BULLET: Lords of Carnage MC Page 14

  “Well, I mean… I’m gonna have to tell Chance, Dez, and everyone else my real name, and what my story is.” Somehow, even though the danger was over weeks ago, I haven’t been able to bring myself to do this yet. The thought of what their reactions might be has stopped me every time. “I’ll have to tell them I’ve been lying to them all this time,” I continue, feeling sick. “Maybe they won’t trust me once they know. After all, they’re going to find out I’ve been a stranger all along. What if they don’t want to know the real me?”

  “They already know you, babe,” he says softly. “A name’s just a name. They’ll adjust. Besides, didn’t you say Hannah already knows your story?”

  “Only the bare bones,” I protest. “Besides, even I didn’t know the real reason Flash was stalking me when I told her. I just told her I had a crazy ex-boyfriend.”

  “Have faith in them. They’re not gonna think any different of you.”

  I sigh and snuggle against him, still doubtful but wanting to believe him. “Maybe you’re right,” I murmur softly.

  Maybe nothing has to change. Maybe Bullet’s right, and I can just go on living my life here in Tanner Springs as Stacia Edison, formerly known as Six. A month ago, that would have been an unimaginable dream come true. A fantasy that I could barely ever hope to attain. But now…

  A normal life. The chance to put down roots. To have real friends. Friends I don’t have to keep any secrets from.

  It’s almost too perfect. Just about everything I want out of life, handed to me on a silver platter. Except for one thing.

  Now that it’s all over, I don’t know where Bullet and I stand. He’s helped me get my life back, and I’ve never been more grateful to anyone than I am to him.

  But as he takes me in his arms again, I realize it’s more than that. It’s more than gratitude I feel for him. More than sexual attraction, too, although there’s certainly that.

  The fact is… I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen in love with him.

  Bullet is an enigma. Charming and cocky, brooding and closed off. He’s kind when I expect him to be hard, rough and demanding in a way I’ve never known before and have come to crave. His eyes bore into my soul when he takes my body. The touch of his tongue on my lips is electric. The rough slide of his thumb against my clit sends me into spasms of pure pleasure. I’ve come to trust him more than I’ve ever trusted any man — hell, more than any person — I’ve ever known.

  And yet, I have no idea how he feels about me. Not really.

  When I was still worrying about how long I’d have before I’d be forced to leave Tanner Springs, the question of how I felt about him was one I refused to let enter my mind.

  But now? I can’t push it away anymore. I’m lost to him. I’m lost to this.

  That night — exhausted by everything that’s happened that day — I sleep the sleep of the dead. As I drift off, feeling safe and warm in Bullet’s arms, I allow myself to believe in a future for us. Just for tonight. Even as I tell myself that whatever has already happened between us is enough.

  It will have to be enough, if he doesn’t feel the same way.

  The next morning, I wake up, and it seems like everything has already changed.

  Bullet isn’t lying beside me. Instead, he’s already dressed and standing in the bedroom doorway, his leather cut covering the muscled shoulders that only last night I gripped as I came in his arms.

  “You’re awake,” I mumble, heaving myself into a sitting position as I draw the covers up around my breasts. I push a messy lock of hair out of my eyes and take him in. “Is something wrong?”

  In two strides, he’s crossed the room and sits down on the edge of the bed beside me. There’s a grim look on his face that I’ve never seen before. Not even when he was dealing with Flash and the others.

  “Six. Stacia. Dammit, I don’t know what to call you anymore.” His frustration is an impatient storm on his face.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I glance down, and notice his phone is in his hand.

  “Nothing’s wrong, exactly. I just have something to ask you.” He rubs a hand roughly over his face. If he slept last night, it doesn’t show, because he looks exhausted. “A favor, I guess. And I hate like hell to do it.”

  My heart sinks slowly down to my stomach. Though I tell myself I have no right to be upset.

  Bullet helped me.

  Now he’s asking for me to pay him back.

  Tit for tat. Quid pro quo. That’s all it is.

  I don’t even hesitate. Because I do owe him. I owe him my life, in more ways than one.

