by J. C. Allen
“I’d rather die from dehydration that let you roofie me.”
Tyler looked at me as if I’d just said he had three heads before laughing.
“You can watch me pour the drink if it will make you feel better. If you think I need a roofie to fuck you, then you’re gravely mistaken, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe. I’m nothing but your prisoner. And when Derek comes and finds you—”
“And how do you think he’s going to do that? You think I was stupid enough to come to the place where I used to live? I’d be giving myself up in a matter of an hour if I went back there. Don’t worry. I suppose Derek could find me, in theory, if he tried hard enough. But the effort it would take him to find you where we are—not to mention the security he’d have to get through—means you have as much luck as I have roofies. Which is to say, none.”
“Security?”
Tyler paused for a second, and then beckoned for me to follow him to the doorway with a smirk on his face. I hesitated for a couple of seconds before deciding he would have knocked me out by now if he wanted me in that state. I moved to the door, met him in the hallway, and peered down.
We were the only room on our floor. Four Falcons stood in the hallway—two by the stairwell exit, and two by the elevators.
“Consider it insurance against your man coming my way,” Tyler said. “It’s also a nice little way to ensure that you don’t escape. Sure, you might get aggressive and hit me. In fact, in some ways, I’m anticipating it.”
The fuck does that mean?
“But if, on the relatively minor chance that you do get past me, these four will help ensure you go nowhere.”
I looked at the four guards, evaluating their readiness for battle. I didn’t need to look long, because all of them had rifles, knives in their boots, and probably some other weapons that I wasn’t privy to.
It was relatively little wonder, then, that Tyler didn’t feel the need to roofie me or do anything else. He had four men armed to the teeth, prepped to kill me at a moment’s notice if I tried anything.
“Now, come, let’s talk. I could just rape you, sure, but what’s the fun in that? I want you to know everything before I get my rocks off on you. Raping is the easy choice. I want to see if I can persuade you.”
“Fat chance of that, you sick fuck.”
“Uh uh, none of that language,” he said, guiding me back into the apartment.
The one thing I did notice was the unusual paintings and sketches in the hallway. It almost… it almost seemed less like an apartment complex and more like an office building?
I wasn’t sure if I was right, or if that would make any difference if Derek would find me, but it couldn’t have hurt to put that away as information. If nothing else, it told me that the Black Falcons treated their newest members just a half-notch above their whores—poorly, with the bare minimum, and not much more.
“Now, observe,” Tyler said as he closed the door to our space behind him. “I will pull out a glass.”
He did just this, holding it before me, showing me an empty glass devoid of any powder, materials, or anything else that could have intoxicated me.
“I will fill it with water from the sink,” he said.
He had on short sleeves, making it impossible for him to slide anything in. I watched him run the seemingly normal sink water into the cup.
“And now, I will drink some myself to prove my point.”
He did just that, taking a big gulp—far bigger than a sip that would have no impact on him—before handing it to me. Though still suspicious, my thirst was begging for the glass, and I had not seen anything else that could have suggested he would assault me.
I took the glass.
“Sure seem nice for someone who wanted to kill me earlier,” I growled.
“Turns out your boy toy and I both have temper problems,” Tyler said with a shrug. “But your nut shot to me saved my life. If you die, I die. So, why don’t we make our relationship an amicable one, hmm?”
I hated this so much. I hated the fake nice act by Tyler. I hated being held prisoner, again. I hated that the Falcons, once again, had some sharp eyes on me.
But most of all, I hated that I’d squandered a golden opportunity to break free.
In some ways, it reminded me of the hatred I’d felt for myself in the immediate aftermath of my breakup with Derek. The hatred wasn’t quite as strong, and it was obviously a lot more valid. But it was there, and it screamed at the top of my lungs right now.
“So now, Eve, let me explain what’s going to happen here, and perhaps you will listen a little bit better than before,” he said. “I told you the Black Falcons intend to sell you at auction. Good news. That’s still the case. You should consider this an honor, you know. You’re being permanently bought. You will be out of our hair forever and in the cahoots of a billionaire or, at worst, hundred millionaire. You only have to have sex with one man—granted, probably some old geezer who needs multiple Viagras to get himself up—and you never have to worry about making ends meet, because he will take care of you.”
“He’ll own me, you mean.”
“Well, let’s not get too pedantic here,” Tyler said, inviting me to sit on the couch.
I refused at first. He grabbed my hand, as if saying, “I don’t want to do this, but I will if I have to.” I decided to test him.
A sharp yank that felt like it might rip my arm out of my shoulder socket told me it was a test he was more than willing to take.
“I don’t think this will be any different for you than what you have with Derek now,” Tyler said. “You were with him and he took care of all of your things, right? And now you’d be going to a new man, a man with even more wealth? But this man wouldn’t be having people trying to constantly kill him. You’d be free.”
“Mmm,” I offered up, half-hoping it would shut him up.
“What say you, Eve?”
“Not like I have much choice in the matter, do I?”
