Willow #2
I know about MCs, their territory, and the “wars” they had with each other. Dad always said he’d never take a contract for an MC.
“Do you know why they took us?” I asked after going through everything that I could remember about MCs that I’d overheard.
“Well, they took me to win a war with my husband and his club. I’m not sure why they took you, honey,” she responded sadly.
So she was tied to an MC somehow. My mom and dad always seemed to hate MCs more than anyone else.
Which was weird, because my mom was always the first to want to stay out of my dad’s business.
She said that, being a nurse, she wanted to save lives and didn’t want to hear about people taking them.
But when something was said about an MC, you could almost feel her anger.
I wasn’t sure if they took me because of something to do with my dad, or just because I was small and alone. I watched too many crime documentaries, so I’m going to go with the second reason until I get more information. Dad always said, “You can only make a plan with the information you have now.”
Two guys walked into the cage they had us in.
They were all wearing their vest-things that said Silver Saints on them.
The first guy was average height. His face was covered in scars, and his long, red hair was greasy, like he hadn’t showered in a week.
His nose was crooked like it had been broken a few times.
He looked like a cracked-out Chucky doll.
The second guy was bald. He was taller than the first guy, but not by much, and he had a pot belly.
He looked annoyed with being around the first guy, who now went by Chucky in my mind.
Fatty saw that I was awake and said, “Well, nice of you to wake up. We’ll take some pictures to send to your old man later. ”
So it does have something to do with Dad. He grinned and then looked at the lady. I couldn’t believe I didn’t ask her name. My mom would be mad that I forgot my manners.
On second thought, I might get a pass for the whole kidnapping thing.
“Ay, bitch, we haven’t heard from your ‘Ol Man yet. We came to give him more incentive and take some pictures,” Fatty said while Chucky got the keys to the door.
They opened it, and the lady held her stomach, trying to protect it.
Her legs were bound, but not her hands. They didn’t tie me up, I assumed because I was a kid and they didn’t think I’d be a threat.
Fucking idiots.
Fatty made his way further in the cell, grabbed her by her hair, and smacked her in the face.
Chucky stood watching them with his back to me, leaning against the cell wall with his arms crossed.
I could see the keys hanging from his belt.
Fatty kept smacking and punching the lady.
I had to try to control my heavy breathing.
My heart was racing as the sound of her cries, and skin hitting skin filled the small room, echoing off of the stone walls. I had a job to do.
Trying to tune out the sound, I slowly scooted across the floor to the connecting bars.
I moved as quietly as I could, so they did not notice that I got up.
I made it over to the bars, not making a sound—one of the perks of being small—and slowly reached my hand through unhooking the keys as gently as I could so that he wouldn’t feel them move on his belt.
Chucky didn’t even notice, being too engrossed in watching a defenseless pregnant woman be punched.
I turned to leave, but I saw his gun in a holster on his side.
I was pressing my luck to even try, but I couldn’t just watch the lady get hurt when I could do something.
I reached through the bars again and slowly grabbed his gun.
It was a little bigger than the one that I practiced with, but I could make it work.
I pulled it through the bars, holding my breath, still trying not to make any noise.
When it was in the cell with me, I slowly backed my way to the door. The only sounds in the room were Fatty grunting as he packed some strength behind his hits, and the lady crying and screaming in pain.
Using the keys, I unlocked the door to my cell and walked over to the other cell door that the dumbasses left open. I lifted the gun, pointed it at Fatty, and turned off the safety just as his leg was lifted, about to stomp on the lady’s pregnant stomach.
He looked up to see me, right as I pulled the trigger, hitting him in the chest. Chucky then looked over after taking a second to register what was happening. I couldn’t help but smirk watching him reach for his belt, eyes wide in shock as he realized that his gun shot his friend.
His face contorted into panic and rage as he lunged towards me.
I did what Dad taught me, breathe in, iron sites, breathe out, pull the trigger on the natural pause between breaths.
The shot aimed true, right between the eyes.
