Chapter Twenty-Five #3
Max hesitates at the door, glancing out. “It was a test,” he says quietly. “I told him the layout of the compound, and he wanted to see if I was lying. He plans to attack once you and the rest of the officers are dead.”
“You told him which building was the clubhouse?”
“Yeah,” Max admits. “And I said the rest were just homes. Nothing anyone couldn’t figure out by looking through the damn gate.”
“The bunker?” Spike asks, voice suddenly cold.
“ Fuck no, Prez,” Max says instantly. “I know you don’t trust me, and maybe you shouldn’t. But I would never put the women or kids at risk. I knew the second we rolled up they’d be down there. Even if they planned to fire that grenade launcher, I never would’ve let it happen.”
“Damn it, Max, you’ve got my head spinning,” Spike mutters.
“Sorry, Prez,” Max says, shutting the door. “I need to figure out how to get Sunny out of here without raising suspicion.”
“Punch me. Right here,” I say, pointing to the area over my broken ribs. “Tell them Muerte sent you to get me to a doctor. Men don’t think straight when a woman’s screaming in pain.”
“I’m not punching you in your broken ribs, ” he says, exasperated. “Besides, these men wouldn’t care if you were screaming or bleeding out. It wouldn’t matter.”
“What?” Jack explodes through the speaker. “Damn it, Sunny! Quit saying shit that can get you hurt.”
“Fuck,” Max mutters as his phone beeps. “Guys, I’ve got to call you back. Muerte’s calling.”
He cuts the line before they can respond, then shoots me a look.
Got it. Not talking.
“Boss,” Max answers, voice turning cold and emotionless in an instant.
“Max, how’s my new pet doing?” Muerte asks, amusement dripping from his voice.
“Being a pain in my ass,” Max replies. “She keeps throwing shit at me.”
Muerte laughs. “Feisty. I love it.”
There’s a pause before he continues, “Anyway, I’m headed to Palm Springs to drop our little mouse off.”
Max glances at me, then says flatly, “I’m putting this woman back in the pit.”
His wink softens the blow, and I give a small nod.
“Oh, come on, Max,” Muerte chuckles. “She’s not that bad. No, not the pit. That’s for prisoners , not queens.”
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly get stuck. Max smirks.
“Well, I have no intention of babysitting,” he grumbles.
“Take her to the guest room in the west wing,” Muerte says. “It’s secure but comfortable. We’ll break her in slowly. Only then will she be allowed inside mi casa.”
The call ends with a click.
Max pockets the phone and turns to me. “Okay,” he mutters under his breath. “Time to make this look real. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m gonna have to put you over my shoulder. Which ribs are broken?”
Cringing, I point to the area in the center of my chest above my heart.
Yeah… this is definitely going to hurt.
“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m going down on one knee. I need you to lean over my shoulder. I’ll lift you as gently as I can. But right as I open the door, I need you to start screaming and struggling. Don’t hold back.”
“Where are we going?” I ask as he kneels in front of me.
“The west wing, of course,” he smirks. “Well… we’ll head in that direction, at least. Now, lean on up.”
I hesitate. “Are you sure you can carry me? I’m not exactly small.” I rub my tummy with a frown. Jack has been feeding me a lot more than I normally eat. I’m sure I’ve gained at least five pounds since meeting him.
His expression turns deadly serious. “I really hope you’ve never said that in front of Bones.”
I blink.
“I can carry you just fine, sweetheart. Now, come on.”
With a sigh, I lean over his shoulder. Immediately, I become self-conscious about the back of my dress riding up.
“I’ll hold it down,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry.”
I nod, bracing my hands against his hips as he rises…effortlessly.
“Wow,” I mutter. “Strong.”
“Again, don’t let Bones hear you say that,” he chuckles.
“Now, I’m truly sorry about this next part.
I’m gonna lock your legs down tight so it looks convincing, but I need you to fight me.
Kick, cuss, bite, hit…whatever you’ve got.
It’s gonna hurt your ribs, I know, but I’ll walk as fast as I can without raising suspicion. ”
“I’m fine,” I lie…mostly. With all the activity today, I’ve already been hurting worse than I have in a week.
“Alright,” he breathes. “Let’s make some noise.”
Max adjusts his grip on my legs, one arm locking me into place, the other pressing down the back of my dress like he promised.
I suck in a sharp breath as pain slices through my ribs.
Then he opens the door.
At first, there’s nothing but silence. The hallway is long and sterile, lined with concrete and dull overhead lights that flicker like something out of a nightmare. The air reeks of bleach, smoke, and sweat.
“Start screaming,” Max murmurs low. “Make it good.”
