Exquisite Redemption (Iron Horse MC Book 3) (10 page)

BOOK: Exquisite Redemption (Iron Horse MC Book 3)
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“You’re aware she’s going to be missed, right? That it’ll be all over the news by tomorrow?”

The driver grunted, then said, “What’re you taking ’bout?”

“That bitch you have in the back is Sarah Star, a
Playboy
Centerfold and this year’s headliner at Sturgis.”

I hoped maybe that news would somehow sway them to release me, but instead of being upset, both men cheered. “Fuck yeah, payday! This bitch will be on her way to Russia by tomorrow.”

The stranger’s oddly modulated voice cut through their glee at the thought of selling me for a bunch of money.  “Just make sure she’s gone.”

“No worries, this bitch is about to become a ghost.”

“Good.”

The stranger must have hung up because the guy driving angrily said, “What a motherfucking dick. Hate that asshole. Thinks just ’cause he ranked high in the military it means jack shit.”

They bitched about him while I tried to get a good grip on my knife, my fingers straining in my limited range of movement.

Glancing over at Beach, I was surprised to see he was awake, his dark eyes glittering with rage and concern as he watched me.

I returned his gaze and tried to evaluate how aware he was. For all I knew, they’d drugged him before tossing us in the back of the van after Tasering us.

Moving as slowly as possible, I inched closer to him and tried to communicate for Beach to turn over so I could reach his hands. His brows scrunched down in confusion at my subtle head movements, then I moved my hands so he could see the knife. Right away his eyes went wide and he jerked his head but didn’t turn so I could have him hold the knife.

The guys up front were talking now in that foreign language again while a third person, a woman, chimed in, and I realized they’d put the speakerphone on again. They sounded as if they were arguing and I heard my name, but I couldn’t stop to listen. Knowing they were distracted—the chick on the phone sounded seriously pissed—I took the opportunity to use my knee to try and shove Beach so he’d roll over to his side.

It took a couple subtle pushes, but eventually he got the idea and rolled.

His hands were almost completely covered in tape but I managed to wedge my knife in there, praying we didn’t take any abrupt turns or I’d get that razor edge right in my gut.

Moving as quickly as I dared now, I began to saw through the edges of the tape holding my hands together. I was almost free when the vibration of a heavy foot hitting the floor had me freeze. The guy in the passenger seat from up front was coming back to us and I fought back a tremble of fear.

If he turned me over now, I was fucked.

Sweat beaded on my face as I struggled to control my fear, my overactive imagination painting images of him shooting me in the head as I lay here, almost free. Adrenaline coursed through me and the need to jerk my hands and break free of the tape gnawed at my self-control.

Cloth shifted and I held my breath as he moved, waiting for him to touch me and expose the frayed tape, but karma was on my side at this moment and instead he returned to the front seat.

Sensing time was running out, I managed to free my hands, burning the skin of my wrists in the process. The moment I was free, I froze, waiting for the men to raise the alarm, but they continued to talk—no, argue—with the woman on the phone. Beach remained on his back so I reached beneath him, his big body jerking at my touch, and took the knife from him. I sucked in a deep breath and debated if I should try to free him or take out the threat.

My father’s voice whispered in my head that I knew what needed to be done, and even though the tender part of my heart I’d managed to protect from my mother’s cruelty protested, I shut it down. The men in the front seat went from being people who had families and loved ones, to my enemy.

No way in hell could I take both of them at the same time, so I had to get rid of the passenger first. If I went after the driver, he’d most likely crash us and I wasn’t sure if I’d survive it. Fortunately for me, the argument up front was becoming heated and I could feel the anger from them both filling the van. That sense of time running out sent adrenaline coursing through me and my muscles trembled with the need to move.

I glanced over at Beach, who was clearly telling me to cut his bonds, but I subtly shook my head before looking away. My nostrils flared as I tried to take another deep breath and I wanted to rip the tape off my mouth, but I couldn’t risk any more delays.

