Tex’s Angel (Savage Legion MC #11)

Chapter 27

Clara

I ’ve now been at the mercy of this man for coming up on six hours. If I hadn’t seen the old photographs on the wall, I don’t think I would have recognized him. Gemma had been my best friend at college, she got extra credits working in the library and because I hung out there so much, we’d gotten talking. I’d seen her one afternoon with a black eye, she’d tried to make some excuse about walking into a door, but I wasn’t buying it. She was seeing Daniel, who on the two occasions I’d met him, was clearly trouble on two legs. Her injuries kept getting worse until one night she came to my room. She was black and blue, I’d told her that it couldn’t go on, that she needed to get away from him. She refused to call the police. So I did what I could, I found the name of a refuge where she could stay for the night and took her there.

I’d almost put it all behind me until that winter break, he came to my parents’ house. He must have followed me home. He was clearly high on crack and dangerous. Luckily, my dad managed to call the police, and he got arrested. Last I’d heard he’d been locked up for twelve years.

I’m assuming he’d gotten released on good behavior and had spent his time in jail fantasizing about revenge.

Now, I was quietly contemplating all the ways not to piss him off while I plot my escape. Before I can come up with a plan to get the hell away from his man, he unlocks the door to the room he’s holding me in and jerks it open.

I can see that he’s had himself a shower and changed into clean clothing. His dark hair has been washed and pulled back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. If villains could be considered attractive, he would be the cream of the crop. Sometimes, I think it would be so much easier if you saw people’s real character on their faces. I could see why Gemma had fallen for him, but looks are only on the surface, and I knew what lay beneath that attractive exterior. His shoulders are relaxed, and the stress is gone from his face. To be honest, he seems refreshed and ready to exact his revenge.

Which isn’t looking good for me.

“You ready to play, bitch?” he snarls.

I try for sympathy, hoping that if I act contrite then he might change his mind. Or at least let his guard down and give me a chance to run, “I’m sorry you lost the woman you loved. I wasn’t thinking about the impact her leaving would have on you when I helped her get away from you.”

He leans down, grabs the chain between my cuffed wrists and pulls me to my feet. I gaze up at him to see the anger blazing in his eyes. “You know what pisses me off the most about finally getting a nice apology from you after all this time?”

“No. Tell me? I want to understand.” I tell him this because although I think he’s batshit crazy, I still want to understand what’s going through his mind. Is it just revenge or something more?

Tugging me through the bathroom door and down the hall, he takes me to the living room and shoves me down into a wing-backed chair. Bending down, he stares at me. “It pisses me off, that back in the day when I was trying to talk to you, being respectful, treating me like a human being and apologizing for what you did to me would have been enough to make it all stop. Back then, you didn’t think you owed me any kind of apology and refused to acknowledge my suffering. Instead you sicced the police on me, and I wound up spending eight fucking years in a super max prison over shit you could have ended with a simple apology.”

“I’m sorry about that too,” I tell him, trying to bite back my anger about his version of events. His version where talking to me and being respectful involved him holding a knife to my throat while the police had to tase him.

“Yeah, you’re all kinds of polite and respectful when I’ve got you under my control.” He walks over and begins rummaging through a kitchen drawer. “I’ll bet if I let you go right now, you’d go right back to not giving a shit about what you did to me in a heartbeat.”

Too right buddy, though not before making sure they’d lock you up and throw away the key.

I don’t say what’s on my mind because he’s going to take anything I say the wrong way and that’s the last thing you want to do around someone with control issues.

Finally, he finds what he’s looking for because he stops pawing through the drawer and lifts a huge pair of scissors. A chill creeps up my spine as I wonder what he plans to do with them.

He walks over to me, holding them high in the air. “I’ve spent years trying to decide on the perfect revenge for a woman like you.”

“What do you mean when you say a woman like me?” I hear my own voice tremble a little when I speak.

His face lights with unholy glee. “Glad you asked. I’ve had years thinking up the perfect revenge for the woman who thinks she knows what’s best for every fucking body else in the whole world. Someone who can’t talk to the man she’s got a problem with, so she goes behind his back and starts meddling. Someone who thinks her shit don’t stink and that she’s so much better than other people.”

My whole psyche shrinks in on itself. “I don’t understand.”

“The perfect revenge for a pretty, Little Miss Perfect is to ruin all that beauty. I’m gonna make you so ugly that old ass biker you’ve been hanging all over won’t even give you a second glance.”

He grabs me and pulls me into the kitchen, sitting me at the table and shoving my chair in so I’m pinned in place. He grabs a hold of the cheap, dollar store handcuffs and yanks, pulling my hands onto the table in front of me. All of a sudden, I have a horrible idea what his plan is, and I try and jerk my hands away. Daniel just laughs at my frightened reaction.

Then he redoubles his efforts. Even though I try to ball my fists, he’s not having it, and pries my hand open forcing my palm flat on the tabletop. When he brings out the scissors again, I’m helpless to stop him. Panic rises hard and fast in my chest, and I start begging him. “Daniel, please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”

“Maybe you should have considered the implications before you started interfering in my life.”

