Trix
“Get down and stay down.” Drake hooks my neck and pulls my head to his lap.
I resist, but he’s stronger, and my cheek crashes against his thigh.
He chuckles. “Aww, come on. I know this position ain’t new to you.”
I try to grind my teeth but only meet the unforgiving fabric of my gag. The engine roars, and we reverse in a quick jerk. Drake’s hold on my shoulder is the only thing keeping me from tumbling to the floorboard. I track our movements. Three left turns before we finally reach top speed.
The wind is warm, howling in my ears and whipping my hair around my face in stinging slaps. We’re on the highway, and judging by the hoist I needed to get in the car, I’d say we’re in some kind of all-terrain vehicle. My guess is we’re headed further outside of town, and the sick roll of my stomach worries about being taken to a more secluded location.
The smell of Drake’s cologne pollutes the fresh air, and I wish I could curl my arms around my stomach to keep myself covered and shielded from the wind. I flex my fists and focus on the burn of my handcuffs hoping to take my focus from the ache in my chest.
Mason’s brother is behind my kidnapping. That two faced son-of-a-bitch! My fingers itch to wrap my hands around his bitch-ass throat, choking the life out of him before throwing him to the highway like roadkill.
Part of me almost feels sorry for him. After all, Mason’s not stupid. However this ends, Mason will figure it out, and he will destroy his brother for it.
I don’t know how much time has passed, but it feels like forever before we slow and turn right. The sound of tires crunching on bare dirt fires panic in my blood. We’re not in the mountains. If anything, I sensed a descent. We must be in the desert.
I focus on my hearing, searching for some source of help, the sound of other cars, people, anything, but I’m met with silence. The only smell I can detect outside of Drake’s cologne is dirt.
We slow and I’m tapped on the shoulder. “We’re here.” Drake helps to push me up and brushes against my knees as he climbs out in front of me. “Here.” He grabs my biceps to lead me out.
My head swims. Lack of food and getting up too quickly throw me off balance. My bare foot catches. I tumble forward, the gag preventing me from calling out. My shoulder slams against something sharp. Pain splinters down my arm.
“Fuck.” Drake scoops under my arms, twisting me at an odd angle to pull me free of the back seat. He mumbles a curse. “You’re bleeding.”
Panic taints his voice. Why? He kidnapped and took me to the middle of nowhere to be killed, and he’s upset because I’m bleeding?
He leans me up against the vehicle, and he touches my bicep. “Shit.” Turning me around, he releases my hands from the cuffs. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
My shoulders ache, but I move to inspect my wound. Still blindfolded, I run my fingers over the torn cotton shirt to the wet and ragged skin beneath. I wince and follow the trickle of blood that flows down to my wrist.
He fumbles with the tie at the back of my head. “Here, let me—
I slap his hand away, yelling get the fuck off me, but it’s all gibberish from behind my gag.
A growled sound of frustration reaches my ears at the same time his hands go back to my head. “Trust me, okay?”
Is he out of his fucking mind?
The gag is pulled free. I work my jaw back and forth to squelch the ache then move to pull free my blindfold.
“No.” His hands hold mine still. “Not yet.”
My arm stings as he wraps what I assume to be the gag around my wounded arm.
“There. Come on.” He grips my wrist and pulls me forward.
I take a few steps, cringing against the pain of jagged rocks beneath my feet. I stumble as something sharp pierces the ball of my foot. I hiss through my teeth and trip, but strong arms keep me from falling.
Another huff of frustration and I’m off the ground, pressed against a solid chest. The scent of leather and highway give Hatch away as he cradles me and moves with heavy steps. I try to reach down, to tuck the length of the T-shirt I’m wearing over my bare butt.
Hatch chuckles. “Don’t bother. Too dark to see shit out here.”
“Where are you taking me?” I don’t expect an answer, but I have to ask. At the very least I need to keep them talking.
“You’ll see soon enough.” His voice is cold, harder than I’m used to hearing; although everything about Hatch has changed.
Low murmurs of male voices prick my ears and send my pulse skyrocketing. More of them. A lot more of them.
I wiggle, fighting for Hatch to release me. I don’t care how much it hurts. I’ll run. They might shoot me in the back, but I have a feeling a quick death would be better than what they have planned.
“Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” I fight harder only to be locked down tightly to his chest.
“No way. I need this and”—he gets quiet, as if he’s struggling with what he’s about to say—“so do you.”
