by Tijan
As if reading my mind, Chad said, “She’s the other doorman now.”
I grunted. That sounded about right.
He handed something to me. “She told me to give you this.”
It was her phone, and I was surprised to find it unlocked with a red blinking light on the screen. I zeroed in and saw it was a map—of us. She was showing me the tracking on that brooch, and it was activated all the time.
She’d lied to me.
Bitch.
I stifled a growl, saw everyone watching me, and put her phone into my pocket. “I’m good. Carry on.”
Channing looked at the others, then indicated the store he’d left. “We can talk in there.”
The Peter and all Channing’s men filed in, but Channing stayed back. Once it was the two of us, he touched my hand. “Hold back?”
I did. Moose shut the door and moved to stand in front of it. He was giving us a bit of privacy.
Channing headed farther up the street so they couldn’t see us through the windows and stepped into the alley between this building and the next. We were completely isolated this time.
“What’s up?” He leaned back against one of the buildings.
I nodded to the one that now housed the guys. “Did you buy this place?”
He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Yeah. I got it for the crews, or something else.”
Oh. He hadn’t been joking before when he said they were looking for a new place. “Are you going to create something for them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. That’s not what it was about.”
“Okay.”
“What’s going on, though? You don’t normally come over here.”
I let out a soft sigh, leaning against the other side of the alley, feeling the brick behind me. “I came about us, but maybe now’s not the right time.”
“Us?”
I hated this. He was acting fine, polite even, but that wasn’t Channing. It wasn’t the guy who slid inside of me every other night or who had gotten in that guy’s face. That was my guy, not this one. He was talking to me like we were buds.
It set my teeth on edge.
“Channing, stop it.”
“Stop what?”
He goddamn well knew.
“I mean it.”
He didn’t reply, closing his eyes a moment.
“You know why I’m here.”
“Yeah.” He gripped the back of his neck, expelling a ragged breath. “I know.”
There it was. The nagging feeling in my stomach blossomed up, taking over my body, and I felt sick. “Is it because of Richter? Because I was there?”
He opened his mouth. “I—”
BOOM!
The wall behind me shook.
I jerked forward. Channing swept me behind him, a cement arm around my waist, and we felt more than heard a fast stomping coming toward us.
The side door shoved open and Moose yelled, “Get in here! Chad flipped his lid.”
Channing stifled a curse. I was about to follow him, but his arm tightened. “Not you.”
“What?”
We could hear shouting from inside.
“But—”
“I mean it.” He was firm. “Go home, Heather. I’ve already damaged you enough. Go.”
“Channing!”
He wasn’t waiting. He headed inside, slamming the door behind him, and I heard the deadbolt flip a second later.
If that wasn’t a perfect metaphor for our relationship, I don’t know what was.
I was beyond pissed. The timing wasn’t right, but I didn’t care. If I could hang through a gunfight, I could deal with whatever was happening in there, and I started to the front of the emptied store to tell Channing exactly that.
When I got there, it was empty. They’d moved to the back, the only light shining from underneath a door farther in. I reached for the front door.
It was locked.
If there was ever a need for Stalker, it was now. She’d have some way to get in. I was heading to the bar to get her when there was a rush of movement behind me. I rounded, hearing someone running up.
There was a blur before it went dark.
A bag or something was shoved over my head, and someone picked me up.
“Wha—No!” I started fighting, kicking, trying to punch, but it all happened so fast. I dropped Rebecca’s phone. It fell with a clatter to the ground.
“Fuck,” a guy grunted, arms tightening around me.
They tossed me into a vehicle.
“What was that?”
“It was her phone. It’s gone. Let’s go!”
Someone else jumped into the vehicle. The door slammed shut and a deep voice yelled, “GO, GO, GO!”
We sped away, tires squealing.
41
Heather
No one was talking as we drove, but I could tell there were three of them. Two in the front and one next to me. Every time I began to inch toward the door, the dude on my left hauled me back.
The damn bag was still over my head. But this showed their intelligence levels: I could see out of it. I couldn’t make out details, but I saw the shapes of the guys. And I could see the shapes of the buildings as we drove past.
They turned a bunch of times so I lost track of what direction we were going. So instead of tracking where we were going, I focused on them.
The driver was large. The guy in the passenger seat was just as big. The guy on my left was smaller, more my size.
Okay. Take a deep breath. Think, Heather. Think, because you’re not going to be raped or held for hostage.
My damn pride couldn’t take it.
I was going to get out. Then I was going to kick their asses.
I had to think of a plan.
They hadn’t tied my hands together, just the bag.
I still had my keys, ID, some cash, and my phone. Becca was right. There weren’t a lot of places I could stuff them, but they fit in the pockets on my ass, and I’d silenced my phone.
They thought they’d already gotten rid of my phone when Rebecca’s fell out.
Praise fuck for that small break!
Now to wait. Think. Keep the fuck calm.
That was really my whole plan—wait for an opening, jump out of the vehicle, and haul ass into the woods. I grew up a tomboy. Okay, I grew up a slightly slutty tomboy, but the slutty was just in appearance. No guy was going to hold me hostage, or whatever the hell they were planning. If anything, my sheer determination would keep me going, but I was ready to fight and fight hard.
