Chapter Nine

 

 

I stared down at the diamond bracelet my mother had given to me at the restaurant, imagining the terror she was feeling at the moment, knowing that I was missing and who in fact now had me. I let out a ragged breath.

That’s it. I’m a dead woman…

To say that I was scared was an understatement. I was so frightened that eventually I began looking for something in the van that could end my life before they did. After hearing about what they’d done to Raptor’s mom, I wasn’t stupid enough to think they’d let me go. I was going to die and if I didn’t escape, one way or another, get raped and tortured by a man who’d just gotten out of prison. It seemed very ironic, considering Breaker had just gotten out before he attacked me.

I wiped the tears from my face and then rubbed my palms against my jeans. It was then that I remembered the belt I’d worn that morning. Normally, I didn’t wear belts. They bothered me. But this particular one was unique, and I’d fallen in love with the buckle, which a tiny metal skull with a crown and wings, making it stylishly wicked.

I removed the belt and pulled it off of my jeans. Staring down at the prong, I touched the tip; it wasn’t very sharp but I knew it could do a lot of damage. I just didn’t know if I had the courage to try and use it against one of the bikers. And if I did, I was highly outnumbered. Killing myself almost seemed like the easiest and most merciful thing I could do at the moment.

“Don’t be a fucking coward,” I muttered, feeling ashamed that the idea of suicide had even entered my head. Yes, I’d already been through Hell and back and was about to cross the border for a return trip. Chances were that it was going to end badly, but, that didn’t mean it had to end completely. I just needed to muster enough courage to stay alive and maybe even come up with a plan.

It was then that I remembered what Adriana had told me about Mud. When she’d been kidnapped, she’d made him believe that she hated the Gold Vipers and had been hot for him. She’d even kissed the man. I couldn’t imagine letting one of them kiss me, but if it got me close enough to their jugular, things might not have to go that far.

Taking a deep breath, I began biting on the vinyl part of the belt, to somehow try and free the buckle.

 

***

 

 

Fortunately, I was able to do just that before we arrived at our destination, which was about two hours from where we’d started. When the van finally stopped and the back door opened, I had the prong in my front pocket and had managed to hide the rest of the belt around my waist, under my jeans.  With my light, blue peasant blouse covering the waistband, nobody seemed to notice anything unusual.

“Let’s go,” said Stryker, holding out his hand to help me out of the vehicle.

“Where are we?” I asked, ignoring him.

He scowled. “That’s not your concern. Get your ass out of the van before I come in there and get you.”

Gritting my teeth, I got out of the back myself and looked around. It appeared that they’d driven me to some cabin, in a very secluded and wooded area. Parked outside were several motorcycles and a couple of cars.

“Move it,” said Grady, waving his gun toward the place.

Touching the outline of the buckle in my front pocket, to give me courage, I began walking toward the porch, wondering if it would be worth it to try and make a run for it. Before I could decide, the front door opened and a large man stepped out. He was obscenely muscular and tall, close to seven feet. I figured him to be somewhere in his forties, with long, dark hair that was braided in the back and brown eyes that were filled with contempt.

“So this is Frannie?” he asked, walking down the steps toward me. As he moved closer, I noticed he had quite a bit of tats, all of them dark with a death theme.

Perfect, I thought dryly.

“My name is not Frannie,” I said, staring up at a long, white scar under his left eye. The closer he came, the scarier he appeared.

“Anyone tell you that staring isn’t polite?” he asked, now smirking. “In fact, staring can get you scars of your own.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare,” I said quickly, feeling myself sweat under the pressure of his scrutiny as he circled around me.

“You sure you got the right Old Lady?” asked Reaper, suddenly grabbing me by the back of my hair.

“Ouch,” I gasped, trying to pull away.

He stared down into my face, his eyes boring into mine. “I can’t imagine Slammer tapping this one.”

“I’m not anyone’s Old Lady and I’m certainly not Slammer’s,” I cried, tears in my eyes from the pain. “You’ve got the wrong person!”

“Don’t listen to her, Reaper,” said Stryker, pulling out a photo from his pocket. “We found her outside of Slammer’s house. See for yourself. It’s her.”

Reaper let me go and I quickly backed away from him. Smirking, he grabbed the photo and looked at. The smile fell from his face. “Goddamn it.”

“Goddamn what?” asked Stryker.

“It’s not her,” he said, holding up the picture.

Curious, I stepped closer and stared at the photo. It was definitely my mother, sitting with Slammer at some outdoor cafe. The photographer had zoomed in and anyone could see that there were similarities between us, but our noses were different and her hair was darker.

And not to mention that there was twenty-five years between us, I thought dryly.

“Good going,” he said, turning back to Stryker. “You brought me the wrong bitch. You were supposed to bring me Slammer’s Old Lady. You brought his step-daughter instead. Dumbasses.”

I shuddered, realizing that he knew who I was anyway.

“She looks enough like her,” said Grady. “Anyone could make the same mistake. Look at her.”

“Save it,” snapped Reaper, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’ll work with what we have. Just, get her into the house and lock her in the back.”

“I thought we were going to, you know…” said Grady, smiling wickedly. “Have us some fun.”

I stiffened up, waiting for Reaper’s response.

“Get your shit together and you will,” he said, turning to go back into the house. “But it will have to be when I’m done with her.”