“You like jazz?” she asked, pleasantly surprised. She hadn’t always listened to jazz, but she loved some Kenny G and old Blues music. Not because it mirrored her life, but because the sound soothed her and reminded her that she wasn’t the only one in the world suffering.
He looked at her as if she had two heads. “Hell yes. Who doesn’t? The sound, the talent, the raw emotions . . .” He whistled low. “Have you ever made love to smooth jazz?” He glanced over at her, his dark eyes shimmering in the passing moonlight.
Hope didn’t have time to answer, as she was lurched forward, her hand slamming into the dashboard, bright lights exploding behind her eyes. A sharp pain expanded, threading through her skull like little fractures. She hadn’t even had time to scream, before darkness took her.
***
The taste of copper pennies and the scent of acrid burning plastic was the first thing Hope recognized as she slowly came back into consciousness. She moaned as she attempted to move, her body sore and stiff. Warm liquid trickled down her head. Hope strained to lift her hand to her face, but she couldn’t move her hands, or for that matter, her feet.
She gradually opened her eyes to a yellow-stained popcorn ceiling. Then, as feeling came back to her, she noticed the softness against her back, the rough rope binding her arms, and the disgusting smelling cloth over her mouth. She gagged repeatedly, until the soft mattress at her back dipped, and he came into view.
Hope was torn between puking or letting loose the scream lodged in her throat. A large finger came up to her lips, as a strange man shushed her. Hope whimpered when the man’s hand moved to pull down the gag. She took in a deep breath and held it. The darkened room made it hard to tell what time it was, and her head pounded every time she tried to move it.
She eyed the man as she tugged on the ropes holding her to the bed, and that was when she realized her white dress was no longer on her body. Forcing her neck to cooperate, she ignored the spinning in her head and the ache at the base of her skull as she looked down her semi-naked body. Anger and horror flared in her gut. The one consolation being she still had on her bra, panties, and shoes.
The man leaned back over her; he had a scruffy beard and tattoos on his arms. “If you scream, I’ll hurt you.” The harsh words were murmured so close, she could feel his hot breath whisper over her skin.
Her stomach rolled and she flinched when his rough fingers drifted over her bare hip. She shifted away from him, only to hear his laughter as he stood. Hope fought the urge to sleep; her head pounded and her memory was shoddy at best, but she knew she’d been knocked out before she was able to check on Abel. Tears filled her eyes, falling to the sides.
“Where am I?” Her voice was a mere rasp. She attempted to swallow and clear her throat, but her dry mouth caused her to cough instead. Was he not going to answer? Because she sure as hell had more questions. Like, how long had she been there? Where was there? And where was Abel? She didn’t dare say his name aloud, for fear she’d anger Mark’s henchmen.
Also, if he was taking her to Mark, why in the hell was she almost naked?
“H-hello?” She tried again, then listened while he rummaged around the room, grunting and cursing as he fumbled in the dark. “Is-is Mark here?” Disgusted by the tremble in her voice, she bit her lips, forcing herself to hide her terror.
“You don’t have to worry about him anymore it’s just you and me from now on.”
What does that mean? Had he killed Mark, or was he going to kill her? She struggled against the ropes binding her to her bed. A light flipped on and the man she knew as Edwin was face-to-face with her, a wicked gleaming knife gripped tight in his hand. Swiftly and efficiently, Edwin placed the knife to the soft space between her breasts and pressed, until Hope felt the sharp prick of pain. She gasped, but made no other noises.
“I said, don’t scream,” he warned. “And don’t move either.” Edwin’s legs straddled hers, his knees keeping her body in a tight grip. His hand threaded in her hair, pinning her head to the bed, stretching her neck at a painfully odd angle. “It’s just you and me from now on.” His wet lips traced a disgusting path from her chest to her neck.
Hope took that moment to burn his physical attributes in her mind—memorizing the dark hair, goatee, gold tooth, and tattoos on his neck. Her heart pounded in her chest as the pieces of the puzzle slowly came together. Still, there were holes in the story and her memory, but she was beginning to understand. This man had never planned on taking her back to Mark—he planned to keep her. Hope did not want to have him adding rape to his list of assaults.
