Angel

by Victoria Johns

  “I said enough!” he bellowed and then really slapped me hard, sending my head swinging sideways and my body crashing to the floor. I could feel the blood pulse to my mouth, and my cheekbone hurt badly. The taste of iron in my mouth confirmed my lips had split. There was a brief moment of disorientation before the numbness took over, and as much as it hurt to grit my teeth, I did it, determined not to let this asshole see me cry.

  “You think you’re not a prisoner? Wrong, Angel.” The look of nastiness on his face was vile. This was a version of Throttle I hadn’t seen before. “I’ve been good to you. Things could have been much worse. I convinced them to let me keep you here like this, but like a fucking bitch, you had to push your luck. They warned you’d try to play me, that you’d do this, you and your golden fucking pussy.”

  Throttle was completely losing it while I sat on the floor holding my cheek, thanking God that I’d managed to send out that SOS last night.

  “There’s nowhere to go without me. Now, before I do something really silly, I’m gonna leave and get some air. Stay fucking put.”

  I held my breath and my cheek tight. Breathing or letting go of my cheek right now would be the start of me falling apart completely. Only when I heard his motorcycle start and pull away did I fully register what had just happened. The tears started to rain down my cheeks and I wasn’t sure whether I was crying because of the pain or mourning the loss of my friendship with Throttle. The guy I had just seen was the real Throttle, capable of hurting me and capable of torturing Davis.

  Because of all that had just happened, I knew Davis and I were getting out of here today. Now. However the hell I had to make it happen, it was my next and most immediate course of action. If we didn’t and he was capable of hitting me and torturing Davis, I wasn’t prepared to hang around and see what else he would do.

  I waited for an hour, just in case he changed his mind and came back—just in case he had some attack of guilt for hitting me and wanted to make things right. When he didn’t, I pulled up my big girl panties and proceeded with my plan. It wasn’t really a plan at all, it was simply action.

  Get Davis, get the fuck out, and pray my dad and Dec were on the way.

  As the feeling in my face returned and it came back to life, so did my resolve. Throttle could go fuck himself.

  I grabbed an old backpack I found in a cupboard and loaded it with all the tools I could find—pretty much any knife that would do more than spread butter and all the tools from the Snap On kit that Throttle had given me. I raided the kitchen cupboards for food that would keep us in energy and I saw a box of matches at the last minute and grabbed it along with some kitchen cloths and paper towel for Davis. He’d need mopping up before we went anywhere and if we had to hide in the forest with open wounds, he could be in trouble longer term from infection.

  As I sprinted to the hidden shed, my adrenaline spiked and I knew one thing: once I busted Davis out, there was no turning back.

  Like a crime ninja, I removed the screws quickly and raced in. Davis was in the same place, although he smelt a hell of a lot worse than he did yesterday. He’d been tied up and with no other option available, he’d pee’d himself overnight. I felt awful for a split second, but not for long. I didn’t have the time.

  I pulled the hood off his head and saw his bashed up face, all crusted and in need of medical attention. “We’re getting out of here.”

  I leant down to remove the binds from his hands and found them too tight. Pulling a steak knife from the bag, I sawed through the rope as quickly as I could and tried not to look at what they’d done to his hands. I didn’t feel it or notice yesterday when I’d stupidly squeezed his hand, his fingers were all twisted the wrong way and swollen like fat hotdog sausages. I couldn’t figure out whether they had too much blood flowing to them or none at all. While I started on the rope at his ankles, he removed the gag from his mouth. “Water.” Boy, did he sound hoarse. “I’d given up on you.”

  “Grab some more bottles and put them in the pack on my back. We may need them.”

  I heard him wince in pain as he tried to get his fingers to cooperate with the zipper. “Did he do that to you?” I saw him nod towards my face.

  “Yeah, twat. But don’t worry, I’ll always be prettier than you, Davis.”

  I watched as a tear snaked from the corner of his eye at my joke. “Always coming to rescue me, that’s my Gracie,” he whispered.

