Indebted: 'Til Death Do Us Part (Teal & Trent Book 3) Page 2

  She inched toward Ace. “Put the gun up, Ace. Shit, I told Trick I’d pay him as soon as I got paid.”

  Trent’s stomach dropped at the idea of dying for Shayla’s habit. If he survived tonight, he would break her neck. “How the fuck much do you owe?” he asked through gritted teeth knowing he’d be the one who’d have to pay. Heat crept up his neck the second she opened her mouth and spouted a number that not only shocked him, but Ace as well.

  Ace slapped his leather-covered thigh. “Well, goddammit, lil momma! How the fuck did you snort that much shit?”

  When Ace turned back to Trent, he finally realized who was in the room with him. Even if he had the four grand Shayla owed on him, Ace’s enforcer tattoo said that paying her debt back wasn’t going to do shit for them.

  With a brief prayer to God, Trent spoke, “I got some of that here and I can give Trick the rest, personally.” He kept his hands to his sides. If he was going to get shot, then he was going to get shot. Hands above his head and pissing in his pants wouldn’t stop it from happening.

  Ace tsked. “I see you recognize the tat, Marine.” He leaned back against the wall, his trigger finger firmly in place and his aim straight and steady on Trent’s heart.

  Trent noted it was the second time Ace had called him Marine. Either Shayla had told someone about him, or Ace had done some recon. If it was the latter, shit was bad—really bad.

  Ace smiled, wide and bright. His jovial attitude freaked Trent right the fuck out. “You know what it means?”

  Trent took in the leather vest he wore, along with the badges and wear and tear in the form of slashes and bullet holes. Ace was in his element—gun in hand, victim in his sight. Trent’s anger morphed into pure hatred of the man for making him feel useless. He seethed inwardly, hoping his feigned cool demeanor revealed nothing of the tornado growing inside him.

  When he didn’t answer, Ace kissed his teeth and smirked. “It means your time has come to an end. Now, I don’t know how long blondie over here has owed the money, but I can tell you . . .” He stepped forward, a muscled arm shot out and yanked her to his chest, eliciting a shrill scream from her when he placed the barrel of the gun to her temple.

  Shayla froze in his arms, her wide pleading eyes turning on Trent.

  “Hey.” Trent shot his arms up holding up his hands. “You here for her, or me?” The second the question was out of his mouth, Trent knew the answer. His gaze shot to Shayla and then to his gun. There was no way he would make it to the weapon in time.

  Ace whistled a quick jaunty tune. “Do you know why they call me Ace?”

  Trent watched as he rocked a sobbing Shayla from side to side. He had no fucking clue what the man was talking about. All he knew was that the MC gang, the First Sons, had sent out an enforcer to handle Shayla. Trent took it as fact the MC was no longer interested in settling a debt, but proving a fucking point—Do not fuck with the MC, or their money. Shayla’s father was balls deep in the club, she’d often referred to him as part of the Elite Five—not a bunch you wanted to fuck with. Maybe Shayla had thought her pops would protect her from the enforcer, but hell, if he were willing to fuck his daughter, there was no reasoning as to what he would or wouldn’t do.

  Ace clicked his tongue, capturing Trent’s attention. “I am the First Son’s ace in the motherfucking hole. I am the man who’s called in when shit gets real and business has moved from paying with interest, to paying in blood.” He lifted a hand and caressed Shayla’s face. His inked knuckle roughly slid down her cheek, causing her to shrink away. “Son, I don’t think you get how serious this shit is right now.”

  Trent eyed the man, taking in his unlined face and youthful appearance. He may have had a hell of a lot of patches, but Trent knew a man his age when he saw one.

  “I know how serious it is. And I am trying to figure out—”

  “If you’re gonna die?” He pointed the gun back at Trent. “Or if she is gonna die?” The gun went back to her head and Shayla trembled so hard, Ace had to tighten his grip around her neck. “Or,” he motioned to the gun on his nightstand, “are we all gonna die?” When Ace motioned again, Trent looked to the gun. “Pick it up, brother.”

  He hesitated. The look in Ace’s eyes told him not to fuck around, but as a man who’d seen combat and death, Trent sensed he was being tested. He picked up his weapon without giving his back to Ace. Still holding his hands at his side, he shifted to make sure no matter what, Ace would be in his line of sight when he raised the gun.

