by Kati Wilde
Daisy’s still barking. Why haven’t I let her out yet?
Dizzy and sick, I raise my head—oh my god, I’m on the floor and I don’t even remember going down. Hot metallic fluid fills my mouth. Trembling, I lift a hand to my lips. I’m drooling blood onto the wood flooring, the red splatters appearing almost black in the dark. My jaw aches and the side of my thigh is on fire. Beside me, my antique side table lies belly up. I must have tripped and whacked my leg on the table, knocking it over.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. That’s not right. Someone knocked me over.
Oh Jesus. Where’s my purse, my phone—
“You stay right there.”
The rough command freezes me in place. I don’t recognize the voice. Someone tall. Big. A balaclava conceals his face, the mask darker than the shadows in the foyer.
Terror sends my heart into overdrive.
With a heavy boot, he kicks the door closed. His gloved hand twists the deadbolt. Locking me in here with him. A panicked sob catches in my throat. My gaze darts farther into the house. In the dark, I have the advantage. I know the layout. If I’m fast enough, I can get to the kitchen. Then up to Stone’s place. He’s got guns, he’s showed me how to use them, and Daisy can slow this guy down.
“Uh uh.” It’s a warning. “Don’t you move.”
A flashlight shines in my face and I squint, raising my hand against the glare.
“Take off that big coat. I want to make sure you haven’t got anything stuffed in there that’ll make this difficult.”
Nothing in my coat. But there’s pepper spray in my purse. Averting my gaze away from the harsh light, I spot my bag farther down the hall, lying on its side with the contents spilled across the floor. My keys. My phone. The pepper spray is lodged against the foot of the storage bench sitting beneath the coat rack.
If I can just get to that…
Slowly I stand, gritting my teeth against the pain shooting through the muscle in my thigh. My shaking hands lift to the zip of my coat. The rasp of the zipper seems to drag down my spine like claws and I’m suddenly struck by a new terror.
I’m already vulnerable. And now he’s asking me to remove clothing?
Stomach roiling, I face the light again. It’s coming from a phone, the tiny flashlight bright enough to blind. “Please just tell me—”
“Take off the fucking coat.”
I do. Tossing it to the floor, I stand shivering.
The light travels down over me, slowly, as if he’s liking what he sees. Oh god. Stiffly I wait, teeth chattering, the ache in my heart joining the throbbing agony in my jaw, my leg.
“The way your brother looks, I didn’t expect his sister to be a fucking knockout. That’ll make this a hell of a lot more fun than the usual.”
More fun. Sick fear shrivels my skin as if my entire body is drawing in, trying to hide. His intent is obvious—but I can’t make sense of the rest. “My brother?”
“Blond. Scarred. A real stubborn motherfucker. That sound right?”
I nod, my mind racing. I need to keep him talking. If he’s talking then he’s not hurting me.
And maybe it’ll give me time to think of a way out of this.
“Well, he’s too fucking stubborn.” Dark humor laces his voice. “So we have to persuade him.”
Persuade Stone using me? But why would they need to? Unless they’d already tried to persuade him…and couldn’t.
Horror grips me. Gunner said my brother was okay but maybe something went down after Gunner left. It must have, because if any of the Riders knew this was coming, I wouldn’t be here alone. “Have you hurt him?”
“Damaging the goods? Nah. We need him in prime condition. And this is more efficient. Lots of men can withstand pain. But hurt their women?”
The light switches off and spots dance in front of my eyes. Oh god. Oh god. I need to keep him talking so he won’t come over here and do what I think he’s going to do. “Persuade him to do what?”
“Fight.” The shadow moves closer. I back up but the wall’s behind me. His gloved hand roughly grips my chin and pain rips through my jaw. “I’m going to enjoy giving him a reason.”
Sour bile rolls onto the back of my tongue. Desperately I try to focus on anything but the fear and dread clawing through me.
They want Stone to fight? I know what this is about. This is what Gunner and my brother were looking for—some fucked up cage match where the men fight to the death.