  “Davis, we don’t have time for tears. Man up, we gotta leave. Do you hurt?”

  I didn’t wait for him to answer before I grabbed him and pulled him up. His groan was not pretty.

  “Don’t think I can do this. I’m too weak. I’ll only hold you back.”

  He was not doing this to me. “Fuck that, Davis. We go together or not at all, and you can explain to my dad that I was still here because you were too much of a pussy to make a run for it.”

  That changed his mind.

  I saw him wince as I made him put an arm around my shoulders and led him to the door. “Oh shit, I nearly forgot.” Making him stand on his own wobbly feet, I turned around and reached for the urn, placing it on the seat Davis had just vacated. I then scattered the pictures and newspaper clippings everywhere so when Throttle found this place, he would know that I knew.

  When I looked back at Davis, he was holding onto the door for support. I needed to keep him motivated. He’d suffered something awful and if he wasn’t positive about my escape plan, it was going to make my job twice as hard. When he stepped outside, he drew in a massive lungful of air and started to shake. “Do you know where we are?”

  “Not a fucking clue.”

  “What’s the plan?” he asked.

  “I vote we ghost the road, using the forest for cover.” Davis nodded and we began. Fifteen minutes into the walk, he was already slowing up and stumbling. “Let’s get some food in you.” I stopped, gave him a couple of slices of bread and then made him take some water. “Okay? Let’s move.” The poor guy was suffering on all fronts—his injuries, dehydration, and his fear, which was the worst of all. I was going to have to find a pace he could work with that kept us moving forward.

  “Remember that time I came to a dump dinner date pregnant?” I said, going for distraction.

  “Oh yeah. Mindy?”

  “No. Misty, total porn name, and if I remember, you said she had the bedroom moves to match.”

  Davis smiled and then winced at the pain it caused his face. “You threatened to vomit in my lunch, payback for the sex talk and for putting you off your own lunch. Instead, your version of payback was ‘pregnant Polly’.

  “I had big trouble finding a dress I could fit a cushion up.”

  “It looked real. It took me a minute to remember I hadn’t actually knocked you up. I remember spinning round and watching you waddle through the restaurant, screaming that I’d knocked you up and I needed a knot tying in my dick tubes.”

  I laughed. “Inspired.” The distraction was working.

  We ambled along, using the tree line for safety, and every so often I’d hand him a little bit of food and some water to sip. When he became too tired, I resumed my post as a human crutch.

  “Oh no, what was inspired was when you screamed the restaurant down in fake labor.”

  “It wasn’t labor. I was having a When Harry Met Sally moment, purely brought on by pregnancy hormones.” I shrugged after using the same excuse with the paramedic who had turned up to assist.

  “I was banned from that place, shame they did epic sushi.”

  “That’s the price you pay for a rescue, boss.”

  Davis stopped. “You’re always rescuing me. Look at us now. Thank you for not leaving me behind, Grace.” We’d wandered about a mile when Davis stopped abruptly. “Do you hear that?”

  “Yeah.” Neither of us could ignore the rumbling of a motorcycle in the distance.

  Davis started to shake so badly I thought he was going to topple over. “We need to fucking hide!” He was looked around fr
antically, regretting his idea to make a run for it.

  “Wait, stop.” I turned my head in the direction of the approaching motorcycle as it wound closer on the road some distance away. “That’s not a Harley.”

  “Now is not the time for an MC one-oh-one lesson, Grace!”

  “It’s a BMW GS. It’s the bike my mom and dad use when they go up into the mountains. The Harley is shit in the snow. They got caught up there once in an unexpected snow fall, and Dad nearly had a heart attack trying to get a wooden plank under his Harley to get it out of the snow. Mom made him buy the BMW. I think my dad is here.”

  I looked around and found the biggest, closest tree, and helped Davis over to it. “Wait here,” I ordered as I left him behind it.

  “You can’t go out there. What if you’re wrong and it’s not your dad?”

