CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
“You should probably listen to yourself.” The voice behind me scares the ever-loving shit out of me, and I let out a scream that can probably be heard a mile away.
“AHHHHH!” I turn around, willing my heart to go back inside my chest. Brander stands there with a creepy-as-hell smile on his face.
“You might like my treasures. Too bad they’re back at the basement in the clubhouse.
” His creep level has to be close to one thousand.
He grabs me by the arm. “Taz wants you where he knows you won’t escape.
Let’s go.” He pulls me down the basement stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, he shoves me, and I land on the dirt floor.
I look back at him. “This here is a root cellar, so there ain’t no escaping.
One of us will be back when we need you to take care of the guys again. ”
He heads back up the stairs and closes the door. I hear the lock engage. I look around, and damn it, he was right. There are no windows or anything, just shelves and a really old chest freezer, which I’m not opening for anything. I really hope Ben is close. Please find me.
Ben
We pull over into a rest area after Jon signals all of us to follow him. He must have just gotten a call and needs to share. Maybe they found Kimbra, and we can meet them somewhere. Don’t get ahead of yourself, man .
We all pull up and park next to each other on the far side of the rest area where no one else is.
Jon takes off his helmet to speak to all of us.
“I just got a call from Riff. His guys just spent the last half hour combing their clubhouse. There’s no sign of Kimbra or that she’s ever been there.
The other group of their brothers are about to head over to the property near them that Taz bought.
” If it’s possible for Jon to look pale, he does.
Mike speaks up and asks what’s on the tip of my tongue.
“What else did they say? It looks like you saw a ghost, Pres.” We all watch him as he rubs his beard.
“They didn’t find Kimbra or anyone but a couple of their guys who were so drugged out he doubts they even know they were there.
I think he took care of them and sent them on a permanent trip, but that’s not what was the surprise.
In the basement, there were four or five big chest freezers…
they were all full of pieces…pieces of people.
Way more than just Celeste. Said there had to be at least seven or eight people in there.
” What in the fuck? Tripp speaks with disgust. “There was only one fucking freezer down there when we were part of the club, and all it had usually was frozen salmon that the guys would catch every year. What the fuck?”
Enough. “So we heading to the property?” Jon nods.
“Yeah, if she’s there, they should find her in the next thirty minutes or so.
We’re about an hour and a half out, but their clubhouse is the same way, hell it’s only about a ten-minute drive from the property.
Riff is going to call me as soon as he knows so we can send the brothers up the mountain if we need to. ”
Jon puts his helmet back on, and we head back out on the interstate. If it was just me, I’d be breaking every speed limit to get there, but I know that would get me pulled over, and my mouth most likely would get me detained. Please be there, Kimbra, and please be alright.
Kimbra
I never realized how much I don’t like being alone with my own thoughts with nothing to distract me.
Of all days I forget to put on my smartwatch, it had to be today.
That’s just Murphy’s law, ain’t it? I don’t even know how long I’ve been down here.
I’m guessing maybe an hour or so. I guess it’s better to be down here than having to be in a room with those idiots.
I just really wish there was a way to get out of here.
I looked all over, and it was definitely made to be a root cellar.
I even checked all the shelves, hoping to find something to help me escape.
I’ve been thinking about trying to pick the lock on the door, but if I get that open, I still have to sneak out of the house.
I broke down and opened the freezer just because how could I not?
You know, if you were stuck in a room with a dirt floor and nothing else, you would, too.
I had to try and keep my contents in my stomach.
I think I saw the face of a woman, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same person whose appendages showed up on my front porch.
Makes me think that my correlation between Brander and Ed Gein is a lot more on the nose than I want to admit.
The size of that freezer…it could fit more than one person.
Oh God. If he has a skin lamp upstairs, I might actually die.
Wait. The floor is dirt. Could I actually dig myself out of here?
Bentley would know. Looking around, I’m not sure where I would start digging because something tells me one area would be better than the other.
What the hell am I thinking? I don’t have anything to dig with, and I have no idea which place to start digging.
I think getting the door unlocked might be the best bet.
I stand up and dust myself off. Time to try and get out of here.
I’m on the first step up to the door when I hear a key in the lock. I step backward and wait for the door to open. It slams open, and Asshole is standing there looking down. “I got what I could get, so come up and get Knob better. I can’t afford to lose any more men.”
Yeah, I have a feeling whatever he got is not going to get his man better, but I’m not about to vocalize that just yet.
I walk up the stairs and walk back into what must be the living room.
“I don’t know what he’s been eating, but you should really feed Smitty some good nutritious food.
A couple days of that and some over-the-counter medicine, and he will be up and around.
His ribs will just take time to heal.” I walk into the room, and Lennie is standing there with a box.
He sets it down on the chair I sat on while tending to each guy.
“Here’s the stuff. You need to fix him.” He’s a man of few words.
He walks past me and out of the room. I walk over and look in the box.
I see more bandages and over-the-counter pain meds, which will work for Smitty, but not this one.
I see some IV bags, and I grab one and look at it.
I read the label, and it takes me a moment to place it.
“Did you get this from a vet?” Asshole walks into the room.
“Yeah, I had to get what I could. They said these are antibiotics, and you said that’s what he needs.
” I look down and see he’s still got a sheen of sweat on him, like I expected.
“Antibiotics from a vet aren’t made for humans.
They have different chemical makeup and amounts and aren’t human grade, so it may or may not work.
” Asshole stares daggers at me. “Will he make it without it? Be fucking honest.” I shake my head.
He’s bad enough off. I’m surprised he’s still in the land of the living.
“Then fucking give it to him. It has a chance of helping, and you better hope it works.” I know this is wrong, and the chance of it helping is slim to none, but I also know the asshole is probably two seconds away from bringing his gun out and pointing it at me.
Against my better judgment, I put on some gloves.
Before I can make myself give him the IV, I check the wound and clean it again.
I wipe him down, and that’s when I hear it.
He’s got the rattle, the one that tells me he’s closer to death than I realized.
It also tells me no amount of antibiotics is going to help him.
When I examined him the first time, I saw track marks, which tells me his body wasn’t just trying to fight this infection while he was unconscious but most likely going through some serious withdrawals.
I get the IV going, knowing that the gurgling sound I can faintly hear is the telltale sign that he’s close to death.
I finish up and look at the guys. “I’ve done what I can, but he’s probably not going to make it through the night.
His body doesn’t seem like it was able to fight off the infection at—” I’m interrupted by the sound of a bunch of motorcycles.
Asshole looks out the window, and his eyes get huge.
“What the fuck?” He looks over at Brander.
“It’s the Norse Rebels. I wonder what they want.
Put her back in the cellar.” Brander grabs me and pulls me so fast that I trip over my feet, trying to keep up.
He opens the door and pushes me in, and I miss all but one step on my way, crashing back down to the dirt floor.
Ugh. That’s gonna hurt in the morning. “You better be fucking quiet, or I’m going to have some fun with you.
” Oh, fuck that. I’m not being a victim to this generation's John Wayne Gacey or Jeffery Dahmer.
I’m sitting in complete darkness this time because the psycho didn’t turn the light on as he shoved me down the stairs.
I know the stairs have to be in front of me, but I can’t even see my hand in front of my face.
I can feel I probably have some scrapes and bruises on my hands and knees, but nothing feels too bad, so I’m thinking I avoided breaking anything.