Chapter 36 Isla
ISLA
Paltrow is serious.
And not in the abstract way he was earlier; waving a gun to make us move, but with no real plan of killing us until he was sure he had Kai’s attention.
He’s serious in the immediate and horrifying now of it.
He’s going to touch me, and I’m not going to be able to escape. Garrett isn’t going to be able to stop him, and Kai isn’t about to burst into this cave or mineshaft or whatever it is. My knees begin to shake, and my teeth chatter.
Paltrow drags his gaze up and down my body, and my stomach drops so hard, I feel like I’ve been hollowed out.
The mine seems to tilt, the lamp swaying gently on the hook not helping, as the shadow behind him stretches and shrinks.
He takes a step closer to me, then, another. The mine shaft wall feels rough and cold against my back, a solid reminder that there is nowhere left to go.
Garrett jerks against the ropes and ties holding him. The sound he makes isn’t human. It’s an animalistic growl ripped straight out of his chest, and I feel the pain of it so greatly that I can’t help the tears that form.
“Oh, look, Shade. She’s crying for you, tied up like the beast you are.”
“I will kill you,” Garrett shouts, as spit flies from his mouth in fury. “I will force feed you your own dick. I’ll make you sit on my knife and fuck you with it if you touch her.”
“Don’t,” I beg, lifting my hands. I don’t recognize my own voice, as the word is choked with tears. Whatever happens next, I’ll survive, but I don’t know if Garrett will survive watching.
Paltrow tilts his head, studying me, then looking to Garrett with a desperate grin. “You want him to stop hurting, Isla?” His tone is conversational; he’s immune to the emotional exhaustion Garrett and I feel.
My pulse reverberates through my body. It’s in the whooshing in my ears, the dull throb in my temples, and the steady thud of my heart.
He gestures lazily with his gun toward Garrett. “I can make it stop. Right now. If you let me touch you.”
Garrett thrashes against the rope again; this time, the beam creaks. “Isla, don’t you fucking—”
Paltrow stamps toward him, gun raised. “You can’t stop this now, while you’re alive, so you definitely won’t be able to if I put a bullet through your skull. I’ve a feeling Isla might cry seeing you dead, but I won’t care about that.”
He turns back to me, and I force myself to lift my chin and hold his gaze. I need to follow Garrett’s example and not be afraid.
“If you let me touch you,” Paltrow says calmly, “I won’t hurt him anymore.”
Everything in me goes still. The cold, practical, former club girl in me knows the answer to this equation.
I can close my eyes and mentally remove myself.
I can pretend he’s every biker who never cared.
I can switch off the part of me that understands the horror of this deal, if it keeps Garrett alive.
I look at him. He’s wrecked. Blood dripping down his chin. His face swollen, his eyes bruised. His body is bent in shapes that make it hurt just looking at him as he fights to stay conscious.
He shakes his head ever so slightly, begging me to not do what I’m considering. “Fight,” he says hoarsely. “You fight like your fucking life depends on it.”
Paltrow laughs sharply. “You don’t get to give orders.”
“I do,” he says, then looks at me. “To her.”
I study him, this man who would put himself in front of me without question. I could do this. I could survive until Kai comes.
Something shifts.
Not the fear. That’s still lodged in my gut. But it’s a series of fast realizations.
I’m not the woman who flinches from bikers anymore.
I’m not the woman who thought them all interchangeable.
Kai trusts me to care for Garrett. Garrett trusts me to fight.
My hands curl into fists in the ropes.
“Fine,” I say. “But I want your word, you won’t touch Garrett.”
Paltrow smiles; his shoulders loosen. “Well, now, that was easy, wasn’t it?”
I step away from the wall a few inches.
“Don’t do this, Isla. It’ll kill me,” Garrett cries.
I look to him, wishing I could tell him what I’m thinking. “I think it’s going to happen one way or the other, love. Have faith in me.”
One second, Paltrow is a few steps away; the next, his fingers are digging into my arm hard enough to leave bruises. I gasp as the pain flares bright.
Garrett roars.
And I don’t think. I act.
I slam my forehead forward as Paltrow’s mouth approaches mine. Instead of the kiss he was expecting, there’s a crunch, and his startled jolt makes him loosen his grip.
Twisting my body, I wrench my arm free and stumble back into the mine wall with an impact that rattles my teeth.
Paltrow staggers, cursing, one hand flying to his face as blood pours between his fingers. “You bitch.”
