Unbeautifully Page 25

  It was nothing personal? Was she for real? She’d knocked me out and kidnapped me all so she could get to my father, to kill him. Whether she planned on killing me in front of him or after she’d killed him, I didn’t know. Either way, it was personal. It was very fucking personal.

  And if my father failed at whatever his plan was, because by now I knew he would have one, I was going to die. This was it; I was only going to get twenty-one years.

  And all I could think about was out of my twenty-one years of life, I’d only gotten to spend a week of it with Ripper. Secret moments here and there, scattered throughout our summer together, and one single, solitary week.

  How was this fair?

  He’d just come back to me.

  Everything had been falling into place.

  And now, I was going to lose everything.

  The first sign that something was very wrong was my heart rate. I was already terrified, my pulse racing, but something more was happening. I was suddenly burning up, sweating and shivering, my already aching head began to pound, harder and harder. It felt as if I could feel my heart beating in every limb, beating faster and faster.

  I started spinning, the darkness of the room, the inability to see worsening the churning nausea. I needed to turn my body, needed to move, needed something, needed to do something, anything, this couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t end like this, not before I really had a chance to live.

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. My chest was caving in, my ribs cracking and my heart pounding, exploding, and I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating, gasping for air, choking on the rising bile in my throat.

  Desperate, I tried to move, pulling painfully on my wrists and ankles, the binds chafing, burning through my skin, and still it only worsened, the need to get away, to get away, to get away, the need to live…

  I had to live.

  I had to see him.

  I had to tell him I loved him.

  I had to live.

  • • •

  Ripper pulled up to the same grouping of condominiums at the edge of town where he’d last met with Mama Vi. Killing his engine, he toed the kickstand down and looked around. The run-down stretch of building was dark, the lawn still overgrown; nothing had changed since the last time he’d been here. And he saw no sign of Mama Vi or Danny.

  Now what?

  This was where the bitch had told Deuce to meet her. So where the fuck was she? Their plan wasn’t going to work if she’d lied about her location; if it had been her plan from the get-go to fuck with Deuce, take Danny, kill her off-site and then dump her body.

  Holy fuck him, he was going to throw up.

  That crazy bitch had his girl. That crazy, fucked-in-the-head, sick bitch had his Danny.

  And all he could think about was Frankie, what Frankie had done to him, and what Mama Vi was capable of, might be, probably was, doing to…Danny.

  Keep your shit together.

  Keep your fucking shit together.

  With a shaking hand, he pulled his phone out of his cut and texted Deuce.

  Got nothing. Going inside. Wait for my signal.

  He put his phone away and got up off his bike.

  He was halfway down the walkway when the front door of the first condo swung open and Mama Vi stepped outside and smiled at him. All red lips and white teeth. He wanted to vomit.

  “Drop the toys.”

  Glaring at her, he pulled both his nines from his leathers, his blade from his boot, and tossed them off to the side.

  “White boy, you take me for a damn fool? I said drop your toys. Phone too.”

  Fuck.

  “Got nothin’ left,” he said, after tossing his phone aside.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, obviously not believing him. “Wasn’t expectin’ you, scarface.”

  “Yeah,” he growled. “But me is who you’re gettin’.”

  “Ain’t no good, honey. You’re just another piece of meat I’m gonna be slicin’ up to get to that prez of yours.”

  “Where’s Danny?” he demanded.

  She shrugged. “Around. Where’s Deuce?”

  He gritted his teeth. Where was Deuce? Hopefully, he was ten seconds away from ripping this bitch’s heart out through her asshole. But in all probability he was still halfway down the road waiting for the text message Ripper couldn’t send him.

  “Where. Is. Danny,” he repeated, straining his ears, trying to pick up on any noise that might be coming from behind Mama Vi.

  Cocking her head to one side, she gave him a lazy smile.

  “You’re shakin’, honey. This personal for you?”

  Shit. Fuck. Shit.

  Holding up one obscenely long red fingernail, she mmm-hmm’ed him, her finger swinging back and forth like a goddamn metronome.

