"I'm not fucking going anywhere with you! You're going to have to kill me here!"
"Don't think I won't," he said matter-of-factly.
She made a move to jump off but he grabbed her, held on as he slid onto the bike and pumped the pedal, his motions smooth and sure. All around the idling engines came to life in roars of thunders that nearly split her ears.
"You better hold on or your brains are going to be all over this street," he declared as he revved the motor one more time then took off.
Fear, alcohol and the force of a 120 mph wind in her face made her compliant as she tightly wrapped her arms around his waist. As far as she knew she was going to her ultimate death.
She cursed the damn Sangria. And that damnable Ms. Barton.
CHAPTER 5
Crazy. This whole situation was insane, surreal. Yet through the miasma of wine and fear she knew it was actually happening. She was hanging off the back of a crazy biker in the midst of even crazier bikers on her way to something horrible and right now there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it short of jumping to her death. She couldn't really fathom how this had happened. Just this morning, she'd been part of a sane world where the only bad thing she'd faced was continued unemployment. In perspective, not so bad.
Being murdered by a marauding gang was so much worse.
If only she'd kept her promise to God and not succumbed to her urge for barbecue. She could have been finishing up her Sangria followed by catching up on a novel or magazine. Instead of being here.
She wondered how they were going to kill her. Would anyone even find her body? She thought of her parents and friends, they wouldn't even know she was missing. That is, until they caught images flashed on tonight's news showing her kidnapping captured on the street cameras.
Also, someone might be able to provide an eyewitness account.
Maybe someone had even caught a license plate number. God, she hoped so.
She whispered a prayer in her heart, her soul, begging God to spare her this destiny. And again, she foreswore barbecue…this time for life.
###
Fuck, fuck, fuck! The litany of "fucks" ran through his head even as he worked the throttle. This situation was so fucked he couldn't see his way out of it. Unfortunately for the woman, there was only one ending.
He thought about what was going to happen to her, what was expected of him.
It was a matter of ego and face. It was a matter of life and death. His life for her death.
He blamed the stupid woman for putting herself in harm's way in the first place. What the fuck had she been thinking throwing that piece of meat at him? Still if he'd kept his balance, none of the crew would have caught on. And he could've just kept riding.
She was going to die because he'd lost control of his bike. And because she was obviously crazy. Nobody went up against a crew of bikers with a piece of…rib?
He felt her arms tighten around him as he maneuvered a sharp curve. Skeet, riding alongside Dele's bike glanced over, smiled at the woman. The smile was rife with promise. Skeet didn't have a woman of his own.
Sometimes death was preferable to other things. Dele had figured that out very early in his life.
Still, he was a cop. He couldn't kill an innocent. Someway, somehow he was going to have to save both their asses. And come up with $50 grand worth of heroin. All within days. A very pressing agenda.
Her hand grabbed at the material of his shirt that stretched along his abs. He felt the desperation in her grip. With her touch arose an idea, a way that he might be able to save her…in the meantime, anyway. It was the only other way for him to save face with the gang and keep her alive. He knew instinctively she would resist the idea but it was either that or eat lead. Or take cold steel to the neck.
And at least it'd buy them some valuable time while he figured a way out of this shit of a mess.
The bikes raced along the freeway toward El Sereno where the gang kept one of its many dens. The sun was hot on his bare head, seared his skin. The bikes pulled into an unfenced yard behind a small ramshackle home. Off to the right and left were two mobile homes and centered between them was a peeling garage that had seen better days.
As he got off the bike he whispered into her ear.
"You want to live, you shut the fuck up. You don't say shit, don't try shit. Don't even look at anyone. Just be a good girl."
He saw the fear in her eyes. And a whole lot of anger. The two were warring with each other but in the end, she nodded her assent as he helped her off the bike.
A sense of relief was only temporary as Rez headed toward them, surrounded by the crew. Expectation was rife in the air. They were obviously glad to have some new entertainment to lighten up what would have been an ordinary afternoon.
Rez walked up to Dele and smiled as he pulled his Bowie knife from his jeans pocket. The gang leader stretched out a hand to pass the weapon to Dele. Dele shook his head.
"No."
"No! Whaddya mean no!? You do what I say or I'll take you down right now!"
Dele smiled. "I've got other plans for her."
Dele held his breath as Rez gave the woman the once over. Thankfully the woman was smart for this once and averted her eyes from the gang leader. Her demure stance brought a smile to Rez's face. He liked it when women showed fear, showed they knew their place in this world.
"Since it was me she dissed, I should be the one to decide what retribution I get." In a sudden motion, he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her to him. He was actually glad when she tried to shove him off; her visible resistance added to the drama, made it likely that Rez would let Dele "keep" her.
The seconds seemed to trail forever as the bikers stood waiting on Rez's answer. No one was going inside until then. After a few more minutes, Rez nodded. But the smile turned into something hard.
