Snatched (10 page)

A
soft
groan from the bed made her pause just as she was abo
ut to open the door. She turned, her
breath
strangled in her throat
, waiting for him to
charge after her. A second turned into two, then three. Outside the door, she heard the honking of cars. Somewhere in the distance, she heard female laughter. Those sounds made it hard for her to hear his breathing, to know whether he was still asleep or had awakened, biding moments before rushing her.

It was now or never. She opened the door just a bit, hoping that the night sounds invading the room wouldn't awaken him. The
door
elicited a soft creak but she opened it enough, just enough to slip through the opening.

On the other side, fi
nally free since this afternoon – an eternity ago – sh
e shut the door softly behind her.

###

Nailah stood
just
outside the motel's
parking
lot
trying to
get
her
bearing
s
.
This was
a part of town she'd never been to and would have gone out of her way to avoid.
Saying
that the area
was seedy was being
too
kind.
Even beneath
the stark
street lights, the st
retch of blocks was dark and
desolate
with garbage strewn
pretty much everywhere
. Most of the buildings
seem
ed to be
dilapidated
warehouses
or
repair shops, a
ll of them
seemingly
closed up for the night.
There wasn't
a
restaurant or a
fast food place
as far as she could see
.
Not even a bar or an all-night liquor store
or any safe haven to run to.

She didn't have
her
cell phone
with her
. A
nd running up to just any
body – especially in this part of the city – ran
its own risks.
S
he estimated it was
near
midnight
or
a little
past
.
Still
the motel's
manager
or an employee
might be in
the
f
ront office. As she stood there debating whether to tempt fate and go back into the lot to find the manager's office, her heart
jumped
at the
revving
sound of
motorcycles
in the distance.

She shook her head in disbelief at
her bad luck
.
It couldn't
possibly
be them. Why would they even be here this time of night?

As the
sound of
motor
s
grew
louder, panic took hold.
If it was the bikers
, they'd
surely
see her
if
they pulled into the motel
lot
.
Maybe they would just pass by, but she couldn't take that chance.

There wasn't
time to think as i
nstinct took
over
.
She
thought about
running across the street to the darkened auto shop but there was still
quite a bit of
traffic
even at this hour
and she'd risk getting hit.
She rushed back to the lot thinking to maybe duck behind one of the lone cars. But even as she looked around at a likely hiding place, the door to her captor's hotel room opened as though on cue. Obviously, the sound of the motorcycles had awakened him and he'd found her gone.

She was only a few steps from him just as the cycles pulled into the lot. The last trace of hope dissipated with the idling motors that came to settle around her and her captor. She couldn't remember what they called him back at the house.

"Dele! What the fuck you got her out here
for
?"

The gang leader sat imperial on his bike, his
ponderous
beard tipping the slight
beginnings of
gut she hadn't noticed before. Holding on like a motor park
queen
was the
blond
woman she'd seen back at the house who'd looked as though she wanted to slap the black off of Nailah. Even in the dim shadows of the lot, Nailah could see the sentiment
still held as the woman skewered her with a stare
.

The biker expected an answer from…Dele. The look
Dele
threw her was anything but chivalrous and she knew she'd lost her knight
errant
, the only one who'd been willing to protect her.
Up
un
til
now.
She'd gambled and
she'd
lost.

But she still had an ace up her sleeve.
And now was the time to play it.

She
immediately
closed the space between her and
Dele
, who stood with an expression that could have turned her to stone.
She sidled up to him and did the unthinkable.

She kissed him. Not merely a touching of lips. She pushed her tongue into his mouth, sucked
at his tongue
for all it was worth. Just for a good show, she let a hand slide from the rock hard abs down to his belt buckle and settled just a little bit south.

The chorus of hoots behind them was just what she'd expected. Was just what she'd hoped.

Yes, she'd fucked up but if he knew what was good for the both of them, he'd play along.

For a second, he didn't respond and her heart froze. But then h
e took the cue and pulled her into him, his hand settling on her ass, squeezing. The squeeze was
hard
and
brutal
. She knew it was meant to be.

The returned kiss was equally bruising.

