THIRTY-ONE
Tequila
I knew it.
With my hands on my hips, I lock eyes with Brass, watching him straddle his Harley, emanating an irresistible charm. I would be furious at him if he weren't so attractive. However, I think my best friend, who left hastily as if the house was on fire, is the one I should be angry with.
“How much longer do you have to endure the pain of being my bodyguard?”
He shrugs, starting his bike and the rumble fills the silent night. “Till death do us part, beautiful.”
“Comforting. You should know that I'm mentally cursing him.”
“I don’t doubt it. But your pretty face is surprisingly calm.” He winks and I can’t help but smile. “Cut him some slack. He just wants to make sure you’re okay and honestly, him choosing to send me instead of going himself is already a step forward. There’s no way I could have done it.”
“Baby steps.” I understood Throttle being worried for me, but there’s no need. He can't watch over me constantly and I don't require that much supervision.
Brass is giving me a once-over. “You’re killing that dress. He'll cry for days, poor guy.”
I considered dressing casually, but the extended length sleeves give a friendly, non-romantic vibe and the flow hides my curves.
Following the address Caleb had sent, I cringe all the way. I didn't want to do this, but it was necessary because he's been great. I am surprised he's held off for so long. There's no doubt he's been persistent. Without Throttle, there was a possibility for something to happen between me and Caleb, but we’ll never know because the chemistry wasn’t there. He’ll make a woman thrilled one day. That woman just isn’t me.
I'm doubting if I have the correct address. The neighborhood doesn't give off a wealthy entrepreneur vibe. It reminds me of my old apartment building.
The place is alone on a secluded road, with spooky surroundings.
This is strange.
Brass's Harley roars beside me and without looking, I can sense his intense scowl of concern. “You are not going in there.”
Before focusing on Brass, I take another glance at the house. “I’ll admit, it wasn’t what I was expecting.” Not even close.
“Wasn’t expecting? Tequila. This place looks like it belongs in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”
“You’re being way too dramatic.” I force out a laugh.
“Dramatic is calling your boy and telling him I’m dragging your pretty ass back home. Which I am this fucking close to doing.” Brass holds his pointer and thumb together, showing me just how much he is trying not to do what he threatened.
I look back at the old house. The front of it looks sorry, with deteriorating steps and an overgrown lawn, even for this season.
“I must have the wrong address.” I decide, but before I can call Caleb to double check, the door opens and both me and Brass pause in place.
Not sure what I expected, but this is not it. I am hoping a man with a chainsaw does not come come barreling out though.
Caleb is there. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes as he waves. His body language is more tense than his usual charismatic self.
I push forward, disregarding every red flag and internal alarm.
Brass grabs my arm. “No. Way.” He turns to Caleb, who is now frowning.
“It’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll be right out here.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m coming in.”
“You’re not.” I gently remove his hand, giving him a reassuring pat on his muscular bicep.
His jaw clenches as he looks back and forth between me and Caleb before yielding. “Any sign of trouble, you scream. Get me?”
I swallow, then smile approaching the man I was here to see and cautiously climb the steps to his door to avoid injury.
“I’m sorry. My house is being renovated. I should have told you.”
“Oh. No. That’s okay.” A nervous squeak came out of me just now.
He shoots an irritated expression behind me. “I take it your cousin is going to wait there.”
I steal a glance at Brass, who looks furious with his arms crossed. “Um. Yeah. Overprotective remember?”
“I guess so.” He holds the door open, his hand to my lower back, and my stomach drops.
I can't quite describe the emotion, but it's unfamiliar. I release a tense breath and somehow relax my shoulders.
The inside is less tragic than expected, given the exterior. There are no indications of dinner being prepared, and I am suspicious. Everything is clean. Counter tops. The table. Not one meal item or utensil in sight.
The door closing startles me, and Caleb comes closer, reaching for my hand. “I’m sorry I may have lured you here with false pretenses.” He rubs his neck. “I can’t cook. I lied, but I have food being delivered. Tai. Hope you like it.”
