Page 10 of Rough Choice

“I love Kye like a brother,” he elaborated. “He’s the only family that I’ve ever known. He’s saved my life more times than I can count. He’s kept me clean while in the club and had my back just like I’ve had his. We have a bond. One that you’ll never understand.”

“Try me,” she said with arms crossed. Not in an impertinent manner, but more out of desperation. At this moment, despite what they both wanted, they only had each other, and Eliana felt a burning need to make Grier at least be civil with her. The only way to do that was to understand him better, and since this was the first time he’d spoken more than five words together, she was hoping to piggy-back on his streak.

“You don’t know what an MC club is until you’re in one. Every day its blood and balls,” Grier started, still leaning over the table. “Bonds of brotherhood are forged amid high speeds and shootouts. I was a Demon for nearly a year before Kye came along. It was brutal. Ugly. The hardest thing I’d ever done. I didn’t have the luxury of a family that cared for me, and until Kye came along, I didn’t have anyone watching my back in the club the way he has.”

“You were initiated, they accepted you. Surely someone…”

“I was good at what I did. I can drive. I can shoot. I was an asset. A soldier. Nothing more. Certainly not to Max,” Grier said with the faintest hint of disappointment in his voice. “The night we went on our first run together was the night your dad shot him. No one had my back that night. They left me on the bridge to face gunfire on my own. Not Kye. He came back for me. Gave me the credit for recovering the van. He put others before himself, and that saved my neck. That was just the first of a million times. You don’t spend day after day in the trenches with someone and not get close. I’d die for that man.”

“So would I,” Eliana said, holding his gaze. To her surprise, after a long moment, Grier was the first to look away. “Kye was always putting others first?” Grier nodded. “That’s what he’s doing now. I didn’t ask for this. If I’d known how things were going to happen, I would have let you bury me in that hole. Kye made his choice. He made it for me… and for you. I’m sorry for all of this.”

“You should be,” Grier said, and Eliana looked surprised. That was until a soft grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. She left out a puff of air and rolled her eyes.

“We don’t know that he’s dead.”

“No, and we may never know,” Grier said, standing upright and shouldering the stuffed bag on the table.

“I meant, he could be alive,” she said and watched as he unlocked the Hummer and tossed the duffle into the back.

“Yes,” Grier agreed. “He could be. Which means we have to get on the road. Kye and I both had our routes planned if we ever needed an escape. I can’t deviate, and if he’s on the move neither will he.”

“I get the haste, I understand you’re retracing routes to cover our tracks, avoiding major freeways, cities, and crossings, but to what end?” she asked when she saw him open the back and toss in a couple of sleeping bags. When Grier didn’t answer, she huffed. He sighed as well and rest his arm on the open door. They needed to come to a better arrangement than arguing every time the car stopped. Mostly because Grier was too tired to continue this maddening soap opera with her.

“Belize,” he said in a tone of finality. “We’re going to Belize.”

Kye was startled awake by the sharp smack across his face. He hated his reaction, but the gasp and moan couldn’t be helped. His hands were tied together and drawn upward over his head where they were secured to the exposed sewer pipe. The room he’d been in for the last day, or possibly two, was barely a storage room. The cement enclosed room was in the basement of the clubhouse. He’d been able to discern that much at least.

Dhal, who was currently wailing on him with his fists, was all pomp and show. He acted so high and mighty, but at the core, he was a bully and a thug with a crusty exterior and a soft underbelly. Having hooded him and pistol-whipped him on the floor of Max’s office, Kye had feigned unconsciousness long enough to decipher where he was being taken. He’d need to know where he was so when he inevitably escaped his bonds, he could get the hell out of the clubhouse as fast as possible.

“You ready to talk?” Dhal asked as he wiped the blood from his knuckles with the bottom of Kye’s shirt. “Max wants to know where your little girlfriend is. He knows she isn’t dead.”

“She’s not? That’s news to me,” Kye croaked out with a dry throat. He hadn’t had so much as a drop of water since he was taken below. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed as there were no windows. There was no rhyme or reason when the door would open or close. Kye was no stranger to torture. He’d done it many times himself to others, so he was sure to keep his mind occupied during the down time and dissociated during the beatings. Based on the wild look on Dhal’s face, he was due for another one.

“It was a cute ploy, but Max isn’t stupid. None of us believed you had the balls to kill her. You’re a fucking waste of space and a poor excuse for a man. Since she’s not anywhere to be found in town, we need to know where she’s going, which direction she went, and who might be helping her. Besides your butt-buddy, Grier, that is. So, I ask again. Are you ready to talk?” He cracked his knuckles pretentiously. “Please,” Dhal continued before Kye could answer, “please don’t be. I am getting so much satisfaction out of beating the shit out of you.”

“I can tell,” Kye said, spitting blood on the floor. “What are you going to do next? Jerk off while you make me moan your name?” Another hard punch to the gut made Kye dry heave. He wouldn’t admit it, but his chest was on fire, and he couldn’t feel his arms anymore.

“You’re pathetic,” Dhal crooned in his gravelly voice as he took a seat in the single chair that sat opposite where Kye dangled. “I bet you think yourself a hero, but you’re not; you’re pathetic. All this,” he said, gesturing with his hands, “for some woman. Not even a very pretty one.”

“Pretty enough,” Kye said, trying to get his feet under him. When he hung from his arms with his full weight, he found it was almost impossible to breathe.

“To fuck? I suppose,” Dhal agreed, crossing one leg over the other, “but pretty enough to be tortured? Lose status and rank within the club? Not hardly. If I was you, had things handed to me the way they were handed to you… I’d never lose my presidency for some dried-out pussy.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not me,” Kye stated. “Although you spend an awfully long time trying to be.” Dhal’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, you conned and schemed your way into the club, took your oath, and garnered favor to be put on Max’s private security thinking it was giving you a position of authority, but no one gives two shits about you, Dhal.”

“Shut up, I earned my patches same as everybody else!”

“Did you?” Kye asked with a cough he disguised as a laugh. “You act so badass… You know, I shouldn’t admit this,” he said, looking at Dhal with amusement, “I looked you up three years ago when you joined.” A muscle in Dhal’s jaw twitched. “Yeah, you came in here spitting stories about your days in the military, how tough and badass you are, how brave and fierce and noble you were defending our country…” The chair fell over when Dhal stood abruptly. “How amusing it was to find you never saw active duty. What was the record? Mentally unstable for combat?”

“That was one report, and it didn’t stop me from joining a clandestine unit after I was discharged! I’ve seen warfare!”

“Dishonorable Discharge,” Kye continued. He was smirking, and it made his dry lips crack and bleed.

“For fighting with a self-righteous officer, tried to tell me how to do my job, so it came to fists.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she put up a good fight.” Kye could see the next blow coming in time to turn his jaw and deflect most of it. When Dhal raised his hand again, Kye burst out laughing, and it made him stop. “Look at you! So tough and badass… beating women and men who are tied up. Let’s all quake in fear of the great Dhal who earned his participants patches like a fucking Girl Scout selling cookies.”

“Fuck you!”