Page 52 of Devil to Pay: Cutter

“I won’t renege.”

He picks up his phone, pressing a button. “Mr. Cutter will be leaving. Have his bike loaded on the back of the plane. Scott, Thompson, and Jones will be joining him.” After hanging up, he presses another button. “Ready for a flight to Lima, Ohio, leaving immediately.” Finally, he presses one last button. “Graves, please see Mr. Cutter to the airfield.”

A few minutes pass before the door to his office opens. The butler, Graves, gestures for me to follow him. Before passing through the door, I turn back to John Long. “Thanks. I’ll be ready when you call.” Then I get the hell out of there.

Graves leads me out the back doors. It looks like a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, but they fold open. We walk outside. The airfield butts up to the edge of the back garden kitty-corner from where he entertains guests. There’s a hedge wall separating them. My guess, so his visitors don’t have to see an unsightly airfield.

We get there just as a man rolls my bike, sitting on top of a cart, to the backend of the plane. They’re carful as they load it onto the plane. Three men in head-to-toe black tactical gear approach the plane from the side. Fuck, they look ready to go into battle. No matter what I owe Long after this, if my brothers don’t have my back, it’s good to have these motherfuckers around. By the looks of them, I have no doubts that they’ve seen action both on foreign soil and right here for John Long.

“Cutter,” I introduce myself on our approach.”

“Thompson, Scott, and I’m Jones.” The largest of them introduces everyone back. He’s Reaper huge.

We climb onto the plane, sit down on the plush, brown—I think they call that color mahogany, leather seats and wait for takeoff. Not much time passes between climbing on and takeoff. Every surface shines with a wood veneer. I think the word to use isopulence.

I’ve got plenty of money in the bank. Living single at the compound all these years, my savings account has only gone up. Enough for Aja and I—shit, and the baby—to live a damn good life. But I’ve got nothing close to this. Not sure that I’d want it, either. It seems like too much responsibility. With a kid, we’ll need a place of our own. Can’t have brothers going soft because a baby won’t stop crying. I rub my hand down my face. What the hell did I do? I need to get her back. I need to getthemback.

17

AJA

“Get up,bitch!” I’m ripped back to consciousness by someone yanking me up from the floor by my hair. I have no idea where I am. But at least I don’t feel any differentlydown there—which means no one had their way with me while I was unconscious. Tears form in my eyes as I instinctively throw my hand to the sore spot on my head while scrambling to my feet.

Why couldn’t Cutter have been there for me? If he’d have manned up, then I might not be here now, whereverhereis.

I hate him. No. That’s a lie. I still love the asshole. I don’t think he meant to stay away all night. He’d been blindsided, just like me. But I didn’t get the privilege of running away from this problem.

“Where am I?” I ask groggily. It has to be an old garage, like where you’d go to get your car fixed. Though no one’s gotten their car fixed here in years. The front of my clothing is covered in dirt from lying on the cold, cement floor that hasn’t been swept in forever.

The man backhands me across the face, his harry knuckles splitting the corner of my lip. “Didn’t tell you to talk.”

I gasp, crying even harder silent tears. This big, angry asshole has to have some bovine in his DNA seeing as he’s as large and harry as a buffalo.

“Cunts like you are only good for suckin’ and fuckin’, and maybe bringing a man food if you can cook. No wonder they ain’t paid to have you back.”

“They?” I make the mistake of asking again, only to receive another slap across my face, bruising my cheek in the process. I feel it begin to bruise as my eye starts to puff.

“Called the Horde you been whoring yourself out for. Gave ’em an hour. Hour’s come and gone. Ain’t no one called back to claim you. Crunk and the boys are on their way up.”

Crunk? Did he say Crunk? As in the Death Bringers’ president?Oh, shit.I feel like vomiting. I’m dead. They’re going to kill me, but they’ll make me suffer first. It’s all I can do to not look or sound scared by his ugly words.

“What can I do to make you not hand me over to Crunk?” I ask in my most seductive voice while reaching my hand down to unzip his fly. I don’t feel real seductive, nor do I look it, injured the way I am. But I have to try. I have to do whatever it takes to get out of this.

The hour passed. No one called to claim me. Vlad is letting them have me.

I shudder. This guy’s so gross, but I can make myself do this. If it keeps me alive. I can.

Mr. Gross licks my neck. “You wanna fuck, baby, I’ll fuck you real hard. But I ain’t missing out on 250 Gs for some cunt.”

He shoves me by my head to bend forward and I know he’s about to rip my jeans down my legs to take me from behind. I don’t want this, especially if he’s just going to send me back to the Death Bringers anyway.

Think, Aja, think.I search the dirty, dark room trying to find something,anythingI can use to help me escape. I’m not stupid enough to think he’s all alone here. He had men with him when he ambushed us at the Waffle House.

Waffle House. Roughneck—no.I can’t let myself think of him right now. I can’t get distracted. He tugs on my jeans. They might have some spandex woven in the fabric, but they’re tight and don’t move but maybe an inch. The good news is I don’t hear anyone around, so they must be busy distracting themselves somehow. I don’t care how, just as long as they stay away long enough for this to work.

“Gonna go hard? Come on, slick… gotta work for it,” I purr. He needs to think I want this. One last scan of the room, and I see a broken handle to a push broom on the floor next to the wall, not far from us. “Let’s move to the wall. I can tell with your power, I’m going to need some leverage to keep me from falling forward.”

He laughs, slapping my ass to get me moving, which I do, over to the wall with the broken handle. I bend forward and wait to feel him working his jeans—the fool hasn’t even pulled mine down yet, he’s so eager to be inside me. The more dumb moves he makes, the better for me.

---