Okay. Reasonable explanation, I suppose. But…
He skims my body. “You look breathtaking.”
I take a deep breath and force a smile, hugging my arms around myself. “Actually. I just remembered I have something I need to—”
“No please. Don’t go. Stay. I only want to talk for a little.” His voice shakes, and there’s a small bead of sweat above his lip. Not that a man’s higher body temperature is cause for suspicion. But it was fifty degrees outside and somehow it feels colder in here.
“Please.” His desperate eyes and pleading tone convince me to agree.
“Okay.”
He leads us to the couch, and we both sit down, him moving closer. Way close. He glances from the window to me and back. Sweat still forming. Right now, it seems like I'm staring into the eyes of a whole new man. Not the calm and charming one I met. The man at Club Beat and from our date was not the same person sitting here. His romantic, cool and collective side has vanished.
“Caleb. Is everything okay?”
He lets out a timid breath. “I’m sorry. I’m just incredibly nervous.”
Outside, motorcycles sound. Lots of them. I can't help but wonder if those are my guys or...
He seems shaken and my nerves shift.
I need to leave. Something isn’t right. This isn’t right.
Shouts and gunshots echo outside. My stomach drops and I make a sudden dash from the couch, but Caleb catches hold of my hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
Without giving my brain a chance to process his apology, the front door swings open to reveal a heavily tattooed, burly man.
“I told you I was handling it!” Caleb shouts from next to me, still gripping too tightly on my arm.
My body trembles in fear .
What was happening?
“You were taking too long.” The stranger pulls out a gun, points it in our direction, and squeezes the trigger.
For a moment, time was motionless. Was I hit? No, but my face is wet, and I touch the spot, then study my finger. It’s blood. There is so much blood.
I’m shaking even more, and my body numbs over in panic.
I glance down at the person shot.
Caleb.
He’s now lying in a pool of his own crimson fluid. Just seconds before he was fine and standing next to me. Now he’s… dead. Was he dead?
I have a ringing in my ears, and everything sounds muffled, drowned out from the thumping noise. My breaths go shallow, and it’s getting harder to breathe.
I cry for Caleb’s lifeless body on the ground. Cry for whatever will happen to me.
I notice movement to my left, but I'm stuck in place and can't budge. I’m paralyzed with the only sound of my own sobs, unable to remember the exact number of times I cried out in panic, but it was enough that my throat was in pain when a firm hand pulls me away.
The ringing persisted while the same biker who fired at Caleb manhandles me. He’s shouting for me to move, gripping my arm, and I’m convinced he might dislocate my shoulder. Even so, I can’t divert my eyes from Caleb’s unmoving body.
He was dead. Shot and killed right in front of me.
“For fuck’s sake.” The biker clutches onto both my arms and that’s when I’m pulled violently out the door and shoved over the stairs, landing hard on my knees. The pain instantly radiates up my legs.
I need to get to my phone. Need to call Throttle. Need to warn Brass…
Shit. Where was Brass?
I recover fast, rising with dreadful worry. Was he okay? Please let him be okay.
I scan the yard. There are guys and motorcycles everywhere. When I eventually spot my friend, I scream while tears continue to flow. Two men are laughing while they kick their heavy boots into his abdomen. Brass's mouth is spewing blood. It was unbearable to watch. His face bruising and bloodied, and his eyes swollen.
I push through the pain and sprint toward him, but a rough arm grabs hold of my waist and prevents me from reaching him.
My stomach lurches.
Despite suffering and in anguish, Brass still tries to reach out to me.
I’m sobbing. “Stop! Don’t fucking touch him!” I propel my legs upward, trying to lose the massive weight behind me, but it’s pointless. I’m too small. Too weak in comparison.
This time, he drags me away. “Quit fucking moving.”
No. No. No.
I shout. Scream. Kick. Cry. Not just for me, but for Brass. They were going to kill him, and I couldn’t do anything to prevent it.
