by Kim Faulks
Morgan exhaled slowly before she growled. “I don't know any Corey and I'm not part of anyone's crew.” The slow shake of her head caused his stomach to harden—why did this feel like a betrayal? “I woke up first, so fucking what?”
Whatever drug he’d been given still floated in his system. He could feel the effects. His reflexes were slow. His thoughts were still a little murky. But, Wild Thing here looked as sharp as a tack, no residual drugs floating in her system, no sir.
“Fine, fuck it... you wanna know why I was the first one to wake up? Why I don't seem to be as affected by whatever we were drugged with, unlike everyone else trapped in here, including you? And don't tell me that’s not what you're thinking. I woke first ‘cause I'm a junkie. I've snorted, swallowed, and shot up enough crap in my life to kill this entire fucking city, so being hit with a few barbs ain't gonna do shit.”
Slade let her answer hang in the air, trying hard not to show his relief and at the same time, gave her the respect she deserved. Her addiction would’ve been a hard thing for her to admit, but she didn't dance around it. There was no faltering with her words. They sounded honest. He figured, like him, honesty was something that’d been learned the hard way.
Secrets were the ties that bound him to his past. He was done with that part of his life once and for all. He wiped away the sweat running into his eyes. He still wasn’t fully convinced Corey wasn’t involved with this somehow. But Slade knew one thing for a fact, twenty people stuck in a room with no food, or water—things were gonna go to hell.
“The shit’s gonna turn nastier the longer we're kept in here. We're gonna need to trust one another to survive. I know this is a tough call, seeing as though we’ve only just met, but as a man, I promise not to hurt you. I’ll watch your back, Wild Thing. The only thing I ask is that you watch mine.”
The silence felt uncomfortable and when she answered her voice was hard as though he’d hit a nerve. “I don’t do trust, haven’t for a long time now. All I can say is, right now, I need you more than you need me. I’m not stupid. I know I’m dead in here, it’s just a matter of time.”
The muscles in his jaw tensed. The thought of her, helpless and cornered, kick-started something inside him, something dangerous—something he needed to be careful of. He tried to speak, but words felt like sand in his mouth. He swallowed and inhaled until his heart slowed and the urge to hurt someone passed.
“I've got my eye on a few others in here, but you were my first choice.”
She wrenched her head toward him and her voice rose. “First choice for what?”
“For our own army.”
She snorted. “What army? We're not at war.”
“Just you wait and see, Wild Thing. We're at war alright, and right now, I'm picking the best soldiers.”
Slade watched the men across the room finally collapse. Sweat gleamed off their bodies like the shimmering heat that hugged the asphalt on a sweltering summer’s day. They huddled together, like sheep, seeking safety and comfort in numbers. He’d forgo comfort for safety any day. A few cast nervous glances in their direction, one guy in particular. He nodded and Slade copied with a dip of his own head. He was a fit-looking dude, even underneath the collared shirt and black dress pants. Like him, the guy scanned the others in the room, but stopped at a woman in a gold dress.
Slade followed his gaze. She was a looker alright—way out of his league. She leaned against the filthy wall with her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful, even in this hell hole. Slade’s gaze drifted along her body. Her legs were drawn up with her feet tucked underneath her body, exposing a nice line of thigh from her torn golden dress.
Slade’s throat tightened and his jaw clenched. He swallowed and looked away. The guy was still staring at her, leering like a jilted lover, fucking weirdo. Those two weren’t a threat, not now anyway. Like him, they were exhausted, and haunted by too many questions. There were still a few who didn't seem to be in a rush to pick a side. They waited and watched. They were the smart ones. They were whom Slade wanted.
Time passed so slow in here, the sun and the sickening stench seemed as powerful as it’d been when he woke. Slade searched their faces, hoping to find the trigger to understanding why they were all here. He could understand being drugged and waking in a empty room. That risk was one he accepted, it came with the territory. But how the hell had Morgan and the rest of these people been dragged into his mess? An icy grip squeezed his gut. There was something he wasn’t seeing. Like some piece had been stolen from this puzzle and left a nagging fucking hole.