“I was wrong for not caring about your feelings. I know that now.” I can tell my words are going in one ear and out the other. Even if I meant every word of my apology—which I obviously don’t—he’s beyond reason. I close my eyes, so I don’t have to see it happen. I have a horrible mental image of him snipping off my finger joints down to the first knuckle.

I hold my breath and keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut as I feel him messing around with my pinkie and hear the scissors snip. There is a tiny bite of pain. Then another and another as he snips to his heart’s content. I’m waiting for the agony, but it doesn’t come. I’m too scared to open my eyes, he’s not cutting off my fingertips but he’s clearly doing something.

When he’s all done, my hand slides from his grasp.

He sneers, “Have a look at my handiwork, bitch.”

When I open my eyes and look down, I see he’s cut off all my long, well-manicured nails, one by one. They’re strewn all over the table.

Something akin to relief surges in my chest. When he steps back and grabs my other hand, I let him. If clipping off my nails is some kind of punishment in his mind, I’ll allow it and act aggrieved.

He happily snips off one nail after another while I watch. When he’s all finished, he smiles down at me. “See what I did? I took all your pretty nails away. Now your fingers are just plain old ugly.”

I play along. “Yes, I feel ugly. Now we’re even, right?”

The hand holding the scissors drops to his side like a dead weight and his expression turns harsh. “Even? No. We’re nowhere near even. I said I was gonna make you ugly and I intend to keep my promise.”

He takes out the key to my cuffs and undoes one, for a moment I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s not a lasting reprieve as he then forces my hands behind my back and cuffs them in that position before shoving me back down in the chair.

Then grabbing a handful of my hair, he jerks my head closer, making tears spring to my eyes. His gaze is hot and intense enough to clearly communicate how much he likes hurting and humiliating me. That’s when I realize he’s a sadist and clearly getting off on this.

Retrieving the scissors, he comes close, all smiles. “Now, to cut off all that luxurious hair.”

I begin shaking my head and using my shoulders to keep him away. This results in a swift jerk of my head backwards. He looks into my eyes and tells me. “I’m going to cut your hair whether you like it or not. Keep moving around like that and I might end up gouging out your eyeball my accident.”

I freeze in place for a brief second.

“That’s better. Now hold still, bitch.”

“Didn’t they try to rehabilitate you in prison?” I’m not trying to be rude. I really want an answer to that question, because if they did it clearly didn’t work.

Tugging my hair back again, only marginally more gently, he responds, “Yes. They did and it’s the reason I’m not using these scissors in more inventive ways. Now hold still.”

I let his words rattle around in my brain for a few minutes while he begins snipping bits off my long hair. I can’t get my head around what he’s doing because he seems to be just cutting off an inch at a time all over my head before taking off another and another.

“Why my hair?” I ask. I realize that shutting my damn mouth is the obvious go-to move in this situation, but I just have to know.

He gives a lock of my hair a yank so strong, I think he might have pulled it out by the roots. Then he asks, “Do you remember what you said to me the day I came to your home?”

Truthfully, I can’t remember much about that day because I was so scared. “I can’t remember my exact words,” I tell him.

“I was losing my mind because you just tore my whole damn world apart. I came with the intention of trying to talk to you, but you told me that I stank, you destroyed my life, and you humiliated me.”

I don’t remember saying that, but I do vaguely remember that he looked a mess, with long greasy hair and unwashed clothing. “I see how this situation must have a certain amount of symmetry in your own mind. You’re hurting me all the same ways that I hurt you.”

“No,” he says harshly. “In order for that to happen, I’d have to permanently separate you and that biker you’ve fallen so hard and fast for. That’s what you did to me after all.”

I try and get him off the subject of me and Tex. Instead I decide to ask about Gemma. It sounds like I was his first order of business after he got released. I wonder if he knows where Gemma moved to, he’s not going to get that information out of me, that’s for sure. “Were you ever able to make contact with Gemma after it all went down?”

He slams the scissors down on the table and walks out the front door, not bothering to close it after himself.

I guess that was clearly the wrong question to ask. However, it just might provide me with the opportunity to escape that I’ve been looking for.

It takes me a few minutes to move the heavy table back using only my stomach, but I finally shift it enough to slide out of the seat. I pad to the front door and peer out. I’ve got to get out of here, because I know all the way down to my bones that this crazy ass guy is going to keep toying with me until he accidentally loses his temper and kills me in a fit of rage. I can see it as plain as day.

I turn around backwards and grope around with both hands until I feel the cold steel of the scissors touch my skin. I grab them, thinking I might be able to use them to get out of the handcuffs once I get away from this man. I sneak cautiously over to the front door and peer out. He’s standing a good distance away at the edge of a little pond. I watch him pace back and forth and lift his face to the sky.

This is clearly my one and only chance, so I can’t waste it standing there staring at Mister Crazy Pants. I get my ass moving. I’m barefooted because the bastard took my shoes at some point. But I don’t let that slow me down. I run out onto the porch, down the steps, and towards the direction I remember the road being. I try not to make a sound and run like my life depends upon it because it absolutely does. Never in my entire life have I ever been as scared as I am right now. The fear is mind numbing, causing me to take chances I wouldn’t otherwise take.

