by Helen Scott
I shoot him a dirty look. If he wasn’t keeping my pain at bay, I’m pretty sure I’d knee him in the groin.
“Don’t glare at me, sweetheart. This isn’t a fucking hotel or your therapy office. Things work a certain way, whether you like it or not.”
“Sounds like you’re not the big dick on campus,” I snap.
Did I think the hazel flecks in his eyes were beautiful just a little while ago? Now, his gaze seems to burn into me. “We can both feel my dick, and it’s plenty big.”
I feel my cheeks heat, but can’t stop myself. “You sure about that?”
He rubs himself lightly against me, and I gasp. “That’s what I thought,” he says, a husky note to his voice.
Crash laughs. “Do you remember when she was all sweet and scared?”
“I fucking miss that,” Dragon mutters.
I’m glaring at both of them. “Can someone just stop this shit and tell me what happened to me last night?” And then, I remember. I remember getting sick. I remember a doctor and burning water. Glancing down at myself, heart racing, all I see is smooth skin. “Did someone burn me last night?”
Dragon tenses under me.
Crash sighs again. “She’s going to know soon enough anyway…”
“When she’s supposed to know,” Dragon snaps.
I’m about to say more when Striker and Phoenix come back in. The Prez, as they call him, is nowhere to be seen, and they both look uncomfortable.
“What’s the plan?” Dragon asks, but there’s a strange note to his voice.
Striker won’t meet my gaze. “He asked that you and I take her for a…little drive.”
A drive? What the hell? “Where?”
“Just get dressed,” Striker says.
Crash stands slowly and joins the other two at the door, his movements oddly slow. His brows are drawn together, and he looks between me and the other guys. Every instinct inside of me screams that something is wrong.
“Want me to stay and help?” Dragon asks, and he doesn’t sound like he’s just trying to see me naked. There’s something behind his words.
I shake my head. “I’ll be okay.”
“You sure?” he asks.
I nod.
“There are some clothes in the closet from some of the sweet butts. Choose whatever you want.”
“Sweet butts?” I frown.
He nods and slowly sits up so I’m straddling him. “Think of them like club groupies. They’re the woman who come here and fuck us on the regular.”
I wrinkle my nose. “So, real classy ladies?”
He leans in so that his breath is hot in my ear. “If we gave it to you, you’d want it on the regular too, so stop judging, blondey.”
I’m about to protest when he pulls me off his lap and sets me next to him on the bed. His gaze lingers for a minute, and then he releases my arms.
I gasp in a breath as pain rolls through me, and I have the sudden urge to collapse back on the bed. My entire body trembles, and it’s hard to pull in a breath. But just as I’m about to ask him to stay, to take the pain away, to see me naked, to do whatever he wants, just to stop the pain, the feeling starts to fade. I suck in deep breaths as it becomes more manageable.
It still hurts, but it’s not mind-numbing pain.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod again, not ready to talk.
He climbs off the bed, fixes his pants, then looks at me again. “We’ll be right outside the door if you need us.” Then he hesitates. “Feel free to take a shower too.”
When he leaves, he closes the door. I debate about lying right back down and breathing through the pain, but I get the impression I’m going on a drive today, whether I want to or not. So, I’d rather be clothed when I do it. And clean.
Hissing, I stand and take a quick shower, then drag myself to the closet before sliding open the door. Inside, sure enough, are some clothes. As my fingers drift through the material, I realize that it’s only women’s clothes and that most of the items are as revealing as hell. My jaw drops open. Yeah, I’d been a lab dog. Yeah, I hadn’t had an ounce of privacy. But the thing is, I’m determined to feel like a human again. I’m not sure if I can feel like anything but a piece of meat in the clothes available.
But I don’t have another choice.
I manage to find a tube top that’s actually thick enough to cover my nipples, since apparently none of these women wear bras, and a pair of dark jean shorts. They’re torn, showing the bottom of my ass cheeks, but they’re sadly the best pair in the dresser, especially since I’m not about to wear any of the underwear in the drawer.
In the bathroom, I find some hair ties and pull back my long, blonde hair. My breath catches as I see my reflection staring back at me. I hadn’t seen myself since the cabal took me.
I look pale, weak, and thin.
Only a shadow of the person I was.
But it’s not just the program that had done such a number of me. My ex had broken me in more ways than I could count, even before the scientists got their hands on me.
I put on a pair of socks and boots that go to my knees, then I release a slow breath and go to the door. Opening it, I spot all four men leaning against the hallway. All eyes are locked on me, and their mouths drop. I have no idea if that’s a good sign or a bad sign, but I hold my head high.
“Breakfast?” Phoenix asks after a painfully long moment of silence.
“We need to get going,” Dragon says, almost snapping at his brother.
“She can eat,” Phoenix shoots back, looking irritated.
I nod. I need to eat something and hopefully keep it down this time otherwise my body is going to start shutting down. “Maybe some crackers. I’m pretty sure I puked up every bite of my dinner last night. I’m not sure I can handle more than that.”
Phoenix nods and takes off.
Crash clears his throat. “I have some…things to take care of.”