The last thing Slade remembered was heading home from an interstate run. The pounding inside his head reverberated through his skull. He ground his jaw and pushed through the pain to remember something—anything but the massive fucking blur inside his mind.
The dark, winding road and growl of his Harley came back to him. Yeah, that’s right, he’d been carting a bag full of green back to the clubhouse. The memory lingered and the familiar feeling of being trapped was revived. His crew, Sons of Sin MC was his family. But they were a family he didn't want anymore. He was done with the club. He was done with that life and he wanted out—for good.
The change had been a long time coming, a long fucking time. Two of the brothers had been caught on the last interstate run. They were now looking at a twenty-year paid vacation to Attica for possession with intent to distribute. The changes at the MC’s table brought in new wannabe members, so Slade took the opportunity to make a move.
This run was to be his last. He told Corey he was leaving, and the cruel glint in his president’s eye told him to watch his back. The bastard’s smile hid his true feelings. Slade knew him too well. Corey said he’d put Slade’s exit from the club to a vote next club meeting.
Slade was ready to hand in his VP’s badge and forget this life ever existed. He’d given them fifteen years of riding the slippery slope into hell. Now, he wanted to save himself—his insides dropped like a weighted body—he wanted to try at least. He wanted a real life, one with some kind of happiness.
Morgan shifted, drawing his attention to the tight black jeans curving around her thighs, as she stretched out beside him. He found himself captivated by her once more. He wanted a woman. One who didn't leave before the sun came up and take the roll of bills on his dresser. He wanted someone he could spend time with, someone he really wanted to be with. Someone like—
“Why hasn't the sun gone down?”
Slade jolted and crashed back to reality. His face felt flushed and his pulse thundered. He coughed hard and then swallowed. “You say something?”
“The sun,” Morgan repeated. “It hasn't moved. It must’ve been what, four or five hours by now?”
She was right. The piercing glare burned just as bright now as it had when he woke. Four or five hours. There was no real sense of time in the room. To him, it felt like nine or ten hours at least. He glanced at the cracks in the walls. The light now looked eerie, and wrong, somehow. The need to figure this out wore at him like a set of new leathers and the light seemed to beckon.
He pushed off the floor, rising quickly. He glanced down at Morgan, meeting her nervous gaze. She licked her lip. The tiny split was red. Fresh blood seeped from the small wound and she swiped her mouth with the bottom of her cuff. He hadn’t noticed she was hurt before. Her words echoed in his head. I’m dead in here, it’s just a matter of time.
A chill swept through Slade as he left her and strode to where the glare waited. If he could get a glimpse of where they were, he might be able figure this out. He focused on the marred walls as he stepped closer. The knotted wood looked weak. Weak enough to break, maybe? He flexed his fingers of right hand and clenched a fist. He pictured Cory standing in front of him, with his smug expression and baggy jeans. The bastard wasn’t fit to carry the badge and he sure as hell didn’t deserve the leathers.
Slade snarled and yanked back his arm. Fucking piece of shit thought he’d get away with this. Not a fucking chance. The bl
azing light cut through the gap between the boards, dazing Slade as he drove his fist into the wall. His punch was weak. Pain rippled along his arm. He expected the wood to crack and splinter outwards, but the timber held. The fucking shit was harder than it looked.
He glanced back at Morgan as he took a step backward and tried to work the feeling back into his hand. He turned back to the wall and dropped his shoulder, aiming for the same panel.
His thighs flexed as he pushed off and drove his body into the wall. The goddamn thing was like stone. He bounced back, his head jarring from the impact. Agony ricocheted like a stray bullet inside his skull. The fucking wall didn’t budge, not even a goddamn scratch. The glare cut through his vision, enticing him closer to stare into the light.
