Chapter 18 A Nightmare Unfolds
EIGHTEEN
A NIGHTMARE UNFOLDS
Rose
The clubhouse was still alive with partying late into the night, but I went to bed early, knowing I wanted to get a head start on work today. The orders just keep flying in, and I’ve got two rings that need to be mailed out.
I glance over at Rage, who’s still fast asleep.
His messy hair and the way the bedsheet rests low on his hips, revealing his fit body, make me pause for a moment.
He looks peaceful. He needs the rest. I woke up at 1:00 a.m. and found him still awake, watching TV. He’ll probably be out for a while yet.
That’s a bit of a problem, though. I get anxious if I hold on to orders for my business for too long. I like to send them out as quickly as possible—I want my customers to have a positive experience.
Rage did mention I could use one of the club vehicles, which is a relief. It saves me waiting on him or someone else to take me into town. I hate feeling like a burden. Still, I’ll have to look into buying a car of my own soon.
I get up quietly, careful not to wake him, and slip into some clothes. I head into the spare room—now completely overtaken by my business—and gather the packages and get them ready for postage.
Downstairs I grab an apple off the counter and take a bite as I head toward the front door. The club members keep their keys hanging up there, and I grab the ones I remember are for the truck. With a deep breath, I step outside, ready to tackle the day.
The morning air is crisp, and it nips at my skin.
It’s a bit overcast today. I press the button and the truck beeps—so it’s the right keys—and I hop on in.
I giggle. I feel ridiculously small in this beast. It takes some fiddling with the buttons to move the seat forward, but once I sort that out, I send a message to Rage.
I just borrowed the truck. I’ll be back soon. Going to the post office to drop off some packages. Love you xx
I smile at the message, then drive out of the driveway and along the dirt road until I reach the end of the property. In town, I’m extra cautious and drive below the speed limit, and I end up parking near the post office. The streets are quiet.
I look at my phone. Damn, I’m early—the post office doesn’t open for another twenty minutes. I go through my phone and land in the photo section. I delete old pictures of me with Tyler and Kayla.
The sound of the passenger door opening makes me look up. A massive figure slides into the seat. I gasp. It’s the Russian fighter, Ivan. His body is huge, filling the truck. His face is sharp and cold. My heart hammers.
I want to scream, but he says, “Don’t even think about it.” He has a gun down low, aimed at me. His eyes are pale and icy. “Drive,” he says, his Russian accent thick and his voice low, leaving no room for argument.
I hesitate and scan the streets, but they’re bare, so no one would hear me scream anyway, and I don’t want to risk getting shot. I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white. “W-what?” I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.
He jams the gun into my ribs. “Drive now, bitch!” His tone is laced with menace.
I’m hyperventilating. “Where am I going?” I murmur, struggling to get the words out.
“To the park at the beach,” he replies bluntly, his gaze fixed out the windshield. “Where you’ll get out and get into another car. No more questions. Just drive.”
Other car? My stomach churns as fear claws its way up my throat. I turn the key with trembling fingers, and the engine rumbles. As I pull out and drive away, I notice their sedan behind us.
The short trip to the park feels like an eternity. My mind races, my thoughts a blur of panic and dread. Rage will come for me . . . but he’s not here now. I’m alone, and the man beside me is radiating anger that I can only hope he doesn’t take out on me.
Once the beach comes into view, he points over to the park. “Park outside, away from any other vehicles. If you scream or try to run when you get out, I’ll shoot you and go after Rage next.”
Vomit rises up, but I swallow it back down.
I park in a secluded spot. Ivan puts the gun in the pocket of his jacket and gets out of the truck.
His eyes lock onto me as he walks around and opens the door for me.
I hesitantly get out. He firmly grabs my arm in one hand while keeping his other hand on the gun in his pocket.
Ivan’s manager is standing by the hood of the other car, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “We meet again,” he says with a sly smirk.
I cringe. I stumble as Ivan yanks me to their car. “Get in,” he barks as he holds the back door open.
I slide across the seat. My heart’s pounding so loudly.
“She’ll stay with us until Rage agrees to step back into the ring,” Ivan says. “It ended too quickly last time. I refuse to go home humiliated after losing to some kid.”
“And if he doesn’t care about her?”
“The boys back home will love a new plaything.” I can hear the smile in his voice as he says it.
The tears fall hard and fast, just like the rain that begins to fall.
They aren’t just using me as leverage—they’re going to hurt me if they don’t get what they want.
I try to think of a way out, but there isn’t one.
Rage will be asleep, and I don’t know how long it will take for him to realize I’m not coming home.
Ivan ties my hands behind my back. The men get into the car and we drive away.
The ride over takes longer than I expected. We enter a run-down trailer park with graffiti marring its sign. The trailers are in varying states of disrepair. We park in front of one. The front door opens, and Ivan’s girlfriend rushes out of the trailer. She hated me for them losing money.
Ivan gets out, and they talk in Russian by the hood of the car.