  But also because I’d do anything for him. Anything to be near him.

  “Of course,” I say around the lump forming in my throat. “Anything you need.”

  20

  Six

  “You won’t be in any danger,” Bullet assures me. “I’ll make sure of that.”

  All the way to the clubhouse on the back of his bike, Bullet had kept silent about what he was about to ask me to do. He told me he wanted to explain the whole thing here, with the other Lords around. He said it would help me understand what the plan was, and what my role would be if I accepted it. Bullet assured me that once I’d heard everything and asked all the questions I wanted to, I could refuse if I wanted to, and he wouldn’t ask me twice.

  But one look at the creases of exhaustion on his forehead — the rough, angry way he runs his hand through his close-cropped hair — and I know I’ll say yes. No matter what he’s about to ask me. Because I might not know Bullet all that well, and I don’t know exactly where we stand. But I do know that he wouldn’t ask a hard thing of me unless he really needed it.

  “So… you want me to pretend to be… what? A prostitute?” My mouth stumbles over the word as I look around the room. I scan the faces of the Lords present — men I’m only just barely coming to know. There’s Tank and Striker, who I first met at the Smiling Skull. There’s also Lug Nut, Gunner, and Hawk. All of them, Bullet has told me, are working with him to bring down the man he calls Ellis Strickland.

  “Not a prostitute,” Bullet corrects me. “A decoy.”

  “To help you find your stepfather.”

  “We’ve found him already,” Tank chimes in. “More or less, anyway. We’ve got a guy who’s made contact for us. We just need to get at him in person. This is the best way we’ve figured out to do that.”

  “Why is it so hard to meet with him?” I search Bullet’s features.

  “Ellis — he goes by Edge, now — is cagey. He’s careful about who he meets with, for good reason. The shit he gets up to is dangerous. He’s made a lot of enemies.” Bullet shows his teeth in a rictus of a smile that makes my blood run cold. “And he’s under the protection of a powerful criminal organization that we can’t go head to head with. You don’t need to know who that is. So we need to figure out a different way to smoke him out into the open. Something that will get him to let his guard down.”

  “Me,” I supply quietly.

  “Not you in person. Pictures of you.” Bullet pauses, a flick of what looks like regret crossing his face. “But yeah. One of Edge’s current businesses is supplying rich, depraved fuckers with pretty young women they can take their pleasure with. These clients of his have some very… particular tastes. So, going through the usual channels is risky for them.”

  “What do you mean, particular tastes?”

  Bullet’s jaw works as he mulls his words. It’s clear he’s struggling to think of a way to put this.

  “Let’s just say… the girls they supply tend to be young, with no family or connections. Kids who aren’t likely to be missed.”

  Oh my God. “Are you saying… what I think you’re saying?” I choke.

  Bullet’s eyes lock on mine. His pupils are dark as coal. “Yeah, I am. His clients get off on torture. Rape. Using the girls like objects, to do with them what they please. Then discarding them if necessary.”

  “And as you can imagine,” Lug Nut growls in a deep voice, “the human garbage that likes that shit will pay huge money for it. This Edge guy has found himself quite a fuckin’ cash cow.”

  “And you want me to pose for photos to lure him in?” I’m suddenly freezing, as though the temperature has dropped fifty degrees in this room. I hug my arms to my chest to ward off the chill, but it’s no use. The cold is coming from inside me.

  “Nothing too racy. Just enough to convince them you exist, and you’re up for sale.” Bullet reaches out, cupping his hand gently under my chin. “You’re never in any danger, Six. You won’t get anywhere near them. We just need to convince them that we have a product worth selling.”

  And I’m the product.

  A tremor goes through me as I contemplate his words. I knew, abstractly, that such dark corners of the world exist. But as much as my life has brushed against certain criminal elements, I’ve never been exposed to anything as horrible as this. It’s almost impossible for me to wrap my head around the fact that a man like this was once Bullet’s stepfather. The thought of such a man looking at photographs of me — licking his lips, imagining how much money he could make from selling me off to one of his monstrous clients — sends my stomach churning. For a few seconds, I think I might vomit. I suck in a breath, then another, trying to calm my suddenly racing pulse.

