by Anne Conley
“Lights out, pretty boy.” And then he hit Slade.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Deena Rae was desperately clutching to the anger pumping through her body to keep from thinking about the crushing weight of betrayal. Anger was easier to handle. She was used to that. She knew what to do with it. She could hear Slade yelling in the room next door and felt a sick sense of satisfaction in it. So he’d been double crossed, too.
Served him right. Fucking fucker.
But when the gunshot sounded, she couldn’t help but sit up a bit straighter in her seat, no matter she was still restrained and taped to it. Had Slade just been shot? That made her a bit sad, even though she tried not to be.
Jesus. She needed to cling to the anger, or else she wouldn’t get out of here. Doors opening and closing. Muffled laughter. Random snippets of conversation. And then the pulsing, pounding beat of music. They were opening the club.
At some point, some asshole had come in and slapped a piece of duct tape over her mouth. It hurt like hell, but she was determined to get the bitch off. She worked her jaw, trying to use her spit to weaken the adhesive, but so far it hadn’t worked well. She’d loosened it, but it was still covering her mouth to keep her from shrieking her brains out.
Her dad had always warned her against the crazy people in the world. He’d taught her to defend herself—to always be on the lookout, to be careful who she trusted, to be careful of the situations she found herself in—because crazy wasn’t always visible.
She was clearly in the hands of crazy people now.
It was a crazy driven by greed, obviously. Cecil was intent on perpetuating this façade of gregarious club owner but was working the underbelly of drugs and God knew what else. He was in danger of losing his son to his greed, and the crazy had come out.
And she’d gotten caught in the middle of it.
Her dad had been a big, burly guy. The strongest, most badass man she’d ever known. He’d given her the gun she’d lost when she came in here today—a nickel-plated Glock 9 mil—telling her if she ever had to shoot someone, she’d only have to shoot them once. He’d also given her the knives she still had—totally inaccessible at the moment—stuffed in her boot and strapped to her thigh.
She just had to figure out how to get to them.
Her dad would be livid if he could see her now. Deena Rae dropped her head as she realized she’d done everything the total opposite of what her daddy had taught. She couldn’t reach her weapons, her best weapon had been taken, and she was tied up, helpless, fucked.
Deena Rae’s wrists, strapped tightly to the arms of this metal chair, were growing more and more uncomfortable by the moment. Feeling as though she had been taped to it for hours, she tried to figure out what time it was.
She wondered how long it would take for people to miss her.
The guys at the office would miss her tomorrow morning when she didn’t show for work. She hadn’t worked there long but had yet to miss a day.
All Deena Rae knew was she couldn’t stay here ‘til tomorrow. She’d be dead by then.
She was unsure why Cecil hadn’t killed her yet. Waiting was terrifying, actually. Was there a purpose to keeping Deena Rae around that she hadn’t thought of?
Truth was, she was having a hard time thinking. The music was ridiculously loud, even in this room so far removed from the dancing and drunken frolicking, but her thoughts were louder.
As if reading them, two men entered the room carrying Slade, who was unconscious, a bit bloody, and taped to a chair. A third stood at the door, watching for people. Deena Rae tried not to look at Slade because it made her start to feel again. She welcomed the numbness, but it fled when she looked at the guy she’d started to really fucking like. Deena Rae couldn’t do that. It made her weak, lose focus, and she desperately needed her focus. Relief Slade wasn’t dead still filtered in somehow, in spite of herself, and she hated it. So she just grasped the hate and hugged it hard.
“Brought you some company, doll.” It was the asshole whose nose she’d broken. Austin? Was that his name? Such a nice name for a dicklick like this dude.
Deena Rae muttered behind the tape over her face, attempting to call him a fucker, but it sounded more like fluffer. She giggled at that. Fluffers were in charge of keeping dicks hard between shots in porn flicks. He could fit that bill, too. It went along with her Dicklick nickname. Her giggle turned to a cackle, and she very nearly choked on her own spit due to the tape still securing her mouth. She snorted and snot dripped out of her nose, but the inappropriate laughter wouldn’t stop. Dicklick Fluffer. If she got out of this alive, she’d have that engraved on the cuffs she’d use when she hauled his ass to the station.
