by Vivian Lux
I stepped off unsteadily; the vibrations of the seat had my legs in pins and needles, and I stumbled to the right. Cade caught me swiftly.
“You okay?” he asked worriedly.
“I’m fine.” I grimaced, punching myself in the thigh. “Legs are asleep.”
“Thought you were fainting on me again,” he said with a grin.
“I’m not as delicate as you think I am.”
“Oh yeah?” He loosened his grip on me and I promptly stumbled again.
“Dammit!” I shouted, and he laughed another of his beautiful laughs.
“You need road leathers. Helps protect from the vibrations.”
I smoothed my stupid floral skirt. “I need new clothes, period.”
He nodded, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out a battered old wallet. I gasped in shock when he opened it. Crisp bills were folded neatly inside in a stack at least an inch thick. He pulled two out and handed them to me. Two hundred dollars, more than I had ever seen in my life. I stared at him in disbelief.
“I can get a whole wardrobe with this at the thrift store,” I sputtered.
“Don’t go to the thrift store, then. You need boots, jeans—stuff that’s gonna hold up and protect your skin if we flip.” He gestured to the low building. “Jenks in there will hook you up.”
“Where are you going?”
“Business,” he said in a low, warning tone. I clamped my mouth shut on my next question. It was clear I wasn’t going to be included.
“I’ll bring you change,” I said instead.
He smiled at me and my heart leapt. “Don’t you dare,” he rumbled, brushing my windblown hair back from my face. “I’ll meet you back here by noon. We ride out then.”
And with the softest brush of lips to mine, he was gone. Jax and Wyatt thundered behind him with no looks backward for me. I was alone in an unfamiliar city.
Chapter 13
From the angle of the sun in the sky, noon was still very far off. I turned to check the door of the outfitters, but it was locked. “Open 9am to 7pm,” read the sign on the door.
It clearly wasn’t nine in the morning yet, and the noise and bustle of the big city was piquing my curiosity. It wouldn’t harm anything to have a look around.
I turned quickly, taking note of where I was. If I kept the train tracks on my right, I could navigate my way back to here just like I would with the dry streambed in Flint Springs. Who says a country girl can’t survive in the city?
Feeling bold, I started towards the glinting buildings ahead of me. I passed shops as they opened, revealing the assortment of options inside. I tried not to let my amazement show, but every time a horn blared or a car whizzed by me, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
It was so noisy here; the air full of mysterious clangs and shouts. The smells were wrong too; noxious and fetid scents wafted in the air right alongside the mouthwatering smells of the cafés and bakeries of the neighborhood I had somehow wandered into.
Something about this area felt familiar. I looked around carefully, the strangest sense of déjà vu pricking at my scalp. That green awning over the café on the corner—I remembered that from somewhere. A dream, maybe?
But then I saw the red painted bike rack in front of the plate-glass fronted store next to it and gasped aloud. I had seen that before, too. I knew where I was.
I turned slowly, nearly bumping into a businessman rushing by in his suit, and saw it exactly where I expected it to be.
First Bank of Plank County. The scene of the biggest story to hit our area since time began. News teams from all over the country had camped out in front of the standoff, parking themselves in front of the bike rack, the green awning. And Cora and I had watched, riveted, on Darryl’s crappy little TV.
The memory of what had happened here came flooding back. Two unknown men held five hostages inside the bank for four excruciating days. To end the standoff, the police had to use tear gas and shot one of the robbers as he emerged from the building, gasping for air. But the other man disappeared, along with the fifth hostage.
Her face was etched in my memory. Pauline Cornwell. She was only twenty-two, hardly older than me, and she had been at her job as a teller for all of three months when the hold-up occurred.
The news reports showed the same picture of her over and over again; her brown hair and pale skin were nondescript, but her huge, wide-set brown eyes had peered out of the television set and straight into my soul.
I knew the picture was older, that it had been taken before the terrible events had occurred, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that those eyes were already frightened. She had the look of a newborn fawn still learning to walk in the big, dark forest.