Nothing else mattered in this moment. His breath caught. His mind stilled. There was only the light, even when he felt his eyes sear with pain. The answer was here, the answer to everything. A sense of knowing hovered at the edge of his thoughts, tantalizing him to look a little longer.
His world turned to a darkened haze. If not for the burning agony that accompanied him into this dark abyss, he would’ve been relieved. He grabbed his face, covering his eyes, and his world lurched violently to one side.
Hands jerked him away. His gut kicked. Self-preservation reared its head and he punched the air. Where am I?
“It's okay. It's me, Morgan. Calm the fuck down.”
Morgan? Her image came back to him and stopped fighting. He let her guide him, but stumbled over something. He heard her inhale sharply and hiss. “Oww, fuck. That was my goddamn foot.”
He was falling. His legs were buckling, unable to keep him upright. Slade clawed the air, grabbing something soft and warm, something he’d felt a thousand times, but never like this… never like her. His breath quickened and he instantly let her go, moving his hands to her shoulders instead. But the damage had been done. He was spellbound by the feel of her flesh under his hand, the soft curve of her breast that molded perfectly to his palm. The pain in his eyes seemed to fade as he focused on the soft sensation of Morgan. Her hands felt so small on his shoulders, but their small size was deceptive. She pushed. His legs buckled and his ass hit the floor with a thud.
He jerked back, feeling the brush of her fingers across his nose. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you can’t see,” she growled.
He covered his eyes with his hands. “My fucking eyes are burning, of course I can’t see.”
She hit the floor beside him and he heard her huff. “Then the first one was free, but you’ll be paying for the next grab with teeth and blood, you feel me?”
He wanted to whimper from the stinging sensation in his eyes, but the pain faded as he shifted his hands to the cover his grin.
The sound of her voice was as cold as ice. “That better not be a fucking smile.”
He swallowed as he shook his head.
“That was a fucking stupid thing to do. It’ll be a wonder if you don’t end up blind.” Slade felt something thrown over his head. “Don't fucking freak out, it's your jacket. You need to let your eyes heal.”
His leather shielded his face and the light dimmed. Tears ran down his face. He brushed them away and concentrated on something else. Morgan shifted and he focused on breathing and her next to him. Slade forced his eyes open and strained to focus on the edge of her thigh, while inside, he shivered. His heart slammed against the cage of his chest as fear spread through his body like a goddamn plague.
What the fuck is wrong with me? He exhaled long and slow, trying to calm down and think. “That isn’t the sun out there. I don't know what it is, but it sure as hell isn't the sun.”
“Well, what is it, then?”
He tried to find the words to explain what he felt when he stared into the blaze. For a second there had been a flicker of something… of someone, maybe. But when he forced the memory to return, his heart sped and his words were replaced with the urge to whimper.
“I don’t know what it is. But let's just keep this piece of information to ourselves, okay?”
He pulled at the jacket, feeling vulnerable, until the sharp sting of her hand hitting his stopped him. “Leave it on.”
“I need to see.”
He could feel her breath blow against his ear as she pulled back the edges and snarled. “You don't need to see shit, there’s nothing happening and if there was, I’d tell you quick enough. Rest your eyes. You’re no fucking good to me blind, are you, dickhead?”
Dickhead? He smiled and shuddered with stifled laughter, jarring his head. Someone took a sledgehammer to the inside of his skull and he moaned, but the smile stayed. No one spoke to him like that—ever. He felt like a goddamn scolded kid. This woman had guts, he’d give her that. Slade felt something inside his chest shift. He dropped his leathers around his head once more as he licked his lips and growled. “Well, you’re sure as hell not Florence fucking Nightingale. Your bedside manner sucks.”
Silence threatened to steal away his smile.
“Yeah, well it's the only bedside manner you're gonna get, so get fucking used to it.”
But that was the problem wasn't it? This thought killed his elation faster than his step-father’s backhand. Her bedside manner was something he could get used to, in a big way. He swallowed hard.