I got a better look at the passenger as I rolled to my feet and crept towards him. He was in his late forties, maybe early fifties, with dark-tanned skin and black receding hair. His face was craggy and he wore leather gloves—but that was all I noticed before I moved behind his seat and slit his throat.

Hot blood splashed over my hands and I choked back the bile rushing up from my stomach at the hideous gasping, gurgling sound he made. The man driving shouted something as I lunged for his throat then he whipped the van to the right, making me lose my balance and smash against the side of the van. My head rang and a dizzying rush of pain dimmed my vision as I scrambled to my feet. The knife, slippery with blood, fell from my grip and I let out a muffled shout of dismay as I ducked to grab it as a loud bang shook the interior of the van. Glass rained down on my back and I scrambled for the blade, the realization I’d almost been shot threatening to send me into a blind panic.

I managed to scoop up the knife and got a better grip on it as the driver slammed on the breaks. Instead of fighting the momentum, I allowed it to carry me forward and reached out blindly in the direction of the driver, stabbing over and over at the mass of his body as my ears rang and my vision continued to dim. Faintly I thought I heard the man screaming but I was only focused on one thing—killing him.

The van struck something and I flew forward, hitting the dash with my side hard enough it knocked the breath out of me.

I tore the tape from my mouth, the sting of my lips nothing compared to my ribs. Each breath I took sent a wave of pain through me and I shoved my hair from my face, trying to see what had happened. The sky had lightened to the point that through the blood-smeared passenger window, beyond the corpse of the man slumped against the glass, I could see a dim line of pink and gold on the distant horizon.

Steam escaped from the front of the van where it had run into a boulder and a quick glance confirmed the driver was on his way out. Blood covered him and his eyes were already glassy with death as they locked on mine. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, and the shock that contorted his features made him appear even younger. My mind tried to focus on the fact that somewhere right now a family was about to lose their loved one. The pain of taking a deep breath cleared my thoughts of anything but the fact I was hurt and these assholes were going to sell me to the fucking Russians, whatever that meant.

Muffled sounds came from behind me and I forced my numb limbs to move so I could go check on Beach. He was crammed against the wheel well, his gaze locked on me as I crawled to him, my breath coming in short pants. I had to wipe my hands on his jeans to get the blood off enough so I could grip the handle of my knife without it slipping as I cut his hands free. From the front seat, the driver exhaled his final breath in a death rattle.

It took some effort, but by the time Beach was able to move, the smell of gasoline was overpowering. He gave a shout as he ripped the tape from his mouth and sure enough, some of his facial hair came with it.

Having had my kitty waxed a couple dozen times before I got most of the hair permanently lasered off, I could empathize with his pain.

My mind was going kinda floaty at this point and I didn’t resist when he grabbed the knife from me and began to saw through the tape binding his legs with a fierce grimace.

“Are you okay?”

I gingerly touched my side, pressing down lightly on my ribs and whimpering at the pain. “I think my ribs might be bruised, but not broken.”

The scent of smoke reached me as Beach grunted. “We gotta get outta here.”

I was in complete agreement because the air inside the van was rapidly fouling and I knew once the fire reached the fuel, we were fucked.

Luckily the back of the van wasn’t damaged and it opened from the inside. Beach got out first, his gait unsteady as he helped me out as gently as possible. We stumbled away from the smoking wreck, Beach’s face pale and drawn as he took most of my weight with his one good leg and helped me stumble across the sparse grass of the deserted plains. The one-lane road was completely empty as far as the eye could see. I had to hold back my tears as the realization we escaped a terrible situation filtered through the chaos of the last few hours. Training for a situation like this was one thing, but actually living through it was something else entirely.

Beach sat against a large reddish boulder near the side of the road and I pretty much collapsed next to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Let me look you over. Where you hurt?”

“My head, and my ribs and my shoulder.”

