by Lilly Atlas
She gripped the thick metal ring around her ankle and gasped as white-hot pain shot from her foot to her knee. The ankle was raw and bloody from her repeated attempts to work the metal shackle off her foot. She was no doctor, but the skin beneath and around the cuff didn’t look healthy. The flesh was an angry shade of red, and her entire calf was swollen from knee to toes. Infection had to be setting in. It was difficult to tell if she was feverish because the room was so blasted hot, but a time or two she’d shivered with unexpected chills. A fever may have been the culprit.
The idea of removing the cuff from her throbbing leg abandoned, she moved on to the metal plate bolted to the floor.
Rising to her feet on quaking legs, Fia took a deep breath and willed the room to stop spinning. She straddled the metal plate and pulled on the chain with all her might. There was about a centimeter of wiggle. It was a start.
Her right leg buckled and she sat on the ground, hard. The rough landing jarred her battered body. With both hands, she grasped the iron ring that attached to the metal plate and worked it back and forth. Maybe, if she tugged at it long enough, she’d loosen the bolts enough to remove it from the floorboard. She’d work at this twenty-four hours a day if she had to.
No fucking way would she die in this hellhole.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Don’t look much like the fucker’s home. How much you say he owes the club again?” Jester tied his shoulder-length dark hair back at the base of his neck as he spoke.
“Forty thou,” Acer replied, not bothering to look at Jester, his attention fixed on the house twenty feet away.
Acer, Jester, and Striker sat on their bikes in the street outside a house on the outskirts of Crystal Rock. They had a debt to collect, a large one.
Shiv was pissed, and if the money wasn’t recovered tonight, then he wanted the man to have a firm understanding of what happened if you fucked with the No Prisoners.
“Why the fuck did we give him all that money? We a fuckin’ charity now?” Jester asked.
“We only let him borrow thirty. Other ten is a missed payment penalty. Next payment is due tomorrow and a little birdie told us he’s not good for it. Shiv’s orders. Take it up with him,” Acer replied.
Striker grunted. “It was a thank you. You know how he warned us the cops were sniffing around that last gun shipment.” He shrugged “Guy told us he needed thirty large and asked for ten in exchange for the info. Shiv offered the whole thing as a loan in hopes of earning future info. He knows now it was a dumb move.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Christ, eleven on a Monday night. You boys know what I could be doing now instead of this shit?”
Acer thought from the start lending this asshole money was an irresponsible move, but he didn’t make the decisions. He followed orders. “You got more power than all of us, VP. You want to be home fucking your ol’ lady, you coulda made that happen. Looks like you want to be in the trenches with us after all. Married life getting stale already?”
Striker flipped him off.
“You in a funk again, Acer? You’ve been in a shit mood for the past three days, ever since I caught you devouring that pretty little thing at the fight.” Jester blew into his closed hand. Now that the sun had set, the temperature was dropping at a rapid rate.
Christ. Fucking Jester and his big mouth.
“What? Why am I just hearing about this now?” Striker turned and gave Acer a toothy grin. “You know, come to think of it, you’ve been in a piss poor mood for months now, ever since you got back from LA.” Jester tapped a thick finger against his lips as though deep in thought. “Hmm, this dame at the gym was classy, Lila classy. She from LA? She have anything to do with your six-month long PMS?”
Acer hopped off his bike and charged toward Jester, the man’s giant size be damned. Striker stopped him with a none-too-gentle slap to the chest.
“No time for this, kids. Save it for the playground tomorrow.” Striker’s phone buzzed and he peered down at it. “Guys are in position around back. Plan is to go in hard, drag him out. If he can’t pay up, he gets an ass beating he won’t forget.”
“And if he ain’t here?” Jester asked. “Because it doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
“Toss the place, maybe we can find some of what we’re owed.”
Jester snorted. “Not likely.”
“Shut up and move.” Acer barked.
Jester grinned and turned to Striker. “See what I mean, VP? Cranky, cranky.”