“Well, sure you do. You could swear to be a good little hooker for the Black Falcons and face execution if you so much as mutter the name Derek Knight, but I don’t think that’s an alternative you would prefer.”
I shrugged. Tyler put his hand on my thigh, dangerously close to my groin. I moved away, but Tyler simply moved in closer. The fear that he was about to make his move had me even more terrified that I was about to be raped.
And what made it worse was that no one was going to rescue me. I did not have the miraculous appearance of Tara in my window to tell me help was on the way. I did not have my dreams to take me away. I just had the harsh reality that the life I’d tried to escape had caught up.
“So?” he pressed on, squeezing my thigh, flashing a smile that sported some yellow teeth. “What do you think?”
“I think that you’re a piece of shit, Tyler,” I said. “I think that you’re a coward for leaving the Saviors. I think that you’re showing your true character for joining the Black Falcons. And I think that if you let your hand go any closer up my thigh, there is going to be hell to pay, and it’s going to come at your life.”
“Ohhh, aggressive even still,” Tyler said, and he sat up on the couch on his knees. “It’s going to make it that much better when I’m inside you.”
He reached for my breasts. I shoved his hands away and slapped him. The sound echoed through the apartment, reaching back to my ears.
I had to say, I was pretty damn proud of delivering a slap that hard. It was the kind of slap that Matty would have given me props for, and the kind of slap that Derek would have said was stronger than the one I had given him the night of our fight.
“Fuck!” Tyler roared.
And then, the distance between us crumbled, and I began to scream.
Tyler tore my shirt off of me. I stood up and backed away from him, barely avoiding falling on my ass. Tyler stood up, approached me, and I went to kick him in the groin.
Imagine my surprise when I realized he had on an ath
letic jockstrap on.
“I told you, I came prepared for you, Eve,” he said. “And now, it’s time to get what I’ve been waiting for far too long for.”
He grabbed my arms and pinned me against the kitchen table, pinning my upper body over the table and my legs hanging off it. I tried to push back, but even though he was short, he was strong as hell. I was not going to break free.
He took one hand, squeezed my breasts, and pushed my bra out of place.
“Fuck you, Tyler!” I screamed, but the screams only seemed to encourage him.
“Oh, I knew you’d fight back!” he shouted, almost in child-like giddy.
I went to kick him again, but it only made him relish the pain even more. How someone could be this twisted and this demented was beyond me. Rock was a cruel man, but he didn’t seem like he sought out pain.
Tyler, though…
“You are going to be such a delight. I am so fucking hard right now!”
He went for my pants and, with some difficulty, got them down. I tried my damndest not to let him get any closer, but my fighting was futile. I was going to get raped here. He reached for my underwear and I closed my eyes, waiting for it to end.
And that’s when I heard the gunshot from outside.
“Are you fucking kidding me!”
I opened my eyes to see Tyler’s hand half an inch from my groin, his head turned, and his attention away from me. Another gunshot came.
“Shit, how the fuck did he find us?!?” a guard shouted outside.
There was little doubt to who “he” was. Derek. I knew you’d come. I knew you’d be good.
But first, I had to make sure he didn’t walk into me getting raped.
I quickly leaned forward and shoved him, catching him by surprise and knocking him to the ground. I hurried to put my jeans back on and found the remains of my shirt, torn but still able to cover most of me. I threw it on and tried to make a beeline for the door, but Tyler grabbed me and put me in a headlock. I fought to resist, but it did little good.
“Little bitch, your man is here,” he snarled. “You might think I should be concerned by the turn of events. But no. You know what this means?”
He tightened his grip on my neck as he dragged me to the kitchen. I felt a gun press against the lower part of my back as he pushed me forward, crouching in a corner of the living room, as if waiting… yes, most definitely waiting, for Derek to enter.
“It means he’s going to come and watch me come all over you,” he said, snickering. “And I’m going to get even harder for all of this.”
17
Derek
When I got back to the store, I had found a new determination not to quit.
In a weird way, losing Eve again after all that had happened had freed me from any expectations. That wasn’t to say I didn’t want her. The very thought of losing her tonight was terrifying, and I wasn’t going to just let go of that if I failed.
But on the bike ride back, I spent many a minute thinking about everything that I had discovered within myself over the past week or so.
I discovered that though I had not gotten rid of the emotional turbulence and discipline issues so easily, becoming more aware of them meant I could rise above the issues. I could handle a little bit of stress better than before because I could see the issues of stress coming on. Rather than letting myself fall prey to this, I was going to rise above them.
I was going to approach this situation by controlling what I could control, coming up with a course of action with Roost and the survivors within fifteen minutes, and then executing upon that plan. There was not going to be any hesitation in our action; if someone discovered after we had left new details that would alter our actions, then that was one thing, but we weren’t going to hem and haw our way to inertia.
I headed straight for the office, dropping my rifle on the table. Roost followed suit, and so did Tara.
“Uh uh,” I said, trying to close the door on her. “We’re mission planning right now, Tara. This is no—”
She slapped me across the face with a surprising sting to her palm.
