Page 93 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

He blinks, as if surprised that the notion of him bringing me here to harm me would have ever crossed my mind. “For your own protection, of course.”

He says it with complete sincerity. There isn’t a flicker of doubt in his expression, no hint that he’s inventing an excuse. That frightens me more than outright cruelty ever could have. Cruel people know they’re cruel. Tyler honestly believes he’s rescuing me.

“How the hell is kidnapping me and locking me in your basement for my protection?”

His eyes flash with anger, and I regret my tone. I need to play along, to pretend to be grateful, to pretend to be whatever the fuck he thinks I am, to get out of here. I take a deep breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, Tyler. I’m just a bit freaked out. I don’t understand. I don’t understand. It’s me, Sadie. Why would you want to do this to me?” I clumsily add, remembering to humanize myself.

He softens, fooled for the moment by my helpless damsel in distress act. “Don’t be scared. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you. If I could have gotten you here another way, I would have. I was hoping maybe you were going to come back with me the other night, that you’d finally seen sense and gotten out from their control, but then he showed up.” His voice is laced with malice. “I saw you outside the club with him, his hands were all over you. Then after, I heard what he did to you that night, how he…” his voice catches, cracking, “how he… abused you. I knew then that I needed to act, that I had to get you away from them before they turned you into their whore.”

My blood runs cold as I realize that the only way he could know about the sex I had that night with Chief is if he was listening in on my call with Dani.

“You tapped my phone?”

He nods. “Yes, I had to make sure you were safe.”

Suddenly, dozens of conversations I’d thought were private rush back to me. Every tearful phone call with Dani. Every late-night conversation with the guys. Every moment I’d laughed, cried or admitted a fear I hadn’t wanted anyone else to hear. The violation is almost physical. I feel stripped bare.

“How? When?”

“A few weeks back, after that biker came into the gym. I knew then that you were in trouble. It was easy to get into your locker and install the software on your phone while you were working out.” He holds up his hands. “I know, I know… I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy, but I had to keep you safe. When I found out that those bikers were only in your life because of a simple mistake, that you actually meant to text me, had wanted me all along, I knew I’d done the right thing.”

My mind is reeling, thinking over how many intimate conversations he’s been listening in on this whole time. “And the key to my house? Letting yourself in?” I think of every unexplained creak in the floorboards. Every time I’d convinced myself I’d forgotten to lock a window. Every moment, I’d wondered whether I was imagining things. “Leaving me those notes? How was that to protect me, Tyler?”

He grows agitated, as if he can’t fit those actions into his neat little protector narrative, and so he doesn’t want to answer that. He paces, a restless energy rising in him, running his hands through his hair.

“Don’t you see? Those bikers have brainwashed you. They’ve made you think you’re not safe, they’re the ones who left those notes, they’re the ones who always found them, aren’t they? That one guy Trigger, he’s obsessive and possessive enough to do that, to try to manipulate you into thinking you need his protection.”

As far as lies go, it’s not a bad one. Perhaps if someone had presented the idea to me before, I might even have believed it. It’s pretty hard to take the word of a man who drugged you and locked you in his basement. I don’t point this out. Instead, I try to play along.

“But why take me now, Tyler? You must know that Owen and I moved out of the clubhouse and in with my friend Dani. We’ve gotten away from the Wild Riders, just like you wanted.”

“I knew it wouldn’t last. You’re weak. You’d go back to them. And there’s that contract they wanted you to sign. They wouldn’t let you go so I had to make sure you were safe.”

“So what are you going to do to me? Deprogram me?”

He looks amused at that, and I realize that’s probably what he’s hoping to do. As he reels off the various methods he plans to use to make me love him, my mind starts to shut down at the horror of it all. His methods sound scarily similar to the way cult members are brainwashed, not deprogrammed. He’s going to torture me, I think numbly. I stop hearing individual words. They blur together into a meaningless drone while my mind desperately searches for something else to focus on. The buzzing fluorescent light. The damp smell in the room. The rough texture of the concrete beneath my sneakers. Anything except what he’s calmly explaining he’ll do to me.

“I know it sounds scary, but it’s for the best. You’ll see,” he says.

Pushing down my disgust and my fear, I nod. I don’t try to stop the tears that well up, knowing he’ll mistake them for acceptance, or gratitude. “I’m scared, Tyler. What’s going to happen to my son? Who’s looking after Owen?”

Just as I’d hoped, he steps nearer. However, he’s not as stupid as I’d hoped. His hand grips my wrist firmly. “Let go of it, my love,” he says, squeezing so hard that my hand involuntarily opens, the shard of ceramic dropping to the floor with a soft clink. He pulls me to his chest, and helplessness envelops me like a shroud. He breathes in deeply, burying his hand in my hair. To my disgust, I feel him hardening against my leg.

“God, Sadie, how I’ve waited to hold you like this.”

He pulls my head back by my ponytail, his eyes dark with desire, and I try to hold back the wave of nausea I feel. I brace myself for what I know is coming. His mouth meets mine, and I press my lips together, but his tongue pushes through. He swirls it around in my mouth, and I try not to gag. His hand squeezes my breast, the fumbling, pawing touch of a horny teenager. I can’t breathe.

Every muscle in my body trembles with the effort it takes to remain still. Somewhere deep inside, panic is screaming at me to claw at his face, to run, to bite, but instinct and logic are at war. One tells me to survive. The other tells me to escape. Every instinct wants to fight him, but I know that could be signing my death warrant, that playing along would be the safer bet. I make a small mewl of fear, which he mistakes for desire.

“God, yes, Sadie,” he groans, finally releasing my mouth. He buries his face in my neck, sucking painfully.

No. No, Sadie, don’t give up. You have to fight for Owen.

My gaze drops down to the outline of the keys in his pocket, the Lycra so tight it’s unmistakable—the keys to my escape.

Some animalistic, primal part of me, something ancient and feral, takes over, replacing terror with pure survival. Without thinking, I kiss his earlobe, softly, nuzzling it. He groans, cock hardening. Then, with all of my might, I bite down as hard as I can. Flesh tears under my teeth, the hot, metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, Tyler screams, trying to push me away, but I hold on like a rabid dog, biting down with all my might. I grab the keys from his pocket just as the flesh on his ear tears.