Vivian

 

Before I can move, Branden reaches into the trunk and grabs me. I don’t know where we are, but the crunch of gravel along with the scent of moldy leaves makes me think we’re out in the country, far away from Big Hill.

 

Branden leers at me, digging his fingers deep into my upper arms. It hurts, but I’m almost too scared to make a sound. I’m aware that everything I do and everything I say will make a difference in whether or not I survive.

 

If I survive, I think bleakly.

 

“Come on,” Branden grunts. He heaves me out of the trunk and sets me down on the ground. Instantly, I feel a nasty chill work through my body. My teeth are chattering and there are goose bumps standing up on my exposed skin, but I can’t even cover myself with my arms. I’m wearing jeans and a thin shirt, but I feel like I might as well be naked. Texas has never felt this cold before. If we’re even still in Texas.

 

Branden wraps his porky fingers around my wrist and drags me across the driveway. There’s an ugly house with wooden shingles a few yards away. Bright floodlights are attached to the beams of the roof, and they cast glaring, yellow light over the driveway. I try glancing around but Branden smacks me in the face, making my cheek sting in pain.

 

“Don’t look, bitch,” Branden grunts. To Alan, he calls: “Why the hell didn’t we make sure she had a blindfold?”

 

Alan chuckles. “Dunno, boss,” he replies. “Ain’t like she’s gonna be making it out of this house, anyway.”

 

A cold lump of fear swells in my throat and my mouth is suddenly filled with the taste of iron. I wish that I were stronger, that I’d had some kind of martial arts training.

 

I think back to the days when I was a little girl. My dad always told me that I was too soft, but that it was okay because I’d always be protected. Now I wish I’d actually done something about my own lack of physical strength. When I was growing up, it wasn’t really fashionable for girls to be strong. After all, I was Texas born and bred. Only the girls we suspected were lesbians could climb the rope in gym class, and cheerleading was about the only exercise that a girl could do and still remain “ladylike.” Even my dad, leader of Blacktop Chaos, had made sure that I never so much as strained myself.

 

“Yeah,” Branden grunts. He snickers, staring into my face. The red birthmark splashed across his cheek is glaring in the harsh yellow light. I stare defiantly into his eyes for a second, trying to appear tough and strong.

 

“Come on,” Alan says, jerking his head towards the ugly little house. “It’s fuckin’ cold outside.” He shivers. “What a fuckin’ winter!”

 

“You’re such a pussy,” Branden says, almost affectionately. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood. The way these men are talking is like I’m not even here. It’s a fact that makes me both angry and relieved. Maybe they’re not planning to do anything that harsh. Maybe they’re just planning to keep me as a hostage until my dad can pay up.

 

Alan leads the way across the gravel driveway and into the wooden-shingled house. Branden drags me like someone would drag a sack of cat litter or potatoes. At first, I try resisting–I kick and struggle against the ropes. But Branden turns his head to me, glaring with such intensity that I stop moving almost immediately. My cheek is still stinging from his last slap, and I know there are much worse things he could do.

 

I don’t want to be a coward. I try to think like my father or like Landon—what would they do if they were in a situation like this? Never mind the fact that I’m sure Landon would never be stupid enough to get caught, bound, and held hostage.

 

Think, think! I order myself, closing my eyes and racking my brain. I know that I need to save my strength, but I can’t keep from panicking.

 

Branden hauls me up the stairs and into the dark foyer of the house. Instantly, my senses are assaulted with a foul, musty smell that creeps into my nostrils like the stench of death.

 

As if reading my mind, Branden calls out, “It smells like somebody fuckin’ died in here!”

 

Alan’s eerie laughter is behind us. The sounds lick up the walls and echo over my ears, making me shudder.

 

“Boss, we haven’t been here in ages,” Alan says quietly, as if he’s realized I’m listening to their every word. “You know this place is off limits.”

 

I frown. What the hell does he mean, off limits? Does that mean they’ve kidnapped me against the wishes of whomever they’re working for? The thought makes me shiver. If this wasn’t an organized kidnapping, what the hell are they doing with me?

 

I remember a story I overheard from Dad once. He never talked about club business, but once, when I was in middle school, he had to have an emergency meeting with some of the guys while I was doing homework in the living room. As soon as Dad had left the room, I’d snuck across the floor and listened to the grisly tale of a rival MC. The rival MC had attacked Blacktop Chaos, and Dad had ordered a retaliation. But something had gone wrong, and now the wife of the rival MC’s president was dead. She’d been strangled and strung up on a tree, left as a message for the president.

 

Please, God, please don’t let them think of doing something like that to me, I think as Branden drags me through the foyer and into a large unfurnished room.

 

There’s a curse and a hiss and a clatter as Alan drops a box of matches on the ground. He swears again, loudly this time.

 

“Hurry the fuck up,” Branden hisses. “Get a fucking light on!”

 

“Boss, that ain’t a good idea,” Alan says. “What about the neighbors?”

 

For a moment, my heart leaps. There are neighbors! I think, my brain spinning wildly as I try to formulate the best way I can be heard. But then I hear Branden and Alan’s raucous laughter, and realize they were just kidding.

