Made to Riot_The Ancestors MC, page 14part #5 of Beards and Leather Series
“As much fun as it might be to really lay into you now, I think I’ve got other business to see after. Better-looking business than you, no offense.”
Now I really wanted to kill this asshole with my bare hands.
“I think I’ll let these two have some more fun with you before I come back to finish the job. You know, like a little dessert after the … main course.”
My blood pounded through my body as I raged against the restraints.
“I’ll kill you if you lay a fuckin’ hand on her!” I shouted, barely able to form the words through my anger.
“See you in a little bit, Brycie,” Donny said over his shoulder before stepping back into the shadows, the door shutting behind him.
The two ugly motherfuckers who’d been beating me before approached me once again, their faces in sadistic expressions.
“Donny says we can have all the fun with you that we want,” said the horse-toothed man. “Just got make sure you’re good and conscious for when it’s Donny’s turn.”
“Lucky for us, I know all about how to make someone scream while keeping them wide awake,” said the paunchy man.
He approached me, squatting down and looking at my hands. I wanted to drive my knee right into his face.
“Like, you know how many nerves are right under the fingernail? They did that shit in Vietnam; just stick bamboo shoots under there.”
“Teeth too,” said the horse-toothed man. “Don’t forget about them.”
“That’s right,” said the paunchy man. “Amateurs want to rough someone up, they think you just gotta start punching. Real pros, on the other hand, know that the real painful places are the smallest ones.”
He turned back to the horse-toothed man.
“What d’ya think? Teeth or nails first?”
“Oh,” said the horse-toothed man, “I’m thinking nails; I ain’t never seen that before.”
“You read my mind.”
With that, the paunchy man stood back and slipped a small multi-took out of his pocket. He flicked out a small knife, the narrow blade tapering down to a point that was so sharp it caught the light above.
“Get his hands,” said Paunchy. “I’ll do the rest.”
Horse-toothed guy went behind me and undid my straps. He held me hard in his grips, and I struggled against him. Normally, a guy like him would have been easy to overpower, but these two had managed to beat the energy out of me. Still, I could’ve gotten the better of him if Paunchy hadn’t rushed in to grab my hands and force them into the arms of the chair. The two tied my hands back down, and I struggled hard against the restraints again.
“Don’t waste your strength,” said Paunchy. “I want you to have plenty of energy to scream.”
He brought the blade in close, and I could see just how sharp it was. Paunchy brought it closer and closer to my finger, the tip of the blade tapping softly against the end of my nail.
“I don’t know what I’m looking forward to more, this or getting at that little thing in the other room afterward,” said horse-teeth.
I had thought that I was totally depleted, that I didn’t have any more fight in me. But hearing this, hearing that these two little fucks were going to put their hands on Anya after finishing with me; it gave me a new burst of energy fueled entirely by anger. With a scream, I pulled hard against the restraints, the wood of the chair arms cracking and splintering.
“What the fuck?” said Punchy, stepping backward, his beady eyes wide.
Soon, the arms were broken and I was able to stand, though my legs were still bound.
“Kill him!” shouted Horse-Teeth, pulling a gun from the back of his waist.
I rushed towards Horse-Teeth, slamming into him and colliding with him against the wall, him hitting back-first. A crack sounded out as we hit, and he slumped down in a heap. I then turned my attention to Paunchy, who was frantically trying to work a larger blade out of his multi-tool. I went for one of the chair arms, picking one of the broken pieces of wood up and bringing it against his face in a single, smooth motion. The wood hit his cheek with a wet thud, sending him staggering backward, the knife dropping onto the concrete and landing with a metallic clatter. I dropped the chair arm and went for the knife, swiping it off the ground as Paunchy tried to collect himself.
“You’re dead, you fuck!” he shouted, rushing towards me.
They would be his last words.
I stuck out the knife as he ran, and Paunch impaled himself on it, his eyes going even wider than before as the blade entered him. I twisted the blade, making sure that it did the necessary work, and Paunchy went limp at the end of my arm. I dropped the knife, and he went down along with it, a pool of blood forming at his chest.
Taking a deep breath, my heart pounding, I set to work on the restraints on my feet. After they were undone, I grabbed the gun from Horse-Teeth, flicking the safety off as I did.
I had one thing on my mind now, and nothing would stand in my way.
I strained against the ropes that kept me bound to the bed. The room was silent beyond the steady spinning of the ceiling fan. It was a weird space, the décor a combination of a biker’s garage and a seventy’s swinger’s idea of “seductive”—lots of girly posters combined with furniture of garish colors. It was a horribly unsettling room, even beyond the reason why I was in there.