  “It’s my dad. I know it is.”

  “You’re going to leave with him. You’ll leave me here. I know it!”

  Davis flipped into panic mode and I didn’t have time for it. “I won’t, I promise. Didn’t we just agree I always come and rescue you?”

  I waited until my words had sunk in and Davis remembered he could trust me. I took two screwdrivers and a knife out of the backpack and left it on the floor beside him.

  Skulking off from bush to bush with the screwdrivers held out in front and the knife in my back pocket, I scooted towards the sound of the approaching motorcycle. The louder it got, the more my heart thumped in time with it. As I moved towards it, I could see the sun reflecting off the metal bits of the motorcycle through the gaps in the trees every so often, but it was some time before I could see the man sat astride it.

  I fought hard to hold back the tears of joy when I spotted my dad and his long hair flowing from the back of his helmet. Timing it just right, I leapt out from the bush, knowing he’d need enough time to slow down or even worse than that, recover from the surprise, causing him to drop the motorcycle.

  “Dad! Dad!”

  I watched as his hand covered the front brake lever on the BMW and he quickly hitched his foot to stamp on the rear one. Dad’s quick reactions caused the motorcycle to snake and snarl as it spat up dust until he came to stop beside me. “Get on!”

  “No, Davis is here. He needs to go first.”

  My dad looked at me like I’d grown two heads. He’d come here to rescue me and now I was suggesting that he leave me behind. “Not going to happen. Get on the back now.”

  “I can follow on foot. Just take him. They’ll kill him if they catch him.”

  “Angel, stop here arguing with me! Davis’ decisions put him in the trouble he’s in right now. You, you’re innocent. Get on the back. Now.”

  “I can’t do that to him. I already have the death of someone on my conscience. The guilt of that and the lie have eaten me alive for years. I won’t do that again. I know you’ll come back for me. Please take him.”

  I watched as my dad kicked the words around, hating every single one of them. It was wrong of me to use the secret and guilt that he’d known all along as leverage, but he wasn’t going to budge without it. Leaving without me was going against every living fiber inside him.

  “Go fucking get him. If anything happens to you, I’ll kill him myself.”

  I flung my arms around the big burly man who had been my everything since he’d taken me in, and ran off to find Davis. My dad started a three-point turn in the dirt track, so he was ready to bolt the minute I got Davis on the back.

  Davis was still cowered behind the huge tree. “Get up. You’re going first.”

  The relief I saw on his face was expected. He’d believed that he was going to die out here in the forest. I helped him hobble to my dad, and as I was about to help him on the back, Throttle appeared out of nowhere from the other side of the forest.

  “I fucking knew it!” he shouted, causing us all to jump. “Loris in town told me she’d seen another biker come through and I wanted to believe she was wrong.”

  Throttle pulled a gun from behind his cut and pointed it in our direction.

  “Look at that cut you have on, son,” my dad told him. “Our blood flows through that and you. You are a Sentinel.”

  “I’m not a fucking Sentinel. My father’s Irish blood flows through me.”

  No one moved. All we could hear was the motorcycle engine and the wind whipping up the trees.

  “I knew you’d called someone, Angel. I thought I was dreaming when I heard voices last night and I was hoping it was going to be him.” The way he spat the words, I knew he was hoping that I’d rung Declan for the rescue. “I wanted to finally put him in the ground like he did our dad, but you rang JP instead. I don’t wanna have to kill you Prez, but I will.”

  “You don’t need to kill anyone,” I shouted. “Just let us all leave.”

  “Can’t do that. Razor wants Davis and you were supposed to help me get the club.”

  Throttle was deluded. But he was deluded and waving a gun around. I stepped towards him and my dad was instantly on alert. “Do not go over to him, Angel. If he wanted you, he could have asked me like a man.”

  “Don’t you tell me I’m not a man!” The way he waved the gun around, I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. “JP, I don’t need to hurt you. Just step aside, let me have the Sentinels and Razor will have the Carnals soon. We’ll finish what we’ve started with the Mexicans and everyone goes home.”

