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Again, tears leak from my eyes. I try to wipe them, but it’s useless. Even though he said he’s proud of his kills, he may not want to have my blood on his hands. He did say he wouldn’t kill me—he didn’t say anything about the other club members.
The heavy gates are opened by what looks to be four men, all big and heavily tattooed. Some have handkerchiefs sticking from their pockets, some have them wrapped around their head and all of them have on leather vests. Some have patches, some don’t. All of them look dangerous.
When I pull in and park, a large Black man breaks away from the crowd. His stern expression doesn’t soften as he walks over to my side of the car. He opens the door and pulls me out of it, twisting the front of my shirt in his fist. “Who the fuck are you?”
Shaking, I meet his eyes as best I can, my lips trembling. Looks like I’ll be killed by this fine specimen of a man. Guess it’s not such a bad way to go out. “I’m Finn,” I whisper, voice tight with fear.
“Leave him alone, Zeke,” Rax says as he climbs from the passenger side.
My man handler’s expression changes. He drops me quickly and rounds the hood. “Holy fuck, Rax. I thought it was a joke when I got the call.” They hug each other roughly, their back slaps sound loudly.
I drop back into the driver’s seat, the lights of the car illuminating the compound. It looks like any other heavily guarded building—thick walls, a heavy door that would probably need Thor to wrench it open and barbed wire atop the fence inside the walls.
The men I saw earlier are all crowded around the car, exchanging pleasantries with Rax. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, so I stay put. I don’t want to risk being shot in the back if I try to run.
“The fuck is going on out here?” I hear a loud, accented voice and I jump, cowering in the driver’s seat. “What’s all this—” The man stops talking when the crowd parts and he sees Rax. “The fuck? Raxel?”
Raxel? His name is even stranger than I thought.
“Hey, Prez,” Rax says in a subdued voice, something I didn’t think he was capable of.
I look at the man he called Prez, wondering if he’s really the President of this club. He doesn’t look it. He doesn’t have a beard or tattoos like Rax. In fact, he looks like a professional. An accountant or some sort of businessman. Even now, where everyone has jeans or something leather on, Prez has on a button up shirt with nice slacks. He’s a Hispanic man with bright brown eyes and angular features. His upper lip is thinner than his plump bottom lip, giving him a model-esque appearance.
He would be good looking if he didn’t look so fierce.
“Inside,” he barks and everyone snaps to. I’m pulled from the car by a man that has “Prospect” stitched on the front and back of his vest. I’m dragged quicker than my feet can carry me and I hear laughter when I trip.
Hell, I might not be killed but I’ll die of embarrassment. I’m more worried about a bullet to the brain though.
I’m hauled inside of what looks like a frat house, without the Greek letters and bongs everywhere. Otherwise, it’s a spitting image. There are a few pool tables with a few men and women playing. The women are scantily clad, their breasts practically popping out and their asses hanging from their shorts. Their high heels and big hair scream they want attention and they’re getting it. I don’t judge—if I were a woman and had their bodies, I would dress like that too.
I never thought I’d be inside of a motorcycle club, let alone being brought here against my will. After taking a brief perusal, I drop my eyes to the ground. I don’t want anyone here to think I’m trying to memorize landmarks for the cops. I don’t want to memorize shit. The less I know, the more likely I am to get out of here alive.
“Fresh meat,” someone says and I flinch, wanting to move closer to the man pulling me along, but I don’t know him. I wish it were Rax. At least I know he’ll keep his word. He told me he wouldn’t hurt me and I trust that. Even when I called my mother, he didn’t hurt me as bad as he could have. That’s something.
I don’t know this man and if I saddle up to him, he’ll probably push me away and feed me to the wolves.
The Black man that came out to give Rax a hug glances at me and I lower my eyes again. I shouldn’t notice how fucking hot he is but my need to be near scary men is rearing its ugly head.
When I glance back up, he smirks and winks and I flush. God, what is going to happen to me? Is this where they kill me? Will he have his friends take turns beating my ass until I’m a broken heap on the ground? Bury me alive so I won’t be able to crawl out of my grave?
My mind burps up more and more terrible scenarios and I have to fight hard to keep the tears at bay. I’m in the middle of a fucking motorcycle club—I can’t show an ounce of weakness. If I do, these men—hell, the women too—will chew me up and spit me out.
I just hope I get the opportunity to get out of this alive. I don’t want to be around danger this badly.
Chapter 6
Rax
Iknew it would be a gamble to come here. This is the first place the cops will expect me to go. I don’t think Trenton has been discovered yet, since it’s only been a little over twenty-four hours since I escaped. The other guards are much like Trenton, not paying prisoners in the hole any attention. I’m supposed to be there all weekend, so they won’t check on me until tomorrow probably when my meal tray isn’t by the door.
Still, I should have thought this through. But once I was free, I wanted to see my brothers, especially Zeke. I missed them.
A prospect I don’t know drags Finn behind us and I turn to him. “Be fucking careful with him,” I growl. Prospects don’t get respect here, not until they’re patched in.
I’m not sure why it matters how he treats Finn, but Finn has done all I asked him and hasn’t gotten too hysterical. Besides his bullshit with calling his mother, he’s followed orders. He’s braver than most—he deserves at least a small amount of respect for that alone. More than a fucking prospect does.
“Fuck you,” the prospect spits out, deliberately dragging Finn forward, making Finn trip over his own feet.
