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My mouth runs dry, and I find just enough courage to peek out of the corner of my eye to see Chevy hold his hands up in compliance. His knife is gone. Not sure if they took it or he lost it in the fight. Guess it doesn’t matter. Maybe none of it matters. Maybe Chevy should still be trying to fight his way out. Maybe they’re going to kill us both anyway.
Chevy looks at me and I tilt my head, worrying my forehead. They can’t get Brandon. We can’t let them have my brother. I will Chevy to hear my thoughts, to understand what I need. As if he can read my mind, he moves his head a fraction of an inch in agreement. Chevy voluntarily goes to his knees.
“You’re Reign of Terror,” Bandana Guy says to me.
My tongue feels too swollen to speak, but I shove out the words regardless. “I’m not Reign of Terror.”
“She’s not,” Chevy says. “I am. Leave her alone and deal only with me.”
“I know who you are, and I’ll be dealing with you soon. We only dish out the best for a McKinley.” A smile twists his lips as he keeps staring directly at me. His patch indicates his road name is Fiend, and I bet he’s real proud of his title.
With two other men standing on either side of me, Fiend crouches and I resist the urge to shudder with disgust as he pulls on a lock of my hair. “And you’re Frat’s girl. Red hair, crazy eyes. You have a brother. Where is he?”
Defiance swirls into my bloodstream, and I raise my chin. “He’s at the clubhouse.”
Fiend studies me. “Is he?”
Frat was my father’s road name and people used to tell me when he was in difficult spots, he was insane. When I was younger, I used to beam with pride at the idea of my daddy being the man who could look fear in the eye and laugh.
As I got older, I lost some of that appreciation, but in this moment, knowing my brother is in the backseat of the car, knowing a gun could be used to settle a score I have nothing to do with, I smile. A crazy-ass smile that could probably rival any level of insanity my father could have had. “Why don’t we go to the Terror’s clubhouse and find out?”
Fiend chuckles. “Nice try. Cuff them and let’s go.”
No. The guys around us move and my heart explodes, beating so rapidly I can barely breathe. A calloused hand on my wrist and I flinch, attempting to roll away, attempting to hit and kick. Another man joins the mix, grabbing hold of my other arm, pinning my head to his chest, and I dry heave at the smell of body odor. Tears prick my eyes and a million horrible thoughts crash in my mind. I’d rather die than have them rape me. I’d rather die.
Cold metal against the flesh of my wrists and then I’m pulled to my feet, my knees giving at the weight of the situation. I’m being pushed forward, to the car. A man opens the backseat door and he exerts pressure on my neck to force me in. My head whips around, my eyes so wide the wind burns them. “Chevy!”
“Hurt her and I’ll fucking kill you.” There’s a coldness in Chevy’s tone. He’s on the other side of the car. His biceps straining as his body leans in my direction, but the men surrounding him are shoving him past the door and someone pops open the trunk.
My face heats and my palms grow clammy. Dizziness overwhelms me as I realize we’re being taken, and we’re being separated. That I’m being kidnapped. “Chevy?”
His dark eyes meet mine. “It’s okay. We’re going to be okay. Keep your mouth shut. Say nothing. I promise it will be okay.”
He can’t make that promise. No one can.
CHEVY (#ufa3e80b5-765b-5d24-9e67-9a882593b3af)
THEY STOLE MY KNIFE. Swiped my cell. The handcuffs I can ditch in thirty seconds. The trunk of the car—I could have open in less than a minute. But leaving Violet behind unprotected isn’t an option. Escaping just isn’t the goal—the endgame is to escape together.
Dark doesn’t bother me. Neither do cramped spaces. What’s drilling a hole in my brain was Violet’s expression as they shoved her into the back of the car. It was the impact of her struggles hitting against the seat, it was her screams for them to stop.
To stop what? My gut twists, and I breathe out to try to gain some control in the madness. I got my wish. Violet stopped struggling. She stopped screaming. Turns out the silence wasn’t what I wanted. Violet safe—that’s what I wished for. Silence doesn’t mean safe.