But because I was mad, and I wanted to make sure he was dead, I pulled the trigger again.
His lifeless body fell to the floor, and I just…
stood there. I knew what I’d done, and the scary part was that I felt nothing.
I knew what needed to happen to save the lady.
I didn’t feel any of the guilt or remorse that I thought I would as I stared down at the body in front of me, then moved to the chunks of brain splattered on the wall behind where he stood.
A moan kicked me back into reality, and I focused on the lady still lying on the floor.
I rushed over to her, but didn’t touch her, not wanting to hurt her more.
She opened her pain-filled eyes and looked up at me.
“Thank you,” she rasped out, covered in crimson that was a mix of hers and Fatty’s.
She turned her head towards the floor and spat out a mouthful of blood.
I didn’t respond. I walked over to Fatty, weapon still at the ready.
With my foot, I pushed his body so that he was face up, his dead stare pointed to the ceiling.
I grabbed his gun from his holster, a shiny knife reflecting the dim lighting from inside his vest. Jackpot!
I preferred knives. It sucked that you had to get closer to make the kill, but if you were working with speed and stealth, like I was, it was your best option.
I tried to figure out a way to keep them all on me. I told myself to remember to only get clothes that have actual pockets from now on because this was bullshit! Tucking them in my waistband would have to work for now.
“We need to get out of here. I’m going to try and go upstairs and find a way to get you to a doctor,” I said in a strong voice that I’d used countless times with my parents when I didn’t want them to know how scared I was.
“No, sweetie, there are too many, and I can’t let you risk yourself. If I know my husband, he’ll be here soon,” she stated with certainty in her voice.
“Well, he is apparently stuck in traffic. I’ll just go get things started until he’s ready to rescue us,” I replied in a sarcastic tone. The only people that I trusted to show up and save me were Mom, Dad, and my brothers. But I guess everyone is running late today.
Dad trained me, and I knew my strengths.
I was our only chance at the moment. I steeled my spine, squared my shoulders, and headed towards the door of the basement.
Almost dying once, I knew I wasn’t supposed to be here anyway.
I might as well make my exit to this world as dramatic as possible.
I crouched down, back against the frame, with the gun in front of my face, ready to take aim.
With my other hand, I slowly cracked the door.
“No! Come back! We will wait for my husband!” the lady whisper-yelled at me.
“Shhhh!!! They are going to hear you!” I whisper-yelled back. Clearly, she’d never been rescued before. Or at least not by someone who had to be quiet to gain the element of surprise. You could be as loud as you wanted if you had a bunch of people and guns behind you.
The door opened to a hallway. The bass from the muffled, distant music rattled the picture frames that hung on the walls.
That explained why no one came down when the gun went off.
I assumed the basement was soundproof, considering they took the effort to make the shitty jail thing.
I army crawled into the hallway, keeping myself low to the ground but scanning with each swivel of my body.
I made my way toward the music. Like my own personal cadence, I counted down the minutes until it was either their lives or mine. There were a bunch of closed doors down the hallway, but they were quiet. I kept looking back to make sure none of them opened as I went on.
After what felt like the longest hallway ever, the music growing louder as I went, I made it to the door at the end.
I pulled one of the guns out of my waistband and crouched as close to the ground as I could.
I slowly cracked open the door, just enough so I could see.
It opened to a kitchen that, luckily for me, was empty.
It wasn’t a big open one, like the one at home.
It was smaller, and had one door to another room and a serving window, like you see in diners.
I opened the door just enough for me to squeeze through, not closing it all the way in case it made a noise. I didn’t think you would’ve been able to hear it over the rock music playing, but I wasn’t taking a chance on that.
I crawled to the corner of the kitchen to get a full view of the exits.
If I tried to look through to the other room, there was a chance that someone would see me.
I was not finding a lot of options. A cutting board and a knife block were on the counter above me.
I slowly stood up and pulled a knife from the block.
I played a lot of video games with my brothers and knew that you never pass up free weapons.