I have to look ridiculous, begging for my life while wearing Winnie the Pooh PJs, but King’s dark gaze rakes up and down like he sees something he likes. Even now, it's difficult not to notice how his sleeveless denim jacket struggles to keep him contained. He's jacked, and while that's nice to look at, I won't stand a chance in a struggle against those muscles. If I can't talk my way out of this, I'm not getting out of here.
“Brave words, but I don't think so. You're a Hawthorne, and I trust you about as far as I can throw your father.”
From how he's built, I suspect that's actually pretty far, but I take his point. And if he bases his opinion of me on Dad, I don't even quite blame him. “Listen. I have money. That's what you're after, right? Lots of money? Dad's rich.”
“I don't need your daddy's fucking blood money.”
Of course he doesn't. My next thought is to offer up myself, but that's asking for trouble. On several levels. And it's not like they can't take me anyway if they want to. I wet my lips nervously, hoping that thought doesn't occur to them. And then there's that tingle deeper down that I'm totally not ready for that suggests it wouldn't be that bad of a thing. It's official. My body is crazy.
King waves at Wild Child. “Let's do it.” And then to the bearded growler, “Hero, get ready to catch.” At least I have names for all of them now, even if they're dumb.
Wild Child draws a long, vicious-looking, definitely not street legal knife as he pushes off the wall and comes towards me.
I suck in a breath to scream.
King clamps his hand over my mouth, and it just comes out as a snort through my nose. “Don't be an idiot. No one can hear you here anyway.” He says it like a knife is no reason to panic. I don't believe him for a moment and I struggle. Not that it gets me anywhere.
Wild Child leans in, his smirk crooked and his eyes a little crazy. Little chains on his denim vest jingle as he moves. He runs a finger along the line of my jaw, his touch rough and calloused. “It's okay. I like 'em a little scared.”
I whimper and close my eyes, thinking it's all over, but all he does is cut the ropes. A moment later, I'm hauled out of the back of the van into a cavernous garage, not even giving my terror shivers time to chill out.
As soon as we're out, every sound we make echoes. Bikes in all sorts of shapes and colors are parked here in long rows, and in the back a couple are up on risers, looking like they're in the middle of being worked on. When I think of biker gangs, I always imagine them hiding in a broken down old building, their bikes lined up in the back, spending their days getting drunk and the nights causing mayhem. But this looks clean. Organized. Professional.
I'm starting to understand why Dad wants to build this anti-biker army of his.
Hero puts me down, letting go for a moment, and I take the chance I'm given. The garage door is still open, and I run for it as fast as I can. The hard cement floor hurts my bare feet and I'm already dreading the rougher asphalt outside, but I can't stay here. I need to get out.
I guess I didn't need to worry about it. I'm barely halfway to the door before Hero has caught up to me, picking me up so I'm like Wile E. Coyote running in midair. If he thinks I'm heavy in any way, he doesn't show it. Instead of running, I try to kick him, going for the kneecaps like my self-defense instructor told me, but he just lifts me higher and slings me under his arm.
I hang there, defeated.
“You're not going to get away with this,” I spit out, but I don't think I sound very convincing.
“Maybe not, but until then, you're stuck with us,” he responds in that growl of his. I can as much feel the rumbling through his side as I can hear it. It goes all the way down, like my subconscious still doesn't get that these guys are bad news. It only cares that my body is now pressed up against his.
“Nice catch,” says Wild Child with a laugh. “Maybe we should give her another chance and see who gets her next time.”
Yep, that's where I am. Kidnapped, trying to escape and they're ready to make a game out of it. Guess that says something about how they see my chances, and I don't think they're wrong.
“I won't run again.” I try to push free from Hero's grasp, but he doesn't budge a fraction of an inch. “Seriously. I get it. You guys are faster. Just set me down so I can at least walk on my own.”