Chapter 2
Eliza
I should eat something. How long has it been? My stomach clenches in pain, but the memory of this afternoon—kneeling over a toilet after a lunch “chat” with my father—completely killed my appetite. Now, my body begs for nutrition. Maybe for some hydration, too, while I’m at it.
The house is silent. My father is out, probably making more deals with evil men. Shame he doesn’t have more daughters to hand away like currency.
My eyes water at the recurring thought, and I pinch them shut to avoid letting another tear spill. I think I’ve let too many fall as is.
Sitting up, I wipe my puffy, sore eyes. I feel like a child hiding from the world, but even behind a locked door, I can’t escape the inevitable. Tomorrow, I move in with a man I’ve never met in a new town. If my father is getting something in return, he can’t be a good man.
Just his name alone sounds scary. Blaze Walker. Besides being told he’s a powerful man, someone who could keep me safe, I’m in the dark. My father wants me to believe I’ll be okay? Well, my gut is screaming at me to run in the opposite direction, far, far away.
A backpack leans against the wall, packed for the morning.
Every time I look at it, my chest aches.
As easy as it would be to throw it on my back and leave, reality always comes crashing in.
Thanks to my father, I have nowhere to go.
Because of his career, I could never work a normal job.
I have no money saved up, not like I’m ever handed any in the first place.
All I can do is obey.
My brows furrow, and I dig my nails into my blanket, my frustrations bubbling over. Knowing no one will hear me, I let out a loud huff. Despite not changing a thing, I feel a smidge better.
Sighing, I slip out of my room into the calm, empty expanse of our home to find something to snack on. Call it an act of defiance, but I want to see if I can find any junk food hidden away. Something that’ll make my father upset, so he can feel an ounce of what I am.
A muffled curse in the distance jolts my heart. I’m not alone.
Considering calling out for my father, I decide against it. I’m not ready to face him, and if it’s not him, I don’t want to alert an intruder.
There haven’t been any break-ins reported. Is that what’s happening?
Clutching my shirt, I move through the darkness toward the kitchen. A light is on. Peering around the corner, I see two men. One is heavily tattooed; the other, younger, in a leather jacket, eyes staring at the camera in the room with a weary expression.
“You sure he’s taken them out?” he asks, pointing up toward the flashing red light. He doesn’t look reassured when the other one tells him to be quiet.
Sucking in a breath at the realization that I’m no longer alone, fear clenches at my chest in a tight enough grip to make me dizzy.
“Don’t touch anything. Find the woman so we can get out of here.” Hissing the order as softly as he can, he makes their intentions clear as day.
They’re here for me. Why? Who knows. If I have to make a guess, it’s not for good intentions. Not when both of these guys look like they’ve stepped out of a motorcycle magazine.
I need to hide somewhere. Even better, I need to call the cops. This isn’t good.
Willing my body to move, I step back. As the floor creaks beneath my weight, I freeze and make eye contact with both men.
Oh, no. This is very bad.
“Don’t scream.” Tattoo holds out a gloved hand, his face panicked. “Please.”
His plea is meaningless. I scream anyway because who wouldn’t?
Tattoo curses and charges forward. He’s bulky yet quick. I spin around to run, but he quickly catches me, wrapping an arm around my waist and lifting me after just a few steps.
“Let me go!” I claw at his skin and kick him hard—once on his thigh, and again where it hurts.
He hisses and stumbles as he releases me. I don’t wait for him to recollect himself. I run through the darkness, crashing through the living room like a stranger. I stub my toe on the coffee table and cry out.
Just as pain radiates in my foot and I crash against the arm of the couch, light fills the room. Jerking, I frown at the younger guy as he holds a grimace on his face. He looks in the direction of where the tattooed man is left behind. Sighing, he straightens his shoulders.
“Listen, we’re not bad guys. We’re just doing a job.” He doesn’t even flinch as I brandish a heavy book from the table to use as a weapon. His calm is more terrifying than his partner’s aggression.
I can’t be some kidnapped victim who ends up dead in a ditch, or held for ransom. Surely, I can make it out of this, right? People fight off their attackers all the time.
Who am I kidding?
“Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he says, his voice low and steady.
Tattoo soon recovers, circling us with a scowl deep enough to run my blood cold.
I’m trapped between them. I swing the book wildly, but the younger one simply steps inside the arc of my swing and catches my wrist. His grip is like iron, forcing my fingers open until the book thuds to the floor.
I try to kick, but that trick has already lost its magic.
“Enough of this,” Tattoo grumbles from behind, his voice tight with pain and anger.
Before I can scream again, he’s pulling a cloth out of his back pocket to gag me with. Gross.
Punching leads to nowhere when strong hands seize my wrists, binding them behind my back with a zip-tie that bites into my skin.
