Quake was filled with frustration. Dawn was hours away, more time trickling through their fingers while Magenta was in peril. He prayed that tomorrow, come the break of dawn; they’d have a glimmer of hope, that White Buffalo Calf Woman would tell Grey Smoke where they could find Magenta.
10
Rory hoped her ankle wasn’t fucked up. As a shifter, her healing abilities were accelerated but not instantaneous. A displaced fracture would need to be broken and reset, making her recovery that much longer. Dancing was challenging enough without injuries. If she couldn’t dance, she’d be upstairs full time at The Pole Barn, spreading her legs for whoever paid to be between them.
Her nails were torn. Her ribs were broken. She had scrapes and bruises all over and an ankle that was either badly sprained or cracked. Messed up. She was messed up. And totally fucked if she couldn’t escape before Khan made good on his threat and sold her to the highest bidder.
What was a red maned wolf shifter worth on the paranormal sex slave market?
Still wearing the rope around her waist, she went to work on the knot. Her bloodied fingers made loosening it a challenge but she did it, coiling the rope into her pillow for the night.
Rory was too cold, wound up, and in pain to sleep, but she tried. If she was to let her natural shifter healing ability work, she needed to catch some REMs.
The sound of her breathing was loud in the pit. It made her very aware of the walls around her keeping her imprisoned. Flexing her fingers on the dirt floor, she flattened her palms, feeling the soft grains beneath her touch. A vibration pulsed beneath them. Faint but there.
Frowning into the darkness, Rory focused on the sensation with confusion. What the hell was it?
The sensation came again.
Thud, thud, thud.
Rhythmic, growing in strength.
A heartbeat?
A slither of fear slid down her spine, and Rory held her breath. It wasn’t possible. The earth didn’t have a heart. There had to be a rational explanation. An animal burrowing beneath her or a seismic tremor . . . .
Senses sharpening, she could swear she felt a presence with her. Something just beyond her reach, hovering and watching.
Rory didn’t believe in ghosts but her mind was filled with all the wild tales that the other women at the club had told her.
“Shit,” she whispered under her breath, staying as still as possible.
A sound from above made her jump. The lid covering the top of the hole was dragged aside. A stark beam of light flooded down, and she blinked, shielding her eyes from the oversized flashlight.
“Yo, whore! You still alive down there?” a voice called.
Toad.
The Death’s Head prospect who had taunted her in the cage.
“Let me the fuck out!” Rory shouted back.
A laugh came from above. “Khan wanted to make sure you don’t get too dehydrated. You won’t look good up on stage if you’re half dead.”
Levering herself up onto her elbows, she watched as something was lowered toward her on a rope.
A water pouch.
Reaching for it, she caught it eagerly, twisting the top off and gulping the liquid down, wetting her parched throat and feeling immediate relief.
“Untie it,” Toad ordered.
Tugging on the rope, Rory kept it wound around her hand clinging to the pouch. “No.”
She’d barely said the word before electricity arched through her body, radiating from the collar around her neck. Screaming with the pain, she let the rope go slack, clawing at the collar instead.
“Stubborn bitch,” Toad sneered. “Someone’s going to have fun bringing you to heel. Too bad we can’t keep you. It would have been fun to have you as the club slave. Keep those holes of yours filled while we broke you in.”
Slipping into Magenta mode, Rory gritted her teeth. “Try to fill them, you mean. Stubby little peckers like yours do nothing for me.”
“Yeah, run that mouth of yours while you can,” Toad snarled.
The flashlight receded and the cover was replaced, closing Rory in once more.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she wondered how many hours were left until dawn. Somehow, she managed to fall into a fitful sleep.
She woke to the noise of engines rumbling above. From the smack talk that followed, Toad had returned with a couple of his biker friends.
The lid slid back, letting the shaft flood with morning light.
“Tie the rope around your waist,” Toad commanded, lowering it to her.
Crawling into a sitting position, Rory stood with effort, grimacing at the stiffness in her limbs and wincing from the pain in her ribs. She’d managed to heal a little but not as much as she would have liked. She suspected the drug that prevented her from shifting was also inhibiting her healing ability. It was the only explanation why she was still in a bad way.
Taking the end of the rope, she looped it through her legs and made a cradle. Being pulled by her waist would have been too painful with her broken ribs, and she couldn’t trust her grip to hang onto the rope.
She was glad she’d thought to make a rope seat. Toad and his buddies hauled her up with no consideration to the shape she was in.
Her cracked ribs protested their treatment. Locking her jaw, she breathed through the pain.
When she reached the top, Toad grabbed her biceps and hauled her away from the edge.
“Don’t even think about causing us trouble,” he warned, giving her an icy glare. “I’ll flip the switch on your collar so fast, you’ll piss yourself.”
One of the other bikers chuckled. “Remember that bear shifter who didn’t take the hint? We fried her so many times, she was fucked in the head. Not that any of the bidders were gonna pay for her brains.”
The jackals’ laughter made Rory’s blood run cold.
Toad pushed her forward. She shifted her weight, trying to spare her injured ankle.
