by Jadyn Chase
My voice shook getting the words out, but I already knew what I had to do. Whether she struggled or not, we were doing this. I wouldn’t turn aside from my course. She could do her worst. She wouldn’t change my mind or make me back down.
She froze there in my arms. She stopped moving and held herself stiff and tense, but at least she didn’t move or speak. I waited a moment just to make sure she got the message. Then I turned the ignition.
The bike roared to life and I kicked up the stand. I put her in gear and revved the throttle. The other guys laughed and Tomas slapped me on the back. “Good luck, Brayden.”
I let out the clutch. She still didn’t move. She balanced on the seat like she knew what she was doing and she didn’t try to stop me holding her in place with my arms.
I motored out of the yard and onto the street. The farther I got from the warehouse, the more I settled into the steady groove of driving. She really was going to sit there and let me take her.
After a few more miles, she relaxed. Her posture slouched and she slumped into my arms. Poor kid. Her injuries must really hurt.
I drove for half an hour and hit commuter traffic. I puttered through stop and go bullshit for fifteen minutes when, without warning, her head tumbled onto my shoulder. She wilted against me and her whole body went slack.
At the next pause, I peered down to find her sound asleep. My heart ached for her. I would do anything for her, but I couldn’t let my guard down. Carlos told me to watch her. The instant she woke up, she would try to get away again. I already knew that.
For now, though, she rested in the hollow of my arms. The next time I braked, I bent down and smelled her hair. She smelled good and I pressed my nose to her scalp. Her hair felt good against my lips. She never needed to know.
I wheeled into The Zone and punched the combination into the lock. The wrought-iron gate slid back and I rumbled up the driveway. When I got in sight of the building, the garage door opened and I dropped into the underground parking basement.
I veered the bike into one of the spaces and switched off the engine. The girl still didn’t wake up. I eased my leg over the seat still supporting her inert body. I got my arms under her and hefted her into my arms. I kicked open the door, lugged her upstairs, and entered the living room.
I laid her on the couch and stood back to examine her. She looked just as horrible now as when I first laid eyes on her, but I felt different about her now. She was just helpless and scared and hurt. Whoever she was, she only reacted to this situation the way any of us would in similar circumstances. If a rival club kidnapped me, held me prisoner in an underground bunker, beat and tortured me within an inch of my life, and I woke up in a strange place with no memory of what happened, I would fight and try to escape, too.
That’s not what happened, though. That amnesia story was just a ruse. She knew who she was. She just knew how to lie.
3
Morgan
I jolted awake screaming in terror and stared all around me. Demons and monsters still crowded around me from my dreams. I scrambled to get away from them and ran into the arm of a couch.
I blinked. The dream faded. I didn’t see any monsters. I was in a living room of some house—at least it looked like it. Sunlight streamed through the windows from a wooden deck. A counter separated a kitchen from the main room. A wide-screen TV occupied one wall with couches and chairs all around it.
One man sat opposite me. He rested his black boots on the coffee table and flipped the pages of a magazine. He shot me a fleeting glance and went back to reading.
I caught my breath. I couldn’t relax. I kept looking everywhere, trying my hardest to figure out where I was and how I got here. I hugged my knees against my chest. My arms hurt. My ribs hurt. My face hurt. Everything hurt.
When I looked down, I saw bruises and cuts all over my arms and hands. What happened to me?
I caught the guy looking at me again, but he still didn’t say anything. A ping came from his pocket. He took out his phone, did something on it, and set it next to him on the seat before going back to the magazine.
No matter where I looked, nothing made sense. Who was that guy? How did I get here? Something told me to run away, to break out and get far away from him and everything else.
I surveyed the surroundings. A ten-foot stone wall blocked off the garden beyond the glass doors. A hall slotted down another side of the room leading somewhere I couldn’t see.
I almost broke the silence by asking him where I was, but I stopped myself. His demeanor told me he was no friend of mine. Pretty soon, though, curiosity and confusion won the day. No one else could tell me anything, and I couldn’t stand not knowing.
I stole a glance at him. His hard black eyes glittered at me. A bright red bandana covered his forehead. His inky black hair swept back from it. When he turned his head, I saw a tight braid of thick hair hanging down his back. A black leather belt held his black jeans around a chiseled waist A leather vest covered his black t-shirt with ripped tattooed arms jutting out from the sleeves. Where had I seen arms like that before?
A neat, trimmed black goatee highlighted his mouth and chin. Strong cheekbones and a powerful jaw gave him an exotic, brutal appearance. Those eyes, though—the eyes said it all. They flashed unmasked hatred for me. For all I knew, he was the one who hurt me like this, though I couldn’t exactly remember.
I cast a glance toward the kitchen. I couldn’t hope to find any food in there, but the sink looked particularly inviting. I needed a drink of water like I needed air to breathe.
I ran my parched tongue around my mouth. I couldn’t chance going to the sink without knowing for sure he wouldn’t attack me for moving. The only way I could do that was to talk to him.
I braced myself for the inevitable showdown and croaked out, “Where am I?”
