I hug my knees into my chest, trying to make myself small and still. He might forget I’m here.
He screws his fists into the fabric of her shirt. She likely thought she was above all this when she chose that outfit. The tight black jeans and virginal white shirt with pearl buttons undone to her cleavage. She pushes out her chest. Probably imagining she is turning him on and making him crazy with desire.
And she may be lucky tonight.
But I doubt it.
My forehead drops to my knees when he makes his inevitable move. Ripping the shirt from her body in one move.
“Hey,” her voice shrills with brave indignance. I lift my head slightly. This girl might be different. She pushes against his leather vest. “That shirt is new—”
He slaps her face with the back of his hand. The force so brutal she drops to the bed. Sobbing. Cowering beneath her folded arms.
No, she’s just like all the rest.
She tries to crawl away from him. The stained sheets ruffle under her knees.
I don’t call out to her but will her over and over to fight. Not to accept the inevitable. But none of those that have gone before her, including myself, have ever heeded that advice.
He grabs hold of the belt of her jeans and pulls her back to him, grabbing her around her chest and holding her flush to his chest.
“Get off me, you motherfucker,” she spits.
He pulls a knife from the sheath he has strapped to his thigh. It drops to the floor. He staggers backward to pick it up. He’s drunk.
Run. I scream silently. This is your only chance.
She doesn’t. She fixes on the knife and lunges for it.
I take a deep breath in and sigh out at her mistake.
He kicks her over, and she lands on her knees, her head ricochets off the bedpost. With his foot stamped onto the small of her back, he leans over her and slices her belt in two. Then he saws the blade through the denim of her jeans, kicking her over so he can do the same at the front.
He’s not messing tonight.
He must be drunk.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, wrapping an arm around my head to block out the noise. He won’t gag her, he never does. He likes to hear them bargain with him. Scream. Cry. Whimper. He gets off on all those noises of despair. He gets off on me hearing all those noises of despair.
I don’t need to see what is happening now because I’ve had years of experience to know for sure how this shit plays out. I only now hope that he leaves me be. If she’s feisty enough… if he’s drunk enough, he may forget about me tonight. Selfish, I know.
Her screams are loud. He is quiet. That’s the worst combination.
A bottle smashes against the metal bars of my cage. I flinch. The whiskey stings as it splashes into my eyes. He must have been calling for me. I swipe my arm across the liquor on my face.
The girl is naked now; her face bruised. That’s not good. Really not good for her. A bruised girl doesn’t sell well. And a girl that isn’t going to be sold is worthless to Bear.
His eyes slide to me as he throws her onto her front, lifting her weak body, and wrapping his hand around the front of her throat. Then with a sick grin, he forces her head to turn to my direction.
She’s crying. Sobbing. Her eyes flicker as she notices me. She’s ashamed. Frightened. But already broken. It didn’t take long for her to plummet from her pedestal of confidence. That’s not good for either of us.
“Slave,” he roars at me. “Get me more whiskey.” He pulls the key to the cage out of the inside pocket on his leather vest and tosses it across the floor. I slink my arm through to grab it. I fumble my fingertips along the padlock until I find where I need to insert the key. Calming my breaths so I can fit the small key into the lock. It clicks open, and I crawl out of the cage and run for the door. Bear reaches out as I skirt around the bed and snatches at my tee. “Get the good stuff.”
My eyes smart from the whiskey and the bright lights in the main room of the clubhouse. They’ve been partying for hours now, and the place is a mess. Bodies. Bottles. Everywhere. And hardly anyone still awake. The sound system still booms out heavy metal music, and no one is likely to stop that. I tiptoe over one guy sparked out on the floor and spot that the main door is open. A bottle stops it from closing. My heart speeds up. The compound is secure and usually well-guarded, but their celebration tonight for another dismissed court case has had them feeling invincible and with that they have become sloppy.
I snap back to the hallway before checking out the open door. I could escape now. There is stuff around the yard that I could climb on top of to scale the perimeter fence. But that girl. Those eyes. I can’t leave her. But if I go back in there, what can I do?
With trembling hands, I grab a bottle of whiskey from a crate in the storeroom off the kitchen. Checking that the main door is still open as I move back through the main room. I halt near Spider, whose laid unconscious on his front on a couch. His arm drapes over a sleeping woman and his switchblade is on show in a sheath. Dare I?
My fingers clench around the bottle of whiskey.
“Slave?” Bear shouts out.
With no time to deliberate any longer, I grab the knife and shove it in my pants, scurrying down the hallway to Bear’s room. He’s slouched on the bed; the poor girl is now tied to the headboard with his belt. Snatching the bottle of whiskey from me, he uncorks it with his teeth and takes a long swig. Then he pulls the girl’s head up and forces the neck of the bottle into the corner of her mouth, pouring whiskey in a continual stream down her throat. Laughing as she chokes.
Then he takes successive gulps from the bottle. He’s close to passing out, and that’s the reason he’s plying her with whiskey so she will do the same. He can’t be bothered to deal with her now and needs her to stay put until the morning.
