Page 75 of Wicked Shadows
“I just got here. Maybe I’ll hang out for a while.”
“Suit yourself.” Axle shrugged and opened the drawer to go through the delivery menus. “Hungry?”
Shadow chuckled. “Always.”
“I’ll ask the ladies what they want.” Axle walked to the last bedroom door and knocked lightly. The door barely cracked open at first, then opened wide when they realized who stood on the other side.
Lori and Elle walked out into the main room, their postures at ease and small smiles lighting their faces. They weren’t afraid of Axle in the least, despite his rough appearance and outlaw gang ties. Shadow’s heart leapt up into his throat watching Elle, knowing he couldn’t tell her the truth but dying to pull her into his arms.
After he’d dropped Lori off and Elle had seen him in the act, he knew the crushed expression she wore was because she believed his act. Why wouldn’t she? He looked and dressed the part. Elle had been abducted by the very men he openly called brothers. Then she watched him put an unconscious Lori on the bed.
After Elle’s momentary breakdown, she found her strength and her anger flared. When she stood, she beat her fists against Shadow’s chest and let her rage flow. “How could you help them do this to me? To her? Did she think you loved her too?” Though her heart was broken, her defiance was strong. She wanted to cause him as much physical pain as he’d caused her emotionally.
As much as Shadow wanted to tell her the truth, he already knew what Nick had scolded him over that morning. She couldn’t know the truth and risk giving them away. Lori didn’t know which men had nabbed her—she couldn’t have identified either man if she’d had to. If he’d told Elle, she would’ve reacted differently toward him and raised everyone’s suspicions.
So he turned his back on her and left, leaving her to think the worst about him. Without telling her he’d walked away from his life to save hers. Without her knowing about the beating he’d taken—and given—to join the club. He’d kept the branding mark hidden while it healed. The scar would require plastic surgery to correct. The faded black-ink prison tattoos he’d had strategically placed were a special ink developed by the CIA. The removal would be painful, but if it meant she was safe, he’d gladly endure it. And more.
Three days later, she still refused to make eye contact or acknowledge his presence. But she seemed to enjoy Axle’s company. A small part of him was thankful she’d found someone who could comfort her in the middle of the worst time of her life. But a bigger part of him was angry with himself for not being the man she needed. The war playing out between his head and his heart was unrelenting.
She walked with Lori into the kitchen, keeping her distance from him. Lori cast furtive glances in his direction, apprehension and fear rolling off her in waves. His size was intimidating. His intense glare exposed his deadly inclinations. People naturally moved out of his way when they saw him coming. Her reaction to him was typical, even if it stung strangely.
He opened his mouth to speak to Elle, but his phone rang and stopped him just in time. “Yeah,” he snapped. He listened wordlessly to the instructions from the other end for a moment. “Understood.”
He turned to Axle and pocketed his phone. “Never mind my order. I have to go. I’ll see you later.”
* * *
Spider saunteredthrough the hall of the mansion they called the country club. He’d already rendered Beth unconscious and moved her to the van. He whistled as he made his way to Katrina’s room to collect her. Then to Carrie’s room. With the three women sleeping in the back of the van, Spider started his trek to move them to the old clubhouse, reuniting them with Elle.
When he strolled in with Beth thrown over his shoulder, Elle visibly withdrew away from him, toward Axle, until she realized who he carried. She watched silently as he brought them in, one by one.
“What’s happening? Why are you bringing them here? What are you doing with us?” she demanded sharply.
“Nothing at all, sweetheart,” Spider replied with a smirk. He stepped outside and called Headbanger. “It’s done, boss. All the girls are here. You can make the call for the sale now.”
“That’s good news. I’ll get the ball rolling. Head back over here to the clubhouse so we can make our final arrangements with your uncle.” Headbanger disconnected and turned to Bone. “Go get his uncle.”
“You got it.”
Once Bone left, Headbanger turned on the television to catch the promised news update on the search for Elle Sinclair and her makeup artist, Beth Condra. He’d been following the updates religiously, waiting for any clue the authorities were closing in on them. He’d agreed to include Detective Gough in their scheme as a precaution, someone who had the inside track to cover their asses while putting her own on the line.
He turned up the volume when the ticker at the bottom of the screen showed the district attorney’s name.
“Thank you, Mayor Porter. As the district attorney, I’m here to assure you the chief of police and I are working together to ensure the missing entertainment industry professionals are found and returned, safe and sound. I can’t go into details about the steps we’re taking, but know that we’ve heard your concerns loud and clear. We’re taking this situation very seriously and have had agreements from all the major studios to increase their security presence. We encourage everyone involved with the industry, regardless of job title, to be diligent about their surroundings and to move around the lots in groups, never alone.”
The governor, mayor, DA, and chief of police all stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the stage, showing their solidarity. To the side of the stage stood Detective Gough, her shoulders held back in her staunch military stance, her back rod straight, and her face expressionless.
“One of the city’s best detectives has been assigned to the case. She has the highest percentage of cases successfully solved and is one of our most decorated officers. We will update you as we can without jeopardizing the case.”
The DA closed the press conference by saying she wouldn’t accept any questions, and they filed off the stage and into the justice building behind them. Headbanger watched Detective Gough’s body language when she walked away. He didn’t trust anyone for a reason—most everyone had disappointed or double-crossed him at some point. The club was his family, a proven brotherhood of men who had his back and proved water was thicker than blood.
He put all of his trust in his brothers, making any act of betrayal acutely devastating to him. Like a wild animal when it’s wounded, he became more dangerous when he was hurt. After he discovered he’d been fooled, his trust had been thrown back in his face, he was wounded. A wounded wild animal. That kind of betrayal couldn’t be forgiven and forgotten. It was premeditated, well planned-out, and overtly deliberate. They wanted to make him look like a fool, to play him—but they’d be the ones played when he was finished with them.
He moved to the back room and began setting up his interrogation tools. One way or another, he’d get the answers he needed. And when he was finished, his ferocity would never be doubted again.
“Hey, Prez,” Spider said when he entered the club.
Headbanger glanced up at him. “Everything go okay?”
