Page 6 of Chaos Bound
“Let me out of here.” Naiya threw herself at the guard, beating his chest to distract him from Holt who was leaning against the wall behind the door with the knife in his hand.
Dammit.Why didn’t he move?
She grabbed the guard’s cut and shook him, doing her best to feign terror. “I can’t take it. I’m afraid of the dark. I’ll do anything. Tell Viper. I’ll be good. I promise.”
“Jesus. Fuck. Get off me.” The guard swatted at her, but Naiya held on, keeping his back to Holt.
Still, Holt didn’t move. What the hell was he waiting for? An invitation? Goddamnit. This was what happened when you didn’t have a plan. Clutching the guard’s cut, she slammed her knee into his groin. He doubled over with a grunt and she caught a blur of motion behind him. Holt’s knife flashed and the guard dropped like a stone, blood dripping from his neck onto the concrete floor.
Holt stumbled to the side and Naiya caught him before he fell.
“I was worried for a moment there. Thought you might not be up to the task.” She felt curiously unmoved by the guard’s death. Maybe because his wasn’t the first violent death she’d witnessed—by the time she turned eleven years old, she’d seen two stabbings, a shooting, and a strangling, all in her mother’s apartment. Maybe she was in shock. She hadn’t really expected Holt to kill him, just slow him down. Or maybe it was because the guard was one of the Jacks who had held her down in Viper’s office that terrible night and part of her believed he deserved what he got.
Holt snorted, wiped the knife on his jeans. “It’s about timing. Knowing when to act. Rolling with the punches.”
“I’ll remember that next time I have to slit someone’s throat.” Nausea finally roiled in her belly, and she pushed the sick feeling away. They had taken a life. And although she wasn’t the one who had wielded the knife, she was complicit in the crime. A wave of panic washed through her, and she was profoundly grateful Holt had taken on the burden himself. For all that she studied death and spent her free time reading suspense novels and watching crime shows, and for all the violence she’d witnessed in her life, she was pretty sure, when it came down to it, she couldn’t have done the job.
Naiya peered out the door and into the night. “Step one. Completed. Now for step two. Hopefully it can be accomplished without bloodshed.” She couldn’t look at the man on the ground as Holt rifled through his pockets, but his grunt of pleasure drew her attention.
“Bike key.” He held up a black, circular key fob. “We’ll ride out of here in style.”
Naiya fought back a groan. “Now we have the beginning of a plan. And an end. How about we work on the middle?”
“We’re gonna have to improvise the middle bit.” He patted down the fallen guard, relieving him of his wallet, his weapon and the holster around his waist. “Problem solved.”
“Ah, it’s the old shoot ’em as you go routine.” Naiya couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. “Nice and discrete. Definitely won’t draw the attention of the fifty or so Black Jacks partying inside.”
Holt tugged the Black Jack cut over the guard’s shoulders and yanked off his T-shirt. “Put these on me. He’s got the same hair color as me. Pretty much the same size. I’ll keep my head down. You hide your face in case they recognize you. I’ll lean on you and you giggle. Make like we’re drunk.”
“I’m not a giggly drunk,” she protested. “I’m not even a giggly person. I’m more the serious type. Maybe you didn’t notice with all the dancing and singing I was doing.” Naiya helped him on with the T-shirt and cut, catching his grimace as he slid the Black Jack colors over his broad shoulders.
Despite the beatings he had taken, and the lack of sustenance, he still had more muscles than the men she’d dated until she hooked up with her current boyfriend, Maurice. And Holt was tall—an inch or two over six feet, she guessed—and that face… she could imagine women falling over themselves for a taste of him. Even the bruises couldn’t hide the chiseled planes and angles of his jaw, the wide, sensuous mouth, or those blue eyes… so piercing they shone in the dim light.
“And I’m not a fucking Jack. Pretend.”
Naiya startled at his sharp tone, but when she saw the tremor in his hand as he tucked the gun into the holster around his waist, she forgave him. He’d clearly been a prisoner for a long time, and if they didn’t make it out, Viper would finish the job he thought he’d finished days ago.
“Sorry. I’m not good at pretend either.”
His face softened, and he stroked her cheek. “Let’s just get out of here.”
“Sure.” She took up her position under his shoulder, bearing his weight as they breached the doorway, her cheek against the cool leather of his cut.
No. A Black Jack cut.
Naiya slid out from under his shoulder. After spending years in the biker world, she understood the importance of a biker’s cut. It meant more to him than his bike. His cut was his heart, his soul, his bond to his brothers and his club. “Your cut. I’ll get it.”
“No.”
“It’s okay. I’ll just be a second.” She ran back inside, balled up his cut, and tucked it under her arm.
“Good to go.” She slipped back under his shoulder and Holt grunted.
“Just leave it.”
“Really, Holt. It’s okay. I know what the cut means. I’ve turned it inside out and folded it. No one will see your patches.”
“Not my colors anymore,” he muttered as he pulled the door closed behind them. “Not my club.”