Then Dragon turns to Striker. “You want her on your bike or mine?”
“Pretty damn sure you’re both going to come if she rides your bike,” Striker says, his mouth lifting into half a grin.
Dragon glares at him, but they both start down the hall.
“Where are we going?” I ask, staying rooted in place.
“A drive,” Dragon says, not looking back at me.
“To where?” I ask again, an attitude in my voice.
His shoulders stiffen and he turns slowly back around. “Start walking, or I’m going to start carrying you.”
“Dragon…” Striker begins.
“One,” he counts, his voice low and threatening. “Two…”
And I hate myself, because I start walking.
Even though my body aches, even though my memories are in shambles, I toss my hair as I pass him and move down the stairs. Maybe that asshole won this fight, but he’s not going to win the war. One day, I swear, I’ll be the one telling him what to do.
“This is a bad idea,” I hear Striker say somewhere behind me.
“Yeah,” Dragon mumbles. “But we don’t have a choice.”
A shiver rolls down my spine. What do these men have planned for me?
17
Dani
I may have stormed past Striker and Dragon as though I know exactly where I am going, but the moment I get to the edge of the front door, which is still just hanging open (well, what’s left of it is) I stop. It may be silly of me, but it feels like the moment I step out of this door everything is going to change.
It doesn't help that I haven't spent any time outside, except for my brief escape attempt, in years.
My chest tightens at the thought of being outside and on a motorcycle, because I know they aren't going to drive a car to get me wherever we’re going. I have no clue how to ride a motorcycle. What if I make us fall and ruin one of their bikes? Well, Striker's bike, since apparently Dragon and I aren't allowed to ride together.
"Come on, baby girl. No use hanging out in the doorway. You're
coming with us one way or another," Striker says as he walks past me.
Dragon begins to move past me as well, but he grabs my hand briefly and gives me a tug in the process. Not only do I feel that wash of calm move over me but the tug makes me take a step to prevent myself from falling, which means I've stepped over the threshold and am now standing outside.
I take a long, deep breath and look around. Everything is similar to the way I remember it from my run to the gate, but there are patches of dirt that are scorched and others that are a deep brownish-red color that can only come from blood soaking the ground. I force my feet to move when I catch the look Striker is giving me, knowing he'll pick me up like a sack of potatoes if I don't get a move on.
The wind rustles the leaves and caresses my exposed skin like a lover, and I want to lean into it, to enjoy the simple delights that people who get to go wherever they please, whenever they please, often overlook. I step out from under the awning that hangs over the door and off the step of the porch. Sunlight blasts against my skin, warming me from the outside in.
I hadn't realized how cold I am, all the way through, until the sun hit me.
"You comin', baby girl?" Striker asks.
"I haven't stood outside in the sunshine in over three years," I say as I look over at him. Something tightens in my chest at the sight of him by his bike, holding out a helmet for me. My mind flashes with the image of him standing in the same position on a day that looks like the devil himself is after us and holding a strange curved dagger out to me instead, but before I can blink, it’s gone and the helmet is back.
I shake the strange image from my head and step toward him.
Striker moves toward me angrily. His face twists in a snarl but the tone of his voice is anything but angry. It’s gentle and almost caring. "If it was just us, I'd let you take all the time in the world, but we have eyes on us and I need to follow orders."
"Fine!" I fake yell as I snatch the helmet from his hand.
His mouth quirks the tiniest amount, one that wouldn't be noticeable from far away, unless whoever is watching is using binoculars or something, and his eyes dance with laughter though not a hint of it is displayed on his face.
The man is an enigma.
I’m struggling to pull the helmet on my head past my ponytail when I feel a fist thump on the top. It's jarring, but it also gets the thing over my head and face. As I look out of the small section of the helmet that allows me to see, I notice that Dragon is going helmet free and Striker is wearing one that just covers the top and back of his head.
"Why do I have to wear this?" I demand, my voice sounding muffled and barely audible over the padding of the helmet.
"Because I'm guessing you've never ridden bitch before and I don't want to be responsible for your brains spreading over the road if you fall off," Striker says calmly as he gets on the bike.
The man has a point, as much as I hate to admit it.
"Climb on," Striker orders. "Only thing you need to do once we get going is hold on. And it helps if you lean with me into the corners."
For a moment I look over at Dragon, who seems to be refusing to even glance in our direction. Part of me longs to ride with him, but I know that is never going to happen, especially with the mood they are both in. I may not know these guys from Adam, but I can tell that they are both pissed off about something.
I put my foot on one of the pegs and swing my leg over, bracing myself on Striker's shoulder. As I sit, I realize first that the seat is tiny, and second that most of my ass is hanging out, and I don't have a huge ass to begin with, so what does that say about these shorts?
I hear a click and then the bike wheezes a couple of times underneath us before starting to make a deep, throaty rumble as it springs to life between my legs. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around Striker's stomach and bunch my hands into his cut.
A moment later, Dragon is speeding away and Striker kicks off to follow him. I get my first taste of a corner as we leave the compound and turn right. The place is surprisingly large. I notice that we seem to drive by the fence for a long time. It makes me wonder exactly how many people live there, and if it is more like a cult than an MC.