Seeing how she favored one leg, he clucked his tongue and dropped to his haunches, running his hands over her joint like a veterinarian would check a horse. “You’re lucky it isn’t broken. It will heal quicker when the drug we gave you wears off. Khan wants you presentable for the auction today.”
The auction was today?
Rory’s heart stopped beating for a second before taking off at a rapid pace.
Toad rose, giving her a smirk. “Much more lucrative and a helluva lot more entertaining than Monday night football. Instead of draft picks, buyers take the pick of the litter. Some of the big wheels drive up from the city, but international buyers fly in from all over. We got extras coming after hearing there’ll be a maned wolf on the auction block. I guarantee, by tonight you’ll have an owner and a new cage. Yes, sirree, you’re gonna make us rich, bitch!”
Hauling her ass to his bike, he mounted it and gestured for her to climb on behind him. With two other jackals looming and a shock collar around her neck, she obeyed without question. Running would only make things worse.
Swinging her leg over the back of the bike, she settled onto the leather seat and hooked her sore fingers into Toad’s belt, refusing to wrap her arms around his skinny waist.
Revving his throttle, he took off with the others following close behind.
Without clothes to protect her, Rory huddled behind Toad’s back, using it to break the wind. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for them to get to the clubhouse. Two more bikers came out to meet them. Moving alongside Toad’s ride, they took her arms and yanked her off. Rory hissed and cursed as they hauled her toward the side of the building and dumped her on the ground. Before she could recover, a blast of cold water hit her in the stomach. Gasping, she raised her hands, trying to protect herself from the chilly spray.
“Arms in the air,” the man wielding it demanded.
A second one stepped forward with a rag mop in his hand. Pushing it between her legs, he brushed the soapy end over her skin. The other followed with the hose and rinsed her clean.
The
y worked in unison, cleaning every inch of dirt they could find. “Hair next,” the one with the water called.
The guy with the mop discarded it and tossed her a small plastic bottle of shampoo. Toad stood behind him, the button for the shock collar in his hand.
Given no choice but to obey, Rory unscrewed the cap and poured the gel into her hand. Working it through her hair until it was completely lathered, she closed her eyes and braced herself. Water blasted over her head and face, running in a stream over her eyes and cheeks. Falling forward, she remained on all fours while they finished. By the time they were done, her teeth were chattering and she was on the verge of hypothermia.
“Up,” Toad ordered, watching them give her a final rinse. “Khan will want to inspect you.”
Khan was with Phantom and his cronies in the officers’ mess where they’d been the night before. Everyone was tucking into breakfast. The soft murmur of their voices trailed off when she appeared.
Leaning back in his seat, Khan surveyed her. “Feeling a little more humble this morning?”
Rory glared.
Phantom chuckled. “I told you this one had fire. She’ll go for the highest price. Far more than the other slaves we’ve collected.”
Others?
Christ, how many more people had they kidnapped? People were always going missing and not just in Vegas. She wondered who they were targeting. Were they snatching tourists? Taking locals? Her bet was on lone women who wouldn’t be missed. No one who’d set alarm bells ringing.
“On your knees,” Khan rumbled darkly. “Crawl to me.”
“Off you go, sugar tits.”
Toad’s hand slapped her ass.
Resisting the urge to hit him, Rory dropped to the floor. The silent threat of being shocked was enough to make her obey. That and the hope they’d feed her.
Shuffling across the stained concrete, she made her way to the table, halting when she reached Khan’s foot and sitting back on her heels like a well-trained dog.
His lips curved in a grin. “That’s a good little bitch,” he crooned. “Now lick my boots. I want them spit-polished to a shine. Do a good job, and I’ll let you eat.”
Christ. She’d need food to take the taste out of her mouth.
Slipping into Magenta mode, she serviced him like she would a john with a fetish, licking both boots and polishing them with her fingers and tongue.
Khan was pleased. Reaching for his plate, he offered her the scrap of bacon he held out with two fingers. Opening her mouth, she took it from him with her teeth and ate it quickly.
“You see,” he boasted, sliding a look at Phantom. “One night in the pit and she knows what’s best for her. If we’d snatched her earlier, thirty days down there would have snapped her mind.”
Thirty days?
Magenta shuddered at the thought of being isolated and alone for so long.
Khan fed her a few more scraps from his plate before allowing her to lap water from a dog bowl in the corner. She was intensely aware of the men in the room watching her with lustful stares.
“You want her again before we ship her off?” she heard Khan ask.
The sound of a chair scraping the floor made Rory pause in her lapping. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Phantom approaching with a grin.
“One more fuck before that pussy belongs to someone else.”
Rory raised her lip and bared her teeth aggressively.
The next second she was twitching on the floor as Toad sent volts through her collar, incapacitating her. Before she could recover, Phantom rolled her onto her stomach and mounted her from behind. Driving his cock in to the hilt, he crushed her against the floor with his weight.
“I’m sure going to miss this sweet cunt,” he grunted, thrusting into her.
Remaining silent and limp, Rory silently imagined all the painful ways she was going to kill him and every member of the Death’s Heads MC who had touched her.
