Vivian
Part of me thinks I’d be able to deal with this if it weren’t for Landon and the way he’s shunning me. If someone had asked me two hours ago what was the worst experience of my life, I’d have to say being kidnapped and tied up in a filthy cabin. But now, I’d say that it was the love of my life ignoring me.
I desperately want to know what’s happened–what I’ve done to make him hate me. Then I remember the lie. The baby. The imaginary little fetus growing inside of my uterus, sucking up vital nutrients and blood and energy from my body.
My lips tighten and I shake my head sadly. Maybe Landon just hates kids. Of course, that would make sense. He’s a member of Blacktop Chaos, and I have a feeling that most guys in MCs probably don’t want little rugrats hanging around.
It’s funny. Deep down, I know I should feel relieved. After all, the baby is a lie. I only spat it out in the heat of the moment to try to take the attention off of Robin/Laura. But the way Landon is shunning me makes me feel even worse. He doesn’t know that it’s a lie. And he’s still angry.
I bite my lip. Suddenly, those “I’m pregnant!” April Fool’s day pranks don’t seem as funny to me. I imagine how crushing it would feel to tease a boyfriend by telling him that I was pregnant…if he wasn’t happy with the news, I’d feel like the worst person in the world.
Now that I think about it, I’m just as bad as any of the guys in Blacktop Chaos. Sure, I’m not exactly streetwise…and I’m more than a little naïve. But I gave away information about a friend to someone dangerous. I lied about being pregnant. And now, I’ve surely done something evil—whatever it is, I’ve made Landon hate me.
I wonder if we’re going to make it out of this alive. I wonder if Dad’s going to burst in, guns blazing, and shoot down Branden and Alan before they have a chance to react. I want that to happen, but my hope is slowly starting to die. Even though Branden and Alan lied about killing Landon, they obviously have something planned for the two of us. And it makes me shiver to think that it likely has to do with Blade.
“So, here’s the plan, bitch,” Branden says. He walks towards me cockily, like he’s just been crowned king of Big Hill. “We’re gonna spend a lot of time together, you and me.”
My eyes narrow. I can’t stand staring at his horrifying face, especially now that Landon has arrived and we’re so close. Landon’s beauty just makes Branden look all the uglier.
“What do you mean?” I ask softly. “Don’t you want to get your money and let me go?”
Branden laughs. “No,” he says. “As tempting as that is, girlie, I’ve come up with a better idea. You’re gonna be with me for the long haul.” He turns to Alan, beckoning the fat man with a long, crooked finger. “Alan, get over here. We gotta tell the princess about the change in plans.”
Alan lopes over. His face is mild, unworried, like he’s just been told that it’s started to rain.
“What is it, boss?”
“Well, for one thing,” Branden says, pointing at my stomach. Suddenly, I have a horrible idea of where this is going to go. “This bitch just got a lot more valuable, don’t you agree?”
Alan frowns. “I don’t get it,” he says slowly, working over the words with his teeth and tongue. “What changed?”
Branden rolls his eyes in obvious exasperation. “Her, you fucking moron,” he says, pointing right at me.
“Because she’s hurt?”
“No, you fucking asshole. Because she’s knocked up!”
A slow change comes over Alan’s face and he starts nodding. “I see,” he says, straightening up. “And that’s why the doctor is coming?”
“Real fucking bright you are,” Branden says. He sighs. “So,” he says, turning back to me. “Now, the plan is that we wait.”
I can feel my throat closing as if Branden himself is choking me.
“How long?” My voice comes out as a tiny squeak.
“For nine months,” Branden says with a nasty smirk. “Or however long it takes for the baby to pop out.”
Before I can process the horror of what he’s just told me, there’s a loud knock coming from the door in the kitchen. Alan scurries out of the room, thumping across the floor with no more grace than a sack of potatoes. There’s a murmur of voices, then Alan slams the door shut and walks back into the empty room.
An elderly man is in tow–he’s got white hair, a red face, and shaky hands. He looks like the evil villainous doctor in a horror movie about the Holocaust, and suddenly I’m so scared that I start to cry again.
“Don’t cry,” Alan says. “Branden, what the fuck did you say to her?”
Branden punches Alan hard in the face and Alan’s body goes flying across the room. I can barely watch as the doctor hobbles over to me and tries to squat down, grunting painfully. I almost feel bad for him, an old man, reduced to working for slobs like these. But when I see the lecherous way he’s looking at my breasts, I shudder.
“Hello there,” the doctor says. He reaches out and pats me clumsily on the knee. His touch is light but it’s still enough to make the pain in my ankle explode. I cry out and whimper as my whole leg burns with a terrible agony.
“Check her out,” Branden says. “She’s pregnant. Make sure she’s actually carrying something in there.”
The old man reaches out and touches my forehead. His fingers are hot and clammy against my skin, and I recoil at his touch.
“Don’t move, missy,” the doctor says. “I’m just trying to see if you’ve got a fever.” There’s an old black leather bag on the floor beside him, and I watch fearfully as he reaches inside and pulls out a thermometer. It’s plastic–the kind that goes inside your ear–and I shiver as he brushes my hair out of the way and sticks the cold object inside my ear canal.
Seconds later, there’s a beep.
“She’s runnin’ a fever,” the doctor calls over his shoulder. “She should really see someone else. What’s troubling you, missy?”