  “Good boy.” Ace was a huge man, weighing in at least two-eighty. The man couldn’t use Shayla to shield himself and he knew it. “Now we are on even ground. Feel better?”

  Trent didn’t. The fact that he had his gun in hand told him that shit was going down, and Shayla would be smack dead in the middle of it. Trent could take a bullet, he’d survived it more than once, and he’d do it again.

  “Wait, what—” Shayla began.

  “Shut up.” Both men shouted.

  Ace’s jovial expression and demeanor had fled, and on its tail was pure malice. “I’m going to explain how this night is going to play out.” He released Shayla’s neck, only to grab her by the waist when she tried to scoot away. “Option one. You can point that weapon at me, aim, and shoot.”

  Trent lifted the gun and cocked it.

  A slow and devious smile crept over Ace’s lips. He leaned in and whispered words into Shayla’s ear. Her shaking stopped immediately, but Trent didn’t take his eyes off Ace. From this position, he could shoot the man in the side of the neck, without hitting Shayla. But somehow, Ace knew he wouldn’t take the shot.

  There was more to this situation.

  Trent sent out feelers, hoping to pick up on any abnormalities. His brain replayed what’d happened from the time he woke up, then remembered there were more than just two voices coming through the door. Fuck! There was at least one other fucking MC member in his home. Trent may be able to get one shot off, but there were still more gun-toting bastards in his house and he couldn’t guarantee he’d kill them before they got to him or Shayla. Ace’s smile widened.

  Trent gripped the butt of the gun tighter, yet took his finger off the trigger. “Second option?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  “Second option . . .” Ace swayed side to side with Shayla in his arms. He stared off pensively before his eyes made their way back to Trent. “The second option is . . .” He pushed Shayla into Trent, causing her to stumble and nearly fall into him.

  Trent kept his gun to his side, using his other hand to push Shayla behind him as two huge, tattooed men entered through the bedroom door. The three men took aim, but Trent didn’t stand down.

  Muzzles pointed at his face, he took a step forward. “What’s the fucking second option?” he demanded. He’d hoped to get Shayla out the fucking door, but with more than a half ton of flesh barring the exit, she was screwed. Hell, he was screwed.

  The larger of the two newcomers stepped forward. “Three on one and he still has his gun up.” He smiled wide, revealing a top and bottom row of sharpened teeth. “Hell, I say we patch him in.”

  Trent took in his vest, seeing the patches and tattoos on his arm.

  The full sleeve on his left arm depicted various stages of women in undress, and in a multitude of solo sexual positions. The right arm was covered in macabre scenes of men in various stages of death and decomposition. With another glance, he read a patch with the word Gator scrolled in green.

  The third man laughed. “Can’t patch in, if I put him to dirt.” His eyes stayed focused on Trent’s gun. “Lower that shit, now.” Of the three, this was the man Trent felt wasn’t playing any games. His eyes held a callous, lethal sheen; a man who would put a bullet in both his and Shayla’s heads without thinking twice.

  It was the man’s steady aim and cool demeanor, and not his words, that had Trent lowering his weapon. At this point, there was nothing Trent could do but follow their directions.

  Shayla wrapped shaking arms
around Trent’s waist. “They aren’t going to kill us.”

  Gator stepped forward, leering at Shayla as if she were up for grabs. “Hear that?” he asked. “She’s says they aren’t dying tonight.”

  Mutt laughed. “Is that so?” Trent watched as Mutt’s trigger finger jerked. The blast of the gun sounded, muting Shayla’s shrill scream.

  Trent had always thought he’d die on the battlefield. And when he was forced from the military, he thought he’d drink himself to death. Never once had he considered a bullet from an MC member over a fucking woman. Blinding light burned his eyes, his head ringing, as his body jolted from the sound. He prayed to God they didn’t bury him in his own backyard like a fucking tool.

  Chapter 3

  Two lives, two favors…

  A lightning bolt of pain rocketed through Trent’s neck and out the other side. He grasped the bleeding wound and fell to one knee, keeping a hard grip on his weapon. Having been shot before, he easily ascertained the severity of the situation, or lack thereof. Shayla’s screams caused a sharp pain to radiate in his ear, adding to the nauseating sensations mixing in his gut.