She pushed back against the bed, fighting to get away from his lips. “Stop, please. I don’t want this.” His grip tightened, and for a moment, Hope was glad her legs were tied together. He would have to untie them if he planned to sexually assault her, and she would fight like hell as soon as she was released.
Edwin pulled away, his black eyes slit in anger. “You want that security guard, don’t you?” He gripped her shoulder and shook her.
Though her head hit the soft cushion on the bed, Hope winced at the impact. She grasped at anything she could to make him stop. “Stop!” she screamed. “Mark is going to—” Her words were cut off by a sharp slap to her face.
Hope could do nothing but cry out as her world threatened to fade to black, and nausea roared to life once again. If she passed out, she’d be helpless and that couldn’t happen. “Okay, okay,” she placated. Her only way out of this was to fight, but that didn’t mean she had to agitate him more before she could get away.
“Okay?” Releasing her hair, he sat back giving her room to breathe. “Okay, what?” His voice was deceptively low, as his eyes roved over her, like she was nothing but a frightened animal ready to claw her way free. And that was exactly what Hope was in this moment, only she was trying to hide her will to survive.
“I won’t mention him again, I promise.” She commended herself for speaking without her voice wavering. The grim line of his lips settled into a self-satisfied grin. “I just want to know if you are taking me to him.” She rushed on to explain, “I don’t want you to. I want to stay here…with you.” The words tasted disgusting on her tongue.
The vein bulging at his temple seemed to relax with her request to stay. But then he answered, “I’m not stupid, you want your security guard friend.” He lifted a hand and Hope closed her eyes and turned her head, bracing for the next hit. When it didn’t come, and there was a tug at the ropes on her hands, she opened her eyes. Dark eyes watched her as he loosened and then untied the ropes. “If you try to run, I will cut you. If you scream, I will cut you deeper.”
Hope pulled her hands to her chest, unsure of whether she wanted to massage some feeling into her wrists, or cover her chest. When his eyes moved from her reddened wrists to her breasts, she opted for the latter. Edwin touched a particularly deep and heavily scarred mark on her side. Hope flinched and Edwin’s gaze caught hers.
Dark eyes narrowed as he spoke. “It ain’t gotta be like that for us,” he said, absently caressing her scar. “None of this has to happen, if you just behave.”
Hope licked her lips, her throat as dry as a desert. She’d heard that phrase before. Maybe not word for word, but Mark constantly reminded her that good behavior would save him time, and her pain. But it never worked, because the expectations he’d set were unrealistic, and on most days, sadistic. In this case, Hope would agree and go along with what Edwin asked of her. With Edwin, her compliance was about her sheer will to get back to the man she was allowing her heart to open for. With Mark, it hadn’t been about survival, she’d been weak in allowing him to control her. But not this time.
Hope nodded. “Okay, I’ll be good, just please don’t hurt me.” She sensed his skepticism, but she’d expected it. If she could placate Mark—a horrific beast on his best days—then she could do the same with Edwin, at least long enough to escape. She had no proof Abel was even still alive. Her heart lurched at the idea of him in the truck crumpled
on the side of the road. Pushing the thought from her mind, Hope gathered her strength. I can do this. She only needed to survive long enough to get away. She survived Mark, and she would survive Edwin.
Placing a hand on her thigh, he rubbed. “Good girl.” His hands followed down her body, and seconds later, her legs were free from the bonds. Edwin glanced back up, his gaze lingering on her panties. “I bet he was inside of you. You better be untouched.” His eyes hardened and hatred flared in their oily depths.
Hope didn’t respond, only squeezed her legs together tighter. Edwin moved the blade back up and pressed it to her belly.
Widening his stance over her, he took one knee in his tight grip. When Edwin yanked one of her legs from between his legs, Hope took advantage of her opened legs being a distraction to him. She reared back and kicked Edwin so hard in the face, pain radiated from her foot to her knee. Blood sprayed everywhere and Edwin’s body slumped back, a garbled scream reverberating around the room.
