Burnt (13 page)

I look into his eyes while trying to pull myself together. His pleading eyes look foreign and out of place. This is not the Declan I know. To my knowledge Dec has never had to plead for anything in his life.

“Whenever you’re ready I’ll listen Dec. Promise me something though?”

Nodding in a jerky motion up and down he answers with,

“Anything Kendall. Anything you want.”

Squeezing his hand tightly I make him promise,

“Promise me you won’t make me walk away this time and neither will you. Whatever you need to say I can deal with, but just don’t walk away this time before we’ve both had a chance to talk this out together. I’ve missed my best friend Dec, but what hurt the most was that you didn’t give me the opportunity to discuss anything with you. If you really want to go over old ground then it’s important we get this straight now, and you promise we both have our say.”

He looks so sincere when he answers me. His eyes are glassy, and he’s clenching his jaw. A mixture of pain, and resolve is etched on his face.

“I fucking promise sweetheart. I won’t EVER walk away from you again without hashing it out. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for, and I promise, if you let me talk to you I’ll do whatever I can to make this shit better. You’re right. I should have given you that chance back then, but I can’t change that now. All I can do is promise that in the future I’ll hear you out. Does that work for you? ”

Standing, I walk to my dresser, and open my jewellery box pulling out my spare key. Handing it to Dec I try to stay strong. I don’t want to cry all over him again. Goddammit I’m a grown ass woman now. Keep your shit together Kendall, I curse internally. I hate showing him the weak side of me. I thought I was doing so well all of these years, but obviously it only takes one heart-to-heart with Dec to prove my progress wasn’t quite as dramatic as I thought.

“Use this if I’m not here later. There’s plenty of food in the fridge. Lexi’s stuff is in the cabinet next to the sink, and there’s extra beer in the laundry cupboard for you if the fridge is getting low.”

Standing next to me and pulling me in for another quick hug Dec turns to leave, but not before adding,

“We’ll talk tonight Kendall I promise.” And I believe him. Especially because this time when he walks out I know he isn’t walking away.

Hindsight isn’t twenty-twenty. It’s a straight up, no holds barred nasty bitch. To say it is twenty-twenty only proves someone’s naivety. It’s looking at things in a positive light after the fact and that’s easy to do. Whatever has happened is over and done with by then, and most probably on its way to being forgotten. In my case; I have nothing to view as positive, and I’m damn sure that I’ll never be able to forget.

That being said, if I look back on that conversation, and employ the principle of hindsight; I wish I had held Dec a little longer that morning. Hugged him back tighter even. I wish I’d told Dec how much I love him, and wanted the chance to explore things between us. Maybe. One day. In hindsight I wish for more time. Time to talk. Time to get things straightened out. Time to be friends again. Time to just be.

Now? Now all I have is hindsight, and isn’t that fucking ironic. The one thing I don’t believe is positive has become my only safe harbour. It’s the only thing keeping my mind from turning to darker places filled with demons, and regret. It has given me time to think of all things that could have been. Those thoughts are both depressing and uplifting. Depressing because I’ll never get a chance to make them happen, but uplifting because those fantasies give me a place to escape into when things are at their worst.

Less than twenty minutes after Declan and Alexis Rose left that morning my life changed forever. How completely that change alters me I don’t know quite yet. What I do know is that it will undoubtedly impact me for the rest of my life. A wholly different Kendall will emerge from the ruins after what’s happened to me here. How damaged I’ll be when I return to my family I don’t know either. I can only assume that they will be finding pieces of me for a long time to come. I don’t even know at this point IF I’ll be returned to them.

The last thing I remember from that morning I was taken? When I was taken from my home. Taken from my family, and Lexi. Taken from Dec. Was the painful burn of the needle piercing my neck followed by a warm rush of liquid through my veins that made my limbs heavy and my heart slow. My eyelids began to shut of their own accord, and for a brief second I wondered if they would ever open again. Unfortunately to my horror when I awoke here I found myself praying to go back in time and make it so they didn’t. I never wanted to open my eyes again if this was all I had to look forward to.

The only thing I feel now is numb. It’s the only way I can protect myself. Especially when my mind is the only thing left whole. My body is broken. I know this with everything I am. Maybe not irreparably right now, but soon I have no doubt that will change. I refuse to live in fear though, so numb became the better alternative.