I'm taken into a van, the doors shutting as I see Brass's lifeless body on the ground.
I gag, then dry heave. My teeth are clattering together as if it's freezing cold.
As we drive, I cling to the wall to avoid falling over with each turn.
The driver is not the man who shot Caleb or grabbed me, and he isn’t wearing a cut. But he has a teardrop tattoo on his face.
I clasp my knees against my chest as the tears trickle down onto my legs. Going inside was a mistake I regret. If I hadn't been so stupid, none of this would be happening. Brass would still be okay, and I wouldn’t be in the back of this van.
My heart breaks for him. Brass became more than just a prospect who got assigned to keep me safe. He’s a friend, and I’m the reason he’s hurt or worse, dead.
I choke out another cry.
Who knows if I’ll ever see Throttle again? My family. My friends.
No. They’ll find me. Throttle will find me.
I wipe my fallen tears one by one. I will not die. I will not. And I refuse to be subjected to whatever they’ll do to me. I’m going to fight.
I glance at the driver again, but he doesn't acknowledge me, as if I'm invisible.
Then we slow until the van comes to a complete stop. I position myself against the wall, preparing to strike my way out.
Go for the balls.
The driver unlocks the double doors, opening them wide. “Let’s go.” He climbs in, reaches forward and I go for the kick, but it falls short.
Dammit.
Making another try, my heel lands on his thigh, just missing his genitals. But I jam him well.
“Cock sucking whore.” He violently grabs both my ankles, wrenching me forward, and my head slams to the surface with a bang. “Knew we should have tied you up.”
The stabbing pain is instant, and I’m dizzy, causing everything to spin. He persistently drags me closer to the open doors. When I’m yanked off the edge of the van, I land on my butt, and my arm gets cut from something sharp on the way down.
Damn. I can't decide which is worse, my head or my arm.
“Up! And no games.” His gloved hand grabs a fist full of my hair, pulling me to a stand.
“If you were patient, I would have gotten up myself, asshole.”
With force, he clutches my wounded arm, and I let out a pained hiss. “Watch your mouth, whore.”
“I’m not a whore!”
Crack. He strikes my cheek. “Stop talking.”
My face burns as he tears me away from the van and we walk into a large building. A storage facility maybe. It’s dark, cold, and empty.
Was this the same building? I was too concerned with my arm and getting up that I ignored my surroundings.
Inside, there are only stairs leading downward.
“You first, bitch.” He extends a hand, showing me I’m being ordered to go down.
Slowly and sorely, I move around him, edging closer to the door.
I stop, raising my eyes to meet my captor's, and he emits a snarl.
“Open it.”
So, I do, because what other choice do I have?
I was not ready for it. Dog cages. Small enough to barely fit a large animal.
Jesus.
I think I might vomit.
The scum who brought me here points to the empty one to the right. “In.”
Only two out of around twelve enclosures were occupied.
I shake my head. “No. Please. I can’t. I can’t go—”
“Get the fuck inside.” He kicks the back of my knee, and my one leg gives out. I catch myself, palms flat on the cold cement.
I straighten up and squeeze my body into the cramped prison cell. He locks me in, spits at my feet, and then leaves me like a caged pet. I jump when the basement door slams behind him.
To make more room, I slip off my heels, kicking them to the side. Although the cage is too small for me to stand in, I can at least sit and curl myself into a ball to avoid hitting my already hurting skull.
In the freezing cold, a cry to my right pierces the air.
“Please. Please help me.” The young girl in the duplicate cage reaches a hand between her bars for me. She’s frail. Looks like she hasn’t eaten in days. What the fuck were they doing to these poor women?
I adjust my body to reach for her outstretched hand. With its chilling and boney touch, I still give her a comforting squeeze. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Mya,” she chokes out. She doesn’t look a day over eighteen.
“We’re going to get out of here. I promise.”
A flicker of hope shines in her eyes, lighting up her face.
