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  ROUGH LOVE

  A RATTLESNAKE MC NOVEL

  MEG JACKSON

  Copyright © 2015 Meg Jackson

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Design by Mayhem Cover Creations

  Formatting by Mayhem Cover Creations

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events described in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  ROUGH LOVE

  A Rattlesnake MC Novel

  The last thing I remember before my life ended is smiling. That sounds like a nice last memory to have, but you don’t know me – or at least, you didn’t know me then. When I smiled back then it was for one of two reasons: I had bought something shiny and new, or I had done something bad to annoy my father.

  I was not a nice person back then. I guess I’m still not a very nice person. I don’t know if everyone has it in them to be a nice person; I just know that it’s never worked out for me. For me, being bad has worked wonders. For me, being bad comes natural.

  Of course, there are degrees of being bad. There’s the sort of bad that comes from genuinely wanting to do harm to others; I’m not that kind of bad. I just like to get what I want; that’s what I’m used to, and that’s what I expect. Or, at least¸ that’s what I used to expect.

  That’s why I remember smiling: it’d been a great day. Not only had I scored some new Prada shoes, I’d also managed to piss of my dad by shopping at Saks, which was a client of one of his biggest competitors.

  My dad runs one of the most exclusive and successful marketing agencies in the United States; he’s got Bloomies, Nordstrom, Benneton, Harry Winston, Tiffany’s. Most of the big names on Fifth Avenue are under contract with Pop’s agency.

  But Saks is contracted to Dad’s rival agency, and he’s told me time and again that he doesn’t want me using his money to support the competition. So, of course, I shop there whenever I can. Because he gets the credit card statement at the end of the month, and because I know that he’d never cut me off, no matter how much I push his buttons. He may want to, but he doesn’t have the heart to. He’s not that kind of guy.

  No, he’s the kind of guy who’ll do everything else he can imagine to make your life miserable: ruining relationships, squashing hopes and dreams, all with a smile on his face. The backhanded compliment is his forte. The pat on the head that says “I know you can’t do anything productive, I know you can’t survive on your own, I know you need me” is the most affection he can give. I guess he’s not a nice man, either.

  So I do what I can to get back at him, in little ways. Looking back now, I can’t even consider myself being that bad – after all, the only thing I was doing was shopping for expensive crap and trying to make Dad angry. That’s like, the sort of “bad” that a teenage girl is. I wasn’t a slut, I didn’t party all the time, I never graced the pages of the tabloids with a martini in my hand, coke under my nose, and a new boy on my arm every week.

  But Dad always made me feel like a bad girl. So that’s what I considered myself. Now, of course, I guess I’m more of what you expect from a bad girl. But how that all came to be starts on that day as I walked into my apartment, smiling as I locked the door behind me.

  “Juliana,” I remember calling out as I entered the apartment, bags in hand. “Juliana, can you make me some coffee? Then come see what I scored at Saks…you’re gonna have a cow, I swear, you can even try them on!”

  Juliana was my maid, but also my best friend. Really my only friend. You know the stereotype of the poor lonely rich girl? That was pretty much me. My only confidante was a woman I had to pay to keep around.

  When I heard no response from Juliana, I called out her name once more. Turning around to face my apartment, I remember my heart stopping. The coffee table in the living room was overturned; the couch cushions were on the floor, and a broken vase was leaking water all over the carpet. For some reason, I remember thinking the water will ruin the rug. Pretty shallow, right? But that was the first thing that popped into my head. I don’t know why, but it was.

  The next thing I thought was HOLY CRAP I GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE. Obviously, something was wrong. I grabbed the door handle behind me, but before I could make my getaway, I had another thought: Juliana. My heart pounded as I realized that she would have been home when all this happened, that if there was a struggle, it was because someone hurt her.

  I wanted to just leave; I wanted to just bolt out the door and down the hallway and call for help. But I couldn’t leave my only friend. Not if she was hurt somewhere in the apartment. I closed my eyes and prayed that it was a simply burglary, that whoever was in here was gone, and that Juliana was holed up in one of my many, sizable closets, intact and alive. Opening my eyes again, I took a deep breath and released my grip on the doorknob.

  There wasn’t a sound in the apartment; no hint that anyone was in any of the rooms. Not a cough, not a whisper, not a breath. I started to pull my phone out, meaning to call the police while I searched for Juliana, but remembered that it had died while I was shopping. I have got to stop leaving the house without a full battery, I lamented before realizing just how serious the situation was.

  If someone really was in the house…well, I didn’t want to think about it. For a moment, I considered leaving again, asking a neighbor to use their phone to call the police, but then I thought of poor Juliana again, scared and alone – or hurt. The thought made my heart ache, and I knew I couldn’t leave the apartment until I knew she was safe.

  Thinking quickly, I opened and shut the door loudly. I’d already announced my presence, so if anyone was still in the apartment they already knew I was there. But I hoped that by making it sound like I’d seen the damage and left, it would conceal my presence. I kicked my shoes off quickly – if there was someone still around, the clack of stilettos across the hardwood floors would be a dead giveaway that I was still there.