Weapon.
I would need a weapon, so I started looking around.
The guy next to me had a gun—not good—but he had a knife too. It was strapped to his right hip, only a button keeping it in place. I could grab that, grab the gun. I’d have to elbow him first, throw it into his throat and push as hard as possible. Lay my body over his arm so he couldn’t block me or throw me off, or even shoot me. I’d have to almost sit on his hand where the gun was, then after ramming an elbow into his throat, I’d get the knife, and the gun, and haul ass.
Wait. Chill out. Take a second.
If they didn’t stop, there’d only be one guy to deal with. He was in the front. He’d be twisting around, grabbing at me. I’d have to bring the gun up. Did I shoot? Did I shoot a second guy? This one might be fatal.
I swallowed over a knot.
The last time had been different. It was self-defense. This would be calculated. But it’d be self-defense too, I thought… I went through the steps in my head, planning to shoot a guy.
Did I dare?
I had to. These guys weren’t talking, so I didn’t know what they had planned. I was sure they were following orders, but who knew the end game? Who they were taking me to and what were their intentions? I wasn’t going to wait to find out.
So the revised plan: attack the guy next to me and shoot the guy in the front passenger seat. But where?
Shoot down. Shoot his arm? Shoot his shoulder? Would I
even be able to aim?
Shit. Maybe I should just run for it? Then worry about them shooting me in the back… That was a distinct possibility.
Fuck it. I’d do whatever I had to do when the opportunity came along—but we were leaving the woods. If I was going to go, I needed to go now. There was a field up ahead. There’d be no cover unless I was crawling, and that meant going slow.
Fuck!
GO, HEATHER, FUCKING GO!
I went for the door. I could see through the bag enough, but shit—it was locked.
“Hey!” he guy next to me barked.
I twisted back and was on him like a rabid cat. I launched my entire body at him, and I scratched. There went the whole cool, calm, and collected plan.
The bag came off, and I was fighting for my life. Scratching, biting, and hair pulling wouldn’t help for long. The guy oomphed under me, and I felt him gathering his weight. He was about to throw me off.
Knee, down.
I followed my own commands, ramming my knee down on his junk, and as he buckled in a howl under me, I looked behind me. The front passenger guy was going for his gun. I gave him the elbow, lunging forward to hit his throat as hard as possible. He grunted, falling back, and then I was scrambling.
Gun, gun, gun.
Knife.
I grabbed both, punching the guy’s junk again and using my feet to kick out the window.
The driver was slowing down.
The front passenger yelled, “No, don’t! Richter wants her unharmed. Go fast.”
Richter—that fuckhead. So he wasn’t dead.
I used all of my weight to kick at the door, leaning fully back on the guy behind me. He still seemed busy clutching his dick, and then finally, the window shattered. Hell yes.
Rational thought left me at this point, and I dove out of the window. I knew I was cut. I felt the searing pain, and then more as I landed hard on the side of the gravel road. Something hit my head, and a numbing ache started there, but I couldn’t stop and assess the damage.
I had to run. I had to go fast and hard, and I couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I didn’t want to find out what would happen.
I wasn’t going to be a goddamn victim. I knew that much. As the SUV screeched to a halt, I staggered to my feet and began running. We’d gone past the trees, so I crashed into the ditch. Long grass scraped against my legs, but I kept going. I didn’t know what I was running into—animals, whatever. All I knew was I had to go. I had to fucking go. Get out of here! So almost blindly, I kept going until the first line of trees was closer.
I heard the guys yelling, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. The blood pumped so loud in my ears, my heartbeat was like the bass in a techno song—really freaking fast and hypnotic in a way.
“There!” one guy yelled.
I veered toward the trees, or more threw myself in their direction, and glanced over my shoulder. All of my movements were wild and half-crazed, but I could make the guy pointing right at me.
An animalistic sound ripped from my throat. It scared even me, and I heard other animals running away. The trees were thick, I realized. The branches were going to hurt. I crashed through them, and yes, they stung like a bitch.
Better than a gunshot.
Better than being a victim.
Fight, Heather.
I was. I was fighting. I was running. I had kicked their asses, and this wasn’t going to be the end of me. I would run till I couldn’t run anymore. Then I’d walk, and if I couldn’t do that, I’d crawl. I’d fucking crawl until the skin was ripped off of me and all my blood was gone. Then I’d crawl some more.
“Where’d she go?”
They couldn’t hear me? I was crashing into more and more branches.
That meant I could slow down.
I’d have to hide.
They’d have to leave, and if they called for backup, so could I. Or I’d try. No. I couldn’t do that. Even as I thought it, I forgot it. I didn’t know where I was, and I couldn’t risk my phone flashing or buzzing or anything.
I felt myself weakening. Blood trickled down my arm. I was going to lose consciousness, and soon. I felt sort of woozy. It was that rock, or whatever had hit my head. That’s what was doing this, not even the cuts or road rash.
Wait. What was I doing?
I stopped, lurching forward, and fell against a tree.
