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“Cocksucker!” I screamed.
He laughed, satisfied to have cut my dress down the center, leaving my lingerie exposed.
“That’s your first warning. Piss me off again and you’ll be getting ass fucked until you’re shitting jizz for life.” He glared at his friend who let me go and I fell back to the disgusting bed.
“Hit her up. I’m tired of her fucking mouth.”
“You sure about that?” It seems Poe was the muscle but he might also be the only one with brains between these two, and that wasn’t saying much.
“Do I sound unsure?”
“Unstable,” I muttered. Unwisely. Holden always told me my mouth would get me into trouble one day, but he was wrong. My choice in men was the problem.
“Now, Poe.”
No matter what the guys back on Hardtail Ranch said, my biggest problem was that I didn’t know when to give up the fight. Not in high school when the done up cowgirls thought they could bully me. Not when the sorority girls thought I’d let them mark up my imperfections, and not when some asshole thought ‘no’ meant ‘yes’.
I fought like hell, kicking and flailing as Poe produced a needle. I knew what was coming, and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it, but still I kept fighting, knowing that moving around would make it hard to find a vein.
What I didn’t anticipate was that the fucker would stick me in the neck. Or that smack would knock me out so fast.
Or for so long.
When I woke up the room was pitch black except some dim gold light from the streetlight outside the window. The music still played, but a different song. I was groggy. My limbs felt a little heavy still, like I just stepped out of the pool. I managed to sit up, squeeze my eyes shut and try to orient myself. If this was what heroin or whatever the fuck they gave me did to people, I was glad I wasn’t an addict.
The dance track faded to silence and in those few seconds before the next track started, I heard it. All hell breaking loose.
My heart sped up as I thought about what this could mean for me and as soon as I could open my eyes, I looked around the room for a plan. An escape. The sound of a phone ringing just outside the door startled me and I froze.
“Yeah?” That was Brendan Rhymer’s voice. I recognized it well even though I still knew jack shit about the guy.
“What? Where the fuck is she?”
He didn’t sound happy, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit that it brought a smile to my face.
“What’s going on?” That deep voice belonged to the bald-headed fucker. Poe.
“Savannah’s been kidnapped,” he said, sounding truly worried. No one responded so I guessed this one-sided conversation took place on his phone. Whoever she was, she mattered to this scumbag. I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction even though I also kind of hoped she hadn’t been stripped and shot up with drugs like I had.
“It has to be those fucking Ashbys, Dad.”
Dad? Shit. This was a family business? Like the Ashby family. Like the Reckless Bastards. Which meant this shit was worse and way more serious than I realized. My eyes scanned the bare room once again. There was one small window, but from the height of the house I saw out the window, it looked like I was on the second floor. Maybe the third.
“Calm down, Dad. I know it’s Ashby,” he said, pride dripping from every syllable he spoke. “I might have taken something that belongs to that fuckface Virgil. His bitch,” he said, pride and glee in his tone. Whatever his father was saying, the old dude wasn’t pleased. Rumblings of his deep voice, loud but unintelligible, even made it through the closed door of my room.
“We’ll get her back,” he said. “I promise.”
Shit, if Virgil did have his men pick up whoever Savannah was, this wouldn’t be over anytime soon. I couldn’t take another shot of those fucking drugs.
“Stop,” I whispered to myself. Now was not the time to let my thoughts distract me. Now was the time to get the fuck outta here.
I stood quietly and crept to the window to have a look. The house was one of those big old homes with large overhangs separating the porch from the second floor and judging by the size of this one, this place was gigantic. That meant escape was possible. That fueled the hope and fear that warred within my gut as Brendan continued to plead with his father over the phone.
“But Dad—” he said and was immediately cut off by another tinny tirade from dear old dad.
The small worn latch twisted easily and allowed me to open the window, though it did require me to put some muscle in it, which was hard with my drug-heavy limbs. I sucked in several deep breaths to get rid of the stench of body odor, sex and drugs, letting the air get into my lungs and brain to clear out the bullshit.
