Rebellious (19 page)

Pain.
It exploded through my nerve endings the second I came to. I whimpered. It hurt everywhere—the back of my head, my jaw, my back, my sides. I couldn't take a breath or whimper without waves of agony wracking my body. Nausea from the pain prickled the back of my throat. I spent my first few seconds awake trying to keep from throwing up. Somewhere around my fifth painful breath, a few details of my surroundings slowly filtered through. The cold, hard ground under my face. The acrid smell of marijuana. The off-kilter sound of someone cackling. I hadn't even opened my eyes, but I already knew I was in trouble.

Oh God. Where was I? What happened to me? My breath left me in short, quick pants since that was all I was capable of without passing out from the pain. But the breaths didn't help calm me. Panic clawed at my brain as I struggled through the pain to think of the last thing I remembered. And then it came to me. Someone attacking me behind the Dumpsters at work. Kicking, stomping me until I passed out.

Oh God. Michael.

What was I going to do? How could I get away from him?

I tried to move my arm, but I couldn't. I guessed I was tied up somehow, although the pain radiating from every limb made it difficult to tell which way was up, let alone what had been done to me.

Why did he take me? Was this Michael's twisted sense of love? What was he going to do to me? Suddenly I wished I hadn't read so many books on the Spanish Inquisition. That and my vivid imagination made my situation about twenty times worse.

I was so screwed.

“There's no point in pretending you're still unconscious,” a deep voice drawled to my right. “I knew the second you woke up. You're breathing faster.”

Oh God. I didn't recognize that voice. It wasn't Michael. Who had me? I was almost afraid to open my eyes, but I knew this bastard wouldn't hesitate to slap me awake. I blinked a couple of times, and the room came in focus.

“Ah, there's the sleeping beauty. You know, personally I don't get what that bastard Reb sees in you. Too short. Too flat-chested. Too bruised. Although that last one might be my fault.” A tall, lanky man leaned over me and ran a finger down my throbbing cheek. I shuddered as I turned my head away.

I didn't want him or his hands anywhere near me. The knowledge that he was the one who'd kicked and beat me made my stomach churn. But that could've been the ridiculous amount of pain I was already in. My head throbbed, my ribs ached, and I was starting to lose feeling in my hands.

My surroundings didn't make me feel any better, either. When I saw the bare cement floor I was lying on, the grungy futon in the corner, the industrial sink opposite me, and the floor drain near my feet, I knew I was in trouble. Scary, they're-probably-gonna-kill-me trouble.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Spots danced in front of my eyes as my panic sank in. He was going to kill me. But he'd probably have some fun torturing me first. Oh God. Oh God. I didn't want to die. My breath left me in short, quick pants, which really didn't make my ribs feel any better. I closed my eyes with a muffled whimper.

Whap.
The side of my face exploded with pain.

“I told you to keep your eyes open!” the man barked at me.

I immediately obeyed, and the image of my captor filled my vision. He wore a stained white T-shirt, jeans that hadn't seen a wash in a long time, if ever, and a scarred leather vest whose patches read “V.P.” and “Joker.” But for his abuse and lack of hygiene, in another setting I might've found him attractive. His pale green eyes were captivating. And he had that combination of model good looks, scruffy facial hair, and bad boy sneer.

On Reb the look was intoxicating.

On Joker it scared the crap out of me.

Of course, the large knife he was wielding might've had something to do with my fear.

He held it in front of his face and watched the light glint on the blade. A twisted smile stretched his thin lips. “You know, I had plans for this baby a couple weeks ago.”

I didn't say anything, but I also didn't take my eyes off his knife.

“Me and Reb met up at the Honey Pot, and I was this close to him 'til that fucker Tank got in my way. But I got a nice slice out of his arm. There's still some TB blood on the hilt.” Joker rubbed his thumb over a spot on the hilt of the knife, then licked his thumb with relish. “Sweet. Do ya think your blood is gonna taste as sweet when it's rolling down my knife?”

My body started trembling. I was going to die. He was going to kill me in some basement, and there was nothing I could do about it. I didn't even try to scream or cry. What was the point? I was bound and helpless and he was going to kill me. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I blinked furiously as a tear ran down my cheek.

