Chapter Twenty-Four
Gracie
Cameron moved fast; I had to give him that.
Choking someone out doesn’t last nearly as long as you would think.
But by the time I got enough oxygen back in my brain to think straight, let alone fight, I was slammed down into a sturdy plastic wheelbarrow. Pain shot up my spine and the back of my head when I couldn’t brace for the fall.
My vision swam.
And he was on me, wrestling me over onto my face, yanking my arms up behind my back, then securing my wrists with thick zip ties.
As much as I kicked, he managed to get my ankles done as well.
Then came the gag that pressed so deep that the sides of my lips burned and cracked open.
But there was no time to worry about that.
Not when he finally abandoned me in the back to start hauling ass through the woods.
The uneven terrain had my face cracking off the hard plastic a few times before I managed to flop myself onto my back.
That didn’t feel much better, each rock and stump making my body jolt and crack back down.
Cameron was taking the woods at a dead run, weaving in and out between trees, likely very aware that he would have not only a handful of pissed-off bikers on his ass, but the whole tristate Irish mob for daring to strike during one of their events.
And while the woods were protected land and relatively deep for the area, it wasn’t long before Cameron reached an access road.
That was where he had his car stored.
This is where every bit of training I had screamed that I could not let myself be taken to a second location. Nothing good ever happened in a second location.
Fight like your life depends on it, my Aunt Janie’s voice screamed in my head, because it does.
I pulled my knees in toward my chest and waited until he leaned forward to reach for me.
Then I aimed high on his chest with every freaking ounce of my strength.
He stumbled back before crashing down.
I didn’t pause.
I threw my weight until I upset the cart.
It crashed down to the side, making me fall and roll, the gravel on the road scratching the hell out of my cheek.
I felt the hot trickle of blood, but there was no time to focus on that.
I pushed myself over onto all fours, cursing my bound feet and wrists.
I knew how to get out of zip ties. But normal zip ties. I wasn’t sure these extra-thick industrial-type ones would break the same.
Before I could even try, though, a foot kicked me hard in the ass, sending me flying face-first into the ground.
This time, the pain exploded.
And before I could even try to get myself up, a hand grabbed my hair in a savage grip, twisting and dragging me by it back toward the car.
A scream caught in my throat.
But it muffled against the gag.
Then I was tossed in the trunk, my head knocking off something hard enough for me to black out for a split second.
I was awake before the engine roared to life.
Then, well, we were off.
I braced myself against the front wall of the trunk, rolling onto my side so my hands could feel around the interior.
Cameron had planned this. But he hadn’t prepared well for it.
The trunk was littered with junk.
A gym bag full of what felt like clothes and shoes, a water bottle, a few scattered reusable grocery bags, a ball of some sort, and, yes, a bat.
A freaking bat.
I pulled it up to a short choke, knowing that my swing was going to be compromised by the small space, and that if I held it too far away, Cameron would be able to yank it away from me. Then likely punish me for trying to hit him in the first place.
But if I could time it right, if I could find enough momentum, if my aim was true, a metal bat to the face could do a whole hell of a lot of damage.
Maybe even enough to give me a chance to get my ankles free so I could run. I could deal with the wrists later. I just needed to put all my radio training sessions to work and haul ass the hell away from here.
Get to somewhere public.
Find a person.
Find a phone.
Then bring the might of the entire freaking MC down on this asshole.
The ride was long enough for some of the adrenaline from the initial kidnapping and attack to wane. In its wake was the pain it had protected me from.
The burning sensation of cuts across my cheek, nose, chin, and forehead. The pounding where my head slammed into the ground. The migraine screaming behind my eyes. The minor pangs where my body had knocked against the wheelbarrow.
I was going to be hurting for a few days.
But so long as I was alive, that was okay.
So I wiped my sweaty palms down my dress then gripped the bat tighter as the car turned, then slowed, idled, turned off.
I sucked in a deep breath and turned, rolling onto my back, and watching the trunk lid until it sliced open.
There was Cameron, the star-speckled sky framed behind him, casting most of his face in shadow. And, I hoped, me as well.
I hoped my vision was better thanks to the dark of the trunk.
When Cameron leaned down toward me, I mustered every bit of strength I could, and swung.
The sound of the bat cracking against him made my stomach twist. His yowl of pain as he stumbled back didn’t give me the satisfaction I was hoping for.