The car slows, and I brace myself to keep from ramming into the walls of the trunk. We’ve been driving for too long. An hour. Maybe more. I tried counting, tried to gauge how far from Snowflake we were taken, but worrying over Violet killed my concentration.
The engine shuts off, and the stillness causes my skin to crawl. They hurt her, I’ll hurt them. Doesn’t get much simpler than that. I gave up earlier to save Stone, to save Violet. Gun to the head ends all debate, especially when that gun’s on Violet.
Doors squeak open. The car shakes. Doors slam shut. Movement outside, but nothing else. Beats of time pass and my already strained patience is on the verge of snapping. I angle to my side so I can reach my belt. I’ve got a small lock pick hidden there. It’s not normal, but it’s how I roll. Fast hands sometimes need assistance.
Footsteps and I return to my back.
“We’re going to open the trunk,” comes a deep voice. “We’ve got a gun trained on you, and we’ll shoot, so be slow as you get out.”
The trunk opens, and a spotlight shines in my direction. My eyes snap shut, and when I attempt to open them, all I see is black spots. I’m blinded. Fingers on my arm and I’m pulled out. My feet hit the ground, and no matter which way I turn my head, the light follows me. Smart bastards. With the dark night, the spotlight keeps me from seeing my surroundings, from identifying additional faces, how many people will be thwarting my attempt at escape.
We go forward, into a building; the door looks like one that could belong to a house. Inside, it’s pitch-dark, and I drop my head, studying the floor to keep the light from continuing to blind me. The flooring is linoleum, like I would find in a kitchen. White squares with black diamonds in the middle.
Pushed and we’re heading down stairs that groan. Wooden ones with no backing. The air temperature drops with each step, and the stench of mold and mildew fills my nose. At the bottom, my boots land on concrete and then men fall away as I’m being pulled ahead. We stop. A hesitation. And then I’m released.
The light turns off, darkness engulfs my vision, rapid footsteps. I pivot on my heels to find a way to escape, and a door is slammed shut. My heart beats in my ears, and I glance around as I blink to adjust my eyesight, but there’s only darkness. No natural light.
A rustle in the corner behind me and I spin. “Violet?”
“Chevy?” Shifting of fabric. “God, Chevy, I’m here. I can’t see. They blindfolded me.”
“Not much to see. It’s dark. Keep talking so I can find you.”
“My hands are still bound,” Violet continues. Never knew so much relief could be found in hearing her sweet voice. “I’m sitting. In a corner. Felt safer that way. I can stand if you want.”
“No. Stay sitting.” I keep blinking, an instinctual movement so my vision can adjust for light, but there’s only the black hole. The tip of my boot comes into contact with something solid, but with give. “This you?”
“Yeah.”
I crouch, then lean my back against the wall beside her, letting my hand brush the exposed skin of her arm. As a gesture of comfort, to reaffirm I’m here and she’s safe. Violet’s cold to the touch, and she trembles. She’s in shock. Why the hell wouldn’t she be? I rap the back of my head against the concrete wall. Fuck the Riot. Fuck them for all of this. “You okay?”
She inches closer to me and our legs touch. So do our arms. I move my head in her direction so I can inhale her scent. Violet smells like honey. It’s a perfume her father bought her for her fourteenth birthday and continued to buy for her every year after that. Until this year.
I purchased it for her the other day, but I wasn’t sure if I would have the guts to give it to her. We’ve been like two rabid dogs trapped in a cage. I was afraid she’d throw it back in my face and wasn’t sure I could stomach more rejection.
The perfume sits on my dresser stuffed in a birthday bag. Somehow, in this moment, my lack of courage seems pathetic.
“Violet?” I’m slow asking because I’m not sure I can control my reaction if she gives an undesired answer. I’m already walking a tightrope, and I’m not the kind, at least when it comes to her, who can keep my balance. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
Fear she’s lying whirls inside me. “You were screaming and then you stopped. I need to know if they hurt you.” I need to know if I’ll be able to sleep again.
