Page 47 of Bounty
Brown Beard shoved a whole donut in his mouth. “You have a lot of demands, slut,” he said once he swallowed enough food to be understood.
“She sure does, Rusty,” Dutch said, unamused. He began pacing. “Here’s the thing, Effie. I’m not a man who does anything without payment. Quid pro quo. I’m especially not a motherfucker who’ll be swayed by the pretty face on a bitch who fucked an asshole who stole my club’s goddamn drugs. Riker brought his ass to Jackson with Goose and Drifter, then fucking refused to pay us and hand over Pretty Boy.”
“We wasn’t taking one without the other,” Rusty volunteered, not caring if I knew any of those people. “Riker brought a thousand bands of hundreds, offered us a small cut of the profits, and flatly refusedourterms. If he ain’t wanted us to kill Pretty Boy, he could’ve just sent us his head and we would’ve called it even.”
At the images the words provoked, I dry heaved.
Dutch circled me, a shark ready to pounce. “Here’s the fucking deal, Effie. Red Rum has one chance for an exchange. You for Pretty Boy. We’re making a video, you and me, and I’m going to send it to them with my terms. If it’s one minute past the time and the terms haven’t been met, I’m fucking you and sending your head to him.”
He kneeled in front of me, ignoring my trembles. It didn’t occur to me what he was doing until he lifted one of my boots and threw it aside, then did the same with the other. He snatched off my socks and flung them over his shoulder.
“Rusty?”
“What up, Dutch?”
“Bring as many cases as those empty bottles from the storeroom and break them. Strewn the path between here and the bathroom.”
Rusty scratched his beard. “Should I make a glass path between here and the entrance, too?”
Dutch nodded.
“I have to go really bad,” I whined, all my pride out the window. “I promise I’ll behave.”
Scowling, Dutch cut the ties around my ankles. The sudden rush of blood after the restricted flow burned my veins. He slid a finger underneath the rope tied around my body and brushed my breast, then shoved the knife into the tiny tunnel he created. I remained frozen, fearing the blade would sink into me. It didn’t. Instead, the rope loosened. A couple more cuts and he stood, then yanked it away. Behind me, he made quick work of the rope around my wrists. Finally unbound, my entire body sagged, overcome with sensations zipping through me. My head whirled.
Sinking his hands into my hair, he dragged me to my feet, stared into my eyes, and cut away my shirt and bra. Automatically, my arms flew up to cover my exposed breasts. He forced them to my sides.
“Listen, you little bitch,” he snarled, wrapping a big hand around my breast and squeezing painfully. “Any funny business and I will strip you to your bare ass, then discover firsthand how tight it is. You get a sip of water, but no food. When you come back, I tie you up again.”
“Please don’t tie me up again. My breasts are out. I have no shoes. My head is spinning and I don’t know my location. I won’t do anything.”
He glared at me, then shoved me toward Rusty. “We’ll make the video when you return. Pray Pretty Boy values youenough to bring his ass here because the clock starts ticking the moment I press send.”
“I don’t know, Lennon,” Daria sobbed. “I’m not sure how long she was gone before we realized it.”
A dull ache settled into my gut as Daria’s tears resounded throughout the silent clubhouse. Dad and Drifter were there when we arrived. Ophelia drove Daria in her car. I took the leadand Cash brought up the rear. Striker wasn’t happy with me involving his club, but at Riker’s orders, he allowed us to enter. Word of Effie’s kidnapping had already spread throughout the membership, so when we arrived, the subdued mood reflected my feelings perfectly.
Hopelessness. Doom. Dread, especially when Cash announced he’d received a message that Effie’s phone was dead. Their private investigator couldn’t track her with the resources he had. Our only hope was Stretch’s ability to ping the towers of her last known location. If they hadn’t moved her or separated her from her phone, they’d find her that way. I couldn’t imagine how, even if Red Rum possessed equipment to track phones. Austin was a big city, the capital of Texas, a vibrant active place with any number of spots to hold Effie.
“I’ll call the cops myself, Daria!” Lennon’s voice blared through my tortured thoughts.
“Lenny, please,” Daria cried. “Don’t. You’ll put her at risk. This is a club matter and—”
“Daria, love, I understand you want to protect Slice, buthedidn’t protect our daughter! They don’t have the resources.”
Rikerhad the resources.Strikerdid not. Furthermore, Riker would avenge Effie as a matter of principle. He just wouldn’t send anyone to save her. It was one of the few times I resented the structure of Red Rum.
“Slice, if you’re listening,” Lennon called, “I’m shocked and disappointed in you. Had I known you were a criminal, I wouldn’t have allowed you near my wife and I especially wouldn’t have let Effie within an inch of you.”
“Lennon, just come to the clubhouse.” Daria barely pushed the words out. She was crying so much, my anger toward her dissolved and I felt sorry for her. “We’ll figure it out then. Please, I’m begging you don’t do anything until then. Please, don’t risk my baby. Please.”
“Your baby, huh, Daria?” Lennon barked.
Across the room from me Daria sat at the bar and leaned her phone against a bottle of water, which didn’t allow me to see Lennon’s face. I moved restlessly in a chair at a table with Striker, Dad, Drifter, Desmond, Cash, and Dolph. We’d thrown ideas back and forth. I wanted to tear Austin apart to find Effie. Or wait until they contacted me again, hoped a number showed up so I could text back, and then offer her in exchange for me.
Cash added little to the conversation. He looked bored. Red Rum wasn’t on the scale of the Death Dwellers by any means. Riker’s chapter—our mother chapter—made the most money, which explained why they had the best resources. I didn’t know why Cash and Stretch had come. So far, they’d offered a load of bullshit and no action. About an hour ago, we got word that Stretch was in Houston. Not long after, a motherfucker arrived with an enormous duffle bag for Cash, then nodded to us and left.
“No, that’s not true!” Daria cried.