  “I got your girl inside, don’t I?”

  He was fucked. He’d fucked their entire game plan straight to shit within seconds. He was so damn strung out, he’d lost the only edge he’d had. That he wasn’t Deuce and didn’t love Danny.

  Only he did. And he couldn’t hide it. Worry, gut-wrenching fear, a desperate need to see her, touch her, to fucking know that she was still breathing, was radiating out of him in thick, palpable, suffocating waves.

  So, now what? More than likely he’d just gotten Danny and himself killed.

  So, yeah, now what?

  Thinking fast, he said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Deuce ain’t comin’, nobody is,” he told her. “He wouldn’t risk the club for this bullshit.”

  Mama Vi lost her smile. “You’re lying.”

  Spreading his arms wide, he shook his head. “Wish I was. He didn’t even want me comin’. But you’re right, that’s my girl you got and she’s why I’m here.”

  It happened fast, too fast. She spun away, disappearing inside the dark condo, leaving him momentarily startled. It took precious seconds for his brain to compute what had happened and then he was lunging for his guns and phone.

  But he wasn’t fast enough, and Mama Vi was shoving Danny through the doorway just as he was straightening.

  “Drop ’em,” she spat.

  He dropped them.

  This was the second time he was witnessing a gun being held to Danny.

  It was two times too many.

  Ripper scanned Danny quickly, looking for injuries. She was a mess. Covered head-to-toe in filth, shaking and crying.

  He zeroed in on her bound wrists and the long stretch of freshly sliced rope that Mama Vi was holding in her hands. She’d hog-tied her. She’d fucking hog-tied Danny and now the bitch was holding his woman on a leash as if she were a fucking dog.

  Being tied up like an animal, being demeaned, seeing Danny like this, knowing how it felt, knowing how scared she was, was killing him. It took every last bit of willpower he had not to charge Mama Vi.

  If he didn’t get to kill her in this life, he’d find her in the next. And she would suffer.

  “I lost everything,” Mama Vi hissed, shoving Danny forward. “My crew, my brother, everything…and if I can’t get to Deuce, the least I can do is make good on my promise to you.”

  “Bitch,” he growled. “You already have.”

  She laughed. “You think?”

  Ripper was quickly losing hope that Danny was going to come out of this alive. Plan A had failed, Plan B hadn’t worked, and now all he had left was the hope that his brothers were here, somewhere, waiting to pounce.

  Otherwise, they were both fucked.

  “You want her?” Mama Vi asked, stroking the barrel of her gun up and down Danny’s cheek.

  He did. He wanted Danny in more ways than this bitch would ever know, would ever be capable of understanding.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice breaking.

  Grinning, she gestured to the muddy, weed-ridden lawn beneath him. “Beg.”

  Beg.

  He didn’t know the first thing about how to beg. What did he say? Please? Fuck that. Danny deserved more than
empty pleas.

  Especially if this was the last time he had with her.

  He fell to his knees.

  “I love her,” he rasped, his eyes on Danny. “You want me to beg, I’ll fuckin’ beg. I’ll do whatever I gotta do if it means she keeps breathin’.”

  Danny choked on a hiccupping sob and broke into a fresh wave of tears.

  “Let her go,” he pleaded. “You’re hard up for blood, you want someone to blame, you blame me. I ain’t runnin’.”

  He stared hard at Danny. “I ain’t runnin’,” he repeated.

  Danny’s breath left her in shuddering spurts. “No…” she whimpered breathlessly. “Ripper…no…”

  “Ain’t that sweet,” Mama Vi sneered. “Some real Romeo and Juliet vibes I’m feelin’.”

  Ripper caught the small movement, Mama Vi’s thumb gliding along the hammer of her gun with killer precision. Not even Danny, whose ear was no more than a few inches from the weapon, heard the mostly silent click, only a lethally skilled gravedigger could pull off.

  He saw it, he knew what was about to go down, knew there was nothing he could do about it.