Teeth bit down on the side of her neck. Phantom continued the pressure until he broke the skin and marked her flesh. Shutting her eyes and gritting her teeth, she refused to let him hear how much it hurt.
It didn’t take him long to find his release. Groaning into her hair, he pumped a few more times before filling her with his cum.
“Like that, don’t you?” he mocked gruffly in her ear. “Remember this. Remember how a real man feels. I want you to dream about my cock after you’ve been bought by some rich prick with a tiny dick.”
He wished.
If anything, she’d dream about gargoyle cock and how it felt to be with Quake.
“Tiny dicks and fat wallets,” Khan commented from where he sat at the table still eating. “I suppose we should let her know what to expect. She needs to behave and not make it worse for herself. No sense damaging the merchandise any more than we have to. It’s like this, cunt. When you leave here, you’re headed to the stable where the other slaves are held. You’re gonna be put in a cage with a camera that’s feeding shit to the dark web. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll put on a show. Squeeze those tits and shake your booty. Show them your moves and make them want you all the more.”
As much as she hated to hear it, she knew her best chance of survival lay in hooking someone’s interest enough to make him pay top dollar. People tended to value what they paid for. Give them a gift worth the same and they’d trample it in the dust.
“When it’s time, you’ll all be moved to the auction location,” Khan continued. “There’ll be live buyers and online bidders. Whoever wants you the worst will either take you with him or pay to have you delivered. Either way, your ass is out of here tonight. Toad!” Khan boomed. “Hose her down again.”
They dragged her back outside, hosed her off, and shoved an energy drink in her hand. Aware that she needed more liquids than what she’d been given, she tipped back her head and started drinking. It was tasty enough, she chugged it down, welcoming the cool, wet feel of it . . . and wondering why she saw rainbows floating out of the opening.
Pretty. They were so pretty. She tried to catch one but it slipped through her fingers and wove itself in Toad’s hair.
“You have a ribbon,” she giggled, thinking it was one of the funniest things she’d ever seen.
“I want some of that shit when we get back to the clubhouse,” he grumbled. “I don’t see why the slaves get an acid trip and we don’t.”
Phantom chuckled. “Sounds like she’s good to go. Load her up. I want to get out of here.”
Her feet had grown roots that wouldn’t let her move. Phantom plucked her like a turnip and carried her to the van that had brought them here. Or she thought it was. There were fish swimming on the side of it now. It must be holo . . . holo . . .
It must be magic paint.
Words had deserted her along with her fear.
Magenta was floating, soaring, fascinated by the fantastical things she was seeing, like a live-action version of Fantasia where the surreal appeared and reality faded.
Someone shoved a T-shirt over her head and buckled her in, making her look like any other tourist, not the kidnapped star of The Pole Barn. All she needed was some of Madam Belle’s pixie dust, and she’d be flying.
11
The Dragons were up at daybreak, roused from their sleep by the sounds of Grey Smoke tending his horses. The veteran actor-model banked on his looks to pad his income but every cent went back into this place and the mustangs he rescued, tamed, broke to the saddle, and sold or gave to good homes.
He loved animals as much as Ryder did his axe.
Quake went to a bit of scrub and relieved himself, then headed for the corral where Grey Smoke was feeding and watering his four-legged babies, scratching their noses, petting their necks, checking them out while he could. Quake knew it was much easier to spot some problems when a horse stood still than try to see them when they were in motion.
Stone, Ryder, and Inferno joined him, waiting expectantly for Grey Smoke to speak.
Stone had
brought the two bags from the travel store with him. Grey Smoke had left last night before he’d had a chance to give him their gifts.
“I have breakfast,” the shaman said, stepping out of the corral and latching the gate behind him. “Come.”
Accepting his invitation, the Dragons followed him into his home. Quake was expecting the underground house to be something of a mancave, but the inside was well-lit, surprisingly spacious, and tastefully decorated, warm and inviting for someone who preferred to be alone.
Stone had been right. There was more to the man than it seemed.
They took turns washing up and crowded around the kitchen table, which held a bowl of biscuits, a platter of bacon and sausage, a saucepan of gravy, and a skillet of fried apples. Five blue graniteware plates were on the tabletop with mismatched stainless flatware and five blue metal mugs of hot, very black coffee.
He’d left the gravy and apples in the pans used to cook.
No sense dirtying more dishes, right?
Grey Smoke was intelligent. Clever. A bit deceptive, letting people see what he wanted them to see. Stone and he had a history, but neither one spoke of it.
Maybe it held triggers. The Indian was a veteran, after all. No one saw action and came home unchanged.
Grey Smoke waited until they’d eaten their fill to speak.
“White Buffalo Calf Woman says you must look to the Valley of Fire. Seek and ye shall find. You’ll understand when you see it.”
Quake arched an eyebrow. “See what?”
Grey Smoke lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “She didn’t say.”
Releasing a breath before taking a sip of the bitter coffee, Quake quelled his frustration. The Valley of Fire was a big place, rough terrain with red sandstone formations. Magenta could be anywhere.
“It’s a start,” Stone told his men. “We’ll scout around the area, see what we can find. Maybe someone’s seen something.”
Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition Page 93