“She thinks this is funny, guys.” He grinned as he spoke, and she wanted to kick him again, to see him cry like a baby. But her ankles were taped to the legs of the chair.
One of the men pulled a long piece of rope out of his back pocket and went to work cutting lengths of it with an insanely sharp knife. Suddenly sobered, Deena Rae weighed her shots.
Three against one, since Slade was still unconscious. His square jaw and bushy eyebrows weren’t going to help her here. Not that he could assist her in his current condition. If he regained lucidity, she had no idea if he would help or hinder, so she went ahead and calculated it four to one.
Not great odds, but they’d be better if she could get that massive knife from the dude cutting rope. And then there was the possibility there were more weapons in the room she couldn’t see. Dicklick Fluffer probably had a gun somewhere, as well as the knife guy. Dudes like this kept guns on them all the damn time, probably even under their pillows when they slept.
“Instructions are to make it compromising and uncomfortable. I think we can work with that,” the third dude in the room, said. His voice was familiar, and Deena Rae figured it was the guy who’d held her from behind when she’d first gotten here.
For someone who’d been jonesing to get into these back rooms for two weeks, she was really over it.
Chapter Twenty-five
Slade was aware of something soft, yet hard. Conscious of the difference in his last moment of awareness, he realized he was no longer strapped to the chair. If he trusted his senses, he would think he was strapped to Deena Rae, because that’s what it felt like, but his eyelids were so damn heavy.
“Wake up, fucker. We need to get out of this.” Deena Rae’s voice was underwater, but he wasn’t wet, so that didn’t make sense. He tried to stretch his arms, but they were still restrained, somehow. Fingers gripped his. Soft fingers. “Open your fucking eyes.”
As Slade struggled to open his eyes, he blinked rapidly against the harsh lighting. This room was a game room. Poker tables lined the walls and a pool table sat in the middle, all used for illicit gambling. Cecil called it a gentlemen’s room, but tonight it was being used for something far worse.
Strawberry-blond hair filled his fuzzy vision, and he was eventually able to focus on angry, greenish-brown eyes. Close up. She was really close. And his neck hurt. He relaxed it, letting his head fall onto her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent until it filled his lungs with happy sex. That’s what her scent made him think about—happiness and sex. Awesome.
“Would you stop it? Wake. Up. We have to get out of here.” She was mad at him.
His cock twitched at the thought. Angry sex with Deena Rae would be cool, too.
The reason why she was mad came rushing back to him. He’d turned her in to Cecil to save his mom. His mom had been killed anyway. He was a dumb fuck. No sex. Ever.
Lifting his head again, Slade looked around, trying to figure out what was happening. His thoughts must have been written all over his face because Deena Rae filled in some blanks.
“Okay, dumbass. We’ve been tied together on the pool table.” She was right. He laid on top of her, his wrists and ankles tied to hers. “I’m actually tied to the pool table, so we can’t get off, even if we managed to synchronize our shit to get out of
here. I’m tied good, so there’s no hope of getting loose unless we get to my knives. Which is why I need you fucking awake. They’re planning on burning the club to the ground, with us inside. Feel me?”
Slade tested things out, moving each limb one at a time to figure out the range of motion. With each tug, Deena Rae hissed on an inhale of air, obviously in pain.
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing and focus, Slade.”
There was nothing he could ever do to make up for the shit he’d caused. He wasn’t even going to try to get her back. He’d been right in the beginning; he had no business with a relationship. He never should have gotten her involved, and now he had to get her out of this mess. If Cecil really was going to burn down the club, he had to get her out and get out of her life. It was the least he could do.
“Where are your knives?”
“There’s one inside my right boot. I think that’s going to be the easiest to get to.”