 

“Fuck,” Branden says. He drops me on the floor and I collapse like a sack of potatoes. The ropes binding my wrists feel tighter than ever, and I can’t even remember what it’s like to have feeling in my hands.

 

“There ain’t no electricity,” Alan drawls. “It’s been years since anyone was here.”

 

“Find some fuckin’ candles,” Branden snaps. “It’s fuckin’ freezing in here.”

 

The men begin sniffing around the empty room, talking, ignoring me. Alan finds a cord of wood on the ground and Branden drags it over to the fireplace, lighting a roaring blaze with some of the matches. Soon, the room is warm and almost cozy as a fire dances and twirls in the grate. The light flickers over the hollows and crevices of the room, and I see that the floor is covered with a thick layer of dust. The walls are paneled wood, but they’re damaged by years of smoke and lack of cleaning. The ceiling is a grubby plaster. It looks like it was once white, but now it’s almost as yellow as Branden’s teeth.

 

My stomach flips and goes cold when Branden turns and smiles at me. It really is like he’s forgotten I’m here.

 

“Vivian,” Branden says, grinning in a way that makes me uneasy. “Do you know why you’re here, sweetie?”

 

The endearment makes me cringe. I want to spit in his face, I want to slap him, I want to tell him that he has no right to speak to me like that. It makes every nice thing Landon ever said to me turn to ash in my memory.

 

“No,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “But I’m sure my father will pay you.”

 

Branden shakes his head. He snickers, narrowing his eyes as he steps closer. “Oh, honey, that’s not why you’re here,” he says. His eyes and voice flirt with me and I shudder. “You should be a little smarter than that. You’re a big college girl, aren’t you?”

 

I glare at him. “You’re an inept criminal who could only grab me on the third try,” I say, jutting my lip out in defiance. “You couldn’t even nab me in an abandoned parking lot.”

 

This time, I’m expecting the slap and it doesn’t seem to hurt nearly as much.

 

Alan comes closer, making little clouds of dust rise off the dirty floor. My nose tingles and my eyes water. I sneeze uncontrollably—so hard that for a moment I’m worried that I’ll pee myself.

 

“Allergies?” Alan’s voice is almost sympathetic. “I know, I get that shit too.”

 

“Shut up,” Branden hisses, whipping his head around and glaring at Alan. “I’m working here!”

 

That’s when I see the insignia on his black jacket–Helldogs. There’s a large black-and-white patch, with a picture of a hound throwing its head back and howling. Cartoon saliva drips off large fangs that look almost real. The imagery is scary. It makes me tremble when I contemplate what it’s going to mean for me, being kidnapped by a rival MC.

 

“Why am I here?” I ask unsteadily. “You don’t want money from my father? What do you want?”

 

“You’re a nosy little bitch,” Branden says accusingly. He jabs his finger into my throat and I choke, coughing and spewing saliva all over my chin.

 

“We just wanna ask you some questions,” Alan says, stepping closer and squatting down on the floor. “We can do that, can’t we?”

 

I glare at him. Even though Alan seems to be the more sympathetic of the duo, I can’t help hating him, too. After all, if it wasn’t for him, I probably could have escaped Branden on my own.

 

That’s when I remember my injured ankle. It’s throbbing and so swollen that I can’t even move my foot. My shoe is so tight that it feels like it’s been painted on my foot.

 

“What do you want to know?” My voice is shaky but I force myself to stare Branden in the eye, pretending that I’m on equal footing.

 

“Well, for starters, honey, you gotta tell us a little about your old man,” Branden says.

 

I blink. I’m confused. I don’t know if he means my dad or Landon.

 

“What?”

 

“Are you fuckin’ deaf?” Branden leans in my face as close as he can. “Tell me about your fuckin’ father!”

 

I narrow my eyes. “What do you want to know?”

 

Branden sighs. “This bitch is useless,” he says. “We might as well kill her.”

 

A ripple of panic runs through my body and I cry out, twisting furiously at my ropes. I turn so violently that my ankle rolls under my body and it makes me scream in pain. Tendrils of agony thread their way up my leg and tears stream down my face as the pain throbs and throbs.

 

“Please!” I gasp. “Please, please don’t hurt me! I’ll tell you what you want to know!”

 

“You have to help us,” Branden says. His breath spews foul and rotting from his mouth and into my face, making me gag.

 

“Tell us about Laura,” Alan says helpfully. “Can you tell us what happened to her?”

 

“Laura?” Repeating the name makes it feel no more familiar to me. “What? Who is that?”

 

Branden rolls his eyes. “She’s fuckin’ useless,” he says again. “We kidnapped the wrong bitch.”

 

“I’m sure she knows somethin’,” Alan counters. “Just tell us what you know about Laura and then maybe, just maybe, we’ll let you go.”

 

I shake my head, feeling helpless.

 

“I don’t know Laura is,” I whimper. “I’m sorry. Can you give me more information?”

 

Branden and Alan exchange a black look. Branden pulls a knife out of his back pocket and shakes it in my face.

 

“You better start talking, girlie,” Branden grunts in my face. “Or else we’re gonna have to play a little game.”

 

This time, I’m positive that no one can hear me scream.