Fender: Soulless Kings MC Read online

  “I’ll take the first shift,” I say.

  “All due respect, do you think that’s wise?” Piston asks. He hates Charlie but he also knows me, and despite the mask I wear, I’ve never been able to hide my true self from him. He knows every dirty, embarrassing thing about me.

  “That’s not something that’s up for debate,” I snap. “Gibson’s with her now. I’ll relieve him and we’ll go down the chain of command for our shifts.”

  Even though I didn’t put anything to a vote, two thumps sound around the table.

  “Meeting adjourned.”

  Piston bangs the gavel one last time, and they all rise to file out of the office, retrieving their weapons from the box as they exit.

  “Piston,” I call out to him and he turns to face me.

  “I didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone else, not yet, but we need to put Trainwreck through his paces.”

  “Trainwreck?” He looks confused and I think back to if I even told him I’d given the prospect a road name.

  “Tyler.” Piston recognizes that name and nods. “Little twit was the prospect I took with me for the kidnapping.”

  “He didn’t do well?”

  “Let’s just say, Trainwreck is an even better road name than I thought it would be.” I chuckle as an image surfaces of the expression on his face as we rolled into the mall parking lot earlier today. “Kid has no clue what he’s getting into with the Soulless Kings. He’s a baby. Turn him into a man. Better yet, turn him into a fucking Soulless King. He either toughens up or he’s out. We don’t need chicken-shits hanging around, and I certainly don’t have the time or the inclination to coddle him through the process.”

  “Got it.” Piston nods and his lips pull up into a grin. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but the kid’s had a shit life. He’s got what it takes. I’ll talk to him.”

  “We’re not fucking head shrinkers. He doesn’t need a talking to. He needs to grow a pair and learn. Either he’s got it or he doesn’t. He’s got two weeks to step up or he’s out.”

  “Two weeks isn’t much time. Prospects usually have six months to prove themselves.”

  “We just kidnapped the fucking Black Savages’ princess. That’s going to start a goddamn war. I need warriors, not pussies. Two weeks.”

  I don’t stick around to discuss the issue further. Piston doesn’t have to agree with me. He just needs to do what he’s told.

  As I walk through the main room of the clubhouse, I feel Margo’s stare searing into the back of my head. I know she has questions about our meeting and she knows she’s not going to get answers. Club meetings are closed for a reason, and club business is confidential. She’ll no doubt ask Burly for information, but he won’t give it.

  I descend the steps to the basement, where the Nightmare Room is located. I declared the first shift mine, and now it’s time to follow through. Maybe I can convince Charlie to talk, to answer my questions, and this can all end, one way or another. I order Gibson to leave his post and he does, without hesitation.

  As I step up to the monitors that are mounted on the wall to the right of the door, shock that I finally have her, here, settles in.

  The room is kept dark as a way to enforce sensory deprivation. The dark has a way of making people crazy, feel like they’re losing their minds. It has a way of making people talk. The paralytic seems to have worn off, and I’m able to see Charlie because of the infrared cameras that are installed. She’s sitting in a corner, too close to the door for my liking, with her hands wrapped around her knees.

  I put my finger over the button for the speaker inside the room and take a deep breath to steady myself and to prepare to inject as much authority into my tone as possible.

  I’m going to need to summon all the strength I can for what I’m about to do.

  Chapter Seven

  If words produced a physical feeling, those six would mimic a punch to the solar plexus.

  Charlie

  “Move to another corner.”

  My eyes snap up to where I hear his voice, and it takes me a moment to realize it isn’t coming from him. It’s coming from a speaker. Whatever the fuck he jabbed into my neck seems to have worn off. I haven’t decided if that’s good or not.

  On one hand, if I were still out of it, I wouldn’t give a damn about where I am. But as it stands, I am fully aware of the blackness swallowing me up and the dire situation I’ve seemed to have gotten myself into. My cheek throbs from the punch I took earlier, and it serves as a reminder that Fender isn’t going to protect me… Maybe not even from himself.

