by Marata Eros
I hope.
I open and close my fingers in their binding, going for motion to keep the feeling in them. “Then let me leave. I promise I won't say anything to anyone about this.” Except Snare. If I even see him again.
My eyes plead with Mover. I assume he is the lesser of two evils.
“She does possess a certain charm.” Mover's eyes crawl over my body, and I look away from his perverted scrutiny.
Riker looks everywhere but at my face. I flush under his gaze, hating his eye rape.
“Fuck charm. I just want to do her before you cycle her into the flesh market.”
Flesh market. My stomach rotates into a sick flip. What do they mean, like selling girls? Prostitution?
“I have a stupid question,” Mover says with slow precision.
“Ask away,” Riker says but not like he cares. More like he just wants to get to me, to get on with his plan. His eyes attach themselves to my breasts.
“Is she a virgin? Because Ned's unplanned death has left me in a bind. I need a new liaison for my females.”
“Not fucking with broads. I do drugs,” he says in an empty voice. “I don't know if Snare was the one that popped her cherry. But she's a slut stripper, so I'm sure there's been an assload of dicks in that pie.” Riker smirks.
My face heats.
Mover's eyes hood.
“I'll check.” Riker steps forward, and a sound slips out from my clenched teeth. A perfect blend of fright and pain. My heartbeats stack, my eyes bulging. No, no, no...
Mover's hand stops him.
His steely eyes turn to Riker, and a subtle tug-of-war stands between them. “I do not wish for damaged goods. If this girl is a virgin, then we must save her for the trade. She's worth so much more untried.”
Riker's jaw slides back and forth, and his dark brown eyes narrow on Mover. “Let me finger her. I'd find something in a second.”
Mover shakes his head in a tsking motion. “No, you'd ruin something in a moment. Without even trying. You are uncouth, Riker, but you possess what I need.”
Riker puts his hands on his hips. “You said I could have her,” he seethes. “Besides, we've already discussed it. She's got a kid.”
I flinch at his statement. They're discussing me as though I'm a commodity, talking about the baby girl I wish they didn't know about.
I'd been a commodity at The Crawl too. But I'd chosen to dance. I'd been compensated with cold hard cash for the Dicksʼ lust.
Right now, my future is being discussed in terms I can't even make sense of.
Riker crosses his arms.
I stiffen as Mover walks to me.
His eyes give me a message that's different than what he does next.
I'm confused, then scared.
“Every bitch gets checked.”
Riker makes a sound of irritation.
Then Mover positions himself between my legs, and I don't even think, I kick him, trying for his nuts.
Riker strides forward and sweeps the chair's leg, destabilizing the balance, and I fall backward onto my arms, my head cracking the concrete with a tap that reverberates down my spine.
I scream in pain, agony shrieking from bound wrist to shoulders. My skull no longer throbs. It feels like it just exploded. My head rolls to the right, and I groan with the movement, seeing only their feet fill my shattered vision.
“That was unnecessary,” Mover says smoothly, but I hardly hear him. I think they've hurt my arms. Words form in my mind then blow apart, floating away like dandelion seed.
Riker snorts. “Look, think the bitch has something to say.”
Mover's eyes run over my face with a compassion that only I can see, because Riker stands behind his shoulder.
I frown, grasping for cohesive thoughts.
Riker's grin says how much he's wanted to be right where he is now.
Mover rolls my yoga pants down past my hips. The material skates to midthigh, and I feel my panties removed to join them.
I'm bare before the men.
Riker whistles. “Now that's a pretty pussy.”
Mover says nothing. But when he parts my legs, I whimper, trying weakly to shut them.
Nobody touches me there but Snare.
Then a finger is inserting itself inside me, and I mewl, struggling against the intrusion, the dizziness from when my head hit the floor. My arms are so numb I can no longer feel them pressed uselessly behind the chair, my body weight pinning me to the floor like a moth to a board.
