Torched Page 31

  That was all I needed.

  With as much strength as I could muster, I pulled my arms around and shoved both thumbs straight into his corneas. I dug my fingers into his temples to get a good grip.

  He howled in pain and jerked back, but I’d hooked my foot around his ankle and kicked away. The lack of balance sent him to the ground, his forehead getting a good whack on the edge of the chair on his way down. Adrenaline rushing, I jumped on top of him, slamming a fist into the side of his head before he had a chance to overpower me. His head bounced off the floor.

  I picked up the chair and bashed it into his skull, knocking him out cold.

  I took his gun, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a stash of zip ties to bind his wrists, only then checking to see if he had a pulse. He did. And since I wasn’t as cocky as his crew, I did the same with his feet.

  Both of his phones were still on the table, so I rushed over and grabbed the one with an internet connection.

  : : : :

  Torch jumped off his bike and jogged into the garage. Biff was hunched over the computer, Beanie and Malice looking over his shoulder and pointing at something on the screen.

  “Tell me you got something,” he barked at them.

  All three clenched their jaws and shook their heads.

  “Sorry, brother,” Biff sighed. “Liv got me hooked up, but this whole fucking town only has like twenty cameras. We’re not seeing any black vans.”

  Torch let out a long breath and sank into a chair. “Fuck...”

  It had been three hours since the ambush, their chances of finding Liv alive without some kind of ransom or trade demands statistically getting smaller by the minute. But he wasn’t fucking giving up, he’d never fucking give up. If anybody could buy time and play it smart, it was his goddamn woman. He just had to keep reminding himself of that.

  Jet and Toto were both in surgery with internal injuries and shattered bones, their fates still up in the air. Thank fuck they’d been wearing their leathers and helmets, or the damage would have been instant and a hell of a lot worse. Lump, Bird, and the prospects were with their old ladies at Memorial for support and in case anyone tried to finish the job.

  The rest of them had jumped to action as soon as the paramedics left, calling in all the women and kids for lockdown and dividing the town into sections and making rotating canvas runs. Biff had been tasked with using his new and improved computer skills to see what he could find. With zero fucking information to go on all they could do was try to spot the vehicle and go from there.

  They were keeping an eye out for Hess too, on the off-chance that he was the one behind this. It didn’t make much sense from where Torch sat, but they had to cover all their bases.

  “What do you want us to do, brother?” Beanie asked. “We’d probably be more useful out in the streets.”

  He patted his knees and stood back up. “No, stay here. Keep watching the cameras and calling around to our ears around town. I doubt the van was following speed limits, maybe somebody noticed it. And keep an eye on our cameras around the property. Anybody slows down or loops around, call me. This could be a decoy to get us all away from here.”

  Biff nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  All three of them walked over to give him hugs and pats on the back.

  He walked behind the bar to pour himself a shot, just a little bourbon to settle his stomach before he hit the road again. As the smooth liquid went down, he looked around the main room. The pool table, couches, even the bar top, he could picture her there. She’d already left her mark on the place, at least for him.

  He had to bring her home.

  Torch tossed his glass into the sink and headed out, pulling on his gloves as he walked.

  “Wait up!” he heard Biff yell out.

  He turned back and sprinted over to the computer. “What? You see the van? Talk to me,” he spluttered.

  “No, not the van. I’ve been watching this website Liv showed me. She said I should check it if anything weird ever happened. They call it a text dump. People leave messages, like a hacker’s bulletin board—”

  “And?”

  “A message just dropped. Look at the user name,” he said, pointing at a message on the screen. “Ash5589—”

  Her last name and the safehouse gate code. “Holy shit, what’s it say?”

  “Give me a minute, it’s in binary,” Biff mumbled, grabbing a pen and paper.

  Malice slapped him on the back. “Fucking told you we’d find her.”

  For the first time since he’d kissed her goodbye earlier that day, the corners of Torch’s mouth curved up. “She found us.”

  “Got it!” Biff practically yelped. “It’s an address and GPS coordinates to the old Mills Cannery five miles east. Says Hess and Henslow are connected. Hess is there, Henslow’s on his way.” Biff grinned up at him. “Also says she loves you. So fucking sweet.”

  Torch slapped him in the head. “Where’s a good base?”

  Biff pulled up a map. “Right here, two blocks away in Marco’s lot. They won’t see or hear us.”

  : : : :

  I turned both of Buzz’s phones on vibrate and stuffed them in my pockets, on the hopeful assumption that they could come in handy for the club. That was if I ever got the chance to give it to them.

  In all honesty, I’d hesitated before reaching out, falling back on that old habit of refusing to ask for help because I blamed myself for being in this fucking mess in the first place. Toto and Jet were already either badly hurt of dead because of me, their families probably distraught. But since the night he’d asked me to be his, Torch reminded me several times that he’d gone into our relationship knowing exactly what he was doing and made me promise never to shut him out again. I wasn’t about to break that promise in less than a week, no matter how terrified I was that more Serpent blood would be spilled in a fight to save me.

  Because whether I wanted it or not, there would be a fight. Even if they couldn’t find me in time, Torch and his brothers would still want retribution. When it came to justice in the outlaw community, payback wasn’t optional. Blood for blood, violence for violence, that was simply how these things went.