  It’s freezing in here, but with the knowledge that he can somehow see me in the dark, I stiffen my muscles to stop shivering and push myself up off the floor. I square my shoulders and move my head around to uselessly search for a camera even though I can’t see a damn thing.

  “Move to another corner.” Fender’s deep baritone raises the hairs on the back of my neck, and I clench my jaw and stand in place.

  A faint noise sounds only a few feet away, a click and a whoosh and then another click. I realize too late it was the door. No light filtered into the room when it opened, so I assume it’s pitch black outside this place, too. Wherever ‘this place’ is.

  “Why the fuck do you have to be so stubborn?” he growls, his voice close. His footsteps echo on the floor as he comes closer.

  “You used to like that about me.”

  Fender chuckles but there’s no humor in it. In fact, in the dark, it’s sinister and scary. Not that I’d ever admit to that. Being scared is weak, and if there’s anything my dad taught me, it’s how to not be weak.

  “Don’t mistake what we had for liking anything about you other than what’s between your legs.”

  My chest constricts, but I don’t let the hurt show on my face even when I know he can’t see me anymore.

  Fuck you too, Fender.

  I blink against the darkness and shift along the wall to put more distance between us. The coldness of the concrete seeps through my long-sleeve T-shirt.

  “If you wanted to catch up, we could’ve done it over a cup of coffee. Or, I know,” Sarcasm drips from my tone as I snap my fingers, like my next words are the culmination of a brilliant mind at work. “You could’ve called me. You know, like a normal person.”

  More footsteps coming toward me. I wouldn’t need to hear them to know when he’s close because the air around my head seems to disappear. My heartbeat thuds an erratic rhythm in my ears, and when I feel his calloused hands brush both of my arms, I can’t stop the reflexive jerk of my body.

  “Jumpy?”

  Fender’s breath teases my cheek as he whispers in my ear. I turn in the opposite direction of his voice, intent on walking away from him, but his hands move to box me in. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, and seconds tick by before the metallic taste of blood reaches my tongue.

  “We can do this one of two ways.” His voice is louder and seems to bounce off the wall behind me and echo around my head. “The easy way… I ask questions, you answer. I like the answers, you’re home in time for breakfast with the fam.”

  “And the second option?”

  “The hard way.” He leans into me so that the hard wall of his chest grazes against my nipples through our clothes. Or my clothes. He could be naked for all I know. “Which I gotta say, I’m not opposed to.” He presses his hips against me, the evidence of what this is doing to him hitting me in the stomach.

  This is getting him off. Having me here in a dark, cold room is getting him off. I shouldn’t be surprised considering what our sex life used to look like, but I am. What am I even here for? He wants to ask me questions so… information on Black Savages?

  Yes. That’s exactly what this is. I’m back for two seconds and already he wants me to betray my family. Again.

  Over my dead body.

  “Let me get this straight,” I say, unable to keep the words from passing my lips. “I can either answer your questions or you’re gon
na fuck them outta me?”

  I don’t believe my own words. I don’t know who Fender is anymore, but I know he isn’t a rapist. He’s bluffing, and there’s nothing I love more than calling someone’s bluff.

  I slide my hand under his shirt, and my lips twitch as he tenses beneath my touch. I move my hand to the waistband of his pants and tuck my fingers inside while I run my other hand over his chest. “Is this what you think I’m afraid of?”

  “Stop,” he growls, although it’s hard to tell if he’s serious by the heat in his tone.

  I have an effect on him. Still, after all this time.

  Good to know.

  I tuck my hand further into his pants until my fingertips graze his bulge.

  “I said, stop.”

  Fender grabs my arm and runs his hand along it until he reaches the wrist just above his waistband. He wraps his fingers around it and yanks it out of his pants and up above my head. His grip is hard, but I ignore the pain. His breathing is ragged, and I bite my lip when I realize my breathing is rough as well.