I wasn’t the only person captivated by her. The national media had taken the story of this innocent-looking girl held hostage by madmen and run with it. The fact that she disappeared without a trace only added fuel to their fire.
The Porter Crossing police force was resoundingly condemned for botching their job and failing to protect her. A nationwide manhunt was set up, her picture plastered on telephone poles and bulletin boards all over the country. Her parents made several appearances on cable news. They believed their daughter was dead, and they placed the blame squarely at the feet of the police department.
When the months went by with no answers, interest in the story of the hold-up died, but the search for Pauline raged on. Cable news shows loved it. The wide-eyed, frightened looking girl was always a sure-fire ratings magnet.
And I was ashamed to say I had watched all the specials. Cora and I had devoured the news, even heading over to our school library to use the wheezing Internet connection to look up articles on her from across the country. Cora believed she was dead too, that the men had disposed of her body out in the desert.
But I wasn’t so sure. Or rather, I didn’t want her to be. I hoped she had survived somehow and that her eyes were less frightened for having been through hell and making it back alive.
It seemed so strange to see people walking in and out of the bank like normal this morning. I felt like it should still be as it was when the hold-up happened. I felt it should be a shrine of some kind; a monument to Pauline, wherever she was.
I snapped out of my reverie and turned back to the café with the green awning. On the news reports, in had reminded me of something you’d see in Paris. I was disappointed to see that it looked so small. But when I went inside and saw the fancy pastries and decadent coffee, I wasn’t disappointed.
I inhaled the scent of freshly baked bread and my stomach immediately rumbled. Everything looked delicious, and Cade had told me to make sure I ate. I was sure he wouldn’t mind if I got myself some breakfast with his money.
I waited in line behind the office workers and business people, feeling like I stood out like a sore thumb. I imagined I was being stared at, and the thought made me jumpy.
I scanned the café warily, and my eyes lighted on a punk-looking kid, knit cap pulled low over his eyes in spite of the morning’s heat. He was staring at me quite blatantly, and when he caught me staring back, he gave a cocky little nod.
I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. Little punk was skinny and younger than I was. And he didn’t know the manpower I had behind me. I had nothing to fear from him. I let my eyes roam over him, keeping my expression bored. Then I looked away, done with him and his pathetic attempts at intimidation.
I listened to the man in front of me, carefully mouthing the pronunciation of the fancy coffee drink he ordered. Then it was my turn.
The bored, tattooed cashier barely glanced in my direction as I excitedly ordered my very first caffè latte. I scanned the bakery case and ordered a croissant, just because it was the fanciest sounding thing in there.
The only money I had was what Cade had given me. Reluctantly, I handed over one of the one-hundred dollar bills. The cashier gave me a look that should have killed me dead on the spot, but merely bent his head and began counting out my chang
e. Embarrassed, I took a ten-dollar bill and stuffed it into the tip jar.
There was an open table by the window. I cleared the remnants of discarded newspaper and perched in the uncomfortable chair, sipping my latte as I watched the people hurry by.
The drink was way too bitter. I dumped about half of the shaker’s worth of sugar into it and it tasted much better. I nibbled my croissant, feeling fancy, and happy too because it was delicious. I gobbled the whole flaky mess down and looked up.
The clock on the wall read 10:40. Shit, I muttered under my breath. I needed to be getting back to the outfitters. I hadn’t even started doing the shopping Cade wanted me to do.
I dumped the rest of the latte in the trash, threw open the door, and stepped out into the street. There were less people now; everyone had disappeared into the workday. I slipped out of my cardigan. The heat was rising off of the pavement in waves and I needed to hurry.
Turning for a moment to get my bearings, I caught a blur of motion in the corner of my eye. Before I could react I was jerked violently into the alleyway beside the café.
“What the fuck!” I shouted and lashed out with my fist. It made contact with the side of a wool-covered head and I heard a curse. The punk kid from inside had been lying in wait for me, and he used the momentum of my punch to throw me up against the wall.