Striker laughed. “Just go, Jester. Take that clown-sized foot out of your mouth and boot in the door, will ya?” He drew out his weapon and Acer followed suit, flicking off the safety.
“Yes, sir,” Jester said as he snapped a salute. He lifted what had to be a size fourteen foot and planted it next to the doorknob. Without even so much as a grunt of effort, Jester kicked and the door swung wide open. Silence greeted the group. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”
“Isn’t that Emily’s line?” Acer asked with a laugh.
“Oh, so you’re a comedian now?” Jester flipped him off. “First, you’re a moody asshole, now you’re a funnyman. Hard to keep up. And I’ll have you know, Emily comes at least—”
In a poor attempt at disguising a laugh, Striker coughed. “Get in the fucking house.”
The house remained soundless as a tomb. Looked like Jester’s assessment was right, the prick wasn’t home. People tended to make some noise when a group of angry bikers bashed in their door in the middle of the night. Unless he was hiding.
Acer scratched the back of his neck. An itch had formed the second Jester booted in the door. Something didn’t feel right about this entire situation. Were they walking into an ambush? Didn’t seem likely. The place was tiny; not much space for people to hide and attack. Still, the itch grew more aggravating with each passing second.
Senses on full alert, Acer stepped into the house. Heat blasted him from every angle. “Christ, it’s hot in here.”
Jester tromped straight back, down a hallway leading to what Acer assumed was a bedroom or two. Acer located a light switch next to the door and flipped it up. Light from a ceiling fan flooded the room.
Aside from a recliner, tiny television, and small folding table, the living room was bare. The table lay on its side on the floor, with a cup of whatever this loser had been drinking spilled next to it. A half-eaten hamburger lay across the room, probably flew there when the table upended.
“Looks like he may have torn through here in a hurry.” Striker said from behind Acer. His VP stood in the doorway, surveying the room with a frown.
“Would have been too easy if he were here waiting with cash in hand,” Acer said.
Striker grunted. “I’m getting too old to chase down assholes for money.”
“Send prospects next time.” Acer kept his focus on the dark hallway Jester disappeared down. The unease scratching at his nape hadn’t subsided when they entered the quiet house. If he was being honest with himself, the edgy feeling began three days ago, when Fia up and disappeared. He frowned. He had to quit thinking about her. She didn’t disappear; she ditched him.
“I would have sent prospects this time, but Shiv wanted it done by us. I think he realized he fucked up lending this guy cash.” Striker grunted and waved a hand around. “Let’s do a quick and dirty search, then head out.”
A high-pitched yelp followed by a weak sounding, “Don’t come any closer,” drifted down the hallway. What the hell? Acer’s itchy neck turned into a screaming gut. Something wasn’t right here. He knew it deep in his bones. He looked at Striker who had his pistol aimed at the hall, finger on the trigger.
Jester emerged from the hallway, his lips pressed together in a grim line of displeasure. The bleak look in his eyes alerted Acer to the fact that shit was about to hit the fan. “We got a problem, boys, a huge fuckin’ problem. There’s a girl back there.”
“So what?” Striker asked. “Tell her to keep her mouth shut, growl at her a bit so she gets the picture, and
send her on her way.”
Jester shook his head and curled his fists at his sides. “I don’t think she’s here willingly. She’s naked, dirty as my bike after a sand storm, and chained to the fuckin’ floor. I tried to help her, but she freaked out when I took one step toward her. I think my size scared her. Acer, maybe you’ll have better luck, and, Striker, I think you need to call Lila.”
“Shit.” Striker drew out his phone and stepped back out into the night.
Acer’s blood ran cold. Memories of Penny from years ago—scared, trembling, and trying so hard to keep her dignity—assaulted him. Anger warmed his veins and he started to sprint down the hallway.
Jester’s meaty palm on his shoulder halted his progression. “It’s bad, brother. You go charging in there with that murderous expression, you’ll scare the shit out of her.”