That makes so much sense. And it must be why my brother isn’t here—that undercover thing Gunner said he was doing. He and Gunner must have found the connection they were looking for. Maybe that’s why a girl was involved or maybe she was how Stone got inside? And now they want him to fight but he won’t—because if Stone goes into the ring, he’ll have to kill his opponent. An opponent who hasn’t done anything to threaten the Riders or his family. Stone wouldn’t do that. My brother has killed before but he draws lines.
So they’re going to hurt me to make him step over that line.
“Hurting me won’t do it,” I rasp.
“Yes, it will.” He fists his fingers in my hair. Pain tears across my scalp as he forces my head back. “It always does. Because if he keeps refusing, we’ll tell him we’ll come back and finish you.”
“It won’t work,” I say and it takes everything I have to keep the terror out of my voice, to speak with firm confidence. “Not with Stone. He’ll assume you already killed me. He doesn’t know you’re wearing a mask and gloves and I can’t identify you at all.” Oh my god, please let that be why he’s wearing them—because he intends to leave me alive. “He’ll assume that after you hurt me, you killed me to make sure I stay quiet. And then he’ll have no reason at all to fight.”
“You’re just trying to save yourself.”
“Yes, I am.” Gaze unwavering, I stare up at him, at the dark eyes visible in the face of the mask. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. I know my brother. You want him to fight? Then promise him that he’ll be able to call me and hear my voice. Tell him that if he fights and wins, you’ll let him verify that I’m still alive, that I’m all right. He’ll fight for that.”
A long silence falls between us, as if he’s weighing my words against what he already knows about Stone.
He releases me and steps back. Relief lifts through my chest, then abruptly crashes when he says, “Take off that dress.”
“Please—”
“If he wins, I’ll let him call. But I’ve still got to let him know we’re not fucking around. So take off the dress.”
The light blinds me again. Blinking against the glare, I turn my head, desperately trying to think of anything that might save me. But I’ve got nothing.
“Now.” The easy humor is gone from his voice. “Or I go kill that fucking dog.”
Daisy, whose barking hasn’t stopped. Who tried to warn me that something was wrong. And I should have known. She doesn’t bark. But I was too numb and tired to really think about why she was.
And I’m numb again. My eyes burn but there are no tears. My fingers shake so hard I can barely undo the buttons at the front of my dress, but slowly I manage each one—trying not to hear how heavy his breathing is, trying not to feel the weight of his stare or notice the way the light follows the path of my hands as I ease the dress down my shoulders.
“What the fuck is wrong with your tit?”
The flashlight beam spotlights my left breast, tracing the scar from my surgery. Pale silver against my light brown skin, the puckered line extends about an inch from the edge of my areola.
I force the answer past the lump clogging my throat. “I had a tumor removed.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Irritation deepens his voice. “I’d screw you from behind so I don’t have to look at it, but the whole goddamn point of this is videotaping your face while I’m fucking you. Now get the rest off.”
Despair threatens to choke me. So they’re going to show Stone a video of me being raped? That w
ill kill him. And it won’t matter that I’m numb or if I conceal how much it hurts, refusing to cry out. Stone will know. He knows how I hide when I’m hurting.
I toss the dress aside—covering the pepper spray. If I get lucky, maybe I can grab it and he won’t realize what I’m really reaching for.
“Those granny panties, too.”
The light moves downward and focuses on the juncture of my thighs as I push my underwear over my hips. Hot vomit fills the back of my throat. Now that the flashlight isn’t shining into my eyes, I can see him better. His right glove is off and his jeans unfastened. He spits into his palm and strokes his erection.
“Oh fuck, yeah. Your cunt’s nice and smooth like I like. Now spread those legs— What the fuck is that?”
The abrupt, angry disgust in his voice scares me more than taking off my clothes did. Everything before was playing with me, a predator with his prey. But that disgust. It’s like he’s taken personal offense to something I’ve done.