"
Look,
Dele
's done
tamed the bitch!"
Laughter erupted.

"Guess Dele's put the rod of obedience to her
," the leader said suspiciously, then more sternly. "
OK kiddies, f
ucking time's over. We got business to tend to."

Dele broke the kiss abruptly. The look of scorn he gave her lasted a second.
Just a second. But it seared through her.
She hoped
no one else
had seen it
or the gig would be up
.

"What's going down
,
Rez?"
Dele turned his eyes away from her as he
asked the leader
question
.

"The Jamaicans, that's what
…or rather who's
…
going down
. Muthafuckers
been caught
doing some
back
dealing. Skeet heard on the streets
this afternoon
they're meeting with the cartel
in an hour. They're trying to cut us out of the de
al
altogether
and
w
e
ain't gonna
have
no shit like that, not on my watch
.
Gear up, we're heading
to
Laguna
. Guess your whore's
gonna
ride with
you
tonight
. C'mon.
"

If Nailah had been scared before, she was terrified
now.

"I can stay…here" she started. Her answer was another belt of laughter.

"Oh honey, us females stick by our dudes come blood and pain," the blond offered up. "Ride
or
die, like they say."
The look she gave Nailah was smug, enjoying Nailah's obvious fear.

The
meal
from earlier roiled in her stomach at the
inescapable realization that she was
going
to what might turn into
a
n actual
gang fight. She could very well die tonight.
But she had no other choice. The biker Rez was rallying for a showdown and none of them were going to give her the opportunity to escape. Definitely not Dele, who was already s
tr
addling his bike. He turned to her, his look hooded.
The
unyielding
expression
defied her to protest further.
She knew the cues now, knew when to move. She walked to the bike, settled behind him.
He hit the throttle and a chorus of engines revved up. Then they were off.

She held down the vomit threatening to rise from her stomach. The night air chafed against her exposed skin. Her torn shirt fluttered with the velocity of the wind. He seemed comfortable even though he had not brought his jacket. She settled her forehead against his back, felt the hard, unyielding ridges of his spine through his tee shirt. For some reason, the hardness settled her fear. And with the ebb of her fear came the belief that somehow he would keep her safe. She didn't know how she knew this; she just did.

This was so fucked up. Some bad shit was going
to go down tonight a
nd she was going to be in the middle of it
all
. No way could he protect her
when the guns came out
.
And knowing the Jamaicans, there was definitely going to be some hardware on site.
All he could do
then
was try to shield her with his body.
He'd only taken one bullet in his career and that had been with a vest. No vests tonight.

He didn't relish dying
but
he couldn't let her get hurt
if he could help it
. Damn. How the fuck did all
of
this happen
anyway
?

He cursed every sparerib that had ever existed.
Cursed
the weird
circumstances tha
t had brought her into his life.
Especially now
when everything was going
so
wrong.

He felt
her
arms
tighten
around his waist.
Liked the feel
of them even as he
was disturbed to realize
how the feel of her
body
was becoming natural to him.
The anger edged the
s
e
thoughts
. He couldn't trust her
ever
again.
But h
e'd been stupid
in the first place
to
ever
take her word.

Still he couldn't blame her. He'd probably done the same thing in her place. It w
as human nature to take chances in order
to survive. To not trust someone who'd snatched you off the street. Who'd made you simulate a disgusting
act
for the amusement of a bunch of shit eaters.

But then he wasn't much better than the shits he surrounded himself with. It didn't take much psychoanalysis to reveal his
true motivation for
going undercover. Yes, it looked good
i
n his
professional file,
showed that he was
willing to go far and beyond the call of duty
. But if he allowed himself to dig deeper –
which
he rarely did – he would
have to admit to himself
that he was
just
a little too comfortable with
this life
. The filth and grime of the underground worlds he
regularly inhabited now along with the danger and
lawlessness –
it was home. He couldn't
see himself settling comfortably
into
a
mundane world of paperwork or
cruising in a car for long hours, his muscles atrophying from non-use. Even now, the adrenaline
that fed the fear fed that part of him that needed the danger, that needed the
lawlessness.