her eyes to cling to her lashes. She knew better than to blink lest they track down her face and ruin the makeup she’d so carefully applied to conceal her bruises.
Instead of taking her deeper into the Black Reign clubhouse, Sword steered her with a hand on her back toward the door. Until Handlebar stopped him.
“Where you think you’re going with the bitch? She’s club property.”
“I don’t fuck in another club’s house,” Sword said, meeting Handlebar’s gaze with an icy one of his own. “Your president offered her. I’m taking her. She’ll be returned when I’m done.”
Handlebar stepped closer. Magenta knew it was supposed to be a threatening gesture, but Sword only met his advance with one of his own, putting himself between her and Handlebar. The two men stood nose to nose, except Sword had a good three inches on Handlebar.
Crow broke the tension with a chuckle. “Let it go, Handlebar. She’s a whore. It’s not like she’s going anywhere. Besides, she’d never leave her mother here alone.” Crow’s smile turned to Magenta, and it was positively evil. She’d known this was coming. Apparently, Ginger’s money was running out. Either that, or Crow was getting tired of her incessant whining.
Sword urged her forward with him. Magenta was surprised at how gentle his touch was. He didn’t grab her upper arm like Handlebar always did. He nudged her, placing his hand on her shoulder, then the small of her back. He kept her going until they reached his bike. Once there, he handed her his helmet.
“Put this on.”
“What about you?”
He didn’t look at her, but straddled his bike and started it up. “I’m fine. Just get on so we can get the fuck out of here.” He raised his voice over the engine, but spoke matter-of-factly.
She did as she was told. Not because she was afraid of him, but just the opposite. Other than decreeing he was taking her out of the clubhouse and would bring her back when he was finished with her, he hadn’t asserted himself over her. Even that wasn’t directed at her. He was careful of her bruises or, at the very least, didn’t touch her too much for whatever reason. Sword wasn’t a safe man by any means, but he didn’t treat her as badly as the members of Black Reign did. At least, he hadn’t yet.
Sword took her out into the night, the humid Florida breeze catching her long hair and whipping it back. Magenta wanted desperately to rip off the helmet and just let the wind overtake her. Because she was such a thorn in the side of the club, no one ever moved her on a bike. She was always put in one of the chase vehicles and lashed to something to ensure she didn’t leap out of the truck and run.
She was possibly going to a bad place with a bad man, but Magenta couldn’t work up the fear she should be feeling. Instead, when they stopped at a stoplight, she took off the helmet and lashed it to the back before the light turned green.
“What are you doin’? Put the fuckin’ helmet back on.”
“What does it matter? If you wreck and I die, I died with the sea air in my hair and the moon shining on my face, feeling free for the first time in my life. I never knew how thrilling riding a bike could be or how powerful it would make me feel!” There was no way to contain the breathless excitement in her voice.
“You’ve never ridden with one of your club members?”
“They always thought I’d bolt, so they never allowed me the privilege. Had I known how joyful this was, I might have behaved more like they wanted me to.”
The light turned green, and Sword sighed. He sounded almost resigned. “Just hang on. I don’t want you falling off the back.” Then they sped off into the night.
Chapter Three
It was nearly two in the morning when Sword pulled into the overgrown abandoned lot where Trucker had parked the RV. He hadn’t slept in nearly two days and was bone fucking tired. Still, he’d have gone another couple of rounds just to hear the musical laughter behind him.
What the fuck? From the moment he’d seen this girl being beaten on her way into the club he’d been fixated on her. And he knew Magenta was the same girl. It was all that hair that gave her away. So pale it was nearly white, there was just enough blond that when the sun shone on it, he knew it would shine as brightly as gold. He’d gotten her out of the clubhouse where he could better control the situation. Because there was no way he was giving her back. He’d pay whatever he had to, but he was keeping Magenta.
Once she’d confessed how much she loved riding, describing almost exactly how he felt about it, he knew he’d gladly ride until he dropped just to give her this pleasure. He nearly had. Sword was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. Still, he’d have continued on but knew it wasn’t safe. His reflexes weren’t as sharp as they should be in this state.