“Gimme that money, bitch!” he grunted through clenched teeth. My wild blow had dazed him and he was blinking quickly.
I spat out a derisive laugh. “Are you kidding me, kid?”
“Give me the money!” he shouted again, but this time it was more like a whine.
“I’m not scared of you. Fuck off.” I repeated. My initial fright was gone, replaced with anger. This little punk was smaller than I was. How dare he threaten me?
“Bitch, you don’t know who you’re messin’ with.”
“Neither do you. Let me go.”
We struggled for a second. My long limbs were almost able to gain enough leverage to push him away, but then he twisted my wrist with a violent jerk. Pain shot through my arm and I buckled. This really pissed me off.
“Fuck you!” I shouted, twisting wildly in his grasp. I wrenched my arm free and lashed out a vicious kick.
It connected with his shin with a hard cracking sound and he loosened his grip in surprise. “Bitch, you broke my leg!” he swore, jumping up and down.
That was my chance, I spun around and broke out into a dead run. But he was quicker than I was. I felt his weight bowl me over, knocking me flat onto my stomach. All the wind rushed out of my lungs, and my heart sank as I felt the nip of cold steel against my throat.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he hissed in my ear. He let out a piercing whistle. I lay there panting, not daring to move, calculating what to do next.
Heavy footfalls on the pavement made my heart sink further. “Whaddya got, Jinx?” called out a high, oily voice.
The kid on my back let the knife bite deeper into my neck. I couldn’t help myself and let out a scream of pain. He laughed.
“Uppity little bitch has a bunch of cash and thinks she don’t have to hand it over when I ask for it.”
“Fuck you. It’s not your money!” I spat.
He yanked my head back by the hair and I heard a hoot of laughter. “She’s a pretty little piece of ass. Why don’t you take more than just her money?”
“Bitch kicked me,” Jinx hissed. “I get first.”
No! Fuck, no!
Much stronger arms hauled me to my feet. I twisted and turned, my flailing arms connecting with a soft, flabby stomach. “Oof,” the fat punk holding me grunted. “She’s feisty.”
“I like it better when they fight,” came a third, lower voice..
I turned to see a tall, wiry guy, older that the other two. His scraggly beard ran up his cheeks, nearly to his watery, pale eyes. His thin lips made me immediately think of a snake. And when he flicked his tongue across his teeth in a lascivious grin, he cemented the image for me
“Think I’m gonna want to grab a piece first,” the snake man hissed. “While she still has some fight in her.”
I struggled in vain as he touched my cheek with his dirty fingers.
“Aw, c’mon, Cobra,” Jinx whined. “I found ‘er.”
“Do I look like I give a shit?” Cobra hissed again, not even looking in Jinx’s direction. His gaze roamed over my body. He pulled out a small knife and I thrashed and kicked. With a flick of his wrist, the strap of my lacy tank top was cut, falling off of my shoulder to reveal the white cotton bra beneath it. “Niiice,” he hissed.
“Fuck off, asshole,” I snarled at him. He had just ruined the only piece of clothing I owned. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”
“Oh, really?” he leered. “And who is that?”
I swallowed. I wasn’t Cade’s old lady yet. He had no obligation to me. “I got powerful friends!” I ventured.
“So do we, blondie,” the fat guy holding me whispered in my ear. I felt the wet smack of his tongue against my cheek and my stomach turned in revulsion.
As if on cue, the roar of motorcycle engines started up. My heart leapt. Cade!
My knee somehow connected with Cobra’s groin and he went down heavily I turned my head and sank my teeth into my fat captor’s arm, my whole mouth filling with putrid grey sweatshirt and the smell of his dirty armpits.
“Get off, get off!” he shrieked, pummeling my head with his other hand. I lunged at his face, swiping at his cheek. I dug long gashes across his skin, the blood welling instantly under my fingernails to my great satisfaction. He screamed again, wrenching himself backwards to cradle his face.