  Fuck.

  Even though I can’t see him, I feel the moment he pushes away from the wall, away from me. If it weren’t for the thump of his boots on the floor, the room would be silent.

  I squint, trying to find him in the darkness, but it’s as useless this time as it had been the other hundred times I tried. I’m struggling to stay still, stay against the wall, but I really don’t feel like colliding with him so I do. I lean my head back slowly and point my eyes toward the ceiling.

  I count his steps as if they’re seconds, but he doesn’t pace for much longer. Based on the feeling of suffocation, he’s stopped in front of me again. I take a deep breath and hold it, waiting for him to make the next move.

  “Why, Charlotte?” His breath whooshes out of him when he speaks. “Why’d you do it?”

  My eyebrows knit. “Do what?”

  “You know what,” he grits out, and it sounds like his teeth are clenched. His fists are probably clenched at his sides, too.

  “Fen—”

  “I told you not to call me that!”

  “What the fuck am I supposed to call you then? I can’t call you Chris, and I can’t call you Fender.” My anger rises as I shout the words. “I’d call you ‘asshole’, but something tells me you wouldn’t approve of that either.”

  Silence engulfs me. My chest is heaving, and my heart is racing. Suddenly, there’s a blinding light in my eyes, and I have to blink several times to adjust to it. When I do, I make out the cell phone in Fender’s hand just to the side of my head. He’s shining the light on me, but I’m able to see his face in the shadows. A shiver races up my spine at the murderous rage etched in his expression.

  “Answer the fucking question,” he demands.

  “Get the light out of my eyes and I will,” I shout.

  Fender glares at me for a few seconds before he lowers his phone. He doesn’t turn the light off, but rather he uses it to guide himself to the door. I try to take in my surroundings, what I’m able to see. There’s what looks like an electrical panel next to the door.

  I watch as Fender punches in a code, and after a series of beeps, the panel door pops open, revealing what I assume is some high-tech shit. Soulless Kings always had fancier shit than us. The glow of his cell isn’t bright enough to make out details, but he taps his finger on whatever the panel is hiding and a screen lights up in front of him, casting a little more light.

  Fender taps the screen a few more times, and the room is bathed in light, allowing me my first glimpse of the walls surrounding me and the man who put me here. The room is stark, empty, cold. The man is coiled tighter than a snake about to strike, and his already buff muscles flex over his sleeves, reminding me how much he’s grown since I last saw him. He’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and his cut. The crown-wearing skull seems to mock me from the worn leather.

  When Fender turns around, he stalks toward me with purpose, a storm brewing in his gray eyes. He stops just in front of me, his stare never wavering. He’s standing tall, his shoulders squared, his jaw granite hard and wrinkles creasing his forehead.

  I resist the urge to reach out and smooth away the wrinkles. I need to remember that neither of us are the people from four years ago, and my touch isn’t welcome.

  “I’m only gonna ask one more time.” Fender takes a deep breath, exhales it slowly. “Why. Did. You. Do. It?”

  I sigh and close my eyes against the headache that’s already forming from my eyes struggling to adjust to the light. I don’t know when the questions about Black Savages are coming, but it seems right that we get this one out of the way. I won’t be answering any others.

  “I left because you told me to. I assumed after that night… I didn’t think you’d want to see me anymore because of who I am.”

  “So you admit to it?” His eyes narrow like he’s skeptical.

  “Admit to what?”

  “Goddamnit,” he roars and his movement is so swift, I don’t have time to register it until his fist is wrapped around strands of my hair, and he’s pulling my head back. “You’re not this fucking stupid, Charlie.”

  I wince at the nickname. Fender is the one who gave it to me, the only person who uses it. To everyone else, I’m Charlotte or Char and sometimes even princess, but Charlie? That’s reserved for only him.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “That night?” Something flashes in his expression, and for a moment, I think it’s pain, but he masks it so fast it’s hard to tell. “Why did you set me up?”

