CHAINED: A Motorcycle Club Romance (20 page)

If this damn girl had talked to one of the officers under Archon's thumb, he wouldn't have any problem making the report simply vanish. A thick envelope of bills, placed into the right hands, could go a long way towards making sure that any filed paperwork became immediately and permanently misplaced.

If she'd spoken with one of the officers he hadn't managed to bribe or corrupt, however...

Archon realized that the man on the other end of the line had fallen silent, waiting for a response. "Yes, I'd like to speak with her myself before you kill her," he said quickly, making his decision. "Hold her captive, and I'll be by shortly."

He groaned and rubbed at his temple again. "And for god's sake, make sure she doesn't fucking slip away again," he snarled, before hanging up the call.

For several seconds after ending the call, Archon sat at his desk and gazed down at where he'd set the phone. Although he appeared motionless, he mentally ran through different scenarios, trying to play out all the angles.

He still had things under control, he told himself. This was just one girl, and now that she'd been recaptured, she would shortly find herself with a new hole in her head, and severely lacking in any remaining brain matter. He still had all of the other girls, and his supplier assured him that it wouldn't take long to bring in a fresh replacement. He was always having to acquire new product, anyway, and this simply slightly advanced the timetable.

If this damn girl had actually managed to leak some of his operation details, well, how much could she truly tell? She didn't know the location of his warehouse, or the names of any of the men immediately connected with the brothel. She might be able to point a finger at Archon himself - he dimly remembered using her body once or twice - but that was all hearsay, and no judge would ever accept it in a court.

Whatever officer had taken the girl's statement would have little more than a witness report - and very shortly, he would have no actual witness. With the girl gone, Archon knew that the report would soon vanish into a sea of discarded junk, even if he didn't help it along with a few bribes.

He still had everything under control. This episode would soon be concluded, and he'd be back to his usual profits.

Archon used the intercom on his desk to call down to the valet service in his building, instructing them to bring his car around. "No, I don't need a driver today," he informed them. "I'll be driving myself - I have a few personal errands to run."

Once the car was on its way, he stood up, picking up his jacket from where he'd draped it over the back of his chair. He turned to head towards the door, but then paused, glancing over at one side of his expansive, severely but expensively decorated office.

After a moment, he stepped over to a wall panel on that side of the office, which he slid aside. He entered a combination into the revealed keypad and opened a wall safe, hidden behind a false panel. The safe was perfectly disguised, and no intruder would even have suspected this wall panel of opening.

From inside, Archon withdrew a semiautomatic pistol in blued steel. He checked the magazine, ejecting it from the gun and making sure that it was fully loaded with ammunition. He cocked the gun, making sure that the slide moved smoothly. Only once he was satisfied did he tuck the weapon into the waistband of his dress slacks. He pulled the jacket over the gun, glancing around at his back to make sure that no bulge was visible.

Archon didn't believe that he'd need to use the gun, but over the years, the billionaire had learned that it never hurt to be over-prepared. Besides, he had all the necessary permits for the weapon, and it was completely legal for him to carry it, for any reason he chose.

Besides, he thought to himself with a dark little smile as he stepped into the elevator, maybe he would choose to put the bullet in this bitch's head himself. After all the trouble she'd ended up causing him, she deserved a personal touch.

And he would make sure that she screamed and begged for mercy before he pulled the trigger.

Chapter thirty-two

When his car pulled up to the warehouse, Archon frowned at the sliding garage door for a moment before it finally began to sluggishly open. Idiots, he thought to himself. They should have started raising the door as soon as they saw his car approaching up the driveway.

As he pulled inside, he noted dispassionately that at least the men seemed to appear more alert and on guard than usual. He had chastised Bulldog several times about the lax attitude of his men, but the underling had clearly never bothered to pass on Archon's criticisms to his subordinates. He was not, Archon reflected, a good leader.

What Bulldog was good at doing, however, was finding people and killing them violently. And that, above all, was what Archon needed from him.

The men stood at attention around the sides of the chamber, dressed in dark fatigues, with black knitted caps and an assortment of weapons in their hands. Most of them carried either a shotgun or a rifle, Archon noted, and they all had pistols strapped to their belts as well. He didn't recognize the faces, but he approved of the upright stances and how the men clearly came to attention as the car pulled into the warehouse.

In front of the car... Archon's eyes swung back forward as he turned off the engine. The men had dragged a desk chair with arms out into the middle of the open space, and there, strapped in and bound by both wrists and ankles, was the bitch, Jenna, who had caused him so many problems.

There was no mistaking the girl, even with her head slumped forward so that her reddish-blonde hair fell across her face. Behind the wheel, Archon smiled, although there was no trace of humor in his expression. This was a smile of grim satisfaction that, very shortly, this whole matter would be concluded.

One of the men stepped forward, holding the door open so that Archon could climb out. For a moment, the eyebrows rose on the millionaire's face. What in the world had gotten into Bulldog? These men actually appeared well-behaved!

He glanced around the open area, and wrinkled his nose. If only he could say the same about the area, he thought to himself. There were several dark stains discoloring the concrete floor, scattered about, and some faint but unpleasant odor hung in the air. Archon couldn't quite place the smell, but it was quite disagreeable.

"So, you've got her out here - I assume that means that there are no clients, and the rest of the girls are put away?" he asked as he emerged from the car, not bothering with any greetings. He looked around for Bulldog. He at least remembered the man's jowly face that had earned him that unfortunate nickname.