Together, they tried to maneuver her leg up to their hands. It was lucky their legs were only tied to each other and not the table, but she was bony and he couldn’t stop the instinct of protecting his junk. His knees kept reflexively going together when she squirmed, which finally caused her to exhale in irritation.
“Dude. You get racked or we burn to death. You choose. I’m good either way,” she said wryly. “NOT. Jesus, Slade, they’re nuts. They’re stronger than you think.”
“Sorry, it’s a reflex. It hard to control.” He grimaced as her knee again pressed against his family jewels when the two of them bent their knees together. Her fingers slipped inside her boot. Sweat broke out on Slade’s forehead as the sharp pain radiated outward from his crotch, creating a dull ache everywhere.
“Hurry, please,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
“This is the least you deserve, asshole.”
“True.” He swore she was lingering in her boot, pressing her knee into his groin on purpose.
“Got it,” she breathed into his ear. The warm air brushing against his skin would have been sexy if it weren’t for the circumstances.
Her knee relaxed as a glint of shiny metal glittered in his peripheral vision. Slade was still focused on Deena Rae, though. He couldn’t stop himself from watching the intent look in her eyes as she maneuvered the knife and started slicing at the ropes binding them together.
He trusted her not to slit his wrists open, even though she had more reason than anyone to kill him right now. As soon as his hand was free, he used it to cup her face, drawing her attention to him.
He wanted her focused on him as much as he was on her. Selfish, he knew, but she was about to be out of his life forever, and he wanted—no, he needed—this moment with her.
“I’m sorry. After this is over, and you’re away from here, I just want you to know I never intended this to happen.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she growled at him.
“No, you don’t understand. These last couple of weeks with you have been amazing. I just need you to know that, Deena Rae.”
“What? Are you going to profess your love to me in hopes I don’t fucking kill you right now?”
“No, you have every right. Words mean shit with you. I get that.” And with those words—the ones that wouldn’t mean a thing to her—he kissed her, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth. She reciprocated, biting him hard, probably drawing blood. As his tongue swiped hers, she moaned into his mouth, tangling her tongue with his. The regret in the kiss was palpable and ended with a hiss.
“Are you done? Be fucking still,” she muttered as she went back to work on their bindings. He liked to think she was pretending to be unaffected, but the shortness of breath and flushed skin might very well be due to the fact they were tied up.
When they were nearly free, someone bumped into the door.
“Shit. I totally thought the john was back here,” a muttered voice sounded.
“Andrew?” Deena Rae called out.
“Deena?” came the reply through the door.
Her motions became frantic as she hurried while she continued speaking. “Deena Rae, dumbass. Yeah. Can you get us out of here? They’re going to torch the place and I’m sure it’s full of people.”
There was a short pause, then a low whistle while someone rattled the door, and Andrew finally spoke. “Yeah. I’m gonna leave Zack here to get you out, while I go tell the guys and get the people out.”
The faceless voice on the other side brought almost as many questions as answers, but one thing was crystal-clear—they had help now.
“Andrew?” A stab of mistimed jealousy ripped through Slade. Who the fuck was Andrew? Then he realized he’d talked about Zack and a different emotion coursed through him. Slade didn’t know what this foreign feeling was, but it was uplifting somehow, and Slade embraced it.
“I work with these guys. Can we not do this right now?” She sliced through the last piece of rope binding them together and went to work on the rope securing her to the pool table.
“Why did they do this? Were we not secure enough in the chairs?” Slade asked, baffled.
“People calmly sitting in chairs while burning to death probably raises more questions.”
“So we were supposed to look like we were fucking? That makes more sense because people don’t feel fire while they’re fucking,” he said sarcastically.
She shrugged as she got the last bit of rope loose. “They might think I’m a little crazy.”
“A little? Shit, girl, that’s one of the things I love about you.”
She stood, pointing the knife at him. “Don’t you EVER use that word with me again.”
Okay, still pissed. He got it.
Meanwhile, scratching at the door, interspersed with not-so-muttered curses, illustrated Zack out there trying to pick a lock.