“Don’t lie to her.” A stern voice to the other side of me draws my attention away, and I’m horrified. She’s covered in dark bruises on her arms and upper thighs.
Oh God. Tears blur my vision, and my stomach turns queasy.
“And don’t you dare pity me,” she threatens.
“I—I’m sorry, I just… what did they do to you?” Dumb question when it’s obvious.
“What they plan on doing to her, but lucky for everyone here, I’m his favorite at the moment.”
I stare horrified, but even with purple marks all over her nearly nude body, she still looks beautiful. Her long copper brown hair hangs down past her shoulders and despite so much pain, her blue eyes shine. Her skin is smooth as porcelain, with only a small butterfly tattoo behind her right ear.
The sight of her chest bruises is making me sick. She doesn’t cover herself, as if this was what she was used to.
I want to cry, tears already threatening to fall, but I force them back, owing her that much. She needs strength surrounding her. Not weakness.
“Is this… are we being trafficked?” The thought is damming.
“Some were sold. I don’t know where to.” She shrugs. “A few others came and went, but I can't remember the exact count. You lose track after a while.”
The pain she must be experiencing. Physically and mentally.
We have to get out of here.
I look around, but there’s nothing. No doors. No windows. No escape from this cage, even if there was a way.
The door opens and my stomach drops. The biker who shot Caleb lingers, scanning the area. He stops on me and grins.
I release Mya's hand to avoid attracting attention to her, then lean against the icy prison bars.
As he gets closer, I recognize his familiar face. It was him that Angel put in an arm lock.
He crouches down in front of me. “Hi, princess.” He licks his lips, staring at my chest. “You’ll earn me some nice cash.”
“You shot Caleb,” I barely say his name. The betrayal sinks in.
“He was going to pussy out and I couldn’t afford that.”
“He was working for you?” My voice quivers. There weren’t any signs.
The memory of his warning attempt in the end still makes my heart ache. It's possible he had a sense of regret. But it doesn’t change anything. And for that, I can’t be sorry about his death.
He smiles. “He was my scout the night at the bar. Our goal was to have you, such a pretty thing. And then I saw your biker friends and thought… what the hell? I was up for a challenge. It was about time we took your club out, anyway.” He sniffs. “We knew if we nabbed you, your boys would come running. We wait, then take them out.”
I swallow. He’s planning on murdering my friends. The guys. The entire club. Throttle.
No.
My vision blurs with tears.
Their attempts to rescue me would only lead them straight into a trap.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed them snooping around here, though. That stunt they pulled with the tracker really pissed me off.”
“Why go to all this trouble? Why not just kill them if that was your end goal?” I’m so disgusted.
“You’re probably worth a lot of money. It would be foolish to not take this chance.”
“You’re vile,” I spit.
He shrugs like none of this is a big deal. “I’ll be that much closer to being filthy rich and women will flock to my side.”
I almost vomit.
A genuine laugh comes from my left, causing his snarky grin to disappear.
The woman with the copper hair stops laughing, and he gives her a menacing glare with his lifeless, cold eyes.
He stands up and walks toward her.
Shit.
He unlocks her degrading cell. “Get out, little rabbit. I’m feeling in the mood.”
“Go fuck yourself.” She spits at his feet, but he grabs her by the hair and drags her out, kicking a booted foot into her rib cage.
“Stop! Leave her alone!” My scream of horror is met with the sound of Mya sobbing beside me as I grip the metal bars in front of me.
“Shut up!” The bruised woman yells at me, holding her side.
As they move toward the back, he secures her by wrapping his filthy arm around her slender waist. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll return to you later. This one needs to be taught a lesson.”
Realizing her inability to fight him, she gives up. Defeat washes over her face and she becomes expressionless. It's almost like she has learned how to switch it off by now. Her emotions. Her ability to feel. Gone. Turned off.
I wish I could help. I wish I could save her. But I can’t. I can only lay my head back, sensing the cold, and cry while staring up at the endless ceiling.
I close my eyes, praying to anyone. Please let her present suffering be short.