Acer blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders. “I’m cool.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I won’t go in all crazy.”
“Okay.” Jester moved to the side and let Acer pass. He had to turn sideways to fit past Jester’s huge form in the hall.
As he approached the dim room Jester had emerged from, he heard soft but accelerated breathing. Blood pounded through his veins and his gut churned. Nothing angered him more than mistreatment of a helpless woman.
He stepped into the doorway and turned his head toward a shadowy corner in the far left of the room, where a frightened gasp came from. Jester was right, someone was huddled in the corner, but aside from the fact that it was a small person, so probably a woman, the room was too dark to discern anything else. He pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight, filling the room with a surprising amount of light.
“A-Acer?” The low sound was so full of anguish and despair that the walls around Acer’s heart vibrated.
Two terrified, pain-filled, and very familiar eyes stared up at him from the face of the battered woman huddled in the corner on the dusty floor. Fia. He took two steps closer and came to a staggering stop as though he’d been slammed in the stomach by a two-by-four. The room spun. He fought to find air. This could not be happening. He closed his eyes and counted to five before opening them again. No, it was real, not a figment of his tortured imagination.
Fia was the abused woman.
She was naked, as Jester said, and a metal cuff around her ankle held her chained to a ring on the floor. She was covered with dirt and bruises and her shoulder-length hair hung in stringy strands around her face.
Nausea swamped him at the sight of those bruises. Deep purple marks marred her thighs, her chest, her face. Thoughts of what she must have endured made him physically ill. Her hands were also raw as though she put up a hell of a fight, and Acer felt a tiny surge of pride.
For months, his dreams were plagued with memories of the way those whiskey-colored eyes glazed with pleasure when she came. Those same eyes, now broken and petrified, would forever haunt his nightmares.
Chapter Nine
“Fia?” he croaked, unable to make his voice work properly. His throat had dried up and constricted. He felt like he was choking.
“A-are you really h-here?”
Her whispered question knocked him out of his stunned state. He tore off his cut, letting it fall to the floor. Without a second thought, he yanked his sweatshirt over his head, leaving him in a white T-shirt. He rushed toward her, coming to a stop when she shrank even farther into the corner. “Fia, I’m really here. I won’t hurt you.”
At the sound of her name, she met his gaze, but confusion filled her eyes, as though she hadn’t heard him. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her, but she seemed to be in shock and he needed her alert.
“Fia,” he said again, putting a bit of snap in his voice.
She jumped, but her gaze cleared and she looked right at him.
“Baby, I promise I won’t touch you, but I need to get closer to see what I’m dealing with, okay?”
She nodded and her body visibly relaxed just a fraction. She sat with her legs drawn up and arms across her chest, a weak shield for her nudity. She was small and vulnerable, and the thought of finding out exactly what she had endured made him want to murder someone. No, not someone. Mike, the bastard whose life now had a very imminent expiration date.
“Fia, I have a sweatshirt for you. Can I help you put it on? It will be hot in here, but it’s chilly outside and you’ll feel better covered up.”
She nodded. “O-okay.”
Acer crouched next to her and slipped the sweatshirt over her head. His hand brushed her shoulder as he drew the soft material down her body and she flinched in a violent jerk. She let out a small pain-filled groan and his hard heart cracked a little. “Sorry, baby.”
He’d slipped the fabric down her back and over her bent knees, covering every inch of her exposed body. “There you go, hon. No one can see anything anymore. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. With a trembling hand, she pointed toward her foot. “I can’t get out.”
Acer looked down at her right leg. Holy fuck. He clenched his teeth so hard, a trip to the dentist just might be in his near future. He willed himself to remain calm, not let the flame of anger burn bright enough that Fia could see. She didn’t need to see him lose his shit. It would do her no good.