My stomach had been a tight, hot ball of anxiety and fear ever since Donny and the rest of his gang tied me up in here after the crash. So far, they’d left me alone, but I knew that wouldn’t last. When I thought about what these disgusting animals likely had in mind for me, I wanted to cry. My only hope was that Bryce might come and rescue me, but I had no idea if he was even conscious; Donny had told me that he was still alive, but that was it.
The door opened with a creak, and the now-familiar form of Donny stepped in. I’d only known this man for an hour or so, and I already hated him with every fiber of my being. He was sleazy, pervy, and scheming. He hadn’t let me in on his plans for Bryce, but I knew that there was no way he planned on letting him leave here alive. My heart pained for Bryce; I hadn’t realized how much I wanted him by my side until he was taken from me. How had I let myself farllso hard for a man I’d barely known, a man who brought with him such danger?
I didn’t have time to ponder the question. Donny stood at the end of the bed, looming over me with his massive frame.
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t blame little Brycie for letting you tag along; you’re a real piece—old lady material, maybe.”
“Fuck you,” I said, my words venomous.
I hadn’t known I was capable of such anger, but Donny and the rest of his gang had a way of bringing it out of me.
“Definitely old lady material with that attitude. Problem with you normie chicks is that you don’t know how to handle real men. You spend all days around these soft little fucks who’ve never thrown a punch in their lives. When you meet guys like me, you don’t know what to do with yourselves. Most of you turn into little weepy girls, but some of you show that you’ve got a hard edge down there somewhere after all. I’m glad to see you’re one of them.”
He was right, and that made me even sicker. I didn’t like the idea of having to become hard. But I needed to defend myself somehow, even if it was just with words.
“Anyway, I think we’ve had enough foreplay,” he said, slipping out of his kutte and tossing it to the side. “Whatddya say we get down to business?”
My skin crawled at the idea of this disgusting beast putting his hands on me. But there was nothing I could do.
“Don’t you dare fucking touch me,” I said, trying in vain to pull my body away from him.
“Yeah, just like that,” said Donny. “It’s more fun when you put up a fight.
He walked slowly over the side of the bed, squatting down to my level and looking me in the eyes. He was so close I could see the ruddiness of his skin, the texture of his sca
“Yeah,” he said. “Young and soft, just the way I like ’em.”
Standing back up, he pulled off his shirt, revealing a burly body covered in black, curly hair. His eyes still on me, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zipper.
But before he could go any further, a series of soft pops sounded on the hallway.
“What the fuck?” he said to himself, turning his attention to the door.
Another pop sounded, followed by a man screaming in pain. Donny shot me a harsh glare, as if I were the one responsible for whatever was happening, before running over to the door.
More pops sounded, these ones louder.
“Hey!” shouted Donny, yelling at some unseen person.
My heart soared when I considered the possibility that it was Bryce. But I tempered my joy, not wanting to get my hopes up.
“You little fu—” shouted Donny, his words cut off by a bullet right to his upper arm
“Fuck!” he shouted, rushing back into the room and slamming the door behind him.
Donny ran to the corner of the room, his hand pressed onto his upper left bicep where he’d been shot. Blood pulsed from his wound, but by the quick glance I was able to take, I could see that it likely wasn’t fatal.
A banging sounded at the door, followed by the handle jiggling.
“Donny, you backstabbing fuck!”
It was Bryce. A smile spread across my face as tears of happiness formed in my eyes.
He’d come for me.
Donny struggled to move the large credenza nearby in front of the door, but his wound prevented him from putting much strength into his efforts. More banging sounded at the door, the door shaking hard with each impact. It was only a matter of time before Bryce got through.
Donny continued to struggle and sweat, his previously confident expression now one of fear.
Then, with one final bang, the door burst open, revealing Bryce who stood at the entrance with a gun on his hand and a look of fearsome determination on his face. I looked over to Donny as Bryce looked at me, signaling that he was just over to the side.
Bryce stepped into the room and locked onto Donny. With two long strides he closed the distance between him and the now-whimpering Donny, Bryce grabbing him by his hair and pulling him to his feet.
“Good to see you, D,” said Bryce as he stared at Donny with murderous eyes.
With a shove, Bryce tossed Donny into the corner. Donny was whimpering like a little kid who’d just been punished by a father who’d returned from work. Bryce ran over to my side and undid my bindings.
