Chapter Fifty-Four
Willow
“Hello?” I call out once more, heart pounding in my throat.
I wait for a cheery female beta to respond, but when the silence lengthens, the hair prickles on the back of my neck.
Wiping my now-slippery hands down my pants, I grab for my knife.
Although I’m hoping the woman is simply wrestling with her dog, or is hard of hearing, my instincts are on high alert.
Can I run? My eyes search the area, but there are no windows, and the only exit will have me sprinting back toward the front. There are no sounds whatsoever.
Maybe I imagined the bell? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard phantom noises. Yes. That’s probably it.
With one hand on my knife, I use the other to pull my phone from my pocket. Texting my Alphas might not be a bad idea. I tap the screen and open our group chat, but there’s still no reply.
Club stuff always comes first. Fucking bullshit.
Taking a deep breath, I leave the employee room on silent feet, keeping my back against the wall. When nothing moves, I allow the air to gust out. Maybe it was just a chime from another business. I shake my head, but then it hits me: the scent of gasoline.
Luther. My legs lock, and bile races up my throat. They’re here.
“Bitch. You’ve caused me so much fucking trouble.” Trembling takes over my limbs. For a second, I stare at a spot on the floor, unable to meet my fate head-on. Booted feet scuff toward me as I gather the courage to face my past.
Get your shit together, Willow. You’re stronger than this.
With a gulp, my chin comes up, and I take in the Alpha before me. Tall. Dirty. And wearing a Black Plague cut with the name Beatdown on it. Hope surges through me. I’ve held my own against these assholes before, and I can do it again.
The scent of gasoline emanates from a big red canister held in Beatdown’s fist, and while it’s not a great sign, it also makes him slow.
Lifting my knife, I point it at him. “Get the fuck out of here. Cujo’s on his way, along with the rest of the Hellbent Hounds.” It’s a complete lie. If I’m lucky, Pup will return to help me with this goon, but my bravado might make him think twice.
“Doubt it.” He smirks, licking his lips. “Pup’s already hiding somewhere, snorting up the drugs I gave him—none the wiser that I’m about to kill one of his club’s ol’ ladies.”
“Pup?” Though I don’t know him well, the betrayal still stings.
“Didn’t know about that, huh? Pathetic addict, that one.” He advances on me, and I dart around him, knife held high. “Pack Mordred said it’s time for you to die.”
Remembering my training, I wait for him to move first. To show his weakness and give me a chance to escape. Pieces of shit like him always make mistakes, and I need to capitalize on that. Fear shifts within me, even though I try to contain it, and I do my best not to let it take over.
“Well, you can tell them to go to hell.” His lips flatten into a thin line.
“So mouthy,” he growls, looking me up and down.
“Since they want you dead, I’m sure they don’t care what we do beforehand.
Think I’ll put that pretty throat to good use.
Then your cunt. And if I have time, your ass.
” He does his best to herd me toward the enclosed employee room, but I’ll be damned if I let him take me where no one can see.
No, we need to get closer to the front. To the glass. If I don’t make it out the door, perhaps a helpful townsperson will spot me and call the cops.
The cops. The agents. My necklace. It hangs heavy around my neck. Even though I refused to leave with Calloway, I never took my SOS off. But if I push it now, there’s no way I’ll return to my Alphas…
My phone burns in my pocket—maybe I can call them first. Sliding one hand around my back, I blindly grab for it, using questions to distract this asshole.
“Do they still have Aspen?” If I make it out of this alive, saving her is my main goal. The question throws him off. Although Beatdown’s blocking me in, he slows. Head tilting to the side, his brows furrow.
“The bitch in the cage, they don’t share?
That little whore’s trained to take their dicks, day and night.
Maybe instead of killing you, we should do that to you.
Pretty cum guzzler for the Plague. Probably get a good penny to let other bikers pound that pussy—fuck Cujo’s bonded mate.
