Whoops. There goes my temper again.
But, really, no amount of me bein’ nice is gonna cure this crazy.
His eyes gleam, like he’s thinking he’s about to score a conversational point. “You were intimate with men on that television show too.”
“Thought you said you fell in luuuv with me on the show?” I can’t help the mocking tone that creeps into my voice.
His expression settles into the kind of calm condescension I’d like to slap right off his flaccid cheeks. “I saw something good and pure worth saving in you. And I will. You won’t need any other man but me.”
My spoon falls from my fingers and floats over the top of the soup. As if this creature can really be considered a man. “Who appointed you judge and jury over my life?”
“Someone has to be. Otherwise what would happen?”
“Well.” I sneer at him. “I reckon when my boyfriend finds me, he’s gonna kill you slow.”
He purses his lips in a startling imitation of a cat’s butthole. “Don’t do that.”
“Speak truth?”
“Don’t do that ‘I reckon’ thing.”
“Why exactly do ya think we belong together again?” My inner southern bitch is coming out loud and proud, now.
He winces. “Your accent is horrible.”
“Are you joking me? You drugged me. Kidnapped me. Stuffed me in my trunk. Took me Lord only knows where. You’re insinuating I’m a slut. Now you’re insultin’ my speech, on top of all that?”
So much for the meek act.
I’m absolutely boiling at the absurdity of the situation. Words are the only way I know how to deal with this overwhelming, powerless sensation.
“Shelby,” he says in a tone a normal person might use to calm a snarling dog. “We’ll work on your speech. I can’t have you passing that dialect to our children.”
“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree there, mister.”
“Martin,” he corrects. “Martin Suggs.”
“I don’t give a good goddamn!” I slap my palm against the table. “I ain’t making babies with you or anyone else.”
An expressionless mask slides over his face, terrifying in its absence of any emotion. I’d almost welcome anger over this blank demeanor. But I’m too pissed off to stop myself.
“How do you even know I can have kids, huh? Did ya ever think of that? Never mind the fact that I don’t want ’em. And I sure as shit would never have any with some crazy asshole who kidnapped me.”
“You’re meant to fulfill your female duties.”
Outrage constricts my throat. So many retorts land on my tongue but I can’t force out a single one.
He stands and walks over to a drawer by the sink. “You’re obviously…upset. When you’re not so hysterical, we’ll discuss our future.”
“Hysterical? You haven’t seen hysterical. We don’t have a future. My future is singing and being with the man I love. Ain’t none of that got anything to do with you and whatever hell spawn you think you’re forcing on me.”
Ignoring my outburst, he slowly slides open the drawer and pulls out a small black case and a clear vial of liquid.
Fear slams against my ribcage.
He uncaps a huge needle.
“Oh, hell no.” I stand and back away from the table. “You’re not a doctor. You’re gonna end up killin’ me.” Tears sting my eyes but I refuse to let them fall.
“Hush, rabbit. I know what I’m doing. This is what’s best for you.”
I turn and run.
My boots pound over the hardwood floors. Down the dark hallway, praying like hell my guess about a door at the end is correct.
“Get back here!” he thunders.
“Fuck you!”
Panic surges over me in waves as I navigate the unfamiliar house. My head spins. Blood thunders through my ears. Fuzzies swim in front of my eyes. I blink hard to clear my vision and keep hauling ass away from my captor.
Aha. I slam into a door, yanking and twisting the metal knob. It doesn’t budge.
Damn.
Deadbolt.
I twist the lock but it still won’t open.
My terrified eyes scan the darkened area. Make a run for one of the shuttered windows? No. They could have bars or something.
I glance up.
Another lock. It’s above my reach but I jump up and slap the slide once, twice.
Finally the door opens.
To another damn door.
This one’s a screen door and I easily click the latch and fling it wide.
Not sweet freedom. A screened-in porch. With another door.
