Chapter Forty-Eight
Isabel
The girl who approached the Snakes’ clubhouse was a lot different from the one who’d trembled in front of the Aces’ gate a few months ago. I should be scared, but I couldn’t summon the feeling.
The Snakes’ clubhouse was a pub, or at least it was a pub at one point. The space was big but narrow. Booths lined one wall while a long bar ran along the other side. I could see tables stacked on the small stage toward the back.
Per MC protocol, I was greeted by a prospect. “I’m here to see Lionel,” I said simply and held his gaze.
After a pat down, he led me toward the back and into an office.
My uncle’s face lit up with a smarmy smirk. “Isabel, I’m glad you are here. I’m surprised to see you unharmed. The Aces are pretty nasty to traitors.”
I was sure we had different definitions of “unharmed”. I leaned against the doorway. “Where’s my dad?”
He leaned back in his large leather chair and crossed his arms. “Before I let you two leave, I need your word you’ll stay silent about this whole affair.”
I let out a breath. “I won’t say anything. I can’t incriminate you without dragging the Aces into it.”
Lionel raised his eyebrows. “You still have loyalty to them?”
“No, I simply don’t want to be looking over my shoulder the rest of my life. I just want to take Dad home and get over it.”
He simply nodded and stood up from the desk. “I’ll take you to him.”
“Why don’t you bring him here?” I said, having learned my lesson on trusting him.
“You saw him. He won’t be able to do the stairs and I can’t carry him by myself.”
He was probably lying, but I didn’t exactly have back-up. I had to duck to follow him down the stairs into a low ceilinged basement. The small space filled with shelves and kegs. Lionel lifted his chin toward the back wall. My father was lying on the floor with his wrist handcuffed to some pipes coming out of the wall. I moved around the kegs and bent down to my knees, bring his head into my lap. Seeing him again, no better than two days ago, made the tears return. “Daddy,” I whispered.
“He should be okay … eventually,” my uncle muttered.
“Dad,” I said, cupping his face.
“Isabel.” His voice was hoarse and his lips cracked.
I sniffed quickly, determined to keep the tears at bay. He needed me to be strong. “Can you stand? I’m going to take you to a hospital.”
Slowly, my father nodded and rolled to his side. He put his hands on the ground and tried to push his way up. I gripped the pipe next to me and grabbed his arm to help him stand. Suddenly, I felt something metal around my wrist.
The little clicks of the cuff locking seemed so slow in my mind. How could I be so stupid?
I hit out at Lionel, but he stepped back before I could get at him. Without my help, Dad fell back to the floor. “I’m sorry, my dear, but Chico wants you to stick around. Since our plan failed, he is looking for a little entertainment. He also hates Rem Riley with a passion.”
“I always knew you were a bit skeevy, uncle. But this? We are your family,” I snarled.
“I don’t need family,” he said, his eyes devoid of all emotion like a true sociopath. He didn’t look back as went to the stairs.
I nudged closer to Dad and laid his head in my lap. I prayed for help, but I knew no one was coming.
****
It wasn’t long before the basement door opened and light beamed on the opposite wall. A large shadow moved across the wall and became smaller as the figured moved down the stairs. I knew it was Chico when he came to the bottom and started to move toward me. I clutched Dad’s shoulder with my free hand, but he was passed out again. I was grateful for that small favor. If he was awake, I’m sure Chico would kill him if he tried to interfere, and my father would try.
The single light in the basement cast Chico’s face in shadow, but I saw hints of a smile and flashing eyes. He was excited.
Oh God. My rape was a certainty, and all I could do was sit here. The adrenaline started pumping, making me dizzy.
I saw a small grimace as he bent to unlock the cuffs. But it was gone as he took my hand, tugging me to stand. The smell of sweat and booze nearly made me gag. His fingers on my skin felt greasy.
I let him pull me along because I didn’t see the point of fighting. He could easily overpower me. I could wait for the opportunity and try to run. But there was the prospect at the front, and I didn’t see a back exit. Even if there was one, I would waste time looking for it.
Once we made it back to the main floor, he led me to another staircase that went to the upper level. The stairs were steep and narrow. Chico kept a tight grip on my wrist as I climbed behind him. I looked down to watch my step, and that was when I saw something shiny. There was a knife in his boot. I briefly wondered how comfortable it was to keep a switchblade in your shoe before I realized that it might be my chance.
