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
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 tur
n 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.”