My mouth hangs open, prepared to launch at him for saying I need to be murdered, but before I can get the first word out, my feet are dropped to the warm desert floor.
He swings me around so that my back is to him, his hands placed firmly on my shoulders. Then he’s gone.
I sway, disoriented now that I don’t have something grounding me. I reach for my blindfold, knowing that if someone is close enough they’ll stop me, and if not, I’ll run.
Slowly, I peel back the fabric, and when no one stops me, I push it up to my forehead. Fuzzy silhouettes come into focus, and my eyes grow wide as fear chills my blood.
All men.
Some I recognize as Hatch’s crew, others I don’t. They’re all standing in a circle around me, each one with the stone-hard face of a killer. My pulse pounds in my neck, and my legs feel like they’re filled with concrete.
The ring of bodies parts to let through a man I don’t recognize. Overgrown dark brown hair with a hint of gray around his sideburns, he doesn’t look all that threatening. His average height and slightly muscular build scream every day guy, but the aura of pure evil that reflects in his black glare tells me all I need to know.
This dude is dangerous.
“Job well done, son.” His words are directed at Drake, who I’ve noticed isn’t standing in the circle along with the others, but is a few feet behind my left shoulder.
Drake simply nods.
Son? Drake kidnapped me for his dad?
Memories of what Mason told me about Drake’s dad filter through my mind: criminal, psychopath, soulless.
I blink, the confusion and utter ridiculousness of this making my head swim.
Drake’s dad spins on his heel to address the group. “You’ve all pledged to join me, to make my friends your friends and my enemies your enemies.” He prowls in slow circles around me like a predator stalking his prey. “Tonight we make a blood oath.”
They all grunt their agreement.
“We shed blood to prove our loyalty and our commitment to the club and to each other. If one goes down, we all go down.” His eyes pierce mine and a slow smile curves his lips. “This lovely sacrifice has been brought to us by my son.” His gaze swings to Drake. “You’ve proven you’re ready to move on, and after tonight, you have my blessing.”
Drake winces as his dad grips his shoulder. “And if you tell anyone about what you know, I’ll have you as an accomplice to murder.” He smiles at his son as if he just wished him good luck on his SATs.
His attention shifts back to me, and I search for Hatch to plead that he save me, but his eyes are downcast in avoidance. I turn to Drake, whose expression is a blank wall. He nods, and when I turn around, his father is less than a foot from me.
I gasp and lean away from him.
He hooks the back of my neck and pulls me toward him until I can feel the heat of his breath on my face. His hand slides around to cup my jaw, and he runs the pad of his thumb along my cheek in tender swipes. “Incredible . . .” His eyes twinkle with wonder, and my insides meet his compliment with nausea. “You look just like her.”
Everything stops. My breath. Blood. Heartbeat. All of it suspended for a moment in time, everything except his lips.
“Now you’ll die like her.”
Mason
“Why the fuck are we just sitting here?” I whisper to the guys as we crouch low behind a gathering of large creosote bushes.
Blake and Jonah share a look, something they’ve been doing often, and it makes me want to knock their skulls together.
Jonah studies me, and I can’t miss the flash of pity I see in his eyes. “We’re outnumbered. There’re at least twenty of them, and they’re most likely armed.”
“So what? We just sit here with our dicks in our hands and wait for the cops? Who knows what could happen to her before they get here?”
We’d followed the rusty Jeep, maintaining a good distance to keep from getting spotted, and once they turned down the secluded desert road we had to pull even further back. At one point, I thought we’d lost them, but thankfully the sandy dirt tracks were an excellent giveaway.
“Got a better idea?” Blake’s eyes stay forward, his body tense.
I turn back and calculate how long it would take to grab my truck parked about a mile away behind a large boulder. They might have guns, but if I drive fast enough, I could burst through their little Kumbaya circle and grab Trix.
“Yeah, I do.” I turn to head to my truck.
“Whoa, hold up.” Rex snags my elbow, pulling me back to the bush. “Do you see that?”
We all lean in, squinting through the sparse leaves. The circle of men has split into a large U-shape, and in the middle is Trix. Her stark white T-shirt glows in a pool of inky black night. She’s still, not being held in place by anyone or anything physical, but stuck nonetheless. Her body sways, but her feet stay planted.
“She drugged?” Jonah growls and the tension between around us escalates.
One guy steps forward, clearly visible now that the circle has opened up. He’s talking, using his hands to motion between Trix and the men who stand around bouncing on their toes in anticipation.