  Taking that into consideration, I’d gotten over myself pretty quick.

  As much as I wanted to hear his voice, calling or texting him was out of the question. If the law got wind of any of this, they’d trace it and use that as evidence of premeditation against the club. It would be a lot easier to wipe the online activity. I also had no idea how much time I had before somebody caught me and couldn’t be sure he’d hear his phone if he was on his Harley, so I found my location through a map app and posted it to a dump site I’d once shown Biff. After that, I posted one for Milo. He’d know what to do. Now it was just a matter of seeing how far I could make it on my own.

  The answer literally hit me in the face.

  I hadn’t even cracked the door a full inch before a hand forcefully pushed it open the rest of the way and knocked me backwards.

  As I wobbled and balanced out, the first thing I saw was the barrel. The second thing was the man whose finger was on the trigger. My intestines knotted up.

  “Long time no see, Chloe. Why don’t you go ahead and drop that gun?” Mitch crowed as he stepped inside, the smug look on his face making the hair on my arms stand up.

  Keeping my eyes on him, I tossed it to the ground. Every memory, of every horrible fucking day I’d spent in his clutches, was suddenly as vivid in my mind as if it had all happened yesterday.

  But nervousness—and fear, if I was being completely truthful—soon morphed into a blinding rage.

  I’d hated him for half my life, despised the air that he breathed and plotted to ruin him. But what I felt when I actually looked Mitch in the eyes ran even deeper than that. He wasn’t just some abstract concept to stew over anymore, he was real again and here in the flesh. I wanted to cut every inch of it with a rusty blade, then hack him to pieces with something bigger. The man was pure
evil, none of that designer shit he was wearing could mask it.

  I couldn’t mask my hatred either. Putting aside the possible consequences, I squared off and smirked. “You’ve lost your touch, Mitch. Sending six guys to get me? Criminal mastermind my ass. You’ve turned into a pussy.”

  He snickered and glanced over at Buzz. “And you always were a vicious little cunt. Is he dead?”

  “On a scale of one to Vince, I’d say he’s a three,” I spat back.

  He took a few quick strides forward and pressed the gun to my forehead. “Watch your fucking mouth, bitch,” he warned.

  I refused to give in to his scare tactics. My heart pounded from the rush of getting under his skin. “You know you’re not just gonna shoot me. That wouldn’t be satisfying enough. Eight years is a long fucking time to hold a grudge.”

  Like the Jekyll and Hyde he was, Mitch’s frown turned right back upside down. He kept the gun to my head and slid his disgusting fingers under my jeans. “You’re right, I think we have some catching up to do first. I hear you’ve been hiding out with biker trash. Such a shame, thought I taught you better than that. But this skanky little pussy just couldn’t resist all those dirty dicks, could it?”

  I ignored his attempt to get in my head and burst out laughing at his audacity. “The only thing you taught me was what a piece of shit you are. I take it you’re the Zombie investor? Christ, what a juvenile move that Serb partnership was. Fucking embarrassing, really—”

  He rolled his eyes like a fucking child. “Who told you about that? Your new friends?”

  “Actually, I’m the one who told them. Sorry. Well, not really… I’m just curious why you’re branching out. Is that trafficking gig on the east coast not making enough money, or are you just fucking greedy?”

  He eyed me suspiciously, as if it was dawning on him that I knew something he didn’t want me knowing. And if there was one thing Mitch had always hated, it was being made to look incompetent by someone he considered below him. Getting him defensive was the easiest way to make him talk.

  He played right into it. “That’s Hess’s gig, not mine,” he snapped, “He’s an old friend from lockup.”

  I smiled, just to piss him off. “Right… Four years, huh? Guess your brother’s life was worth even less than I thought—”

  His hand flew out of my pants and grabbed me by the throat, the other one pressing the gun harder into my skin. “Told you to watch your fucking mouth,” he growled. With that, he shoved me to the ground and knelt down over me. “Where are you getting your information?” he demanded.

  “Why the fuck would I tell you if you’re just gonna kill me anyway?” I hissed.

  He unzipped my jeans and violently pulled them down, sending Buzz's phones sliding out. “Because it’s up to you how much it fucking hurts.” He snatched the devices and held them up. “And this shit? Not fucking helping.” He hurled them both at the wall, sending shattered plastic everywhere.

  I shrugged. “Not as much as I’m hurting you right now.”

  He laughed. “Hurting me? Bitch, you can’t fucking touch me. You don’t know shit. All you’re doing is making this worse for yourself—”

  “You sure? When’s the last time you checked the balances in those super secret offshore accounts?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “You tell me.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Am I?”

  Mitch stood up and started unbuckling his belt. “Yeah, you are. You’re trying to buy time. How stupid do you think I am? Guess you have a short memory.”

  “My memory’s pretty good actually. I remember you being stupid enough to underestimate me once already. But, whatever… Do what you want. Just know that by the time you’re done, you’ll be down by about… oh… half a million. Maybe more. By morning, it’ll all be gone.”

  He leered at me. “Shut the fuck—”

  “Cyprus, account 133886455... Panama, 722899872.”

