“Kara?” I tried to call, my voice getting lost on the wind.
“Dammit.” I wriggled in an attempt to bring my bound hands up and remove the sack that was over my head.
I could feel a warm body pressing against my back. There was another in front of me. Both were too small to be Poet.
Abruptly, the truck turned, causing us to roll like logs. I gritted my teeth as our bodies slammed together. There wasn’t any time to recover before the terrain went from smooth to bumpy. We started bouncing right along with the back end of the vehicle. This seemed to go on forever until the brakes made a squealing noise, and we came to a jerky stop.
My head bounced again, colliding with grooved metal. Doors opened, closed, and then calloused hands were lifting me out. I stumbled, being held upright by an iron grip on my upper forearm.
“Easy with the stock,” a man’s muffled voice came from my left.
“I know, I know. I always forget how unsteady the females get.”
From the sounds of it, this was a reoccurring thing these men did. I guess that made sense, though. They were too organized and prepared for it to be some random happening.
Unable to see anything, I had no choice but to rely on whomever was leading me to be my eyes. At least I could still feel and smell. I knew the ground was muddied because my boots kept sinking down. The air was thick with malodor and traces of sawdust.
I counted down from sixty, so I knew how long it would take to get back to the vehicle from where I was being led. After three minutes, we stopped. A chain rattled, a low groaning noise followed, and then we were moving again.
“Watch your step,” the man warned, tugging on my arm.
I used the toe of my boot as a feeler, discovering a low, solid ledge of some sort.
I lifted my leg and stepped up onto it, slightly faltering. The air had gone stale and stuffy. There was an underlying stench of urine and…old blood? Whatever the odor was, it was foul. Somewhere high above me a fan was blowing lukewarm air, which wasn’t helping the smell situation.
“Going right.” My guide steered me around something. Then, after a few more steps, he said, “Stand here.”
His hands landed on my shoulders and angled me horizontally. Another warm body, an arm, brushed against mine as they were instructed to do the same. I rubbed my wrists together as best I could to get blood circulating beneath the zip ties.
Once the sack on my head was removed, I blinked a few times, allowing my eyes to compensate for the dim pallor of light. My vision cleared, revealing dusty old pillars and a curvature of wooden stalls built in the shape of a U.
Behind me was the man who’d been my guide. He was average height, sporting two dark braids beneath a Stetson. I figured he was trying to be in character, seeing as we were in a draughty barn that had seen much better days.
The wooden planks that made up the walls had begun to rot. The roof was so old that small shafts of light streamed through where missing shingles no longer existed. A large arena was the main attraction of the space. It took up the entire midsection, reminding me of a bowl full of gravy.
A small sense of relief flowed through my chest when I saw Takara right beside me and in once piece, albeit looking pissed and confused. To her immediate left was a redhead. On the other side of me was a blonde. All of us seemed to be fine—physically, at least.
Blondie’s eyes were overflowing with tears and so puffy it was amazing they were still able to open.
I would bet my left lung that she was the one who’d been hysterical back in Phobos.
Goggles clapped his hands loudly to summon our attention. “Welcome to the Roboys’ Roadhouse, ladies. Where joy and pain are all part of the gain.”
Roboys’ Roadhouse.
I think the sign hanging on the arena gate had said that once upon a time, but it was too faded and worn to make out much of it now.
“You be good and continue to not cause me any problems, and I promise your stay here will be enjoyable for both of us,” Goggles continued.
As he spoke, he made wild motions with his arms. It would’ve been hard to take him seriously if I weren’t bound as a hostage.
Bound, but not helpless.
There were always options. I just had to consider which ones would get Takara and I out of here the safest. There was Poet to think about, too. They’d taken him in a separate vehicle. Since Goggles was in front of us and not currently driving it, Poet could be anywhere. I didn’t know if he were okay or not.