Page 61 of Retribution
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dakota
Dakota groaned asher eyelids fluttered opened. “Fuck,” she whispered under her breath. Nausea roiled in her stomach at the same time that her head pounded like she’d done twelve keg stands.
She blinked, but everything was still blurry. Too bright. Too close to the surface as she struggled to move her aching, noodle-like limbs. Nothing on her body felt right. Everything was slow and Dakota couldn’t get her thoughts together as she fought to figure out what the hell had happened.
She was lying on a concrete floor, and she tried to adjust into a more comfortable position. Streaks of bright sunlight pierced her eyes like shards of glass.
Where the hell am I?
Then everything came back in a flash of quick images that left her gasping.That asshole Jake set me up. But why?The images kept coming: the stranger who attacked her, a cloth pushed against her face, the light fading to darkness.I was drugged!Clammy fear skittered up and down her spine and crept in the roots of her hair.Maybe he paid that asshole Jake money to take me. Maybe I’m going to be a sex slave. No!Panic—sheer, terrifying panic—ripped through her.I have to get out—escape.
The idea of that man’s hands groping her body brought sour bile up into her throat again and Dakota nearly choked.I can’t freak out. Not now. I have to focus.If she wanted to make it out alive and whole, she had to pay attention to everything.
Dakota’s stomach twisted and she bit back her groan. Images of what her kidnapper could do to her whirled through her mind in full technicolor.No, no, no.There wasn’t time to dwell on the what ifs, and it would only feed her fight-or-flight response. Dakota gritted her teeth as she tried to push up into a sitting position, but she couldn’t move.
Above her were bright fluorescent lights that reminded her of the sixth-grade classroom she sat in when she was a kid.Why the hell am I thinking ofthat? Again, she cried out at the relentless pounding in her temples. A bitter taste permeated her mouth, and Dakota wished she had some water to quench the horrible thirst. She was able to turn her head enough to see she was in a large room with stairs off to the left side that led to a door.
A basement. She had to be tucked in a basement somewhere. That would explain the smell—rot and mildew mixed with earth and something harsh, more chemical. Damn, that still didn’t explain why she couldn’t move her arms. Dakota winced as she tilted her head up and she caught a glimpse of rope. A quick tug and nothing moved again. There was a slight burning down her arm, pins and needles that made her grit her teeth and try to pull even harder, which was pretty useless.
Her abductor had tied her down tight to some sort of anchor point in the floor.
That would explain why her arms and legs weren’t obeying her brain—blood loss from being tied hand and foot to something behind and in front of her.
“You’re awake.” A male voice echoed throughout somewhere in the basement. Dakota couldn’t see him, but the tone of his voice made her stomach sink like a stone as a chill twisted up her spine. She jackknifed forward as far as her bonds would let her move. “Now we can have some real fun. I’m not into somnophilia.” Footsteps approached then the man who’d attacked her in the laundry room came into focus.
“Get the fuck away from me, asshole,” Dakota said as she tried to writhe and yank herself out of the ropes binding her down. “Don’t you dare touch me!”
“You don’t have a fucking say in any of this, slut.” The man’s hollow laugh reverberated around the room and made her choke with fear.
Dakota started tugging on the tethers again when she saw movement in the corner of her eye. She turned her aching head and saw someone walking slowly in her direction. Fingers of ice started at the tip of her toes and worked their way up her spine when she realized it was Golden Retriever boy from the incident at Duffy’s bar. He knelt down by her hip then bent over her so she could see his face: big grin and hollow, vacant eyes. His body heat pressed up tight against her waist, and Dakota tried to wiggle away but was unsuccessful.
“So, you do remember me? Good. I like that, baby.”
Revulsion hollowed out her gut then seething anger followed as she flailed and wiggled in her restraints, trying to break free so she could claw his eyes out. Different scenarios went through her mind, but the one she homed in on was Cobra busting through the door, beating the shit out of the two creeps, then cuddling her in his arms as he walked up the stairs and took her out of this hell hole.To safety. Oh … Cobra.
“What do you say, pretty girl?” Golden Retriever said against her ear.
“Fuck you.” She spat at him and turned her head away.
At the very least, her loud noises might draw more attention to anyone else who was in the house. Maybe someone would take pity on her and stop this asshole from doing anything she would make sure he’d regret later. His hand hovered over her body as if he was deciding where to touch her first. Dakota continued to writhe like a hell cat, determined that if she fought hard enough, he wouldn’t lay a hand on her at all.
His palm descended on her right breast through her tank top and he groaned with appreciation, kneading into her flesh. When he tweaked her nipple through her bra, Dakota thought she’d throw up. Her muscles ached, tiring quickly as he toyed with her breasts. How much longer would she be able to put up a fight before wearing herself out? It made more sense to bide her time in hopes that the fucker untied her to get a better angle and gave her the small chance of escape.
So Dakota squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her teeth, and pretended she was somewhere else.
His heavy palm connected with the side of her cheek and she gasped from the burning pain. She tasted blood where the inside of her mouth had scraped against her teeth. A painful cry slipped out of her lips despite her efforts to thwart it; the fucker was probably the type who got off on hurting a woman.
“You’ll look at me, little slut. You hear me?”
“Yo, Sean! I told you not to go down there yet. Get your fuckin’ ass up here. Now!” a nasally voice boomed from the top of the stairs. Heavy treads made the stairs off to her left creak and groan.
The asshole’s mouth turned downward and his brows knitted as he glanced toward the staircase, but he didn’t stop groping her—only slowed it down. He slid his fingers under the hem of her tank top and her flesh crawled.
“You better leave her the fuck alone,” her abductor said.
“I’m going to get what I should’ve gotten back at Duffy’s.” Sean looked down at her. “Where’s your fucking biker now? You sent him to kick our asses that day, so it’s only fair that I take something he wants. Right, baby?”