“God—let me—” Riker's hoarse voice pierces my consciousness. “You get to finger fuck her!” And I don't are his unspoken words.
He's like a spoiled child: Let me rape my stepdaughter with my finger.
“She's a virgin,” Mover says smoothly, withdrawing his finger almost instantly.
What?
“No fucking way.” But Riker's shock has an excited undertone. “I saw her brat. It's got to be a Locklear.” But his voice isn't so sure now.
I hold my surprise with the last of whatever tiny bit of sensibility that didn't just get knocked out of me.
I'm so not a virgin. And I have a child. Snare might have been gentle, but he'd done a thorough job of screwing me. But even that thought isn't really accurate.
If a man could ever love me with only his cock, Snare did.
I squeeze my eyes as my panties and yoga pants are hiked back up my body.
Why did this Mover guy lie? And oh my God, they're going to sell me to somebody, and I'll never see Jaylin again—Snare.
I'd rather die.
“Lift her up.” Mover doesn't sound happy.
Riker jerks the chair upright with me in it. He's not gentle, and the sudden movement bottoms out my stomach, and whatever I ate last night comes shooting out of my mouth. Too many chemicals. Too much jarring. Just too much horror.
Sometimes the body does what it wants without the help of its mind.
“Shit!” Riker shouts, skipping backward.
“You deserve that, and I think cleaning up her mess would make you think twice about the handling you give females.”
I open weary eyes and stare at them. Mover's acting as though he never stuck his finger in me.
Riker's looking at me as though he was cheated. His nose wrinkles from the smell of my vomit. Maybe his disgust will stall the inevitable.
He carefully scoots around the mess I made.
I can't even wipe my mouth. It's like a smelly itch I can't reach.
“I'm not doing flesh shit. It's drugs. I don't give a fuck about her.” He jerks his chin in my direction. “She's a hole I want to fill—period.” Riker chuckles then says in a low voice, “The one who got away, hmm?” He laughs at his own joke.
Mover doesn't laugh. “We'll negotiate payment. Sara is worth quite a bit more as a virgin. If you want to have her, then you'll need to do far more than we originally bargained for.”
Riker purses his thick lips. “Anything. I'll do a bunch of drug runs if I can get a piece of that.” His eyes shift to me.
I'm such a prize. Tears, drool, and puke cover me. I close my eyes again. I can't stand to look at him. What did I ever do to Riker that makes him hate me enough to rape and beat me, then hand me over for a life of the same treatment with a bunch of strangers? Is it because he just can't stand to be denied? And that Snare denied him his prize before, so now Riker has to ruin me?
Mover turns to Riker. “You don't touch the merchandise until our negotiations are final.”
Riker's chest rises and falls with his quick breaths. An erection stands out in clear outline against his dark pants.
He's so sick.
“Yeah, okay,” Riker whispers, his eyes greedy on me, “but the sooner the better.”
Mover glances at me. “Get a prospect in here to take her to the bathroom and get her some food.”
Riker smirks.
Mover sighs. “She's a human being, Riker. She has needs. Basic ones.”
He nods. “Basically, I just want to fuck
her until I can't get it up anymore. That's a pretty basic need.” He chuckles.
“Go,” Mover says. The tone of his voice says clearly that he's had enough of Riker. “Get a prospect and get out.”
I'd had enough of Riker since day one.
Riker leaves the room, casting a last glance over his shoulder. That one look speaks volumes. Riker tells me with his eyes that this is an intermission. He'll be back, and then it's game on.
I stare at the closed door for a few moments then turn to Mover. I know I shouldn't ask him the burning question because he's lied about my virginity, and I know that it bought me time from Riker's plan. But why would he do that? Why was he there in that VIP room when Snare came and found me. “Why did you lie?”
Mover clasps his hands, and my gaze latches onto his fingers. I can't help thinking that one of them was just inside me.
He doesn't miss my shiver of revulsion. After a moment, he replies, “I can't answer that now.”
Of course not. I taste vomit at the corner of my mouth. Gross.