  That got his fucking attention.

  “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” I asked with a grin. “I’m fucking bleeding you dry, asshole. As we speak.”

  He pulled out a cell phone and dialed it. “Check the Cyprus and Panama accounts right the fuck now,” he ordered his minion on the other end.

  I propped myself up on my elbows and just watched that smarmy expression I wanted to wipe off his face with a fucking chainsaw. It didn’t take long for it to fall away on its own. Still holding the phone to his ear, his jaw tensed and chest heaved. “What. Did. You. Do?”

  Thank. You. Milo.

  Knowing full well he was in a bind, I pull up my pants and stood back up. “I didn’t do anything, it’s doing it on it’s own. Kind of like a snake slithering through the accounts and transferring money out as it goes. He’s a quick little fucker. A thousand dollars every second. Sixty thousand by the hour, spread over fifteen accounts. You’re losing just short of a million every sixty minutes and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  “Move the money,” he barked into his phone.

  I shook my head. “You can’t, I disabled all the account controls.”

  The person on the other end must have told him the same thing, Mitch was practically breathing fire by now. “You fucking call the banks, every single one… I don’t fucking care that they’re not open, fucking fix this shit!” He slammed the flip phone shut, so hard I thought it might go flying out of his hand.

  Once again, I found myself on the wrong end of a gun. Nevertheless, I still had the advantage. “The bank can’t do anything either. Sorry, Mitch, I commandeered your cash.”

  “Yeah? Let’s see how good you are against a professional hacker,” he mumbled, opening his phone again and scrolling through his contacts.

  I couldn’t help but laugh again. “I am a professional, you moron. You’re wrong, Mitch, I know plenty. I haven’t stayed a step ahead of you for eight years without some skills of my own. Go ahead and call your hacker, but you should know I also buried encrypted code that might be problematic. One mistake in the twenty-or-so step process to stop the transfers will only speed them up. But seriously, try it if you still think I’m bluffing.”

  His phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered. Without saying anything else, he hung up.

  “No luck with the bank managers?” I asked mockingly.

  “This is your bargaining chip? You’ll stop it if I let you live?” he seethed.

  I shrugged. “You’re the one with the gun. What do you care about more, Mitch? Revenge or money?” I already knew the answer to that. I also knew how he’d try to get me to stop the transfers and kill me anyway.

  But all I was going for here was getting access to a computer and giving the club some time.

  Mitch buckled his belt, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out of the room. We passed by the bathroom again and went up a flight of stairs at the end of the corridor. When he opened the door, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Oh, they were cooking here alright.

  It looked like we were in some kind of old factory. A conveyor belt ran through the middle, but everything else had been emptied out, replaced by rows of tables and lab equipment. My heart sank at the realization that this was an explosion waiting to fucking happen. Shit. I had to get another message out.

  I saw Hess and counted five others working away. Along with good ole Buzz, I figured those were probably the same masked men that had grabbed me earlier. All of them looked up as Mitch dragged me across the expansive room, but no one said a word.

  He pulled me into a hallway that led out into what looked like a cluster of back offices, and shoved me into one of them. “There’s a computer. You fucking stop whatever the hell you did, or I fucking swear I’ll gut you right here on this desk. You hear me?”

  I nodded and booted it up, while Mitch stood behind me and looked on.

  After five minutes of watching me, he started getting antsy. “Hurry the fuck up,” he huffed.

  I rol
led my eyes at him. “Jesus Christ, Mitch. This took weeks to write, you’re gonna have to give me at least an hour to reverse it,” I lied.

  He scowled, walked around the desk, and sat his ass down across from me. I seized the opportunity and started dropping more messages to Biff. I explained what I’d noticed of the layout, where I was in relation, how many men they were up against, and warned him that shit was likely to start exploding if they just came in guns blazing.

  While I waited to see if he responded—fuck, I really hoped he’d gotten the first one—I sent another to Milo and gave him remote access to the computer I was on, so he could make it look like I was slowing down the money transfers. Within seconds, he’d done his part and I turned the screen around to show Mitch.

  As soon as he gave his approving nod, I turned it back around and clicked back over to the dump site. Nothing, no messages except for the usual game cheats and anonymous lines of code.

  Fuck. Maybe I was on my own after all.

  Twenty minutes later, idly typing away and staring at the screen while new plans of escape churned through my brain, I finally saw something. A message from user BMan, that simply said: Take cover.

  A few seconds after that, all fucking hell broke loose.

  : 27 :

  Those fuckers were outnumbered, outgunned, and about to be surprised by a biker army from all sides.

  Getting the hand signal from Grimm, who’d managed to climb on the roof and get a look down through a skylight, Torch, Zed, and Mace rushed in through the rear dock doors. Liv’s last message said that she was in some kind of office, and according to blueprints Biff had pulled from public records, there were a few at the front end of the building, but the majority were in the back. The rest of his brothers were funneling in through the other doors.

  As the three of them ran down the nearest hallway trying to find her, he could hear yelling and gunfire from inside the factory. All he could do was hope to hell his guys were being careful enough in their aim not to blow the entire fucking place up.