Betraying Beauty (Sons of Lucifer MC): Vegas Titans Series (3 page)

A fight seems to have broken out on the dance floor, and my
attention is snatched away from Danny. A woman, one of the scantily clad
waitresses, seems to be resisting the advances of a patron, and it’s gotten
physical. She’s screaming blisteringly and pushing him away. I lean forward to
watch as a bouncer wades into the melee to separate them, but instead of pulling
the man out, he instead grabs the woman by her hair. He lifts her several
inches from the ground by her hair and punches her in the face. I gasp as she
slumps, unconscious, and the bouncer holds her limp body up for the patron to
touch.

My hands fly to cover my mouth as I feel bile rising. I
shoot to my feet, but realize that everyone else in the club has remained
impassive, going about their dancing and eating and drinking and debauchery.
Horrified, I turn back to Danny.

“Jesus,” I gulp. “How can you just sit there? Did you see
that? He knocked her out cold!”

Danny takes a long sip of champagne. “Some obstacles are
easier to remove than others. Laws, for example, those are trickier to get
around—but it can be done. You and I make our bread from finding ways to help
clients work the system to their advantage. If you can’t comply or find a
loophole, there are other ways to bend the rules. Other obstacles are annoying
but easier to overcome. Someone owning something I want to buy. Someone
withholding something I need. Lack of consent. There are always ways around
these obstacles, Harper, and I always find a way through. Persuasion usually
works. But I am not above coercion. The end justifies the means, you might say.
I am a patient man, willing to wait to get what I want. But my patience only
goes so far.”

Danny sets down his champagne flute and picks up the pewter
box. He opens it, revealing a small cluster of blue pills, and one white one. He
holds it out to me but I shake my head emphatically, unbelieving.

“This isn’t you,” I say. “You aren’t talking to me right now,
you’re not yourself. I think you’ve had too much to drink and you are making me
very uncomfortable. Danny, let’s get out of here. Please. This place is wrong.”

“Right now, it so happens that you are what I want, Harper.”
Danny continues in the same even voice, almost as if I hadn’t spoken. He pops
one of the blue pills onto his tongue and washes it down with a satisfied
groan. Fingering the white pill, he raises it between his thumb and forefinger.
“I brought you here to make you understand that nothing will stop me from
having you. Our union will be perfect. You are perfect. Your family,
connections, and performance are perfect for my plans. I need you, and can’t
allow anything to get in my way. Not laws. Not conventions.” He grabs my wrist,
his grip strong, and twists my arm backward, pinning it. He raises the pill
toward my gasping mouth. “Not even you.”

Chapter Three

Harper

“Danny! You’re hurting me, let go!”

His fingers are digging into my flesh and I am scrambling to
push him away. Danny has me pinned against the railing of the balcony and is
pushing the pill against my desperately clamped-shut mouth. I’m so preoccupied
defending myself that it takes me a few moments to process the change in the
noise behind me.

The first thing I notice is a shift in the air, then
banging. It starts outside, a series of high raps and shouts that rises to a
boom until even Danny is distracted, loosening his grip on me. I twist my neck
around to take a look through the railings of the balcony. Below, music grinds
to a halt and people are screaming and running. There’s a flash of white lights
and an unintelligible raspy voice through a loudspeaker.

“Oh thank god,” I gasp, thinking it must be the police. I
wrench my arms loose from Danny’s hold and struggle to stand.

But then there’s another series of bangs—gunshots. And a
deafening roar as the side of the building rips open. Sparks are flying. Everyone
screams and dives for cover as the first chain link fence around the perimeter
of the dance floor crumples and sails inward, rammed by two huge black pickup
trucks surrounded by motorcycles.

About half a dozen motorcycles roar through the gaping hold in
the warehouse wall and ream straight into the fence, folding it like paper on
their mad drive into the center of the emptied dance floor.

Shouting men in leather jackets swarm through the space in the
wake of the motorcycles. The men appear to be large and in the flashing strobe lights
of the club it’s hard to make out their features, but I can see that some are wielding
guns and some have chainsaws to hack through the remaining chain link barriers.

The men, women, and bouncers on the dance floor rally after
their initial shock and break into chaos, fleeing and bumping into each other as
bullets begin to fly. It’s like watching rats flee a sinking ship. The only
people not running are some of the bouncers, who duck down under counters, whip
out their own guns and return fire.

I stare, mouth open, so horrified that I completely forget
my fight with Danny. He’s gone completely still too, the color drained from his
face.

“Holy fuck,” Danny curses.

One bouncer falls, shot, and then another. The biker invaders,
all large and leather-clad, press through the crowd throwing punches and shots.
Women scream and sob and throw themselves to the floor with their hands over
their heads. Some of the customers fight back, some cower, and some make a run
for the open gash in the side of the building.