“You guys are in trouble now!” I screamed over the noise of the bikes.
Three bikers roared around the corner and into the alleyway. It was barely wide enough for them to squeeze in side by side, and they effectively shut off the exit.
I searched their faces. I couldn’t remember who they were and didn’t recognize them from the throng that had watched my initiation yesterday. But they had seen me, and that was the important thing.
“Tell Cade I’m here! These guys attacked me!” I screamed.
The lead biker swung his legs over his seat and sauntered over to me. I bounced up and down, eager for him to rain retribution down on my attackers. When he got close, I could smell the whiskey already on his breath.
“Who’s Cade?” he breathed.
Chapter 14
I made as if to answer, then my heart sank right down to my toes. Nowhere on his patch-covered vest did I see the grinning skull of the Devil’s Due. Where that patch normally would be, I instead saw a red-eyed rat, poised as if to strike.
I swallowed. “Uh,” I started, but one of the bikers behind him called out. “Cade? You talkin’ ‘bout Cade Turner, girl?”
I snapped my mouth shut, pressing my lips tight. But the damage was already done. The three bikers were looking at each other meaningfully.
“The Devils broke the truce,” growled the third biker. He was a fat mountain of a man, more bear than human. “She must be a she-Devil.”
“She’s got a lot of cash on her!” Jinx whined from behind me. His two comrades were silent, seemingly in awe of the bikers.
“She’s a stupid she-Devil if she’s walkin’ around on this side of town,” said the whiskey-stinking biker in front of me. “You stupid, girl?”
I took a breath to shout back at him, but before I could yell, the second biker had made his way over to me. He flicked the broken strap of my tank top, then gave it a sudden yank. The other strap couldn’t stand up to the strain and my tank top fell to my waist. I clapped my arms across my breasts protectively and the bikers laughed.
“Ya done good bringin’ her to us, Jinxy,” the first biker called. “Can’t have Devil-cooze sneaking around our side of town without us knowin’.”
“I think we oughta send a message to the Devils, don’t you?” the second biker leered. “Let them know that when they break truce
s, bad things happen.” He shot his hand under my skirt. “Spread those legs, whore.”
“No!” I yelped and clamped my thighs shut.
“Don’t you fight it. Devil-sluts know how to suck a good cock, I hear. Show Dale here what that pretty little mouth can do.”
The first biker unzipped his jeans, freeing his fat cock. The second biker pushed me down hard. My bare knees scraped against the rough pavement. I clamped my lips shut, twisting my head back and forth.
“Fuck you,” I gritted through my clenched teeth. “Let me go.”
“No can do, little lady,” called the third biker. “Can’t have the Devils thinking they can be spying on the Rats.”
“I wasn’t spying!”
They laughed. “Oh really?” The first biker grasped his cock in his hand and pressed it against my sealed lips. “Prove it. Suck my cock and we’ll let you go.”
“Mine too!” called the third biker from his post on lookout.
“You put that in my mouth, I’ll bite it off,” I spat.
A glint of metal flashed in the blazing overhead sun. The fat biker wrenched my head back by my hair and pressed the cold blade against my windpipe. His breath in my ear was rank. I could smell the engine oil on his skin and the stink of several days’ worth of sweat in his beard. My stomach heaved.
“Here’s the deal, slut,” he whispered. “You’re gonna get fucked. Right here, right now. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. So how bout you stop mouthin’ off and just take what’s comin’?” He nicked the blade in closer and I whimpered as I felt the trickle of blood trail down my throat.
“If you’re a good little whore, we may just let you live.” He pinched my cheeks hard with his other hand, forcing my lips and teeth open. “That’s it, you just slide your pretty lips right around Dale’s cock.”
Still pressing the blade to my throat, he let go of my face to fumble with the zipper of his jeans. I felt his hard cock press up against the crack of my ass and I whimpered. He laughed.