  In the midst of his terror, there was a sudden sense of peace. Danny was going to die, yeah, but there wasn’t anywhere in hell or on earth that he’d be living one day without her. Either Mama Vi was going to take him out next or he’d do it himself.

  And knowing that—knowing that it was over, knowing they were done here, but also knowing that he’d follow Danny anywhere, that even in death, he knew they’d never truly be done, he found his peace.

  What they had was some real forever kind of bullshit.

  So he stared at Danny, held her gaze, making sure she knew it all, everything he felt; trying to tell her that none of it, not one fucking second had been a mistake. That he’d do it over again, all of it, even what he’d gone through with Frankie if it meant he’d end up at her senior prom, she’d end up in his bed, and the two of them would end up forever changed.

  He would end up forever changed. A better man.

  She’d done that.

  I love you, beautiful girl.

  Her chin wobbled.

  I love you, too.

  There it was.

  Everything that mattered.

  Danny.

  Him.

  And peace.

  He was so consumed by her, ready to die alongside her, that he never saw them coming.

  Which, in the end, worked out just fine. Because he was so focused on Danny and Mama Vi was focused on him, she never saw them coming either.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  With his boot pressed firmly in the small of Mama Vi’s back, Deuce watched as Ripper walked off across the lawn, his daughter cradled in the man’s arms, her arms wrapped around his neck.

  Tap stepped in front of him. “Hold off a minute, Prez,” he said, looking down at Mama Vi, his mouth slowly curving into a grin. “Lemme have at her first.”

  “Fuck you,” Deuce muttered. “This bitch needs to be put the fuck down.”

  “Yeah,” Tap said, his eyes never once leaving Mama Vi. “But first I’m gonna show her what the fuck happens when some fuckin’ cunt thinks she can mess with my club.”

  Deuce knew what was about to go down. And normally, he’d put a stop to it. His boys always wanted ass after shit got bloody or just plain crazy, all that adrenaline needing an outlet, but he’d made sure they’d always gone back to the club or a bar for that shit. But when it came to this bitch, he didn’t have an ounce of give-a-fuck about what happened to her as long as she had a long and painful journey to being dead. So this time, he was going to let them play.

  “You just wanna fuck her,” Cox said, lighting up a smoke. “Don’t lie.”

  Tap shrugged. “That too.”

  “I’m in,” Dirty said, appearing beside Tap. He kneeled down beside Mama Vi and grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head up. “Don’t let the lack of mustache fool ya, baby,” he said, grinning. “I’m always down for a gang bang.”

  “There ain’t nothin’ you can do to me,” she hissed, “that ain’t already been done.”

  Dirty’s grin grew wider. “Yeah? You hear that, Tap? Guess we’re gonna have to get creative.”

  “Brother, I am all about creative.”

  “Have at her,” Deuce said. Grabbing hold of her bound hands, he yanked her to her feet and shoved her forward into Dirty’s arms. “But it’s me who’s gonna be puttin’ her to ground.”

  Dirty didn’t waste any time ripping Mama Vi’s shirt open. Then Dirty was pulling her jeans down and behind her Tap was unbuttoning his leathers.

  “You go right ahead and scream, bitch,” Tap growled, grabbing her neck, squeezing tightly and forcing her to bend over.

  Deuce turned away and Mick stepped in line beside him.

  “Prez?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You okay?”

  No. But this shit came with the territory. This life wasn’t for the weak.

  “Yeah.”

  Joining them, Cox slung an arm over his shoulders. “He’s fine,” Cox drawled. “Just pissed that Ripper’s gonna be callin’ him daddy soon.”

  Deuce elbowed Cox in the gut. “Fuck you.”

  “We all gotta go through it, Prez,” Mick said laughing. “My girls are grown, one of them married. It’s part of gettin’ old.”

  “None of your girls are in love with Ripper.”

  Mick gave a mock shudder. “You a better man than I,” he joked.

  “We could still kick his ass,” Cox suggested. “I’m always down to kick Ripper’s ass.”

  Deuce snorted. “He’s got plenty of those comin’, best let him have some time with Danny before I start breaking his shit.”