“I think I broke my ankle.” I try shifting on the floor but I’m tied too tightly. The movement hurts anyway, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out as the doctor puts his hands on my shoulders and gently presses me against the wall. His hands are shaking and now that we’re inches apart, I can smell alcohol wafting from his skin like a strong perfume. There’s something else, too–a kind of sickly sweet, foul, rotting smell. Like Branden’s breath, but more subtle.
He’s rotting from the inside out, I think. He probably has cancer or something but can’t afford treatment, so he just drinks until the pain goes away.
I hate myself for feeling sympathetic towards the doctor. The room is silent for a moment as he examines me, but when he gets to my wrists, he curses under his breath.
“You need to untie her,” the doctor says to Branden. “I can’t do a good examination unless she can move.”
Branden shakes his head. “Definitely not,” he says. “Besides, I don’t really give a shit if she’s healthy or not. All I care about is that fuckin’ fetus inside of her.”
The doctor licks his lips and again, I’m hit with the scent of rot. It’s cloying and musky and even when he moves away, I can still taste it in my mouth.
“If she has a fever, she probably has an infection,” the doctor says calmly to Branden. “And I’ll need to give her some antibiotics, at least.” He glances down at my ankle that has gotten so big that my foot looks tiny and dwarfed by the surrounding swelling. “That looks mighty broken to me,” the doctor adds. “We’ve really gotta take care of that.”
“I’m not paying you to be a fucking surgeon,” Branden snaps. “Just fuckin’ test if she’s pregnant or not. Come the fuck on!”
The doctor sighs. I can tell that he doesn’t agree. I can also tell that even if he thinks Branden is full of shit, he’s not going to fight him. This man is probably ninety years old. I’m guessing that all he wants to do is die in peace.
“Get undressed,” the doctor says. “I’m going to give you a pelvic examination.”
The thought of being naked in front of the old doctor, Branden, and Alan makes me shriek with fright. I forget about the ropes around my wrists and ankles and start thrashing, screaming as loudly as I can.
Instantly, Branden and Alan are at my sides, trying to pin me down. I kick out both of my feet together, trying to ignore the pain in my ankle. Alan reaches down and tries to grab my foot, but his fist collides with my injured ankle and I can’t keep from howling as the extreme pain shoots through my whole body. My heart is racing in my chest and my skin is covered with a hot, unpleasant sweat as I try to wriggle away from the monsters surrounding me.
“Stay calm,” Alan grunts. He’s sweating too, and it drips off his forehead and lands on my shirt. I scream again–there’s something disgustingly intimate about being in such close quarters with all three men–and Branden slaps me across the face. It doesn’t hurt, but it does stun me and for a moment and my limbs fall to the ground. Pain explodes in my ankle as my foot touches the wooden floor.
“Grab her,” Branden grunts. He dives towards me, taking my hands in his and pulling them away from my body. My shoulders ache instantly but when I realize he’s untying the ropes at my wrists, I force myself to stay still. If I can somehow trick them into thinking that I won’t move, maybe it will give me a chance to run over to Landon and untie his wrists and ankles.
Landon’s watching me with a tortured look on his face. I can’t even meet his blue eyes. I’m too ashamed at being poked and prodded like a farm animal. Branden finally frees me from the ropes, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he grabs both of my wrists in one of his big hands and squeezes painfully hard as he stretches my hands above my head. I’m reminded of the way Landon pinned me down in a similar fashion while making love to me, and that thought juxtaposed with Branden makes vomit rise in my throat.
I try to swallow the bile back down but it’s too late. My lips part and half-digested pancakes fly out of my mouth, landing all over Branden’s face and shirt. For a moment, he looks at me in surprise. Then his face turns angry, and he backhands me so roughly that I see rainbow stars explode in front of my face like fireworks.
“You fucking cunt!” Branden screams. “She fucking threw up on me!”
Alan is at my side, working on the ropes by my ankles. I can tell that he’s trying not to move me around too much, but his fingers are as clumsy and fat as sausages, and every little jolt sends a fresh wave of torment through my body. Alan’s gritting his teeth and the tip of his tongue is poking out from his lips.
When he gets the ropes untied, I sag against the wall with relief. The doctor studies me, gently poking my knee.
“Yes, you’re definitely running a fever,” the doctor babbles. He reaches out and puts his hand on my lower belly. The sensation is unpleasant, and I desperately want to push him away. But my face is still stinging with the force of Branden’s slap and I don’t dare disobey my captors further.
Save your strength, I think to myself, repeating it over and over like a mantra.
“Do you need her naked?” The words from Alan’s mouth are horrifying and strange.
“Ideally, from the waist down,” the doctor says. He reaches inside his cracked leather bag and pulls out what looks like a cotton training pad, the kind that puppies use to go to the bathroom before they’re housebroken. It’s an innocent object, but it fills me with dread and fear.
“No!” I scream. Alan and Branden are too fast, though. They each grab one of my ankles. Branden twists his fingers into my injured ankle and the pain is so bad that for a moment, I feel like I’m going to pass out. White hot torment glides through my veins and makes me feel oddly drugged.
“Stay still,” Alan grunts. Branden grabs my other ankle from Alan and Alan reaches forward, his fingers brushing against the snap on my jeans. I scream again–loud enough to make my head ache.
Suddenly, Alan stops. He looks up at me with a wide-eyed look of panic.
“What?” I squint. “What happened?”
That’s when Alan topples over onto the floor, his eyes still wide open. A line of blood seeps down his temple.
Landon is standing behind Alan’s body, grinning.