  If words produced a physical feeling, those six would mimic a punch to the solar plexus. Is that what he thinks? That I had something to do with the attack, the bloodshed that took his parents from him? I knew he hated me because I was one of them. I understood why he hated me. But how could he believe I was a part of that?

  My eyes slide closed as memories of that night barrel into my brain like a speeding freight train. I hadn’t witnessed most of it, at least not while it was happening, and so much of it is a blur. What I do remember, with unambiguous clarity, is putting a bullet in Sharp, a Black Savages Sergeant at Arms, and saving Fender from the same fate. I remember the fear that had latched onto my soul, knowing that punishment would be severe if my family found out about what I’d done. I remember being shouted at to leave, and I remember Fender not having my back.

  What I absolutely do not remember, is having anything to do with the Soulless Kings’ death toll. I force my eyes open to see that Fender is still staring at me, waiting. He wants answers, but will he believe me? Or is he so convinced of my guilt that it doesn’t matter what I say?

  “How could you believe I had something to do with that?”

  He glances away like he can’t even look at me, and my stomach barrels to the floor. There’s so much heartache etched into his expression that I can’t help remember that I wasn’t there to comfort him. I wasn’t there to get him through it. And he hates me so much he’s choosing not to be there for me while I’m going through my own father’s death. He’s choosing to blame me for all of his struggles instead. Or at least he’s trying to.

  He’s a bastard for this. For bringing me here and for questioning me like I’d ever do something like that. Still, staring at him now, I can see the old Fender. I fucking miss him.

  I take a deep breath and reach up to ease his hold on my hair. Surprisingly, he allows it and releases the locks. He turns his gaze to me. I rub the sore spot on my scalp but am careful to not break eye contact. Fender’s nostrils flare, and when I stand up on my tiptoes, he sucks in a breath.

  Leaning forward, slowly, tentatively, and fully aware that this could blow up in my face any second, I touch my lips to his.

  Chapter Eight

  Now I don’t know what love is anymore, only hate exists in my world. But one thing is certain: If Charlie keeps kissing me like that, I’m liable to forget what hate is, too.

  Fender

  Charlie’s mouth is co
lder than I remember but just as soft. I don’t kiss her back, and when her tongue slides across the seam of my lips, it’s enough to jolt me out of my stupor.

  “Ain’t happenin’ babe,” I say after gripping her arms and forcing her away from me.

  Hurt flashes in her green irises, and I force myself to ignore it. I approved her kidnapping because I want answers, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her mouth, her body, her, tempt me away from that. Eyes on the prize and all that shit.

  “Just answer the question, Charlie.” I sigh, the weight of the last four years crashing over me in waves.

  Charlie crosses her arms over her chest, and I have to turn away from the sight of her T-shirt stretching across her tits. I walk to the opposite wall and brace my fists against it, hanging my head and taking several deep breaths to cool the lust threatening to take over.

  “I have a question of my own.”

  Her voice is low, almost as if she’s afraid to speak. I let my arms fall to my sides and turn back around to face her, my brow arching as if to say ‘spit it out’.

  “What makes you think I had something to do with it?”

  I hate to admit it, but that’s a damn good question. The thought that she could do that, that she could orchestrate that level of violence never would have crossed my mind if the seed hadn’t been planted by my brothers. But it had been planted and it’s grown like a fucking weed, overtaking my existence until there’s no room for anything good.

  I let my gaze roam her body from head to toe while I mull over my response, enjoying the way she seems to squirm under my scrutiny. If I let myself, I could get lost in her sex-appeal. I return my attention to her face and force the walls I’ve built to shift back into place.

  “How could I not think that?” I thread my fingers through my hair in frustration. “You were born to be my enemy. Am I really supposed to believe you had nothing to do with it? That you were with me because you had real feelings for me?” Her eyes widen as I speak, but I don’t let that stop me. “C’mon, Charlie, do you really think I’m that fucking stupid?”