Chapter 3 Slade #2
Phase one of my escape is done. Finding my ride and hot-wiring it are phases two and three.
The final and hardest phase will be getting out of the gates.
But if the same Prospects are working as when I arrived, I’m pretty sure I could sweet-talk my way out.
I spent years on this compound getting into trouble and knowing how to talk my way out of it.
If it went to shit, though, I’d use their weapons against them. That’s my last resort, but something I will do if needed, because I am not staying.
Set with resolve, I move, keeping low and to the shadows.
I creep along the side of the clubhouse, listening and watching for anyone who is going to catch me, using my skills I’ve honed over the past few years with my friends and stealing cars.
When I come to the end of the building, I stop and peek around the corner to the front of the clubhouse.
A smile curls the corners of my mouth because the Jag is parked right there. Not off in the shop where the MC members work on their bikes, or parked in front of the building closer to the door, but right at the corner of the building where I stand.
Lady Luck may just be on my side tonight. Now, what are the chances they left the doors unlocked and the keys in it?
Hot-wiring it would be no problem; however, breaking a window to get in could be my downfall.
Before I move, I listen and scan around again, then I crouch-walk to the driver’s side of the Jag. I place my hand on the door handle, half expecting someone to jump out and grab me, but nothing happens.
Not questioning my luck, I pull on the handle and fight another smile because it’s unlocked. Which fits the bikers since they value and protect their bikes, but cars, or ‘cages,’ are only a tool to be used when necessary.
Keeping low, I open the door and lay my upper body on the floorboard of the driver’s seat. Hot-wiring—and quick hot-wiring under pressure—is my jam. I slip under the dash to go to work. But before I can even get the casing off, I pause at the sound of crunching gravel.
The noise didn’t come from the distance; it came from close by. Like, right outside the door, close by.
I shift my upper body so I can see under the open car door.
There are big biker boots.
Son of a bitch.
Lifting my eyes, my gaze travels up the open door to the man standing there. Tall and broad, with hard muscle. His slightly longer dark hair is pushed back and scruff lines his jaw. A long-sleeve Henley is under his leather cut, and dark jeans cover long, thick legs.
The warden who just caught me escaping, otherwise known as Bane.
Bane, Ash, and all the other Council members are older than me. Even though I didn’t recognize Army at first tonight, I recognized Bane, and I could never forget Ash.
My mind rapidly scrolls through my childhood memories regarding Bane—he, like the others, had watched over my brothers and me whenever we were at the compound. He had caught me more than once in one of my many mischievous acts and had just smiled, shook his head, and let me be.
Well, here’s hoping that’s still the case.
He’s regarding me with an unreadable expression and pushes his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “You don’t strike me as the hot-wiring kind, Slade.”
That, and other misconceptions like it, had always worked in my favor. People saw a small female with delicate, innocent features. No one usually looks too closely beyond the innocence and sees the deadness inside me—and no one ever looked at me and saw a member of a car heist crew.
“I watched a YouTube video upstairs,” I lie.
“And here I thought you’d be tucked into bed, fast asleep.”
My body is protesting the awkward, cramped position I’m in, so I ease out of the car.
I remember Bane.
Back then, teenage me had been hot for him, even though he was twelve years older.
Bane is a specimen—had been then, and he most definitely is now.
I don’t feel any attraction, though. Bane is a biker, like my piece of shit dad, and they’ll fuck anything that walks.
But more than that, like the past two years, I feel nothing but numbness, not even lust.
“If you really thought I was fast asleep, then why the guards, Bane? And why are you out here at four in the morning, lurking around my ride?”
He cocks his head and rubs his jaw. The sound of his scruff roughing up his hand drifts in the night. “You’re here to stay, Slade. Might as well get used to it.”
A zap of anger tries to rise from deep within the steel box I keep all my emotions buried in. That’s twice now that Bane has caused a reaction.
I need to be relentless at keeping all emotions repressed, otherwise the screams and memories of the Numbers assault me.
There was only one time when I tried to tell my friends what had happened to me, and I was completely overwhelmed and lost control.
I spiralled into chaos, like my mind and body were being severed from each other.
So other than that one little blip, I’ve felt nothing.
And no one has made my emotions try to wake up.
My nostrils flare as I squash the anger, trapping it deep down within the dark, broken parts of my soul. But with Bane standing in front of me, my anger and other emotions are waking up, protesting their captivity.
Another reason I need to get out of here.
Doubling down on repressing everything, I flatly respond to Bane’s claim that I’m staying here, “No, I’m leaving. My brothers never gave a shit about me when it mattered.”
“So give them a chance to fix it.”
“What are you, Dr. Phil?”
“You’ve been on your own, I’m suspecting—”
“Don’t suspect. Don’t assume. You know nothing about me.”
His eyes fall to my hand fisted at my side. It takes me a second to realize he’s looking at the wedding band on my finger—yet another thing that is fake about me.
“Are you running from someone?” His voice is low and deep as he looks pointedly at my ring.
Bane. I know his road name is because he’s a defender, a protector.
“I don’t need you to save me. But no, I’m not running,” I lie. “And I’m not a product of domestic violence, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m nothing like Tyla.”
“What happened to your mom wasn’t her fault.”
“Being gang raped?” He winces, either at my words or my flat tone, maybe both. “Of course, I know that wasn’t her fault. Wouldn’t matter if she’d been prancing around like the Bunnies.” I jerk my chin at the clubhouse. “She or anyone else should never be violated by one bastard, let alone four.”
Exhaustion slams into me. I’m so tired, so goddamn weary of this all. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Are you letting me leave?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Ash says you stay.”
“This fucking MC,” I say without any heat, tilting my head back and exhaling.
He smiles, and something deep inside me flutters the teeniest amount.
“The MC is a family. Your family, Slade. Welcome home.”