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“LikeSuicide”—Seether
I’d done like Ogun had asked, and when I’d dived off the bike, I’d sent a message to Venom. Except I hadn’t stopped there, and it wasn’t the first message I’d sent. Because when we were on the bike and he first handed me his phone, I sent the message immediately. I’d also sent a group message to everyone in his phone with a local number that was under the RBMC subtitle.
Maybe it was overkill, but I didn’t care. Deep in my guts, I’d known things were scarily wrong.
Through every turn and acceleration, I’d held on with one arm, but I’d been keeping them up to date with each move we made. A few times, I almost lost the phone.
After getting my feet underneath me, I’d ripped off the helmet and called Venom. “Where are you?” he’d barked.
“It’s me, Kira,” I gasped.
Glancing around for a street sign, I saw one up ahead and kept running. Once I was close enough, I let him know and then darted into a backyard where I tried to catch my breath. The connection was horrible, but he’d told me he was on his helmet Bluetooth.
“Please hurry,” I panted, and I held the stitch in my side.
“We’re en route. Hang up to conserve the battery. Keep that phone on and secured, whatever you do. Facet is tracking you right now. Are you far from Voodoo?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered breathlessly. “He ran the opposite direction.”
“It’s okay, we have a general direction. We’re on our way. If you’re safe there, stay put, and secure that damn phone,” he growled, and I swallowed hard as I nodded, though he certainly couldn’t see me.
The call ended. I switched the phone to silent so it wouldn’t ring or vibrate and waste any of the battery. Then I stashed it in a hidden inner pocket of Voodoo’s giant leather jacket and zipped it up. Hoping they would get there soon, I crouched down behind the trash cans I’d stopped by.
Everything was silent, but I thought I heard the roar of motorcycles in the distance. Moving cautiously, I stood enough to look over the trash cans. Slowly, I moved in a crouch up along the dark shadows of the house so I could see if it was them.
I’d almost reached the front of the house where I could hide in the bushes when a pebble skidded along behind me and made me freeze. Heart in my throat, I spun around.
“Well, hello, gorgeous. We meet again. Except this time, I don’t have to hand you off to anyone but my brothers. Fucking Russians fuck up everything.” The younger of the two men who’d taken me to Chicago stood there with a gun trained on my chest. The side of his face with the scorpion tattoo was in the shadows of the streetlight, but I’d know that voice anywhere.
“Turn around real slow-like and put those hands behind your head,” he drawled as he moved closer to me. Shaking and wanting to cry in frustration, I simmered as he cable-tied my hands behind my back.
Where the fuck were the people who lived in the neighborhood? Didn’t anyone hear anything? It shouldn’t surprise me though. People in that area of town probably didn’t stick their noses into anything that happened after the sun went down.
“Move,” he snarled as he shoved me forward. It caused me to trip, and I thought I was going down on my face because I couldn’t use my hands. I’d like to say I was thankful that he grabbed me by the cable tie and jerked me upright, but truthfully, it hurt like a bitch. It seemed like my shoulders popped out of socket, but I barely made a peep. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
We didn’t walk long, because as we neared the street corner, the same shitty truck I’d ridden to Chicago in stopped. At least they didn’t shove me in the back again, but I was shoved face-first into the back seat. They went around a few corners but we didn’t travel far.
The rattle of a chain-link gate was followed by it closing behind us. They didn’t go far before they parked the truck and killed the engine. The door was flung open, and the asshole dragged me out my by ankles, then my wrists, causing my shoulders to scream in agony again.
“Easy, you asshole! My arms are about to pop out of socket!” I was fed the fuck up with being abducted and beat around. Twice in less than a week was really too damn much. I was pissed.
“You think I care? I don’t need your arms to fuck that hole of yours,” Scorpion-face jeered, and I wanted to head-butt him. He grabbed a cut out of the truck and gave me a shove.
Taking in my surroundings, I realized we were in an old warehouse or retail store parking lot. There was a fence around it intended to deter people, but these yahoos obviously didn’t care about shit like private property.
“Well, what do we have here?” One of the club members saw us approach, and as we neared, they all turned around. They didn’t look much like Ogun’s club. Most of them looked motley and unkempt. There was one guy who was extremely good-looking, but he stayed to the back, looking unhappy. All in all, there was about six or seven of them.
Then again, they all looked miserable.
The voice that had called out separated from the crowd, and I groaned.
“What, you aren’t happy to see me? Looks like dear ol’ dad wasn’t able to keep you long. Not my problem. I got paid to get you there, not keep you there,” the older guy said with a smirk. I didn’t dignify him with a response. When they’d grabbed me outside the vet clinic, I hadn’t gotten much of a chance to get a good look at him.
He’d obviously been decent-looking once. As he came closer, I could tell that time hadn’t been kind to him, and if his blown pupils were any indication, he was high as a kite. The name on his cut read “Gambler.”
“That her?” asked a big burly guy with a beard and an eye patch.
“Yep, that’s her,” Gambler said with a grin that showed dirty teeth. That’s when I realized there was a scar that intersected his top and bottom lips and went up to near his eye. Any closer, and he might’ve lost it.