“Hey, the fuck do you think you’re doing?” It was Lucas, one of the other bouncers. Slade’s stomach sank. The one hope for rescue had just gotten caught. Deena Rae held her finger to her lips.
“Dude, I’m taking a piss, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“That’s not a fucking bathroom, you moron.” At these words, Slade saw a puddle forming under the door. Was this joker really taking a piss in the hallway?
“Well, how the fuck am I supposed to know? I’m blind, you dipshit. You have no braille in this establishment. I did the best I could before making plans to call my lawyer regarding your handicapped compliance.”
“Stop! You’re pissing all over the floor!” Lucas’ alarmed voice was almost comical.
“Can’t pinch it off mid-stream, man. Sorry.”
Slade’s jaw dropped, and Deena Rae smiled to herself as she unzipped her pants. He watched, disbelieving, as she lowered her pants—showing off a pretty pair of red panties—and slid another knife off her thigh. Then, as if she’d flipped her hair and nothing else, she pulled her pants up, hiding the tantalizing scrap of crimson and handing the knife to him, handle first.
He palmed it, shaking his head, trying desperately to rid himself of the images racing through it. Standing behind the door, they both waited.
Waiting for someone to enter, Slade prepared himself to kill. He’d never done it before, but he knew they would if he didn’t. He would know if they were good or bad because he actually knew all the bad guys. If he didn’t know them, he would assume they worked with Deena Rae.
The music still pumped through the speakers, but a low din of alarm reached his ears.
“They evacuating or something?” Zack was talking outside the door.
“Shouldn’t be,” Lucas answered. “You fucking done yet? I need in that door.” Lucas murmured something, and Slade pictured him talking into the device they all wore on their wrists.
Slade whispered through the door, hoping Zack could hear. “They’re calling for backup. Watch your back, man.” To Deena Rae, he whispered, “Does he have good hearing?” She nodded, eyes wide yet still strong.
“Impeccable,�
� was the answer through the door from Zack, his brother.
“Seriously, bro, get the fuck outta here.”
“I’m going. I’m going,” Zack said. Slade couldn’t let the dude walk away. But at the same time, if he called for help, Lucas was likely to shoot the poor guy. He couldn’t have another innocent death on his conscious. Nope. Zack was the only family he had left, not that the dude had a clue about him, but Slade wasn’t going to put the man in danger. He was innocent in all this. Slade was all about killing the assholes, not Deena Rae’s co-workers. Slade put his finger to his lips, and Deena Rae rolled her eyes but got behind him as he waited for Lucas to come inside. The sound of muttering faded away as Zack left them.
When Lucas came inside the room, Slade grabbed him around the neck from behind, shoving his knife under his throat, pushing the door closed. He felt a short-lived moment of triumph, eager to get the hell out of here. But Austin had been behind Lucas, silent, and Slade was surprised by the click of a gun near his temple.
“God dammit.”
“Yeah. God dammit. Drop the knife. We’re going for a walk,” Austin sneered.
Chapter Twenty-six
A hand gripped Deena Rae’s elbow, and all she could think was thank sweet merciful Jesus they hadn’t grabbed the other one. She’d stashed her knife up the sleeve of her other arm; if Thug Number Three had grabbed that one, she’d be screwed.
Austin picked up the knife Slade just dropped and hefted it in his hands. “Which one of you is more likely to misbehave?”
Deena Rae scoffed. Like she ever behaved. Austin raised an eyebrow, and without a second glance, imbedded the knife up to the hilt in Slade’s chest. Deena Rae gasped. She was pissed at Slade for getting her in this mess, but she didn’t want him to die on her.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” She tried to run to Slade, but the man behind her grunted and tightened his grip. “Why did you do that?”
“I can do it again if you don’t keep yourself in check. People hardly ever die from one stab wound. It’s the multiples that get you.” He pursed his lips, and Deena Rae held back the urge to smack him. “Unless, of course, I nicked an artery or something.”