  I was only wearing a short, light dress because of the brutal Manhattan summer, and I felt exposed in my own apartment as I tiptoed towards the living room and hallway. At the living room, I tried not to look at the overturned furniture; I didn’t want to see if there was blood anywhere. I couldn’t bear it.

  I looked down the hallway; there were four doors, two on each side. One side had a closet and my bathroom. The other had my room and Juliana’s room. The kitchen was at my back as I stared down the hallway; the kitchen was small, so one glance had told me that there wasn’t anyone there. Gathering up every ounce of courage in my body, I began to walk down the hallway. I strained my ears, listening for any sign of life. Pure silence. The first door I came to was the closet; I grabbed the handle and didn’t even give myself time to count to three before yanking it open.

  Empty. Except for mounds of shoes and piles of expensive clothes, nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief, even though my heart was still pounding out of my chest. I turned around to face the door to Juliana’s room. I always told her to keep it locked because it was her room, not mine, and even though it was my apartment, I wanted her to feel lik
e she had a private space. I prayed that it was still locked. Reaching out for the handle, I closed my eyes and turned.

  Locked. My heart skipped a beat and I started to feel safer; two down, two to go. I hesitated, not sure whether to try the bathroom or my room first. The momentary hesitation allowed all my fear to flow back into me and I stalled from panic.

  Sure, the first two were clear, but if I was a murderous lunatic I’d probably hide in the main bedroom, or the bathroom. If Juliana’s door was locked I wouldn’t be able to get in, and what sort of hiding place is a closet you can’t even stand in comfortably because it’s full of shoes?

  I knew I couldn’t just stand in the hallway forever, that I had to either leave or try the last two doors. I didn’t give myself time to consider anymore and lunged for the bathroom door, throwing it open. I stifled a gasp as I looked inside. The shower curtain was shaking slightly and I could see bright red streaks on it. My heart pounded through my chest as I stared at the red marks.

  This can’t be happening, God no, this can’t happen to me, oh God Juliana, I have to get out, I have to call the cops, thoughts raced through my head like brutal gusts of wind. I stepped back slightly, then thought about Juliana, scared and alone in the shower, hearing me but unable to speak, bound and gagged, knowing that I’d left her.

  I suddenly wished I’d thought to grab a knife from the kitchen. I berated myself for my stupidity and looked around the bathroom for some sort of weapon. The only thing I could find was a plunger. I picked it up and held it tightly, feeling the rough wood handle in my palms; it wasn’t much of a weapon, but it made me feel better anyway. I tiptoed towards the quivering curtain. As I got closer, I heard sniffling noises and knew that Juliana had to be in the tub.

  “Juliana?” I whispered, approaching the curtain and reaching out with one hand.

  “Mmmhm unhhmmm!” was the response, and the distress I could hear in the muffled voice was like a shot of bravery. I threw back the curtain; Juliana was tied up and gagged, a cut bleeding profusely on her forehead. Her eyes shook with fear as she looked up at me. I bent down and undid the gag quickly.

  “Juliana, what happened?! Did someone break in?” Even as I spoke I saw Juliana’s eyes fill with terror, fixed just above my head, behind me. I didn’t even have time to turn around. I didn’t even feel the blow to my head. I fell over onto my side as the world began to spin and blur. From somewhere far, far away I could hear Juliana screaming.

  “Miss. Serena, no!”

  When I woke up, the first thing I felt was nauseous. I wanted to throw up immediately and struggled upwards; I was lying on my back, but found that when I tried to raise myself I couldn’t move. It was dark; at first I didn’t realize why, then I felt the cloth around my face, the way my breath felt hot and heavy against whatever material was covering head.

  My brain was pounding, and it felt like a train was roaring through my head. I couldn’t think straight. It was like I was sensing everything at once, which was almost like sensing nothing at all. The bag around my head. The ties around my wrists. The ties around my ankles. The rumbling, shaking sensation underneath me.

  It was all like some sort of terrible nightmare, where it could feel so real yet still be fake. I mean, it certainly couldn’t be real. I was Serena Kascade, daughter of Max Kascade, of Kascade Marketing Solutions. I lived in a high-rise on west 81st street. I had just bought new shoes.

  But real it was, nonetheless. I was tied up, blinded, and stuffed into the back of a moving vehicle like an unwanted carpet. My maid was tied up in a bathtub with a gash on her head, and someone had attacked me from behind. This was reality; probably the most real thing that had ever happened in my long life of being spoiled rotten and never knowing hardship.

  For a fleeting moment, I wondered if this was punishment. For being so lucky, for disobeying my father, for being ungrateful. That thought was soon replaced by more utter panic. My heart was racing at a million beats a minute and my stomach churned. I thought I might actually piss myself.

  I had to do something, because I felt like I was dying, so I did the only thing I could think of. I screamed. I screamed bloody murder, my voice raw from dehydration and panic. Screaming produced exactly no results. There wasn’t a sound, aside from what I recognized as a car moving down a road.