"OK, yeah. But Dele, you better keep this bitch under control or you're gonna be facing more trouble than a little bit. Don't forget man, you already in a whole lot of shit. Wouldn't be healthy to waddle in it."
Rez walked up to Dele until their faces were inches apart, although the gang leader was a few inches shorter than Dele. He said softly, deadly, "Find that stash man and you'll be real good with me. And it'll be real healthy for you, too. If not man, when you're gone, she'll be keeping you company. Or…maybe I'll let her live long enough to have some fun with her. That is, until I finally slit her throat."
With those words, Rez walked up the rickety porch leading into the house. The other bikers strolled past Dele, laughing and murmuring among themselves. Skeet paused in front of the woman, leered and winked at her.
After a minute it was just the two of them left in the yard.
Dele turned to face her.
"Make this look good," he ordered then grabbed her by the back of her head, forced a kiss. When he let her go, she reached a hand to slap him. He grabbed her wrist, held it. Actually, that had been the response he'd hoped for when making his move. Anyone looking out at them would buy into the scenario he'd set up. It was all for show.
He looked at her angry face. It was a beautiful face, in fact. Too bad they'd met under less than optimal circumstances. In another lifetime, he might have bumped into her, fed her a line, offered to buy her a drink. Instead, they were here and he had a job to do.
"OK, listen to me. You want to live, then we both have to a role to play here. I'm the bad gangsta, and you're going to be my bitch."
"Let go of me," she answered, a threat behind each enunciated word. He hesitated, then took the chance and released her wrist. She promptly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then contemptuously spat just to the side of him.
He ignored it. "This is what's going to happen right now. I'm going to take you inside the house and lead you through the pack of wolves to a little room just off the front. I'm going to shut the door. And
then you're going to do what I say."
"I'm not doing fuck!" she spat at him.
"Yeah, we'll see," he said. The fire in those eyes now had burnt away any trace of fear. If she kept up like this, she probably wouldn't survive the night. Rez would see to that.
He grabbed her by her upper arm, began pushing her toward the stairs. She resisted at first, but then seemed to accept her fate as she allowed him to steer her into the house. He moved her through the small dirty kitchen, past a dining area full of chairs around a rickety table, straight into the living room. The guys had taken up their usual stations around the room. Several couches and chairs had bodies strewn around as their "ladies" had taken up their usual positions draping and coddling the dudes. The smell of weed was already toxic in the air. So was the smell of beer and whiskey that intermingled with the musk of unwashed bodies.
Rez was straddled in an old overstuffed chair that reared the space separating the living room from the open dining room. Clare was on his lap, an arm wrapped around his neck. When Dele had passed through the dining area he had given a side glance to Skeet occupying one of the chairs and pulling at a reluctant Carolyn, trying to get her on his lap. Her face had temporarily brightened as Dele passed her - that is until she got a look at his "hostage."
Right now a skins game was playing on a high-definition television set into the wall. The TV was the only high-end piece of furniture in the whole house. The game was a square off between the Packers and the Jacksonville Jaguars.
Clare straightened up on Rez's lap as she finally noticed the woman.
"What's this black bitch doing here?!"
Both Clare and Carolyn skewered the woman with eye daggers meant to destroy, mutilate and slaughter. But then both women had often made a play for Dele's attention and resented anyone poaching on their territory. The other chicks mimicked the hard, unwelcoming stares.
"Dele caught himself a little play toy…for now," Rez said, holding Dele in a stare before taking a swig from his can of beer.
"I'm going to be a little busy," Dele said wryly as he maneuvered the woman to the bedroom off the main area. A chorus of hoots and "yeahs" went up as he pushed her into the room and shut the door behind them.
Inside was an unmade king-sized bed, a scratched up dresser with some used paraphernalia scattered on top (most likely Roach's), a chair at a table with an old standard radio. Dele walked over, turning the radio at full blast. The noise was meant to muffle any screams.
At least that's what he wanted the crew to think. Sure enough, more laughter erupted outside as the gang members probably joked about what was supposedly happening behind the closed door.
He turned and looked at her stricken face. Then walked to her and asked a question into her ear.
CHAPTER 6
"Am I a good actress?! Are you kidding me? You kidnap me and I'm supposed to help you…"
He squashed Nailah's tirade with a hand over her mouth. She felt his calluses against her skin.
"Do you want to die?" he raged into her ear, his breath a hot blast.
"You're facing two possibilities," he continued, taking his hand from her mouth. "Immediate death or life being used like a rag until they decide they're through with you. And then you die. That's your future, that is, unless you co-operate with me. Since you're the one who got her ass in this situation in the first place, you should be thanking my ass for even helping you."
Nailah looked up at him resentfully, although the resentment was mostly for herself because in the end he was right. Her own stupid action had gotten her into this mess, not him.
"So what do you want me to do?" she asked, resigned to her present predicament and willing to do what she needed to get out of it.
