Chapter 2
Tori
I’m so deep in thought that I barely notice the three motorcycles turning into the alley.
I assume it’s just some of the members cutting down here to drag race on the deserted stretch of road behind the building.
I step aside to let them pass without looking up.
It’s only when they stop beside me, and the riders climb off, that I finally pay attention.
They’re all wearing full helmets that obscure their faces, but I don’t recognize their bikes, nor am I aware of any members of the Raging Bulls being this formidable.
All of the men stand over six feet tall and are solidly built, pure muscle and raw energy.
“Victoria King?” one of them asks, his voice gravelly and unfamiliar.
“Yes?” I say, confused. If they know me, they must be new members I haven’t met, sent by my father to take me back inside. But then why would they come on their bikes?
“Sorry about this, princess,” another says as he grabs me.
“What? Hey! Get your hands off me!” I yell, kicking and struggling as they drag me toward the bikes.
“Quiet, princess. Resisting will only make this harder.”
It’s then that I notice the tattoo on the man’s wrist, it’s a logo I know well, the Ghost Riders.
My father’s sworn enemies and rival MC. If they’ve come for me, this can’t be good.
I consider running or fighting, but I know it won’t help.
My mind flashes to what waits for me inside. A forced marriage to Spike.
I glance at the three men again. I don’t know what they have planned for me, but can it be any worse?
So, deciding to leave it all to fate I stare at them defiantly, take the helmet they offer me and climb on the back of one of the bikes without complaint.
These guys are organized and careful; this was a planned kidnapping.
To what end, I don’t know, but right now, my best bet is to do as I’m told and stay silent.
“Good girl,” the man whose bike I have climbed onto says. “Now, hold on tight.”
As we ride away from the clubhouse, the overriding feeling I have is relief rather than fear.
Just as I was praying for a way out, to leave this place, these masked men arrive and take me.
It’s insane, I know, but I can’t help feeling like anything has to be better than being left to my fate and forced to marry Spike.
Right now, given a choice between walking back into the Raging Bulls clubhouse and accepting the engagement or heading into the enemy’s den, I gladly choose the second.
Even though my father’s the president of the Raging Bulls, this is my first time riding on a motorcycle.
It’s a terrifying and exhilarating experience.
Despite myself, I cling to my kidnapper.
I can’t help noticing how muscular he is.
I must really be in shock if I’m thinking about my kidnapper’s abs.
Is it possible to get Stockholm Syndrome this quickly?
Maybe I’ve finally lost my mind. The prospect of marrying Spike sent me over the edge. But would I know that if I was crazy?
Eventually, we arrive at the Ghost Riders’ clubhouse, pulling up outside the back entrance. The man whose bike I am on unceremoniously slings me over his shoulder as if I weigh nothing. I cringe, expecting some cruel comment about how heavy I am, yet he stays silent.
“Hey! I can walk!” I protest, but he ignores me.
We head inside, past the door that no doubt leads into the bar, where the sounds of music and laughter waft through.
It sounds different from my father’s club, warmer, friendlier.
There’s no yelling or fighting, and country music is playing in place of heavy metal.
They take the second door and head straight downstairs into a basement.
One of them flicks on the bare striplight which illuminates the narrow stairwell with a door at the bottom.
I’m expecting a dungeon or torture chamber at the bottom.
A scary, desolate concrete cell with a stained mattress and a bucket for a toilet.
A place where they’ll lock me up and throw away the key.
My initial bravado and belief that this was the better alternative to the familiar torture of home is blown away, and I feel terror flooding through my veins.
However, when they unlock the door and we step inside, the room is filled with warm orange light that reveals something totally unexpected and altogether less frightening than what I had envisioned.
The room looks like some sort of office-come-mancave, with a desk and filing cabinets in one corner and a couch and a couple of La-Z-Boys in front of a big-screen television in the other.
The walls are wood paneled like an old hunting lodge, and there’s a big, fluffy rug on the floor in the middle of the room.
On top of it is a padded wooden chair, with some rope coiled on it.
My kidnapper sits me in it and begins to tie me up.
He does so methodically and securely, but without it hurting, double-checking that I’m not in pain, softly asking, “Are they too tight?”
I shake my head but can’t find any words. I’m confused. What am I doing here?
Finally, they remove their helmets, but underneath, they’re wearing balaclavas.
That must be a good sign, right? They must plan on returning me if they don’t want me to be able to identify them.
One of the men crouches down in front of me.
He has the most arrestingly gray-silver eyes I’ve ever seen, and I think the mask was pointless.
I’d recognize those eyes without question if I ever saw him again.
“Alright, Victoria, I need you to do something for me, and then we can let you go home. Okay?” he asks, his voice firm yet gentle as if he doesn’t want to frighten me any more than I already am.
I’m trying to hold back tears. Now I’m here, it doesn’t seem like a better alternative. Despite the fact they haven’t been cruel I can’t help but worry. What do they want from me? “Okay,” I agree, my voice trembling.
“I need you to call King. He stole something from us, and we want it back. Once he’s given it back to us, we’ll return you home safely. Does that sound fair?”
“Yes,” I agree, my voice barely more than a whisper.
My eyes scan the room, looking for exits and any weapons, anything I could use to escape if given the opportunity.
I strain against my restraints, wondering if I could wriggle out of them when they leave the room.
The man gently takes hold of my chin, returning my focus to him.
His hand is warm, fingers calloused, his touch is so tender that fresh tears spring to my eyes.
“Don’t be scared, darlin’. We’re not gonna hurt you.”
If only he knew the reason why I’m crying isn’t that I’m scared, but because no one has ever touched me so carefully or talked to me so kindly.
My kidnapper is nicer to me than my own father.
An irony that, right now, hurts so much, I feel my heart breaking.
The man pulls my phone out of my purse, dials my father, puts it on speaker, and holds it close to me.
It rings for so long that I panic, thinking he won’t answer. What will these men do to me then?
“What?” he snaps impatiently when he answers on the final ring. It’s clear from his tone that he doesn’t even know I’m missing.
“The Ghost Riders have kidnapped me—” I sob, sputtering out the words, the situation becoming tangible as I say it.
The man pulls the phone away from me and speaks. “We want our stolen shipment back, five hundred thousand dollars, back off of our territory, or your daughter—”
The sound of my father laughing stops the man’s demands in their tracks. “You kidnapped her? You idiots think I care? Keep her. Do whatever you want with her. The useless bitch is a waste of space.” And with those final, cruel words that twist in my gut like a knife, my father hangs up.
My kidnapper stares at the phone, utterly bewildered. Unlike him, I’m not surprised. My father finally said what I’ve always known. He doesn’t care about me, and he’s never loved me. I’m worthless.
“Sheesh, some father you’ve got,” one of the men says incredulously, as if he can’t believe what he just heard.
Clearly, this wasn’t part of their plan.
Hysteria bubbles up inside of me at the ridiculousness of the situation.
Laughter spills from me, my shoulders shaking, tears rolling down my cheeks.
The men share concerned glances, no doubt thinking they’ve captured a mad woman.
One of them places a hand on my shoulder, which only makes me laugh harder.
These men, whom I should be afraid of, have shown me more kindness than my own father ever did.
Twenty-one years of trying to be the perfect daughter in the hope of making him love me.
All for nothing. He isn’t capable of it.
These men don’t realize it, but they’ve done me a favor by kidnapping me tonight.
I finally see clearly that I was wasting my time.
I won’t waste another breath over that man.
I might be tied up and held captive, but I feel free.
Free from the burden of trying to please a man who never loved me and never will.