He gently lifted the side of my tank and made a pained noise. “You’re banged up pretty bad. Thought for sure you were gonna go through the windshield.”

“I’m pretty sturdy.” I gestured to my right boot. “My cell phone’s in there. Inner pocket. Call my dad.”

For a moment he stared at me, then shook his head and loosened the laces of my boot with unsteady hands. “Take it easy, sweetheart, I’ve got it from here. Don’t think callin’ your daddy would be the best idea at the moment. I’ll get us safe,
corazón
.”

I wanted to argue with him that calling my dad would guarantee a quick rescue, but the adrenaline rush was fading and I began to shake, a chill invading me from the inside out.

Beach gave me a concerned look as he began to thumb through my phone. “Sendin’ texts first to my SOS network.”

Blinking at him, I belatedly looked around and wondered where the fuck we were. There were trees around us, not too thick, but within a mile or so the land stretched out into a proper forest. Our position was exposed from two sides and I didn’t feel safe here. We were bound to have company sooner than later, and even though it looked like we were in the middle of nowhere, all it took was one person with a cell phone to see us and call us in to the police.

No, no cops. I didn’t want to have to explain I was just an innocent bystander at an outlaw biker party who got snatched, then killed her attackers. This whole situation stunk of some type of organized crime and after a lifetime of my mother scamming people left and right, I’d had my fair share of run-ins with really bad people. Hell, I still had a scar on my chin from where one of the mafia’s thugs had kicked me in the face, passing a message along to my mother that she needed to settle her debts.

All that shit changed after I met my dad and it took me a while to realize it, but he’d given me the greatest gifts he ever could. Real self-confidence and the ability to effectively defend myself and those needing help against pretty much anything and anyone. He gave me the skills needed to kick my mom’s infrequent boyfriends’ asses when they got inevitably rough with her, and to fight off any man who thought because I played up my sexuality rather than be ashamed of it, I was a whore.

Best of all he’d given me the skills to save Marley’s life when her ex-boyfriend had beaten her with a baseball bat. I took that bat from him and beat him to within an inch of his life, then called my dad for help with the cleanup. When he found out what happened, that it was some drug addict trying to hit a pregnant woman with a baseball, he became personally involved. My dad doesn’t fuck around and Marley’s ex found himself in a whole new world of hurt.

“You need to call my dad,” I repeated. “Him or one of his buddies will find us quicker than you could believe.”

Leaning over, Beach gently cupped my cheek and looked at me with an intensity that cut through the unwanted memories of my past. “You don’t get it,
mi reina
. Your life ain’t safe to return to right now. Whoever these fuckers were, they’ll be pissed we got way and you ain’t safe until I figure out who they are and deal with them.”

“Beach, listen to me. My dad can take care of it. Seriously.”

His eyes got soft and I wondered if he was mentally unbalanced. “I admire your confidence in your father, but truly, you don’t want this shit touching him. I’m gonna protect you. I know you don’t believe me ’cause you have no idea who the fuck I am, but you’ll learn I’m a man of my word.”

A secret, stupid girlie part of myself I thought had died years ago latched onto Beach’s words with a desperate hope. I wanted to trust someone enough to take care of me, to hold me in the darkness so I wasn’t alone, but it was tough. The world was a harsh place filled with predators who blinded those they intended to devour with pretty words. Instead of finding safety in the arms of my boyfriends, I’d found traps, and I was determined not to fall into another one.

I tried to fight the tiny pinprick of hope in my chest, telling myself Beach wasn’t good boyfriend material, that he was bad news. Still, what he’d said sank into me and softened the pain flowing through me. I resisted the forbidden temptation of trusting a man, yet he seemed so earnest. And he’d taken care of me back in that horrible room. He’d fought through the crowd to reach me. He said I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and meant it.

BOOK: Exquisite Redemption (Iron Horse MC Book 3)
2.86Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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