“Yeah, I thought so,” she said, with a chuckle of her own. “Not so tough now, are you?”
He was on the wrong track—the wrong fucking track—and there was no U-turn for this baby. He wanted to touch her, could feel his hand twitch with the urge to feel the softness of her body and the hard sting of her words.
“Talk to me.” His voice was deep and husky. “Tell me what's going on.”
“There's definitely a split now. Looks like two main groups, with one person, other than us, who’s undecided.”
Slade felt blind in more ways than one, but her voice sounded low and seductive. Fuck, this woman could be reading his goddamn rap sheet and still sound sexy as hell. “Who are they? The groups, I mean.”
“Wait. Let me see. Man, there’s the same number of men and women in here, including us. So, you best be keeping all remarks about weight, tits, and everything else to your goddamn selves, unless you want your eyes gouged.” Morgan chuckled and his pulse sped. “It looks like most of the guys are sticking together, there doesn’t seem to have a designated leader yet. The rich bitch seems to be doing most of the talking and the rest are already looking to her.”
“Rich bitch?”
“Yeah. The stuck-up one who looks at you like you stepped in something.”
He tried to recall her image and got nothing. With two groups clearly defined, it’d be harder for him to break them apart. In a bigger group, there were always those who didn't agree with management and looked for someone else to align with. Slade wasn’t interested in a big group, he wanted a strong one. “How many in each?”
“Five in one, six in the other.”
“So how many are left who haven't picked a group?”
“Excluding us, there’s only one.”
Alliances had been formed quickly. He knew fear was their motivating factor. They’d fear each other, mostly. Maybe he still had time. In a big group, there were opportunities for big problems. Or he could always pick a group and muscle his way to the lead, although he doubted strong-arm tactics would work. If they did, they wouldn’t work for long. For now, it looked like it was just the two of them… wait a minute. “You said there was one left. Describe him, or her.”
“Gotta wait for the sheep to move.”
They sat in silence. “Okay, looks like an older dude. Beard, long hair, wait... quick eyes, he picked me up looking at him straight away. Looks fit and kinda damaged.”
She ticked off his characteristics like he would, first searching for the danger in his eyes, and then looking to see if he could match this with his body. Appearances didn't mean shit in war. Ability and guts counted for everything. He thought about it for a long time
. It wasn't just his life he would be playing with if he brought over someone dangerous—well dangerous to them at least.
“You think he'd be someone that would stand with us, or burn us?”
“I dunno... wait a minute.” He felt her move beside him. Her thigh was no longer in his line of vision. He tugged the jacket off his head as his heart raced, but the glare from the room had him retreating back under his jacket. He couldn't see shit anyway, his eyes watered until everything was one big fucking blur. Damn. Damn!
He waited, listening to sound of the other voices across the room, trying his best to pick out one stream of conversation over another. It was useless. Their constant crying and questions all melted into one another. They were too concerned with how to get out to figure out why they were here in the first place.
Time ticked like a bomb inside his head until the air around him shifted. His ears became his eyes and he heard and felt the heavier footfalls of another male.
“Slade, meet Digger.” Morgan said as she flopped to the ground next to him. “Digger, this is Slade.”
Slade held out his hand and pulled the jacket from his head. His vision was like staring through cascading water. Still, he kept his gaze fixed on the man above him. The hand that clasped his own felt strong and sure, a good grip.
“I tried to get a better handle on where we were, burned my eyes a little,” he explained, sounding fucking whiny.
“Seems to me we woke up in someone's nightmare. Who’s it is I can't say.” The man growled in a thick Aussie accent. Digger sounded a little simple to Slade, but he was willing to trust Morgan’s instinct.
“I saw you over at the wall, trying to stare through that light. It ain't the sun, that’s for sure.”
His gut tightened instantly, his voice a little harder than he intended. “Oh yeah. How do you figure?”