When he shut off the bike and scrubbed a hand over his weary eyes, Trucker approached him. “Was getting worried. You good?”
“Yeah,” he answered automatically. Was he good? Sword didn’t know. Something inside him was shifting, and it was uncomfortable.
Trucker’s gaze shifted to Magenta, who sat behind him, not moving. She was probably waiting for him to tell her what to do. “Who’s the lovely lady you brought with you?” The man merely smiled at her, but Sword felt Magenta stiffen behind him. Obviously, she thought Sword meant to share her with his brothers. Where before she’d laughed and squealed happily, now she was withdrawing. Sword didn’t blame her.
“Magenta, this is Trucker. Magenta will be my guest for… a while.” He’d almost said tonight, but knew that wasn’t true. He wasn’t giving her back to Black Reign without a fight. Too late, Sword recognized his mistake, one he wouldn’t have made if he’d been on his game instead of nearly dead on his feet. Instead of deferring to his brother by introducing Magenta to Trucker, he’d introduced Trucker to Magenta, making it seem too much like they were a couple. It was only out of habit Sword hadn’t offered Trucker’s role in their club to an outsider. It might not seem like much to Magenta, but Trucker would recognize Sword was too damned close to the situation. The only thing worse would have been if he’d actually claimed the young woman as his own. Fuck. Who was he kidding? Sword knew it was only a matter of fucking time before he did.
“I see.” Sword wanted to wipe the grin off Trucker’s face. The man went on every run, every mission. He was their mechanical backup. Anything that went wrong with any of the bikes or guns or any of the numerous equipment and tools they needed, he could fix or replace on a moment’s notice. He was a huge man, tall and heavily muscled. His frame had been shaped by working with heavy equipment since his teenage years. Everyone often forgot he was highly intelligent and perceptive. Trucker knew something was up, and it was several inches below Sword’s brain. “Well, don’t hurt yourself. Should I prepare for a quick getaway?”
Sword didn’t answer. Instead, he tried to give Trucker his most intimidating stare, which the man only chuckled at. He could almost hear Trucker saying, “Well, ain’t you cute?”
Taking care not to grab Magenta’s bruised upper arms, Sword guided her to the RV where they all were staying. Inside, he found Torpedo and Viper sitting lazily at the eating table. Both men met his gaze with an annoyed one.
“We were giving you fifteen more minutes, then we were coming after you.” Torpedo wasn’t happy in the least. “If you hadn’t sent a text every hour we’d have been on you long before now.”
“And one word, Sword? Really? Not a location or anything?”
“None of your goddamned business,” Sword groused. “It’s not like Data doesn’t have a leash shoved up all our asses.”
“True that,” Viper agreed. “But we’re in another club’s territory. Kind of expected you to check in.”
“I’m fully aware of that,” Sword snapped. “Which is why I sent texts at all. I’ve been busy.” Magenta was retreating further and further into herself. He could all but see the detachment happening, and it pained him like a fist to the gut. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a guest.”
“Ma’am,” Viper said, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “Next time your man there decides to take you on a foray, remind him to check in with his parents, will you?”
That was it. Sword was about to go medieval on Viper. He would have, too, except that Magenta let out an unexpected giggle. The sound was like soft, tinkling bells, and just as addictive as her joyful laughter as they’d ridden down the highway through the night. He’d opened his mouth to tell Viper to shut the fuck up, but instead sighed. That one split second where he’d registered Magenta’s amusement was enough to clue Viper in to how the girl had gotten under his skin. Just as quickly as it had started, her giggles ceased, leaving a bleak, dismal void in their wake.
Viper grinned at Magenta, which made Sword want to pummel him all the more. “You take care of our enforcer, girl. He’s a handful, but I bet you can handle him.”
Magenta ducked her head, not acknowledging Viper at all. It reminded Sword of how she’d stood in that line of girls Bones was supposed to pick from. She’d obviously been terrified then. Gone was the carefree laughter, the freedom she’d admitted to feeling earlier. This woman was beaten down, obviously terrified of the life she was in and those around it.
