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He meant it. Brad had gone way beyond reason. He didn’t care what happened to him as long as he finally got his revenge on her. He couldn’t think beyond that. There was no time after this for him. So he didn’t feel trapped in the office—it was his retreat.
Now, his face nearly purple with rage, he tucked the pistol in the back of his pants and stepped confidently forward, reaching for her. His movements were clumsy, and her reflexes and training kicked in—she turned sideways, brushing his hand to one side and smashing her fist into his face in a backhand that sent him staggering back. She could see blood trickling down from his split lip. He shook it off. “That’s one more thing on your tab. I’m going to enjoy settling the score.”
Rage had his adrenaline flowing. He was a large man, and she was small. Her skill and training could only do so much, but she would defend herself until she no longer could.
Brad was out of shape,but you could only dance around an attacker for so long. Sooner or later he’d get lucky, or you’d make a mistake, or just get tired.
His second attack was a lunge that she sidestepped, but he turned, swinging, and caught her in the face with a wild punch that sent her sprawling. Her head reeled with the blow and he came for her, tearing her blouse as he pulled her to her feet. She fought back, but at close range his strength gave him the advantage. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he spun her around and shoved her into the wall. Her face and shoulder scraped painfully against the concrete, and it knocked the wind out of her.
As she recovered from the impact, he yanked her back around and finished tearing off her blouse, pulling it down her arms and pinning them. “This is going to be good,” he said. He grabbed her bare breast in a huge hand and began tearing at her jeans with the other. One of her eyes was swelling shut, and his face was blurry, but she brought her head forward as hard as she could, smashing his nose, and he jumped back, shouting with pain. With any luck, she’d broken his nose.
The pain seemed to give him more strength, and he came for her again. Her arms were still wrapped in her blouse and she couldn’t move fast enough to avoid his blows. He punched her in the face, and she fell to the ground.
The man loomed over her. “I want you awake when I fuck you,” he growled, “or I’d just knock you senseless.”
Simone could barely make him out as he stood there and her mind raced. She could scarcely move. Her body ached. Her only chance was to pretend to be more helpless than she was. If he intended to rape her, he’d need to get his pants off, and for an instant or so there might be a chance for her to act. But she’d need all the strength she could summon. So she forced herself to feign resignation.
He stood there, glaring at her defiantly. She moaned, tasting her own blood, but didn’t move. And then she saw the look she wanted come over his face. He was sure of his victory. He bent down and started undoing her jeans. It took an incredible effort of will not to strike, but the moment wasn’t right. He still had the advantage.
And then she heard sweet music. There was a mighty roar of engines, one, two, three, or more motorcycles. The glorious sound echoed off the concrete walls and her ears. “Hear that, Brad? They’re playing my song.”
“What?” Then she saw that he heard it—the sound of angry bikes screaming like banshees down the alley, coming up behind the bar. He looked out the window for a moment, then pulled the gun from his belt, reached down and grabbed Simone’s arm and yanked her to her feet, pain shooting through her. He held her beside him, pressing the gun to her bare breast. “Take a good look,” he said. She did and was rewarded with the glorious sight of Slash, Clutch, Max, and Rafe getting off their bikes. Brad smiled at her. “You’re still shit out of luck. Those dumb fucks can’t get in here. That fucking steel door is in their way. They’ll have to wait outside while I do whatever I want with you. But they get to hear you scream.”
She swallowed. The door looked formidable.
Chapter 13
In the parkingarea behind the bar, Rafe, Max, and Slash conferred. “You’re the strategist,” Max rasped as Slash stared at the back of the building, taking stock of the terrain. “How do we play this?”
Slash was lost in thought. “Sam’s gun is a .357, and he’s got as many as four bullets left—he shot two guys before locking them inside the office. I’m sure he’ll have bolted the back door. Fortunately, it opens inward, so we can blow in that way.”
“But can we do it fast enough to get inside and keep him from shooting Simone, or whoever goes through the door first?” Max barely had the patience to spit out the question. He wanted to charge in. Only knowing it could be fatal for Simone kept him back.
Slash grimaced. “Can’t tell. We don’t know how fast the guy is, or how good a shot he is, or even how big his balls are when he’s in that kind of situation. A full-blown attack could make him crumple; if not, there could be a lot of bodies.”
“The window,” Clutch said.
“That’s our other option to get in, but we have the same problem—he can see us coming and we have to break through it to get in, which gives him a chance to start shooting.”
“No fucking way,” said Rafe. “It’s too dangerous.”
Max didn’t like the sound of that either. Simone was in there. “She’s expecting us to help her, Slash.”
“And we will.”
“But you said…” Rafe said.
Slash let out a breath. “It’s a gamble, Rafe. The only sure thing is doing nothing, and we know what happens then. So, we’ll do both at once. Simone is a together woman. She will know she can’t just stand there and let us rescue her. We already know she’s willing to take the bastard on if she has half a chance.”
“So?” asked Max.
“We create diversions—give her that half a chance.”
Clutch nodded. “Right, we crash the window as a diversion and go in the door.”
“Nope,” said Slash.
“We crash down the door and go in the window?” Rafe sounded doubtful.
