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I bet.
Mike’s face flushed, gripping the glass in his hand so hard I wondered if it would shatter.
“Thank you, sweetheart. A pleasure as always.” Devil kissed her cheek, an intimate gesture that pushed the limits a little farther than the bodyguards in the room liked as one of them glared at Devil.
“Take care, Draven. Don’t be a stranger.”
I didn’t doubt that he’d be fucking her again before the night was over. Bet he planned to text her once we left Huber’s office.
“We’ll be in touch,” Devil announced, spinning on his heel as he strolled through the office, leaving first, then Cowboy, followed by Manic.
Manic never did say a word, watching from the back of the room as he flipped a metal lighter open and closed, staring at the flame. All I knew was that Mike Huber escaped death tonight, and he had his sister to thank for it.
I finally turned, leaving my back exposed as I dismissed that asshole and his room of hired thugs. None of them would be bold enough to strike me from behind, and we all knew it.Outside, Devil checked through the documents one more time and nodded, the upward twist of his lips a clear indication that the contract fulfilled our needs.
Another successful business merger for the RVMC.
“We’re good. Let’s head out.”
FLOPPING BACK AGAINSTthe mattress, I stared at the white ceiling, noting the spackled floral pattern. A standard, predictable texture.Boring.
A sigh escaped my lips. No one had bothered me since the Viking guy they called Raiden dumped me in this room. Nearly four hours. No phone or music or TV. Just the quiet.
Sitting up, I propped my back against the headboard using a couple of fluffy pillows. The room’s simple décor didn’t provide much information on the club or its members. My gaze scanned the light gray walls with white trim and a deep gray carpeted floor. A flat-screen TV anchored to the wall opposite me remained dark and silent.
Beneath my body, a queen-sized mattress covered by a gray and white striped comforter provided plenty of comfort. Nothing squeaky with a couple of lumps like the one at home.
Two doors in the room revealed a bathroom and a walk-in closet. Nothing overly fancy but clean and spacious. Nicer thanwhat I had but considerably ritzier than I imagined in a biker clubhouse. What did bikers care about expensive or outlandish furniture? Or a matching color scheme? Yet, the room proved functional and inviting. I guess the club members preferred practical, and I couldn’t deny the room served its purpose.
The lone window let in the only source of natural light, and I shoved the dark gray curtains wide, letting in as much sun as possible. Located on the second floor, I didn’t have the ability to escape. There wasn’t an option to climb out, but I did spot the young biker pacing the area below. His gaze slid upward when he saw me, but he didn’t wave or acknowledge my presence.
Three hours later, any humor or patience I’d mustered fled. Bored. Hungry. Frustrated. Those were just a few of the emotions fighting for dominance in my head. I managed to drink from the bathroom faucet a couple of times, eliminating my thirst, but that only punctuated the knowledge that I no longer controlled anything in my life.
If they wanted me to figure it out, I did.
Kicking off my shoes, I decided to get comfortable. I rested back against the pillows and tucked my feet in as I rested on my side. My stomach rumbled, and I ignored it.
A remote for the TV ended up missing the batteries. When I tried to turn it on using the buttons below the screen, I only ended up turning the channel and messing up the settings, watching the static appear on the screen. Nothing worked, and I chucked the stupid remote at the window, watching it shatter into several pieces on the carpet.
Ugh. I hated being idle.
Heaving another sigh, I slid from the bed and approached the window again, staring outside. Nothing but a gravel-lined road and tall, wavy grass beyond the gates of the bikers’ compound could be seen.
In the distance, a lake shimmered in the twilight, peeking through the gaps in the sequoia trees. Those trees only grew naturally in a narrow 60-mile band of mixed conifer forest on California’s western slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range. The view was pretty as a holiday postcard.
In the valley slightly below, a small grove of fruit trees thrived in the stretch of land referred to as the Reaper’s Vale. Beautiful but deadly at certain times of the year, particularly in winter. Avalanches, ice storms, and high winds could combine for a ruthless, brutal assault on the land. The snowfall for the season averaged over four hundred inches.
My brain was packed full of useless facts like this. As a young girl with few friends and always hopping from home to home in foster care, I immersed myself in my studies. Facts and figures fascinated me. I’d dreamed of escaping into the wild and backpacking across the world.
It was the only escape from the instability I experienced each day.
My forehead lowered against the cool pane of glass as I gazed longingly at the outdoors. This sucked. The empty, confined space of this room felt like a prison cell. My captors didn’t know me or anything about me, but I preferred being outside in the fresh air as often as possible. Maybe that had to do with the past, fleeing from the horrible things I had to endure.
Freedom and independence meant the world to me; now, I lost them.
Pissed, I pushed away from the window, striding toward the middle of the room. Staying active and strong meant I needed to keep my mind and body sharp. Dropping to the ground, I began a round of sit-ups, push-ups, and strengthening exercises, counting out loud to stay focused.
“You made a mistake, motherfuckers,” I announced to the air between counts. “I won’t make this easy on you.” A small laughbubbled up from my chest before I increased the pace, sweat already beginning to form on my skin. “Fuck you, biker assholes. You won’t break me.”