  “You’re insane if you think the brothers will let you breeze away with their club.”

  “I will end them all if I have to. Angel, get over here.”

  “Don’t you fucking move, Angel,” my dad growled again.

  Looking at both him and Davis, I knew I was probably the only one who could bring this to a close. If we had any chance of ending this, I had to get within arm’s reach of Throttle.

  “Thrott, you don’t want to do this. We could be together. We could still be together, but Davis being in that shed thing was wrong. He’s hurt and I can’t be with you unless you let him get some help. My dad can take him away and you and I can go back to sorting things out. Starting with what we started last night.”

  Throttle watched me like a hawk as I got closer. He took in everything I said and weighed up how he was going to make that possible. “I can’t. Razor’ll cut me if I let him walk.”

  “Then me and you will end Razor instead. We’ll have both clubs.” The light of possibility beamed from his eyes. He liked the thought of that. I stood before him, the gun trained on me now, and continued my speech. “You know I’m not a Sentinel. They’ve lied to me. They all knew my secret and played me. They deserve some payback for all the guilt I’ve lived with. What do you think?”

  “I think I’m glad I didn’t let Razor take you and do things to you like he wanted. I talked him out of that, baby. I knew we could be together if we just had some time alone to see how good it could be.”

  I was well within reach of him now. “Forget about them. Let them go. We’ll go back to the cabin and figure out what to do next.”

  Throttle was quiet while I waited on tenterhooks, wondering if he was going to go for it.

  “Come here, baby.” He smiled and I stepped into his hug. “You two, leave now. You best not come back here. JP, you’ve got twenty-fours hours to vacate the Sentinel’s land.”

  “Angel, don’t do this,” my dad pleaded.

  “It’s for the best, Dad. You know I don’t belong with you.”

  Throttle and I took a step back, his arm around me as my dad started to shed tears. Davis was still on the back of his motorcycle as he revved the throttle, desperate for me to change my mind.

  “Go!” I shouted and prayed that he could see it was a ploy and I was playing Throttle.

  As the motorcycle finally pulled away, Throttle kept his gun trained on them, and while he was distracted, I pulled the knife from my back pocket and swung it round into his stomach. Hearing him grunt in shock before I pulled it back out and drove it in again was electrifying. Thrott
le’s body grew weak immediately and I felt his warm blood on my hand, making the knife’s handle slippery. As his knees gave way, I went in for a third time, and then heard the gun in his hand fire a shot in the direction of my dad and Davis. As I flipped my head to look at them, I saw the motorcycle change pace and watched as it fishtailed out of control. Davis had fallen off the back and was lying motionless on the ground as my dad fought to retain control of it.

  “Dad!” I screamed, but before I could shout anything else, it veered wildly to the right and both the motorcycle and my dad slammed into a tree.

  “No!” I yelled as I looked from the wreckage of my dad, Davis and the bike, down at Throttle’s face. He was going to leave this earth and go to hell knowing he’d taken something from me, too.

  His teeth were now red with blood oozing up from his windpipe. “Bitch,” he managed to warble as the gun fell from his hand to the floor beside him.

  Right then, a ten-year-old Rosie Grace Collins was once again in control. She saw a man trying to take away a person she loved, only this time, twenty years on, she wasn’t powerless to stop him. She was the one in control and with the bloody knife still protruding from Throttle’s body, she dragged it out and moved it up his chest. She looked into his eyes, feeling no shame or guilt over what she was about to do, and forced the knife through the leather of his Sentinels Prospect patch until it met his flesh and drove through his heart, holding it there until the bad man breathed his last breath.

  On this occasion, I was more than up to the challenge of being an Angel, but this time I was the Angel of Death.

  The movies have it all wrong and a lot to answer for.

  Unbelievable happy endings, skinny actresses with eating disorders, and fake sex scenes that could never be that smooth and sweat free. But the most unrealistic are hospital deaths.