Chapter One #2
These guys knew what they were doing, and that spurred my need to escape.
There were two of them and one of me. Even if I managed to throw off the effects of the drug, there was no way I could fight off two full grown men.
My imagination went into overdrive. I had to assume wherever they were taking me was not public.
They could do whatever they wanted and there would be no one to hear me scream.
Fear-fueled adrenaline overpowered the remaining drug in my system. I scrambled my way to the back of the van and clawed at the doors.
I screamed as loud as I could. Surely someone would hear me and go for help. Or call the cops. People didn’t seem to want to get involved these days, but surely a woman screaming from inside a van would get some kind of response.
“Scream all you want. No one else can hear you,” George shared with an repulsive chuckle.
Weren’t these delivery vans supposed to have a release on the inside so people didn’t get trapped in them? I got unsteadily to my feet and reached up as high as I could, sliding my hands down the loading doors. It had to be here somewhere.
Two thirds of the way down, I found it. My heart sank. There was a latch all right, but someone had broken it off. When I tried to push it, the latch swung loosely around in a circle without any effect on the doors.
I screamed in frustration and banged on the doors until my hands felt raw. Sinking down on my haunches, I let out a helpless sob.
Then I pulled myself together. I wasn’t going to just sit here and wait for whatever sick plans these guys had for me. I crawled across the floor, feeling frantically for something, anything, that I could use to pry the doors open.
In the front corner, I found it. A tire iron. Gripping it tightly, I made my way to the back of the van just as it lurched to a stop.
I could hear loud engines, other vehicles pulling up behind the van. I screamed again. And again. Surely they could hear me, but I wasn’t going to count on it.
Standing was a whole lot easier now that the van was still. I inserted the sharp edge of the tire iron between the two doors and pried. Nothing happened. I screamed in frustration and jerked harder on the tire iron. Nothing.
I could feel time running out. Fear of what George and his buddies had in store for me intensified with each passing moment. I had to get out of here. No knight in shining armor was going to ride in on a white horse and save me.
I moved the tire iron down so that it was in line with the broken release and threw my entire body weight against it. For a second, it held fast. Then the lock gave way with a loud screech of bending metal.
The doors burst open.
Off balance, and still gripping the tire iron with both hands, I fell out of the van and landed on the pavement with a painful jolt. I rolled over and staggered to my feet.
Less than a car length away, staring at me from the back of a shiny red and chrome motorcycle, was the most dangerous looking man I’d ever seen.
* * *
Deuce
What the hell ?
Rattler and I were headed into town to the bar that Riptide owned on the lower east side of town. It was a nice night for a bike ride, and a cold beer sounded inviting. The sky was clear and there was just a hint of a breeze. The smell of fresh-cut hay permeated the air.
We’d stopped at the railroad crossing on Seventh Ave, behind one of those cargo vans. Kind of scuffed up. Serviceable, but not memorable. What had once been a name on the side was illegible, worn off by years of weather.
I kicked my Harley back down into first, scanning the tracks to gauge how long we’d be stationary. I had just flipped the visor up on my helmet when the back door of the van flew open and a woman half jumped, half tumbled out onto the pavement.
Seriously, what the hell?
She looked stunned. Or stoned. Not sure which. If I’d been any closer, she would have landed on my damn bike. Her eyes were open wide, and she stared up at me like she’d just seen a ghost. Or a monster.
Not that I hadn’t had that effect on women before.
I didn’t look like your typical CPA. I’d ditched the office and three-piece suit a lifetime ago.
Six-foot-six, riding a Harley, and sporting a leather cut that proclaimed me to be a patched-in member of the Riptide MC? I didn’t exactly scream Wall Street .
The woman’s mouth moved, but if any sound came out, I didn’t hear it.
The train made a shit ton of noise, and Harleys aren’t quiet either.
There’s a saying in the motorcycle world --”Loud pipes save lives.
” The theory was people could hear us coming so they paid attention or got out of the way.
Not sure how true it was, but I had to admit you could hear us coming long before you saw us.
Add that to the clank and rattle of the train, and you couldn’t hear much else.