The bikers are fanning through the building now. They’ve
left their motorcycle engines idling as the riders leap off and rush up the
steps toward the balcony.

Toward us.

“Oh my god,” I wail.

Over the screams and sporadic gunfire I hear snatches of the
bikers’ orders and questions. “Where is Colt?” Someone bellows. “Come out you
fucking cocksucker! We’ve got something for you! Give me Colt!”

The men and their guns are just a few feet away from me now,
each heavy step up the staircase making the balcony rattle a little. My body
begins to tremble in shock as they approach, and I notice the oddest details:
the thick hobnailed boots, the pocket protector chains, a man’s heavy tattooed
fist with skull rings on every finger. The platinum-haired man who escorted us
to our table runs at them waving his hands hysterically, and gets shot in the
face.

My stomach heaves at the carnage. Now they’re walking
towards us. I scream and move to dive under the table but Danny grabs me by the
shoulders and crouches behind me, holding my body over him like a human shield.

“Let go!” I scream, thrashing.

“Don’t hurt me!” Danny squeals.

The enormous man with the skull rings is right in front of
me now, and I gasp in fear. He stares at me with frozen black eyes. “Please,” I
whimper.

He kicks over our table, champagne bottle splintering over
the floor, and laughs. He’s got a beard and a scar on his face, and a patch on
his lapel reads ‘Road Captain.’ He shakes his head down at us, but his eyes soon
pass over me and settle on Danny, who is trembling under me and swearing.

“Cowardly asshole,” says a deep voice over us. “Using a
woman like armor. You make me sick. I know who you are, what side you’re on. I
know what you do here. And you’re gonna get what you deserve. Goodbye, Danny
boy.”

The tattooed fist closes around the front of my clothes and
yanks me up, out of Danny’s grasp. The biker holds me suspended against his
broad body, as effortlessly as if I were a small child. My face is pressed into
his shoulder but I hear two shots and a horrible gargling noise behind me, then
a thud. Danny has fallen to the ground and blood begins to pool around my kicking
feet.

I scream, my body quaking in fear and revulsion, but the
biker doesn’t let go of me. Instead he wraps a free arm around my shoulders,
hugging me close to his chest, and turns his back to the melee around us. It
takes me a second to process that he’s shielding me from a volley of bullets,
but then he whips around again and fires back. I spin my head to see what he’s
shooting at just in time to see a bouncer fall against the ledge and then topple
off the balcony with a groan.

“Oh my god!” I scream.

The biker sweeps me along with him as he pushes further in,
scanning the booths and tables along the rim of the balcony systematically. He’s
like Robocop, on a mission, searching. Numb, I turn to look over my shoulder
and see Danny lying totally still on the ground exactly where he’d fallen. I
know he’s dead, I just know.

But there isn’t really time to think about it. The Road
Captain guy is dragging me along the balcony, which wraps around the edge of
the warehouse in an unbroken semi-circle. There are more gunshots and screams
and I have to screw my eyes tight shut to keep from fainting or vomiting.

By the time the Road Captain finishes inspecting the balcony
he has shot five men and has another cluster of women trailing after him with
me, lost and confused and terrified. Most of the women are naked, or close
enough.

“You,” rumbles the Road Captain, jerking his chin at one.
She looks a little older, hardened, a little more controlled and less panicked than
the others and me. “Where’re the controls for these cages? The fish-tanks? Do
you know?”

The woman blinks, then raises a surprisingly steady hand and
points to a little alcove. The Road Captain grunts and marches over, wading
over a few huddled crying girls. I follow him with the rest of the women. He locates
what looks like a light board from a theater in a booth and stares at it
blankly.

“Here, I’ll do it.” The older woman scurries over and
glances at the biker for permission before she starts pushing and twisting
knobs with expert fingers.

There’s a screeching, grating sound and the glass tanks
suspended from the ceiling begin to move toward the balcony, screaming on rusty
tracks. It takes them a few minutes to travel the distance, but then they click
into docks and I see that there are smooth-seamed doors in the sides.

The two women who had been having sex earlier burst out of
their giant fish tank. Next to it, a group of dancers escape theirs. There are
others docked, filled with women and animals. There’s one with a pair of
growling, cowering dogs. The glass tank full of cobras remains closed, thank
god. It’s like a bizarre, perverted menagerie. I just don’t understand how this
place exists.

“Good,” says the Road Captain. “Downstairs, everybody.”

