Free 'Til Death - Part 2 by Bella Jewel Page B

you? She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
    “Have you ever had someone in your life you couldn’t breathe without?”
    Mack sighs deeply. “Yeah.”
    “Her mom was that someone. She was the only reason Katia fought so hard. I held her back. If I didn’t stop her at that airport . . .”
    “She still might not have made it in time,” he cuts me off. “Fuck, dude, you can’t blame yourself. It’s not like you knew.”
    “Tell her that.”
    “I’m looking into it further, going to find out as much as I can. Until then . . . stay safe.”
    Fuck. Me.
    My wife is trying to kill me.
    She might as well rip my heart out with a knife. It would be kinder.
    ~*~*~*~

KATIA
    I stare at the large compound surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Inside there are two massive warehouses, and out front, a line up of bikes for a mile. I close my eyes, my hands shaking. These are the only people I could think of who would help me. They’re bikers. They’re known to be bad-ass and ruthless, and they’re not going to tell anyone. It’s cliché; I know that, coming to a biker lot. It’s the only place I could think of that made sense right now.
    “Oi!”
    I flinch and turn to see a huge, burly man storming towards the gate.
    “You fuckin’ lost?” he asks.
    I swallow, straightening my shoulders and pushing my fear back into the darkness. “I’m here to see the president.”
    He cocks a grey brow. “Who the fuck are you? His pussy? Never seen you ’round here before.”
    God.
    “I, ah, I need his help.”
    He narrows his eyes. “You a fuckin’ cop?”
    “No.”
    He swings the gate open, reaches out and hurls me in. Suddenly I’m slammed against it, my face pressing into the wire. His hands start running up and down my body. I close my eyes, waiting for it to end but not really feeling anything. I have no emotion right now; everything is just a big fucking blank space.
    I’m not even sure I’d care if they killed me.
    “You’re clean, so why the fuck are you here? You a reporter?”
    “No. I need . . . your services.”
    He snorts. “Services?”
    “I need to hire a hitman.”
    He flinches behind me. “The fuck did you say?”
    “I was told . . . or . . . I thought . . . you would be the right people to ask.”
    “You lost your fuckin’ marbles, woman?” he barks.
    “If you can’t help me, I’ll leave.”
    “The fuck you will. Walk.”
    He turns me and shoves me towards the massive warehouse. I walk slowly through the dirt until we reach the front door, where he flings it open and pushes me inside. I’m faced with a room full of bikers, women, and a whole lot of drugs and sex. I stare at them, but there is no fear.
    “What you got there, Fatso?” A young man laughs. “Didn’t think someone so pretty would go for your fat ass.”
    “Fuck up,” Fatso grunts, shoving me down the hall.
    He leads me to a massive blocked off room, and reaches around me to bang on the door.
    “Fuckin’ what?” a somewhat masculine voice growls.
    “Got a visitor for you, Pres.”
    There are the sounds of shuffling, then a moment later the door swings open and I’m faced with an extremely attractive man. He’s tall. He’s built. He’s deadly. I stare up at him, and he returns the favor with full force. “What’s this?”
    “Bitch shows up at the fence sayin’ she needs to pay someone to do a hit.”
    The president raises his dark brows. “No shit.”
    “Shit. She’s yours.”
    He shoves me towards the man, and then disappears back into the sex-fest going on in the main area. The man in front of me reaches out, curling his fingers around my arm, and hauls me into the room, slamming the door shut.
    “You a cop?”
    “Your friend already frisked me,” I mutter.
    “You a journalist?”
    “You guys need some new questions,” I deadpan.
    He turns to me, narrowing his eyes. “What’s your name, girl?”
    “Are you going to give me yours?”
    He tilts his head. “No.”
    “Then you don’t need to know mine. I heard I