29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
S loan hadn’t made it a few paces past the dungeon steps when a hand wrapped around his wrist with an iron grip.
One his body remembered far too well.
“Don’t make a noise.” Rick’s repulsive voice slithered over him. Before he could call out, yell, tug his hand back, another big guy crowded behind him. He pushed Sloan forward, and he bumped into Rick, who yanked him in the direction of the emergency door leading to the alley behind the café.
Fuck, if they got him there, it was game over.
His whole body froze up, including his tongue. God, he needed to call for help. Say anything. Anything.
Rick’s rugged features twisted in a snarl, the malevolence flashing in his eyes. Sloan had seen it in too many nightmares to count, and if he never saw this man again, it would be too soon.
Rick shoved the door open.
Sloan whirled around, but the guy behind him shoved him through, just a wall of force.
His heart hammered.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The crisp breezes weren’t the only things that chilled him to the bone. Rick backed him against the brick wall. Sloan should be screaming for help. He should be running past him, doing anything but standing here mute.
Except his mouth was glued shut. His voice wouldn’t. Fucking. Work.
It was every nightmare where he tried to scream, and nothing came out. Where terror pulsed through his veins, but his legs were frozen in place.
“Were you the one interfering with Rachel?” Rick crowded into his space. His clothes reeked of cigarette smoke, and bile rose in Sloan’s throat. “I assumed it was Ezra, but with both of you here, I’m wondering where the blame’s to fall.”
“Want me to go grab her?” the other guy said, his arms crossed as he glanced toward the door.
“We can’t make any overt moves,” Rick said, his gaze not leaving Sloan. It was like a Medusa stare, turning him to stone.
He worked his jaw for a second, forcing sound out. “Fuck you, Rick.”
Rick slammed a hand against the wall beside his head, caging him in even more. In the few years apart, the fucker had gotten uglier, his skin more weathered, his features more cragged. “Don’t you dare mouth off to me.”
Fuck him for coming to Whipped. Fuck him for tormenting Ezra. Fuck him for making him believe he was broken.
“They’re going to be out here in a second,” Sloan said in a steady voice, even though his arms trembled. “Meg will call the cops on you.”
“No one saw me exit,” Rick said. “And what’s to say they’ll make it out in time?”
In time.
Something ugly flashed in Rick’s gaze, something horrifically cruel.
Sloan’s veins turned to ice.
He needed to escape. Now.
“We’ve got other shit to do than babysit this guy,” the other bruiser said.
“Not so fast,” Rick said. “Sloan here needs to be taught a lesson.”
No. No, no, no.
Those words had been uttered before, ones that left him curled up and aching. Ones that left him flinching anytime Rick’s expression changed.
He needed to get out.
He lunged forward, trying to tug his arm out of Rick’s grip.
Rick yanked him back, slamming him against the wall so hard the breath rushed out of him.
Fear choked him.
Oh god.
This was a nightmare brought to life, the worst-case scenario he’d been afraid of ever since he left Rick. The reason he’d been running, even when he hadn’t realized it.
“You’re going to regret that,” Rick growled, his eyes flashing with rage.
“Get the fuck off him.”
Sloan would recognize that voice anywhere.
Ezra had arrived.