Mover speaks his next words so low I can barely catch them. “Don't be afraid.”
I bark out a laugh. Yeah, right. I crank my neck to scowl up at him.
He nods. “I deserve that. All you know is I'm a man you pleasured, a man that shared something intimate with you that you didn't want to give.”
“All true,” I say then add in a venomous hiss, “bastard.”
He nods. “I've had to be. But remember this, no matter what occurs, I am not who you think I am.”
“I have a daughter,” I say, the first hot tear racing from my eyeball to my jaw.
“I know.” His reply is soft, and I have time to think he's strangely cultured for a bike president guy and checker of virgins, when someone opens the door and walks through.
He looks like another biker dude, but not. He's tall and muscled like the rest of them, and I automatically press my knees together.
“I'm Tad,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
“Tad,” he repeats. “I'm gonna get ya all fixed up.”
Right. I tense. “Don't touch me.”
He throws up his hands. “Whoa, filly! Don't get your sweet drawers in knots.”
I stare at him, willing his death with my eyes.
He chuckles. “Mover said you'd be spitting mad. But there's puke to slop and a bathroom stop?” His dark brown eyebrows pop, his eyes like frozen coffee.
I reluctantly nod. “Yeah,” I say in a sullen clip. He says the word bathroom, and the urge to pee is so strong I squirm in my chair.
“Then I'll untie you, and we can take a little trip to the john.”
He unties me. I think I can fight, run—get away. But I stand up and fall.
Tad scoops me up into his arms before I hit the concrete floor.
My arms aren't doing what I tell them. Because my brain tells my body to move, and I lie there in the arms of a potential attacker.
“It's okay,” Tad says. A fold of skin gathers between his eyes.
“No it's not.” My tears ruin my clothes, instantly drenching my shoulders as the big man walks me to the far end of the room, my arms like limp noodles as one dangles as he carries me.
He sets me outside the door and says, “No fooling around. Don't like hurting chicks.”
My eyes roam his face. I crawl inside the bathroom and kick the door closed.
His voice drops, vibrating through the door with ominous promise. “I will if I have to.”
I shake my head, trying desperately to clear it of the drugs, the concussion I'm sure I have. I sway as I stand, gripping the knob as a handhold.
It's only then I realize Mover slipped out without really answering my question.
19
Snare
“He's out,” Wring says, grinning.
I'm not smiling. I already told them that Noose was in good hands. But because they're all war buddies, or just plain buddies, they had to go take a look-see. He zonked. They loaded him full of all the good shit.
“Okay,” I say, folding my arms and glaring at them.
Lariat gives me a pointed glance, his muscular thighs split by his ride. “Stop freaking, we're gonna get Sara. Had to make sure our boy was gonna live.”
“Viper said—”
“—Viper said if Sara was not in immediate danger. I think daddy fucking dearest taking her is immediate danger.” Wring's icy-blue eyes are dead marbles in his face. He means it. All of it. “I'm a literal guy. I take Vipe's words and interpret them as I go along. Trainer's on Noose so we don't have some Chaos caboose of retaliation in the hospital while we go fetch your girl.”
I look down at my hands, not even sure how to tell them. Fuck, better just jump in the deep end of the lake. “Riker...” I toss my fingers through my hair, tugging on the strands.
“Your father?” Wring confirms quietly.
I jerk my head in a nod. “Before they beat the fuck out of me and Noose, he told me that Sara had a kid.”
Lariat and Wring wait.
“She's mine.”
Lariat's eyebrows yank up, and his mouth parts. “Let me get this straight.” He laughs and holds up his hand when I scowl at him. “You screwed your sister—”
“Step,” I grit, giving him an unfriendly look.
“Stepsister,” he says, but a smile hovers on his lips. Prick. “And you manage to get her pregnant?” He shakes his head. “Truth is better than fiction.”
I cross my arms. “It's my life, dumb ass.”