My arm is at an angle that isn’t natural. My body is covered in contusions and bruises. I don’t know how large they it is so dark in here that I can barely make out my own feet. I can assume they are the size of large men’s’ fists. I’m finding it hard to breathe. A few ribs are cracked at least, if not broken. Just like me. I’m sure I have dried blood from the gash on the back of my head coating my neck and shoulders. I can feel the crust of it start to loosen as I move my neck from side to side. Blood is visible on my wrists from where the metal shackles are fastened to tightly, and I spent days early on desperately yanking on them to try to break free. And my eyes, they are surely as black as they once were green.

I’ve been held captive here for six months, two days, and fourteen hours. How do I know this? I know because my captors take great pleasure in reminding me daily how long I’ve been at their mercy. They taunt me with the knowledge I won’t be found. That no one will save me because no one can find me here. I don’t know where here is, but I damn sure know it’s as close to hell as a person can get while their heart still beats in their chest.

As broken as I am, and as much as they’ve taken from me. There’s one thing I will never give them. That they will never be able to take. My memories. The memory of sweet Lexi’s smile. The way my dad’s eyes crease at the sides when he looks at me. The feel of my mom’s arms around me when I needed a hug. The memories of my Uncles laughter. And Dec. ALL my memories of Dec have become sacred, playing on a constant loop. These memories keep me fighting to survive, to stay sane, stay lucid, and hopefully together enough that one day, if I’m released from my concrete prison, I’ll be able to go home with my mind not fractured into pieces.

Everyone will be looking for me and they’ll never stop, not until I’m found. Sometimes in my darkest moments I wish they would stop looking. Save themselves the sorrow of searching for someone one they’ll probably never find. Then there’s the rest of the time where I wish for nothing more than for someone to rescue me. When I feel the loneliness creeping in, taking over I picture the end. How this scenario will play out for the people that took me. In those minutes I pray it’s quick, that they don’t make me suffer. But…

I’m strong. I’m a fighter. I am Kendall Bethany Jacobs, and I hope I’m a survivor.

6 months 3 days after Kendall’s disappearance…

I wake up shaking and sweating, I’m saturated, and my sheets are wet. This isn’t a new occurrence. It isn’t even a rare one. The nightmares are getting worse. I’ve tried drinking until I pass out. I’ve tried smoking so much weed I want to float away on the cloud of smoke it leaves in its wake, but nothing helps. I don’t think there’s anything that will be able to dull the pain of losing her.

Kendall disappeared over six months ago now, and people are starting to lose hope. Not me. I‘ll never lose hope that we’ll find my beautiful girl. That she’ll come back to me, so I can hold her again. Tell her how much I love her like I should have done the day she was taken.

The MC has spent fucking months chasing every lead we’ve been fed. Tracked down every fucker that may hold a grudge against the MC in general, brothers, a fucking family member, or even people that might have even just met Kendall in passing sometime and taken a dislike to her. We’ve even cooperated with the cops during the investigation into Kendall’s disappearance. They interviewed the whole club. All of the Ol ladies, Kendall’s friends, and people that worked in the places she used to go. Nothing. No word. No clue. Not a trace.

Time is running out. I’ve heard the whispers. Heard people saying she’s probably long dead by now. When the rumours and speculation flies I watch my daughter withdraw into herself more and more every day. In the beginning Lexi cried all the time. It broke my fucking heart to see her so sad and lost. I tried telling her we’d find her that Kendall will come back, but there was nothing I could do to truly convince Lexi of that. Shit. I had a hard enough time convincing myself sometimes. After a while I could still hear her sniffling at night in her bed, but she got quieter during the day. Lexi played by herself. She didn’t jump round and sing all the time anymore. Not only had we lost Kendall, but in some ways I was losing my little girl too.

Thank fuck that during all this, Isabella the cunt, did what she agreed to. She signed the papers, took the cash, and cleared out. I was serious when I told her I’d make her pay if she didn’t, and seeing the state of the brothers and I, I like to think that Isabella knew if she pushed the point she’d likely get her fucking head caved in.

