10. Maddie
10
MADDIE
Thirty-eight steps, two doors, and one left turn. I map the path we took in my mind, trying to align it with what I know of moving through the Reapers' clubhouse to get some idea of the size of the place. It could be a home, but it could be another industrial shed, somewhere with an office at the front.
Shit.
I've got nothing solid to go on, and even if I did, how could I put that knowledge to use? I've got no phone. No way of contacting anyone to tell them where I am. The location doesn't mean shit when I'm dead.
Think about the stuff that matters, girl.
I attune to the scuff of feet, the gentle sigh as someone sits, then place a chair there in my mind while I focus on how the sounds echo to approximate the walls. Maybe if I can mentally map the room, I can figure how to get the fuck out of here.
Although I need to be free of the binds first, and last I checked, zip-ties were pretty damn bombproof.
Fuck.
“You’re quiet,” Fox bitches from somewhere behind me and to the left. Not him who’s seated, then.
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
He sighs. “Not if it means you’re scheming.” Footfalls, and then, “It won’t matter shit,” right beside my goddamn ear. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere until I say you are.”
Again, with the hints that he doesn't plan to kill me. I need to hold onto that if I'm to keep my fucking sanity through this.
“What’s the plan then?” I aim for bold—direct. “I really can’t see how I’m any use to you. If you want your place in the club back, you won’t get that by pissin’ off Daddy.” I fucking know it’s not his end game, but playing dumb has been a cornerstone of women’s manipulation for decades.
“You think I want back in that elitist fuckin’ group?” He scoffs. “Jesus, girl. How much Kool-Aid you drink every mornin’?”
“Why else would a cockroach like you crawl out of the fucking woodwork?”
The blow to my chin comes hard and unexpected. My head snaps back on a whimper, and I tumble to my side, neck smarting and blood pooling in my mouth from where I’m pretty sure I bit my tongue. Pretty goddamn sure that was his fucking boot, too.
“Not so smart-mouthed now, are you?”
I spit the blood to the floor and lick my lips clear. “Learned from the best.”
"Fucking whore," he mutters, moving away. Original.
The changing tone of his footsteps indicates that he moves behind something. A kitchen island? Furniture?
“Want me back ‘ere in the morning?” Ronan asks from where I’d located the chair.
"Sure." The glug of liquid follows the clink of glassware.
“Take it easy on that shite,” Terry’s cleaner urges. “Best you keep a clear head for this.”
“You tellin’ me how to control my own family?”
The unnatural stillness from Ronan's direction has me on edge. The man has a reputation for a reason. He's not the guy you casually insult or fuck around with.
Sure enough, measured footsteps pass where I continue to spit blood-infused saliva to the floor and stop a short distance behind me. "You want to continue to do this? Ain't any skin off my nose," Ronan warns. "But you fuck it up, and there won't be anyone at your back. You'll be searchin' for an ally, and all you'll fuckin' find will be enemies." He drops a mocking laugh. "Only reason Terry lets you entertain this fuckin' idea is the chance he'll get that fuckin' lot on Plymouth. Lose that, and you lose his favor." He pauses, a scuff of a step telling me he moves closer before adding. "You lose that; you get me. And not in a good way."
“I’m fucking terrified,” Fox snaps, yet the tremor to his words betrays his intended sarcasm.
“Aye.” Ronan moves in front of me once more. “You should be.”
His hand connects with my head, gentle and affectionate. The touch is so unexpected that I curl in on myself where I still lie on my side, knees to my chest to protect my vulnerable area.
"Eh, easy now." His words are close, as though he bends over my position. "Let's get you upright again, yeah?" He shoves a hand beneath me, effortlessly lifting me and coaxing me to sit once more. "Here." His clothes rustle, shoes scraping the floorboards, and then his thumb is on my fucking face.
Wiping away the blood.
“Much better. Am I right?” A pop sounds as though he sucked his fucking thumb clean.
I nod, unsure what the fuck I’d say even if I wanted to speak.
“Get the girl something to drink,” Ronan barks over my head. “You’re keepin’ her hostage, not trying to make ‘er suffer.”
"Says you," Fox mutters, moving around what I'm now relatively sure is a kitchen. "Here." The sound of a glass connecting with a counter resonates around the room. "Do it yourself."
Ten square feet? Maybe less? Definitely empty.
A sigh escapes Ronan, and then he moves behind me, returning to cup the back of my head with one hand. The cool rim of the glass touches my bottom lip. “Drink.”
He could have poisoned it. But then again, if he wanted me dead, there were ample opportunities before now. Why make it so elaborate?
I sip the dusty-tasting water, savoring the feel as it slides across my tongue, and push it around my mouth to wet every inch before I swallow.
“Aye,” Ronan coos. “That’s a good girl. Bit more.”
He taps my lip again, and I guzzle a bigger mouthful this time. Yet not too much. Enough to keep hydrated, but not so much that I need to find out how the fuck they plan to let me use the bathroom.
"Thank you," I whisper when I'm done, unsure if he's still there.
The gentle exhale assures me he is. "No need to say thank you for this shite, darlin'." His fingertips graze my jaw. "Such a pretty girl. I bet your father's losing his bleedin' head over you bein' gone."
I wait for the knife at my throat. For the switch to flip in his crazy head. Yet neither come.
He moves away, the absence strikingly clear despite not being able to see a damn thing. I lament his loss, shocked at how quickly I appreciated the security he provided between me and Fox. The door to the left clicks shut; precious minutes pass in silence before the dull growl of the car as it leaves filters into the house.
“Don’t get used to it,” Fox gripes, crossing the room. “You won’t get treated like that all the time.” There’s a rattle of keys and then the unmistakable creak of leather as a man shrugs on his jacket. “I got other places to be and fuck load less interest in waitin’ on you hand and foot.”
“Then why bother taking me in the first place if I’m such a burden?” I can’t goddamn help myself.
"Because, unlike your little friend, you didn't have a fuckin' watchdog followin' you around."
His boots strike the timber, and then he’s out the same door, the rumble of his bike starting moments after.
I sit in the goddamn room as day turns deeper into night, the temperature dropping as what little light permeates the blindfold dissipates. This is all about her. I'm bound and alone—God knows where—all because I did what any good friend would and helped a buddy in her time of need.
Because I cared. Because I valued Rae's well-being over my own.
All I can think as I shift to my knees and rise to my feet is I hope she feels the goddamn same.