Page 3 of Rough Road

“Thought you said I was gonna be dead. Was that just talk to make you feel better about yourself?” She laughed at him and his skin darkened to a deep shade of purple.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She rolled her eyes, dramatically. “Oh, come on. We both know you don’t get to decide anything. You’re just some expendable piece of shit. He knows, and I know, and you know that if I wasn’t tied up right now, you’d be on the ground with the heel of my boot sticking out of your throat. Untie me. Let’s see.” He didn’t move and with each word, she felt braver. “Oh, I get it. You need me tied up so you can live out your pathetic little rape fantasy. Because we both know you aren’t getting a woman without rope and chloroform and that gun on your hip.” She laughed again, and he lunged forward to backhand her.

The coppery taste of blood meant he’d split her lip and goddammit, she couldn’t fight back while holding her baby. She sniffed and swiped her tongue over her lip. He was gonna pay for that one. “I’m gonna like taking that hand.”

He sat on his heels and brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m gonna like seeing you try.”

If he leaned in to kiss her, she would throw up, empty stomach or not. And that breath… Dear God. She had to get out of here soon.

Asshat moved back to his side of the room by the door. “Maybe I’ll just tell Tyler you put your hands on his woman.” The words tasted like hell, but her smile didn’t falter.

He laughed again. “Oh, don’t worry, honey. Once you get your brand, we all get a shot before you graduate to Ty. He likes his women broken and broken in.”

The thought turned Fiona’s stomach. “But not until he says so, right?” He looked away and Fiona knew he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t have. “Where are we, anyway?” He turned to her and shook his head. She tried again. “Honestly, who am I gonna tell? I don’t have a phone and I’m tied to a pipe.”

“Florida. Had to go on a little run. Don’t get comfortable.”

Oh, yeah. Not much chance of that while she was sitting on a dirt floor with a growling stomach and a bladder about to burst. “I need to use the bathroom.”

He shrugged and motioned to a bucket in the corner. “So, go.”

Fuck. She was supposed to be in Belize, sunning herself on a beach on Kye’s private island and instead she was stuck with asshat in a rundown cabin in Florida with a bucket to piss in. And a broken window to throw it out of. Good thing she wasn’t hysterical, no matter what her urge to sob said.

But the bucket was closer to the pipe and if she could manage to get the rope over the top without this stupid fuck noticing, she had a chance.

* * *

Grier’s bike roared up the road, man and machine streaking through the night with a purpose. Saving Jez. Finding Sedotal or Carr or both. The night was cold, stark, and his gut churned with anticipation. Hopefully, they could end this shit tonight, and he could bring Fiona home.

He made the turn onto the road that led to the compound. Sage had left with Hamilton and the others in plenty of time to be in place, but there wouldn’t be a signal, nothing to tell him whether or not they were walking into an ambush. He pushed his bike until the motor screamed and the wind bit at his face until he skidded to a stop in front of the first cabin. He jumped off the bike and leaped onto the small porch to burst through the door.

There were seven cabins and three outbuildings in various states of disrepair, but there was also some sort of tunnel system underneath that led to another entrance to the compound. Grier walked out to the porch of the last cabin to find the rest of the club assembled. “We need to check the tunnel.”

And once bitten, Grier wasn’t willing to risk the whole club. Clearly, the Omens had deserted the compound, same as when they left the stolen Demon merchandise unguarded but lined the crates with explosives that blew up as Grier led the way from the compound. He’d lost Demon lives once. He wouldn’t be doing it again.

He would have preferred taking Kye below ground with him, and Sage was still in the woods, so he motioned to One-eye and Diamond Dave. He wanted to tell everyone to stay sharp, to shoot anything that moved and wasn’t wearing Demon colors, but his throat closed, and his gut tightened. He nodded instead and checked his gun. Loaded. Ready. And he’d go in first.

One-eye followed Grier down the small ladder and though he’d looked down the hatch from one of the cabins, Grier hadn’t made it to the lower level when they’d found the compound or when they came to collect their stolen goods, so he’d not seen the intricacies of the tunnels. The walls were reinforced with steel beams and rods and the ceiling was supported by steel with wooden planks. Where Grier thought they would have to hunch or duck, he stood tall, moved silently against the walls. Every hundred or so yards, another ladder led to another hatch. Where The tunnel itself was a long hallway with wires attached to lights that no longer worked thanks to the lack of electricity. It reminded him of a mineshaft he’d seen in an old movie.

Grier edged forward, a flashlight in one hand, his gun in the other.

The walls dead-ended at a door, a door secured by a combination pad with metal buttons that clicked when he pushed them. It beeped when he chose the wrong numbers. He aimed his gun at the little keypad and Diamond Dave put a hand on his arm. “Grier, don’t shoot it. You’ll short it out, and we might never get it open.”

Maybe but… “How the fuck are we supposed to figure out the combination?”

One-eye moved from behind the shadow of Diamond Dave’s body. “Long shot but try 2-2-5-6-9.” When Grier stared at him, Dave shrugged. “It’s her birthday. I’ll explain later.” When neither Grier nor Dave moved more than to stare at him, he motioned his flashlight toward the box. “Let’s see if it works.”

Grier punched in the numbers and the door clicked then popped away from the frame. Dave pried it the rest of the way and Grier walked inside with Jim at his back. The walls and floor were white, pristine. Hell, they could’ve done surgery in here. The room was wider than the hallway but empty, and Jim walked to a door on the other side. No keypad this time, just a knob he turned and walked through while Grier and Dave didn’t move. This could be a trap, and no way was he getting too far from that door. Not when the only light he had was a flashlight and his gun would hardly be a match for a door three inches thick and something right out of a bank vault.

“Shit.” Jim’s voice carried through the door and echoed in the small room a second before he returned.

Grier shined the light on his face. Jim, always pale and in need of some serious time in the sun, was worse than normal, almost transparent even in the semi-darkness. “What?” Grier moved to the opposite door, that ball in the pit of his stomach, bigger and harder to ignore.

Jim grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t go in there. You should just get out of here and let me take care of it.”

And now he had to know what was on the other side. His heart thumped loud enough he thought they would hear it, but still he walked through, shined the light on the floor. “Oh, God.” Blood. And Jez. “Aw, fuck.” His shoulders shook as he lifted her head and cradled it against him. “Oh, God.” The sobs came, for the friend he’d lost and the mother he never really knew. “Oh, God.”