I watch Brenna cry daily along with the other ol ladies. They cling to each other like that will somehow make their suffering any less. I’ve even witnessed my dad and Priest shed a few tears of their own. I refuse to give into them. They’re right there. Clogging my throat, and burning my eyes, but I won’t let them win. My tears are not going to fall. Not today anyway.

Instead, I fight. I drink. I chain smoke. I smoke too much weed, and I search. That’s all my days consist of now. My single-minded focus and determination is what gets me through. Searching. Planning. Tracking. Scouring every street, back alley, shelter, and hospital from here to Denver. I keep meticulous notes, details of everything. Who I spoke to. When I was there. Where I need to go next. I vow to myself, my daughter, her parents, and the club that I’ll bring Kendall home if it’s the last thing I do.

1 month later…

My phone is ringing. The fucking thing is goin off again. This is the third time in the last ten minutes it’s vibrated and clanged its way across my bedside table. I have no desire to move to get it, or open my fucking eyes. My desire to do anything that’s non-essential, anything that’s not breath, eat occasionally, care for my daughter, or piss gets ignored or forgotten.

I don’t sleep anymore, and when I do its’ fear filled agony. I think not sleeping is the better option. When the visions I’m faced with create nothing but terror, and bone deep dread. The dreams leave me feeling all kinds of fucked up for most of the day, and afterwards I regret ever closing my eyes in the first place. Nightmares of where Kendall might be, and what is happening to her are the most common. My sleep deprived brain has run through every scenario imaginable. Is she being fed? Are they hurting her, torturing her? Have they violated her? That question fucks with my head the most.

Seven days after Kendall disappeared, I walked into the office to find Arrow screaming at dad. He shut up immediately, which was fucking odd. Brothers don’t censor their shit around other brothers. Dad demand an explanation on what the fuck his deal is, rightly so. Shockingly, that’s when Arrow broke down and cried like a bitch. I’ve never seen the guy shed a tear before, so I remember thinking this must be some serious shit he’s got weighing on his shoulders. Arrow pulled himself together after a couple of minutes.

“We’ve got to fucking find her soon, Pipe. Fuck. It’s probably too fucking late already.”

“What’s too fucking late? What are you fucking talking about brother? We’ll find her boy. Without a doubt, we’ll find her.” My dad replies.

Standing up quickly knocking his chair over in the process, Arrow bellows, “Fuck. She’s going to fucking kill me when she comes home for telling you this but I’ve got to. I don’t have the right to hold on to this anymore.”

A red haze invades my vision and clouds not only my mind, but my ability to think rationally too. Grabbing Arrow around the throat, I shoved him against the wall tightening my fist until my knuckles begin to turn white. “Tell me everything you fucking know. If you know where she is you tell me fucking now brother. I don’t give a fuck what you’re hiding, but you better come out with it in the next five seconds before I fucking bury your ass,” I roar.

Arrows face is beyond red, it’s travelling into the purple category. Yanking me back sharply, dad speaks in low even tones but his message is clearly delivered. “Reign it in son. He’s not stupid enough to have known where our girl is and not say anything. Are you brother?”

Shaking his head Arrow slumps down the wall elbows to his cocked knees taking deep breaths as he rasps out,

“Fuck no. I don’t know where she is I swear. If I did I’d have got her ass back my damn self. Fuck you Cage. I’d never hide that shit from a brother. If I knew I’d tell you. Not only for your sake, but for Lexi’s too.” I don’t reply I just motion with my hand for him to keep talking. “Look, a while ago Kendall and I were drinkin at Rough Shod. We ended up pretty fucking wasted.” Seeing the look on my face Arrow laughs humourlessly. “No fucker. Nothing happened. I would never touch Kendall like that. She’s a good girl, and far too good, especially for the likes of me. That night she was three sheets to the wind and accidentally let slip she was still a virgin.”

What. The. Fuck. I knew my beautiful girl was innocent, but a virgin? Kendall is stunning, by far the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Top that off with her beautiful personality and big fucking heart, and she’s nearly too good to be true. My girl is untouched, and knowing that only adds another layer to the beauty and complexity that is Kendall. I revelled in this thought for all of a minute until I realise what Arrow’s worried about.

Cursing under my breath I ask,

“Brother are you and I on the same page here? I assume you’re telling us this because the thought has crossed your mind that she may not still be that way when we find her.”