I steadied myself, but my heart felt like it wanted to beat out of me, drilling up through my throat. I looked down to see it, but I couldn’t make anything out. I couldn’t even see myself. I was in complete darkness.
“Where’d that bitch go?” a guy grunted, swearing. “Fucking whore.”
Whore? I wasn’t a whore.
I felt more and more dizzy. A wave of nausea crashed over me. I wanted to puke. My stomach was pushing up too. Everything was pushing up. It wasn’t a good feeling.
I was going to be sick.
No…
I was running from those guys.
I needed to retch.
I grabbed hold of the tree and bent over, but I had to keep going.
What was I doing again?
And then—oh shit—I heard them closing in. They had a light too. They were shining it everywhere.
I ran from them.
I had to hide—I couldn’t keep going. But where?
Oh God.
A really bad idea came to me. Feeling my stomach, feeling everything in me sink to my feet, I looked up.
I had to hide. Oh, fuck. Okay. I had nowhere to go. They’d find me down here, but maybe not up there.
I started to climb.
This was going to be a long fucking night.
42
Heather
“Heather!”
They hadn’t stopped searching for me. I felt like I’d been sitting here for hours, but it could’ve been thirty minutes. I had no idea; I’d been woozy when I hoisted myself up into this tree. I was higher than their line of sight now so they’d have to shine a good-sized flashlight right on me to see me. The tree had two large branches coming out of the trunk, and I’d maneuvered myself into that little notch where the tree separated and used my jacket to hold me in place. It wasn’t the best way to secure myself, but it was what I had because the trunk was big enough that I couldn’t wrap my arms around it. I laid myself against the branch so my own weight kept me anchored in place.
I pulled out my phone to call for help, but when I did, they saw the screen flash.
“Hey! There!” one shouted, and they came crashing through the woods toward me.
I clicked it off.
It was still on silent so it wouldn’t even buzz. I hated, hated, hated doing it, but I turned it over so if any light flashed it would be toward my leg, and I shoved it into my pocket. I was plunged back into darkness.
They stopped about ten feet from where I was, but I could hear them.
Too close. Way too close.
I must’ve dozed off because when they walked right underneath me, it woke me up.
I jerked in place, then thanked the gods that my anchor had stayed in place. Some bark scraped free, and it fell to the ground. It sounded deafening to me, but I couldn’t hear it when it landed. The ground was soft, no rocks down there.
I still held my breath, praying for a solid five minutes that they hadn’t heard.
When they didn’t backtrack, I felt tears of relief on my face.
How was I in this situation once again?
Channing.
This was why we should break up.
This was why we should go our separate ways.
I had a life. I had loved ones to worry about and keep safe. But a whole new slew of curse words flashed in my head, because no matter how many times I told myself to go, I knew I wouldn’t. I physically wouldn’t be able to walk away from him.
I had a magnetic attraction to him; it always led me back to him, and while I knew I should be fucking furious, I wasn’t.
Face it, Heather.
&nbs
p; I was talking to myself. I’d resorted to that, but I sank even lower because I answered.
Yes, yes. I know. It’s not Channing. It’s me. I’m attracted to the crazy dysfunctional. That’s my family, my friends, and my other half. It’s me.
I was the problem.
And I didn’t think I could change. I didn’t think I even wanted to change.
I tried to imagine it.
Normal would’ve meant moving to a house away from Manny’s. I’d need more quiet. Living so close just meant I basically lived at Manny’s. The chaos from it, the adrenaline, the excitement was intoxicating. It always bled over to the house, so I’d have to move. Even at that thought, I winced.
I would need a plain home, in a plain neighborhood where people cared about the length of their grass. Where they cared if a fence was chain-link or painted brown versus white, if it was decorative or for privacy, if it was six feet high or four feet high. The neighbors would want to meet me. They’d care about the HOA fees. There’d be an enforced quiet rule in the neighborhood. No revving motorcycle engines after midnight, or even ten. Certainly no gunshots—what losers.
I shuddered. Was it from the cold or the head wound? Who knew? Me. It was the thought of living a normal, plain life.
I couldn’t do it.
There’d been no guy I wanted as much as I wanted Channing. I thirsted for him. I didn’t want to wake up next to anyone else every morning. No guy could live up to Channing.
I was in. I was all in.
I mean, I already knew I was. I’d had the realization earlier, but being in a gunfight and then being kidnapped called for some second thoughts. So I’d just run back over it all, while tied up in a tree and bleeding from the head.
That was it. I was in an altered state. I didn’t know what I was thinking because I should not be okay with this.
“Heather?”
I almost growled. That was Richter. They’d called in reinforcements. He wasn’t far off, maybe thirty yards or so. I heard a dog barking too.
For the love of God. They’d gotten dogs.
“Heather! Listen to me. I know you’re still here.”
No, he doesn’t. He has no idea where I am.
“Listen.” Crunch. He was walking toward me. “My men didn’t hurt you. They tried to restrain you, but they didn’t hurt you. I know that because that was my order. You weren’t to be harmed, and I still want to follow that. I don’t want you hurt, but Heather…” His voice rose. “If you stay out here, I can’t guarantee that won’t happen. It’s a long way from here to town.”