Sword circled her thin shoulders with his big arm. He dwarfed her in size. Had to have several years on her in age, too. Hell, no wonder she was terrified. That alone would be enough. Yet, there was more. Much more if he was correct. The bruises on her face and arms told that story quite clearly.
“Come on, Magenta.” He guided her to the back and his bunk. There were six bunk beds in the middle of the RV and one master bedroom in the back they’d converted into a storage room. Trucker had every piece of equipment he needed in that room organized exactly the way he wanted it. No one touched his shit. The bunk Sword had taken for himself on this trip was at the back across from the bathroom. He paused long enough at his bunk to snag a clean T-shirt and a pair of sweats from his duffel. They would swallow her whole, but she’d be comfortable. And he could examine her to see what damage that fucking bastard, Handlebar, had done to her.
He opened the door to the bathroom and handed her the clothes. “Need you to change. I’ll do this as easy as I can and respect your privacy, but I need to see where you’re hurt so I know if I need to get you medical attention.”
She blinked at him. “I -- you want me to change in front of you?”
“I do.”
Magenta nodded, a resigned look on her face. Obediently, she unbuttoned her vest. A lacy black bra encased her small breasts, nearly bringing Sword to his knees. Instead of giving in to the need to touch her, to arouse her into accepting him, he gently moved his hands over the bruises on her torso. Red bruises in the first stages of turning purple covered her belly, chest, and back. A nasty one curved around her back to the underside of her breast. Sword noted every time she winced, where she hurt the worst.
“Don’t move,” he said, turning back to his bunk and retrieving a jar of arnica cream. He returned, opening the jar and setting the lid on the vanity. “This is for inflammation. It should help dull the pain as well. I’ll get you an ice pack and some Tylenol before we go to bed.” He paused until she finally looked up and met his gaze. “Do you mind if I put this on you, Magenta? I don’t want to touch you unless you’re OK with it.”
The girl looked so startled, Sword’s heart actually hurt. Did she truly expect him to take what he wanted whether or not she wanted him to? What was he thinking? Of course that was what she thought. She’d obviously been whored out before. The other girls seemed to be fine with what they were doing, but not Magenta. Finally, she nodded, ducking her head and letting her arms fall to her sides.
“Look at me, girl.” At first, she didn’t move. Just stood there with her gaze on the floor. “Magenta.” Sword softened his voice, doing his best to beguile her. To coax her into doing what he needed instead of simply complying with an order.
Finally, she raised her gaze to meet his. What he saw there broke his heart. Tears glistened in her eyes but didn’t spill. He could see she was scared and deeply humiliated.
“Honey, I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he said, raising his hands slightly so she could see them. “I just want to ease your pain.”
“So you can cause more?” Her voice was a mere thread of sound, heartbreakingly tearful.
“Absolutely not. Magenta, if you’ll give me your trust in this, I swear to you, no one will ever hurt you again. Not me. Not Handlebar. Not anyone in Black Reign.”
“You can’t promise that.” She sighed, but shrugged. “Do what you feel best.”
Sword could see that was all he was going to get out of her. Bring as impersonal and gentle as he could, he smoothed the cream over each bruise. Any cuts or scrapes that broke the skin, he cleaned carefully with peroxide and antibiotic ointment.
Once he’d finished with her upper body, he had her put on the T-shirt while he got the first-aid kit from a side panel next to the bathroom. She removed her jeans without being told but left her panties on. Probably testing him. Sword said nothing, simply grunted as he knelt before her. She had bruising to both hips and striping over her lower back and thighs, as if someone had taken a whip or switch to her. The welts disappeared into her panties, and he knew her buttocks would be much the same. He suspected it had been a switch to make the marks on her because it took skill to wield a whip to make such thin welts. Skill he doubted that bastard Handlebar had, judging by the way he carried himself. Looks could be deceiving, but every man in Bones was adept at reading people from their body language. They had to when going on a mission with ExFil, Cain’s paramilitary protection agency.