She didn’t look back as she rolled off the bed, then fell into a heap on the floor. The second her head stopped spinning, she made a staggering mad dash for the door. She was going to fucking make it. Elation swelled in her chest as she gripped the door handle and flung it open, but screamed at the sight before her. A mountain of a man stood before her. Imposing, immovable, and very fucking angry.
15
Abel
Abel had been shot before. He’d been stabbed and knocked out, but he’d never been tasered, and that shit hurt like hell. He sat back in the chair in the darkened room waiting . . . Fucking waiting for Gator, or whatever the fuck his name was, to finish up in the other room.
When Abel had regained consciousness, and found Hope missing, he’d done the only thing he could, and the one thing he couldn’t afford: called Gator from the Blackwater Renegades MC. These were not men you wanted to be in debt with, but the panic in his chest and the fear in his heart led him into the lion’s den.
His leg bounced nervously under the table and he itched to palm his gun. Of course, that was the first thing he’d been forced to hand over once he walked into the clubhouse. Rough hands had patted him down, paying no regard to his injuries.
A door flew open and the sound of loud music and squealing women spilled into the room. Gator strolled in, leather pants, naked chest under his leather vest, and fucking barefoot. He glared at Abel as if he’d just pissed in his Cheerios. Common sense be damned, Abel didn’t have time for another macho-man stare-down. He needed to get to Hope.
“Well?” The word flew from him like a bark from a caged dog. “Did you find him?”
Gator lifted his lip in a snarl. His sharpened teeth glistened in the dark room, and the noise rumbling out of his chest reminded Abel that he was not in Kansas any longer. This was Renegade terrain, and submitting to the VP of the MC came with the territory.
Abel grudgingly lowered his tone. “My woman’s in trouble. I don’t have a lot of time. Tell me what you want in turn for the information I need, and it is yours.” Abel didn’t give a damn what they would ask of him, as long as it brought him to Hope. He’d failed to keep her safe. He’d been so busy wanting to touch her that he hadn’t noticed the headlights in the rearview mirror. Stupid.
Gator glared a moment longer before moving to the bar. “Need a drink?”
Abel gritted his teeth. I don’t want a fucking drink, asshole. “No, man. Just the info.”
Gator lifted the bottle and brought it over to the table. Placing a glass down in front of Abel, he poured slowly. Abel vowed if anything happened to Hope while they sat there drinking, he would burn the fucking clubhouse to the ground. He glanced at his watch. Hope had been missing a total of three hours. For one of those hours, Abel had been sitting here—waiting like a goddamned fool. Thinking better of wasting more time with Gator, he made to stand, but the man’s next words halted him in his tracks.
“We have your woman.” He said the words as if he were talking about finding Abel’s lost dog; unbothered by the fact Abel had sat here for an hour, thinking of ways to commit murder without ending up in jail.
His breath left him in a whoosh, and Abel wasn’t sure, but he thought he might puke. “And?” he asked, trying to hide his fury and concern.
Gator took a large swig from the bottle of liquor. “The info you gave me was useless. I knew about this man as soon as he crossed county lines. It’s my fucking job to know shit like that.”
Fuck it. Abel lifted the glass and downed the liquid. His throat burned and his gut protested the fiery shit, but he held it down.
“Where is she?” He stood, leaning over the table. In this moment, Abel didn’t give a damn about titles or authority. He wanted Hope, and he’d find a gun and shoot his way through this cesspool if he had to.
Gator smirked again. “Hanging with the whores.” He waved Abel’s concern away. “She’s fine. Scared, and a bit dinged up, but Doc says she’ll live.”
“Did he fucking touch her?” His thinly veiled anger broke the snarl coming from his throat, without concern for his own safety.
“Now, that’s something you’ll have to ask her.” Gator pulled his gun from his waistband and placed it on the table in front of him, muzzle pointed straight at Abel—the threat, clear and concise. “You are now in debt with the Blackwater Renegades. Do you agree?” His tone hardened and his finger found its way to the trigger.
