Chapter 9 #2
I still don’t have any answers, but I’m starting to regret running away.
I should have stayed and talked with Jackson.
Maybe there’s a good explanation? I can’t think of any at the moment, but I keep coming back to how safe I always felt when he was around.
Why would Jackson teach me self-defense moves if the plan was to hurt me all along?
If he meant me harm, why would he invite me into his home when these guys were already staking out my apartment?
“Sage,” the man growls. He spits my name out like a curse word. I open my eyes, caught off guard by how close he is. “It’s in your best interest to tell us where your old man is. If we don’t get our property back, we’ll have to take you, instead.”
“She won’t sell as well as Tatyana,” the man standing in the corner chimes in. “Too fat.”
“Some people are into that. Besides, at least we’ll get something. Fucking Ronnie,” he curses under his breath. “He was our first customer,” the man continues. “Or, he was going to be until he stole Tatyana without paying for her.”
“My dad… bought a woman?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I’ve never thought of my father as a good man, but I didn’t think he was this kind of monster.
“Wrong. He stole a woman, and now he’s going to find out what happens when someone fucks with the Sons of Destruction.”
My captor’s pupils are blown wide, probably from whatever mix of drugs he’s on. There’s a tense, almost manic way about how he holds himself, like he’s winding up to strike at any moment.
“Are you scared yet, little girl?” he jeers. “Daddy won’t be able to save you from your fate.”
Something about his grunted threat unlocks a well of anger and rage deep inside me that I was unaware of. Memories of everything I’ve been through, every time my dad abandoned me, every abusive family I stayed with boil over, causing me to snap.
I only have a split second to decide and commit to my actions, but I’m ready.
I stare the ugly motherfucker who kidnapped me in the face, a smirk curling up my lips as I lean back and then headbutt the asshole in front of me.
My forehead makes contact with his nose, sending the large man peddling backward in surprise.
Before he gets too far away, I free my hands from the loose ziptie and lunge at him, grabbing the gun I saw tucked into his jeans earlier.
Pointing it at the bearded biker, I realize I’ve never shot a gun before.
It seems simple enough in theory. There’s usually some kind of safety or something, but I’m guessing an outlaw rebel doesn’t have much use for gun safety.
“Fucking bitch!” he roars. I don’t back down. In fact, I take a step closer to him, feeling powerful when he moves further away from me.
“Careful now,” the other man says. In my fury to escape my restraints, I forgot about him.
Darting my eyes in his direction, I see he has his gun pointed at me.
How the hell did I get into a standoff with outlaw bikers?
Oh, yeah. My dad. “You shoot, I shoot. You run, I shoot. You look at me wrong, I shoot. Got it?”
I grit my teeth, thinking only of Jackson as I decide what to do. I should have stayed. I should have listened to his explanation. Fuck, I never told him I love him. I do, of course. Is it too late to make things right?
The gun in my hand is still pointed at the bearded biker, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the other biker slowly walking toward me.
I make another rash decision, counting on the element of surprise.
In a fraction of a second, I turn to face the second biker, pulling the trigger before he has the chance to.
I shriek as he falls to the ground, writhing in pain.
The first man sees an opportunity to tackle me, but I move out of his way at the last second, watching him crash into the metal chair I was just sitting in.
He curses and scrambles to his feet, but I aim the gun at his head.
Before he can do anything else, the double doors on the other side of the warehouse open with a deafening bang.
All three of us look in that direction. My breath catches in my throat when I see more bikers filing in, but I notice their leather vests have a different emblem: Wicked Riders.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but when the bearded man backs away with his hands up, I know at least he won’t be a problem anymore.
Someone else bursts into the warehouse, and I have to blink my eyes a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating. “J-J-Jackson?” I stutter out.
Relief floods his features as he sprints toward me. Jackson slows down as he approaches me, almost like I’m a rabid animal. Every muscle in my body is shaking, and I’m locked in place as he moves closer.
Slowly, Jackson wraps his hand around the muzzle of the gun, pointing it away from him before taking it out of my hands. I didn’t even realize I was still holding the weapon. “That’s it, Sage,” he says in a calming voice. “You did so good. I’m here now.”
Jackson slides the gun into his jacket, then puts his hands on my shoulders, sliding them down my still-outstretched arms. He massages my muscles, then takes my hands in his, forcing them to relax at my sides.
“Jackson?” I whisper again in disbelief.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “God, I’m so sorry, Sage. You must hate me. But I’ll explain everything, okay?”
I nod, my limbs going numb as my head spins. The room tilts to the side, but before I hit the ground, Jackson pulls me against his chest. He scoops me up, tucking my head into the side of his neck to shield me from the aftermath of everything that went down.
“Reaper, Shadow, Wraith, I’ve got her,” Jackson calls out over the ongoing chaos.
“Is she hurt?” one of them asks.
“A bit scraped up, but she’ll be okay.”
“Good to hear. The boys and I will take out the trash. No one is going to open a sick auction house that sells women on our turf.”
I shudder at the reminder of what set all of this in motion in the first place. My father, the man I talked to on the phone just a few hours ago, engaged in human trafficking. It’s sick, disgusting, and vile. I want to scrub away every thought of him.
“Will you let me take care of you?” Jackson whispers as he carries me out to his truck. “I’m so sorry I broke your trust. I’ll tell you everything if you give me another chance.” His hazel eyes search mine, begging me to hear him out.
“Take me home. Your home,” I clarify.
A soft, tentative smile spreads across his face. “Our home,” he corrects.