What is this? Some nightmare maze of doors to nowhere?
I stare into the inky darkness beyond the screen. A cool breeze tickles my cheek. This is it. Outside. I flick that lock and shove the flimsy metal so wide it bangs off the side of the house with a sharp metal clack.
Terrified and knowing he’s coming, I leap without looking, missing the short set of stairs and landing hard in the grass.
Run! Run! Run!
My gaze swings wildly around the unfamiliar terrain.
Dirt driveway.
White van.
I’ll be way too visible running down the driveway.
It’s dark but I think we’re surrounded by trees. I make a mad dash for the tall, looming shadows at the perimeter of the property. My legs wobble and tremble, stiff from so many hours stuffed in my trunk, but I push past the awkward sensations and haul ass.
Rooster, where are you?
A tiny spark of hope prompts me to imagine he’s close by.
“Help!” I scream.
What’d my momma tell me one time? If you’re in trouble, scream “fire!” People don’t want to get involved if a woman’s in trouble. They’re more likely to help fight damage to property than a person.
“Fire!” I yell. “Fire!”
Something heavy pounds behind me. Hard breathing. Boots slapping against the ground.
No. No. No. How could that fat bastard catch up to me already?
I push harder. Pump my legs faster. So close to the trees. What I’m going to do when I reach them, I have no idea. Gut instinct says I’ll have a better chance when I can hide.
I don’t waste any more breath screaming. No lights are visible in the inky blackness. I’m utterly alone, wherever the hell I am.
Despair washes over me. I might as well be on another planet.
Don’t give up. Keep running!
Something slams into my back, knocking me to the ground. I tumble and roll through the wet grass, scrambling to get away.
An arm bands around my chest. My feet slip, and my knee bangs painfully against hard earth.
“No! Let me go!” I slam my elbow backwards, hitting something solid but squishy. He grunts out a harsh breath.
“Stop fighting me. No one can hear you anyway.”
Sweet freedom was so close.
Or maybe I never even had a chance.
I buck, kick, and jab with every ounce of strength I have left. He squeezes tighter, pinning my arms to my sides. Something pricks my neck and a ragged scream tears out of my throat. “No!”
Burning fire rushes through my veins. Scorching flames sear my skin.
The burning sensation recedes to nothing.
My body goes limp.
He pushes me off him and I roll into the grass without feeling a thing.
This is worse than before.
So much worse.
He hoists me in the air, throwing me over his shoulder like a lumpy sack of potatoes. I can’t see where we’re going but I’m sure it’s back inside the quaint little cabin of terror.
Why couldn’t I keep my dang temper in check? Pretend to be docile for a little while until I figured out a better plan?
Each step he takes snuffs out any hope of escape.
He grunts as he lifts me up the steps. “For such a small woman, you’re heavier than I expected.”
Great. Now he’s insultin’ m
y weight on top of everything else.
The bedroom I was in before is on the right and he carries me inside, kicking the door closed.
Sounds like a nail poundin’ inta my coffin.
I don’t wanna go back in my trunk.
Tears leak from my eyes into my hair. I can’t feel them but I watch their glistening trail down my dirty, messy tarnished-gold waves.
I focus all my energy on sending a signal to my legs or hands but it’s like being caught in a nightmare where I see the monster coming but can’t so much as twitch a muscle to defend myself.
He sets me on the floor next to the bed with a thud. My head smacks against the hardwood, rattling my teeth.
My vision swims.
If my body wasn’t fighting whatever drugs he pumped into me, my heart would be jumping in terror.
Bending over, he grunts and struggles to pull something out from underneath the bed.
Finally, he rolls out a long box. The same color as the bed. Same length. Reminds me of one of those platform beds with the trundle underneath like Hayley and I had once begged our parents to buy us.
Hayley. At least if I don’t make it out of this, I’ll get to hug my baby sister again.
Oh, Lord. My poor momma. She’s already suffered losing one daughter.