Pulling at his hair he confirms my fears. He is indeed thinking about the same thing.

“Yeah Cage I’m fucking worried about it. She’s fucking pure as the driven snow man. I’m not saying being violated would be any easier for anyone else, but fuck Cage, Kendall? She doesn’t have any experience and has never had a man. How the fuck is she deal with that?”

“Shut the fuck up. Right the fuck now!” My anger has hit an all-time high. I’m actually concerned now that I might not be able to control myself if Arrow says any more than he already has.

As VP dad butts in bellowing. His face is red, and knuckles are white where he’s gripping the side of Priests desk.

“Listen up assholes. I don’t want to hear that shit. EVER. Not only do I not need to know that the little girl that’s like my own fucking daughter is a virgin, but I also don’t need to be thinking about that kind of shit stuck on repeat in my fucking head either, and neither do you two. You’re going to keep your mouth shut about this. Both of you. You mention a word of this to Priest, and I’ll put you both to ground.” Shaking his head sadly he goes on, “While she’s like my daughter she IS Priest’s daughter, and that shit will fucking gut him. He definitely doesn’t need to be fed any more ideas to cultivate in his already overcrowded head. No one needs to worry about anything that doesn’t directly involve getting that girl back here in one piece anyway yeah?” I agree. Getting Kendall back is the most important thing, but fuck if that shit Arrow said hasn’t stuck in my head and fucked with me every day since. Regardless of what my girl’s gone through, we’ll get her back, and put her back together again. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, or how long I have to wait for her to heal. I’ll wait forever.

My foggy brain is slow to respond, but my arm finally reaches out to snag the loud piece of shit from my bedside table. Whoever it is isn’t going to give up any time soon, so I might as well put myself out of my misery and answer the damn thing.

“Lo’”. My greeting comes out as a barely audible rumble grating along my throat. Fuck. I’ve got to stop smoking so much. This shit is seriously fucking with me.

“Is this Mr Declan Marks?” The prim voice on the other end of the phone enquires.

“Yeah. Who’s asking?” Rude? Maybe. But fuck its seven AM. I think I’ve had about two hours sleep all up in the last thirty-six hours. So she’ll just have to excuse me.

“This is Jenifer Phillips calling from Mercy Urgent Care Centre in Clearwater. If Mr Marks is available could you please put him on the phone?” Clearly she didn’t hear me say I’m him. That, or she just ignored my ass.

My ears prick up at the sound of a Hospital calling me.

“Speaking. What’s this about?” I don’t know anyone in Clearwater that would have me down as a contact for medical reasons. My brain is scrambling for some sort of clue or reminder that I’ve forgotten a distant relative out that way.

“Mr Marks. We have a patient here that requires medical intervention, and you’re the only name we have managed to ascertain as yet.” Medical intervention? Is that code for someone needs help, and it’s just being prettied up with big words? Probably. All these doctor and nurse types do that shit all the time. Your leg might be falling the fuck off, but they would tell you, you require treatment or some shit.

“Look lady. I don’t know anyone in that area. I’m out in Blackwater and my family’s all lives here. Who’s this patient that needs intervention or whatever the fuck you just called it?” A pause over the line, and some shuffling of papers followed by a few identity questions to confirm who the fuck I am before she finally starts to explain why she woke me the fuck up in the first place.

Honestly no one would want to pretend to be me at the moment anyway. There was no way anyone would steal my identity just to have a discussion about an unknown dude, in a hospital somewhere, at seven-fucking-AM. In the just over seven months since Kendall disappeared I’ve put on twenty pounds of muscle. At least. That takes me up to a solid two hundred and sixty pounds of unadulterated barely contained rage. And that’s on a good day. I’ve also added a few, code for a lot, of extra scars to my knuckles from beating the shit out of the heavy bags every chance I get, and I almost stopped talking completely. When I do, I’m usually just yelling at some poor fucker, venting my frustration and anger on people that don’t deserve it. Unless it’s Lexi, Brenna, dad, or Priest I don’t bother initiating a conversation, or taking part in one if I’m around.