Silence on her end. Each quiet second that passes causes my body temperature to rise with the growing rage.
“Violet,” I urge, barely able to keep the anger from leaking out in my voice.
“The guy in the backseat backhanded me,” she says in a small voice, as if that confession is something she should be ashamed of.
I’m going to kill them. I’m going to kill every single one. “How bad?”
“Are you okay?” She attempts to drag the conversation in another direction because she knows me. Knows I’m on the verge of losing my mind.
“Violet.”
“He hit me and we’ve been kidnapped,” she snaps. “Isn’t that bad enough?”
No. They hurt her. No part of me is okay with that.
“Are you okay?” she asks again. “They hit you. I saw it.”
And I hit them back. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Violet’s entire body quakes in a small fit and the stream of air being pushed through her lips as she tries to control herself is audible. She’s killing me, and she needs to know she’s not alone. Not physically. Not mentally. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. The club’s maybe, but not yours. This is what the Terror is, Chevy. This is why I walked away.”
This is the Riot’s fault, not the Terror’s, but I’m not in the mood to argue. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you better at the car.”
“You did exactly what I wanted you to do.”
She’s referring to protecting Stone. Violet shakes again, and I edge closer to her, wishing I could comfort her more. “I promise I’ll protect you now. I won’t let them touch you again.”
“I know you’ll try.”
I can do more than try. I lean forward, fish for the lock pick I’d stuck in my leather belt and begin the task of freeing myself from the cuffs. Can’t remember the first time I picked a lock. Cyrus said I was breaking out of baby gates and jimmying safety latches before I was two.
“Can you do it?” she whispers, so quietly I barely hear her. She’s probably frightened someone’s listening. Won’t lie, I’m itchy wondering the same. The rest of this dark room seems empty, but I won’t feel good until it’s fully explored.
“Give me a few.” I work at the handcuffs. There’s something about how my mind ticks and how my fingers move with the puzzle. The way I can hear the metal shifting. The gentle vibrations a lock gives right as it’s about to pop.
And it does pop and a much-needed adrenaline rush floods my veins. I slip off the cuffs, careful when setting them down not to create noise, then gently move my fingers until I find Violet. I make contact with her knee first, and she flinches as if that caused her pain.
Damn bastards. I skim up her leg, up her side, her arm, then to her face.
Material is wrapped around her head. I lift it off her eyes, then press on her shoulder for her to angle forward. She does, and with steady hands, I pick the lock, then set her handcuffs on the floor.
Violet’s hand catches mine and she squeezes. I thread our fingers together, lower my head and nuzzle her hair until I find her ear. Memories of doing this hundreds of times flash in my mind, but each of those times was a moment to be cherished. This—this is comfort, but it’s also survival.
“Stay here,” I whisper into her ear. “I’m going to move around the room, make sure we’re alone. See if I can feel a way to get out.”
Violet reaches up, her fingers caressing my cheek, and a pleasing shiver runs through me when her lips brush against my ear as she speaks. We haven’t been this close in months. Not even in the last few weeks of our relationship. “Let me help.”
“I want to make sure we’re alone. I need you to stay still and silent. Two of us moving around won’t help.”
She sags, resting her forehead against my temple. Can’t understand the chaos inside me. Can’t give names to the swirling emotions, but the one thing I do comprehend is the instinct to survive, the instinct to protect her. The need to gather Violet in my arms and carry her out. Yeah, I gave in earlier, but they’ll have to take me down before they reach her again.
I bunch her hair in my hand, kiss her forehead, then pull away.
There’s a buzzing under my skin as my fingertips slowly inch their way across the wall. A sense that I’m being watched. That the hourglass has been tipped and I’m running out of time. My fingers slide up and down the concrete, searching for a window, a tool, anything I can use to defend us or for a way out. With each centimeter searched, any hope I had of busting out evolves into desperation.
My heart stalls when my fingertips collide with cloth. I press and beneath it find something solid. It’s barely above my height and I run my hands along the length, then width. Excitement grows within me. It’s a window. It’s a way out.