  Cox slanted his eyes at him and grinned.

  “You’re makin’ me miss Kami,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

  “Shut up,” Mick growled. “You’re a fuckin’ pussy-whipped asshole.”

  “Oh yeah?” Cox threatened. “How about I take your old lady out for a fuckin’ ride? You good with that, old man?”

  Mick lunged and Cox went running.

  “Who’s fuckin’ pussy-whipped now, asshat?” Cox laughed over his shoulder. “That would be you, bitch!”

  “You did not just call me a bitch!” Mick roared, chasing him.

  “Bitch! I fuckin’ did! Bitch!”

  Deuce reached into his cut and pulled out his smokes. Shaking one out, he lit it and took a nice, long, relaxing drag.

  Then he pulled out his phone.

  “Baby?” Eva answered on the first ring. “Did you find her?”

  “It’s all good, we got her and she’s fine.”

  “Oh god,” she breathed. “Thank god.”

  “Eva,” he said gruffly. “I gotta tell you somethin’.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your old man, darlin’, what he said to me, he was fuckin’ right. These assholes would light themselves on fire if I weren’t here to dump a bucket of water on ’em.”

  Eva burst out laughing and he felt his chest loosen and his body warm.

  “Fuck, darlin’…”

  “What?”

  “Nothin’.” He sighed. “Just…darlin’.”

  For a moment, neither of them spoke, and he found himself holding his breath just so he could hear hers.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  “Babe,” he said softly. “Yeah.”

  EPILOGUE

  On my porch, juggling two bags of groceries, my purse, my extraordinarily large belly, and my keys, I tried valiantly to find the one key that would let me inside, allowing me to put down these insanely heavy bags, put on my pajamas, and go straight to bed. I frowned at the bags. What was so heavy anyway? Bread? Milk?

  Whatever. Everything was heavy lately and I was always tired.

  As are most women in the ninth month of pregnancy.

  Although, I was rather lucky. Instead of gaining tens of pounds of weight over the past nine months, a
ll I’d gained was a giant belly, while the majority of my body stayed mostly the same.

  The pregnancy had been a planned one. After my kidnapping, Ripper refused to take our relationship at any other speed other than lightning fast.

  We were married within a month, a ridiculously small ceremony at the town courthouse, and that night he’d begun trying to get me pregnant. Married at twenty-one and pregnant by twenty-two. It was official. I was a stereotypical small town girl.

  But I was Ripper’s old lady.

  And I loved every second of it.

  “Shit!”

  Shifting the bags in my arms, I tried to see where my keys had dropped, but all I could see was my belly.

  Crying out in frustration, I turned around, ready to heave everything in my arms off the porch, and ran straight into the large, hard wall that was Ripper.

  “Yo,” he said, laughing as he took the bags from me and set them down on the porch. Scooping up my keys, he stood back up and handed them to me.

  Blowing out a frustrated breath, I glared at him. “Why’s the door locked? Where were you?”

  “Chill, baby,” he said, reaching out to brush a sweaty lock of hair off my forehead. “I was out back in the shed.”

  “Doing what?” I demanded, although I already knew. He was covered in sweat, grass, and wood chips.

  “The usual,” he said nonchalantly. “Fuckin’ whores and killin’ puppies.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turned away from him, and this time successfully managed to unlock the door. Ripper grabbed the groceries and followed me inside.

  Throwing my purse on the kitchen table, I dropped into the closest chair and groaned.

  “I hurt,” I complained dramatically. “Everywhere. And I’m dying of thirst.”

  Ripper grinned. “I’m on it, baby.”

  After setting the bags down on the counter, he headed for the sink, shirtless, sweaty, and dirty, and I couldn’t help but smile. He’d changed so much that sometimes I didn’t even recognize him. At first I’d thought he was overdoing it because he was terrified of my father, but the more time that passed, I realized that, no, it had nothing to do with my father at all. He’d changed.

  And I loved him that much more for it.

  “You stop by the club?” he asked, setting a glass of ice water down in front of me, then folding his large body into the chair beside me.