He shines the light down—at my discarded underwear. A few red streaks stain the pantyliner adhered to the gusset.
“That mess in your panties. Are you bleeding up there?”
Barely. My period is almost over.
But I nod for all I’m worth.
“That’s some nasty shit,” he spits, and I cringe as he turns and roars, “Shut up!”
Daisy only barks louder.
The light returns to my groin. “God damn it. I’m not going to fuck that if it’s bleeding. Makes me as limp as a priest.”
He’s not lying. Roughly he shoves his flaccid penis into his pants, then jerks the light to the side. “You get into that room over there, sit your ass down in that chair. Don’t do that”—he stops me as I reach down for my dress and the pepper spray beneath it—“just fucking move your ass like I tell you.”
Naked and shivering, I head for the chair. He follows and the rip of duct tape joins the staccato barking from upstairs. I sit, shaking uncontrollably as he leans in close, taping my ankles to the chair legs and my wrists to the armrests.
He sits back on his heels, lifts the phone. The flashlight abruptly blinds me again. “Say something to your brother, Anna.”
Recording a message to him, showing me bruised and bleeding and naked. My voice is a hoarse whisper as I tell Stone the most important thing he needs to know. “I’m okay. Don’t freak out. I’m all right.”
“A little roughed up,” is the bastard’s cheerful addition. “But it could be worse. This could be my fist.”
His palm explodes across my cheek, whipping my head to the side. I stifle my scream but can’t stop the tears filling my eyes, instantly watering from the stinging pain.
“Now, Stone, here’s the deal. You fight, you win, and you’ll get to call your pretty sister and hear how alive she is. In fact, you can call her after every fight you win.” His tone hardens. “Anna—do you know what happens if your brother doesn’t call?”
The answer almost chokes me. “It means he lost.”
And in a cage match to the death, that means he’s dead.
“It means something else, too.” His fingers lift to my bruised cheek and I barely stop myself from flinching away. “Because for everyone else, the threat to their family is enough to make them fight. Then we leave the family alone, even if he loses. And they keep their mouths shut so it’s a win-win for everyone. Yeah?”
No. The fighters lose, the family loses. But I know better than to say that.
Mutely, I nod.
“But with your brother, and because he’s so fucking stubborn, we’ll be doing something different.” His voice hardens. “Because as soon as you lose, Stone, I’m coming back here to finish what I started. I’m going to fuck your sister’s sweet ass, I’m going to tear that pussy apart with my cock, and then I’m going to put a bullet in her brain. So as soon as you lose, motherfucker, your sister loses, too.”
The light abruptly turns off and I know the last image Stone will see is the horror on my face.
Quietly, the bastard in front of me says, “You didn’t win, honey. You just bought yourself some time. A few weeks, a few months.”
A short, raw laugh escapes me. A few weeks to live. Those are words I’ve always expected to hear. But not like this.
He rises to his feet and returns a few moments later with my phone in hand. “What’s your number?” He enters the number I recite into his own phone, then says, “Your brother will call if he wins. Now close your mouth.”
Panic tears through me as he leans forward with a strip of tape. He seals my lips and every harsh breath through my nose feels clogged, restricted. His hands are gloved again and I whimper as he grips my fingers, thinking that he’s going to smash them and get a last bit of torture in, but he simply presses my thumb to the home button on my phone, unlocking the security screen.
He lifts the device, snaps a photo of me. I blink away the afterimage of the flash and stare up at him in confusion.
“We don’t want you starving to death here. Now, I don’t need to tell you that going to the police will get you killed a lot faster, do I?” He waits until I shake my head before continuing, “So who’s in your contacts? Should I send this to your mommy—?”
“No!” It’s muffled by the tape but I try again. “No!”
My sharp desperation makes him chuckle. His thumb swipes down the screen of my phone. “All right. Unicorn Daddy?”
Stone’s phone…but Gunner has it.
My terror disappears and I look up at the masked fucker who’s getting so much enjoyment out of this.