I sneak back to the cage and pull the door to, the key firmly in my hand. And I wait. Bear only manages one more glug from the bottle before his hand goes limp at the side of the bed and the bottle drops to the floor, rolling toward me. I reach out to stop it from smacking into the metal bars. Then I hold my breath for a while, making sure he doesn’t stir.
After what seems like both too long and too short a time, I creep out. Grabbing a backpack and shoving some clothes into it. The girl’s eyes are slightly open, and she pleads with me silently. I’ve already decided I’ll take her with me, and I raise my finger to my mouth to make sure she realizes not to make a sound.
I push my legs into some jeans and pull on my Guns and Roses t-shirt. I wriggle the blade of the switch knife under the belt that ties her hands. She sobs and I push a hand over her mouth and shake my head. Her eyes are wide and her breath hot and wet against my palm. She nods so I release my hand and she scoops up her tattered clothes from the floor and I grab Bear’s waistcoat and lead her out into the hallway.
“Shhh.” I whisper to her again, worried she might say something now we are out of his room. “Here.” I hiss as I hand over a hoodie and some of my cut-offs. “Follow me.” I pull the motorcycle keys from Bear’s vest pocket.
The girl and I creep out of the room into the windy night; my hair flies in front of my face, obscuring my view, so I pick up a ball cap hung from the handlebars of a motorcycle and scout around. This is the inner yard where the Dark Angels keep their motorcycles and other vehicles. There’s no one around. A wire clad gate leads through to a warehouse, a gatehouse of sorts, and then to the outer yard where all the commercial workshops and customer vehicles are kept. The easiest route would be to get into that commercial yard and out the front way, but that part has cameras and alarms. The compound doesn’t have any such security. They warned Bear not to, as hackers could easily break into the system and see what they were up to.
That only leaves one option: the back door. This is a secret exit, created for emergencies—a visit by a rival gang or the feds. Never used. It’s narrow, only wide enough for one bike at a time to get through, and there’s only one bike I know how to ride.
Bear’s. I’ve been on the back of it enough times to know how it works. How it handles. I’ve thought about this moment so many times it’s surreal that it is happening now. Only difference to how I planned it is this girl coming with me.
I plan to drop her home, wherever that is, then hit the road south as far as the tank will take me.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Lacey,” she stammers over a ragged breath.
Twenty Four
Lacey
The setting sun rusts the sky and my heart sinks at the same pace. As it retreats to safety behind the orchard where little red plums shine like jewels from branches, I close my eyes and relish the warmth on my face. The last time I will feel it for a while. As sure as the darkness about to invade this little corner of the earth I call home, is the inevitability of my recapture. And with the dark I expect to come terror, but for now, I won’t dwell on that thought. It will come in good time and will be more than a thought. Or a nightmare. Or a gory twisted fairytale. It will be my reality.
I scratch at the tattoo on my wrist. The ink tingles over my pulse as it becomes a homing beacon. Bringing the Dark Angels closer.
I enter Mrs. Corrigan’s apartment and creep into her bedroom. She stirs in her sleep and after making sure she is okay, I whisper into her ear, “God bless.” Then I retreat to the window where I peek outside from behind the heavy drapes.
For the first time since I’ve been at the ranch, everywhere is completely dark. The security lights are switched off and all I can see is moonlight bouncing off the snowy caps of the mountain range.
Colt thinks this is the safest place for me, behind the key-coded door. I agreed because that let the rest of my idea fall into place.
When Josie came to the bus station at Visalia, she said something that rang true. That Colt would try to find me. I could not let that happen. This way Colt will know where I am. And the note I’m about to write will convince him I want to be there.
And I can’t go with Colt’s plan because if Bear turns up and I’m not in plain sight he will over run the Corrigans and the local police in his search for me. The whole place and everyone in it will be ransacked.
When the plan was hatched for the Corrigans and ranch hands and police to stake out the area, I knew what I had to do. This beautiful community cannot be torn apart, and that is what will happen if I don’t leave now. Everyone here thinks they stand a chance of overpowering and arresting the Dark Angels. That is not how it will go down. They will injure some, others will die. I’m not being melodramatic. I’m not worth them losing their home and their lives.
And once I’ve been recaptured by Bear, if the authorities come after the Dark Angels because of the information I have given to Police Officer Perrins and Austin Barclay, then so be it. But I doubt they’ll get anything to stick. No one else has before.
For a moment the clouds part and I spot Colt hunkered behind the cow barn, where he said he would be. He snaps up at the window, and I pull back. For a fleeting moment our eyes lock and like a spear to my heart I take it for what it is. The last time we will ever lay eyes on each other. I miss him already.
I pull on my ball cap and slide my ponytail through the band at the back, stuffing the tail inside my hoodie. My hair contrasts with my dark clothing and I don’t want to be discovered until I’m ready to reveal myself.
I smooth flat the flap on an envelope and leave the note I’ve written to Colt on the windowsill. I don’t know whether the words are good enough to explain why I’m doing this, but they will have to do. Colt needs to believe it is futile to follow me and that I don’t want to be saved. Because I don’t.
I key in the six digits on the code pad and carefully click open the door, peering into the dark hallway before gingerly stepping over the threshold. Staying close to the wall, I edge down the stairs to the polished floor of the entranceway. For a second I still, straining to hear any telltale noise of anyone inside. All I can hear is the faint rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the entranceway and the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen.
