Roped

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I WAKE UP with a start.

Unlike last time, though, I don’t have to gather myself or remind myself of what happened.

I also don’t have to wiggle my body or twist my hands to take stock of things.

I know I’ve been taken—again—and I know that I’m tied up.

The only difference is the where and how.

Instead of a tree, I’m tied to a metal chair, my arms flung back and my wrists roped.

And instead of being in the woods, I’m in a warehouse of some sort.

A garage, maybe. Given the concrete floors and junkyard cars lining the walls on both sides.

And I’m gagged.

I wasn’t last time and this detail, more than any other, scares me the most. It makes me pant and wheeze, and in the silence, my own sounds are foreign.

The air is dusty and smells like gas. There are glass windows high up but the light is dim, telling me it’s just past dawn.

I’m sitting in the middle of this space, as if I’m supposed to be the main attraction of whatever fucked-up game this is.

It’s too dark to see anything behind me, and there’s a roll-up metal door in front of me.

It’s partially pulled down, but it’s open enough that I can see beyond it, and this may not be the woods, but I’m still in the middle of nowhere.

There’s nothing but empty dirt ground for as far as my eyes can see, and not a single tree or man-made structure in sight.

God, what is this place? What am I doing here? Why would he do this to me again? After everything, why would he…

Just then I hear the sound of crunching gravel and an approaching vehicle.

With wide eyes and shallow breaths, I see a car pull up.

It’s shiny and black, an SUV, the kind that my father drives.

Maybe this is my dad’s doing. Maybe he’s playing some sick twisted game with me.

Trying to teach me a lesson, scare me for his own unknown reasons, but then the doors on both sides open and I stop wondering about hypothetical scenarios and focus on the moment.

Two men step out, both similarly dressed: a Western-style denim shirt and washed-out jeans along with a Stetson.

They’re both burly and tall, muscular. My first thought is, I’ll never be able to take them both, if it comes to that.

Even if I fight them to the best of my ability, they’ll still overpower me.

As scary as that is, what scares me the most is the masks they have on.

Not the kind that I’m used to seeing, that I’m only now realizing had become so familiar that it was a source of comfort.

No, these are ski masks. They cover everything except their eyes.

Eyes that land on me as soon as they slam the doors shut.

I flinch at the banging sound and my heart pounds, hurtles and thrashes in my chest as I also realize they’ve both got guns.

I can see the butts peeking out from their belts, and I start struggling against my bonds.

It’s laughable. The way I’m twisting against the ropes.

Not only do I have very little hope of outrunning these men if I do get free, but there’s zero chance of me getting free in the first place.

It’s not the kind of knot that will untie, not by me, not by anyone else.

Only one man can undo these, and he’s the one who put me here.

He’s the one who threw me to the wolves once again.

Only these wolves walk on two legs and their eyes, dark and bottomless, light up with amusement as they watch me try to get away.

They even chuckle and mutter among themselves, making my skin crawl as they walk toward me.

But I can’t stop. I struggle harder. Especially when I see the look in their eyes.

I’ve seen it so many times before that I know what it means.

I know what their intentions are, and despite how futile my attempts may be, I’m not going down without a fight.

I’m not. I’ll fight them. I’ll even beg them if I have to, but I’m not going to make this easy on them.

They’re halfway over to me when it happens.

A crack blasts through the air that stops my heart and seizes my breath.

I’ve never heard a gunshot before, but I know that’s what it was.

Instinctively. It rings loud and shrill, followed by an even louder howl from one of the men.

The one walking on the right goes down on one knee.

I can’t see his face, but I know his features must be contorted in pain.

And then all my focus is drawn to the blood that blooms, dark and thick, through his jeans on his left thigh.

I don’t get to process that because the moment his companion gets hit, the other man whips the gun out of his waistband and spins to the side, pointing in the direction from which the shot was fired.

Terrified, terrified, I swivel my gaze in the same direction, and my heart soars in my chest, my limbs loosen, and my breaths come back.

But only for a few seconds because I remember. He’s the one who brought me here. Him.

He stands half in the light and half in shadows, his face covered by the bandanna and a gun pointed at the man.

His feet are planted wide, and his body seems even larger than usual, more muscular and mean.

So mean. Paired with the Stetson sitting low on his head, letting only the dangerous glint of his eyes pass through, he looks like a stranger.

Someone I don’t know. Someone I’ve never met.

A killer.

He even sounds different, his voice low and deadly, lethal. “That was to tell you I mean business.”

As if on cue, the man on the ground moans and curses. His partner clutches the gun tighter and says, “Boss ain’t gonna be happy about that.”

He jerks his chin and replies, “You can tell him I ain’t happy with him either.”

The man keeps the gun aimed at Radisson, but I detect a tiny movement of his finger that sends my heart racing.

I flinch when Radisson’s voice booms through the air.

“Wouldn’t pull that trigger if I were you.

” The man goes still and Radisson continues, “At worst, you miss and I shoot you in retaliation. At best, your aim’s true and I still shoot you back.