Gunner will come. And maybe this asshole will get away tonight, but as soon as Gunner knows what happened to me, as soon as my brother and the Riders know how he’s hurt me, there will be nowhere far enough for him to run.
I nod and hear the swoosh as he sends the photo. That sound is his death knell.
He just doesn’t know it yet.
12
Gunner
It’s heading toward midnight when I leave the clubhouse—sober as hell, though I wish I wasn’t. Any other night, I’d have stayed and drank myself numb. But I’ve got somewhere to be tomorrow and there’s no avoiding it.
Even layered up and with my handlebar warmers going, it’s a shit night for riding. The asphalt’s as slick as snot. But unless they’re transporting the body or unable to sit on their bikes, any brother who arrives at a Hellfire Rider’s funeral in a cage doesn’t deserve to wear the club’s colors. Red can’t ride anymore. So for the rest of us who still can, it’s ride or die.
Right now, riding and dying feels about the same.
Stone’s phone vibrates against my chest as I hit the main road and get reception. After a week of answering Anna’s messages, I’m like one of Pavlov’s drooling dogs—my heartbeat picking up, my hand automatically reaching for the device.
But I’m so damn layered up I can’t get to the phone without steering one-handed longer than any man ought to on a slick road.
So I keep on riding. It won’t be Anna, anyway. Not now that she knows who’s got the phone. Most likely it’s one of Stone’s regular hookups. Christ knows they’ve sent him plenty of texts this week.
Anna doesn’t want to see me or talk to me again. And, Jesus. The shit I said to her on my way out, I don’t deserve to see her.
But I’m so fucking pathetic I only last a mile before pulling over and reaching for the phone. My chest tightens when the screen lights up.
It is from Anna. A photo, a tiny thumbnail on the notification screen. A selfie? Did she send me one of her selfies? Maybe the one she took in the brewery.
I’ve never swiped so goddamn fast before.
And it’s wrong. All fucking wrong. For a second I stare at the picture, telling myself that it’s a joke, that she’s just fucking with me, because she’s sent pictures like this to Stone before. Over the years, she’s dressed up with fake blood and posed with rubber vampire bats and Gremlins and all kinds of crazy shit. But the light’s too bright,
her golden brown skin washed out white. As if taken in the dark with a powerful flash—and the camera’s too close, like something out of The Blair Witch Project. Anna doesn’t give much credit to herself but her photos are never poorly lit or framed. And that blood looks too damn real.
And there’s no Anna was here.
Christ, no. My chest turns inside out and I rip the throttle open. The engine roars. The bike shoots ahead, fishtailing before gripping the blacktop.
The road unravels ahead but I only see her eyes. Tear-filled, terrified, angry.
An image that will haunt me for the rest of my fucking life.
13
Gunner
I never should have kissed her. Never should have moved to this fucking town. Never should have given my family any reason to look at her. Never should have let my brothers live after discovering they knew about her.
But now it’s just too late.
Her car’s out front in its usual spot. Gravel spits out from beneath my tires as I race past it, practically riding up onto the porch before killing the engine and tearing up the stairs. Everything’s silent. Daisy’s not barking. She wouldn’t bark at my arrival anyway, but she’d bark if anyone was here who shouldn’t be. Unless she can’t bark.
My brothers would kill a dog. They wouldn’t even hesitate.
Terror slicks cold sweat down my spine as I slam through the door, my semi-automatic leading the way. My gaze sweeps the entryway and everything I see is a knife to my heart.
Her scattered purse. The upended table. Her coat and dress and panties on the floor.
They caught her as she came in. Stripped her clothes off. It’s too easy to fill in the rest but none of that matters now. Just finding her. Just making sure she’s safe.
Then I’ll kill them all.
“Anna!” I roar her name and feel my guts come up with it, hot and sour.
A muffled noise comes from the living room. I pivot toward the sound, slipping through the dark hall. Empty, except—there. In the shadows just inside the room. From the chair beside the wall, Anna’s staring at me with wide eyes shimmering with tears.