A metal clacking noise draws my attention back to the box.
Nope. Not a box.
The top is made out of a thick, black metal lattice with two heavy-duty sliding barrel locks—one at the top and one at the bottom. The top hinges open, like a fancy cat carrier.
Realization slams into me.
It’s a human cage. He plans to lock me inside it.
My brain renews the effort to force my limbs to move.
He scoops me up and arranges me inside. “You’ll stay in here until you learn to be a good girl.”
My sleepy gaze sweeps over the interior of my new prison. It’s not tall enough for me to turn over or sleep on my side. Worse, it’s hidden so well, integrated into the bed seamlessly. How will anyone ever find me?
Drowsiness creeps over me from the injection, but somehow my arm finally receives the signals my brain has been sending. My hand jerks to life. My fingers slowly curl into a fist and I loosely raise it. As my last act of defiance, I sweep my fist into a wide, lazy arc, connecting with his cheek. It barely glances off the side of his face.
He tsks at me, slowly shaking his head.
Can’t do another thing. My brain’s too fuzzy. Soft. Barely able to concentrate on anything except for the fear of being sealed away in a box under the bed.
One last thought remains as the blackness pulls me under.
At least I went out fightin’.
Chapter Seven
Rooster
Pitch blackness engulfs the entire area. No streetlights. Haven’t seen another house for miles.
I pull the truck off the road, rolling it underneath the shadow of trees before stopping.
Behind me, a black van quietly crawls to a stop. The door opens. One after another, brothers dressed in black jump out, landing in the overgrown grass with nothing more than a dry rustle. In the darkness, they appear as little more than blurry movements in the night air.
More brothers on their bikes are waiting farther down the hill in case we need backup. But having them thunder all the way up here would be as good as announcing our arrival over a bullhorn.
“Ready?” Jigsaw asks.
I nod once, too focused on what’s ahead to bother with words.
Pants had suggested we wait until morning. To my relief, Ice had shut that idea down fast.
We go in now and we go in hard.
Once Shelby’s safe in my arms, I’ll decide what to do about Martin Suggs.
In addition to his gun and knife, Jigsaw’s carrying a set of bolt cutters in his gloved hands.
Just in case.
I pat the Glock in my side holster under my cut and briefly touch the hunting knife strapped to my leg. Not that I plan to use the weapons. No, I’m looking forward to getting up close and personal with my kill.
Ice, Pants, and T-Bone meet us at the bottom of the driveway.
The mailbox says “Stannard,” which is apparently the name of Martin Suggs’ uncle.
Please let Z’s hunch be right.
This has to be the place. Otherwise, we’re out of leads.
The five of us slowly creep up the driveway, sticking to the grassy edge. The barest hint of moonlight illuminates our path.
White van.
Jackpot.
“That’s it,” I whisper. The urge to storm up to the house blazes in my veins but I remain calm and focused.
“Thank fuck,” Jiggy mutters.
“Don’t get too excited yet,” Ice cautions.
He’s right—I still want to punch him for saying it out loud.
Slowly, we approach the house, careful not to trigger any possible motion lights or alarms that might be on the property.
But Suggs doesn’t seem concerned about security.
That should be a red flag.
Jigsaw, Pants and I go around the right side of the house. Ice and T-Bone take the left.
Windows appear to be shuttered over. No light spills from behind them.
I count four windows on this side.
No sound.
What if he’s not here? Maybe he dumped the van, grabbed another vehicle, and took off for somewhere else?
What if I’m too late?
At the back of the house we meet up with Ice and T-Bone.
“Nothing,” Ice whispers. He holds up three fingers. “Windows.”
I hold up four fingers and jerk my thumb back in the direction we just came.
Here, there’s a door with a smaller window.
“Kitchen?” Jigsaw asks.
“Maybe.”
Ice takes the crowbar in his hand and points to the lock. “We’ll go in the back. You three go in the front.”