Wring's palm cups his chin. “I don't give a ripe fuck about schematics. Sara is Snare's property. If she has a kid, and the kid is Snare's—even more important we get her the fuck away from psycho daddy.”
I nod. That's how I see it. I can be pissed at Sara later. Pissed that she needed me more than ever and still walked.
Pissed that I didn't see my kid for the last four years.
Right now she's in danger, and I don't know where our kid is. The situation's gotten fucked up on a whole new level.
“I couldn't make this shit up,” Lariat says, grinning.
Me and Wring give him the shut the fuck up while you're ahead look.
“Anyway,” Wring says, giving a last sharp glance at Lariat, who bites his lip to control his shit, “we don't have a scrap of intel. Noose, who normally secures the morsels that allow movement, is out for the count. We need to move into Chaos territory and see if we can't find Sara ourselves.”
“What about this fuck, Mover?”
Lariat looks at me. “Viper's been stalling him. Says that he can't find two of his riders, and their disappearance is under suspicious circumstances.”
No shit.
“It gets us some breathing room to locate Sara.”
My chest is tight. “Riker might be hurting her right now.”
Wring's large hand is suddenly gripping my shoulder. Our eyes lock. “You can't help your woman if your head's up your ass, Snare.”
He's right, and I hate that he is. I let out all the air that's trapped in me, trying to ease my tension.
“It's time for us to teach you a little bit of tactical, bring you up a notch so you can knock skulls if you need to.”
I jerk my chin back, and his hand falls to his side. We stare at each other from the same height of around six foot two. Pound for pound, we're pretty evenly matched. “I totally understand the procedure of skull knocking,” I comment in a flat voice.
“Quietly?” Lariat says like a half question.
I swing my gaze to him.
He spreads his palms. “You might be Mr. Judo. But we're knotters.”
I remember the knot board at Noose's condo. Fucker can makes some mean ties. I'd seen him use a rope like a gun. Hell, like a passion. A dark one.
I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” Lariat asks. I notice his eyes sparkle like black diamonds in his face. In anticipation.
“Yes.”
Wring and Lariat have a sort of similar potenti
al. Like the promise of night descending.
I know it'll happen, and it'll be dark when it comes.
*
Our bikes rumble between us as we smoothly move into triangle formation.
Wring leads, and Lariat and I make up the other points. We're in for a hike, but time's of the essence. We don't need to go back to the club and switch out cars like we did when Noose went after Rose and Charlie—when Ned's huge property had to be secured.
We're scouting, Lariat had said.
I don't know about scouting. I'm more about wanting to find Sara and get the hell out.
If I hadn't been kept by Chaos, I would have already gotten Sara. Had her and the kid in a safe spot where Riker would've never found her.
But me and Noose were busy getting our asses kicked.
No amount of doctoring took away the painful remnants of their fists. Miraculously, I didn't have a broken bone.
Still feel like I went through the washing machine on spin cycle.
Every bump in the road and curve reminds me of the last twenty-four hours. I'm so tired my teeth ache. But Sara's with Riker. And somehow, that knowledge takes the place of sleep, food, whatever.
My worry over the unknown danger that Sara's in sustains me. I'll fucking sleep when I can touch her again.
Wring's words had been, “I always fuck up the enemy better on a full stomach.”
Amen.
So we'd eaten anyway and were now on a do over of the scene when we rescued Noose's old lady, Rose, from Chaos a year ago. Only to have Ned get his ass killed and all of us questioned to death by the cops.
We're going into enemy territory again and taking our chances.
Lariat and Wring had given me the ten-second lesson on stealth. It's really more about attitude. Attitude breeds technique and so on. It was still way too much information crammed into a capsule of time. Not enough practice, with me so deep in my fucking head.
What's really struck me during the instruction is how different Lariat and Wring are as people when they're teaching something they believe in.
And they believe in each other. The code of Road Kill. We're brothers. That unifies us. And the common goal of my girl in trouble. Her life and sanity are on the line.
Not in that order.