He lunges for me, but this time, I drop. I don’t even know where the instinct comes from, just that, somehow, my body knows how to survive. I duck beneath his arm and slam my shoulder into his ribs. He grunts and stumbles back.
More importantly, his gun skitters across the dirt.
“Gun,” Garrett shouts.
But Paltrow is fast, his boot coming out and catching me hard in the knee. Pain explodes down my leg, and I cry out as the world tilts violently.
But just like I have my entire life, I stay on my feet, somehow.
I throw myself at Paltrow, wild and desperate. I go for his eyes, my bound hands clawing at his face until he backhands me, the blow snapping my head to one side. Stars burst behind my eyes, and the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth.
As Paltrow goes for the gun, I crawl in the other direction to Garrett.
The ropes around his wrists are thick and old, and my nails rip and break as I untie the knot chaining him beneath the beam.
The zip tie is tighter, cutting into his skin.
I press my mouth to it, my teeth scraping the plastic and fibers from the rope.
“Get them off, Sunbeam. Hurry.”
I saw my teeth across them and can feel Garrett pulling his hands apart as hard as he can to help them snap.
My jaw protests, and the taste of dirt and old hemp and Garrett’s blood taint my mouth. I worry the zip tie until my gums ache, until I can feel it getting thinner, until I feel it start to give.
I don’t realize Paltrow is behind me until he grabs my hair, yanking me back so hard, my scalp burns. But I flail around and manage to get my hand to his balls and squeeze and wrench them with everything I have.
Paltrow lets out a wail, and he bends at the waist. He tries to raise the recovered weapon, but his hand shakes so violently, he can’t fire.
Yet.
“You can do it, Isla,” Garrett encourages when I return my teeth to the zip tie.
I clamp my teeth down again, knowing we only have seconds, if that. Maybe I’ll die in Garrett’s arms, or maybe we’ll figure something out.
When the tie snaps, I don’t stop. I go for the rope around Garrett’s ankles, but Paltrow slams into me, knocking me sideways.
My shoulder hits the ground hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
He looms over me, breathing hard, his face contorted with rage, the cold metal of the gun against my temple.
A tear spills over and runs down my cheek. I hate the idea that I’m giving Paltrow what he wants…my breakdown.
“You think you’re brave?” he snarls.
My laugh comes out broken and hysterical. “I think”—I wheeze—“you picked the wrong captives.”
Garrett surges behind him, having unbound his feet while I distracted Paltrow.
With free hands that are bloodied and furious, he grabs Paltrow from behind, locking an arm around his throat.
They crash into the wall together.
I scramble to my feet as Paltrow elbows Garrett so hard in the ribs, I swear, I hear one break. But Garrett doesn’t let go. It’s like his mind has overruled every other outcome.
“Isla, get back,” Garrett shouts.
But, too late, I notice the swing of Paltrow’s arm, and white-hot pain lances through my face as my ears ring and every bone in my body brutally rattles as I hit the ground.
For a terrifying second, I can’t feel my legs, and I have to pinch my thighs to reassure myself I still have blood flowing to them.
I suck in a ragged breath as I roll onto my side, clutching my face. My vision swims, but I can see Garrett is still fighting, refusing to go down.
We did this together.
Gave ourselves a fighting chance.
This has to be enough to hold.
I think of Kai and wonder how they’re going to find us. Then, I see our phones, mine and Garrett’s, both switched off in the corner.
I’m torn, wanting to help Garrett fight, or possibly giving a beacon to the Outlaws so they know where we are.
While Garrett rolls in the dirt with Paltrow—who has lost his gun, but I don’t see where—I make the only decision I can.
I force myself to my feet and half-limp and half-run to the phones, both of them, and switch mine on, first, as I hurry to the shaft’s entrance. I don’t know the code for Garrett’s phone. But I’m certain Wren will have been asked to try and track them both.
The ground tears my already injured feet up as I hurry until I’m clear of the old shaft and out in the meadow in front of it. My phone takes an age to turn on, and every painful second could cost us our lives.
When I finally see my home screen, I unlock it and call Kai. While I wait for it to connect, I turn Garrett’s phone on too. Two signals have to be better than one. I manage to turn on the flashlight on Garrett’s phone as I keep my phone to my ear.
“Isla?” Kai says, and I can hear the agony in his voice.
“Come help us, please.”