The Road Captain is on the move again, and those of us he hasn’t
shot or chased away just follow him, confused and helpless. Most of the businessmen
clientele have disappeared, except for the unlucky ones like Danny who won’t
ever escape. By the time the Road Captain leads us back through the balcony and
down the steps, I see that the ground floor area has gone through much the same
process. Most of the men in suits are simply vanished, unaccounted for.

There is a huddle of shaking, scared women in the center of
the room. We join them, a cluster of terrified refugees. Scattered around the
floor are the bodies of bouncers, some businessmen with their hands over their
head like hostages, and one fallen biker. There must be at least thirty dead.

The motorcycles themselves are parked where they landed, the
crushed chain link fence bent under the tires of the pickup trucks. I notice
one bike has a flat. I watch, feeling hollow, as the men in leather sweep the
place one more time, kicking over bodies and cursing.

“Find him?” one shouts across the room.

“No,” another answers. “Dirtbeard, any luck?”

“Nope,” rumbles the Road Captain. “Not a goddamn sign of the
motherfucker.”

There’s an explosion of cursing and I realize that the
bikers are closing in around us, a dark rim around the circle of vulnerable
women. The room is settling to a standstill. I shrink to the ground, wrapping
my arms around my legs and burying my face in my knees. Some women around me
are sobbing. Some are standing, shaking. Some are hugging each other. I simply
hide and wish to be invisible.

“Shit,” curses one of the bikers. “Looks like our intel was
bad for tonight, boys. No sign of Colt anywhere. So much for one quick sting of
retribution! Now it’s gonna be a fucking campaign.”

There’s a long, long pause. Then, “Whatever it takes,” says
another voice. “Whatever it takes to even the score for Heath. You know we’re
in.”

Another chimes in. “Yeah, at least we left one hell of a
mess for Colt to clean up.”

There’s a low chuckle and I hear Dirtbeard the Road Captain,
who is standing next to me, clear his throat and shout: “What now, Prez?”

From the open gash in the side of the building, a solitary
figure shrugs. “Let ‘em go.”

“You heard him, ladies,” rumbles Dirtbeard. “You are no
longer obligated to work for Colt. Believe me, whatever force or blackmail he’s
been using to trap you here, he won’t dare even try to raise his sissy hands to
touch you now. Your days of human trafficking are over. You’re now under the
protection of Sons of Lucifer Motorcycle Club. We will escort you to a safe
house, and oversee your rehabilitation and return to society. In exchange for
our protection, you will give us your silence. You didn’t see anything. You
don’t know anything. Nothing happened here today. You’ll follow us to our
shuttle outside and we’ll take you to safety. Let’s go.”

“How do we know you’ll help us?” One of the women shouts.
“How do we know you’re not just another pimp?”

Dirtbeard laughs. “Let me put it this way, lady, what’s your
alternative? You’re welcome to stay here, after the rest of us leave, and wait
for some other scumbag to pick you up. You can go to the Clark County police,
but they’ll probably can you for prostitution regardless of the fact that you
were forced into it. But either way, do you really think the authorities can
protect you against the Depraved Club?”

My mind flashes back to the D.C. I had seen hanging over the
door to this warehouse. D.C. must stand for the Depraved Club.

“He’s right!” Another woman shouts. “I’m going with him!”

“We’re saved,” another cries.

“We’ll see,” mutters another.

There are a few sobs of fear but a general chorus of
agreement, and the group of women shifts to follow Dirtbeard as he walks toward
the exit. Soon I am the only one left sitting. Lifting my head, I realize that
I don’t want to be left alone in the eerily silent warehouse. I don’t want to
be alone with Danny’s body and the echoes of violence. So I rise on shaky legs.
But somehow, I can’t follow them.
            “Wait,” I croak. Then clear my throat and try again, as loud as I
can. “Wait, no, I’m not going! There’s been a mistake. I’m not trafficked. I
don’t belong here. I’m not going with you and I can’t keep silent. No! You’re
insane if you think I’ll come with you. I’ll wait for the police. I want the
police. I saw you murder people tonight. You murdered Danny. I saw you kill him!
You killed everyone! Murderers! Murderers!”

My voice has grown hysterical as the shock wears off and
rage and helplessness take over my body. I find myself hurling useless fists
against Dirtbeard’s enormous chest, but my hands bounce off like water off a
duck’s back. He’s chuckling down at me, and catches my wrists in his hands.

“Yo Prez,” he laughs over his shoulder. “Got a feisty bitch
here doesn’t want to be rescued or play the silent game. What you reckon,
should we feed her to the cobras?”

“It’s still weird when you call me Prez, Dirty.” This voice
comes from somewhere behind me. “I’m not used to it yet.”

Dirtbeard grins down at me. “Name your poison, peaches. Is
it the Sons of Lucifer, or the cobras?”