I don’t hesitate. “Put me down, you sick bastard!” I scream, throwing my elbow back. The motion jolts my ribs, but I grind my teeth through the pain and keep going.
“Struggle all you want,” Max growls, loud and cold. “You’re only making it worse for yourself.”
His voice is flat…controlled. Nothing like the man I just spoke to. He sounds like a monster. And it works. I keep screaming and struggling.
As we pass a door, it opens and a group of three men steps into view, all muscle, dark shirts, and guns. Their expressions shift from boredom to interest the second they spot us.
“What’s this?” one asks with a sneer.
“Boss wants her in the west wing,” Max replies without pausing. “Says she’s a long-term visitor. One that needs extra attention.”
The implication is disgusting. But it works.
The men chuckle, dark and knowing.
“West wing, huh?” one says. “He must really like this one.”
“She’s a screamer,” Max mutters. “Already caused trouble.”
They laugh louder.
“She won’t last a week.”
We keep walking, their voices fading behind us but Max’s pace doesn’t slow.
Just when I think we’re in the clear, he mutters under his breath, “Heads up. Couple big names coming this way. People Muerte actually listens to.”
I nod faintly, tightening my grip on his hip and bracing myself.
Then I go all in.
I thrash violently…kicking, twisting, clawing at his back. “You touch me again and I’ll kill you!” I scream, voice cracking.
Pain explodes through my ribs like fire. Something shifts. A stab so sharp it steals my breath.
I can’t inhale. Can’t speak. Can’t even cry out.
But I keep fighting.
Even as my lungs seize and I struggle to pull in air, I keep struggling because someone important is watching. Because Max needs cover.
Max’s hold on me tightens instantly. “Knock it off, bitch,” he barks, playing his part to the end, even as I feel his grip shift…more secure now, more careful.
He knows I’m hurt.
But we’re still being watched.
So I keep moving.
Even if it kills me.
And if this pain is anything to go by…it just might.
Boots echo ahead.
Max slows just slightly, his posture tightening beneath me. “Play it up,” he mutters low, almost silent.
I kick again, gasping, the stabbing pain in my ribs spreading like fire. My lungs still won’t work right, but I force a sound out anyway. A broken, high-pitched cry. If I can’t scream, I can at least whimper.
I can’t see anything from my position, but I can hear the men approach. My face is angled toward Max’s back, but I hear the shift in his breathing. Feel the subtle tightening of his muscles.
These men aren’t like the others.
They stop in front of us.
“Problem?” one of them asks, voice older, smoother. The kind of voice that doesn’t have to shout to be dangerous.
“No, sir,” Max replies instantly, his tone clipped and respectful. “Boss ordered this one to the west wing. Said she’s special. Long-term material. Wanted her secured before he left for Palm Springs.”
There’s a pause.
Then a second voice, rougher. “This the one of the females brought in?”
I flop against Max’s back and just cry. I don’t have to fake these tears. The pain is so intense that I can’t seem to focus on anything else.
“She’s been fighting me since she woke up,” Max says, giving a slight bounce to make it look like I’m still struggling, though he holds me steady. Gentle. Careful.
Boots scrape.
They’re moving.
I feel them circle around Max…my pulse pounding in my ears. I can’t see them, but I feel their presence…like shadows sliding too close. Predatory.
“Let me see her.”
Max hesitates. Just for a second.
Then he adjusts, angling his shoulder just enough for them to see my face.
A hand brushes my hair back. I go perfectly still.
A low whistle follows. “Pretty and feisty,” the man says. “Yeah, I see the appeal.”
Remembering to play my part, I suck in a deep and painful breath…and spit on the fuckers face.
“Fuck…you.”
Another man laughs behind him. “Would’ve kept her for myself.”
“She got a name?” the man wiping his face asks.
Max shakes his head. “Didn’t ask. Boss didn’t offer.”
“Smart,” the first man replies. A beat of silence. “Well, don’t let her scratch you up too bad on the way.”
“I’ll manage,” Max mutters, voice colder than before.
Their footsteps retreat, fading into the hallway.
Only once they’re gone does Max exhale through his nose, subtle but shaking.
His grip on my legs tightens, not rough…protective.
“We’re almost there, you sweet, brave girl,” he murmurs. “Just a few more steps.”
I want to respond. Want to tell him I’m okay.
But the fire in my ribs has flared again, and all I can do is hang on.
I stop struggling.
If Max needs me to start again, I don’t think I’ll be able to. The strength to fight is gone.
I don’t know how long I dangle there…seconds…minutes...before we pass through another door and the world explodes into blinding sunlight.
I want to cheer. I want to breathe in the freedom.
But I can’t.
“ Fuck, ” Max swears under his breath. “Damn it. All I have is my bike.”