I’m lifted off my feet, kicking uselessly into the air. My struggles are frantic, muffled, and utterly futile. The last coherent thought I have is the terrifying unawareness of the unknown.
* * *
They carry me through the shadows of the gated community. Like they’re trying to stay hidden for obvious reasons, there’s no car parked nearby. Instead, they move quickly toward a side patch.
Tattoo’s shoulder is sharp, digging deeper into my stomach. The painful ache is far worse than the one I felt from hunger. Even worse, I’m starting to get slight motion sickness from all this movement.
Groaning into the fabric stuffed into my mouth, I silently promise that I’m going to get some kind of revenge.
On the other side of the gate, two motorcycles wait for us. I’m set down on unsteady footing, before a blade is brandished. Instead of using it on me, the zip ties are cut.
“You’re going to need a grip, so don’t make me regret this.” The calm one glances at my wrists, and I swear a soft apology leaves his lips at the angry red lines left behind.
These are evil men. They don’t apologize. My mind is just playing tricks on me.
Now that my hands are free, can I steal his knife? I’ve never hurt someone before. Do I have it in me?
“Get on.” Tattoo jerks his chin toward one of the bikes. “You’re riding with Kansas. Swerve him off the road by thinking you can survive it, you won’t.”
I shiver at the threat in his voice. Without any choice, I’m forced to saddle a seat of a vehicle I’ve only ever seen through my window.
Kansas lowers my gag, trying to lure me into a false sense of mercy. “Yeah, I don’t think I can survive a crash, either. So lean when I do, alright?”
I don’t nod, refusing to make him feel better. I get a sigh in return.
This late in the night, I’m sure we’ve blended in with our surroundings. Once the roar of the bike comes to life, I have two options. I can hold onto the guy called Kansas, or I can risk falling off and dying on the road.
With no choice, I have to cling to the leather of his jacket. With no time to fear my first time on a motorcycle, I have to hug him tight as I’m stolen away through the night.
Where I’m taken is some random building in the middle of nowhere. While there might not be much happening surrounding the acre of land, from the number of motorcycles parked and the people surrounding the building, I can see that the life of the party is inside.
Is this a hideout? If they’re bikers, I can bet it’s a clubhouse.
“Stick close.” Tattoo gives the order and thrusts the strap of my backpack into my hands. Looking like he wants to tie my hands back together just in case, I’m relieved when he doesn’t.
I should be thankful that he grabbed my stuff. Then again, I’m pretty sure they only did it to make it look like I ran away. As many safe measures as they want to take, they know my house is littered with cameras, don’t they? Someone is going to notice. Hopefully soon.
We enter the building and the stench of cigarette smoke is the first thing to hit my nose.
With how many people are inside, I strangely feel a little better. More witnesses. My fears of dying or getting sold off for a ransom lessen slightly, but hardly enough to let me put my guard down.
No one bats an eye in my direction. Most are lost in their own world. Despite a look of horror on my face, I’m just another part of a Friday night to these guys.
Finally, my shoulder is caught by burly fingers and I’m forced to stop.
“Ghost.” A hand presses into the middle of my back, and I don’t know which of the brutes is nudging me forward.
Do all of these guys have nicknames? Is everyone’s true identity a secret? The more I think about it, the more worried I grow.
If my father hadn’t already put me in danger with Blaze, I would have found it on my own.
My attention narrows in front of me at a man tucked away at a table. Half of him is hidden behind a laptop. When he straightens, my next breath catches in my throat.
I don’t notice his green eyes or his sharp jawline. Instead, I’m eyeing the scarring on his throat, pale marks that travel beneath the neckline of his tank top, spreading to his shoulder in violent-looking gash marks.
He looks like he met the Grim Reaper and came back from the dead. Is that why he’s called Ghost?
Then, he gets up, and I see there’s more damage. Wearing a pair of shorts, one of his legs is fine. The other, nonexistent. Replaced with a chrome-like replicant.
“What the fuck?” His face warps into anger as he storms in my direction.
Glaring past me at my captors, he reaches out without warning, capturing my wrist between his fingers.
For the first time in the last hour, I feel warmth, and my heart does this little flutter at the growl that brews in the back of his throat. “You didn’t have to be rough with her.”
“Diesel got kicked in the dick.” Kansas explains my struggle like it’s an excuse. When Ghost glares at him, he stumbles on his words. “We got her here, didn’t we?”
While the man in front of me ignores them, I feel his eyes on my wrist. His thumbs graze the red lines from how tight my bindings were.
This is the guy who had me kidnapped? He’s not like anything I’ve seen before, and that’s not just because my father purposely kept me away from men.
I have no idea what is happening, but this person will help me piece the mystery together.