I yank at the fabric and it tears as if nailed in, and the more I pull, the more of it gathers into my hands and falls to the floor. A tiny ray of light leaks from a crevice. Between me and freedom are wooden shutters.
A simple latch lock. I flip it, draw the shutters open, dim light floods the room and I curse as I lower my head. Bars. There’re fucking bars on the window. I grab hold of them and shake, but there’s no give. We’re stuck. Fucking stuck, and when I rise up on my toes, all I see are bushes.
I round and survey my surroundings. Hoping for another window. Hoping for another way, but all I see are two concrete walls, two walls made of drywall, the door and Violet still huddled in the corner.
She’s watching me, expectation and hope fighting on her face over the reality of our situation. Violet’s praying I have a solution, and when I meet her eyes, I mash my lips together and shake my head. My heart shreds as she lowers her head into her hands.
My fists tighten at my sides and the urge is to pound the wall, but that won’t help Violet. Won’t help me. I gotta stay smart, gotta fight the emotion. Logic is what’s going to keep us alive.
With a roll of my neck, I cross the room, slide my leather coat off my arms and offer it to her.
Violet glances up at me and my entire body seizes. Her lip is fat and blood is smeared across her cheek. Some of it from her mouth, some of it from her nose. If there was more light, I bet her cheek would be bruising. She told me she was backhanded and I was somehow able to compartmentalize that, but now...
“It’s cold in here,” Violet says, “and the jacket is yours.”
It is cold. The bitterness already biting at my arms, but I’ll be damned if I’m warm and she’s not. To avoid the argument, I drop beside her and toss the jacket like a blanket over her shoulders.
“Chevy,” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Just take it.”
Silence on her end and I feel like a dick for snapping at her. I raise my knees to rest my arms on them and stretch my fingers like doing so could release the anger, then tension. “I couldn’t stop them from taking you. I couldn’t stop them from hurting you, but I can keep you warm. Let me do this. It’s not much, but it’s all I got.”
Violet slowly turns her head in my direction, and it’s damn hard not to stare at her damaged lip. The light falling into the room is weak, but bright enough to highlight a strand or two of her red hair. I try to focus on that and how I used to lie with her and run my hand through her hair for hours. Better times. Happier times. What I sure as hell hope we can find again after we escape.
“I was going to say we could try to share your jacket.” She hesitates. “That I don’t mind being close to you.”
My brain freezes, and I hear more than what she’s saying. Hear her fear, hear there’s more to what happened in the backseat of that car, hear that she needs me.
I straighten my legs and Violet eases into me. Her shoulder, leg and arm pressed to me as she attempts to cover both of us with my jacket. I wrap my arm around her and briefly close my eyes at how soft she feels. It’s been a long time since I held her, and each night without her has been torture.
Violet rests her head on my shoulder, and she reaches up to try to make my jacket stay on my other shoulder, but it falls. “You’re not covered all the way.”
She’s covered and that’s all I care about. “I’m okay.”
“No, you aren’t,” she whispers. “You should be home. I should be home. We should be nowhere near here.”
She’s right, but instead of replying, I lean forward, slip my arm under Violet’s knees and gather her onto my lap. Violet stares at me, eyes blinking, a bit bewildered, and I shake my head slightly to let her know I’m not fighting with her. I’m not claiming some stake in our future. I just need her, maybe more than she needs me.
She exhales. It’s a long one and then she lifts her hand. I stop breathing when she brushes her fingers along my cheek. “They hit you. You’re bruising. Everywhere.”
And I’d go through each and every hit again to protect her. My only regret is that we ended up here.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know how else to protect Brandon.”
“We did what we had to.”
Violet rests her head into the crook of my neck, and when she raises my jacket to my shoulder again, it stays. I weave my arms around her and rub my hands up and down her cold arms, almost like I’m trying to convince a dying fire to stay burning.
“Why is this happening?” Her breath tickles my neck, and I wish we were anywhere but this damp, cold prison.