I lifted my eyes so I didn’t give away my intent.
Who am I kidding? What am I going to do with a knife? I can’t hurt him.
What’s the alternative? Do you want to be raped? You have to try. Catwoman stomped around in my head.
During the internal argument, I was pulled into a bedroom. It reeked of man stink, like dirty clothes, sneakers, and sex. There was only a queen bed and a dresser. He released my wrist and closed the door. I started backing up, but he grabbed my hair, yanking it back.
“On your knees,” he growled and pushed me down. I noticed that he looked a lot paler than the last time I’d seen him. His eyes still held that evil gleam, but the circles beneath were more pronounced. He looked sick.
While he looked like he was ready to pass out, he still had the strength to push me to my knees. I nearly gagged again at the thought of what was coming. He pulled my hair once more. “Get my cock out.”
My fingers trembled as I unbuckled his belt and then his jeans. I didn’t want to touch him, but my brain couldn’t find a way around it. I rubbed him through his boxers, and I felt his penis harden. Beneath his t-shirt I saw something white, like gauze. Didn’t Rem say that one of the robbers got away but not before he shot the guy in the torso?
I could use the injury to my advantage, but the knife was still my best bet.
I just needed him to look away for just a moment so I could grab the blade. I took a breath and prayed this worked. I gazed up at Chico, hoping my look of desire wasn’t going overboard. I pushed my hand through the gap in his boxers and gripped him lightly. Swallowing down disgust, I wrapped my whole hand around him and stroked up and down, letting my other hand slip down his leg. His eyes closed, and his head rolled back.
Before I could overthink it, I grabbed the switchblade, opened it and jammed it into his thigh. He jumped back at the last second, but I still managed to cut the inside of his leg.
He took a couple seconds to steady himself. “Puta bitch!”
I quickly switched the blade from my left hand to my right and held it up, ready to jam it down like Psycho.
Blood was seeping down his thigh. If I’d caught the big artery there, how long would it take him to bleed out? Chico didn’t seem concerned about the cut. Instead he was clutching his side where Rem had put a bullet in him. For a moment I thought he might back off. He was injured in two places. He must realize that I had a chance to fight him off.
But it was only wishful thinking on my part because Chico charged forward, grabbing at my wrist and shoving me back. We tumbled to the bed. I tried to stab at his shoulder, but his hand knocked the knife away. Next thing I knew his hands were around my throat, squeezing. I clawed at his hands and wrists, trying to get my fingers under his, but all I managed to do was cut into his skin with my nails. Panic set in as my lungs started to hurt.
If I was watching this moment on TV, I would have a million ideas of how to stop it. But fear was a dominant bitch, bringing me so low that there was no thought but my next breath. I was so scared that I just started begging.
“Please.”
It was nothing but a wheeze past my lips.
Chico’s grip only tightened. His eyes were flashing again, the sadistic bastard enjoying my descent into darkness.
As the darkness was creeping into my vision, I let my fists swing wildly at his body. For the first few hits, my efforts only made his job easier as my energy drained. Then my hand connected with his torso, and I felt him grunt and his grip loosen. I sucked in the air that I could and sought the same spot with my fingers. I dug my knuckles into that spot, hoping to find the hole. I must have hit pay dirt because he took one hand from my throat to grip my wrist.
I turned my face to the side and coughed as air rushed into my lungs. That was when I saw the knife in the tangled sheets of the bed.
While Chico was pinning my right hand down to the mattress, I reached for the blade. With the last bit of strength from my oxygen-deprived muscles, I gripped the handle and jammed the knife into the side of Chico’s throat.
He released me to reach for his own neck.
I continued to cough as more air rushed into my lungs. His blood started to drip on my chin and chest. I looked up into Chico’s face, eyes bulging and mouth gulping for air. One hand was around the blade while his other tried to pull at the handle.
I shoved him off me, and he fell to his back on the bed. I scrambled away.
I tried to stand, but my body dragged me back down so I had to sit on the edge, hanging my head in between my knees. Chico was still struggling behind me, so I covered my ears and screamed. My damaged vocal cords grated, but I couldn’t stop.