“This is bad.” I squint for a better look while the guy waves his arms around. “This is really ba—what the fuck?”
Elijah.
Fire ignites in my veins and pushes me to stand. The guys hiss at me to get down, but it’s too late. Simple static fills my ears as I move forward. Hands grip my legs, my arms, but I shake them off as if they’re nothing while my focus zeroes in on Elijah.
They must hear me coming as, all of a sudden, the eyes of the enemy swivel toward me. Trix stares blankly at nothing, not registering my approach. The weight of the knife in my pocket warms my thigh, but I don’t reach for it. My fists ball, and I prepare to destroy the man who’s been fucking with my brother since birth, the man who’s tormented my mom, and now the man who’s fucked with my woman.
“Mason?” My stride slows, and my stomach hollows out at the sound of Drake’s voice. Him too?
He steps into my line of sight, standing as a barrier between Elijah and me, locking Trix behind him.
I blink and force my lips to move, processing his hat, his shirt, his . . . It was him at the motel. “You? You did this!” Adrenaline bursts like sweet nectar into my blood and feeds my anger. “My own fucking brother!”
I move to the echo of my roar as it acts like a war cry to my soul.
He puts his hands up, but it’s too late. “No—”
My fist connects. The sickening crack sends him skidding across the dirt.
Chaos breaks out behind me, but I only have eyes for the man in front of me.
Elijah grins, daring me to move. I lunge. He moves and pulls Trix to his chest. “One more move and the girl dies.”
I fix on her eyes, no longer vacant but now aware and filled with fear.
“Mason . . .” Her lips whisper and fade into a whimper.
Blood. All I see is blood. Her upper arm is wrapped and blood-soaked from an older wound. My stomach lurches. A slow stream leaks from where the tip of Elijah’s knife is pointed at her neck.
“Back the fuck up or she’s dead.” He says it like a challenge more than a threat.
He wants to kill her.
“Don’t hurt her.” I step back, keeping my eyes on hers, and hoping like hell she can find strength in them. “Let her go.”
“Fuck you.” Spit shoots from his lips.
There’s a scuffle from behind me, feet pounding the dirt and the sickening thud of fists and flesh. I say a quick prayer that my friends come out of this uninjured, but don’t dare take my eyes off Elijah.
“Please.” I hold up my hands as Trix trembles in his arms. “Walk away, Eli.” My patience is tethered by a thread as he jerks her head back hard.
“Can’t do that.” I see a flash of panic in his eyes. “She knows too much.”
I meet Trix’s gaze, asking the silent question. They widen with primal ferocity. What’s she saying?
“It was him.” The confession darts from her lips with an undertone of absolute fact.
More blood pours from the tip of Eli’s knife.
“Snitchin’ whore.” A sick smile curls his lips. “Just like her sister.”
She cries out, and the sound slices through my chest.
I blink and shake my head, sure I misheard. “What did you say?”
Trix cries out. More blood. She claws at his arms, but he doesn’t let up.
Dread and fear and anger mix in a volatile cocktail of hate.
“You fucking heard me, asshole.” He rips Trix back farther, her bare feet skidding in the dirt as they search for purchase. His eyes are wild, like I’ve seen Drake’s when he’s high and paranoid. “She’s a snitch.”
I step forward, watching the blood drain from Trix’s face. Her legs wobble and Eli hoists her up.
“You killed Lana.” Uncertainty gives way to rage. “It was you—”
I’m grabbed from behind, the cool metal of a gun shoved into my temple. I struggle against it. A thick forearm wraps around my neck.
Two guys have me locked down. I don’t allow my eyes to move from Trix’s.
“End him. Now.” Elijah says.
Trix lurches forward. “No—” Her voice cuts off with a vicious tug at her head. My heart pounds.
I struggle again, but I’m overpowered. I throw everything I have left into getting to her, but gain zero distance. Fuck, this is it.
“Kill him!” Elijah’s eyes are bulging from his head; the knife he’s holding to Trix shakes in his hand.
One of the men holding me back groans. “Fuck.”
The gun cocks.
I struggle harder, hoping one of my guys gets to me before Trix has to see my brains blown out over the desert.
“Mason, no!” Trix flails in uncoordinated kicks until the neck of her shirt is soaked in her own blood.
The visual rockets through my veins.
Fury rolls, swelling. Svetlana died because of what she saw, now so will Trix. Just like her sister, she’ll be cut and sliced.