“You mean to tell me that I got your sorry asses to the right place, and now you’re gonna butt me out again? Well you can kiss my anal-fucked ass for all I care if you’re gonna pull that shit. Roost and I will make our own goddamn plan if you’re gonna cut me out like that.”
“Whore’s got a point, Derek,” Roost said.
“Yeah, I realize that now,” I said, realizing that I had gone perhaps too hard to the side of hard, determined action—like most things in life, the proper place was somewhere in the middle. “Come on in, Tara.”
“Thank you. Goddamn, Derek. I swear you’re dense as a turd sometimes.”
“Not the first person to say that,” I said as I closed the door for real. “What have you got right now?”
“My intel is gonna be pure speculation at this point, as I don’t got time to go working my network.”
“Speculation as in yer pullin’ bullshit outta yer gapin’ asshole?” Roost said. “Or speculation like ya know somethin’?”
“Speculation like I worked longer for the Black Falcons than anyone you will ever meet who will help you, so even if I’m wrong, I’m closer to right than they are. Now, are y’all gonna keep questioning me, or can we get down to business?”
Roost and I just looked at each other, not needing to say a word, and ceded the floor back to Tara.
“So first, the Falcons always take transports in these, surprise, black vans that look like they belong to the Secret Service more than they do a motorcycle club. I guess it’s their way of trying to remain anonymous, but when you’re the only game in town with a half dozen of ‘em in close proximity, you look like a real fool. So, odds are good if you see a black van outside where I think they took Eve, then you found the right place.”
I should have known by now Tara would be of use, but it still always shocked me how useful the information she provided actually was. Maybe it was her manner of speaking, maybe it was the way she carried herself, maybe it was just that she so happened to have intel in this one very specific area and nothing else, but goddamn was she proving mighty useful.
“Did you see who took her?”
“Tyler,” I said immediately. “I chased him down in the basement and through a secret escape.”
“And we saw ‘em take off in one of ‘em black vans,” Roost said. “Trieda shoot the wheels off that fat girl, but she sped off before we coulda finished the job.”
“Doesn’t matter, it aligns with what I said,” Tara said. “I’m expecting a promo for that, Roost.”
“Save the jokes for later, Tara,” Roost warned.
Tara gulped, but she knew as well as anyone the gravity of the situation.
“Right. So, anyways, there’s an office building on the far side of town that they put new recruits in whenever they come in. It’s far from their main offices, which even I don’t know where in the name of the Lord that all is. But in any case, it’s like their probation period. They tell ‘em all that it’s a new apartment they get for swearing loyalty, but only a fool thinks that. I know it’s their testing grounds. Tyler might’ve taken Eve back there, but it’s all speculation to me. If the Falcon wanted anything to do with her, he’s—”
“It ain’t speculation,” I said immediately. I’d found my targeted course of action, and I was already in the process of reloading my pistol and rifle with ammo. “Tyler’s had his eye on Eve ever since he left. I can remember him leering at her—granted, many of the Saviors did, but his stands out now more for obvious reasons—and he was the one that kidnapped her at my place. He may be turning her in, but he’s going to try and take advantage of her first.”
I looked to Roost, needing the trust and support that I always got from the big guy. Not that I doubted he would give it to me.
“We need to keep this operation small. This ain’t Normandy. This is a Vietnam guerrilla style quick strike. We go in, get Eve, an
d bring her back. If we have to kill Black Falcons, we kill them, but this isn’t about that. This is for her.”
“Say no more,” Roost said. “Just ya sorry ass and me, huh?”
“As always.”
“I wanna—”
“No,” I said firmly, shutting Tara down. She could slap me around as much as she wanted, but this was one battle she was not going to win. “You’ve done your part in giving me a place to go. But this has two people involved—the infiltrator and the lifter. I go in and get Eve, and then Roost pulls up and extracts us out of there. That’s it. We put anyone else out there and they’re just going to play hot potato with location. We’ll never get Eve this way.”
“You know that’s my best friend,” Tara said, but even in her tone of voice, I could hear the hints of acceptance. “You know I ain’t gonna just stand to the side and let you get all the glory.”
“Never said I was a spotlight hog,” I said as I finished the last of my rounds. “But I am saying you’re staying home. If it makes you feel better, so is everyone else not including Roost and me.”
Tara looked like she wanted to slap me again, but she also had that realization I was serious on her face. Nothing was going to change my mind, both from a “save lives” perspective and a practical perspective. Not even a slap from Roost would get me to change my mind—although that kind of a slap would have me seriously considering it.
“Fine,” Tara said. “But you need to know where you’re going. And what, exactly, do you plan on doing?”
“Oh, what I always do,” I said. “Hoping and praying for the best.”
Tara gave us the address with some reluctance, following us out as we revved our motorcycles away. The plan was simple and unspoken between Roost and I. I’d park about three blocks away, sneak in under the presence of night, and then work to rescue Eve. Roost would park his chopper within viewing distance, and the instant he started to see action, he’d swoop in to grab Eve and I. This was no “blow up a meth lab” mission. This was no “take down an entire ring of houses.”