“Did he touch you?” he demanded, looking me over with fierce concern.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
Bryce looked at me with eyes narrowed in anger, as if he needed a moment to calm his rage. Finally, he turned back to Donny, who was still cowering in the corner.
“Not so tough without your little gang, huh, you little fuck?” said Bryce as he stood over Donny.
He trained the gun on the Donny, who looked up at the weapon with wide, fearful eyes.
“Wait!” he shouted.
“Give me one good reason,” said Bryce, pulling back the hammer of the gun with a click.
“Because I’m not the only one who wants to kill you.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Bruce asked, Donny’s head right in the sights of his gun.
“This … all this … your father, everything …”
“Speak!” he demanded, clearly not wanting to play any more games.
“Just, just promise you won’t kill me and I’ll talk!”
He looked down at Donny with something like pity in his eyes. It was almost painful to see him reduced to such a pathetic, cowering state. Shaking his head, Bryce lowered the gun.
“Thank you!” he shouted, scurrying across the floor and wrapping his arms around Bryce’s legs, his face pressed against his jeans, snot running down his nose and onto the denim.
It was a disgusting display.
“Get the fuck off of me,” Bryce said, pulling one leg back and stepping away.
“And you have to do something about this!” he said, looking down at this gunshot.
Sitting up, I looked over at Bryce. We shared a brief look that contained an entire conversation. Finally, I nodded.
“You’re fuckin’ lucky that she’s a doctor,” said Bryce, plopping down into one of the room’s chairs
It made me sick to think of helping out the man who would’ve had his way with me if Bryce hadn’t shown up just in time. But looking at this sniveling, weeping, wounded man, I couldn’t feel anything but pity mixed with a little disgust.
I climbed off the bed and shook my limbs to get the blood flowing again. Then, I squatted down at Donny’s side.
“Move your hand,” I said, my voice slipping instinctively back into my professional nurse’s tone.
He did, revealing the wound. I took a look on the other side of his shoulder and saw that it was a clean-through shot. Sure enough, looking up I spotted a bullet hole in the wall above.
“Not too bad,” I said. “Bullet went right through, and the entry wound is nice and clean. You got a first aid kit?”
“Yeah,” he said, sniffling. “In the bathroom.”
I nodded to Bryce who, rolling his eyes, heaved himself up and out of the room. Moments later he returned with a white plastic kit, a red cross emblazoned on the top. He handed it to me and I popped it open, noting right away that any sort of pain relief had been long taken out, likely shot up by one of these lowlifes in some pathetic attempt to get high.
But everything else was there. I fished out the necessary supplies and went to work.
“You got any vodka?” I asked.
Donny, his eyes still downcast, gestured to a nearby cabinet. Bryce grabbed a bottle of vodka and handed it to me. Opening the top with a “thoomp,’ I dumped the clear liquid on both sides of the wound. Donny moaned as the alcohol did its job, hissing through his teeth like a little kid who’d banged his shin on a coffee table.
“Don’t be a baby,” I said.
Too late for that, I thought.
I went to work, cleaning and dressing the wound.
“Keep this clean,” I said, stepping back and looking over the gauze, double-checking everything. “Change the bandages and watch out for infection.”
“Do I have to go to a hospital?” he asked.
“Not as long as you do what I just said.”
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes low and his voice quiet.
I said nothing, simply shaking my head. Part of me wanted to let the fucker bleed out, but this world of Bryce’s hadn’t made me that hard. Yet.
“Now,” said Bryce, standing up out of his chair and pointing his gun at Donny. “Speak.”
“Speak,” I said, my gun pointed at Donny.
I was done with the bullshit.
Donny clambered to an upright sitting position, his eyes on the red trickle of blood that had run down his arm.
“It’s about your old man,” he said, turning his eyes to mine. “There was a reason that he left.”
I said nothing.
“He didn’t just up and abandon you—he was forced out.”
“Forced out why?”
“Because he found out what the other bosses were getting up to; they were running meth.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I said.
“What? Why is that bad?” asked Anya. “Aren’t you guys all into drug-running.”
“Not all of us,” I said. “Plenty of other crew around the country have gotten into the drug game in the last few decades. But some of us, like the Ancestors, st
“And that’s not all,” said Donny. “Your pops was pissed about the drugs, but that wasn’t what drove him out. It was the other thing.”
“What other thing?” I demanded, losing what little patience I had.
“It’s people,” said Donny. “It’s human trafficking.”
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