Pants lifts his own crowbar and Jiggy wiggles the bolt cutters.
The three of us creep back to the front of the house.
Jigsaw and I crouch on either side of the door while Pants tests it.
It opens with a soft screech. Pants stops and waits.
Nothing.
He pulls it wider. I slip in first, Jigsaw after me, and Pants last. For such a big guy, he moves with stealth, quietly closing the door behind him.
It’s darker than dark and I hold my arms out in front of me, carefully shuffling my feet, praying I don’t bang into anything that alerts Martin to our arrival.
Another door.
Screen door.
Locked.
I unsheathe my knife and neatly slice the screen, slip my hand through the hole, and flick the latch. Slowly, I thumb the handle and open the door, praying the old metal hinges don’t screech.
From the back of the house, there’s a crash.
“Subtle time is over,” Jigsaw whispers.
I shake my head. “We may need to grab him if he comes running this way.”
Inside, a man screams. Ice’s deep, lethal voice shouts, “Where is she?”
“Fuck.” I twist the knob on the door but it won’t open.
I slam into it with my shoulder while Pants works his crowbar along the seam.
Heavy boots echo over the floor inside and a minute later someone flings the door open.
“We got him.” T-Bone flicks his gaze to the side. “No sign of Shelby, yet.”
She has to be here.
I muscle past T-Bone, turning toward the light, and march down a long hallway. Ice has the doughy guy in a chair at a table with two bowls, two cups, and a can of Sprite on it. A puddle of soup slowly drips from the tabletop to the floor.
My gaze follows the puddle of soup to a glint of silver under the table.
The chairs are secured to the table by a thick silver chain.
All my fury and fear rush through me. I rear back and slam my fist into Martin’s face, sending him sideways.
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Who?” Martin screams. “Who are you?”
T-Bone pushes him upright while Ice unrolls some duct tape. The two of them work together to wrap long strips around the guy’s chest, affixing him to the chair for a long, painful night of questioning.
Blood trickles from the corner of Martin’s mouth. The whites of his eyes show as he stares in horror at a bright red drop landing on his shirt.
“Look at me, motherfucker.” I grab his chin and force his head back. “Where is Shelby?”
His gaze fixes somewhere over my shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Like fuck you don’t.” I grab a fistful of the heavy chain and kick the table on its side. T-Bone jumps to the side as the heavy wood batters the floor. “What’s this? Some shitty decorating choice?”
Martin wriggles under the tape while I unwind the chains from the table legs.
Ice cuffs him on the back of the head. “Settle the fuck down, asshole.”
Cobra fast, I strike again. This time wrapping the metal links around the psycho’s throat. Tight until he’s choking. Using all my weight, I use the chain to shove him and the chair he’s in over the kitchen floor until I slam it into the counter. The move leaves two deep grooves in the flooring.
The man gasps and struggles, desperately trying to dig his fingers between the metal links crushing his windpipe. “No—”
I pull the chain away, noting without satisfaction the deep, red pattern blazing over his throat. “What?”
“I didn’t do anything.” He coughs.
Jigsaw steps up next to me and backhands the guy. “Who were ya eatin’ dinner with then?”
“No one!”
I’m snorting fire as I wrap my hand around his neck. Much better than using the chain. His pulse drums over my fingers and I squeeze harder. So tight he chokes and wheezes. His Adam’s apple jumps against my palm. A little more pressure and I’ll crush his windpipe.
Frantic, he jerks his secured body from side to side.
His face turns purple.
“Rooster!” Jigsaw shouts. “Easy, brother. We still need him.”
“Where. Is. She?” I release him and he slumps forward—as far as his binding allows—coughing and sputtering.
After a few gasping breaths, Martin flashes a demented smile at me. “She’s mine.”
His claim jacks my rage to nuclear-blast levels.
Lyrics on the Wind (Lost Kings MC Book 17) Page 6