He rested the magazine on his lap. “You’re in The Zone. This is a safe house. No one gets in and no one gets out. We’ll keep you here until we find out who you are. Of course, you could shorten that amount of time by just telling us, but you won’t do that. You’re too plug stubborn.”
He picked up his magazine and perused the pages with a bored, condescending air. I made another search of the room and came up empty. “Who are you?”
He let the magazine flop down again. He cocked his head to study me. “I’m Brayden. Don’t you remember? My name is Brayden Burke and you’re Morgan Cole.”
My gaze skated sideways. I couldn’t place what he was talking about.
“You really don’t remember, do you?” He snorted and shook his head before he lifted the magazine in front of his face. “Well, isn’t that something?”
The longer this went on, the more terrified and confused I got. I couldn’t figure out what it was I should remember. “I mean…..” I stammered, “I mean…. who are you? Who are you that wants to figure out…..whatever?” I couldn’t finish.
He slapped the magazine down with an exasperated gasp. His head whipped up. “You really don’t remember? Seriously? We’re Los Diablos.”
I opened my mouth, but my throat wouldn’t work. I had to swallow several times to make any sound. “What’s Los Diablos?”
He stared at me in shock. He didn’t even blink. All at once, he thrust out his forearm to expose the vulnerable inner skin below his elbow. A simple dragon tribal tattoo and a banner above announced to the world, Los Diablos.
“That’s Los Diablos,” he told me, “and so are you, except we don’t brand someone on the shoulder like that, so we know you didn’t get that patch from us. The sooner you tell us where you got it, the sooner we can let you go.”
He picked up his magazine. I didn’t understand half of what he said, but that image on his arm meant something to me. It reminded me of something. I just couldn’t figure out what.
He went back to reading and pretended to ignore me. I wouldn’t get any more answers out of him. I lowered my gaze and my eyes came to rest on two pairs of handcuffs. They sat on the coffee table ne
xt to his heel.
The whole scene from the warehouse unfolded in my mind. I remembered everything—waking up on the couch, the interview with that big guy who took my wallet and my phone, Brayden and the others cuffing me, and them putting me on Brayden’s bike.
The memory ended halfway across town, so I must have passed out. I couldn’t remember anything before waking up in the warehouse.
I looked around again. This room resembled any other house, but it was really just a nice-looking prison. I had to get out of here. I had to get away from Brayden. He kidnapped me once. He would stop at nothing to hold me here against my will. In the meantime, I had to get some water to drink before I lost my mind from thirst.
Brayden startled me out of my senses by speaking over his magazine. “You should take a shower and clean yourself up ‘cuz you look like shit. We have a first aid kit with some antiseptic for those cuts, but I gotta tell you. I have to sit outside the room when you do. My Boss ordered me not to let you out of my sight, so I won’t.”
He glanced up to gauge my reaction. Without thinking, I glanced toward the kitchen again. I didn’t want a shower. I didn’t care how bad I looked. I needed water. Then I needed to concentrate on the problem of getting something to eat.
He saw the glance and stiffened. He looked toward the kitchen, too. “Are you hungry?”
I couldn’t answer. Desperation and blinding madness balled up in my throat. I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out of here. I needed……I needed….
He tossed the magazine aside and swung to his feet. He jerked his thumb toward the counter. “If you’re hungry, I can get you something to eat. You just tell me.”
I bowed my head in misery. I couldn’t look at him. Tears sprang to my eyes. I dared not believe someone might actually care enough to give me what I wanted, but if I didn’t take a chance, I would probably die of dehydration.
He inclined his head to one side. “Morgan? Did you hear what I said?”
The word ripped out of my throat. It hurt so bad a tear overflowed my eye and streaked down my cheek. “Water!”
I sounded like an animal in distress, but I couldn’t say any more. I hated myself for being so needy and helpless. I couldn’t even get myself a drink of water.
His eyebrows flew up. “You want water? Are you thirsty?”
I averted my gaze. I couldn’t stand him looking at me like this. I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide like a rat.
He walked away to the kitchen. The faucet turned on. He came back with a large glass of water and held it out to me. “Here.”
I whipped around and snatched it out of his hand. I didn’t want to. I wanted to attack him and tear the flesh off his bones, but I needed the water more. I guzzled it as fast as I could panting half in ecstasy, half in terror that someone would take it away before I could finish drinking it.
My throat hurt so bad gulping it down, but after I drank it, I felt much better. I looked up to find Brayden studying me. He didn’t smile. The minute I laid eyes on him, the old hostility flared. He was my enemy. I didn’t care what he did. He was being nice to trick me.
I gathered my muscles together to launch at him, but before I got a chance, he bent over and took the glass out of my hand. He turned his back on me and went back to the kitchen.
He crashed around, opened and closed the fridge, and turned the faucet on and off. He did something in there. A moment later, something started sizzling in a frying pan. Food. My stomach churned from suppressed hunger, but I held myself alert and ready for some threat to leap out of nowhere.