The manager walks back, opens the car door, and pulls me out. “Look, lady, just be good. Don’t piss the big man off, and hopefully your boy toy will fight Ivan again and we can have you back to him in no time.”
They don’t know Rage at all . . . He said he’d do anything to protect me. I keep my mouth closed. I look at the trailer; it’s a patchwork of rust, peeling paint, and dirt. The windows are cracked, the edges held together with duct tape. A shiver racks my spine.
“You’re staying in the bedroom. If you’re staying the night, don’t try and run. Ivan will be on the couch.”
The thought of having to sleep here has me blinking back tears. The manager pulls me toward the front door. I don’t even look at Ivan and his partner. I feel their death stare burning a hole into my back as I walk. I nearly trip over the scattered beer cans near the entrance.
The trailer smells of mold and cigarette smoke, and it feels cramped and suffocating. The manager yanks me forward. The living area is cluttered with mismatched furniture, and a worn-out couch sits in front of an old TV surrounded by beer cans, fast-food wrappers, and an overflowing ashtray.
We walk further in and he pushes me into a bedroom.
He leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.
Inside, a bed is pushed up against one wall.
I take my chances with the floor and slide down the wall, feeling the heavy weight of the situation.
The room is a prison. I stare at the cracked ceiling, my mind clinging to one thought: Rage will come for me. He has to.
The bedroom door opens wide, making me jolt. It’s Ivan. He has rope and duct tape in his hands. My blood runs cold. “You don’t have to put that on me,” I beg. “I won’t yell or run away.”
No response. All I see is his fist coming toward my face, and I’m out cold.
Rage
I wake up with a pounding headache and the faint taste of whiskey lingering on my tongue.
The events of the wedding come back to me—lots of laughter and toasts, and too many drinks.
I groan and run a hand over my face as I sit up.
The bed beside me is empty. I grab my phone from the nightstand.
A message from Rose lights up the screen.
She went to the post office and took the truck.
My breath hitches. That was hours ago . .
. too long ago. She should have been back by now.
I call Rose. No answer. My heart slams against my rib cage.
I call again . . . one . . . two . . . three more times.
A knot forms in my stomach. Something isn’t right.
She’d answer. I stand up and pace the room.
Yesterday at the club meeting, we were discussing the escalating threats from the Russians now that we told them I wasn’t fighting anymore.
Reaper told them they’re banned from entering and going to all future matches.
Reaper kept tabs on them. He had the owner of the units they were staying at in Crown Village keep him updated. Apparently, they left yesterday.
The club thought it was over. That the Russians had given up and left. But I had a gut feeling that it wouldn’t be that easy. Ivan is too proud. Losing the fight had cost him his pride and his money, and men like him don’t just walk away from that.
My chest tightens. They know I care about Rose. Even the Russian’s partner knew who she was at the fight, so they had talked about her importance to me.
I had a feeling it wasn’t over. I just hope I was wrong.
I must search the clubhouse for Rose. I yank the bedroom door open, my heart already racing, and rush to the spare room where Rose keeps her business stuff. It’s empty.
Panic starts to creep in as I dart to the bathroom and throw the door open. No one.
My breathing quickens, my chest tightening, as I bolt down the stairs. My bare feet pound against the floor, the sound echoing through the quiet clubhouse.
“Someone’s in a rush this morning,” Axle calls out, but I barely register his words as I whip past him.
I search everywhere—the kitchen, the living room, outside, in the gym. Each empty room only fuels the dread building inside me. By the time I’ve scoured the entire clubhouse, sweat is dripping down my back and my mind is spiraling with every worst-case scenario.
What if they’ve taken her? What if she’s hurt? I can’t lose her. Not Rose.
I dart past a few of the men playing pool and go out the front and check in the shed. The truck isn’t there.
The front opens and Viper, Bomber, and Reaper walk out. “What’s wrong, man?” asks Viper, his voice laced with worry.
“Rose is gone,” I say frantically. “She sent me a message hours ago saying she left for the post office. She’s not answering her phone. She’s not at the clubhouse.”
The men stand tall, immediately full of unease.
“What car did she take?” asks Bomber.
“The club truck.”
“Twitch is on his honeymoon, but come with me. I know how to track it,” says Reaper.
A spark of hope ignites. The truck has GPS. I hope we can find her.
We follow Reaper to the computer room. Seconds feel like years as I wait for him.
“The car’s sitting outside the park at the beach. Are you sure she didn’t just go to the beach?”
My fists clench at my sides. “She’s never strayed from her word. She would have told me. We’re good like that.” Until last night. I didn’t tell her my concerns. Maybe if I did, she wouldn’t have gone out by herself this morning.
Reaper nods, his face grim. “Let’s go to the truck. Bomber, tell Demon he’ll want to come with us. Viper, notify the other men to stay here with the women and children.”
We go out to our bikes and wait for the others. I think of Rose’s smile, the way she laughs, the way she cares about me and worries about my mental health. I can’t let anything happen to her. I won’t.
“I’m coming for you, Rose,” I mutter under my breath, my voice low and full of conviction. “Just hold on.”