  “It’s a fucking flesh wound, woman,” he rasped.

  Shayla’s screams became blunt and muted, but no less hysterical.

  “Calm the fuck down.” The bullet had grazed his neck, causing a deep enough wound to freak Shayla the hell out. He felt her hands on his neck, attempting to staunch the bleeding. Even as she tried to save his life, Trent wanted to wrap his bloody hands around her neck for getting them into this shit in the first place.

  By now, he was positive neither of them were going to die, at least not tonight, anyway. They wanted something from him.

  He pushed Shayla away, and in a calm voice said, “Go get my kit.”

  Standing up, Shayla turned and faced the men surrounding them. Unable to get past the wall of armed men, she turned her questioning gaze back to his.

  “Let her by,” Trent croaked, his voice sounding craggy and broken. He felt like a pussy-ass fool for letting these men get the jump on him without even getting off a warning shot. Trent caught Ace’s almost indiscernible nod, then watched as Gator turned sideways, leaving a few inches for Shayla to squeeze by.

  Ace reached out and grabbed her arm before she made it out the door. “Where is this kit?” he asked, not taking his eyes off Trent kneeling before him.

  He motioned to the door. “Hallway bathroom.”

  Ace nodded and turned to Shayla. “Don’t make me fuck you up. I don’t like hitting women, but that don’t mean I won’t.”

  Shayla nodded. Trent knew she was used to getting slapped around, but the fear in her eyes told him she wouldn’t do anything stupid enough to warrant Ace’s wrath. At this point, neither would he. There was a time when the battle was lost and you had to retreat, to find a way out alive. Shayla and Trent were at that point.

  “Good girl,” Ace muttered as he let her go. “Follow her, Mutt.” He spoke to the man who’d shot Trent. Crossing his arms over his chest, Ace watched as the two walked down the hall, then turned back. “I meant for that to go much smoother, but ol’ Mutt is always quick on the trigger.”

  Gator sniggered in the silence that’d blanketed the room. “Fuck yeah, man. Damn boy will pull the trigger and not blink an eye. Hell,” Gator used his gun to scratch his head. “Even I think before I blast some damned body.” Gator leaned against the wall. “Suppose that’s why I’m finding myself here tonight and not at the MC’s party with a chick on my cock.” He smiled and gesture with his hips what he’d preferred to be doing.

  Shayla hurried back in to the room pale faced and panting. “Here, baby.”

  Lifting from his kneeling position, Trent sat on the corner of his bed and motioned for her to lay the box down beside him. Opening the box, he pulled some gauze out.

  Shayla moved to the other side of the bed and crawled over to Trent. He stopped fussing with the wound as her expert hands took over cleaning and prepping it for bandages. Realizing the gun was still in his hand, Trent lowered it to his lap. He was not giving up his weapon. They fucking owed him as much.

  “Why are we still alive?” He made eye contact with the leader.

  Ace holstered his weapon. “See this?” He pointed to his vest, the words Ace in the Hole scrolled across the aged leather in antiquated white stitching. A few more patches caught Trent’s eyes, but he kept going back to the phrase.

  “You already told me about that.” Trent kept his voice calm, making sure he didn’t rile them up anymore. Getting shot fucking hurt, and not even Shayla’s magic touch was soft enough to ease the burning trail of fire tearing through his neck.

  Ace reached into his back pocket, causing Trent to tense. He pulled out a lighter and a worn-out pack of cigarettes. “Calm down, Marine.” He looked to Mutt as he lit up. “Damn, I said no bloodshed, motherfucker. Now you got him all anxious and shit.”

  Mutt shrugged and stroked his beard, his ice-cold eyes boring into Trent’s. “They weren’t scared enough.”

  “You are one mean-ass dude.” Ace’s chuckle told Trent the guy didn’t give a fuck that he’d been shot.

  He held tight to his gun, not sure if the ‘no bloodshed rule’ was still in effect.

  “Anyway, I am the man you call in for jobs you don’t have the stomach to do yourself. And maybe in my old age, my stomach ain’t what it used to be.” He took a long draw from his cigarette and released the smoke.