” His greedy eyes rake over me, considering it.
The urge to hurl my knife at him is nearly uncontrollable, but if I miss, he’ll have the upper hand.
Instead, I skirt around him and work on unlocking my phone without looking at it.
“What are you doing behind your back?” Dammit.
“Give it to me,” he barks, using all his Alpha command. Gritting my teeth, sweat breaks out along my forehead as I resist the compulsion, but my momentary battle creates the distraction he needs. A meaty hand closes over my arm, and he yanks my lifeline from my fingers.
“Thought you would call your Alphas, bitch?” He drops the device onto the floor, then crushes it below his boot. The metal twists, screen snapping, taking my last vestige of hope.
Fight. With an angry hiss, I dart forward, slamming my knife into his side. It plunges through the leather of his cut, slicing through like butter, but when I try to pull it out for a second swipe, I find it lodged.
Heart pounding, I abandon the weapon, dive between his open legs, and make a run for it. Damn it, I really should take up running. My thighs burn from the adrenaline as I surge for the door. It’s a last-ditch attempt, but fleeing is all I can do.
Faster. Faster. The front of the training center comes into view.
“You’re fucking dead,” he bellows, feet echoing after me. Try as I might, Beatdown catches up, grabbing my hair. “I thought we could have some fun first, but you fucking stabbed me.”
The world spins as he turns me around, grabs me by the throat, then slams me into the wall.
His grip tightens, cutting off my oxygen.
The hammering in my head becomes deafening.
Kicking out, I nail him in the gut, and he drops me to the ground with a grunt.
The impact knocks the air out of me, but I twist onto my belly, scrambling across the tiles with my damaged fingers.
I don’t get far before his boot lands on my back. Wiggling below it, I manage to grab for the gun holstered under the waistband of my pants. The cold metal in my palm gives me strength.
“Please. I’m sorry,” I whine, letting my inner omega rise to the surface, hoping his Alpha answers the call. The weight holding me down lifts slightly. “I’ll be good.”
“You made me bleed, omega,” he snarls, but his boot lifts a little higher. Taking my chance, I shove up from the ground, pushing him off balance. With the pistol in hand, I whirl, aiming at his head, and squeezing.
The crack of the gun makes time stand still. Beatdown’s eyes widen. The bullet clips his ear, and blood splashes onto his neck.
It slams into the wall behind him, shooting plaster in all directions. Dammit. Before I get off another shot, Beatdown slams into me. His enormous body collides with mine, and the gun flies into the air—taking with it my last vestige of hope.
“Fucking stabbed me. Fucking shot me.” His fists pummel me, and Beatdown shows me just how he got his name. His blood drips all over me, splattering all over my face, my body, as I fight to stay conscious. Teeth rattling in my head, I curl into a ball to protect myself from the blows.
It’s no use.
Help. Please, help, I send my plea out, into the universe, reaching for the button at my neck.
Though my will to survive is strong, each brutal assault steals more of my life force.
There’s nothing I can do, trapped in my own head, screaming out in pain.
I’m going to die here, lying on this cold floor.
Consciousness dips in and out. The scent of gasoline grows stronger and stronger.
Worry pulses through the bond, and I grab onto it, holding on with everything I’ve got, because there’s nothing left inside me. Instead of losing myself to fear, I wrap myself in memories of love. I never got the chance to tell them I love them.
I do my best to send that feeling back to my Alpha. Wanting Cujo to know that, even in my darkest hour, he was a light—a shining beacon of hope for a future that’s never going to come.
Gasoline splashes onto my body. “Pack Mordred wanted me to say; ‘It’s time to die, little rat.’” He gets it wrong.
A blaze sparks to life. A camera clicks. I reach for the button at my throat, pressing it as many times as I can.
Orange. Yellow. Blue. Red.
The world around me becomes an inferno.
Rowan. Oakley. Aspen. Bruce. Dean. Lincoln.
I’m sorry…