Joker bent down to me, and I flinched, then ducked away. His hand clamped down on my jaw in a crushing grip. “Don't. Fucking. Move.”

I could only whimper as his tongue traced the path my tear had taken. Then he shoved my face away from him, and I cringed, waiting for another blow or his knife to follow.

But nothing came. I rubbed as much of his touch and my tears off my face as I could with my shoulder, then took a cautious look around. He stood a few feet away, but he wasn't alone now.

Rhonda was plastered against him and sucking on the side of his neck like a leech. This time my shudder wasn't due to fear. She moaned deep in her throat, then pulled away with an audible slurp.

“Ah, sweetie, you started the party without me.” She turned and gave me a smirk. “Don't look so high-and-mighty now, do ya, bitch?”

I flinched as she spit at me. Rhonda swiped at the spittle hanging off her lower lip and scowled.

I didn't know what to say to her, so I kept silent. But that seemed to antagonize her more.

“You think I don't know what you did to my family? You just sweep in and take my son, my husband, and my fucking spot in his bed, and I'm not gonna do shit?” Her face turned redder and redder with every word until it rivaled her cheap bottle dye job. “I tried to warn you off with my flowers and the tires, but didja listen? No, you didn't, you stupid bitch. No one replaces me in my family's life. No one!”

She grabbed the knife from Joker and lunged at me. She slashed at my arms with a manic intensity. I hissed with the first cut and she laughed. It only took seconds to make my hiss turn to whimpers and then sobs from the pain. White-hot rivers of agony streamed along my arms. I tried to dodge her, but there was nowhere to hide.

When I didn't think there was another inch of skin on my arms she hadn't sliced through, Joker grabbed her by the back of her hair and pulled her off me.

“Christ, woman. I don't think there's anything fucking hotter on this earth than you with bloodlust in your eyes.” He turned her in his arms and jammed his tongue down her throat.

Rhonda hummed with pleasure and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter as she ran her blood-soaked hands up his grungy shirt to grab on to the back of his neck.

I didn't know where to look. Seeing the amount of blood on Rhonda and now Joker made me light-headed. Although that might've been my own blood loss. And I knew if I saw my arms, the pain would be twenty times worse. Bile tickled the back of my throat, and I swallowed heavily. Giving in to the pain, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the sensation of blood dripping down my fingers. Not to mention the sound of it hitting the floor or of Joker and Rhonda going at it in front of me.

I tried to think of happier things. Jessica and Zag's wedding in less than two weeks. How cute their baby, Harley, was the last time I saw her. That devilish twinkle in Tucker's eye when he tried to sneak an extra helping of dessert. The hell Reb would unleash on these assholes when he showed up.

If he showed up. Because if he didn't, I was going to die. Oh God.

Oh God.

But no one showed up.

I listened to Joker and Rhonda make out, but soon their slurps turned to groans and the rustling of clothing. They were going to have sex right in front of me while I bled out. I tried to block the sounds, but they might as well have been on top of me. Between my excruciating pain and the sense of overwhelming doom, I couldn't take it. The tears I fought off for so long coursed down my cheeks, and I bit my lip to keep my sobs inside. It killed me that they could see me cry, but I wasn't going to give them added pleasure of hearing me cry. I'd die first.

There was a distinct possibility that might come true.

“Oh, Reb.”

My eyes flew open at Rhonda's moan.

“What the fuck?” Joker pushed her away and Rhonda stumbled as she clutched her bra to her voluptuous chest. Joker pointed a finger in her face. “Don't you
ever
call me by that bastard's name.”

“Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry. I just—it was an accident. I swear.”

“Bullshit. I heard what you said to her. How it was her fault that you got kicked out of his bed. Really? You really wanna play that way with me? You think I'm stupid?”

They continued to argue and I fidgeted uncomfortably. My shoulders were starting to ache something fierce. I rolled my right shoulder and felt the rope tied around my wrists slacken somewhat. My heart raced. I twisted my arms again, and the rope loosened a bit more. The blood running along my arms was actually working in my favor. I threw a look over at the arguing couple, but they were too busy with their drama.