"I need you to scream," he said so matter-of-factly that he might as well have been announcing that it was raining outside.
"Scream…?"
"Yes, scream. Now!"
She nodded then opened her mouth to scream. And nothing. The sound got squelched somewhere in her larynx. Obviously she didn't know how to deliberately produce the sound…
Then he grabbed her, a fierce look on his face as though he was going to do something to her.
Her reflex wrenched the scream from her throat.
The quick morph of his face from anger to a relaxed expression clued her that he had only been acting. He'd deliberately frightened her to get the response he'd wanted.
Outside in the living room she heard another chorus of "yeahs" that chilled her blood.
"Get her Dele!" a male voice yelled out.
She was in hell surrounded by a horde of demons and cretins. The only seeming human was the man standing in front of her.
He pointed to the bed and she immediately wondered whether her assessment was wrong. But then he mouthed "sit down."
The music blared. The room smelled of human musk and sex. Her skin crawled at the dirtiness of the room as she sat down on a bed with obviously soiled sheets. All of her senses hurt. And then there was the fear, the mind-numbing, mouth-drying terror as she pondered how she was going to get through the minutes or hours before she could escape.
Was that the plan? Was he going to help her get out of here? She was afraid to ask because her soul would die if he said no.
He walked over to the chair, dragged it around to its back and straddled it facing her. He stared at her but she got the feeling that he wasn't so much staring at her but rather through her, his mind somewhere else.
The loud music made it nearly impossible to have a conversation, or just to ask him simple questions. Not from this distance anyway. As she rose from the bed, he immediately gave her a look of irritation. After all, he was supposed to be abusing her. Anything she did could give them away that things were not as they appeared. She stopped in front of him forcing him to look up at her.
"Are you going to get me out of here?" she mouthed silently. He didn't answer and she thought maybe he couldn't read her lips. She bent and brought her lips near his ears to repeat the question.
She stood again, expecting some kind of answer, any answer. Instead he gave her the same blank look. At that moment she wanted to slap him.
He pointed to the bed, indicating that she should take her seat. She refused.
He knocked the chair over as he jerked up, grabbed her by the arm to propel her to the bed, then pushed her down into her previous seated position.
He bent toward her, spoke into her ear. "Don't be stupid. We've got maybe an hour here. You're just going to have to bide the time. And do as I tell you, exactly as I tell you."
She stared up at him, nodded again.
The next hour was an exercise in patience and fear. At intervals, he would walk over to her instructing her to yell out, to plead for mercy. At other moments, he kicked over the chair and manually bounced the bedsprings for effect.
Her stomach turned at what she knew the men and women outside were thinking. How they would look at her after. Not that she should care. They were all animals, even the women. Especially the women as they were traitors as far as she was concerned, allowing a supposed rape to happen without any protest.
But still after all of this she would be alive. If she was lucky.
After just over an hour had passed, he suddenly grabbed her t-shirt, rent it so that most of her bra was exposed. His motion was done with liquid speed that she didn't have time to protest.
He unbuckled his jeans then pulled her up, pushed her toward the door. He opened it.
Many of the chairs were empty now, their occupants somewhere unknown. She made sure to look stricken, upset.
She heard the familiar voice before she looked over.
"Must be taking Viagra bro," the leader said as he took in the two. He was still seated in his overstuffed chair but without his blond drapery. There were two, three men on a couch she hadn't noticed before facing the HD
TV. The few women were gone.
Although she tried not to look directly at any of them, she could feel the men leering at her, could feel their eyes looking over the "damage" their friend had done. And they obviously approved. One of them snickered.
"I'm headed out," her "captor" told the other man. "I'm taking her with me."
"Why?" the leader demanded. "You already had your turn."
Nailah's stomach roiled at the thought that he might turn his back on her, leave her to the fate of the bikers.
Instead he said, "I'm not finished. After all, it was me she insulted. She hasn't paid her debt…not by a long shot."
Her fate lay with the leader's dictate. She knew instinctively if he said no, there would be nothing anyone could do to help her, especially the one trying to save her. She wanted to look directly at the leader, decided against it.
Her sigh of relief was nearly audible when she heard him say, "OK."
But the capitulation came with a deadly caveat.
"Don't try any Sir Galahad moves dog. In other words, she better be with you tomorrow or else. She knows too damn much as it is."
Her captor grabbed her, pushed her ahead of him to the back door where they had first entered. She didn't say anything as he indicated that she take her position on his bike. He took time to buckle his jeans again.
Only when he was seated in front of her did she dare to ask, "What now?"
He ignored her again as he started the bike. She held tightly as the bike jerked forward then smoothed out before gathering a breathtaking speed.
She didn't know where he was taking her but somehow she had to get away from him. Then she'd find the nearest police station and end this nightmare.
CHAPTER 7
Snatched Page 3