I mean, I've heard of motorcycle clubs before, but I've never experienced one. If these guys are anything to go by, then it is like living a completely different life to the one I had been, even before the cabal, hell, even before Henry. Life with my dad had been hard, not just because he resented me, but because we had nothing, and any time we did have a little extra cash he drank it away.
The Immortal Hunters might be good or bad. At this point in my life I’m honestly not sure I would be able to tell. I feel like I've never seen what I would class as a good guy. My dad tried and if he hadn't made me feel like a waste of space, and like my mom leaving was my fault, then he might have succeeded, but he didn't.
Henry wasn't a good guy by any stretch of the imagination. He took what he wanted when he wanted and didn't give a shit about anyone else. I had been a commodity. Something to decorate his arm if he chose to take me out or a body to abuse if he wanted to stay in. I was only one of many, but I'd been lucky enough to be one of his favorites, the one he liked to push the furthest, the one whose bones made such a beautiful sound when they broke.
The scientists from the Necron Order certainly weren't good guys, although I’m sure they thought they were. I'd just been an animal to them, something to poke and experiment on until I broke. I hadn’t even had my name while I was there; they always referred to me by number. Six-two-nine-one. A sad, angry part of me hopes that when the guys broke into that place they tortured them first before executing them. Treated them like the experiments they ran.
But these men? These Immortal Hunters?
They saved me from the scientists, saved me from Dr. Mengele, even saved me from the other prisoners. Yes, they'd caged me, but after seeing what the cabal created, I don't really blame them. Plus, they saved me from the monsters sent to hunt me down. They have threatened me, pointed a gun at me, but if my father or Henry had done that then I know I would be dead already because they wouldn't have hesitated in pulling the trigger.
The buildings are flying by around us and thinning out the farther we go. Eventually, there’s only a building here or there, and most of them are run-down farm houses that look like they shouldn't still be standing.
My body is aching from holding the same position for so long and my ass is going numb from the vibrations of the bike. When we pull off onto a dirt path in the middle of fucking nowhere, I want to sigh in relief. I let my hands unclench from around the leather and drop, landing on Striker's thighs.
He jerks at the movement.
A sliver of guilt moves through me, but they had barely given me enough time to pee this morning before putting me on the back of a motorcycle and driving for what had to be hours. It’s because I can be a vindictive bitch when I want to that I leave my hands there, splayed across Striker's powerful thighs.
Part of me wants to tease him, to rub my hands all over him, but I know he won't be able to do anything about it to stop me, and that’s not fair. I've been on the receiving end of that treatment too many times to want to do it to someone else. So I just rest my hands there, feeling his muscles flex under my fingertips as his feet move the pedals, switching between gears as we slow, and tense as we turn.
If I'd thought we were on a dirt path before it’s nothing compared to what we’re on now. I’m glad to have my helmet because we are winding through trees, and branches are hitting me on the head as we go.
Finally, after what feels like days on the back of Striker's bike, we stop. The area we are in is like an old quarry or something similar. Piles of rock and sand fill the area, but the whole place is surrounded by trees. The flat area itself is bigger than my high school. Hell, it might have even been bigger than the compound the Immortal Hunters live in. It’s huge.
Why we'd had to take some weird back path and ride through the woods to get here I
’m not sure, but it makes me wonder who exactly this land or quarry or whatever belongs to.
Striker pulls his helmet off, his hair falling down around his face, just a little, in wavy curls. He turns to me and looks at me through the locks of his hair. "You can get off now," he says.
I snort and mutter, "That's what she said."
He raises an eyebrow. "Are you a fuckin' teenager?"
"I have the mind of one, according to some people," I say, trying not to let the bitterness creep into my voice. Henry hated that I giggled at stupid shit, that I couldn't keep a straight face when people weren't paying attention to the way they phrased things.
Before he can ask me about it, I push from the bike and swing my leg over so I can hop off. Though hop wasn't exactly what I would call the stumble I take when I try to stand up straight once more.
"You might want to stretch," Dragon says quietly as though he’s giving me top secret information.
When I catch the scowl that Striker is giving him, I actually worry that he might have been.
"What the hell are we out in the boonies for?" I demand, remembering that I don't know where we are because they never bothered to tell me where we'd been going, and I don't know why we are here either.
"To test you," Striker says point-blank.
"Test? Like the scientists?" I ask, hating that my voice quivers as I speak.
"Something like that," Striker mutters.
Fuck. What the hell have I gotten myself into with these guys? Had I really been thinking that they were the closest thing to good guys I'd ever seen just now?
18
Striker
Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? It had been bad enough having her pressed up against me the whole ride over, and when her hands landed on my thighs I almost lost it like a fucking teenager. But now my stupid ass has to go and compare us to the fucking Necron Order?
"No, not like the scientists," Dragon says, jumping in and scowling at me.
His words don't erase the look of fear on Dani's face though. One that I put there. If I’m honest with myself, it was probably a little intentional. I have orders, orders I don't want to have to carry out, so if she’s scared of me then maybe it will make those orders easier to follow.