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I spit the bar out, tears trailing down my face. They came when I started gagging; I didn’t start crying willingly or anything as I would never give him the satisfaction to think he’s broke me down so easily. I lift my hospital gown enough to rub my tongue against it, taking in the fleece robe covering it. I didn’t have the robe at the hospital so he must’ve brought it to take me out in. Once I can speak again, I glower, and say, “Blow will be pissed when he finds out what you’ve done.”
“You chose violence. Throw a fit, get treated like a bitch.”
My insides boil, but I manage to refrain from tossing insults so freely this time. Knowing him, he’ll sit through me talking mad shit then punish me until I’m eating my own puke and no matter how pissed I am, I don’t want to eat my own puke. Or anyone’s, for that matter.
“You’re going against your vice president.”
He lifts a shoulder, unperturbed. “Prez gives the orders first, then my VP.”
“Let me go now, and I’ll give you a head start before the Marshals hunt you down. You know they’re expecting me, right?”
He snorts, not batting an eye. The man may as well be a stone wall, lord knows he has a set of brass balls to not even flinch with whatever I say to him. No wonder he’s the club’s enforcer, I bet death in any form doesn’t bother him the slightest.
“You won’t be leaving until Prez says so.”
With shaky limbs, I manage to stand. “Please, Angel. It doesn’t have to be like this. You can let me go, no one has to know. I can go home to my baby, and you’ll spend another day out of jail.” I slide a small step forward, brave, but still not brave enough to get any closer to him.
“Crawl to me,” he orders, as he sits back on the chair, legs spread while he watches me. It’s so utterly dominant and yet I’m the one standing at the moment. I should have the upper hand being on my feet, but he so effortlessly commands me.
“C-crawl?” I find myself stuttering which only throws me off kilter further. I’m not a stutter type of person.
“You heard me. You want to get anywhere near this door, you’ll get on your knees.”
He expects me to blow him? What a fucking prick. “If I crawl to you and be on my knees for you, you’ll let me go?”
“No, but it’s the only way you’ll get close to this door without me ripping your fucking hair out in the process.”
“You enjoy fighting like a chick? Pulling hair?”
He shrugs. “Figured you’d prefer it over me breaking your jaw to get that mouth to shut up.”
“Wow. You’re a real nice guy,” I mutter sarcastically. Can’t believe Blow is brothers with this prick. I scowl and cross my arms, defiance written all over my face. I knew the only way out of this situation was to give in, even though the thought of it made me want to throw up. But I couldn’t handle staying in this room for another second with Angel.
He watches as I hesitate, my eyes darting to the door, then back to him. I know I can’t make it out on my own, fighting him. Especially not with the injuries I’ve sustained, the meds still running through my body, and the state of mind I’m in. “You should’ve thought twice before you ran that little mouth, baby girl,” Angel says, standing up and towering over me. His presence is intimidating, making my heart race in her chest.
“Now crawl,” he orders, pointing to the floor.
With a deep breath, I release a defeated sigh and drop to my knees, crawling toward the door and essentially the big man blocking it. The rough, matted carpet scrapes against my knees, the pain reminding me of what I have to do. When I finally reach the door, I stand up, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
I made it.
Reaching past him, I pull at the door, but of course it doesn’t budge. “It’s locked, Angel. You’re keeping me prisoner.”
He smirks, moving to sit and lean back in his chair. “Don’t act like you’re innocent, sweetheart. You know you did something to deserve this. Besides, the club comes first. Prez says you’re ours until we decide otherwise. Now, be a good girl and get back on your fucking knees and crawl to the bed.”
“You fucking psychopath!” I hiss, ready to fight or fall over—my body hasn’t completely decided which yet. With a deep breath, I make up my mind and crouch, then lunge for the television on the dresser that lines the closest wall. Grasping onto the plastic frame, I drag it to me, my hands trembling as I make my move, readying to throw it at him.
Angel reacts like a jackal sensing blood. He leaps from his seat, a threatening growl echoing from his lips. My heart races, the thump-thump of my heavy breaths resounding in my ears as I momentarily attempt to gain the upper hand and get the fuck out of here.
But it’s too late. He closes the distance between us at breakneck speed, wrapping his arm around my throat, his fingers digging into my windpipe. My hands instantly break free, dropping the television at our feet as I gasp for air. My vision blurs as he moves us, slamming me against the wall, his body a solid mountain of muscle and malice. I swear my bones rattle and every bit of soreness I was feeling from the wreck plus more, hits me at once, making me sob in pain. I want to crumple to the floor and weep until it all disappears.
“I warned you. I was trying to be nice, but you keep fucking testing me,” he snarls, his breath hot against my neck as he leans in close. “It would be so easy for me to snap your dainty little neck, and the only thing saving you right now is being Blow’s woman. Unless you want to see how much control I possess, I suggest you smarten the fuck up, buttercup.” His voice is cold, his eyes locked onto mine with a clear reminder of his authority in this situation.
He releases me and slowly, carefully, I lower myself to the floor at his mercy. My knees scrape against the rug again with each move, the pain a taunting reminder of the man I’m dealing with. Despite the humiliation, I bite my lip and crawl toward the bed, heart pounding in my chest. I was an idiot to think I was even remotely close to getting out of this room. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I can’t allow myself to fully give up.
“You’re a nasty piece of work, Angel,” I mutter under my breath, glaring at him as I pull myself back up onto the bed. The old, flat mattress in the cheap room shouldn’t feel so luxurious, but with my injuries, it’s definitely an upgrade to the tiny hospital mattresses.
He doesn’t respond, just stares at me with his menacing glower, making my stomach flip with dread. I pray Blow talks to his president soon and he gets me the fuck out of this room. I knew the club wouldn’t be happy with our relationship, but after everything, I thought they’d decided to back off. Turns out, they were just being patient, allowing me to grow comfortable.