But it gave me a window.
I twisted enough to throw my bound legs out of the trunk, then shimmied until I scooted up over the edge. But the stupid binds tripped me up, sending me dropping down.
My panic surged.
And before I could recover from it, his hands were on me, grabbing me from behind, dragging.
I tried to drop my weight, to force him to try to carry a limp body.
His rage or wounded pride must have bolstered his strength, though, because he just wrapped me up tighter and pulled.
The pavement scratched at my calves, but there was nothing I could do but endure it.
Then the pavement gave way to smooth cement floors that felt cool and soothing on my cuts even as my blood dragged along it and god-knew what kind of dirt might be getting into my wounds.
By the time my body was dropped down on the ground like a sack of garbage, I felt something mean and ugly rising up in me.
All I could think as I looked at Cameron was how he was going to pay for what he’d done to me, what he’d yet to do to me.
I could have imagined any one of my cousins, my uncles, and my aunts grabbing him, trotting him, making him pay for it.
But it was Perish’s face I saw in my mind as I stared up at Cameron.
There was a small bit of satisfaction at the blood on his face, the way his nose was no longer just crooked but pushed all the way to one side.
“Stupid bitch,” he snarled, cocking back and swinging.
The force was enough to send me flying to the side, but I managed to put my hands to the side of my face so I didn’t smash it again.
Every bit of me wanted to instigate, to fight, but I knew that it was like poking a hornet’s nest.
I needed to bide my time. I needed to get my wrists and ankles free. Get the gag off.
Then, then I could fight.
So I went as still as possible, letting him think I was knocked out or that I’d given up.
It took a moment before he finally turned and walked away.
I heard water splashing. Not running, splashing. Like maybe this place didn’t have running water.
I glanced toward where he’d retreated.
Seeing no one, I went ahead and pulled myself up.
I was behind a counter. Like at a store or deli or something. Long stainless steel countertops, a display case, even a really old-looking cash register.
What kind of organization was he running that they were operating in an abandoned building?
I turned my head side to side over and over, ignoring the way the gag bit into the sides of my mouth because little by little, the movements forced it to loosen until I could use my shoulder to inch it down.
I exhaled hard.
One problem solved.
I glanced down at my ankles, the damn thick black zip ties biting into my skin. I could try to do the same movement to loosen them. But they were going to rip into my skin if I did.
And I just wasn’t ready to endure that yet. If I had to, I would. But I wanted to see if there were other options first.
I shuffled on my butt across the space, opening each lower cabinet to try to find something useful. An old scissor, knife, even something strong that I could use to wedge between my legs and the tie to loosen it. But aside from ancient sacks of flour, I found nothing left behind.
Until something caught my eye under the bottom of the sink. It was dusty, but I could see the metal under the grime.
When I pulled it out, I felt hope swell.
It wasn’t a nice butcher knife.
But it was still a very sharp bread knife. The deep serrations would probably serve me even better than a normal knife.
I shoved the flat edge under the zip tie, then bit my lip to keep from making any noise as the back of the knife pressed hard into my skin as I started to saw at the tie.
It wasn’t quick work, and even the unsharpened edge managed to slice into my skin a bit until I felt the snap that said I was free.
I heard Cameron coming back then, so I tucked my knife under my leg and twisted the zip tie until it looked like I was still bound.
He was pacing, raking his hands through his hair, ranting and raving to himself about his crew, the town, Perish, on and on.
They were the ramblings of a half-crazed, desperate man. A man who never would have been strong enough to start his own crew. He knew it, too. It was why he had to take one that had been temporarily handed to him then try to murder the man who’d saved him time and time again.
The attack on Perish’s character was relentless.
Enough that I eventually started to mouth back.
But weak men hated any threat to their power.
Cameron stalked toward me, cocked back, and swung.
It was then that something crashed hard.
And I knew.
I knew I was safe.
Someone had come for me.
Inwardly, I prayed it was Perish as Cameron turned and ran, a roar rising in his throat.
I couldn’t see from my position on the floor, but it was only a beat or two before the space was filled with the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh.
I scrambled for the knife then propped it between my knees, holding it as still as possible as I ran my arms up and down the serrations, wincing at the sounds that seemed to grow more brutal with each passing moment.
It seemed like it might never happen.
And then… the snap.
Hope surged.
Until I heard the shots.