It builds, raging in a violent crest. Ripped from everyone who loves her. Taken from me with one swipe of that blade across her neck.
Madness ramps as the weight crashes.
First Lana, now Trix.
Tortured.
Destroyed.
Lost forever.
I roar and rip from the hold. The flare of a shot fired doesn’t slow me down. Elijah’s eyes widen seconds before I hit. Trix’s body falls limp to the ground as I tackle him. His knife jabs, but I feel nothing except for the passion that rages for justice. Every hit connects. The battle with flesh and bone mirror the battle within as I release years of anger on the man who’s hurt those I love.
The heat of fresh blood coats my hands, and I can’t stop. Voices call out, hands try to grab, but my obsession for revenge spurs me on. His arms drop limply, his head lolling with every punishing blow. But it’s not enough.
Wind whips around my head, kicking up dust to coat my blood-soaked arms with grit. Registering on some level that he’s out, I can’t pull back my fury. Can’t cage the beast that’s out for revenge. For Trix and for Lana.
He deserves to die.
Lights shine brightly all around, but it’s fogged, tempered by my mania.
My lips curl back over my teeth, and the metal tang of splattered blood feeds the fire. More, more, I’ll never stop. I don’t fatigue. Left-right-left-right, every punch energizes the next.
Can’t . . . stop . . .
My muscles lock up. Fuck! Heat stuns me still. I’m knocked to the ground. My body flops without control. I struggle to get up, to finish what I started, but my muscles spasm and ignore my efforts. I try to look around, but even my eyes are doing their own thing.
Soft hands cradle my head. Trix’s eyes fill my field of vision. Tears stream down her face. “Shh . . . it’s okay.”
No! I try to force the word, but nothing comes out. She must know as she cradles me closer, rocking. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay now.”
She’s not safe. Not yet. Not until every motherfucker here is dead. I fight, push my body to react to my brain’s commands, but get nothing.
“It’s over . . . shh . . . stop fighting it.” Her voice soothes as I come back into my body. “It’s okay,” she calls out to someone. “He’s okay.” The last word cracks with emotion.
Twitching, I force my muscles to respond. I reach up and wrap my hand around her neck, her blood tacky against my palm. I flex my fingers into her neck, trying to communicate. I’m okay, but you’re bleeding.
She holds my grip to her wounded skin. “I’m good. I promise.” She runs her fingers through my hair and keeps her eyes locked with mine. I’m unable to release her neck. Feeling her pulse flutter beneath my fingertips is the best fucking feeling, and I hold them there until our heartbeats align.
No one’s coming after us. It’s over.
This could’ve ended so differently. My stomach turns, and I slam my eyes closed to keep from puking like a little bitch. What the hell happened to me? My fingers flex again against Trix’s neck. She’s here. Alive. That’s what matters.
My muscles calm and I move to sit up. Pain slices through my arm, but it dies quickly when I study my surroundings. “Holy shit!”
Helicopters and SWAT teams litter the once-dark desert floor. I scan the area, able to make out faces that are now illuminated as spotlights shine on every space.
Jonah helps a man to his feet, only to hand him over to be cuffed. Blake’s arms are crossed over his chest while he’s deep in conversation with a guy who looks completely out of place in a suit and tie. I search for Rex, but can’t find him. Fuck! My stomach lurches again and I push up further. “Come on. Where is he?”
Trix’s grips my forearm. “Who?”
My eyes continue to survey. “Rex. I . . . if anything happened to him . . .” Dammit, he has to be okay.
“There!” She points over my shoulder to a cop leading Rex away in handcuffs.
I push to stand, but fire stabs through my arms and my side. I groan and drop back to my ass.
“Mase . . . you’re hurt.” Her hands move over me in tentative touches, but I can’t take my eyes of Rex, who’s being loaded into the back of a van.
“Sorry, man.” A SWAT guy dressed in black tactical gear steps in front of me. “We had to tase you.”
“Why is my friend being arrested?” I motion toward the van whose doors just slammed shut.
“Looks like you’ve got some injuries.” The cop studies my arms and torso.
I tilt my chin and see multiple puncture wounds in my arm. Eli, that fucking asshole. “Why is Rex being arrested?”
The cop swings his gaze to the bloody heap of a man at my side then to another mound of blood and body across the way before turning back to me. “I’m afraid you and your friend have some explaining to do.”
I didn’t have to hear him say the words to know what we’d done.
Elijah and Hatch are dead.