Despite my mild protestations, there are more guns at the back of the ranch than the front. The Corrigan logic that invaders are likely to enter that way is flawed with this gang. And that means I will need to sneak out of the front door. Opening the door by a sliver, I slide through and drop to the wooden slats of the porch floor, slipping underneath the balustrade to the edge and into the courtyard. Despite my light steps, the gravel crunches underneath my sneakers, and I hold my breath. Hopefully, all eyes will be out to the edge of the land and not near the house. Not yet, anyway.
I’ve planned my route, behind the parked trucks to the other side of the cow barn, passed the horse corrals, through the orchard and on to the high road that heads into town.
With shallow breaths, I take small quick steps to the barn wall, pressing close as I creep around.
Straw bedding from the stables smells earthy in the humid evening and steam wisps from a pile of horseshit. The milking cows housed in the barn shuffle nervously as I approach. Like everyone on the Corrigan lands tonight, they will be on edge.
As I step out passed the wall into the open, I shiver; even though it’s warm tonight, the exposure I feel cuts me to the bone.
There’s a wide-open space before I reach the first tree and I run to its cover.
My mouth is open and my breaths are noisy, but my heart is pumping so hard I can’t help but rasp in oxygen.
Horses snaffle as I pass the pasture and the creek bubbles innocently, not affected by the strain of tonight.
“Crap.” I drop to the floor as my phone buzzes in my pocket. Even though I left it on silent earlier tonight, the vibration still pierces the air like church bells on a still night.
Shielding the light of the screen with my hand, I read a text from Colt asking if I’m okay and to reassure me he will let no one harm me tonight. Another message comes through from him. Revising that to ‘forever.’
I gulp, the organ in my chest weighing as much as Judas’ bag of thirty pieces of silver. I text back with shaking thumbs. My eyes strain in the direction of the cow barn where I catch the faintly lit up face of my love. And that spurs me on. Every ounce of love I have for Colt Corrigan strengthens my determination. He will forget about me. Easily, I’m sure. But if anything happens to his family. His home. Then he will never forget me. And right now, I want to be forgettable.
The grass in the orchard is long and the smell of wildflowers blossoms into my nostrils as I run. I need to be careful. I can’t afford to fall down a rabbit hole and be stuck here with a sprained ankle where no-one will find me.
With that thought, I take measured steps and push through the last part of the orchard to the top road. Panting to the point that my lungs hurt. I take one last look at the ranch before I clamber over the fence, keeping low so as not to silhouette my form in the light. Colt and Blue are good shots. They proved that on the makeshift range they practiced at yesterday when they were deputized by the Sheriff. I don’t want them to mistake me for an intruder.
I land awkwardly on soft ground, nettles sting my hands when I fall. But I’m not about to cry out in pain. My pain threshold changed when I left the ranch and I’m back where I used to be, with every nerve insulated and contained inside a stainless-steel flask.
Slowly peeling myself up, I walk into the middle of the road, ready for my destiny to stumble across me.
Twenty Five
Lacey
As soon as I’m on the road, I feel the vibrations simmer through the asphalt to my kneecaps. Instantly I need to pee, but I stand fast. I take a deep breath and accept my fate as clearly as the gasoline fumes that coat the inside of my nose.
Terror swells as I hear the distant but strengthening drone of the dual piston engines, and my knees tremble against the rips in my jeans.
My experience tells me there are many riders. More than a dozen and probably the full chapter. My stomach flips over and over and icy swe
at snakes down my spine at that thought. And soon the air is full of nothing else but the smell and noise of motorcycles.
My throat tightens as tiny dots of light appear in the darkness, growing in size as they near, but I stand my ground. And, in a final act of defiance and to make sure I raise a flag for them to stop, I wrench off my hat and shake out my blonde hair and cast off my hoodie so my white tee lights up against their headlamps too.
A cold fear shivers across my skin, but my mind is strong. I will them to push toward me and plow me down.
End everything right now.
At the last moment, the motorcycles part and I close my eyes as they rush through me like a tsunami and then prowl back and surround me. The throb from the meaty engines deafens everything else. My breathing. My heart beat. My thoughts. It’s as if I’m in the middle of a funeral pyre and the heat from the engines licks up my exposed arms.
Then a hot jab sears across my cheek, and I fall to the rough road surface. My head ricochets off the asphalt and I’m dragged by my ankle until my nose meets the toes of a pair of metal-strapped biker boots. A metaphorical shadow falls over me and I’m yanked by my hair into Bear’s face.
He tightens his fist until strands of my hair rip from my scalp and I clench my teeth against the pain.
He leans into me and shares a whiskey-laden breath. His teeth are bared underneath a straggly mustache and the vision I’d buried of him crashes through my mind.
“Think you’d make it easy did you, slave?”
With muscle memory in full force, I focus on his mouth. Reading his lips and not his eyes. Watching the words form instead of listening to them. I perfected the art of shutting out his voice. It made it easier for me to be somewhere else and not allow him inside my head.
Notes in Love Page 14