  I screamed again. No one said anything, no one told me to shut up. Nothing. That scared me even more than I would have been had someone thrown a shoe at me and told me that they’d kill me if I made another noise. Then, at least, I would have heard the voice of whoever did this to me.

  As I opened my mouth to scream a third time, the moving sensation and sounds ceased. I hesitated as I heard the slamming of car doors. From outside, I could hear, very faintly, the sound of voices. They drew nearer, and as I lay still in my binds I felt new fear flowing through me.

  “Yup, she’s awake again, I heard ‘er screaming bloody murder back there,” I heard someone say from outside.

  “Ah, well, it’s too risky to try knocking her out again, a little thing like that, one more blow to the head could kill her,” another voice said.

  “You’re crazy, Gunner, you wanna try and get a struggling female out of the back of the truck and into the room? She’ll fight like hell, it’s easier just to send her back to la-la land,” the first voice responded. The voices were very close now, and I felt tears springing into my eyes as the fear settled in.

  “Aww, what is it, Ace, you afraid of getting a little bruised up? She’s tied up seven ways from Sunday, no way she can put up much of a fight. Besides, you wanna explain a brain-dead hostage to the rest of the club? She ain’t worth shit to us if we leave her needing life support just to drool for the next sixty years.” The second voice was very, very close now, and I heard someone pulling on a latch, then the sound of a trunk being opened.

  I realized for the first time how hot I was as I felt the sun blaring down on me. I turned my head towards the heat, hoping some light would shine through. No luck; it was darker than dark. Pitch black. I wanted to die.

  “Sorry about the knocker, doll. No easy way to get a bitch to come home with you,” I heard the first voice say with a chuckle.

  “Shut up, Ace,” the second voice said, sounding exasperated. In my panic, I didn’t know what to do. Scream again? Try to talk to them? My body answered for me; I felt rough hands grabbing at me and I shrieked.

  “Jesus! That’s an ear-splitter,” the first voice said.

  “Of course she’s gonna scream, wouldn’t you?” The second voice was much closer, and I could tell that the owner was the one who was currently lifting me out of the trunk. I could feel how strong he was; he didn’t strain at all at lifting me, even though I’m a fairly large girl – not fat, per say, but definitely well-endowed when it comes to my breasts and hips.

  Still, he lifted me quickly, without any hesitation, like I weighed no more than a teddy bear. I felt him begin walking as he cradled me in his arms, and I didn’t even realize that I was still screaming until the first voice spoke again.

  “Goddam, will you shut up, lady? Giving me a headache with that shit.” Good, I thought, I hope your head explodes. I kept screaming, and trying to struggle, but my hands seemed like they were tied to my ankles so I had almost no way to move; besides, the man who was carrying me had a strong grip, and no matter how I struggled it didn’t seem like he was having any trouble keeping his hold on me. Eventually, my breath simply gave out and I didn’t have the strength to scream any more.

  By that time, I could hear more voices in the distance. As they grew closer, I could tell they were all male, but I couldn’t understand what any of them were saying. The tone changed gradually, and I began to make out snippets.

  “...got ‘er…”

  “….put up a fight?”

  “…good on ya boys…”

  “…always trust Gunner to deliver…”

  “…shame to hurt something so juicy…”

  The voices became clearer and loud
er with each step, then began to fade away. As they faded, I could hear the first voice fading, too, as whoever it was began talking to the main crowd.

  “Yeah, she didn’t put up no fight. Had to clock the maid but she’ll be fine. Easy peasy, nice simple operation…”

  I don’t know what switch got flipped in my brain at that moment, but it was like I remembered all of a sudden that I was a human being with the ability to communicate with other human beings in words, not just screams.

  “Where are you taking me?” I said from within the bag covering my head. The pace seemed to slow ever so slightly.

  “You’re gonna be staying with us for a little while, doll. Try not to worry too much. We’ll take good care of you,” the voice said. It was gravelly and rough, but sounded young.

  “Who are you?” I asked, spirited by the response to my first question.

  “If I tell you that, I’d have to kill you,” the response came, but it sounded like it was said with a smirk. Still, it was enough to make me shudder and plant a cold stake of fear through my heart. The pace slowed further, and I felt the grip relaxing as whoever was carrying me released one arm to reach for something.

  I knew, somewhere deep inside, that if I had a chance, this was it. Never mind being blinded, never mind being hog-tied, my only instinct was to try and escape. I squirmed violently and felt the grip loosen even further; then I felt myself falling, and a heavy, thudding pain as I hit the ground.

  It was only then that I realized the true stupidity of my actions. Where, exactly, was I planning to go without the use of my arms or legs? I heard a slight chuckle from above and I felt myself blush, even though my face was covered.

  “Well, that was a valiant effort,” the voice said. I heard a door swinging open, then I was lifted once more into the air and carried through the doorway; the man carrying me let me down gently onto what I could feel was a cold, hard, dirty floor. I heard a light buzzing above my head; the heat didn’t seem to penetrate wherever I was, at least not to a degree. It was warm, but not stifling like the air outside.