Common sense reappeared, and Abel calmly sat back down. Sure, he fucking agreed. He knew this would be the outcome when he’d made the choice to walk through the doors of the MC.
“This ain’t something you get time to think about. It’s done. You agree, or you die. And that woman of yours? Well, she’ll have to take on your debt, and I don’t think that’s something you want.”
Abel lifted his chin. “I told you the second you walked in this room I was in your debt. I wasn’t aware those words needed repeating.” Okay, perhaps he didn’t have any damned sense today, but fuck threatening his woman had pushed him over the edge.
Offering a cheeky grin, Gator removed his finger from the trigger. “That’s one favor owed. And now to settle up this business with Edwin.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You don’t come into this town starting trouble, or you’ll end up in the dirt. An added favor I’ll be throwing you comes in the form of some quality alone time with him. If you get my drift.”
“Fuck yes!” The words were out of his mouth before he could even consider the consequences of owing another debt. There was information he needed before the MC did away with the man, because Abel had to tie Edwin to Mark in some concrete way.
“Well then, follow me.” Gator stood and led his way through the club and out of the back doors. Crossing a large field, Abel and Gator came to a dilapidated shed. The big guy glanced back at him, hand on the door. “This goes without saying, but if one cop comes back here off the word of a snitch,” black eyes bore into him, “I will kill you and the girl. Understand?”
“Loud and clear,” Abel replied just as Gator swung open the door.
The smell of the place was pungent—a mix of fear, sweat, and piss. A man sat bound to a chair, covered in blood, and sitting in a pool of his own urine. His bloodied face turned to the door slightly, blackened eyes swelling as he took in the sight of Abel.
Abel’s hands fisted at his sides, and his body moved forward before he’d given it the mental command. The first punch knocked blood and spit from the man’s mouth, the second punch stole a tooth. Without rational thought, Abel’s fist lifted and made contact with his face, again and again. His anger fueled his desire to kill the man.
Eighteen months earlier, Abel had found himself in this very situation, and it’d cost him a year and a half of freedom, along with his job. Now, he would sacrifice his life and his very freedom in order to keep Hope safe, as he’d failed to do earlier that night.
“Whoa, buddy.” Two meaty arms wrapped around him and pulled him away from his target.
Abel fought to catch his breath, to
pull himself back into the here and now. Lifting his hands to meet his face, he reveled in the blood coating his hands. He balled them into fists once again, his sights set on his prey. He fought hard. Abel felt the strain in his muscles as he wrestled to get away. Another pair of hands held on to him, pulling him backward, until his face collided with a fist.
“Calm down, motherfucker!” Abel recognized Gator’s voice as the shit was knocked out of him.
“Get off me,” Abel growled, shoving away the hands still holding him.
When he was released, a man with a blue Mohawk and ice blue eyes patted him on the back and made his way to the corner. It was Blu, the biker who’d helped keep an eye on Hope. He leaned back against the wall, as if he hadn’t just stopped Abel from beating a man to death.
Slowly, Abel leaned over and propped his hands on his knees and worked to catch his breath—coming back from the rage that fought to consume him. He hadn’t even seen Hope yet; he didn’t know if this Edwin had raped her, or what Mark had paid him to do.
“My friend here has a few questions for you.” It was Gator who’d spoke. “And if you answer them, it’s a bullet to the head. Easy-peasy.” Reaching behind his back, he pulled out a sharp, gleaming hunting knife. “The other way, well that’s the hard way.” The knife glinted in his palm.
Edwin quivered in his chair, his swollen eyes following the knife Gator tossed between hands.
Abel straightened and made his way over to Edwin. “You better fucking answer.” He took in his face and realized that his earlier explosion might’ve actually worked against him.
Blu grunted in the corner. “Fucker might need a pen and paper after Muhammad Ali’s attack.” He lifted his chin in Abel’s direction, and the group broke into laughter.
Abel calmed himself down long enough to look around the room. A few men in leather cuts leaned against the wall, while a couple found seats on the dirty floor. All watched on in interest, a blood thirst in their eyes.
Open Wounds: Abel and Hope: Love Against the Odds Page 10