  But then I remember that there are actual girls out there who are being sold to these predators by him. Those girls are actually being beaten, tortured, raped. Killed, even.

  I’m just being asked to provide a few pictures as bait. To help them catch him.

  “What will you do with him when you get him?” I whisper.

  “Stop him.” His voice is cold as steel. “Finish him.”

  Blinking, I gaze up into his eyes. The expression I see there is so flat, s
o dead, it tells me more than words ever could. They’re the eyes of a man who feels no remorse. Who will stop at nothing until his own justice, his own vengeance, has been served.

  The other men are silent. All of them look at me, expectantly.

  I know Bullet won’t ask me twice if I say no.

  But I also know that’s not an option for me.

  “When do we start?” I ask.

  * * *

  They bring in a woman to take the pictures. Her name is Samantha, and Bullet introduces her to me as Hawk’s old lady. She’s a professional photographer in town. She’s stunningly beautiful, with glossy black hair and dark eyes. She also looks to be about four or five months pregnant.

  “Thought it’d be easier for you if it was a woman,” Bullet says gently. “And she’ll know what to do. How to make the photos look authentic. Convincing.”

  “Call me Sam,” Samantha smiles. She produces a plastic bag and hands it to me. “I brought some clothes for you to change into. We’ll go into one of the back rooms to do the shoot. It’ll be just you and me, so don’t be nervous. It’ll go quickly, I promise.”

  I take the bag and peer into it. “I didn’t think we’d need to do professional photos for this. Isn’t that going a little overboard?”

  “The point isn’t to make them look professional,” she answers, giving me a wink. “It’s to make them look unprofessional. Authentic, in a way that won’t arouse any suspicions. But still tempting enough to reel them in. That can be harder than you’d think.”

  “Huh. Okay.”

  “Come on.” Sam leads me toward the back of the clubhouse, into a room that looks like it’s largely used for storage. “I’m having Hawk and Lug Nut bring in some lighting equipment for me.” She pats her slightly swollen belly. “I’m totally capable of doing it myself, but Hawk won’t hear of me lifting anything heavy,” she sighs, but there’s a twinkle in her eye.

  “How far along are you?”

  “Twenty weeks. You’d think I was at term, the way Hawk hovers around me. He’s pretty much made me promise to do any shoots that need artificial lighting in my home studio.” She chuckles. “It’s fair enough, I guess. It is our first biological child.”

  “Biological?” I ask, liking Sam already.

  “We have a ten-year-old boy. Adopted.” She giggles. “Though you’d never know it, the way he takes after Hawk. In mannerisms, especially. That boy is his mini-me, through and through.” As she talks, Sam is looking around, evaluating the space we’re in. She cocks her head and points toward the far wall, which is made of brick but painted a dark, tar black. “I’m going to have the men bring one of the old sofas from the game room in here, to put against that wall. You can go change in that room,” she says, pointing toward a half-open door. “Come out when you’re ready. I’ll want to put some make-up on you, mess with your hair a little before we start shooting. Take your time.”

  I do as she says, going into a small room that turns out to be a storage closet. I feel along the wall for a light switch and turn it on. There’s not much in here but boxes about the size of paper ream boxes. I close the door, set the plastic bag down on one of them, and pull out the clothes. They’re raggedy, cheap-looking, and skimpy — a black tank top, plaid schoolgirl skirt, fishnets. At the bottom of the bag is a pair of black Doc Marten-style boots. I strip off my own clothes and pull everything on, slowly. When I get to the tank top, I start to pull it over my bra, but then think better of it and take the bra off. Though I feel more exposed, I think back to what Sam said about this needing to look authentic. If I’m to help Bullet, that’s what I need to do.

  When I open the door of the closet and walk back out into the room, the men are helping Sam set up her lighting. The couch is there now, shoved up against the wall. Lug Nut is bent over, screwing a tall, black umbrella thing into a metal stand on the floor. He straightens, and when his eyes fall on me a shadow passes over them.