I glanced over at Rattler, who was just taking off his own helmet. We’d been in lots of shit together back in our SEALs days. Communication didn’t have to be verbal. That nod he gave me meant he’d watch my back while I checked the chick out to see what the fuck was going on.
I killed the engine and set the kickstand before dismounting. Hanging my helmet on the handlebars, I stalked up to the woman.
Might be a little paranoid of me, but I did a visual sweep of the area to make sure it wasn’t a trap. The back doors of the van were still open, revealing an empty cargo area with a pile of rags in one corner. What the fuck had she been doing in there?
My internal radar screamed trap. A couple of deployments in Afghanistan made me leery of anything that could be used to sucker a guy into range for an attack. A female in distress was the number one lure.
The woman rolled over and used her hands to push herself upright. Lurching to her feet, she glared at me, brandishing a tire iron in front of her like some kind of magic wand. Not sure where that came from. Must have been under her when she landed.
“Don’t touch me!” Her voice broke as if she’d been drinking, but I didn’t detect the smell of alcohol on her.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I reached for the tire iron, dancing out of reach when she took a swipe at me with it.
“Stay away!” She looked about as menacing as a little kitten hissing at me. Just about as cute too.
I glanced over at Rattler and gave a slight shake of my head. He obligingly revved up his bike, and the woman instinctively looked over at him, giving me the chance to dart in and relieve her of that tire iron before someone got hurt. Like me.
“No!” Her face crumpled, and she wobbled on her feet.
I stepped forward, putting an arm around her to steady her. Noting the way she flinched at my touch, I tried to sound non-threatening. “Not sure what’s going on, but we aren’t the enemy.”
I took a quick visual inventory of her condition.
She had a slight case of road rash on one arm and her shirt was a write-off, shredded to pieces when she’d hit the ground.
Her bra, a lacy confection of pink and white, barely covered her nipples.
Despite the circumstances, she had a sensual allure that wasn’t lost on me.
Dark hair cut in a cute, pixie-type style framed a heart-shaped face.
Her eyes were a dark chocolate color and at the moment were wide open. Terrified.
“What’s your name?” Basic interrogation skill. Asking a simple question often calmed a person down.
She frowned, not replying right away. When she answered, it was with a question of her own. “Are you with them?”
I frowned. “Them? Who’s them?”
She jerked her head toward the van. “Them. George and his buddy. The guys that threw me in the van.”
I looked from her to the van, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “They kidnapped you?”
The panicked expression in those dark eyes tore at my heart. She nodded. “First date. Drugged my coffee. I could barely walk, let alone fight back. Heard them call me ‘merchandise’.”
“Well, shit.” Wasn’t sure what else to say. The club had heard rumors that a human trafficking ring was operating in the area, but this was the first tangible evidence of it. Ace would want details, once we had this situation under control.
I turned to Rattler. “You up for a little fun?”
Rattler’s eyes narrowed. “Always.”
I switched my attention back to the woman, pointing at the deep ditch at the side of the road. “Get down in there and hide. Grass is tall enough to cover you. Keep your head low and don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.”
Her eyes wide, she scooted over to the side of the road and slid into the ditch. I watched as she got down on her belly and squirmed out of sight into the tall grasses. Satisfied she was safely hidden, I pulled my handgun out of the shoulder holster and flicked the safety off.
Rattler stood beside his bike, holding his favorite shotgun in front of him, the muzzle pointed at the passenger side of the van.
I pursed my lips, jerking my chin toward the target. We approached cautiously on either side of the vehicle, guns held at the ready. My trigger finger hovered in place, ready to act at a moment’s notice.
The noise of the train must have covered the sound of the woman’s escape, or those jackasses would have been jumping out to reacquire her. In the side mirror, I could see the driver lighting a cigarette as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
I could no longer see Rattler, but we’d worked as a team in combat situations with multiple hostiles when we were on active duty. I’d trust him with my life. Always had.
The driver glanced in the mirror, his face registering shock when he saw me. He turned and reached for something on the seat beside him before heaving the door open. He threw himself out of the vehicle and I saw the flash of metal in his hand as he turned to face me.
Auto reflexes kicked in. I took the shot. Chest. Hit him in the heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.