After Kendall had been missing for a month I commissioned Reaper to do a full back piece tattoo for me. It took ten hours, and hurt like a bitch. It didn’t compare with the pain in my heart so I didn’t bother making mention of it. A detailed fairy in black and grey scale, with Kendall’s face, Kendall’s long ass hair, and her name scrolling across my ribs now permanently marks my torso. Covering from the top of both shoulders, down to the base of my spine. It’s perfect. Strangely I feel closer to Kendall with what I consider her ink under my skin. I can’t explain it adequately, but it’s like carrying a small piece of her with me.

The only bright spot in the last seven months that comes to mind is two months after Kendall was taken when Lou gave birth to her and Billy’s little girl. Anna Kendall Andrews was born on the nineteenth of September at five-AM, screaming and hollering, with a temper as fiery as her mothers. Lexi fell in love with Anna on the spot, and the only tear I’ve cried to date was the one I cried when Lou told me Anna’s full name.

The months that followed little Anna’s arrival consisted of more of the same as before it. No leads. No information. No fucking trace of Kendall anywhere. The cops in Blackwater, Clearwater, Boulder, and Denver know nothing. Even the ones on our payroll haven’t been able to gather anything other what we’ve know from the beginning. Other MC’s we’re friendly with, and traded in favours we’ve accumulated from cleaning up their shit know nothing either.

I try to refocus on this bitch on the other end of the phone.

“Now you know everything but my fucking shoe size lady, so who’s this patient that needs intervention?” Clearing her throat signals she’s finally going to begin. All I can think is please, fuck, let her spit it out so I can try and get another few minutes of shut eye in. That’ll probably earn me some bad karma, but I’m willing to risk it if that means I get half an hour more sleep.

“Unfortunately I don’t have a name for you Mr Marks. The patient was brought in unconscious and unresponsive. Due to the severity of the injuries sustained our doctors thought it best to continue a medically induced coma until the worst of the pain the patient would suffer subsided.”

Cutting her off because fuck if I’m not frustrated with this shit already I ask,

“Can we get to it? I don’t have all day. What injuries, and how the fuck do you know this person knows me if they aren’t even awake?” I snap out.

“Yes Mr Marks I’m getting to that. You need to understand why we haven’t contacted you before now however.” Continuing she adds, “The patient has been with us for two and a half weeks now, and has only just woken up three days ago. The first thing spoken was your name before the patient lost consciousness again. We assumed you’re an important person as patients often say the most integral person in their lives name when waking from a coma.” Going on she lays out a list of injuries most men in Devil’s Spawn wouldn’t survive. “The list of injuries is long Mr Marks so please bear with me. The most critical of which are a punctured lung that was caused by five broken ribs. A broken left arm that is fractured in seven separate places. This was repaired by fitting a plate and some pins during surgery. The patient has three gunshot wounds in total. One to the thigh. One to the upper left arm, and one that grazed the right side of the abdomen. These have been seen to and stitched immediately.” Holy shit. Poor fucking bastard is all I can think when I conjure the image of what this guy has undergone. “In conjunction with these injuries we have also treated for a broken nose, a fractured ocular cavity, and we stitched a large laceration on the back of the scalp that required seventeen stitches. Thankfully this scar can be hidden in the hairline, but that is neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things.”

No shit lady. A fucking scar is nothing when I comes to that laundry list of injuries. The guy is just lucky to be alive by the sounds of it. “The patients’ status is currently critical, but stable and the long term prognosis is positive. However, rehabilitation will be necessary to regain proper use of the left arm, and the risk of infection due to the gunshots is still quite high. We are trying to combat that by administering a cocktail of antibiotics. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to obtain the patients name as yet. That’s where we hope you can help. We need to contact the next of kin as soon as possible to make sure we can provide the patient with the best possible support during recovery. As I’m sure you will understand with this list of injuries, these were certainly not caused by an accident. This amount of damage could only have been caused by repeated abuse over an elongated period of time.”

And it clicks. FUCK ME! Panting heavily, barely able to catch my breath, my chest is tight, and I swear that shrivelled fucker I call a heart has woken the fuck up after laying dormant for what feels like ever. I can’t seem to manage more than a harsh whisper when I ask,

“Please. Fuck me. Please. Can you describe the patient you’re talking about?”

I seriously can’t fucking breathe right now. It feels like my lungs are collapsing in on themselves.