  Shayla finished wrapping Trent’s wound and scooted behind him. The motion drew Ace’s eyes to her.

  He addressed Trent. “I am gonna ask you a question.”

  As if on cue, Gator and Mutt raised their weapons and aimed at her. Her gasp and shudder had Trent reaching around and pulling her closer to his back.

  “The answer decides whether you two live or die.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “No more games.” Shaking his head, he bent down, both elbows propped on his knees. He reached out and traced his thumb through Trent’s blood in the ground. “You love her?”

  Trent had never explored the idea of loving Shayla, because he was sure she didn’t know how to be loved. He offered her shelter, affection, and security, and she had proven time and time again that it wasn’t enough. In his eyes, to offer those things was to offer love. So, in his own way, yes, he did love her.

  Trent straightened and answered as honestly as he could. “As much as a man can love a thorn in his side that makes him come like a jet rocket.”

  Gator burst into laughter, and lowered his gun. Mutt, on the other hand, rolled his eyes, and never once faltered, or lowered his weapon.

  A whisper of a smile played over Ace’s lips. “You know. That woman is going to get you killed one day.” He stood and wiped his hand on his leather pants. “But not today.” Trent almost released his breath, until Ace continued. “Provided you do me two favors.”

  “Fucking two?” Trent’s hand tightened on his gun as the words burst from him. These were not men you wanted to owe a debt.

  “Marine.” Mutt’s tone implied it was a reprimand, his eyes on the gun in Trent’s possession. With a menacing step forward, he aimed his gun at the hand holding it.

  Ace continued, his conversational tone easing a bit of the tension, at least until Trent heard what he was saying. “The hit was placed for you and her. And since I am saving both of your lives, you owe me two debts.” He looked down, staring pensively at his gun. “Or I can kill her, and you’ll owe me just one.” His indifferent tone reminded Trent of who the fuck he was dealing with.

  Trent glanced between Ace and his buddies. “What’s the first favor?” He wanted to make it out of this alive, and as much as he abhorred the idea of owing them anything, Trent knew he didn’t have a choice.

  Gator rubbed his hands together conspiratorially, a wide grin spreading across his face revealing his mutilated teeth. “Murder and mayhem.”

  Shayla’s grip on Trent tightened. He slightly leaned back into her, offering his presence as a
form of support. The men spread out around them.

  “Hand me the gun.” Ace’s tone brokered no room for argument.

  Trent handed him the gun, then sat back, waiting for whatever the fuck was going to come next. What he wasn’t expecting, were the next words to come from Mutt’s mouth, or the sincerity that flowed with them.

  “We got a search and rescue mission. A little girl needs saving.” And,” he motioned to himself and his buddies. “we are the bastards stupid enough to be heading up that shit.”

  While Mutt and Ace seemed hyped up in a vigilant and composed manner, Gator bobbed up and down like a boxer waiting to confront an opponent. His edgy energy radiated from him, setting Trent on edge.

  “Are y’all talking about that Davenport chick?” Shayla’s soft voice sounded from behind him. Trent turned to look at her in surprise. The name sounded familiar, but through all the shock and anger, Trent couldn’t place it.

  Shayla shrugged. “I heard about it at the clubhouse with Prez,” When Trent shrugged at the name, Mutt spoke.

  “Ironically enough, Prez is the President of the First Sons.” Mutt shoved his gun in the back of his leather pants. Leaning against the wall, he crossed one booted foot over the other. His calm demeanor and the fact his gun was no longer in his face took some of the edge off the situation. Well, that, and the fact the name had finally taken root in his head.

  “The news,” he muttered. Flashes of a slim Spanish girl in a school uniform played in his head. “Wasn’t she taken off the city bus last week?” Trent asked, his question aimed at Mutt. The man seemed more saddened about the kid being missing.

  Mutt’s voice held a dark promise of danger. “The MC has her.” His gaze flitted to the ground, which was the first sign of vulnerability the man had shown since he’d walked through the door. “She’s only sixteen.”

  Trent could only imagine the horrors the poor child was going through, if those men were holding her. He thought to the males in the club he’d seen the few times he’d been in Blackwater, and knew the girl was as good as dead if she weren’t rescued soon.