The sickness swirling in my blood wouldn't let me break. Not until I ran my tank down and had to get gas. I stopped when I needed to for snacks and fuel, refusing to linger a second too long.
For all I knew, Brass and the others were hot on my trail right now. I'd pissed off my old man and probably the Devils too by hijacking Saffron's vehicle. I wasn't sure what was worse.
It didn't really matter. It all paled next to the greater calamity, letting Fang follow through on his savage promises and tear her to ribbons. Christa seemed like such a sweet, soft spoken woman. I couldn't let her suffer like this. I couldn't let her die screaming because of me.
I believed Brass would try his damnedest to get her out. Maybe I'd get lucky and Fang would be dead by the time I got into town, the teacher with the dark red hair freed by Blackjack and his men. Maybe.
But I couldn't depend on it. I couldn't depend on anything except showing up and throwing myself at Satan's mercy, hoping he'd let her go – or at least spare her – by taking revenge on a bitch he had good reason to hate.
It wasn't all about freeing Christa either. I swore I'd keep lying, anything to buy time. I'd promise him the video and the entire fucking moon if it helped lead him one step closer to the grave Brass was digging.
The journey was long, and I got lost several times, losing a couple hours. If I ever got out of this, I swore I'd learn to drive like nobody's business. Maybe I'd even figure out how to ride a Harley without being strapped to my old man on the back.
My old man. It hurt to think about him. I'd stabbed him in the back and heaped more chaos on his life, and I seriously wondered if he'd want me if I got out of this alive.
No. You can't think about that.
I nodded, agreeing with the only comfort I had in my head. I had to stay focused. I had to put emotion aside, even if I was screaming down the road like a crazy girl, throwing myself to hell on a whim.
I crossed three states I'd never been to before the trip up. My eyes felt like they were going to fall out by the time the sun came up. But I kept going, crazed and determined to show my face in Redding, to face the consequences.
Someone had to pay for all this. And since daddy was gone, it had to be me.
I was ready to pay the very high price. Anything for a chance at keeping her safe. No one else needed to die for my father's mistakes. If there was suffering, then it was earmarked for me. I'd see myself crucified before Christa or my poor sweet sister.
It was almost noon when I finally got into town. My body got a second wind as I drove toward the clubhouse on the outskirts, ready to floor it at any sign of cops or bikers.
Nothing was going to stop me from seeing the demon face to face. Nothing.
The place certainly didn't look like a war zone when I pulled up. It was just like I remembered. A hard faced man with Grizzlies patches came wandering up to the gate. It was Crack, the foul tempered VP, with two other greasy long haired men behind him.
I got out and stepped up to the gate, leaving the vehicle running.
His gun was out and pointed at me before I said a word. “What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?”
“I need to see Fang. It's about the video that's hurting your Prez, and the woman you dickheads are holding against her will.”
Crack's fat nose twitched, his nostrils flaring. He nodded to the two big men next to him.
“Open the fucking gate. Pat her ass down before she goes inside.” He looked at the SUV behind me. “Somebody get that fucking thing in here too. We can use another rig after losing two to the cartel last week...”
I'm sorry, Saffron, I whispered in my head.
The thick iron bars slid open. Rough hands grabbed me and forced me behind the gate. They threw me to the wall and slid over me, rugged and unwelcome, taking much longer than they really needed to feel for weapons in my pockets.
I didn't have any, of course.
No, they were enjoying this.
I'd tucked my wallet into my jeans at the last stop for gas. Had to hold my breath when the mean looking man pulled it out and bent it in half. One wrong angle, and they'd find what I had there for Plan B, in case Fang didn't want to cooperate and free the redhead.
I held my breath as his hands passed over it. He missed. Bastard was too busy feeling my ass instead.
Sloppy. Typical. Perfect.
“Get your ass inside,” Crack ordered. “I'll take you to the Prez myself.”
The familiar stink of the clubhouse burned my nose. All the cleaning I'd done when I was first captured hadn't done a damned thing. It smelled like fucking, blood, and alcohol, all mixed together, worse than the feral stink of death.
Crack marched me down a different hallway, one I'd never seen before, past the office and the big room Fang reserved for himself. An old metal storage door at the end waited. He tore it open in one fist, grabbing me with his free hand and shoving me inside.
My knees hit cement. The door slammed behind me.