Either way, you get shot. And gettin’ shot ain’t all that fun.

” He tips his chin toward the man who’s still on his knees, clutching his thigh. “Just ask him.”

The man stares at Radisson for a few seconds, and even though I can’t see his face or even read his eyes since he’s turned away, I still think he’s a little spooked as he says, “All we want’s the girl. That’s all. We don’t want no trouble.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t bring me what I wanted in exchange.”

My stomach bottoms out. Exchange. Is that why? He wants something, and he’s using me to get it. He’s using me. Like everyone else. Using me all along.

Over the ringing of my ears, I hear the man say, “There was a change of plans.”

Radisson hums. “Yeah, got the text.”

“So you know the parcel is waitin’ for you at the new location.”

Radisson stares at the man for a few seconds, the danger in his eyes still sharp as steel.

“Gotta say, you guys had me fooled. All this time, I thought I was dealin’ with professionals.

But turns out, you’re a bunch of cowboy morons if you think I’m just gonna hand over the cargo without gettin’ what I want first.”

The man with the gun shifts on his feet. “Just follow the instructions; you’ll get what you want.”

Radisson tilts his head to the side, watching him curiously. Then, in the blink of an eye, he shifts his arm and shoots the kneeling man. This time in his forehead, right at the center, and he drops dead, his eyes still open. The man with the gun flinches, the gun in his hand shaking.

Turning back to him, Radisson says, “Never did like bein’ told what to do. So I’m makin’ new rules: Until I get what I’m owed, I am keepin’ the girl.” A pause before he adds, as if as an afterthought, “And you.”

“What the…”

“You didn’t think I’d let you walk outta here, did you?” Radisson says, murmurs almost, in a low voice. “Your friend here got lucky. He got dead early on. You, however, I’m gonna keep alive for a long fuckin’ time. Long enough that you’ll feel me gut you from your asshole to your mouth.”

It wasn’t directed at me, but I start shaking at Radisson’s softly delivered threat.

A second later, though, my limbs lock when the man points his gun at me.

A second after that I flinch because another shot’s been fired.

In a trance, I look down at myself, expecting to see red on my dress.

But it’s not there, and my head snaps up when I hear another pained moan echoing through the space.

It’s the man. He got shot. In his arm because I see him clutching it as he stumbles back, the gun lying on the floor.

I turn to Radisson as he says, again in a deadly voice, “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

His words are followed by a growl, vibrating and vicious, before he lunges at the man.

Radisson tackles him to the ground, and they both go down with a heavy thud of grappling limbs.

Then, leaning over him and rearing back before laying the first punch, Radisson transforms from being a calculated killer a moment ago into someone else.

Someone brimming with rage and fury. The one who’s so strong that he can move mountains and crack the earth.

The one with rippling muscles and brute strength.

And it’s worse because this is the man I recognize even with his mask on.

This is the man I know, who makes my heart race so fast I don’t know what to do with myself.

This is the man who’s come to my rescue time and time again, and it feels like he’s doing the same thing now.

No, not rescue. Punishment.

Radisson is punishing the other man for threatening me, for pointing his gun at me, because a couple of punches would’ve been enough.

The man’s been shot; he’s already close to being incapacitated.

There’s no way he’s ever going to overpower Radisson.

But none of those things seem to factor in.

Because Radisson won’t stop. He’s all fury and flying fists as he keeps hitting and hitting and hitting his target.

To the point where I want to tell him to stop.

I want to scream for him to let the man go.

His blood is flying all over the place, and the sound of bone crunching is sickening.

Finally, he stops and I’m able to take a breath, my body flushed, my skin covered with goose bumps.

I know I can’t speak, but I’m about to get his attention when he leans over the writhing, coughing man on the floor and jerks his mask off.

Then, grabbing his collar, he growls, “Where is she? Where the fuck is she?”

The man is hardly able to breathe, let alone talk. He moans and whines, his head rolling back and forth on the dirty concrete floor. Radisson shakes him and growls again, “Open your goddamn fuckin’ mouth and tell me where they took her.” Another shake. “Tell me.”

Almost dead, the man gurgles, blood spilling out of his mouth. “I… Please s-stop—”

His words stop because somehow, out of the blue, another shot rings through the air and hits him between the eyes.

Dead center. My limbs, my heart, my very blood freeze up again, and for some reason, I can’t move my eyes away from Radisson.

I keep staring at him as his head snaps up.

I watch his entire body go tense before he lunges to his feet.

Spinning in my direction, he dives toward me.

My scream gets trapped in my throat as he takes me to the ground with his arms around me, chair and all, and another shot is fired.

I feel him jerk and grunt over me.

But without delay, Radisson twists and fires his own gun.

In the distance, I hear a muffled scream, but I can’t take my eyes away from him.

From the man who’s lying on top of me like a shield of some sort.

Who not only killed for me again but also saved me from being shot dead by taking that bullet himself.

In his shoulder; I see the blood seeping through his shirt.

Because he’s using me to get back someone he wants desperately.

A girl.