“Be… fine,” I grit out, barely able to speak.
“You won’t, Sunny,” he says, voice tight with frustration. “Something’s wrong. I can feel it. You’re hurt. Worse than you’re letting on.”
I don’t deny it. I can’t.
“Besides,” he adds, scanning the area, “we’ve got to cross the border, and you don’t have any ID.”
I close my eyes, trying to focus on anything but the stabbing heat in my ribs. “How did they…get me here?”
“They bought off the people working it,” he growls. “Paid them to look the other way.”
I try not to flinch at that. I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am.
Max shifts his grip like he’s getting ready to move again. “I need to call Spike. But first I have to get you out of here. I fucking hate it, but we’re taking the bike.”
Max moves fast. Before I can fully register what’s happening, we’re at his bike…sleek, dark, and completely unforgiving for someone with shattered ribs.
“I need you not to scream, Sunny,” he says, voice low but firm. “I’m going to set you on your feet, and the movement’s going to hurt. Don’t. Scream. ”
Sure. No problem. I’m just a woman being held together by pure adrenaline.
Slowly, he lowers himself into a crouch, guiding me down until my bare feet touch the ground.
Then he helps me straighten.
Blinding pain explodes behind my eyes. The world tilts. My knees buckle.
But I bite my tongue and swallow the scream clawing its way up my throat.
Not here. Not now.
Max adjusts the bike’s position, bracing it steady as he steps around to help me.
“This is going to suck,” he mutters. “Sorry in advance.”
He crouches slightly and threads one arm behind my back, the other under my knees. I brace myself, but I’m already trembling. Gently, he lifts me onto the bike’s rear seat. It’s narrow, hard, and impossible to get comfortable on with broken ribs.
“Alright,” he says softly, carefully easing in front of me. “Almost done.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as the weight shifts beneath me.
“Lean with me,” he instructs. “When I lean, you lean. Don’t try to sit stiff…it’ll just make it worse. And wrap your arms around me. Tight as you can.”
I hesitate, but I do as he says, linking my arms around his waist. Every breath is a battle, but I bury my face against his back and nod.
He doesn’t wait. The bike rumbles to life beneath us, and we take off.
The rumble of the bike vibrates every bone in my body. Every. Broken. Rib.
Ten brutal minutes later, we’re pulling into a gravel lot tucked behind a crumbling building covered in rusted signage and graffiti. It’s abandoned but not forgotten. The kind of place people only use when they don’t want to be found.
Max kills the engine but doesn’t move. His body stays still, controlled, but his hand trembles slightly as he pulls out his phone.
“Calling Spike,” he mutters.
He puts the phone on speaker.
“ Talk, ” Spike barks.
“We’re safe,” Max says first. “But Sunny’s hurt. Bad. Worse than before.”
“ What the fuck, Max?! ” Jack explodes in the background.
“I’m in pain, Jack,” I say, cutting in, voice thin but clear. It takes every bit of strength I have left to talk as calmly and clearly as possible so Jack doesn’t lose it. “But it was the only way out. We had to make it look real.”
“What happened?” Spike demands.
“The only way out was through,” Max says.
“I needed her to struggle against me to make it look real. One person so much as suspected I was going against the boss, and they would have called him. Struggling caused something to happen to her already broken ribs. But I can’t stop anywhere to get her help.
I need a way across the border. And fast. We can’t take the highway and we sure as hell can’t risk a checkpoint. ”
“Give me five,” Someone’s voice cuts in. “I’ve got a contact. Private plane. Quiet landing strip near the compound. I’ll falsify the flight manifest and papers. You’ll be cleared as medical transport.”
“You sure?” Max asks.
“Since when did you start doubting me, Max?” the man replies. “You’ll be wheels up in under twenty minutes. Sending you the location now.”
Max looks back over his shoulder at me. “You good to hang in there a little longer?”
I nod, jaw clenched, voice barely above a whisper. “I just want Jack.”
“Hang on, baby,” Jack says, voice thick with emotion. “When I get you home, I’m never letting you leave again.”
I sigh and gently rest my forehead against Max’s back.
“I think I’m okay with that,” I whisper.
“I love you, Sunny,” Jack says. “Max, take care of her and we won’t have any issues.”
“Not that my word means much these days,” Max replies, his voice low but steady. “But you have it. I’ll get her there in one piece. Just... have Patch waiting at the landing site. She’s not doing too well, brother.”
“Pilot’s en route,” another voice cuts in…cool, direct. “Don’t be late. He won’t wait around.”
“Thanks, Maverick,” Max says, already shifting the bike’s weight like he’s preparing to ride again. “Heading out now.”