Taking advantage of their distraction, I continued to work on the rope around my wrists. It bit into my skin but between the hits from earlier, the cuts Rhonda inflicted, and my numb shoulders, I had a hard time processing additional pain. It all rolled into one throbbing mass of injuries that I was trying really hard not to focus on. I was almost free when I heard a huge
crack.

I looked up in time to see Joker's face swing to the side with the force of Rhonda's slap.

“Don't call me that!” she bellowed in his face. “Fuck this. Fuck you and your shitty little crew. I'm so out of here.” She took off for the door, but Joker bounded after her.

“Like hell you are. You're neck-deep in this shit, too, cunt.”

Rhonda hissed out her breath as she turned on the bottom step and glared at Joker. “I said. Don't. Call. Me. That.”

“I'll call you whatever the fuck I want. And you're not leaving. I'll make you regret even trying.”

“Watch me.” Rhonda spun around on her stilettos and raced up the stairs.

“Fucking bitch!” Joker was hot on her heels.

They cleared the stairs, and I heard a door slam shut somewhere in the distance.

And then muffled thumps and yells. I couldn't tell what they were saying, but I wasn't going to let this opportunity disappear.

With renewed determination I wriggled and twisted. The ropes felt distinctly looser, but I couldn't quite get them—

Bang.
A door slammed upstairs. Then I heard something that suspiciously sounded like gunfire.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.

Shit! I wriggled and twisted and groaned as I struggled against the ropes. Whatever was going on upstairs wasn't good, and I knew I only had one chance to get the hell outta here. I had to take it.

Tears coursed down my cheeks and I whimpered, both from the pain and from my fear of what would happen if I
didn't
get away. Just when I thought the knots would never give way, my thumb popped free and the ropes fell to the ground.

I froze in fear, afraid the slight sound had penetrated a set of stairs and a whole floor above me. Everything stayed suspiciously quiet. I tore at the ropes binding my ankles. The rough twine bit into my tender fingers and I got a few splinters—not that I gave a shit. I just wanted them off and to get as far away from here as possible.

After a minute of struggling, the ropes fell away and I was free.

I stood cautiously, half afraid that I wouldn't be able to hold my own weight up. My head spun and I swayed a bit, but I could stand. Euphoria sang through me. I was alive.

Now all I had to do was get the hell outta wherever here was.

I looked around the room but I didn't see anything that would help me. Just the grungy futon, industrial sink, and bare lightbulb swaying overhead I'd spied earlier. Dammit. Was it too much to hope for a phone or a freaking handgun?

I crept toward the stairs. I knew it was my only way out, but I was so freaking scared. My heart pounded in my ears. Aside from my pounding pulse and the sound of my blood plopping onto the cement floor, the house was silent. I knew for a fact that the bad guys were up there. How many were there? What was that sound I'd heard? Who shot who? Since no one had come charging downstairs to rescue me, I doubted the gunfire was a good sign. Had Joker killed Rhonda? Did Rhonda kill Joker and did his Tramp brothers then kill her?

All my fear crashed down on me. My heart raced, and I think the mixture of my fear and the trauma made me light-headed. Oh God, my body ached. I could still feel my blood running down my arms. It hurt so bad, but I was afraid to look. Between my throbbing arms, aching jaw, and rope burns, I just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

I couldn't. I had to do this. There was only one way out, and I was taking it. Trembling with nerves and pain, I had taken the first two steps up the stairs when I saw it.

A rhinestone-encrusted camouflage handbag, halfway up the stairs.

In her sudden flight either up or down the stairs, Rhonda must've dropped her purse.

I crept to it as fast as my aching body would let me and tore open every pocket I could find, praying that she had left her cellphone inside somewhere. Tears of relief, or gratitude, sprang from my eyes when I saw her cheap flip phone. I sent up a quick prayer of thanks for her continuing the burner phone tradition she'd learned from Reb. I wouldn't need a passcode to make a call.

Thank God.

I didn't hesitate. My fingers flew over the keys as I called the only person I trusted to come get me.