"Don't worry, sir - the girls are all out of earshot, and there's no one here but us," said one of the men, stepping forward. "No one for miles, sir."

Archon glanced over at the speaker, sizing him up. The man was quite tall, easily six feet, but his body was corded with a layer of powerful muscles. There was some gray in his hair, and Archon pegged his age at somewhere in his early forties, but he still looked strong and capable. His dark eyes glinted with some emotion that the millionaire couldn't identify. He wore a pistol strapped to his hip, like the others, but didn't appear to carry any other weapon.

Although he couldn't remember seeing this man before, Archon gave him the customary nod that superiors give to those beneath them. "Good, good," he said, returning his attention back to the girl slumped in the chair. "Now, let's see if we can get some answers out of this bitch, shall we?"

He turned and gave an exaggerated wink to one of the men standing at attention behind the girl's chair. "Maybe, if she cooperates, we'll even let her go," he lied smoothly, hoping that Jenna was conscious enough to gain some false hope.

Sitting in the chair, the girl finally raised her head up so that her eyes met the millionaire's. Before he could regain control, James Archon took a half-step back, caught off guard by the intensity of hatred blazing in the girl's eyes. She didn't look scared at all!

Hatred, that was the emotion he hadn't been able to place earlier! Archon suddenly felt a moment of confusion - a rare feeling for the usually confident millionaire and CEO. Blinking, he broke away from the girl's hate-filled stare, turning back to the middle-aged man who had spoken to him earlier. He opened his mouth to speak, but never managed to get a word out.

Archon turned around to face the man behind him just in time to see a fist, airborne and headed straight towards his face. For just a second, he felt the blow connect, felt pain splinter across his face as something in his nose made a dreadful crunching sound.

Fortunately for the millionaire, he blacked out before he hit the ground.

#

A splash of cold water hit Archon directly in the face, and he sputtered and coughed as his eyes fluttered open. He immediately regretted the cough, as the momentary spasm of his throat and cheeks sent a wave of pain shooting through his face, radiating out from his nose.

That man had punched him in the nose! Archon's eyes shot open as he suddenly remembered. He'd turned around, just in time for the man to cold-cock him right in the face! And then he'd started to fall backwards, and then-

And then his mind went blank, until now.

With his eyes open, Archon could see that he was now sitting in a chair, facing the front of his car. It took him a moment to line up the dots, but he realized with a thrill of panic that he was now sitting in the same place where, up until he'd taken a punch, Jenna had been bound and placed.

What the hell was going on? His eyes flicked back and forth, trying to make sense of the last few minutes.

The other men that he'd observed were still standing around, although they'd clearly dropped the "at attention" bit. One of them was even smoking a cigarette indoors! Archon opened his mouth to snap at the man and leaned forward, planning on standing up to knock the cigarette out of the idiot's hand.

It was then that the millionaire made his second disturbing realization.

He couldn't stand up; rough braided plastic rope bound his wrists and ankles to the chair. He was effectively trussed and immobilized - and someone had relieved him of his gun.

"Well, well, look who's awake."

Archon recognized the voice. Turning his head, he saw the same middle-aged man who had sucker punched him sauntering over, also slouching a little and no longer standing expressly at attention. He strolled over and stopped in front of the millionaire's chair, looking down at him with a mixture of hatred and amusement on his face.

"Glad of you to rejoin us," he went on. "I was starting to worry that I'd punched you too hard, did some sort of brain damage."

The seated man opened his mouth, intending to blast this arrogant ass and put him in his place. How dare he tie up someone of his power, someone who owned him and all his companions! He'd be fired for this - no, he'd get so much worse! Whether he wanted a ransom or just some sort of payoff, he would get it - and then James Archon would ensure that he next received a bullet to the back of the head, or maybe a knife blade to the ribs.

At least, that was what James intended to tell the man. He didn't get more than a word or two out before the man, without any change in expression, lazily reached out and slapped the millionaire's face hard enough to slam his jaw shut and leave his ears ringing.

"Shut up," the man suggested, a little unnecessarily, as James tried to recover from the pain of the latest blow. "You clearly don't know just how much shit you've fallen into, do you?"

The question was clearly rhetorical, but James still opened his mouth - and again closed it, this time as Jenna herself stepped into view from behind him.

His male captor smiled at Jenna, and this time his smile was filled with genuine warmth, even affection. All of that emotion drained away as soon as his eyes returned to the bound captive, however.

"And now," the man said, "I'd like for you to tell us everything."

And James talked.

Chapter thirty-three

Eventually, the millionaire James Archon talked.

Oh, he didn't do so immediately. At first, he shouted out proud defiance, spat at his captors, threatened them with various punishments. He warned them just how dead they would be, and lied that, if they let him go immediately, he might forget about this affront for just long enough to give them a head start on running. He ranted about how he knew many other powerful people, and how even if they killed him, they'd be buried so deep in an ocean of shit that they wouldn't even know which way to swim to reach the surface.

The man in front of him just listened impassively as he ranted. Occasionally, one of the guards standing behind the middle-aged man would snicker at one of the comments.

Eventually, however, the man in front of him appeared to grow tired of listening to these insults hurtled into his face. He reached for a knife strapped to his belt opposite the pistol, but then paused.

"You might want to step outside for this part," he said to Jenna, who had remained standing beside him, still glaring with burning fury at James.

The girl just transferred her flat gaze over to the middle-aged man. "I'm not going anywhere," she stated. "I'm going to watch him suffer for everything he did to me, and I'm going to enjoy watching."