I don’t even care that my bare feet are being jabbed by rocks, sticks, and pinecones that hurt like hell. I don’t let anything stop me. I don’t know how long I’ve been running or how far I’ve gotten before I hear his full throated scream of fury at realizing I’m gone.

It only spurs me to run faster in the near pitch darkness. At one point I stumble and fall but struggle to my feet again and keep running. Somehow, I manage to keep a hold of those damn scissors.

I begin to notice that after the fall, my cuffs have become a bit looser. Pulling on them as I run seems like the kind of double tasking that just might save my life. So, I keep jerking at them as I run. Just when I start thinking that he’ll never catch me because it’s dark outside, something huge slams into me from behind. We both tumble to the ground. The next thing I know, he’s on top of me. His face is enraged.

I try to worm my way out of his hold. When that doesn’t work, I bring up my leg and knee him in his back as hard as I can. It doesn’t do anything but make him angrier. He lifts my shoulders and slams me back down on the ground, driving the air from my lungs. I feel a sharp pain in my lower back where the handcuffs dig in.

He snarls, “Stop fighting me, you bitch.”

The force of him sitting on me after throwing me down the way he did finally breaks the cheap handcuffs he used to restrain my wrists. When his hands move up as if he’s going to grab my neck, I twist my body sideways so I can use the scissors I’ve been hanging on to so diligently. I grab them and they feel sticky. Pushing that thought away, I dig deep down inside and snatch up every bit of courage I still have to do the unthinkable. Before he can stop me, I plunge the scissors into him with all my might.

His eyes go wide, and he yells, “Ow, that fucking hurt!”

When he twists and tries to grab for the scissors, I realize that I nailed him right where his shoulder meets body. The arm on that side has gone limp and my hands are free. For one brief moment I’m foolish enough to think this will even the odds.

Then he pulls the scissors out of his body and gives me a look of pure loathing. “I wanted to take my time and make you pay for fucking imploding my world but since you’re proving to more trouble than you’re worth, I’m gonna finish you off and disappear.”

His hand shoots up in the air and I bring my arms up to ward off his attack as best I can as the scissors come down towards my face. He’s aiming for my eyes, so I bring up one arm over my face and the other over my throat, knowing that leaves my chest wide open. The final bit of hope I had of escaping disappears in that second.

I must be in a full blown panic because all I can hear is roaring in my ears that sound like the hooves of a hundred horses. When I hear the sound of a gunshot, something wet splashes across my arms and Daniel slumps on top of me, feeling like a dead weight. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realize the roaring in my ears is motorcycle engines. They found me!

I try to get up and realize I can’t because Daniel is crushing me. The next thing I know, Tex drags Daniel off me. I can hear voices in the background, and I know he’s brought his brothers with him.

When his big warm hand strokes my cheek. I want to say thanks for saving me, but the words get stuck in my throat. I try to move but I can’t and there’s an agonizing pain in my lower back.

Tex leans down to wipe something off my face. “Y’all look like you’ve been through hell and back, sugar.”

The emotion in his voice gets to me like nothing else ever has. “Thank you,” I finally choke out as he starts to fuss over me.

“Y’all don’t have to thank me. When you’re in danger, I’ll always come for you.”

I try to nod but suddenly I remember something that seems important. “When I escaped, I had the scissors, I managed to keep a hold of them when he caught up with me and pushed me to the ground. When I stabbed him, they felt sticky.”

Tex freezes in place for a second and his eyes flicker down to my wrists, where each end of the handcuffs are still attached. Another long string of curses comes out of his mouth as he pales. “He had your hands cuffed behind your back and you fell on the scissors, right?”

I nod and open my mouth to speak, but I can’t get the words out because my lower jaw is trembling. I feel light-headed. Reality dims for me a bit but I can hear Rigs and Tex arguing about whether to turn me over or not. Tex wants to have a look at the wound on my back, but Rigs thinks moving me will be dangerous. I feel like I’m listening to this conversation from above, floating over everyone. It feels surreal.

I try to reach out to Tex to tell him to stop arguing but my hand begins trembling so bad that I just let it drop onto my chest. Suddenly, Tex slides his fingers through mine and places his other hand over the top.

“Hold on, sugar. Rage, our medic, is three minutes out. Stay with me.”

I feel a tear slide down my cheek, it feels like now I’m free I’m going to lose everything. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to leave Tex. I’d be the second woman who died in his arms. I turn my head, hoping he doesn’t see how emotional I am in this moment.

I really shouldn’t have turned away because now I’m looking into the cold dead eyes of the man who abducted and tried his level best to kill me.

I hear Tex yell, “Someone come and get this asshole.”

It’s weird that Tex doesn’t say body. It’s almost like he hasn’t processed that he just killed a man. I hate that he’ll have to live with that on his conscience as well as my death. My eyes drift closed. I can’t help it. I feel sluggish and cold. Even when I hear voices shouting around me and Tex calling my name, I can’t shake myself out of the fog.