No threat came, though. He worked around the kitchen casting occasional glimpses my way. He moved with ease from one task to another as though he spent a lot of time cooking in the kitchen. That didn’t comport with his badass attitude. Maybe I misjudged him.
No! I didn’t misjudge him. He attacked me in the warehouse and cuffed me. Then he brought me to this place against my will. I hated him! I just had to figure out a way to get out of here.
He said no one gets in and no one gets out, but that couldn’t be true. He got in with me somehow. There had to be a way out.
I peered through the double glass doors leading to the deck. If I could get out there and search the garden, I might find a weakness in the system. Just then, Brayden came back. He set a plate on the coffee table in front of me. I gazed down at a huge club sandwich next to a pile of steaming, thick-cut fried potatoes.
The intoxicating smell fractured my brain. Food. Good food. Food made by hand just for me.
“Here you go,” he breezed. “You better eat it. Otherwise, I’ll just have to leave it for the rats.”
He stepped around the coffee table to his old place and sat down. He propped up his heels and set another dish on his lap. An equally enormous sandwich and heap of potatoes covered his plate.
He stabbed a fork into a potato and stuffed it into his mouth. Then he picked up the sandwich and took a bite. He stared off to one side while he chewed. He completely wiped me out of his awareness—or at least he pretended to.
Could I really eat that food? Did I dare? He wasn’t watching. I calculated how fast I could eat it before he lunged off the couch and came after me. How many bites could I manage before I had to run for my life?
He didn’t look my way. He gave all his attention to eating his meal. He didn’t appear to notice me glancing back and forth between him and that sandwich.
I couldn’t remember any food looking so good in my life. Globs of melting butter and herbs studded the potatoes. Crispy bacon and avocado protruded from between the sandwich bread. Saliva welled up under my tongue. My stomach spasmed in knots. I had to have it. I had to taste it.
I cast one last fleeting glimpse at him and pounced on it. I scooped up the sandwich and started wolfing it down in massive bites. I eyed him while I ate to get the first clue if he changed his posture, but he didn’t. He went right on chewing and staring into space.
I got through the sandwich without really tasting it. A forgotten part of my brain registered the tragedy of letting such a delicacy go unappreciated, but I had to get it all into my stomach as quickly as possible.
I shoveled the potatoes into my mouth with my fingers and sucked the butter off them. Only after I finished did I experience the drugged lethargy of having stuffed myself to bursting. I felt full and satisfied but exhausted by the effort.
I couldn’t hold my eyes open. I fought to prop my eyelids up, but it didn’t work. I sank against the cushions. Brayden looked over like he just noticed my existence for the first time. “Are you tired?” He pulled a lap robe from the couch behind him. He spread it between his hands and advanced on me. “Here.”
He moved to drape it over me, but I reared back baring my teeth. “Get away from me!”
He smacked his lips and threw the robe on the floor. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
He flung himself down and snatched up the magazine. In an instant, he bent all his attention to reading it and erased me from existence.
The minute he did that, I regretted pushing him away. He tried to be nice to me. Now he might not ever try again. What was wrong with me?
I willed my eyes to stay open. I had to keep scanning the room and everything around me. Something might attack at any moment and get me and…. I didn’t know what it would do, but I had to hold myself on guard all the time. I couldn’t relax my vigilance for a second.
Brayden never looked at me again. He just sat there reading. After a while, he pitched the magazine on the table and started doodling on his phone. He completely ignored me.
He didn’t pose any threat to me—at least not right now. He gave me food and water. He even went as far as saying I could have anything I wanted. I just had to ask him. He might be a nice person after all, but that only alarmed me more. That might be his way of disarming me so I wouldn’t be ready to fight him when the time came.
In spite of my best efforts, the food and water made me drowsier. I couldn’t stay conscious. Did he drug m
y food to sedate me? Overpowering exhaustion and pain taxed my brain until I couldn’t remain upright another second.
I watched Brayden like a hawk, but when he still didn’t look up, I took a chance and stretched out on the couch. The minute I laid my head down, I couldn’t stay awake. My eyes drifted closed.
The last thing I saw before I passed out was Brayden glance up from his phone. His hard black eyes softened. Something close to a smile crept over his face, but his mouth didn’t change. Only his eyes expressed a deeper satisfaction and approval.
He was there. He was right there across the room. He said no one would hurt me and I believed him. I could close my eyes. As long as he was still there, he would make sure no one came near me, not even himself.
4
Brayden
The girl bolted straight up out of a sound sleep and screamed. She gripped the blanket in both fists, panting hard and looking around the room.
I switched my phone off and put it in my pocket. “Good morning—or should I say good evening. You’ve been asleep for almost twelve hours. Do you feel better?”
She glanced over at me, still staring at something horrible and unseen. I didn’t really expect a coherent answer out of her, but what the hell? A man can try.
Instead, she swiveled right and left looking for something. “Where’s…..?”
I cocked my head. “Where’s what?”
“Where’s my…..?” She faltered, checked herself, and then wilted. “Nothing. It was just a dream.”
“Yeah?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “What did you dream about? Maybe your dream will give us a clue who you are and where you came from.”