  “Son of a bitch,” he spits out in a choked voice. Then, as I gape at him, he turns on his heel and stomps out of the room without another word.

  Sam, who’s been fiddling with a camera hanging around her neck, looks up and watches him leave, then pivots toward me. “Oh. Shit,” she murmurs quietly.

  “What’s wrong with Lug Nut?” I ask her, bewildered. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, no. It’s nothing like that,” Sam explains apologetically. “I think maybe this whole situation has got him on edge a little bit. It’s not your fault.”

  “Why is he upset?”

  “Bad memories. Lug Nut’s old lady, Eden, was once pimped out by an ex-boyfriend. They got her hooked on heroin and held her in a shitty old motel room. That’s how Lug Nut met her, in fact. He and Gunner managed to get her out before…” Sam trails off. “Well. Before.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah. She’s okay now, though.” Sam gives me a reassuring smile. “Gunner’s mom got her off the dope. But I think this whole thing is bringing back some shit for Lug Nut, you know?”

  “God, I can only imagine.” How horrible.

  “Gunner’s wife Alix is Eden’s sister, by the way. You’ll meet them. They’re both really nice.” Sam pulls the camera off over her head and sets it on a low stool beside her. “Okay, come over here. Let me put some makeup on you.”

  Sam brings me over to the couch, adjusts the lighting, and then opens up a small case with a bunch of makeup palettes inside. She brings out some heavy concealing makeup, and tells me she’s going to start by covering up my visible tattoos.

  “We want to make you look as young as possible,” she explains as she dabs at my arm. I watch in fascination as the intricate tattoo on my forearm begins to disappear. “This will take a bit, but when I’m done, it’ll be a lot easier to do the touch-ups on the photos themselves.”

  I sit in silence as she works, contemplating what she told me about Alix and Eden. It’s sweet that Sam just assumes I’ll meet them at some point. She must think Bullet and I are together — like together together. Permanently. I think about telling her my doubts, but realize it feels too painful to bring up. Listening to her tell me what my heart is dying to hear would just make things worse. Better to just concentrate on what I’m doing right now. Right now, my job is to help him, no matter what the outcome is for us.

  Once Sam is satisfied with my makeup, she has me go through a series of poses on the couch — some lying down, some scrunched up into one corner, some with me looking away from the camera. Sam tells me that what she’s going for is not an overtly sexy look.

  “You’re young, and afraid. You don’t want to do this. You’re being forced to.” She pauses, and purses her lips. “Remember that the men we’re trying to sell you to get off on fear. On domination.”

  “God. This is just… awful.”

  “I know,” she says grimly. “That’s why it’s important.”

  The shoot itself takes a little over half an hour. Sam shows me the photos afterwards, flipping through them on her camera as I peer at the screen. As horrifying as they are, I have to admit she’s done a fantastic job. She’s managed to make me look sexy and afraid at the same time. The low, oblique light she’s used in some of the closer-up shots make my pupils look huge, like maybe I’m on drugs. All in all, they’re extremely convincing.

  “They used to call this look ‘heroin chic,’” Sam tells me in a dry tone. “In the nineties, looking too thin and drugged out was considered the gold standard for fashion models. How’s that for gross?”

  “I feel like I need a shower,” I admit. This whole thing has taken a lot more out of me than I thought it would.

  “I know.” Sam looks at me, biting her lip, and then reaches over and gives me a warm hug. “You did great, though,” she murmurs. “And don’t worry. We’ll print a few of these for the men to use, and all the files will be destroyed. Once this is all over, there will be no evidence this shoot ever happened, I promise.”

  “Thank you,” I say, grateful.

  Sam sends me out to change back into my clothes. A few minutes later, I re-emerge just in time to see Hawk come in, with Bullet trailing behind him. “All done?” Hawk asks, slipping his arm around her.

  “Yep. Check these out.” Sam holds up the camera so Hawk can look at the display. She thumbs through a few of them, and he lets out a whistle, impressed.