Make You Mine by K.T. Quinn

 

1

Jayce

I was a dead man, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I braced as the next punch hit me in the gut. One Copperhead punk held my arms behind my back while his buddy pummeled me in the ribs. One, two, three smashed fists, the last one finally knocking the wind out of me. The other four gang members roared with approval as I collapsed to the ground, their laughter echoing through the cramped jail cell.

“Tell us where it is,” said the ugly one. They were all ugly as fuck, but this guy more than the rest. “That’s all Sid wants.”

I wheezed as I tried to breathe. It was like trying to suck air through a straw. The sheriff’s deputy watched outside the bars, his arms crossed, and a look on his young face that might’ve been disappointment. He and the sheriff weren’t the law in this town—not the real law. Sid was. Sid and the Copperheads, the motorcycle gang that controlled everything from Macon to Savannah. They were the ones with all the power.

And until last month, I had been one of them.

I spit a mouthful of blood onto the ugly one’s shoe. “Sid can go fuck himself.”

His face twisted with anger.

I suffered several more kicks, and then he bent down to throw punches into my gut. Each one hurt more than the last. A boot from one of the others caught me in the ribs, and I felt something crack.

I’ll never tell them anything, even if they kill me for it. Which was probably where this whole party ended, anyway.

“You made us ride out on this nasty fucken night,” the ugly one said. “The least you could do is send us home happy. Give us what we want.”

“Nothing to give,” I said, wincing with pain as I rolled onto my side. I twisted to look at him and made myself sneer. “I told Sid the same when he asked me yesterday. And the day before that.”

For a moment, I thought they were going to beat me some more. That’s what usually happened. Instead, the ugly Copperhead shrugged and adjusted his leather vest.

“Sid’s gonna give you some time to come to your senses. But he ain’t a patient man.”

He gestured, and the sheriff’s deputy rushed to open the cell like a fucking butler. The six Copperheads filed out and down the hall. The sound of iron bars slamming back into place echoed throughout the jail.

The deputy lingered by the cell. “Why don’t you give Sid what he wants?” he whispered.

I swallowed a mouthful of blood and gritted out, “Because fuck him, that’s why.”

The young deputy sighed out his nose. “Then what are you still doin’ in Eastland? If you was smart, you’d get out of town quicker than a greased hog.”

It was a good question. One I’d asked myself half a dozen times already. I could skip town, ride north as far as my bike would take me. Ride until I saw snow.

But I couldn’t really do that. Not after what Sid had taken from me.

“You could stand up to the Copperheads,” I shot back at him.

The deputy took it as a joke. “No I can’t. A badge ain’t much good against them. No sirree.”

He chuckled as he walked back to his desk.

I lay on the floor for a few seconds to collect myself. My chest and torso ached too much to sit up, so I rolled over onto my belly and used my hands to push up to my knees. Even that small motion sent lightning bolts of pain through my ribs. I was pretty sure one was cracked.

Sid had taken almost everything from me. My life, my job, my purpose. He’d even taken my love. But he couldn’t take the one thing he wanted. The one thing he needed more than anything in the world.

Information.

I sat on the bench and chuckled to myself in the empty jail. No matter how many beatings I took, no matter how many ribs they cracked, Sid and the Copperheads wouldn’t get what they wanted. They had no leverage because there was nothing more they could take from me. I was the most dangerous kind of man in the world: a man with nothing left to lose.

I’ll die before I give you what you want.

At least, that’s what I thought before she walked into the jail.