Bruiser let out another deep sob and then shook his head wildly.
“Now that’s just a glaring lie, Bruiser, and you know it. It says right here in your reply to Bridges that Dart has been talking shit about him for months. You’ve given him the names of every man in the chapter wanting to take Bridges down. That was nice of you. You really are his little bitch. That makes me think you know more than you’re telling me, Bruiser, about where Bridges is right this minute.”
“I don’t. I’m not.” Bruiser made the denial looking wild-eyed at the phone.
Steele shook his head as he thumbed through the texts. “Says he’ll do you no problem, Dart, just reiterates that Breezy is his after. Bridges goes on to say she might need a few hard lessons, and look here, Bruiser, you were more than happy to oblige.” Steele looked up from the phone. “You plan to beat the shit out of my woman? Is that what this means?”
“You’re saying that Bruiser really agreed to kill me?” Dart demanded. He couldn’t believe it, not even after Steele had shown him the texts.
“Kill you. Beat the shit out of Breezy. And there’s more. So much more, isn’t there, Bruiser? No wonder he sent you here. You’ve been his private little bitch for years. Stealing from the club. Spying on your friend. Spying on your brothers. Doing whatever he wanted. But I especially love this. You’ll personally, and that’s personally, but with one L, slit that fucker’s son’s throat right in front of her if Bridges will give you that privilege.”
Steele looked up at Bruiser. “I assume the ‘fucker’ you’re referring to is me. You’re going to kill your best friend, presumably when his back is turned. Beat the shit out of Breezy and rape her in every way possible. Slit my son’s throat in front of her, and all this is to get favors with Bridges. Nice, man, really nice. You really are a piece of shit, aren’t you?”
“Get me out of these chains,” Dart said. “I’ll kill him myself.”
“Sorry, can’t give that to you, Dart.” Steele stepped closer to Bruiser. “He’s going to die slow. But first, you piece of shit, you’d better tell me where Bridges is.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Bruiser screamed.
Steele glanced at Savage and nodded slightly. He admired Dart in some ways. The man rode with the wrong club. He should have chosen better. He rode for his colors and backed his brothers, but whatever his personal code was, it included trafficking women and children, and that wasn’t okay with Torpedo Ink. Dart didn’t know a thing about Bridges, but Bruiser did. Savage stepped up behind Dart and cut his throat, the blade slicing deep. It was fast and quiet, Dart never even suspecting that Savage was behind him.
Bruiser screamed, a high-pitched wail. He fought the chains with almost superhuman strength and then subsided abruptly, his bladder letting go for the third time. Steele just watched him impassively until he quieted to a soft sobbing.
“We just carried out your intentions for you, Bruiser. It was merciful. You’ve been his best friend for what? Twenty years? Since you were kids? That’s the way he always told it to everyone. Since you were in grade school.”
Bruiser continued to weep, shaking his head as he did, looking down at the floor and the blood mixing with the water under Dart’s body.
“Where is he?” Steele asked quietly. It was going to be a very long day. He knew Bruiser wasn’t going to give up the information easily. Somehow, in his twisted brain, he still thought he was going to get out of this with his plans intact.
Steele was rarely wrong. He’d thought Bruiser would break first, but Dart had sacrificed in order to try to save his friend from suffering. The brotherhood at work.
* * *
• • •
Breezy was very cognizant of the fact that they were traveling on mainly motorcycles and she didn’t want to fill the truck with unnecessary sentimental stuff. It wasn’t that she had lots of beautiful things. She didn’t have beautiful things. She had necessary things, but she had managed to acquire them, piece by piece, from hard work. She looked around the bedroom. There wasn’t much there in the way of furniture, but she hadn’t needed much. The room was small. She could walk across it in several long strides. The carpet was old and threadbare with several stains in it.
She was comparing this tiny apartment on a bad side of town to Steele’s multimillion-dollar house, which was all white and pristine. She didn’t know the first thing about caring for a house like that. It was absurd to think she could live there. She sank down on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands.
“Honey, talk to me. We’re going to get Zane back. Everyone’s looking, and Czar’s called in favors from other clubs we’ve helped. We’re owed a lot of favors. We’ll find him.”
Breezy shook her head and looked up at Lana. “I’m just so confused right now. I swore I’d never live in a club, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to raise my son in one, but here I am, letting a club risk everything to get my son back.”
“We’re not risking everything,” Lana objected. “We have certain advantages.”
“Steele’s risking everything. His soul. I don’t know. He’s doing things a doctor, a man as sensitive as he is, shouldn’t ever do.”
“He’s done them all his life. He’s had to, for his own survival, and for ours.”
“Maybe, and then there’s that house. Have you seen that house?”
Lana flashed her a smile and sank down onto the bed beside her. “It’s a gorgeous house.”
“It’s too much. I don’t know what he was thinking, buying that house.”
“He was thinking he was getting the best he could for his woman. He might not tell you how he feels about you, but he definitely has no problems showing you.”
“You know about that? That he won’t say he loves me?” Breezy met Lana’s eyes, wanting to find something there, but she didn’t know what she was looking for.
Lana nodded. “He told me what an ass he’d been to you. The moment you were out of his sight, he wanted to run after you. He forced you to leave because he was afraid you’d get hurt or killed in the war between our clubs. He knew we were going to take down the international president and that the Swords would always be looking for us.”
“And my age,” Breezy said. “He was upset when he learned my age.”
Lana nodded. “None of us guessed you were that young. You were always so calm when chaos reigned in the clubhouse. No matter how big a party was, you had the food and the drinks ready. The other women looked to you for their orders. You took care of problems and looked after the kids. You never seemed to get upset. There was no giggling or teenage behavior. Never.”
“I grew up knowing if I made a mistake, no matter how small, I would get beaten. It was expected of me to take care of all things in the clubhouse or at home no matter whether Bridges told me about it or not. If I drew attention to myself in any way, he would beat me or hand me over to his friends. I was lucky in that no one could just put their hands on me. Bridges had to approve, and he was stingy. Growing up that way, I had to think like an adult.”
“Let Steele spoil you, Breezy. You gave him everything when you were with him. You met his every need, and that’s nearly impossible for anyone to do for anyone, but you managed. Let him have the chance to give back. He wants to give you a huge house and let you do anything you want with it, let him. Just remember he needs . . . clean.”
Breezy nodded. “I’m very aware. Fortunately, again growing up the way I did, I prefer clean as well. Maybe not like him, but it’s easy enough, at least it was until he decided we needed a mansion the size of Texas.”
Lana burst out laughing. “I’m sure he’ll hire cleaners to come in.”
“They’ll need to live there permanently and work twenty-four-seven.” Breezy rubbed her hand over her face. “He’s told me a little about his childhood. About the things that happened to you. I’m trying to understand what it
was like for him to have his need for such a completely ascetic home. The walls are white. The floors and ceiling, the stairway. It’s beautiful, but every speck of dirt shows, and there’s Zane. He has to be allowed to be a little boy, and honestly, Steele’s obsessed with cleanliness.”
Lana sighed. “You can’t imagine what the conditions in the basement of that school were like. It was really a prison they’d made into a school. We were shoved into the basement. The floor was filthy, covered in dirt and feces. There were rats down there and cockroaches. When we were returned from one of their sessions, we were bloody and raw, usually from several different areas on our bodies, front and back, so whichever way we lay, we were lying in filth and germs were multiplying. Often they used knives to cut us or whips, so open wounds. It was the worst nightmare possible for a boy like Steele. He felt responsibility, even when he was just very little. Something in him needed to help all of us.”