The leg was swollen so big, there wasn’t any space between her skin and the cuff. The abused skin around the metal was red, raw, and oozing a yellowish discharge. Hopefully, the infection was localized. If it had traveled too far up the leg, there was a chance she could lose it. How could anyone abuse such a thing of beauty? How could a man destroy something that was built for pleasure, not pain?
“Look at me, Fia.”
She slowly lifted her head until eyes full of despair met his gaze.
“I don’t care if I have to rip this place apart one nail at a time. I am getting you the fuck out of here, and there is no way in fucking hell that bastard will get anywhere near you again. Okay?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Okay.”
“I’m going to go get something to bust you out of here.” He started to rise to his feet.
“No!” Fia gripped his hand with startling strength. “P-please don’t leave. You can’t leave. I can’t—”
“Shh, baby, it’s okay.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I won’t leave. I promise. I’m just going to poke my head out the door and call for my friend. I won’t leave your sight.”
She nodded and released the vice grip.
Acer popped up and stuck his head out into the hall. Jester hovered by the front door, talking to someone outside, probably Striker.
“Jester, I need a crowbar. I think one of the guys had one in case we needed it to bust in here.”
“Is she okay?” Jester asked.
Fia’s eyes were closed and she shivered in the corner, despite the sweltering heat of the room and the added warmth of the sweatshirt.
“I don’t think so. Did Striker reach Lila?”
Jester nodded. “He did. Be right back with that crowbar.” He jogged outside.
Acer closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the doorframe for a second. No, she wasn’t fucking okay. She’d been raped. He knew it in his gut. There was only one time in his life Acer had cried, a horrible day six months after Derek was incarcerated, and he recognized the choking feeling that accompanied tears the first time. He squeezed the doorframe until his knuckles ached, the physical discomfort detracting from the emotional turmoil.
With every fiber of his being, Acer wished Mike was there. He’d take that crowbar to the bastard’s head and wouldn’t stop until he was one hundred percent certain he’d never be a threat to Fia again.
Acer straightened and walked slowly back toward Fia. He sunk down next to her so he wouldn’t frighten her by looming above.
“What day is it?” She shifted and did a terrible job of masking the pain.
“Monday. Monday night.” He couldn’t take
much more of this. Seeing her this way was a true test of his self-control and ability endure torture.
“Three days. He might come back,” she whispered, her voice weak and hitched.
“Not while we’re here,” he responded. “He knows we’re after him. He’s not stupid enough to go where we are. Though I wish he was.” He couldn’t keep the hardness out of his voice.
Fia’s eyes widened, but not with further fear, with surprise. “Thank you for helping me.”
“Baby, I’d walk through hell to get you out of here if I had to.” He meant it. There was no mountain he wouldn’t climb to see her safe and out of this hellhole.
A soft knock had both of their heads whipping around. Even though he wasn’t touching her, he felt Fia tense. Her body was so rigid, it was obvious from two feet away.
Jester waited with his hand out, holding a crowbar.
“Thanks, brother.” Acer stood and reached for the bar. Sweat rolled down his face. Christ, he needed out of this oven.
He turned back to Fia and made sure to keep his voice low and gentle. “Honey, this is Jester. He’s a very close friend of mine, and I promise he will not hurt you or touch you in any way. You got me?”
Fia nodded, her wary attention completely focused on Jester.
“Brought her a bottle of water too.” Jester tossed it and Acer caught it one handed.
“Thanks brother.” He opened the cap and handed it to Fia. “Whoa, easy there, babe. Drink slowly.”
Fia nodded and stopped trying to guzzle the entire bottle in two seconds. She cast a wary glance at Jester. “Thank you. That’s so good.”
“I’m going to bust this metal ring out of the floor with a crowbar, okay, hon? We’ll figure out how to get the cuff off your ankle later on. Then we’ll take you to get checked out by a doctor.”
At the mention of a doctor, Fia tensed again. The urge to run out of this house and search for Mike so he could tear the man apart was almost too hard to ignore, but Acer forced himself to focus on Fia instead. He’d have all the time in the world to track the man later.